What about splitting the difference on Dragon Scale and making only the shirt? As "Scale Mail" is defined as shirt and pants, while Chain has both shirt and mail (shirt and pants). Maybe make it a medium armor of AC 12+1+DEX(2), the damage resistance (or at least advantage) and the detection out to 15 miles?
OOC: Bit confused now! The dragon scale shirt by itself would really only give you the same properties as a full suit of regular scale mail if you just made the shirt. Full suit would give you an additional 1 AC.
Detection and resistance would push the armour up to Legendary status which would increase the price and build time quite a lot.
There’s more of a push in 5e to make magical items harder to craft. Poison resistance and a decent AC is the best you’ll get from a young green dragon I’m afraid.
Caught off guard by the interruption, the dwarf crosses his arms, rocking backwards slightly onto his heels. “My my my.... well we don’t get much dragon scale here anymore. Much less of that going around than there used to be....” Unfolding his arms he runs a finger along the surface of one of the emerald scales, scraping his nail along it to test its legitimacy. “Impressive. It would be an honour to craft with such an exquisite material. Though.... you mentioned Gundren. Good lad he is, his brothers too. I hope it’s not too serious?”
OCC: Guess I am confused, too. On how the dragon's scales would be used in another armor besides Dragon Scale. Maybe, I'm just overthinking it.
Syna
"Yes, we knew him briefly, he engaged some of us to take escort a cart of goods to Phalandrin while he and his partner went on ahead. Since then trouble has dogged our steps," Syna begins. Briefly he relates some of the troubles, leaving out the empty map case. "And, now, as soon as we are done here, we are back on his trail. That he was captured and taken away, gives hope he has something they want and may still be alive. Dwarves have memories as long as stone, and certainly a name like Cragmar would be unique enough to remember, even if the place was not. Or maybe you might know something more of Gundren's past that would give clue to the aim of his dwarfnappers."
OCC: 9 months, I hope I am remembering this right.
Clearly shocked, Rurik takes a seat beside the roaring forge. He takes a dirty blackened cloth from his back pocket and carefully wipes his brow. “Well now.... that is troubling news indeed. I had supplied Gundren with his supplies before he left for Phandalin. Though I thought he had a Lords Alliance man with him? Surely he would have been able to hold off some bloody Cragmaw goblins?”
The dwarf pokes at the fire staring off into the distance, “Cragmaws often torment travellers travelling the high road and the Triboar Trail. I’m sure they will have taken him there if that’s what has happened. Goblins are creatures of habit. They’ll likely be holed up in a cave or abandoned building of some sort....”
He pauses slightly, “A good lad he is. A proud family the Rockseekers are too. Terrible shame. I doubt goblins have any real vendetta against him though.... they aren’t renowned for being very bright.”
OOC: I think we’re probably better keeping your armour simple. The more magical effects you add the rarer and harder to craft it’ll become. Dragon Scale Armour and Poison resistance armour gain their properties from the dragon itself, I don’t think you can really add anymore to it without other rare ingredients.
Serak: Encouraged to have finally found someone trustworthy to speak to concerning their mission, Serak says quietly, "I must ask that you discuss this with no one, for I fear dark forces are working against us, even now. Might you know where we can find an old Wood Elf named Aramil?"
OOC: I was working under the assumption that only Scale Mail could be made from the scales. If you can make anything, I'd suggest a simple Breast Plate. Same AC as Scale Mail, no Stealth Penalty and it would take less Scales. It costs 500 gold though, so we'd have to come back for it. Scale Mail could be done tonight.
Druids can only wear Medium Armor, so the best you could do would be Half-Plate(15AC + 2Dex) for 750 gold. The Dragon Scale and Armor of Poison Resistance BB listed were Heavy Armor. Since we're supplying the Scales, it reduces the cost a lot, but still very expensive. I'd go with either Scale, Breast, or Half-Plate and get it enchanted later.
OOC: I’d had in mind that all three options were medium armour (essentially three variations on scale mail). Half plate will still have stealth D.Adv.
For breastplate, you won’t get any benefit from the dragon scales (other than it won’t be made of metal). 14AC + Dex (max +2) and no stealth D.Adv. 8 weeks build time (2 1/2 weeks full time.) if you’re selling the extra scales the breastplate will only cost another 200gp
“You wouldn’t mean... Aramil Aloro?” Confused, Rurik looks back up from the fire. A slight smile grows across his face before realising the bard is deadly serious. He coughs gently to subdue his laughter, “.... he’s usually over in the fallen tower, east of the city. Though I’m not sure what use he’ll be to you....”
