Seeing Nine's actions, Morgan leaves the mending be for now and returns to her pack, retrieving an inkwell, quill, and spare roll of parchment. She immediately brings them to Nine.
Hearing the little michtim speak, Archibald Thwipp turns around. He has the face of a man in his late thirties, but his body is emaciated and covered in scars. His left eye twitches intermittently, and his lips seem permanently curled in a weird half-smile. He approaches the michtim cautiously taking measured steps and lowering his head and exposing his hands to show he is no threat.
The sudden explosion coming from within the tavern reveals a wiry speed in the man as he springs away from the sound toward the relative safety of the foliage.
After things calm down within the tavern, an observant eye could see bony fingers wrap around the threshold of the rear entryway and a wild filthy strawlike outcropping of salt-and-pepper colored hair emerge from the side of the entrance. A sunburnt and creased brow follows, then two patchy burnt looking eyebrows followed by a matching pair of wide and curious eyes.
"Mustn't play with fire... *mutter, mutter*" The inquisitive eyes change to frustration and indignation. "Now don't give me that. You had no idea that- Oh now you're being impertinent. Well I was going to, but then, well you know. Ok, ok. Don't push me!"
Straightening himself up to his unimpressive 5'6 stature, he cautiously walks up to the group who appear to be in some distress while dusting himself off.
"I CAN HELP!" He shouts awkwardly at the gathering. "Heeehehrng! Hrng!" It wasn't quite the impression he was hoping to make, but moments of clarity were rare, and the sentences were best kept straight and to the point.
He looks to the michtim and issues a weird forced smile and an expression that is both vacant and intense. The smile looks like a pulling back of the lips to expose teeth and gum... as if he'd never learned how to smile. "I GAVE YOU MY BEST ROCK!" he shouts at the michtim, then wrinkles his brow and rolls his eyes down without blinking as if ashamed of his actions, but unable to control them. "Good food, good service. Mustn't play with fire though. Fire burns," he mutters faintly.
After Yerandell passes by, whispering, Hob looks after him. "Fosco?" The mage hand evaporates and the halfling's chair drops to the floor with a loud bang. Luckily, it does not spill its contents onto the floor. Hob looks around in confusion.
“I’m sorry to involve all of you in this. I thought he was dead. He is Nim, one of three siblings I knew long ago. His brother was my greatest friend, before he fled to the Shadowfell. I came to the Feywild to escape Nim. I never thought he would find me.”
He writes swiftly, with clear but unpracticed hand, folding the note and passing it to Morgan
After reading the message, Morgan nods grimly. Then she waves her hand and mutters a quiet arcane phrase, using Prestidigitation to light the corner of the paper on fire as she would a candle. She then sets the smoldering note on an empty plate on the table, watching it continue to burn.
Nine sighs. He slowly lifts his bow, and unstrungs it with care. He looks at Morgan and shakes his head, searing himself slowly. He will stay, though he worries for these good folk
Content that Nine isn't going to immediately start walking out the door she resumes her work with Mending, although she continues to glance in Nine's direction, worried about him.
*How bad is this guy, really, if you're this worried about him?*
The dwarf can see the look of worry from nines as he comes back with the ale and cake. "Don't have to worry about us. I think we can handle that piece of trash. And if not, the bards can always play horrible tunes till It dies from bleeding out of his ears." He says this with a mischievous smile from all the ways they could torture That thing when he returns.
Archibald stands there quietly for a moment or two, then in twitchy movements, begins to take in the serene surroundings of the tavern. The last 16 years of his life has been spent largely in the wilds, though he had never stumbled upon a place like this before. And all this was so new, yet somehow familiar.
Strange things never really bothered him anymore. The things he'd seen made him used to strange. What really intrigued him was how familiar this all felt.
His eyes never really blink, though sometimes he will squinch his face and shake his head vigorously as if he'd bitten into a lemon, as he gets more confident that he will not be attacked in these surroundings and starts to explore. His movements are slow and deliberate as he approaches a table that had recently been occupied by guests of the inn and was still covered with used bowls and utensils. He grabs a bowl and sniffs it. "ohhh" he sighs, intrigued. He sees a spoon and wipes it off on his filthy clothes then sets it into the bowl.
His awkward smile is genuine as he lurks about the room, appreciating things like empty mugs, scraps of paper, broken and discarded trinkets, and other such debris one sometimes finds in a busy restaurant with the same level of fascination one might have gazing upon artifacts in a museum.
Hob catches sight of Archibald and begins waving an arm at him. "Fosco! Fosco! Get over here, you ornery piece of ... ! Fosco!" He picks up one of his canes and waves it above his head vigorously.
