This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Pouring a second glass for Arkhan as the Dragonborn removes his hood the orc makes an impressed grumble, “Boat man eh? Seen you come in. Here.... three brownies.” The orc holds up three thick fingers before extending his palm expectantly. As the froth settles in the glass, Arkhan takes it in hand. Icy cold in his hand, the liquid gives off a strangely thick, musky odour.
Arkhan: (Provided you drink it)
The Dragonborn carefully places the glass to his lips, allowing the freezing liquid to slop inside. The ale is unlike anything he has ever tasted.
Arkhan Constitution Check: 18 (Advantage because you’re a pirate!)
Arkhan’s lips tighten into his mouth, his eyes watering slightly. A strange taste fills his palate - rotting meat, oats, some sort of a spirit.... maybe even paint and the undisputable metallic taste of blood. Not exactly great, but ale is ale. In a moment the glass is empty.
Arkhans face screws slightly as he gently places his glass back down, empty, a single golden eye watering. Proudly, Vagdru begins wiping the glass, smiling to himself with tusky teeth.
Meanwhile across the bar, the old elf falls to the floor with a pathetic wheeze. “HEY! HEY! STOP THIS!” Vagdru’s voice booms as the elf helplessly picks himself up off the floor wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wurp.... Hurpdo you?” Bleary eyed the elf staggers against the bar, squinting his only good eye at his attacker, “Beatr-HIC?!” Barely able to stand, he violently shakes his head, searching desperately for something on the counter top. Mumbling quietly to himself he looks inside the empty tankard, pouring the last remaining drops onto the floor, “Vagu? Whatsisface?”
Waving nonchalantly at the party the elf slides back towards the bar. Vagdru pours another glass, sliding it casually down towards the drunk. “Well... he up now. These sailor boys for you Armil.” Confused, Aramil retakes his seat, mumbled to himself. He rubs his shoulder gently, having injured it in the fall.
OOC: A healers kit only has splints, bandages and salves so it’s more for physical injuries. You do have a herbalism kit which will let you make potions.
There are also a few potions that you have in the hoard that might be useful?
OCC: Letting my 1e/Middle Earth show through... you know, when Elves were above such behavior. I imagine a cure wounds or potion of healing might heal his inebriation and put him through rapid detox... for his own good :)
Serak: The bard nods as he flips a gold coin toward the Orc barkeeper, saying, "Thank you, my good Orc, but no drink for me..." He wonders to himself how Arkan is still standing as he approaches the scene unfolding down the bar.
Approving of Syna's approach, Serak watches with amusement as the Wood Elf regains his feet. Feeling a twinge of pity for the old man and hoping to get on his good side, the bard places a hand on the drunk's injured shoulder and says, "Vitala!"
Bowing slightly, Serak smiles warmly and says, "Greetings, Aramil. Serak The Skald, at your service! These are Arkhan, Sir Beetlejuice and Syna. We are friends of Dayereth and Jelenneth."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Aramils face scrunches and reddens as he squints towards the approaching bard. “YE WARGH?” The newly filled tankard in his hand overflows, brown liquid wetting his cloak, “Whutsissayrer sayn vagu.... DeeritunJellynet?.... HAHA...... EY! WETZAWETFER?!” He grabs at the stain on his cloak, downing his fresh tankard in a series of loud gulps.
Seraks words go unanswered. Though now, with his troubling shoulder healed, the old elf can now drink unrestricted. Aramil hiccups loudly, muffled into the tankard. His free hand waving furiously down the bar for Vagdru to provide more...
Serak: Slapping the tankard out of the Wood Elf's hand, Serak grabs the old man by the collar and says, "You've had enough of that!"
Deciding the tough-love approach and a bit a lying are in order, the bard looks into the drunk's eyes and says, "You need to sober up, old man! You may think yourself worthless, but there are those in this world that still need you! You remember your friends, Dayereth and Jelenneth? They are alone, fending for themselves in the wilds, while you sit here with the knowledge they need, drinking yourself to death! Now put down the drink and come with us!"