Serak: Having obtained the information he needed, Serak quickly changes the subject, "Thank you, sir. I'm sure you're most capable of assisting with my friend Syna's request. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to make a few purchases as well..."
The bard wanders about as he surveys the Smith's wares, inspecting each piece in turn. Serak quickly accumulates an armful of various items as Syna finishes his negotiation. Dropping the equipment onto the counter in a heap, the bard flashes a wry smile and asks, "How much for the lot, my good dwarf?"
Anything he doesn't have, Serak would ask where he might find it, or ask him to make it.
Rurik carefully counts through the items that Serak has placed before him. He grumbles slightly as he totals up, his ginger whiskers twitching around his mouth, "17 gold... 4 silver, Sir. Strongest stuff in all of Neverwinter that is, you'll do well to find any better."
Serak: Carefully counting out the coins one-by-one, Serak pays the Smith and shakes his hand, saying, "Thank you, Rurik. You have been most helpful. Good day to you." Collecting his goods, the bard stuffs them into his pack haphazardly, causing no small amount of noise, as he ponders where to head next.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Once outside the shop Beetle praises Serak for a job well done...."Remind me to never bargin with you my friend, excellent work getting the best prices." Beetle turns to the companions that are there and asks, "What else do we have to do while in the city? Where to next."
Serak: Eager to be on their way and back on the road, Serak says, "Let us seek out this Aramil and see what he knows." Hoisting his new purchases over his shoulder, the bard makes his way with the other toward The Fallen Tower.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Syna, unable to decide, nods. "We shall return, good dwarf. My mind spins with the possibilities and I must think a bit on it." To Serek, he motions him to lead on.
“Good luck gents! Your gold is always welcome here.” Rurik waves them off before returning to his forge, still chuckling quietly to himself. Serak takes the lead, crossing the nearby bridge into the Blacklake District.
Immediately, the deprivation in the northern half of the city is obvious. The colourfully lit streets of the Protectors Enclave quickly darken and crumble beneath the parties feet. A grey cloaked figure shuffles past across the street, his beady eyes meeting Seraks before disappearing into a lopsided two storey building. Otherwise the streets are largely quiet for this time of the morning.
To the east, a tall clock tower dominates the skyline, acting as a beacon for the bard as he takes point through the winding, ruined streets. Many of the buildings lie empty, mere shells, charred and blackened. The few people that the party do encounter are gaunt, dressed in rags, with barely more gold than teeth. Elves, dwarves and humans - poverty clearly does not discriminate.
Street by street, the destitution of the city grows, before the buildings subtly begin to reach skywards. In a matter of corners, the party are devoured by the Tower District. A single straight road, flanked by tall stone towers leads east.
Despite its apparent grandeur, the tower district has suffered the same fate as its neighbour. Poverty and deprivation is rife here. Many of the towers lie empty, many more have crumbled to nothing. At one time, not too long ago, this area would have been an impressive sight.
Somewhere to their left, a lone fiddler plays. His jaunty tune grows louder, gradually drowning out the ticking clock which until now had guided their pace. Serak instinctively follows, rounding a corner and following the road someways north. The song is familiar, but garbled enough to be indistinguishable. Either a poor player or one who clearly never studied the art. Nevertheless, it serves its purpose, guiding them all to the Fallen Tower Inn.
The inn lives up to its name. A long crumbled, circular tower now barely three or four storeys tall. Along the far side, a strangely angled extension appears to have been built from the fallen upper floor masonry - Poorly by the looks. Empty tables lie scattered across the towers courtyard, one of which is taken by a single bedraggled halfling mulling over a large tankard of ale. Otherwise the outside of the establishment is quiet. An old wooden door buckles heavily on its rusted hinges as the party make their way inside.
To call the inn a filthy hole would be a compliment. The main bar area is dimly lit, covered in grime and cobwebs. It’s low beamed ceiling forces them to stoop slightly as they navigate through the maze of mismatched furniture. A wide circular pit, fenced off with long iron poles stretching from floor to ceiling, is clearly intended to be the centrepiece to the room.
