Ffewdur Fllam smiles as he takes his mug of dark ale from a maple-haired wood elf waitress whose calm professionalism he has come to appreciate in his time in Reykholt. In fact, in his long sojourn as an Aberstwythan living in the duchy of Ulvsnesshjolm he has cultivated and appreciated the acquaintance of anyone he feels he can rely on. The two duchies were ostensibly in the midst of a long period when their relationship was good; but anyone who had lived in the area longer than a year knew full well that that statement came with at least three asterisks and any number of subclauses by which that situation could change radically and unpredictably in either of at least five directions. And there were plenty in the meadhalls and taverns of both duchies for whom the mere fact that you came from the other was plenty enough excuse to break your head at any time.
But politics aren't particularly on his mind right now, no more than half an hundred other rumours, half-certainties and facts that he is carefully not thinking about. The chaos of the Meadwulf's Valholl generally makes thinking impossible after about nine in the evening anyway; that is why he came here, By keeping aware but deliberately not trying to think, applying seven or twenty rounds of solvent and then sleeping till noon he often found an intutive clarity that turned out to be the best counsel in whatever perplexities might be troubling him.
That doesn't mean he is unaware of his surroundings, though. Something about that group on the far side of the Valholl suddenly draws his attention. The ones occupying the seats cattycorner to him on the other side of the Well of the Worlds... ;) He knew very little about them; bar that a friend had heard the hobgoblin-looking one talking about Iarícosá earlier in the evening, the elf with the brass mummer's crown actually was a Princess who chose to wear that rather ostentatious stage jewelry for some reason he hadn't been able to find out a thing about, and the drow somehow had high elven parentage. In fact, they might as well be practically completely unknown factors! One thing was undeniable though; a sudden strange tension had set in among them where there had been none before; and this was tickling at one of the uncategorized not-thinking-abouts floating around in his already not unlubricated brain. Something ... "Curious ... ," he murmurs as he half-turns for a better view. ========= (ETA: a few minutes before the pictured apocalypse below. Remember that this is the first point Ffewdur has picked up conflict among you and that therefore up until now you have been behaving at least outwardly amicably towards each other. Your first job, my dear players, is to get us from /\ to \/ )
World map and campaign info dump (to be edited in as ready):
Homebrew content so far: (WIP)
Religion so far:
-Religion on the contintent of Sauvogia
- Like many things in Sauvogia, and particularly in the northern frontier areas around Cricket Tor and Llandovion, religion is treated in a fluid and easygpong manner typical of the frontier land trope of ‘live and let live’ and being accepting of individual quirks and differences. The main ‘faith’ system of the area, though, is a loose pantheon of deities who more or less represent forces of nature (some of whom have since become deities of various aspects of civilization that can be metaphorically or conceptually linked to their nature in, well, nature ;D ) drawn from the human and possibly halfling cultures prevalent in the area. Other concepts of civilization have evolved their own deities or have deities from the origin cultures that crossed over to the loose pantheon here referreed to. These are the deities one will hear referred to in public and almost always the ones invoked for public ceremonies; but all races have deities of their own also. Even the human cultures from which the loose pantheon was drawn have many other deities of various natures, and it is taken for granted that those from outside the immediate area will have faiths of their own which are considered to be nobody else’s business so long as their adherents extend the same courtesy to others. If they do not, responses will quickly grow frostier and frostier, and the would-be proseltyzer will instead find themselves a pariah and treated as someone who doesn’t know how to conduct themselves as a civilized being … which, coming from what many of these individuals view as back-country hicks and worse, often sends them off into a spluttering frenzy of rage that the city watch of Llandovion sometimes has to cool down overnight in a nice ascetic meditation chamber … AKA cell. They generally choose the one that is otherwise being used as a drunk tank, and then sit all night whooping and jeering at the by now rabidly frothing priests
The two primary deities of the “faith of Llandovion”, as it were, are the seasonal goddesses Gyrk’vasa and Inveralwyn: Gyrk’vasa is the goddess of winter and Inveralwyn of summer. But unlike many faiths where this seasonal distinction is the main thematic split, Inveralwyn is not viewed as necessarily good nor Gyrk’vasa as necessarily evil. A blastingly hot summer that lasts into October and shrivels the apples on the tree can do as much devastation on an agrarian people as a bitterly cold and early winter that nips the storage crops that were supposed to last the cold months before they can finish growing. This characteristic is shared by many if not all of the deities in the pantheon, and unless otherwise mentioned they number good and evil individuals among their worshipers in fairly equal proportions.