Dusk bolts for the back door soon after the raccoon person vanished. He owed it to Thekla to make sure no one was hurt. When he entered the Tavern through the hind exit, he saw the destruction and people being very worried about the Kenku. Dusk rushed over to them, since he overheard someone call for Thekla’s nephew Adalwulf, who was a capable healer, but not close by.
Being a proficient healer himself, he assessed the health of those hurt. Especially taking an interest in the fox kit.
(ooc: the Tavern is strongly enchanted, to give visitors Advantage on death saving throws, among other things)
He immediately puts his paws over the small being, as glowing patterns lighten up his otherwise black fur. His Chakra of Life starts to become visible, as he channels his Ki into the dying creature. (He casts spare the dying, and then starts to look for vital signs, to see if he can proceed to heal the creature).
"Who did this? Are they still around?"Dusk shouts with anger.
"This shouldn't have happened. I thought this was impossible. His honorable master Cornelius Funkenflug von Abendrot himself enchanted this place, I was certain that his magic would prevail." Dusk is still fiddling with the fox kit, although he realizes that the damage might be too severe. "Could the attacker escape? The Feindbann spell should have made that sort of thing impossible. It protects the innocent, and visits harsh retribution on attackers. That's why we don't have heavy security in here."
Feindbann Enchantment
Whenever a creature deals damage to someone within the zone, the spell triggers and instantly deals radiant damage equal to the amount inflicted to the attacker. They are knocked prone, are restrained by chains of pure light and are incapacitated, unless they make a DC 20 Wisdom saving throw, which reduces the damage in half and inflicts no conditions on the attacker. The target is now marked forever onward, and will be barred from entering the zone again, unless invited by a Michtim.
He combined his attack with some sort of teleporting spell, so he was outside of the tavern by the time the damage was dealt. Then he went through a Planar Gate of some sort. It smelled like brimstone and dragonfire.
"I see, that's how he circumvented the spell. I wonder how he could know about that, or if it was a coincidence. At least he won't get back in here, unless one of us forgives him and invites him back. Which obviously is not ever going to happen."
Morgan, finally finished with her mending work, is angered once again on hearing how Nim was able to waltz right in and hurt her new friend. But the description of the Tavern's mystical defenses causes her to pause, looking in Nine's direction.
*Nine, do you hear all of that?* She has a concerned yet hopeful expression on her face. *If what Dusk says is true, then this might be the safest place for you for a while...*
"You know, he might still send in goons. It's not totally safe, I'm sorry. But at least this place doesn't forget when someone shows their true colors."
(ooc: didn't realize it was mental, sorry. redacted)
"You know, he might still send in goons. It's not totally safe, I'm sorry. But at least this place doesn't forget when someone shows their true colors."
Eisen, do recall that when I use *'s instead of quotation marks it means Morgan is using Telepathy to speak to someone. Dusk would not have heard Morgan's comment about the Tavern's safety, for example, since he wasn't the target for her telepathy at this point.
Hob catches sight of Archibald and begins waving an arm at him. "Fosco! Fosco! Get over here, you ornery piece of ... ! Fosco!" He picks up one of his canes and waves it above his head vigorously.
Archibald turns to look at the individual waving an arm at him, and his left eye twitches involuntarily again. "Hrng rng." he grunts, trying to understand why Hob is calling him "Fosco". Is that... is that my name? He thinks to himself in the rare patch of inner quiet when he can actually formulate his own thoughts.
He may not understand the context of Hob's dialog, but he understands what it means when a cane is being waved. Squeaking like a wounded rat, Archibald leaps over a table, accidentally kicking it across the room then skitters to a dark corner under the stairs. His dark tan and filth stained clothes blend in nicely in the shadows and he's surprisingly hard to see in there, if it weren't for the bright white sclera of his eyes which were stretched wide open in panic. "Mustn't strike. Can't stop hurting you. Mustn't strike. We are all from the same mind. The same head. Same brain. Or is it the nose? If it's the woods it's the hair. If it's the mountain it's the nose. The ears are the desert. The ears are dirty. Don't go to the desert. There's a hole there. A nasty dirty sinkhole. Too many monsters. Too many dark things. Terrible things."
Seeing Nine's actions, Morgan leaves the mending be for now and returns to her pack, retrieving an inkwell, quill, and spare roll of parchment. She immediately brings them to Nine.
Hearing the little michtim speak, Archibald Thwipp turns around. He has the face of a man in his late thirties, but his body is emaciated and covered in scars. His left eye twitches intermittently, and his lips seem permanently curled in a weird half-smile. He approaches the michtim cautiously taking measured steps and lowering his head and exposing his hands to show he is no threat.