The fiddler screeches to a loud, painful halt as the party steps inside, doubling the inns occupancy. Slumped at one end of the bar, a hooded figure snores loudly over an overturned tankard. At the other, a one eared orc spits into a glass before scrubbing at it with its waistcoat.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Serak: Surveying the patrons of the Inn one at a time, Serak does not like what he sees. He approaches the orc barkeeper and says, "Good day, sir. Fear not, we seek simply information, not trouble." The bard laughs as he flips a gold piece across his knuckles and asks, "Might you know where we can find a wood elf by the name Aramil? We can make worth your time..."
The orc growls, scrubbing hard at a yellow smear, spreading it around the inside of the glass. With a loud crack from his neck, he nods his head at the unconscious man along the bar, “Hmmm.... Armil there. You wait, he wakey soon. Want drink? Vagdru make best orc mead in all of Neverwinter!” Without waiting for a response, Vagdru fills the dirty glass with a frothing, murky, brown liquid and slams it down before the bard, sloshing its contents across the rotten wood of the bar. He beams proudly as the liquid settles, thrusting a thick finger into Seraks chest, “You like this... Many Arrows favourite!”
Carefully Syna edges forwards along the bar. Soft, sticky wood creaks and splinters despite his lightly placed feet. The hooded finger remains still and undisturbed. A slight splutter mid-snore sends a trickle of ale over the edge of the bar, pooling on the floorboards before slowly seeping through and disappearing. As the figure repositions slightly, Syna catches a brief glimpse of his face - an old male elf, face evenly divided by a long white scar running from temple to chin. Long frayed grey hair droops over his face, soaked in ale, and covers a long empty eye socket. With a smack of his lips, the grizzled old elf rolls over, gently blowing bubbles against the counter top.
Syna leans down over the elf. "Your a disgrace," he informs him in a harsh, loud voice right in the Elf's ear, with uncharacteristic virulence. Not wishing to touch the elf, and ready for a quick reaction, he uses his staff to knock the feet out from under Armil.
What about splitting the difference on Dragon Scale and making only the shirt? As "Scale Mail" is defined as shirt and pants, while Chain has both shirt and mail (shirt and pants). Maybe make it a medium armor of AC 12+1+DEX(2), the damage resistance (or at least advantage) and the detection out to 15 miles?
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
OOC: Bit confused now! The dragon scale shirt by itself would really only give you the same properties as a full suit of regular scale mail if you just made the shirt. Full suit would give you an additional 1 AC.
Detection and resistance would push the armour up to Legendary status which would increase the price and build time quite a lot.
There’s more of a push in 5e to make magical items harder to craft. Poison resistance and a decent AC is the best you’ll get from a young green dragon I’m afraid.
Caught off guard by the interruption, the dwarf crosses his arms, rocking backwards slightly onto his heels. “My my my.... well we don’t get much dragon scale here anymore. Much less of that going around than there used to be....” Unfolding his arms he runs a finger along the surface of one of the emerald scales, scraping his nail along it to test its legitimacy. “Impressive. It would be an honour to craft with such an exquisite material. Though.... you mentioned Gundren. Good lad he is, his brothers too. I hope it’s not too serious?”
OCC: Guess I am confused, too. On how the dragon's scales would be used in another armor besides Dragon Scale. Maybe, I'm just overthinking it.
Syna
"Yes, we knew him briefly, he engaged some of us to take escort a cart of goods to Phalandrin while he and his partner went on ahead. Since then trouble has dogged our steps," Syna begins. Briefly he relates some of the troubles, leaving out the empty map case. "And, now, as soon as we are done here, we are back on his trail. That he was captured and taken away, gives hope he has something they want and may still be alive. Dwarves have memories as long as stone, and certainly a name like Cragmar would be unique enough to remember, even if the place was not. Or maybe you might know something more of Gundren's past that would give clue to the aim of his dwarfnappers."
OCC: 9 months, I hope I am remembering this right.
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
Clearly shocked, Rurik takes a seat beside the roaring forge. He takes a dirty blackened cloth from his back pocket and carefully wipes his brow. “Well now.... that is troubling news indeed. I had supplied Gundren with his supplies before he left for Phandalin. Though I thought he had a Lords Alliance man with him? Surely he would have been able to hold off some bloody Cragmaw goblins?”
The dwarf pokes at the fire staring off into the distance, “Cragmaws often torment travellers travelling the high road and the Triboar Trail. I’m sure they will have taken him there if that’s what has happened. Goblins are creatures of habit. They’ll likely be holed up in a cave or abandoned building of some sort....”
