Archibald retreats to a far corner at the ghastly site of a corpse and a demon. His remain unblinking and focused on the pair as the demon plays his harpsichord.
Archibald twitches a few times, then slowly creeps forward. He remains crouched and tense, but his posture suggests more a readiness to run than to fight if things should get weird. His normally strange ramblings are now barely coherent mumblings... something about the blood vessels that run to and from the brain.
Morganna was set to respond to Archibald when the tavern was suddenly besieged by the peculiar pair. Now, much like the human, she found herself flabbergasted. She had seen many things in her travels but this, however, was definitely a first...
Nine‘s Black eyes narrow and he cocks his head to each side to examine the strange pair. The demon receives only a brief glance, while the undead speaker receives a much more thoughtful stare. The Kenku ranger makes no move for his bowstave, but calmly draws a blade less hilt from his belt, the cross guard inscribed with a variety of holy symbols. Nine-While-Nine waits, his fingers drumming nervous staccato on the tabletop , even as his body is held with a wary tension.
Nine glances at Morgan, his beak clicking nervously. His voice repeats the words and tone of a Paladin of Cyric , another dead man’s voice in the Tavern,
”A corpse is just meat, I care not what is done with it. But when it speaks, it is an affront to life.”
Zevrana pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside. Glancing around with pale blue eyes, she reached up to push strands of her long black hair - now dripping wet from the rain - out of her face, but made no other move to fix her messy braid. "I guess this'll have to do," she muttered half to herself before crossing to the bar. If nothing else she needed a drink, and this seemed like the place to get one. Plus, it was dry inside. That was a definite plus. Maybe she'd even be able to stay long enough for her black leather armor to dry out.
As she took a seat on a stool she pulled her cloak around to wipe at her face, attempting to get some of the water off her face, but that didn't work too well. Her cloak was just as soaked as the rest of her was.
" welcome strangers, to the tavern of the wood," Yerandell says with arms outstretched. "You can find many things here, food and drink, a room, a room and a warm bath for a little extra, and good company. But please, try not to start anything, this great tree is enchanted to be a safe place."
Zev perked a brow at that. A safe place, huh? She wasn't aware of too many of those. Not ones that actually managed to keep things safe, at least. "Hey, I won't start anything if no one else does. I just want to get dry and have some ale. At least for now." She wasn't sure how long she was going to be there, after all. But there was no harm in relaxing and chatting with a few other folks for a while.
Clouds eyes narrow at the various anti-undead sentiments being expressed around the tavern, but she says nothing. Sure, she's fought her share of undead, and she's not exactly comfortable around them, but still. There are always exceptions to the general rule of a race. Turning back to Morganna, she says We can get all types in here, it's one of the advantages of the tavern being magically warded against harming others. So even creatures that most would not normally be...comfortable around others-or others are not comfortable around-can come here, and everyone can relax with the knowledge that no one can hurt anybody else.
To begin my story, I must say that my account all of these events is true.
When I was young and still alive, I went on a journey to a far away land to find a shrine of an ancient bat god known as Zotzilaha. Our expedition was made up of me, a warlock, a paladin, and a kobold sorcerer by the name of Yik. The trek started well enough, but as we ventured towards the shrine, the earth opened at our feet and plunged us into darkness. When we lit our torches, we discovered that we were in a room with six alcoves and a stone door. In each alcove, there was a group of small statues. The warlock was foolish enough to attempt to steel one of the statues, but upon being touched, the statues (which, if I remember correctly, were of fishermen) grew to life size and attacked. We ultimately won that battle, but the door was still a problem. We couldn't find a key, so Yik said we should drive some pitons into the door to make handles. Yik was a genius, pure and simple, so his idea worked perfectly. What we saw in the next room, however...
Is a part I will tell later. Until then, enjoy some accordion music by Ronald, my pet demon. How I got him, however, is yet another story for another day.
The corpse seems to be mildly irritated by the fact he is considered an "affront to life", but he sits back down
I don't believe I've properly introduced myself yet! I am known as Grigor Kulenov, and I was (and still am) a cleric of agriculture. And, contrary to Birdbrain's beliefs, I am not undead; I am quite alive, and I look like this because a spell meant to bring me from death went terribly wrong. Now, I wonder the planes, telling tales of my journeys.
Just for future reference, Morgan and Nine are both situated at a table off to the side of the great room, not out in the middle of everything, and they would were talking just between themselves. The most anyone else would have been able to determine about their conversation (without a really good perception checks) would be their general uneasiness, although they'd have no clue about the specific source of that.
Morgan's face sours at the obvious insult to her friend.
*You know,* she projects directly into the "corpse's" mind, *for one who seems to dislike being misjudged by your appearance, you don't seem particularly concerned about doing so to someone else.* Her disapproval is clearly discernable in her mental voice.
Archibald retreats to a far corner at the ghastly site of a corpse and a demon. His remain unblinking and focused on the pair as the demon plays his harpsichord.
She/her, DM and Player.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk
You need not fear; Ronald here is well trained.
The demon grunts.
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
The corpse stands up on his chair and says:
Gather round, children, and I will tell tales of adventurers long past!
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
Archibald twitches a few times, then slowly creeps forward. He remains crouched and tense, but his posture suggests more a readiness to run than to fight if things should get weird. His normally strange ramblings are now barely coherent mumblings... something about the blood vessels that run to and from the brain.
She/her, DM and Player.
My DM Registry
My Campaigns:
Ibahalii Vriwhulth, the Reaper of Glory v2: IC Thread (PbP); Secrets of the Island (On Discord)
My Characters:
Krik-tul, Thri-kreen monk
Morganna was set to respond to Archibald when the tavern was suddenly besieged by the peculiar pair. Now, much like the human, she found herself flabbergasted. She had seen many things in her travels but this, however, was definitely a first...
Nine‘s Black eyes narrow and he cocks his head to each side to examine the strange pair. The demon receives only a brief glance, while the undead speaker receives a much more thoughtful stare. The Kenku ranger makes no move for his bowstave, but calmly draws a blade less hilt from his belt, the cross guard inscribed with a variety of holy symbols. Nine-While-Nine waits, his fingers drumming nervous staccato on the tabletop , even as his body is held with a wary tension.
Morgan watches the tension as her friend observes the strange fellow and his even stranger pet. She raises an eyebrow at the bladeless hilt.
*Something bothering you, Nine?*
She is distinctly ill-at-ease herself about having a demon in the tavern.
Nine glances at Morgan, his beak clicking nervously. His voice repeats the words and tone of a Paladin of Cyric , another dead man’s voice in the Tavern,
”A corpse is just meat, I care not what is done with it. But when it speaks, it is an affront to life.”
Zevrana pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside. Glancing around with pale blue eyes, she reached up to push strands of her long black hair - now dripping wet from the rain - out of her face, but made no other move to fix her messy braid. "I guess this'll have to do," she muttered half to herself before crossing to the bar. If nothing else she needed a drink, and this seemed like the place to get one. Plus, it was dry inside. That was a definite plus. Maybe she'd even be able to stay long enough for her black leather armor to dry out.
As she took a seat on a stool she pulled her cloak around to wipe at her face, attempting to get some of the water off her face, but that didn't work too well. Her cloak was just as soaked as the rest of her was.
Zevrana - Moon Elf/Rogue - Arcane Trickster/L5
" welcome strangers, to the tavern of the wood," Yerandell says with arms outstretched. "You can find many things here, food and drink, a room, a room and a warm bath for a little extra, and good company. But please, try not to start anything, this great tree is enchanted to be a safe place."
Zev perked a brow at that. A safe place, huh? She wasn't aware of too many of those. Not ones that actually managed to keep things safe, at least. "Hey, I won't start anything if no one else does. I just want to get dry and have some ale. At least for now." She wasn't sure how long she was going to be there, after all. But there was no harm in relaxing and chatting with a few other folks for a while.
Zevrana - Moon Elf/Rogue - Arcane Trickster/L5
Clouds eyes narrow at the various anti-undead sentiments being expressed around the tavern, but she says nothing. Sure, she's fought her share of undead, and she's not exactly comfortable around them, but still. There are always exceptions to the general rule of a race. Turning back to Morganna, she says We can get all types in here, it's one of the advantages of the tavern being magically warded against harming others. So even creatures that most would not normally be...comfortable around others-or others are not comfortable around-can come here, and everyone can relax with the knowledge that no one can hurt anybody else.
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)
Everything Else!
To begin my story, I must say that my account all of these events is true.
When I was young and still alive, I went on a journey to a far away land to find a shrine of an ancient bat god known as Zotzilaha. Our expedition was made up of me, a warlock, a paladin, and a kobold sorcerer by the name of Yik. The trek started well enough, but as we ventured towards the shrine, the earth opened at our feet and plunged us into darkness. When we lit our torches, we discovered that we were in a room with six alcoves and a stone door. In each alcove, there was a group of small statues. The warlock was foolish enough to attempt to steel one of the statues, but upon being touched, the statues (which, if I remember correctly, were of fishermen) grew to life size and attacked. We ultimately won that battle, but the door was still a problem. We couldn't find a key, so Yik said we should drive some pitons into the door to make handles. Yik was a genius, pure and simple, so his idea worked perfectly. What we saw in the next room, however...
Is a part I will tell later. Until then, enjoy some accordion music by Ronald, my pet demon. How I got him, however, is yet another story for another day.
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
The corpse seems to be mildly irritated by the fact he is considered an "affront to life", but he sits back down
I don't believe I've properly introduced myself yet! I am known as Grigor Kulenov, and I was (and still am) a cleric of agriculture. And, contrary to Birdbrain's beliefs, I am not undead; I am quite alive, and I look like this because a spell meant to bring me from death went terribly wrong. Now, I wonder the planes, telling tales of my journeys.
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
Just for future reference, Morgan and Nine are both situated at a table off to the side of the great room, not out in the middle of everything, and they would were talking just between themselves. The most anyone else would have been able to determine about their conversation (without a really good perception checks) would be their general uneasiness, although they'd have no clue about the specific source of that.
Morgan's face sours at the obvious insult to her friend.
*You know,* she projects directly into the "corpse's" mind, *for one who seems to dislike being misjudged by your appearance, you don't seem particularly concerned about doing so to someone else.* Her disapproval is clearly discernable in her mental voice.
*Who dares invade my mind?*
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
*I invade nothing, merely speak quite personally.*
* Your feathered friend and I are quite even. He insulted me, I insulted him.*
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1
*He made no insult, merely an observation, however ill-informed it might have been in this particular case.*
*I don't believe I've addressed this, but how am I holding a full mental conversation right now?*
Walton Gibson - Human Cleric, Level 1