Deception: 6
Intimidation: 20
Turning back to his allies, Serak says quietly, "I fear we are not the only ones looking for our Dwarven Employer. This man knows where the Castle is, which makes him very valuable. We should bring him with us and deliver him to Jelenneth, so he doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Perhaps she can help him recover from his... unfortunate condition, as well."
Vagdru and the fiddler watch on, silent as stone as their drunken companion is frog-marched towards the main entrance. Off balance and disorientated, Aramils face is full of confusion and despair, his beloved tankard now spinning playfully at his feet - Murky nectar seeping into the floorboards.
Seraks words again fall on deaf ears. Fuzzy and disorientated, the drunken elf’s mind struggles to keep his body upright, strongly guided by the bards steady hand. “VAGU! VAG...hic..... HARLP!”
Frozen, the orc barkeep reaches for something behind the bar before thinking better of it. “Uhhh.... BYE ARMIL!.... PLAY NICE!” He watches as the party make to leave, sharing a shrug with the similarly bewildered musician.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Serak: Waving back to the Barkeeper, the bard smiles and says, "No need to worry, my fine Orc. Aramil is in the hands of friends, I assure you. If anyone comes asking about us and you value your friend's life, I suggest you tell as little as possible. Also, I'll pay you double whatever they offer you for the information. Good day, gentlemen."
Persuasion: 20
Leading the bewildered old drunk out to the street, Serak says, "Let's keep him in sight until he sobers up. Shall we attempt to find some depraved soul willing to pay top dollar for Dragon innards?"
OCC: Sorry, work and life had me tied up yesterday.
Wouldn't a magic user or arcane shop have some use for the innards and possibly better prices?
Syna will grab the drunken Elf by one arm to help propel him along. "Food, water and sleep, I fear are the only things we can possibly do for him as healing did nothing for his condition and a spell of restoration is not in my skills. Dayereth always said strong drink was a poison not only to the body, but to the spirit also."
The empty streets of the Blacklake District echo with slurred song as Aramil leads the meandering way westwards, his words mumbled and poorly tuned, “LOORrRrAAALoOOoO.... SHIZARRCAMM.... hic.... FRRRRROooOooOO.....” Guided gently and at a safe distance by Serak and the others, the old elf staggers on, finally crossing the Winged Wyvern to the busier south side of the river.
Here, the market has finally sprung back into life - thick crowds crammed into the tightly twisted streets of the Protectors Enclave. For a brief moment, Aramil disappears, swallowed up by the sheer mass of buyers and sellers. In a moment of near panic, Synas heart sinks, before the drunk bursts out the far side, a bottle of green liquid in his hand, chased by an aggravated halfling. “OI! GIVE THAT BACK!”
Following a short distance behind, the companions finally catch up to the chase, in an alleyway along the river. The halfling emerges, dusting himself off, bottle now empty. He spits on the floor as he passes by, angrily mumbling to himself.
Aramil struggles to his feet a short distance away, green liquid trickling from his broad grin. As he inhales sharply, his singing is cut short by Serak grabbing him by the neck, thrusting him down the street. A short walk down the river, Astaros Arcana comes into view.
The quiet shop is still as empty as it had been when they had last visited. Inside, it’s proprietor, a deep crimson tiefling, stacks a shelf of newly pressed spellbooks on the right hand walll, humming softly to herself. Today, she wears a thin black silk cloak, hooded to cover her horns and small black wings. Between her feet, her long thin tail flicks playfully in time to the tune. With her back to the party, she does not notice as they step inside.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Serak: The bard enters the shop with a flourish and a smile, bowing low as he says, "Greetings, my Lady Astaro! Serak The Skald is once again, at your service! I do hope you've enjoyed the perfume, m'lady." He winks at the tiefling playfully as he reveals what remains of the party's loot stash. He asks, "Might you be interested in purchasing some fine uhh... souvenirs we recently acquired from a Green Dragon? Harvested not two days past and of the highest quality, I assure you! Surely they could be used in all manner of spells, conjuring and enchantments, yes?"