He pauses slightly, “A good lad he is. A proud family the Rockseekers are too. Terrible shame. I doubt goblins have any real vendetta against him though.... they aren’t renowned for being very bright.”
OOC: I think we’re probably better keeping your armour simple. The more magical effects you add the rarer and harder to craft it’ll become. Dragon Scale Armour and Poison resistance armour gain their properties from the dragon itself, I don’t think you can really add anymore to it without other rare ingredients.
Serak: Encouraged to have finally found someone trustworthy to speak to concerning their mission, Serak says quietly, "I must ask that you discuss this with no one, for I fear dark forces are working against us, even now. Might you know where we can find an old Wood Elf named Aramil?"
OOC: I was working under the assumption that only Scale Mail could be made from the scales. If you can make anything, I'd suggest a simple Breast Plate. Same AC as Scale Mail, no Stealth Penalty and it would take less Scales. It costs 500 gold though, so we'd have to come back for it. Scale Mail could be done tonight.
Druids can only wear Medium Armor, so the best you could do would be Half-Plate(15AC + 2Dex) for 750 gold. The Dragon Scale and Armor of Poison Resistance BB listed were Heavy Armor. Since we're supplying the Scales, it reduces the cost a lot, but still very expensive. I'd go with either Scale, Breast, or Half-Plate and get it enchanted later.
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
OOC: I’d had in mind that all three options were medium armour (essentially three variations on scale mail). Half plate will still have stealth D.Adv.
For breastplate, you won’t get any benefit from the dragon scales (other than it won’t be made of metal). 14AC + Dex (max +2) and no stealth D.Adv. 8 weeks build time (2 1/2 weeks full time.) if you’re selling the extra scales the breastplate will only cost another 200gp
“You wouldn’t mean... Aramil Aloro?” Confused, Rurik looks back up from the fire. A slight smile grows across his face before realising the bard is deadly serious. He coughs gently to subdue his laughter, “.... he’s usually over in the fallen tower, east of the city. Though I’m not sure what use he’ll be to you....”
Serak: Having obtained the information he needed, Serak quickly changes the subject, "Thank you, sir. I'm sure you're most capable of assisting with my friend Syna's request. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to make a few purchases as well..."
The bard wanders about as he surveys the Smith's wares, inspecting each piece in turn. Serak quickly accumulates an armful of various items as Syna finishes his negotiation. Dropping the equipment onto the counter in a heap, the bard flashes a wry smile and asks, "How much for the lot, my good dwarf?"
Anything he doesn't have, Serak would ask where he might find it, or ask him to make it.
2x Arrows
2x Bolts
3x Daggers
1x Ball Bearings
2x Caltrops
1x Chain 10'
1x Manacles
1x Spikes, Iron(10)
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Rurik carefully counts through the items that Serak has placed before him. He grumbles slightly as he totals up, his ginger whiskers twitching around his mouth, "17 gold... 4 silver, Sir. Strongest stuff in all of Neverwinter that is, you'll do well to find any better."
Serak: Carefully counting out the coins one-by-one, Serak pays the Smith and shakes his hand, saying, "Thank you, Rurik. You have been most helpful. Good day to you." Collecting his goods, the bard stuffs them into his pack haphazardly, causing no small amount of noise, as he ponders where to head next.
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Once outside the shop Beetle praises Serak for a job well done...."Remind me to never bargin with you my friend, excellent work getting the best prices." Beetle turns to the companions that are there and asks, "What else do we have to do while in the city? Where to next."
OOC: Assuming Synas gear has been ordered you guys have three choices left.
Serak: Eager to be on their way and back on the road, Serak says, "Let us seek out this Aramil and see what he knows." Hoisting his new purchases over his shoulder, the bard makes his way with the other toward The Fallen Tower.
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Syna, unable to decide, nods. "We shall return, good dwarf. My mind spins with the possibilities and I must think a bit on it." To Serek, he motions him to lead on.
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
“Good luck gents! Your gold is always welcome here.” Rurik waves them off before returning to his forge, still chuckling quietly to himself. Serak takes the lead, crossing the nearby bridge into the Blacklake District.
Immediately, the deprivation in the northern half of the city is obvious. The colourfully lit streets of the Protectors Enclave quickly darken and crumble beneath the parties feet. A grey cloaked figure shuffles past across the street, his beady eyes meeting Seraks before disappearing into a lopsided two storey building. Otherwise the streets are largely quiet for this time of the morning.
To the east, a tall clock tower dominates the skyline, acting as a beacon for the bard as he takes point through the winding, ruined streets. Many of the buildings lie empty, mere shells, charred and blackened. The few people that the party do encounter are gaunt, dressed in rags, with barely more gold than teeth. Elves, dwarves and humans - poverty clearly does not discriminate.
Street by street, the destitution of the city grows, before the buildings subtly begin to reach skywards. In a matter of corners, the party are devoured by the Tower District. A single straight road, flanked by tall stone towers leads east.
Despite its apparent grandeur, the tower district has suffered the same fate as its neighbour. Poverty and deprivation is rife here. Many of the towers lie empty, many more have crumbled to nothing. At one time, not too long ago, this area would have been an impressive sight.
Somewhere to their left, a lone fiddler plays. His jaunty tune grows louder, gradually drowning out the ticking clock which until now had guided their pace. Serak instinctively follows, rounding a corner and following the road someways north. The song is familiar, but garbled enough to be indistinguishable. Either a poor player or one who clearly never studied the art. Nevertheless, it serves its purpose, guiding them all to the Fallen Tower Inn.
The inn lives up to its name. A long crumbled, circular tower now barely three or four storeys tall. Along the far side, a strangely angled extension appears to have been built from the fallen upper floor masonry - Poorly by the looks. Empty tables lie scattered across the towers courtyard, one of which is taken by a single bedraggled halfling mulling over a large tankard of ale. Otherwise the outside of the establishment is quiet. An old wooden door buckles heavily on its rusted hinges as the party make their way inside.
To call the inn a filthy hole would be a compliment. The main bar area is dimly lit, covered in grime and cobwebs. It’s low beamed ceiling forces them to stoop slightly as they navigate through the maze of mismatched furniture. A wide circular pit, fenced off with long iron poles stretching from floor to ceiling, is clearly intended to be the centrepiece to the room.
The fiddler screeches to a loud, painful halt as the party steps inside, doubling the inns occupancy. Slumped at one end of the bar, a hooded figure snores loudly over an overturned tankard. At the other, a one eared orc spits into a glass before scrubbing at it with its waistcoat.
Serak: Surveying the patrons of the Inn one at a time, Serak does not like what he sees. He approaches the orc barkeeper and says, "Good day, sir. Fear not, we seek simply information, not trouble." The bard laughs as he flips a gold piece across his knuckles and asks, "Might you know where we can find a wood elf by the name Aramil? We can make worth your time..."
Persuasion: 5
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
The orc growls, scrubbing hard at a yellow smear, spreading it around the inside of the glass. With a loud crack from his neck, he nods his head at the unconscious man along the bar, “Hmmm.... Armil there. You wait, he wakey soon. Want drink? Vagdru make best orc mead in all of Neverwinter!” Without waiting for a response, Vagdru fills the dirty glass with a frothing, murky, brown liquid and slams it down before the bard, sloshing its contents across the rotten wood of the bar. He beams proudly as the liquid settles, thrusting a thick finger into Seraks chest, “You like this... Many Arrows favourite!”
With a look of disgust at the "drink" and another for "this" Armil, he moves to the end of the bar to get a good look at him.
Perception: 13
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
Carefully Syna edges forwards along the bar. Soft, sticky wood creaks and splinters despite his lightly placed feet. The hooded finger remains still and undisturbed. A slight splutter mid-snore sends a trickle of ale over the edge of the bar, pooling on the floorboards before slowly seeping through and disappearing. As the figure repositions slightly, Syna catches a brief glimpse of his face - an old male elf, face evenly divided by a long white scar running from temple to chin. Long frayed grey hair droops over his face, soaked in ale, and covers a long empty eye socket. With a smack of his lips, the grizzled old elf rolls over, gently blowing bubbles against the counter top.
Syna leans down over the elf. "Your a disgrace," he informs him in a harsh, loud voice right in the Elf's ear, with uncharacteristic virulence. Not wishing to touch the elf, and ready for a quick reaction, he uses his staff to knock the feet out from under Armil.
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
Arkhan follows his party to the counter. "Yeah, I'll have one. How much?" he pulls his hood down off his head.
(if he recognizes me and tries to give me stuff for free I'm going to insist on paying this time. I don't want to piss off halforcs)
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen