On the Western shores of Faerûn lies the city of Waterdeep. A place of business for many, opportunity for others, and called home by countless thousands but all know it as the City of Splendor. Its history is old; older than the noble families that rule in the upper wards, older than Baldur's Gate or Icewind Dale, older even than Neverwinter Forest and the great plains that succumbed to the Spell Plague and Calamity; it has persevered. Its history is Contiguous; the city behind its high, white walls has never fallen. This is the hub of many races who make up the spanning castes. This is a city of spectrums; great wealth and oppressive poverty; festivals and fairs and crime and corruption; adventure and intrigue and pampering and imbibing. A dichotomous city. Nobles of the North Ward who parade through the streets and throw elegant balls to flaunt their wealth just beyond the walls that divide them from the Field Ward homes that hold a thousand hungry mouths, some of them old beggars, others children made orphans by a parent's vice or war or both.
Each of its seven wards houses humans, tieflings, dwarves, half-orcs, elves, dragonborn and half another world of creatures. Merchants can be heard calling out the contents of their stalls in the Trades Ward; smells of freshly caught fish, ripe fruits and spices brought in by traders who travel over the Sea of Swords.
The streets of Castle Ward are pristine, patrolled by guards who don colorful and exquisite armor. Statues that act as street signs, pointing towards the courthouse, a local theater, or the king's extravagant castle. Just beyond the crimeless Castle Ward, is the Sea Ward, home of a dozen religions with gaudy temples, some built of stone, others carved straight into massive statues, the size of titans, that loom over the city of Waterdeep. Their features sometimes disappear into the sky, when the clouds hang low or when a fresh morning fog rolls in from the sea. They've been still for so long that houses have begun to appear near, around and on them. At one time, their names were known, and their history, told often. But the city is old, and with time, the people have lost the stories.
In the Dock Ward, amidst the seafoam and the smell of salt water, raucous laughter, or murderous shouting (sometimes it's hard to tell the difference) can be heard from behind brightly lit tavern windows. Saltydogs partake in bouts of violence. For brawls go hand-in-hand with hard liquor, and the liquor flows like water there. The dark alleys that pepper this ward are the hunting grounds for cutthroats; the busy harbor a playing field for a thief with sticky fingers. Nobles avoid this place, as much for the general smell as the inherent danger; like a lamb wandering into a pack of wolves.
The great graveyard, called the City of the Dead, sits in the eastern portion. It houses countless dead, from seven and seven and seven generations past. Walls have been erected around it, guards patrol it, in case any upstart necromancer is looking for flesh for his dark magics. No dead wander about, it is but a large graveyard, but that doesn't stop the children from telling ghost stories, or daring one another to sneak in and stay the night. Childish things, the adults will say. But even a grown man is superstitious enough that he wouldn't partake in any dare of that sort.
And on the southern side of the city, looms Mt. Waterdeep, a natural landmark that sweetens an already beautiful city. Its peak will be white capped come a few more months, but now, in the autumn pre-winter chill, it catches the morning sun first and glows like a beacon. It once housed the original denizens that started the city of Waterdeep, tunnels and mines run through its core, but it's been long since abandoned. Or so the city thought; there's been rumblings in the dark, sounds from the old mines, a patrol disappearing here or there. Some say it's a troll, or perhaps Underdark creatures striking in the night. Others rumored that a mage took residence there. He experimented on things better left untouched. He went mad. Some say, on those cold, still nights, you can hear his laughter echoing off the mountainside.
But that is a story for another time. This story has more humble beginnings. We start our adventure in the warmth of the Yawning Portal Inn. Seven unlikely friends find themselves, as they say, in the right place, at the wrong time.
You sit around a sturdy wooden table, lit by a brightly burning candle and littered with plates of cleared food and half-drained tankards. You look over at the key feature of the tavern, which gives it its name, a raised well-like structure which descends into the unconquerable Undermountain. The sounds of gamblers yelling and drunken adventurers singing bawdy songs nearly drown out the off-key strumming of a young bard three tables over...
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
Gilmour Van Peartson gave the barmaid an appreciative grin as she set the mug of ale on the table in front of him. He stretched a little, puffing his chest out causing the leather to creak just a little. "Thank you lovely!" he complimented her as he slipped a silver piece into her hand, "For you," he added, his hand lingering in hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
She looked at the silver piece then smiled at him for a second before her gaze turned more suspicious, "Hey, aren't you the luteist from last night, the one that," she pulled her hand back and placed it on her hip as she started at him accusingly, "The one that caused all of the ruckus?"
Gil turned a little red but recovered quickly, "Oh, that? That was just a little misunderstanding among friends."
"Mmm hmm" she said unconvinced, "I'll bring you your change, you're gonna need it."
"It's yours,"he told her, "Besides, I have a feeling that my luck is about to change,"
"If only I had a silver piece for every time I heard that line." She added, unconvinced as she wandered off.
"Well you got one for this time at least," he said to no one in particular as he turned his attention to the table, "Hello all, my name is Gilmour Van Peartson, singer, lutest extraordinaire. Call me Gil."
A small hand appears above the table where the rest of the party members sat, scurries over to a plate of chicken and snatches a few pieces. The party watches as this hand then scurries back under the table only for loud chewing of a hungry Goblin to fill their ears. 'Lucky is Eekz! Fresh Chicken and new friends!' The little goblin, bald with bushy black eyebrows, pointed ears with 3 gold rings on his left, 2 on the lower and one ring on the upper twinkle in the light. His borrowed brown and black leathers had seen better days but his two kukri daggers appeared to be well looked after. His patchwork bag, acting as a pillow for the small of his back whilst he sat on the floor, munching away from prying eyes.
His yellow catlike eyes darting around the room looking for small treasures, always hungry for fortune.
"Wotcha Gil. Me name is Eekz and I like workin' wif me hands. Wot abaht you lot? Eekz needs ter know who Eekz is dealin' wif", he asks the table he is sat under. Hand sneaking up again to grab some more delicious chicken.
Dra'vos sits in his blue and white vestments of Bahamut, a blue vail covers the top half of his head concealing the white scales beneath. He watches in annoyance as Gil fails in flirting with the barmaid then his annoyance only grows as he watches the hand of the goblin reaches up from beneath the table.
"Manners," he snarls as he flicks the goblin with his large lizard like tail. He then turns to the man that offered him his place on this job, Dylan, and in draconic failing to hide his ever growing ire says, "Are you sure about those two? How are a failed bard and a filthy goblin supposed to aid us in this endeavor?"
Gil snorts at Dra'vos, "You speak of manners but clearly missed the chapter on polite dinner conversation." Gil prodded referring to Dra'vos switching to Draconic. He turned around to get the barmaid's attention pointing to the chicken then holding a finger up requesting another plate. He then peeked under the table giving Eekz a thumbs up, "More coming Eekz, no one should start a new endeavor hungry."
"Wot is takin' the bleedin' others so long? Too many mince pies in 'ere!" announces Eekz as he emerges from the table and climbs onto the seat next to the Dragonborn. "Pass the ale mate, Eekz is dyin' of thirst 'ere!" as he reaches out for the oversized tankard.
Gaèls violett eyes dart around the table, quickly examining each and everyone seated around it, and for a moment, his face takes on predatory expression. "Interesting lot."Some of the faces seem familiar, the Bard for example appears to be a fixture in Waterdeeps inns, and then there was Dylan of course. But most of them, he'd frankly never seen before. Especially the creature devastating the Yawning Portals chicken stocks caught his eye, a sight he hadn't stumbled upon even in the lower districts. Although, looking at his current wardrobe, who was he to talk? Gaèl was not an unknown face at the Portal himself and had dressed accordingly. Since disguises would not be of any use, he was wearing one of the few fancy things he actually appreciated, a dark grey leather jacket with an extremely unnecessary amount of threads on it, with knots tied in a pattern, a similar pair of pants and some sturdy boots that could easily help put out a forest fire. His short, tousled black hair only halfway managed to hide the pointy tips of his ears, a feature that was underlined by pale skin that made him look rather ethereal even for an elf. The overall impression was gravely contradicted by the way he was now shoveling bloody, almost raw pieces of meat into his mouth, the left hand in his pockets, the right contentiously on a quest to impale new food sources. His right hand showed a little tattoo, little black spots and lines along the nails that looked very much like the dirt one hoarded after an involuntary night in the gutters. He couldn't help but smirk at the little banter now arising at the table, then turning to the dragonborn. "I'm sure each and everyone of us here will have a role to play, buddy, even an ambitioned fanatic like you.", Gaèl replies in Draconic and gives him a wink, then switching to the common tongue. "But i feel like we should continue with the introductions first, before we delve into such generous exchanges of hostilities. My name's Gaèl, and I assure you I'm just as thrilled to learn what this is all about." He indicates a curtsy with a little bow and a beckoning gesture, before he picks up his glass of wine, raises it towards the middle of the table, and takes a gulp.
Ignoring the bard’s retort Dra’vos meets the elf’s glance with his own beneath the veil his yellow eyes focusing on the elf a smile grows on his lips, I like this one. With the back of his large red scaly hand Dra’vos slides the mug of ale to the goblin’s waiting hands causing the violet crystal hanging from his wrist to swing lightly to and fro. He has no taste for spirits or wines so before him sits a simply cup of cold tea that he takes a sip from.
“Very well, I am Dra’vos scholar and acolyte of Bahamut,” he says in common with a low deep voice, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Eekz being ever so grateful gulps down the ale with his feet swinging in the air like an excited child.
"Nah 'ostilities 'ere or Eekz gets ter the bloomin' stabbin'."he pats one of his razor-sharp Kukri scabbards mounted to his chest and gives the biggest toothy fanged smile to the party, yellow teeth and all. 'Eekz has no idea why Eekz came here! No coin! Too many eyes!' he suddenly panics diving back to his ale, using the mug to hide his face.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Whistler - Lost Mines of Phandelver [Lvl 8 Barbarian] | Cinta Yuliani Lestari- My Island Home [Lvl 3 Fighter] | Shalana - Allansia Wildlands [Lvl 4 Monk] | Roger Durant- Storm King's Thunder [Lvl 8 Monster Hunter] |Rotthran - The Waterdeep Heist [Lvl 5 Thief]
Dylan Bladebender sits back in his chair with the air of one at home. He puts his booted feet up on a spare chair, crossing them at the ankles. His slim, athletic arms rise up and clasp each other behind his head. Though seated, it is clear he is quite tall and well built. His long, blond hair is pulled up into a top knot and a welcoming and warm smile fills the table with a relaxed atmosphere. He’s dressed from head to toe in black, apart from the gleaming chain shirt which glistens in the tavern torchlight. At his side is an ornate rapier with a silver basket hilt. Ownership of such a blade marks him either as a noble, a thief, or perhaps, both.
”Great to see everyone here. Some of you I know well,” he nods a sunny greeting to Gael. “Others are new to me. I suppose we’re all here for the same reason.” He drops his feet off the spare chair and onto the floor, leaning quickly into the table and reaching for a large glass of Pembrose Red, one of the premiere wines of the establishment. This he downs in one, smooth quaff. Smiling to all he continues. “My name is Bladebender. Dylan Bladebender. Though I was born and raised here, I’ve been out of the city for a while. Just back yesterday and heard about the request for help, so here I am. Pleased to make, and remake, your acquaintances, all.”
Dylan smiles his open, and generous smile at the passing barmaid, who nods and brings over a bottle of the Pembrose Red. “Leave the bottle, please my dear,” he asks her. Blushing she does as he asks and heads off to her duties. Dylan pours a second glass and looks around him at this motley crew.
Thom sits tall and firm. His face looks as plain as any face you've ever seen. Over his chainmail armor he wears a tabard where a crest once was is now just ripped off, a few pieces remain but nothing that would show any identifying parts. He is slowly poking at his food, not in a childish playing with his food, but more of a slowly eating. If anyone wants to make a perception check of 14, I will PM you with something that you would notice about Thom.
At one end of the table sits an exceptionally slender, athletic-looking Wood Elf, donning a drab, dark green cloak, and a rather sour expression on his face. Curiously, he is occupied with repeatedly pouring all kinds of brews and liquids into a small tankard and hastily gulping down the contents. Strewn around his neck lies a small trinket that stands out as a symbol for Elven monasteries, exemplified by his apparent lack of intricate weaponry or attire. By his side is a large, adorned quarterstaff that he lies heavily on. His copper-tinted hair is cut short and simply and looks like it has gone unwashed for a long duration of time, accentuated by his pallid skin, which could possibly have been a light shade of bronze on a better day. When his sleeves fall while bringing flasks and tankards to his lips to drink you can see his wrists are meticulously wrapped with green and white bandages until the elbow. Despite his calm and careful demeanor, his slender fingers are continuously tapping the wooden table and his neck has an uncanny stiffness to it.
Sylivar raises his tankard high and gulps the liquid within. With a thin-lipped grimace and a slight shake of the head, he slams the tankard down and lets out a long sigh. "I find it ironic that every direction I attempt to change my life leads to another tavern," he quietly mutters to himself in Elvish, and proceeds to gaze at Gilmour. "I've seen you around these parts before. Spend some more time in them and maybe you'll end up like me," he says in Common. Sylivar proceeds to slowly take the dwarven ale he ordered and drink it in several long drafts.
With a faint, sardonic grin, Sylivar waves his tankard vaguely around the table. "The name's Sylivar. Pleasure to meet some of you. I only hoped we could meet somewhere less- Sylivar proceeds to motion generally around the entire tavern -inebriating." He then turns his head in the direction of Dra'vos and his lack of alcoholic beverage. "I used to think hard beverages were to blame for a lack of tasteful mannerisms. Clearly, I have been wrong!" He exclaims with a dry laugh, and proceeds to drain the lasts of his ale in his tankard. Despite the amount of liquor he has consumed, he still appears to be strictly sober. He then calls out to the overworked and flustered waitress that he'd like the strongest-tasting drink they have.
Sylivar turns his attention to Thom. Perception: 13
Gil smiles at Sylivar and raises his mug responding in Elvish,
"Well met! For me, every time I go into a tavern is an attempt to change my life."
Gil nods thoughtfully at Sylivar before dropping back into Common. "Good to see you again Silivar!" he holds the mug of ale up in salute then takes another drought out of it, draining it to the halfway point. He blinks as the Wood Elf downs the drink, "While I do enjoy a good drink, it seems that my vice is of a different sort." His gaze drifts from Silivar to follow one of the barmaids for a moment before turning back towards the table, a wry grin on his face. "Sadly, I fear it can be just as costly."
At this point, the normal din of the Yawning Portal is eclipsed by a shout, "Ya pig! Like killin' me mates, does ya?!" You look over in time to see a seven-foot-tall half-orc get hit by a wild swinging punch from a human male whose shaved head is covered with eye-shaped tattoos. Four other humans stand behind him, ready to jump into the fray. The half-orc cracks her knuckles, gives grin that accentuates her tusks, and roars. The next thing you know, she has leapt onto the tattooed figure. You hear the first of her punches sync up with a grunt from the man, but unfortunately after that, a crowd of spectators crowds around the group, yelling and jeering. The barmaid Gil was watching rolls her eyes and utters a sound of disgust before moving on.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
“What was that you said about polite dinner conversation,” Dra'vos says in Elvish to Gil with a smirk and a sidelong glance.
Before he has a chance to give the silent member of their table more than a passive eye Dra'vos' attention is pulled to the fight that broke out in another part of the tavern. Watching he feels the half-orc could easily take the human one-on-one but even a seasoned fighter would fall if the numbers were too far outside their favor. The thing that most sticks with Dra'vos is the tattoos on the human's bald head he feels like he may have seen them before but has trouble remembering where. As the crowd forms and his vision of the brawl becomes blocked he sips his tea and thinks on it some more.
Gaèl slowly rises from the table, while turning to Dylan with one eyebrow raised. "Just out of curiosity, and although i doubt we'd be getting there with just a measly little tavern brawl but...would anyone of the people present at this table get in trouble in case the city watch comes marching through the door? Or...would we all, depending on what it is that we're getting ourselves into? Scratching the back of his head, Gaèl tries to find a spot closer to the scene to see what is happening, while possibly keeping an eye on the Yawning Portals main entrance.
With a short sigh, Sylivar exclaims: "Taverns never seem to find peace." Sylivar then gives a slight turn to Eekz and and points out: "I do not plan to stick around to see the City Watch in action. But they do place a bounty on any of our heads, I would wager it would be the most raucous of us." Sylivar proceeds to follow Gael to view the ensuing brawl.
On the Western shores of Faerûn lies the city of Waterdeep. A place of business for many, opportunity for others, and called home by countless thousands but all know it as the City of Splendor. Its history is old; older than the noble families that rule in the upper wards, older than Baldur's Gate or Icewind Dale, older even than Neverwinter Forest and the great plains that succumbed to the Spell Plague and Calamity; it has persevered. Its history is Contiguous; the city behind its high, white walls has never fallen. This is the hub of many races who make up the spanning castes. This is a city of spectrums; great wealth and oppressive poverty; festivals and fairs and crime and corruption; adventure and intrigue and pampering and imbibing. A dichotomous city. Nobles of the North Ward who parade through the streets and throw elegant balls to flaunt their wealth just beyond the walls that divide them from the Field Ward homes that hold a thousand hungry mouths, some of them old beggars, others children made orphans by a parent's vice or war or both.
Each of its seven wards houses humans, tieflings, dwarves, half-orcs, elves, dragonborn and half another world of creatures. Merchants can be heard calling out the contents of their stalls in the Trades Ward; smells of freshly caught fish, ripe fruits and spices brought in by traders who travel over the Sea of Swords.
The streets of Castle Ward are pristine, patrolled by guards who don colorful and exquisite armor. Statues that act as street signs, pointing towards the courthouse, a local theater, or the king's extravagant castle. Just beyond the crimeless Castle Ward, is the Sea Ward, home of a dozen religions with gaudy temples, some built of stone, others carved straight into massive statues, the size of titans, that loom over the city of Waterdeep. Their features sometimes disappear into the sky, when the clouds hang low or when a fresh morning fog rolls in from the sea. They've been still for so long that houses have begun to appear near, around and on them. At one time, their names were known, and their history, told often. But the city is old, and with time, the people have lost the stories.
In the Dock Ward, amidst the seafoam and the smell of salt water, raucous laughter, or murderous shouting (sometimes it's hard to tell the difference) can be heard from behind brightly lit tavern windows. Saltydogs partake in bouts of violence. For brawls go hand-in-hand with hard liquor, and the liquor flows like water there. The dark alleys that pepper this ward are the hunting grounds for cutthroats; the busy harbor a playing field for a thief with sticky fingers. Nobles avoid this place, as much for the general smell as the inherent danger; like a lamb wandering into a pack of wolves.
The great graveyard, called the City of the Dead, sits in the eastern portion. It houses countless dead, from seven and seven and seven generations past. Walls have been erected around it, guards patrol it, in case any upstart necromancer is looking for flesh for his dark magics. No dead wander about, it is but a large graveyard, but that doesn't stop the children from telling ghost stories, or daring one another to sneak in and stay the night. Childish things, the adults will say. But even a grown man is superstitious enough that he wouldn't partake in any dare of that sort.
And on the southern side of the city, looms Mt. Waterdeep, a natural landmark that sweetens an already beautiful city. Its peak will be white capped come a few more months, but now, in the autumn pre-winter chill, it catches the morning sun first and glows like a beacon. It once housed the original denizens that started the city of Waterdeep, tunnels and mines run through its core, but it's been long since abandoned. Or so the city thought; there's been rumblings in the dark, sounds from the old mines, a patrol disappearing here or there. Some say it's a troll, or perhaps Underdark creatures striking in the night. Others rumored that a mage took residence there. He experimented on things better left untouched. He went mad. Some say, on those cold, still nights, you can hear his laughter echoing off the mountainside.
But that is a story for another time. This story has more humble beginnings. We start our adventure in the warmth of the Yawning Portal Inn. Seven unlikely friends find themselves, as they say, in the right place, at the wrong time.
You sit around a sturdy wooden table, lit by a brightly burning candle and littered with plates of cleared food and half-drained tankards. You look over at the key feature of the tavern, which gives it its name, a raised well-like structure which descends into the unconquerable Undermountain. The sounds of gamblers yelling and drunken adventurers singing bawdy songs nearly drown out the off-key strumming of a young bard three tables over...
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
Gilmour Van Peartson gave the barmaid an appreciative grin as she set the mug of ale on the table in front of him. He stretched a little, puffing his chest out causing the leather to creak just a little. "Thank you lovely!" he complimented her as he slipped a silver piece into her hand, "For you," he added, his hand lingering in hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
She looked at the silver piece then smiled at him for a second before her gaze turned more suspicious, "Hey, aren't you the luteist from last night, the one that," she pulled her hand back and placed it on her hip as she started at him accusingly, "The one that caused all of the ruckus?"
Gil turned a little red but recovered quickly, "Oh, that? That was just a little misunderstanding among friends."
"Mmm hmm" she said unconvinced, "I'll bring you your change, you're gonna need it."
"It's yours," he told her, "Besides, I have a feeling that my luck is about to change,"
"If only I had a silver piece for every time I heard that line." She added, unconvinced as she wandered off.
"Well you got one for this time at least," he said to no one in particular as he turned his attention to the table, "Hello all, my name is Gilmour Van Peartson, singer, lutest extraordinaire. Call me Gil."
A small hand appears above the table where the rest of the party members sat, scurries over to a plate of chicken and snatches a few pieces. The party watches as this hand then scurries back under the table only for loud chewing of a hungry Goblin to fill their ears. 'Lucky is Eekz! Fresh Chicken and new friends!' The little goblin, bald with bushy black eyebrows, pointed ears with 3 gold rings on his left, 2 on the lower and one ring on the upper twinkle in the light. His borrowed brown and black leathers had seen better days but his two kukri daggers appeared to be well looked after. His patchwork bag, acting as a pillow for the small of his back whilst he sat on the floor, munching away from prying eyes.
His yellow catlike eyes darting around the room looking for small treasures, always hungry for fortune.
"Wotcha Gil. Me name is Eekz and I like workin' wif me hands. Wot abaht you lot? Eekz needs ter know who Eekz is dealin' wif", he asks the table he is sat under. Hand sneaking up again to grab some more delicious chicken.
Whistler - Lost Mines of Phandelver [Lvl 8 Barbarian] | Cinta Yuliani Lestari - My Island Home [Lvl 3 Fighter] | Shalana - Allansia Wildlands [Lvl 4 Monk] | Roger Durant - Storm King's Thunder [Lvl 8 Monster Hunter] | Rotthran - The Waterdeep Heist [Lvl 5 Thief]
Dra'vos sits in his blue and white vestments of Bahamut, a blue vail covers the top half of his head concealing the white scales beneath. He watches in annoyance as Gil fails in flirting with the barmaid then his annoyance only grows as he watches the hand of the goblin reaches up from beneath the table.
"Manners," he snarls as he flicks the goblin with his large lizard like tail. He then turns to the man that offered him his place on this job, Dylan, and in draconic failing to hide his ever growing ire says, "Are you sure about those two? How are a failed bard and a filthy goblin supposed to aid us in this endeavor?"
Gil snorts at Dra'vos, "You speak of manners but clearly missed the chapter on polite dinner conversation." Gil prodded referring to Dra'vos switching to Draconic. He turned around to get the barmaid's attention pointing to the chicken then holding a finger up requesting another plate. He then peeked under the table giving Eekz a thumbs up, "More coming Eekz, no one should start a new endeavor hungry."
"Wot is takin' the bleedin' others so long? Too many mince pies in 'ere!" announces Eekz as he emerges from the table and climbs onto the seat next to the Dragonborn. "Pass the ale mate, Eekz is dyin' of thirst 'ere!" as he reaches out for the oversized tankard.
Whistler - Lost Mines of Phandelver [Lvl 8 Barbarian] | Cinta Yuliani Lestari - My Island Home [Lvl 3 Fighter] | Shalana - Allansia Wildlands [Lvl 4 Monk] | Roger Durant - Storm King's Thunder [Lvl 8 Monster Hunter] | Rotthran - The Waterdeep Heist [Lvl 5 Thief]
Gaèls violett eyes dart around the table, quickly examining each and everyone seated around it, and for a moment, his face takes on predatory expression. "Interesting lot." Some of the faces seem familiar, the Bard for example appears to be a fixture in Waterdeeps inns, and then there was Dylan of course. But most of them, he'd frankly never seen before. Especially the creature devastating the Yawning Portals chicken stocks caught his eye, a sight he hadn't stumbled upon even in the lower districts. Although, looking at his current wardrobe, who was he to talk? Gaèl was not an unknown face at the Portal himself and had dressed accordingly. Since disguises would not be of any use, he was wearing one of the few fancy things he actually appreciated, a dark grey leather jacket with an extremely unnecessary amount of threads on it, with knots tied in a pattern, a similar pair of pants and some sturdy boots that could easily help put out a forest fire. His short, tousled black hair only halfway managed to hide the pointy tips of his ears, a feature that was underlined by pale skin that made him look rather ethereal even for an elf. The overall impression was gravely contradicted by the way he was now shoveling bloody, almost raw pieces of meat into his mouth, the left hand in his pockets, the right contentiously on a quest to impale new food sources. His right hand showed a little tattoo, little black spots and lines along the nails that looked very much like the dirt one hoarded after an involuntary night in the gutters. He couldn't help but smirk at the little banter now arising at the table, then turning to the dragonborn. "I'm sure each and everyone of us here will have a role to play, buddy, even an ambitioned fanatic like you." , Gaèl replies in Draconic and gives him a wink, then switching to the common tongue. "But i feel like we should continue with the introductions first, before we delve into such generous exchanges of hostilities. My name's Gaèl, and I assure you I'm just as thrilled to learn what this is all about." He indicates a curtsy with a little bow and a beckoning gesture, before he picks up his glass of wine, raises it towards the middle of the table, and takes a gulp.
Ignoring the bard’s retort Dra’vos meets the elf’s glance with his own beneath the veil his yellow eyes focusing on the elf a smile grows on his lips, I like this one. With the back of his large red scaly hand Dra’vos slides the mug of ale to the goblin’s waiting hands causing the violet crystal hanging from his wrist to swing lightly to and fro. He has no taste for spirits or wines so before him sits a simply cup of cold tea that he takes a sip from.
“Very well, I am Dra’vos scholar and acolyte of Bahamut,” he says in common with a low deep voice, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Eekz being ever so grateful gulps down the ale with his feet swinging in the air like an excited child.
"Nah 'ostilities 'ere or Eekz gets ter the bloomin' stabbin'." he pats one of his razor-sharp Kukri scabbards mounted to his chest and gives the biggest toothy fanged smile to the party, yellow teeth and all. 'Eekz has no idea why Eekz came here! No coin! Too many eyes!' he suddenly panics diving back to his ale, using the mug to hide his face.
Whistler - Lost Mines of Phandelver [Lvl 8 Barbarian] | Cinta Yuliani Lestari - My Island Home [Lvl 3 Fighter] | Shalana - Allansia Wildlands [Lvl 4 Monk] | Roger Durant - Storm King's Thunder [Lvl 8 Monster Hunter] | Rotthran - The Waterdeep Heist [Lvl 5 Thief]
Dylan Bladebender sits back in his chair with the air of one at home. He puts his booted feet up on a spare chair, crossing them at the ankles. His slim, athletic arms rise up and clasp each other behind his head. Though seated, it is clear he is quite tall and well built. His long, blond hair is pulled up into a top knot and a welcoming and warm smile fills the table with a relaxed atmosphere. He’s dressed from head to toe in black, apart from the gleaming chain shirt which glistens in the tavern torchlight. At his side is an ornate rapier with a silver basket hilt. Ownership of such a blade marks him either as a noble, a thief, or perhaps, both.
”Great to see everyone here. Some of you I know well,” he nods a sunny greeting to Gael. “Others are new to me. I suppose we’re all here for the same reason.” He drops his feet off the spare chair and onto the floor, leaning quickly into the table and reaching for a large glass of Pembrose Red, one of the premiere wines of the establishment. This he downs in one, smooth quaff. Smiling to all he continues. “My name is Bladebender. Dylan Bladebender. Though I was born and raised here, I’ve been out of the city for a while. Just back yesterday and heard about the request for help, so here I am. Pleased to make, and remake, your acquaintances, all.”
Dylan smiles his open, and generous smile at the passing barmaid, who nods and brings over a bottle of the Pembrose Red. “Leave the bottle, please my dear,” he asks her. Blushing she does as he asks and heads off to her duties. Dylan pours a second glass and looks around him at this motley crew.
My Homebrew World: The World of Rodinia
Novels Published: Reynard's Fate, Kita's Honour and Callindrill
Thom sits tall and firm. His face looks as plain as any face you've ever seen. Over his chainmail armor he wears a tabard where a crest once was is now just ripped off, a few pieces remain but nothing that would show any identifying parts. He is slowly poking at his food, not in a childish playing with his food, but more of a slowly eating. If anyone wants to make a perception check of 14, I will PM you with something that you would notice about Thom.
Thom Everyman- Midgard One Shots
DMing- The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Perception: 11
At one end of the table sits an exceptionally slender, athletic-looking Wood Elf, donning a drab, dark green cloak, and a rather sour expression on his face. Curiously, he is occupied with repeatedly pouring all kinds of brews and liquids into a small tankard and hastily gulping down the contents. Strewn around his neck lies a small trinket that stands out as a symbol for Elven monasteries, exemplified by his apparent lack of intricate weaponry or attire. By his side is a large, adorned quarterstaff that he lies heavily on. His copper-tinted hair is cut short and simply and looks like it has gone unwashed for a long duration of time, accentuated by his pallid skin, which could possibly have been a light shade of bronze on a better day. When his sleeves fall while bringing flasks and tankards to his lips to drink you can see his wrists are meticulously wrapped with green and white bandages until the elbow. Despite his calm and careful demeanor, his slender fingers are continuously tapping the wooden table and his neck has an uncanny stiffness to it.
Sylivar raises his tankard high and gulps the liquid within. With a thin-lipped grimace and a slight shake of the head, he slams the tankard down and lets out a long sigh. "I find it ironic that every direction I attempt to change my life leads to another tavern," he quietly mutters to himself in Elvish, and proceeds to gaze at Gilmour. "I've seen you around these parts before. Spend some more time in them and maybe you'll end up like me," he says in Common. Sylivar proceeds to slowly take the dwarven ale he ordered and drink it in several long drafts.
With a faint, sardonic grin, Sylivar waves his tankard vaguely around the table. "The name's Sylivar. Pleasure to meet some of you. I only hoped we could meet somewhere less- Sylivar proceeds to motion generally around the entire tavern -inebriating." He then turns his head in the direction of Dra'vos and his lack of alcoholic beverage. "I used to think hard beverages were to blame for a lack of tasteful mannerisms. Clearly, I have been wrong!" He exclaims with a dry laugh, and proceeds to drain the lasts of his ale in his tankard. Despite the amount of liquor he has consumed, he still appears to be strictly sober. He then calls out to the overworked and flustered waitress that he'd like the strongest-tasting drink they have.
Sylivar turns his attention to Thom. Perception: 13
Gil smiles at Sylivar and raises his mug responding in Elvish,
"Well met! For me, every time I go into a tavern is an attempt to change my life."
Gil nods thoughtfully at Sylivar before dropping back into Common. "Good to see you again Silivar!" he holds the mug of ale up in salute then takes another drought out of it, draining it to the halfway point. He blinks as the Wood Elf downs the drink, "While I do enjoy a good drink, it seems that my vice is of a different sort." His gaze drifts from Silivar to follow one of the barmaids for a moment before turning back towards the table, a wry grin on his face. "Sadly, I fear it can be just as costly."
At this point, the normal din of the Yawning Portal is eclipsed by a shout, "Ya pig! Like killin' me mates, does ya?!" You look over in time to see a seven-foot-tall half-orc get hit by a wild swinging punch from a human male whose shaved head is covered with eye-shaped tattoos. Four other humans stand behind him, ready to jump into the fray. The half-orc cracks her knuckles, gives grin that accentuates her tusks, and roars. The next thing you know, she has leapt onto the tattooed figure. You hear the first of her punches sync up with a grunt from the man, but unfortunately after that, a crowd of spectators crowds around the group, yelling and jeering. The barmaid Gil was watching rolls her eyes and utters a sound of disgust before moving on.
Salazar - Human Warlock of the Fiend (1) - The Lucarcian Incident
Shepherd Torrent Brallern Water Genasi Druid (1) - Ekuepool
Celeste Belle - Air Genasi Mutant Blood Hunter (1) - Old West
DM for A Waterdhavian Heist
“What was that you said about polite dinner conversation,” Dra'vos says in Elvish to Gil with a smirk and a sidelong glance.
Before he has a chance to give the silent member of their table more than a passive eye Dra'vos' attention is pulled to the fight that broke out in another part of the tavern. Watching he feels the half-orc could easily take the human one-on-one but even a seasoned fighter would fall if the numbers were too far outside their favor. The thing that most sticks with Dra'vos is the tattoos on the human's bald head he feels like he may have seen them before but has trouble remembering where. As the crowd forms and his vision of the brawl becomes blocked he sips his tea and thinks on it some more.
History 6
Eekz jumps onto the table and cheers at the ruckus, "KICK 'IS BLOODY ARSE!"
Whistler - Lost Mines of Phandelver [Lvl 8 Barbarian] | Cinta Yuliani Lestari - My Island Home [Lvl 3 Fighter] | Shalana - Allansia Wildlands [Lvl 4 Monk] | Roger Durant - Storm King's Thunder [Lvl 8 Monster Hunter] | Rotthran - The Waterdeep Heist [Lvl 5 Thief]
Gaèl slowly rises from the table, while turning to Dylan with one eyebrow raised. "Just out of curiosity, and although i doubt we'd be getting there with just a measly little tavern brawl but...would anyone of the people present at this table get in trouble in case the city watch comes marching through the door? Or...would we all, depending on what it is that we're getting ourselves into? Scratching the back of his head, Gaèl tries to find a spot closer to the scene to see what is happening, while possibly keeping an eye on the Yawning Portals main entrance.
With a short sigh, Sylivar exclaims: "Taverns never seem to find peace." Sylivar then gives a slight turn to Eekz and and points out: "I do not plan to stick around to see the City Watch in action. But they do place a bounty on any of our heads, I would wager it would be the most raucous of us." Sylivar proceeds to follow Gael to view the ensuing brawl.
"In for a copper," Gil shrugged and grabbed his ale following the group.