Beetle watches from the doorway as the bard once again goes into action working his magic on the shopkeeper.
OOC: sorry guys for my lack of posts lately, school started again an my summer break ended so I have been pretty busy with getting back into the work mode again and teaching my new classes for this year. Another week or so things should settle down and I should be back on schedule
Jumping at Seraks sudden entrance, Astaro yelps, sending a stack of books scattering over the floor, “OH!” She spins around, tail now tightly wrapped around her ankle. Seeing her for the first time, Arkhan is strangely caltivated by the tieflings appearance. Long black hair frames her young face, atop which sit a crown-like set of curled black horns. Bright yellow cat like eyes, briefly full of rage at the mess, scan the room for the intruders. As she spots the companions, particularly Serak, her skin flushes a deeper shade of crimson. “.... why Mr Serak.... it’s uh.... it’s great to see you... again.... here.... in my shop.”
A quick flutter of her black wings blows a roll of parchment off the shelves to join the heap on the floor. Clearing her throat and trying to act casual, Astaro takes up her familiar position behind the counter, floral perfume following her as she crosses the room, “So what have you got? These souvenirs I mean... um... may I see them?” The tiefling grabs a small set of scales from beneath the counter as well as a strange scalpel-like implement. As Serak empties the collection of innards and bone, she struggles to hide her disgust.
“Oh... well I.... uhh.... didn’t expect... ooooo what..... are these?” Astaro ruffles her nose as the pungent odour of slightly rotted dragon eyes spreads through the air.
Serak: Doing his best to remain optimistic, the bard replies, "Perhaps a butcher would be interested in the tongue...? Anything you'd find useful, my dear? Or perhaps you could point us in the direction of someone more interested in our... unique wares?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
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Pouring a second glass for Arkhan as the Dragonborn removes his hood the orc makes an impressed grumble, “Boat man eh? Seen you come in. Here.... three brownies.” The orc holds up three thick fingers before extending his palm expectantly. As the froth settles in the glass, Arkhan takes it in hand. Icy cold in his hand, the liquid gives off a strangely thick, musky odour.
Arkhan: (Provided you drink it)
The Dragonborn carefully places the glass to his lips, allowing the freezing liquid to slop inside. The ale is unlike anything he has ever tasted.
Arkhan Constitution Check: 18 (Advantage because you’re a pirate!)
Arkhan’s lips tighten into his mouth, his eyes watering slightly. A strange taste fills his palate - rotting meat, oats, some sort of a spirit.... maybe even paint and the undisputable metallic taste of blood. Not exactly great, but ale is ale. In a moment the glass is empty.
Arkhans face screws slightly as he gently places his glass back down, empty, a single golden eye watering. Proudly, Vagdru begins wiping the glass, smiling to himself with tusky teeth.
Meanwhile across the bar, the old elf falls to the floor with a pathetic wheeze. “HEY! HEY! STOP THIS!” Vagdru’s voice booms as the elf helplessly picks himself up off the floor wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wurp.... Hurpdo you?” Bleary eyed the elf staggers against the bar, squinting his only good eye at his attacker, “Beatr-HIC?!” Barely able to stand, he violently shakes his head, searching desperately for something on the counter top. Mumbling quietly to himself he looks inside the empty tankard, pouring the last remaining drops onto the floor, “Vagu? Whatsisface?”
Waving nonchalantly at the party the elf slides back towards the bar. Vagdru pours another glass, sliding it casually down towards the drunk. “Well... he up now. These sailor boys for you Armil.” Confused, Aramil retakes his seat, mumbled to himself. He rubs his shoulder gently, having injured it in the fall.
“Yeah you could say that.” Arkhan pays, looks at the drink and quickly consumes it.
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
OCC: Is there anything in a medicine kit that would sober Armil up? Maybe an additive to his drink so he never wants this swill again?
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
OOC: A healers kit only has splints, bandages and salves so it’s more for physical injuries. You do have a herbalism kit which will let you make potions.
There are also a few potions that you have in the hoard that might be useful?