Those goddesses in particular, however, as well as several others in the pantheon, dohave a decided bent towards either law or chaos depending on whether the natural force which their first and purest form represents is one of ordering and structure or of multiplication and chaos.
The goddesses of winter and summer each have an avatar who rules, respectively, autumn and spring. These beings are known by separate names ( and ) but are viewed not so much as truly separate goddessess, but daughter goddesses in an endless cycle of rebirth like the phoenix where each daughter is her mother ‘in waiting’, learning to manage the serious business of winter or summer by ruling its gateway season where mortals make preparation for her mother’s full dominion
Gyrk’vasa (LN): Goddess of winter; death; memories (hence also lost lore)
Cymblyyon. *LN(: Goddess of autumn; harvest/pruning;
Inveralwyn (CN): Goddess of summer; travel; lore and knowledge as it pertains to what is now
Jyra’malkr. (CN(: Goddess of spring; sowing/beginnings; birth
Other deities in the pantheon are more or less independent beings, but many are affected by their relationship with the primary goddesses and the seasons they represent. The sun and moon deities, for instance, have both masculine and feminine forms, and they transition between these forms seasonally so that if (for instance; I haven’t yet decided if this is in fact the seasonal breakdown) the male moons courtt the female sun throughout the summer, some cosmological event that takes place when Gyrk’vasa’s autumnal daughter takes rule transforms the moons into women and the sun into a man, in which forms they remain throughout the autumn and winter and from which they are re-transformed on the first day of spring to the genders they had been before. Deities which transition thus in their gender are referred to as ‘G of (sphere)’ below. And all deities who are affected by their relationship to Gyrk’vasa and Inveralwyn, though they may be beings of the same order of power as they in the divine hierarchy, are viewed as being younger and as eventually either giving way to or being defeated and punished by their elders – who also include divine powers like the goddess of the ocean and other primal forces seen as being coeval in the creation with the seasons which in this belief system came before and caused the creation of the celestial bodies which mark them as they light the earth. The moons and sun in particular are seen as doing this for their elders because they fear their power rather than our of willing love and obedience, and the myths of rebellions in heaven often center around these powers and are set in times of eclipse of one or other of these bodies. The ancestor pioneers who came up with this compromise pantheon as one means of ensuring some degree of unity among the competing interests of the various colonizing cultures had observed the skies sufficiently closely to know that the shadow one or more of the moons is involved in a solar eckipse, and so regardless of which bodies were involved in the actual eclipse both deities were seen as involved in the divine plot
. (..): G of the moons;
. (..): G of the sun
Iarícosá, the Pathwearer, goddess of wind, crossroads, and changes in fortune generally ,,, think songs like Dead Can Dance's "Fortune Presents Gifts not According to the Book" -- wheel of fortune always turning idea. A goddess of the spring subpantheon, and thus nominally more affiliated with the Aberstwyth spring goddess Ynveralwyn; but like her randomness/luck affiliated counterpart in the autumn pantheon she is much less particular about those distinctions and more willing to work with deities from the other side of the seasons or even outside the Common pantheon altogether
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"And so, my friends, that's why I'm asking you for your help in achieving my goals", said Princess Ithrilliel.
"Because my ultimate goal is to become an Archfey. Because persuading you diverse folks to follow me shows leadership. And because we will do good in the world. Now, a round of drinks for all!"
Persuasion. 22
She wondered if the round of drinks was a good idea. She was sure it would be alright. Still, she cast Prestidigitation to flavor her water and sat talking and nursing her drink.
Sylvie heard the call for more drinks and headed to the bar the get a filled pitcher of ale and some cups. Walking through the tavern with a loaded tray was old hat by now and she was able to dodge the occasional attempt at a grope. She smiled at a new customer and gave him a friendly nod.
Hopefully her "boyfriend" didn't see that. He was always acting so jealous and he isn't even her real boyfriend!
Tiberious draws a long breath and trudges the final yards to the door in a soggy boots. His mood soggier still.
It had been four days on foot since he had lost his mount to a gopher hole. Such a tragedy. The steed having been a graduation gift from his oldest brother, Demetrious. The note had said, "to speed you home to us." Tiberious was heartbroken. It was a fine charger and will be hard to replace. What will he tell Demetrious?
And then, of course, it rained and he never really dried out. He could smell the wet leather and iron of his chainmail and he imagined it rotting and rusting right off his back. His vanity stabbing at him. A rusty suit of mail is a travesty. Appearances must be upheld lest I become indistinguishable. He would have to tend to his armor this evening. But first a beer by a warm fire and some hot stew for his belly.
Somewhat rejuvenated by the sight of the inn, Tiberious picks up his pace. Boots squish, squishing along. He approaches the inn and he hears the voices within. A warm firelight seeps through the cracks and the seams and the dusty windows. Welcoming him. He draws a breath and pulls open the door, stepping through. An anxiety gnawing somewhere deep down. This is his second time in an Inn. The first time was... let us say, embarrassing. But we'll talk of that no more. He pauses just inside the threshold for a moment. To be noticed. His back straight. His chin high. Just so no one will be confused about his stature. Like what happened last time.
"A rather diverse gathering", he thinks as he scans the room. He spots a open spot next to the fire and his heart leaps. Breathlessly, he begins to rush over. But then he remembers himself. And he slows. And he steadies. And he breathes. And he strolls effortlessly through the room, leading with his jaw, fully expecting the crowd to part before him. Somehow he reaches the fire with only one collision. A rather short fellow, but he is forgiven. Tiberious reaches the fire. He plants his flag. This is his spot now. He raises his hand to signal the barmaid and waits to be attended. He is dismayed at the lack of table or chair in his fireside fiefdom. Perhaps the proprietor is unaware of his lineage. The common people live such sheltered lives.
Tiberious sighs and tries to be grateful for this opportunity to practice the virtue of patience.
Birte threw back her fourth mug of bir and looked around, the hall was larger than where she had worked in Hafhost but the people were similar, if somewhat better dressed in general. She inspected each of her companions for sobriety and demeanour....some were definitely worse off than others.
She sought out Murf to converse, the fellow was built like a newborn fawn but his tongue was agile enough to pass the time pleasantly....perhaps in a number of ways..........she hadn't availed herself of as yet......
She snagged a new mug off the proffered tray, " So! Kompis Murf, ha du hade mer thought on taking lektions on kombat fra mig? Jag ar veldig skilled in Lausatök Glima. I promise inte to hurt du......för myket.....too much."
The rain and wind howling outside surely made the Inn an attractive spot to gather, with its roaring fire, friendly barmaids, and excellent mead. On such a crowded night, it was also a wonderful place to add some atmosphere. Atmosphere, that is, why, some lively music! Few patrons notice the small goblin weaving in and out between table legs, and tall folks' legs, as he has a tendency to scurry hunched over, and his travel-worn, undyed worsted wool tunic, and just as worn and undyed wadmal cloak and hood, not only easily shed the rain but tended to blend into almost any nondescript environment. A rather large nose peeked out from under the hood, and glittering yellow eyes and a mouth full of sharp fanged teeth might be in evidence for any that looked under the hood, but hardly anyone did, on such a vertically challenged personage.
Clether is just straightening up from a winding route between two tables when he is nearly bowled over by a clanking pair of wet boots belonging to a man on an imperious march towards the roaring fire. Without even a glance up at the offender, Clether ducks and rolls, and scurries away again. But he's smarting from being bodily run over, and has lost his taste, for the moment, for slipping around under patrons' feet. He is just about to his destination, anyway. The long bar is not far from the fire, and the goblin finds an empty stool to clamber up on, and from there, to jump onto the bar itself. In one smooth movement of his ascent, he pulls out a set of birdpipes, and with a wink and a jaunty smile at whichever barkeeps and patrons might be tempted to toss him a dirty look, he bows, puts the pipes to his lips, and begins to play a lively and rigourous tune, guaranteed to warm the blood and coddle the spirit.
(Would you be so good as to give me a Performance roll, ConstancePhokas?
Which brings up, for all players: 1) Please let me know if you prefer to be addressed OOC by any other 'handle' than your full username
2) I use both the dice roller in the campaign log and the one here in the forum (the one that looks like '3' on a d6. Either is fine; and if anyone doesn't know how to use either feel free to ask for an explanation to be posted in this thread. I won't reveal who asked unless you choose to. If you use the log to roll though, please do say so in your post. For instance, in the Perception and/or Insight rolls that you might or might not want to also make in response to what Clether is about to notice below.
NOTE THAT THIS IS OFF TO THE RIGHT CENTER, JUST OUT OF THE FRAME OF THE PHOTOGRAPH; AND THEREFORE COULD POTENTIALLY BE NOTICED AS UNUSUAL BY ANYONE WHO'S PICTURED AS LOOKING TO THE RIGHT [FLINT, OWEN, MURPH]. THOSE THREE CHARACTERS CAN THEREFORE ALSO ROLL PERCEPTION OR INSIGHT TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE EVENTS DESCRIBED IN THE SPOILER. HOWEVER, BECAUSE OF THE WAY THE LIGHT AND SHADOW ARE ARRANGED THEY WOULD FIRST HAVE TO MAKE A DC14 Perception ROLL TO NOTICE THAT THERE'S ANYTHING UNUSUAL TO BE CHECKED OUT IN THE FIRST PLACE (i.e. the spoiler read)
=========
Clether:
As Clether regains his feet and prepares to set off towards the bar again, something about a small group of riverkin draws his attention. They are occupying a table by the well not far from the two ale-breathing human males the goblin just finished ducking around. There are five of them, and they are clustered around an indistinct sixth figure who is sitting farthest from the fire and well wrapped in nondescript dull brown robes. The only thing about this individual which startlingly draws the attention is the pendant it wears on a leather thong which goes about its neck and secures its robes at the top. Clether only gets one 'free' quick look at it before the robed one clutches it in their hand and begins to cast their eyes about the room. The pendant is composed of some shiny, opaque reddish stone carved into the likeness of a bearded and crowned human male head with bulging cheeks and eyes. He thinks from the way the robed one's hands are lying that it is clutching the pendant either to its heart or to its diaphragm. Wherever it may be, the figure cradles their pendant against it as their gaze sweeps over the piping goblin with little more reaction than a slightly raised eyebrow and perhaps the faintest beginnings of the crook of a smile. Then its gaze moves on around the well into the shadowier parts of the holl before returning to inspect the fire and the two men doing their devotions to the gods of barley malt.
Clethers performance is indeed excellent, drawing appreciative applause and some whoops from the whole room. Murph manages to get in enough camouflaged signals towards the group he is sitting with in the corner to draw their attention towards a group of riverkin that are sitting off to the back right of the picture; near the two human males in the back right swilling ale. Anyone who makes their Perception roll -- now with advantage thanks to the signals from Murph -- can see everything he sees. Others see only an indistinct number of riverkin seated at a table situated as described. Shortly after the first tune of the goblin's set, one of them leaves and heads up a shadowy set of stairs you've already learned lead to the common and private guest rooms.
As the tune swirls to a high-kicking finale, Cletherand those who made their Perception / Insight rolls notice the following:
The moment the last notes of Clether's tune are out of his pipes, the robed figure that the riverkin had been grouped around unobtrusively rises and says a few words to them, displaying his pendant furtively to each one. Then he takes the quickest route to the guest room stairway, which is to the far right of the entire room near the huge door you all came in.
A few moments later, you notice an irritable tickling buzzing, very faint, just on the edge of hearing ... or perhaps in the back of your mind? You're not quite sure ...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
Murph makes a shambling attempt to get across the room to follow the strange figure, but can't quite focus. The buzzing in his mind has him concerned and he feels a well of emotion rising in him. Stretching his psyche tight as a piano wire and threatening to burst.
Tiberious scans the crowd from his place by the fire. He does love to people watch. This is an interesting crowd too. Very eclectic. And now music. A lively tune. Nothing like the droning chants of the clerics back at the keep. Much better. Believe me... He shudders at the memory.
Tiberious finds himself engrossed by the piper. He is adept at his craft. Tiberious is about to start clapping along before he realizes his toes are tapping and he restrains himself. He adopts a pose of detached amusement as befits his stature. A presence of paternal approval. Yet he vows to buy the artist a drink. A coin for a song. Its a fair arrangement. One must support the arts, after all. He is so intent on the pipes that Tiberious forgets his present predicament. His lost steed. His wet clothes and muddy boots. He forgets his rusty mail and lack of a chair and finds contentment in the moment as the steam rises off his back in the firelight. His prayer for patience granted.
He continues to scan the crowd, mostly hoping to attract the attention of the piper so they may settle accounts.
He watches with one hand half raised, ready to wave.
Murf wandered off before the conversation even got started, and Birte couldn't tell what had distracted him. She took a long draught of her drink.....whoah....was that just ale? She was feeling a little buzzed.....no.....buzzing.....weird.....
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Still alert due to the use of magic to flavor her water, Princess Ithrilliel notices Murph pointing off stage and looks in that direction just in time to see the use of a pendant as they leave. followed by an irritating drone.
Arcana to see if this seems like a spell effect. 13
As Clether finishes his tune, he makes a sweeping bow from atop the bar, flashing a winning smile in turn to every person applauding. This takes him a few moments, since a lot of people were applauding or otherwise appreciative. "Thank you, good folk! What a treat to liven the blood after that rain! Would you like another?" As he goes to put his pipes to his lips again, he sees the group of riverkin slipping furtively upstairs. He flicks one large ear towards them uneasily, but decides it's rather not his business, and lifts his pipes again. Only to pause once more at the odd buzzing... he looks around, blinking, trying to ascertain the source.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Ffewdur Fllam smiles as he takes his mug of dark ale from a maple-haired wood elf waitress whose calm professionalism he has come to appreciate in his time in Reykholt. In fact, in his long sojourn as an Aberstwythan living in the duchy of Ulvsnesshjolm he has cultivated and appreciated the acquaintance of anyone he feels he can rely on. The two duchies were ostensibly in the midst of a long period when their relationship was good; but anyone who had lived in the area longer than a year knew full well that that statement came with at least three asterisks and any number of subclauses by which that situation could change radically and unpredictably in either of at least five directions. And there were plenty in the meadhalls and taverns of both duchies for whom the mere fact that you came from the other was plenty enough excuse to break your head at any time.
But politics aren't particularly on his mind right now, no more than half an hundred other rumours, half-certainties and facts that he is carefully not thinking about. The chaos of the Meadwulf's Valholl generally makes thinking impossible after about nine in the evening anyway; that is why he came here, By keeping aware but deliberately not trying to think, applying seven or twenty rounds of solvent and then sleeping till noon he often found an intutive clarity that turned out to be the best counsel in whatever perplexities might be troubling him.
That doesn't mean he is unaware of his surroundings, though. Something about that group on the far side of the Valholl suddenly draws his attention. The ones occupying the seats cattycorner to him on the other side of the Well of the Worlds... ;) He knew very little about them; bar that a friend had heard the hobgoblin-looking one talking about Iarícosá earlier in the evening, the elf with the brass mummer's crown actually was a Princess who chose to wear that rather ostentatious stage jewelry for some reason he hadn't been able to find out a thing about, and the drow somehow had high elven parentage. In fact, they might as well be practically completely unknown factors! One thing was undeniable though; a sudden strange tension had set in among them where there had been none before; and this was tickling at one of the uncategorized not-thinking-abouts floating around in his already not unlubricated brain. Something ... "Curious ... ," he murmurs as he half-turns for a better view.
=========
(ETA: a few minutes before the pictured apocalypse below. Remember that this is the first point Ffewdur has picked up conflict among you and that therefore up until now you have been behaving at least outwardly amicably towards each other. Your first job, my dear players, is to get us from /\ to \/ )
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
World map and campaign info dump (to be edited in as ready):
Homebrew content so far: (WIP)
Religion so far:
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
"And so, my friends, that's why I'm asking you for your help in achieving my goals", said Princess Ithrilliel.
"Because my ultimate goal is to become an Archfey. Because persuading you diverse folks to follow me shows leadership. And because we will do good in the world. Now, a round of drinks for all!"
Persuasion. 22
She wondered if the round of drinks was a good idea. She was sure it would be alright. Still, she cast Prestidigitation to flavor her water and sat talking and nursing her drink.
Sylvie heard the call for more drinks and headed to the bar the get a filled pitcher of ale and some cups. Walking through the tavern with a loaded tray was old hat by now and she was able to dodge the occasional attempt at a grope. She smiled at a new customer and gave him a friendly nod.
Hopefully her "boyfriend" didn't see that. He was always acting so jealous and he isn't even her real boyfriend!
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
The Inn at last.
Tiberious draws a long breath and trudges the final yards to the door in a soggy boots. His mood soggier still.
It had been four days on foot since he had lost his mount to a gopher hole. Such a tragedy. The steed having been a graduation gift from his oldest brother, Demetrious. The note had said, "to speed you home to us." Tiberious was heartbroken. It was a fine charger and will be hard to replace. What will he tell Demetrious?
And then, of course, it rained and he never really dried out. He could smell the wet leather and iron of his chainmail and he imagined it rotting and rusting right off his back. His vanity stabbing at him. A rusty suit of mail is a travesty. Appearances must be upheld lest I become indistinguishable. He would have to tend to his armor this evening. But first a beer by a warm fire and some hot stew for his belly.
Somewhat rejuvenated by the sight of the inn, Tiberious picks up his pace. Boots squish, squishing along. He approaches the inn and he hears the voices within. A warm firelight seeps through the cracks and the seams and the dusty windows. Welcoming him. He draws a breath and pulls open the door, stepping through. An anxiety gnawing somewhere deep down. This is his second time in an Inn. The first time was... let us say, embarrassing. But we'll talk of that no more. He pauses just inside the threshold for a moment. To be noticed. His back straight. His chin high. Just so no one will be confused about his stature. Like what happened last time.
"A rather diverse gathering", he thinks as he scans the room. He spots a open spot next to the fire and his heart leaps. Breathlessly, he begins to rush over. But then he remembers himself. And he slows. And he steadies. And he breathes. And he strolls effortlessly through the room, leading with his jaw, fully expecting the crowd to part before him. Somehow he reaches the fire with only one collision. A rather short fellow, but he is forgiven. Tiberious reaches the fire. He plants his flag. This is his spot now. He raises his hand to signal the barmaid and waits to be attended. He is dismayed at the lack of table or chair in his fireside fiefdom. Perhaps the proprietor is unaware of his lineage. The common people live such sheltered lives.
Tiberious sighs and tries to be grateful for this opportunity to practice the virtue of patience.
OOC: Sidenote, whoever posts next is my jealous "boyfriend/girlfriend".
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Birte threw back her fourth mug of bir and looked around, the hall was larger than where she had worked in Hafhost but the people were similar, if somewhat better dressed in general. She inspected each of her companions for sobriety and demeanour....some were definitely worse off than others.
She sought out Murf to converse, the fellow was built like a newborn fawn but his tongue was agile enough to pass the time pleasantly....perhaps in a number of ways..........she hadn't availed herself of as yet......
She snagged a new mug off the proffered tray, " So! Kompis Murf, ha du hade mer thought on taking lektions on kombat fra mig? Jag ar veldig skilled in Lausatök Glima. I promise inte to hurt du......för myket.....too much."
The rain and wind howling outside surely made the Inn an attractive spot to gather, with its roaring fire, friendly barmaids, and excellent mead. On such a crowded night, it was also a wonderful place to add some atmosphere. Atmosphere, that is, why, some lively music! Few patrons notice the small goblin weaving in and out between table legs, and tall folks' legs, as he has a tendency to scurry hunched over, and his travel-worn, undyed worsted wool tunic, and just as worn and undyed wadmal cloak and hood, not only easily shed the rain but tended to blend into almost any nondescript environment. A rather large nose peeked out from under the hood, and glittering yellow eyes and a mouth full of sharp fanged teeth might be in evidence for any that looked under the hood, but hardly anyone did, on such a vertically challenged personage.
Clether is just straightening up from a winding route between two tables when he is nearly bowled over by a clanking pair of wet boots belonging to a man on an imperious march towards the roaring fire. Without even a glance up at the offender, Clether ducks and rolls, and scurries away again. But he's smarting from being bodily run over, and has lost his taste, for the moment, for slipping around under patrons' feet. He is just about to his destination, anyway. The long bar is not far from the fire, and the goblin finds an empty stool to clamber up on, and from there, to jump onto the bar itself. In one smooth movement of his ascent, he pulls out a set of birdpipes, and with a wink and a jaunty smile at whichever barkeeps and patrons might be tempted to toss him a dirty look, he bows, puts the pipes to his lips, and begins to play a lively and rigourous tune, guaranteed to warm the blood and coddle the spirit.
(Would you be so good as to give me a Performance roll, ConstancePhokas?
Which brings up, for all players: 1) Please let me know if you prefer to be addressed OOC by any other 'handle' than your full username
2) I use both the dice roller in the campaign log and the one here in the forum (the one that looks like '3' on a d6. Either is fine; and if anyone doesn't know how to use either feel free to ask for an explanation to be posted in this thread. I won't reveal who asked unless you choose to. If you use the log to roll though, please do say so in your post. For instance, in the Perception and/or Insight rolls that you might or might not want to also make in response to what Clether is about to notice below.
NOTE THAT THIS IS OFF TO THE RIGHT CENTER, JUST OUT OF THE FRAME OF THE PHOTOGRAPH; AND THEREFORE COULD POTENTIALLY BE NOTICED AS UNUSUAL BY ANYONE WHO'S PICTURED AS LOOKING TO THE RIGHT [FLINT, OWEN, MURPH]. THOSE THREE CHARACTERS CAN THEREFORE ALSO ROLL PERCEPTION OR INSIGHT TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE EVENTS DESCRIBED IN THE SPOILER. HOWEVER, BECAUSE OF THE WAY THE LIGHT AND SHADOW ARE ARRANGED THEY WOULD FIRST HAVE TO MAKE A DC14 Perception ROLL TO NOTICE THAT THERE'S ANYTHING UNUSUAL TO BE CHECKED OUT IN THE FIRST PLACE (i.e. the spoiler read)
=========
Clether:
As Clether regains his feet and prepares to set off towards the bar again, something about a small group of riverkin draws his attention. They are occupying a table by the well not far from the two ale-breathing human males the goblin just finished ducking around. There are five of them, and they are clustered around an indistinct sixth figure who is sitting farthest from the fire and well wrapped in nondescript dull brown robes. The only thing about this individual which startlingly draws the attention is the pendant it wears on a leather thong which goes about its neck and secures its robes at the top. Clether only gets one 'free' quick look at it before the robed one clutches it in their hand and begins to cast their eyes about the room. The pendant is composed of some shiny, opaque reddish stone carved into the likeness of a bearded and crowned human male head with bulging cheeks and eyes. He thinks from the way the robed one's hands are lying that it is clutching the pendant either to its heart or to its diaphragm. Wherever it may be, the figure cradles their pendant against it as their gaze sweeps over the piping goblin with little more reaction than a slightly raised eyebrow and perhaps the faintest beginnings of the crook of a smile. Then its gaze moves on around the well into the shadowier parts of the holl before returning to inspect the fire and the two men doing their devotions to the gods of barley malt.
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
( Any address is fine with me up to and including ' You! Old Man! and That Bugger with the Ugly Mug. )
Performance Roll: 23 (rolled in the Campaign log)
Murph tries to point out the strange river folk with the pendant (insight 21 rolled in game log)
(OOC: do the rest of us get a perception roll since Murph is trying to point it out? If so, 22
Also, Sylvie, the Princess will be happy to defend your honor regardless of whether you're girlfriends.)
Clethers performance is indeed excellent, drawing appreciative applause and some whoops from the whole room. Murph manages to get in enough camouflaged signals towards the group he is sitting with in the corner to draw their attention towards a group of riverkin that are sitting off to the back right of the picture; near the two human males in the back right swilling ale. Anyone who makes their Perception roll -- now with advantage thanks to the signals from Murph -- can see everything he sees. Others see only an indistinct number of riverkin seated at a table situated as described. Shortly after the first tune of the goblin's set, one of them leaves and heads up a shadowy set of stairs you've already learned lead to the common and private guest rooms.
As the tune swirls to a high-kicking finale, Clether and those who made their Perception / Insight rolls notice the following:
The moment the last notes of Clether's tune are out of his pipes, the robed figure that the riverkin had been grouped around unobtrusively rises and says a few words to them, displaying his pendant furtively to each one. Then he takes the quickest route to the guest room stairway, which is to the far right of the entire room near the huge door you all came in.
A few moments later, you notice an irritable tickling buzzing, very faint, just on the edge of hearing ... or perhaps in the back of your mind? You're not quite sure ...
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
Murph makes a shambling attempt to get across the room to follow the strange figure, but can't quite focus. The buzzing in his mind has him concerned and he feels a well of emotion rising in him. Stretching his psyche tight as a piano wire and threatening to burst.
Tiberious scans the crowd from his place by the fire. He does love to people watch. This is an interesting crowd too. Very eclectic. And now music. A lively tune. Nothing like the droning chants of the clerics back at the keep. Much better. Believe me... He shudders at the memory.
Tiberious finds himself engrossed by the piper. He is adept at his craft. Tiberious is about to start clapping along before he realizes his toes are tapping and he restrains himself. He adopts a pose of detached amusement as befits his stature. A presence of paternal approval. Yet he vows to buy the artist a drink. A coin for a song. Its a fair arrangement. One must support the arts, after all. He is so intent on the pipes that Tiberious forgets his present predicament. His lost steed. His wet clothes and muddy boots. He forgets his rusty mail and lack of a chair and finds contentment in the moment as the steam rises off his back in the firelight. His prayer for patience granted.
He continues to scan the crowd, mostly hoping to attract the attention of the piper so they may settle accounts.
He watches with one hand half raised, ready to wave.
What's that buzzing?
Birte Perception- 7
Murf wandered off before the conversation even got started, and Birte couldn't tell what had distracted him. She took a long draught of her drink.....whoah....was that just ale? She was feeling a little buzzed.....no.....buzzing.....weird.....
Still alert due to the use of magic to flavor her water, Princess Ithrilliel notices Murph pointing off stage and looks in that direction just in time to see the use of a pendant as they leave. followed by an irritating drone.
Arcana to see if this seems like a spell effect. 13
As Clether finishes his tune, he makes a sweeping bow from atop the bar, flashing a winning smile in turn to every person applauding. This takes him a few moments, since a lot of people were applauding or otherwise appreciative. "Thank you, good folk! What a treat to liven the blood after that rain! Would you like another?" As he goes to put his pipes to his lips again, he sees the group of riverkin slipping furtively upstairs. He flicks one large ear towards them uneasily, but decides it's rather not his business, and lifts his pipes again. Only to pause once more at the odd buzzing... he looks around, blinking, trying to ascertain the source.