After receiving a few accolades, Perry was ready to spend what he had earned to properly prepare for the second gladiatorium. Living a rather, simple life there wasn't much he could imagine needing, but he had the money to spend now.
"Terribly sorry, my aaracrokcra friend, but there are no magic items to be found around these parts. If you are looking for a common shield, The Smithy's the place to go. "
(connection with your eternal war) A special armor has hit the markets, perhaps?
Sounds like there's a mad rush to kill the Hazmaticans. Right?
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This statement is meant to be both provocative and condescending. Look at these pathetic huddled masses in their private and closed games, cringing behind the policy of no homebrews and no custom content. This is an insult and injury even to fire types. HEED THIS! Your better off playing rpgmaker. It's everything this place wants to be when it grows up. Seriously. Otherwise, good luck, they will overdo things. All because of safety and security... kor.
Seeing the others from his temporarily disbanded Blood Sharks, Perry makes his way into the junkyard. "Hello, friends. Spending our well deserved purses? Quite a bit to spend and no clue on what. A challenge going from no home, to too much gold..."
Amidst the jingle of chainmail and the rattle of bone ornaments, Dagon enters the Gladiatorium marketplace and glares around at the throng of people from beneath his heavily shelved brow. The half-orc is still unaccustomed to the bustle of urban environments, even smaller venues such as this. He snarls and bares his tusks at an unfortunate passer-by who happens to glance at the marauder for too long, for apparently any accolades from the masses have not dulled the warrior's edge, but soon Dagon lifts his nose to sniff the air and he turns his head in the direction of the forge.
Upon approaching the dwarf who appears to operate the establishment, Dagon unceremoniously slams his greataxe down on the nearest table. The weapon, as jagged and savage looking as it's owner, still bears the scars from it's encounter with a caustic puddle of sentient ooze. The half-orc points at the damage on the axe's broad blade and rumbles in his gravely voice to the dwarf, "What do you require to repair my axe, tiny smith?"
Dagon grins at the dwarf, yet something about the half-orc's smile seems more menacing than even his most ferocious snarl. It is not a pleasant sight. Dagon follows up this expression with a phrase in his pigeon Giant and Orc tribal language, and though his tone is modulated and even borderline friendly, his words are not the sort to be repeated in polite company. Never the less, the marauder reaches down to his belt and unties the small buckskin pouch that hangs there. The jingle of coin within is sadly lack luster, but should the dwarf choose to count the contents, he would find exactly ten gold pieces.
"Here is the gold. I expect I will be happy with the results." As if his manners weren't bad enough, the marauder stands at the stall and crosses his arms, staring unblinkingly at the dwarf. It appears he intends to remain there until his axe is safely back in his hand and repaired to his standards.
The Market is where you can spend all of your hard-earned loot from Gladiatorium, as well as trade magical items with fellow players.
The Smithy: Run by a dwarf named Ore.
The Inn: Run by a man named Charles.
The Junkyard: Run by a gnome named Nails. One man's trash is another man's treasure!
The Bookstore: Run by a halfling named Shakespeare.
The Hub: The trading center for gladiators with nothing to lose and everything to gain.
The Equipment Shop: Run by an elf named Lily.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
"Are there any magical staves or shields available and if so at what cost?" Kic asks the smithy.
Humphry makes a bee line for the junkyard as soon as he is able, and starts browsing the merchandise.
"Welcome, friend!" Nails greets his fellow gnome. " What are you interested in purchasing? "
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
There are no magical items for sale, except for those traded in The Hub.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
"O-o-ohhh, I don't know... I've n-n-n-n-never had this much money. Wh-what's there to buy?"
"Do you have a shield that provides a bit more protection?" Kic responds (+1 shield)
After receiving a few accolades, Perry was ready to spend what he had earned to properly prepare for the second gladiatorium. Living a rather, simple life there wasn't much he could imagine needing, but he had the money to spend now.
"Hmmm... let's see here." Says the gnome, digging in a scrap heap. He emerges with a very odd-looking contraption.
Grappling Gun:
Range: 30/60 feet. Attack bonus: Dexterity modifier. Damage: 1d6 + Dexterity modifier piercing damage
On a successful hit the target is Grappled.
"Twenty gold pieces." The gnome says.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
"Terribly sorry, my aaracrokcra friend, but there are no magic items to be found around these parts. If you are looking for a common shield, The Smithy's the place to go. "
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
(connection with your eternal war)
A special armor has hit the markets, perhaps?
Sounds like there's a mad rush to kill the Hazmaticans. Right?
This statement is meant to be both provocative and condescending. Look at these pathetic huddled masses in their private and closed games, cringing behind the policy of no homebrews and no custom content. This is an insult and injury even to fire types. HEED THIS! Your better off playing rpgmaker. It's everything this place wants to be when it grows up. Seriously. Otherwise, good luck, they will overdo things. All because of safety and security... kor.
(That's an awesome item!)
Seeing the others from his temporarily disbanded Blood Sharks, Perry makes his way into the junkyard. "Hello, friends. Spending our well deserved purses? Quite a bit to spend and no clue on what. A challenge going from no home, to too much gold..."
Amidst the jingle of chainmail and the rattle of bone ornaments, Dagon enters the Gladiatorium marketplace and glares around at the throng of people from beneath his heavily shelved brow. The half-orc is still unaccustomed to the bustle of urban environments, even smaller venues such as this. He snarls and bares his tusks at an unfortunate passer-by who happens to glance at the marauder for too long, for apparently any accolades from the masses have not dulled the warrior's edge, but soon Dagon lifts his nose to sniff the air and he turns his head in the direction of the forge.
Upon approaching the dwarf who appears to operate the establishment, Dagon unceremoniously slams his greataxe down on the nearest table. The weapon, as jagged and savage looking as it's owner, still bears the scars from it's encounter with a caustic puddle of sentient ooze. The half-orc points at the damage on the axe's broad blade and rumbles in his gravely voice to the dwarf, "What do you require to repair my axe, tiny smith?"
"Mmmm next..."
The dwarf peers at the weapon, examining it closely.
"This requires magical mending. No less than ten gold pieces."
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Zenni wanders around the hub, looking for any strange or odd items and trinkets.
Nails drags out a rusted iron frying pan. "This?"
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Zenni wanders into the Equipment Shop. This store is filled with almost every item in the PHB, which sell at identical prices.
"Anything I can help you with, dear?" Lily inquires.
Flayr Flameseeker | Genasi/Fire | Wizard/School of Evocation | Level 2 | Custom Campaign: Cold Cash
Dagon grins at the dwarf, yet something about the half-orc's smile seems more menacing than even his most ferocious snarl. It is not a pleasant sight. Dagon follows up this expression with a phrase in his pigeon Giant and Orc tribal language, and though his tone is modulated and even borderline friendly, his words are not the sort to be repeated in polite company. Never the less, the marauder reaches down to his belt and unties the small buckskin pouch that hangs there. The jingle of coin within is sadly lack luster, but should the dwarf choose to count the contents, he would find exactly ten gold pieces.
"Here is the gold. I expect I will be happy with the results." As if his manners weren't bad enough, the marauder stands at the stall and crosses his arms, staring unblinkingly at the dwarf. It appears he intends to remain there until his axe is safely back in his hand and repaired to his standards.
There's a sudden twinkle in Humphry's eye, "Eight copper!"