OCC: Letting my 1e/Middle Earth show through... you know, when Elves were above such behavior. I imagine a cure wounds or potion of healing might heal his inebriation and put him through rapid detox... for his own good :)
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
OOC: You’re very welcome to try :)
Serak: The bard nods as he flips a gold coin toward the Orc barkeeper, saying, "Thank you, my good Orc, but no drink for me..." He wonders to himself how Arkan is still standing as he approaches the scene unfolding down the bar.
Approving of Syna's approach, Serak watches with amusement as the Wood Elf regains his feet. Feeling a twinge of pity for the old man and hoping to get on his good side, the bard places a hand on the drunk's injured shoulder and says, "Vitala!"
Healing Word HP Healed: 7
Bowing slightly, Serak smiles warmly and says, "Greetings, Aramil. Serak The Skald, at your service! These are Arkhan, Sir Beetlejuice and Syna. We are friends of Dayereth and Jelenneth."
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Aramils face scrunches and reddens as he squints towards the approaching bard. “YE WARGH?” The newly filled tankard in his hand overflows, brown liquid wetting his cloak, “Whutsissayrer sayn vagu.... DeeritunJellynet?.... HAHA...... EY! WETZAWETFER?!” He grabs at the stain on his cloak, downing his fresh tankard in a series of loud gulps.
Seraks words go unanswered. Though now, with his troubling shoulder healed, the old elf can now drink unrestricted. Aramil hiccups loudly, muffled into the tankard. His free hand waving furiously down the bar for Vagdru to provide more...
Serak: Slapping the tankard out of the Wood Elf's hand, Serak grabs the old man by the collar and says, "You've had enough of that!"
Deciding the tough-love approach and a bit a lying are in order, the bard looks into the drunk's eyes and says, "You need to sober up, old man! You may think yourself worthless, but there are those in this world that still need you! You remember your friends, Dayereth and Jelenneth? They are alone, fending for themselves in the wilds, while you sit here with the knowledge they need, drinking yourself to death! Now put down the drink and come with us!"
Deception: 6
Intimidation: 20
Turning back to his allies, Serak says quietly, "I fear we are not the only ones looking for our Dwarven Employer. This man knows where the Castle is, which makes him very valuable. We should bring him with us and deliver him to Jelenneth, so he doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Perhaps she can help him recover from his... unfortunate condition, as well."
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Vagdru and the fiddler watch on, silent as stone as their drunken companion is frog-marched towards the main entrance. Off balance and disorientated, Aramils face is full of confusion and despair, his beloved tankard now spinning playfully at his feet - Murky nectar seeping into the floorboards.
Seraks words again fall on deaf ears. Fuzzy and disorientated, the drunken elf’s mind struggles to keep his body upright, strongly guided by the bards steady hand. “VAGU! VAG...hic..... HARLP!”
Frozen, the orc barkeep reaches for something behind the bar before thinking better of it. “Uhhh.... BYE ARMIL!.... PLAY NICE!” He watches as the party make to leave, sharing a shrug with the similarly bewildered musician.
Serak: Waving back to the Barkeeper, the bard smiles and says, "No need to worry, my fine Orc. Aramil is in the hands of friends, I assure you. If anyone comes asking about us and you value your friend's life, I suggest you tell as little as possible. Also, I'll pay you double whatever they offer you for the information. Good day, gentlemen."
Persuasion: 20
Leading the bewildered old drunk out to the street, Serak says, "Let's keep him in sight until he sobers up. Shall we attempt to find some depraved soul willing to pay top dollar for Dragon innards?"
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
OOC: Your best bet for that is either:
Or
OCC: Sorry, work and life had me tied up yesterday.
Wouldn't a magic user or arcane shop have some use for the innards and possibly better prices?
Syna will grab the drunken Elf by one arm to help propel him along. "Food, water and sleep, I fear are the only things we can possibly do for him as healing did nothing for his condition and a spell of restoration is not in my skills. Dayereth always said strong drink was a poison not only to the body, but to the spirit also."