The sudden explosion coming from within the tavern reveals a wiry speed in the man as he springs away from the sound toward the relative safety of the foliage.
After things calm down within the tavern, an observant eye could see bony fingers wrap around the threshold of the rear entryway and a wild filthy strawlike outcropping of salt-and-pepper colored hair emerge from the side of the entrance. A sunburnt and creased brow follows, then two patchy burnt looking eyebrows followed by a matching pair of wide and curious eyes.
"Mustn't play with fire... *mutter, mutter*" The inquisitive eyes change to frustration and indignation. "Now don't give me that. You had no idea that- Oh now you're being impertinent. Well I was going to, but then, well you know. Ok, ok. Don't push me!"
Straightening himself up to his unimpressive 5'6 stature, he cautiously walks up to the group who appear to be in some distress while dusting himself off.
"I CAN HELP!" He shouts awkwardly at the gathering. "Heeehehrng! Hrng!" It wasn't quite the impression he was hoping to make, but moments of clarity were rare, and the sentences were best kept straight and to the point.
He looks to the michtim and issues a weird forced smile and an expression that is both vacant and intense. The smile looks like a pulling back of the lips to expose teeth and gum... as if he'd never learned how to smile. "I GAVE YOU MY BEST ROCK!" he shouts at the michtim, then wrinkles his brow and rolls his eyes down without blinking as if ashamed of his actions, but unable to control them. "Good food, good service. Mustn't play with fire though. Fire burns," he mutters faintly.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
After Yerandell passes by, whispering, Hob looks after him. "Fosco?" The mage hand evaporates and the halfling's chair drops to the floor with a loud bang. Luckily, it does not spill its contents onto the floor. Hob looks around in confusion.
“I’m sorry to involve all of you in this. I thought he was dead. He is Nim, one of three siblings I knew long ago. His brother was my greatest friend, before he fled to the Shadowfell. I came to the Feywild to escape Nim. I never thought he would find me.”
He writes swiftly, with clear but unpracticed hand, folding the note and passing it to Morgan
After reading the message, Morgan nods grimly. Then she waves her hand and mutters a quiet arcane phrase, using Prestidigitation to light the corner of the paper on fire as she would a candle. She then sets the smoldering note on an empty plate on the table, watching it continue to burn.
After a long, quiet moment...
*Is there anything I can do to help?*
a shake of the head, but he holds out a hand and the appreciation is clear in his eyes.
Morgan doesn't reach for his hand.
*You're leaving?*
Her eyes reveal an expression of hurt.
Nine sighs. He slowly lifts his bow, and unstrungs it with care. He looks at Morgan and shakes his head, searing himself slowly. He will stay, though he worries for these good folk
Content that Nine isn't going to immediately start walking out the door she resumes her work with Mending, although she continues to glance in Nine's direction, worried about him.
*How bad is this guy, really, if you're this worried about him?*
The dwarf can see the look of worry from nines as he comes back with the ale and cake. "Don't have to worry about us. I think we can handle that piece of trash. And if not, the bards can always play horrible tunes till It dies from bleeding out of his ears." He says this with a mischievous smile from all the ways they could torture That thing when he returns.
Archibald stands there quietly for a moment or two, then in twitchy movements, begins to take in the serene surroundings of the tavern. The last 16 years of his life has been spent largely in the wilds, though he had never stumbled upon a place like this before. And all this was so new, yet somehow familiar.
Strange things never really bothered him anymore. The things he'd seen made him used to strange. What really intrigued him was how familiar this all felt.
His eyes never really blink, though sometimes he will squinch his face and shake his head vigorously as if he'd bitten into a lemon, as he gets more confident that he will not be attacked in these surroundings and starts to explore. His movements are slow and deliberate as he approaches a table that had recently been occupied by guests of the inn and was still covered with used bowls and utensils. He grabs a bowl and sniffs it. "ohhh" he sighs, intrigued. He sees a spoon and wipes it off on his filthy clothes then sets it into the bowl.
His awkward smile is genuine as he lurks about the room, appreciating things like empty mugs, scraps of paper, broken and discarded trinkets, and other such debris one sometimes finds in a busy restaurant with the same level of fascination one might have gazing upon artifacts in a museum.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin
Hob catches sight of Archibald and begins waving an arm at him. "Fosco! Fosco! Get over here, you ornery piece of ... ! Fosco!" He picks up one of his canes and waves it above his head vigorously.
Dusk bolts for the back door soon after the raccoon person vanished. He owed it to Thekla to make sure no one was hurt. When he entered the Tavern through the hind exit, he saw the destruction and people being very worried about the Kenku. Dusk rushed over to them, since he overheard someone call for Thekla’s nephew Adalwulf, who was a capable healer, but not close by.
Being a proficient healer himself, he assessed the health of those hurt. Especially taking an interest in the fox kit.
(ooc: the Tavern is strongly enchanted, to give visitors Advantage on death saving throws, among other things)
He immediately puts his paws over the small being, as glowing patterns lighten up his otherwise black fur. His Chakra of Life starts to become visible, as he channels his Ki into the dying creature. (He casts spare the dying, and then starts to look for vital signs, to see if he can proceed to heal the creature).
"Who did this? Are they still around?" Dusk shouts with anger.
Zev Georg Mir, creator of Michtim: Fluffy Adventures
Game Designer, Storyteller, UX Gamedev, Homebrewer, Michtim
Get Michtim For D&D
The Tavern (casual RP socializing) game: DM, feel free to join, but read rules in first post and post questions if you have any!
Tym Eisenfuchs: ambiguous Michtim Warlock
Click links to find out more!
"This shouldn't have happened. I thought this was impossible. His honorable master Cornelius Funkenflug von Abendrot himself enchanted this place, I was certain that his magic would prevail." Dusk is still fiddling with the fox kit, although he realizes that the damage might be too severe. "Could the attacker escape? The Feindbann spell should have made that sort of thing impossible. It protects the innocent, and visits harsh retribution on attackers. That's why we don't have heavy security in here."
Feindbann Enchantment
Whenever a creature deals damage to someone within the zone, the spell triggers and instantly deals radiant damage equal to the amount inflicted to the attacker. They are knocked prone, are restrained by chains of pure light and are incapacitated, unless they make a DC 20 Wisdom saving throw, which reduces the damage in half and inflicts no conditions on the attacker. The target is now marked forever onward, and will be barred from entering the zone again, unless invited by a Michtim.
Zev Georg Mir, creator of Michtim: Fluffy Adventures
Game Designer, Storyteller, UX Gamedev, Homebrewer, Michtim
Get Michtim For D&D
The Tavern (casual RP socializing) game: DM, feel free to join, but read rules in first post and post questions if you have any!
Tym Eisenfuchs: ambiguous Michtim Warlock
Click links to find out more!
He combined his attack with some sort of teleporting spell, so he was outside of the tavern by the time the damage was dealt. Then he went through a Planar Gate of some sort. It smelled like brimstone and dragonfire.
Stella Diamant, Human Rogue 17 (Swashbuckler), The Exploits of Misfit Company
Kat, Medtech, Cyberpunk: Red
Shi, Changeling Bard 4 (College of Spirits), Tyrant's Grasp
Dani, Human Artificer 9 (Armorer), Skulls and Starships
DM, Project Point (Teams Scimitar and Longsword)
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"I see, that's how he circumvented the spell. I wonder how he could know about that, or if it was a coincidence. At least he won't get back in here, unless one of us forgives him and invites him back. Which obviously is not ever going to happen."
Zev Georg Mir, creator of Michtim: Fluffy Adventures
Game Designer, Storyteller, UX Gamedev, Homebrewer, Michtim
Get Michtim For D&D
The Tavern (casual RP socializing) game: DM, feel free to join, but read rules in first post and post questions if you have any!
Tym Eisenfuchs: ambiguous Michtim Warlock
Click links to find out more!
Morgan, finally finished with her mending work, is angered once again on hearing how Nim was able to waltz right in and hurt her new friend. But the description of the Tavern's mystical defenses causes her to pause, looking in Nine's direction.
*Nine, do you hear all of that?* She has a concerned yet hopeful expression on her face. *If what Dusk says is true, then this might be the safest place for you for a while...*
"You know, he might still send in goons. It's not totally safe, I'm sorry. But at least this place doesn't forget when someone shows their true colors."(ooc: didn't realize it was mental, sorry. redacted)
Zev Georg Mir, creator of Michtim: Fluffy Adventures
Game Designer, Storyteller, UX Gamedev, Homebrewer, Michtim
Get Michtim For D&D
The Tavern (casual RP socializing) game: DM, feel free to join, but read rules in first post and post questions if you have any!
Tym Eisenfuchs: ambiguous Michtim Warlock
Click links to find out more!
Eisen, do recall that when I use *'s instead of quotation marks it means Morgan is using Telepathy to speak to someone. Dusk would not have heard Morgan's comment about the Tavern's safety, for example, since he wasn't the target for her telepathy at this point.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord); Lost Mine of Phendelver (tabletop)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk; Mme Cragmaw, Goblin Artificer; River Kuthraeann, Wood Elf Paladin