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
OOC: Of course! Sorry forgot about Astaros Arcana as well. The tiefling you guys have visited before.
Let's go there :)
"ALWAYS GIVE A MONSTER AN EVEN BREAK!"
1st Edition DMG
The empty streets of the Blacklake District echo with slurred song as Aramil leads the meandering way westwards, his words mumbled and poorly tuned, “LOORrRrAAALoOOoO.... SHIZARRCAMM.... hic.... FRRRRROooOooOO.....” Guided gently and at a safe distance by Serak and the others, the old elf staggers on, finally crossing the Winged Wyvern to the busier south side of the river.
Here, the market has finally sprung back into life - thick crowds crammed into the tightly twisted streets of the Protectors Enclave. For a brief moment, Aramil disappears, swallowed up by the sheer mass of buyers and sellers. In a moment of near panic, Synas heart sinks, before the drunk bursts out the far side, a bottle of green liquid in his hand, chased by an aggravated halfling. “OI! GIVE THAT BACK!”
Following a short distance behind, the companions finally catch up to the chase, in an alleyway along the river. The halfling emerges, dusting himself off, bottle now empty. He spits on the floor as he passes by, angrily mumbling to himself.
Aramil struggles to his feet a short distance away, green liquid trickling from his broad grin. As he inhales sharply, his singing is cut short by Serak grabbing him by the neck, thrusting him down the street. A short walk down the river, Astaros Arcana comes into view.
The quiet shop is still as empty as it had been when they had last visited. Inside, it’s proprietor, a deep crimson tiefling, stacks a shelf of newly pressed spellbooks on the right hand walll, humming softly to herself. Today, she wears a thin black silk cloak, hooded to cover her horns and small black wings. Between her feet, her long thin tail flicks playfully in time to the tune. With her back to the party, she does not notice as they step inside.
Serak: The bard enters the shop with a flourish and a smile, bowing low as he says, "Greetings, my Lady Astaro! Serak The Skald is once again, at your service! I do hope you've enjoyed the perfume, m'lady." He winks at the tiefling playfully as he reveals what remains of the party's loot stash. He asks, "Might you be interested in purchasing some fine uhh... souvenirs we recently acquired from a Green Dragon? Harvested not two days past and of the highest quality, I assure you! Surely they could be used in all manner of spells, conjuring and enchantments, yes?"
Persuasion: 14
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Beetle watches from the doorway as the bard once again goes into action working his magic on the shopkeeper.
OOC: sorry guys for my lack of posts lately, school started again an my summer break ended so I have been pretty busy with getting back into the work mode again and teaching my new classes for this year. Another week or so things should settle down and I should be back on schedule
Jumping at Seraks sudden entrance, Astaro yelps, sending a stack of books scattering over the floor, “OH!” She spins around, tail now tightly wrapped around her ankle. Seeing her for the first time, Arkhan is strangely caltivated by the tieflings appearance. Long black hair frames her young face, atop which sit a crown-like set of curled black horns. Bright yellow cat like eyes, briefly full of rage at the mess, scan the room for the intruders. As she spots the companions, particularly Serak, her skin flushes a deeper shade of crimson. “.... why Mr Serak.... it’s uh.... it’s great to see you... again.... here.... in my shop.”
A quick flutter of her black wings blows a roll of parchment off the shelves to join the heap on the floor. Clearing her throat and trying to act casual, Astaro takes up her familiar position behind the counter, floral perfume following her as she crosses the room, “So what have you got? These souvenirs I mean... um... may I see them?” The tiefling grabs a small set of scales from beneath the counter as well as a strange scalpel-like implement. As Serak empties the collection of innards and bone, she struggles to hide her disgust.
“Oh... well I.... uhh.... didn’t expect... ooooo what..... are these?” Astaro ruffles her nose as the pungent odour of slightly rotted dragon eyes spreads through the air.
Serak: Doing his best to remain optimistic, the bard replies, "Perhaps a butcher would be interested in the tongue...? Anything you'd find useful, my dear? Or perhaps you could point us in the direction of someone more interested in our... unique wares?"
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien