Samir nods along at the mention of coin, doing a mental tally of his own belongings. "I've about the same as Vilus, I believe."
As the others head towards the tavern, Samir follows Joren for a moment, but when the other man enters the smithy and engages the proprieter in conversation, the half-orc remains outside. For long moments he simply takes in his surroundings, his hands gripping the strap of his ever-present bag. The sea air, the temperature, the general atmosphere of the region spoke to him. It wasn't quite home, certainly, but it was closer than he had been in some time now and the thought was a calming one. In his mind he could picture the canal itself, small boats plying up and down it's width and breadth between the two cities. Sea birds swooping low over the docks and the open air eateries in search of morsels they could snatch. His eyes drifted to a group of children further down the street, laughing and chattering as children are wont to do, wholly unaware of the doom waiting to fall over all of them if the cult had their way. With a shake of his head, Samir cleared away the sudden dark turn of his thoughts, when something that one of the boys from earlier said caught up with him, finally. He blinked, turning to look up and down the street as if expecting the pair of boys to still be under foot.
With the majority of the group having more than enough money, Vilus' worry is sated, at least one of them.
As Samir stops outside the tavern, Vilus waits too. He observes the small town, looks for any patrols of town guard that might be about, definitely looks up to see where the highest point in town may be and also listens to Samir's concern. "Ghosts are plenty real, perhaps the boy needs someone to talk to who won't just assume he has an overactive imagination hm?" The tiefling-disguised Goliath says as more of a statement than the offering of unwarranted advice, and then he enters the tavern.
As Mal sits down at the gambling table, Vilus makes his way to the bar and gets a drink. He surveys the area for the typical type of person who he thinks isn't so much on the up and up, and with his experience in that there would be signs he would pick up on (18 perception if needed). The person he deems most 'in the know' he will saunter over to and take a seat nearby. (If no such person exists he would likely just pick someone who is drinking more alone than the rest of the bar)
Inside the tavern a small fire is going, adding a bit of warmth to the spring weather. There is a low din sometimes broken by laughter from one of several tables. There is also a lingering smell of fish that isn't just from the cooking. Most of the clientele appears to be fishermen taking a break. Two of them are in the middle of packing up to head back out, and a minute later another one comes in through the door. There is a general sense of ease and comfort in the conversation between tables. It's a small town and these people all know each other and their place.
Vilus does see one aged man who neither fits in nor draws attention. He is seated at the far end of the bar, turned out to view the rest of the room. In his hands, he holds a small knife and knot of driftwood which he is diligently carving and whitling away at. Little wooden shavings fall off and land in his long white beard. Though he is old and appears engrossed in his activity, Vilus recognizes the eyes of an observer. The man is more canny than he first appears.
Vilus sidles up to the guy and takes a perch on a barstool "the comings and goings of a small town must have it's boring days, monotony only breeds rumour, then suddenly here we are unknown newcomers in a town unknown to us... tell me, thats the rumour mill churning out these days?"
"Heh," the old man chuckles. "What you folk call monotony, we call peace. Trouble up north shutting down the ports in Talmouth, racial tensions to the south escalating... Here we get to just work, eat, fall in love, and live our lives. So if you folk are gentle travelers passing through, be welcome. Enjoy the peace here. If you're bringing some of those outside troubles with you, best make haste for the door. Which is it?"
The first round of dice goes by uneventfully. Malachi starts working right away at reading his opponents tells, but is confident that no one can beat his roll. Playing cautiously to feel out Malachi's style, both of the others call with the bets still at 1 gold piece each. When the dice are revealed, the cheerful man chuckles and slides the pot over to Malachi. "Well played. Another round?"
“Beginner’s luck.” Malachi says with a small grin. “Another round, sure. Call me Mal. My friends and I are just passing through on the way to Mardurst. Any news of the road ahead?” Mal grabs the dice and blows on his hand for luck for round two.
"I'd actually love some peace right now..." Vilus begins and signals the bartender to give the old man a refill on him when the guy is finished. "But I Am wary, nowhere is completely devoid of trouble, you're telling me there is absolutely nothing to be cautious of in this town?"
"I'm sorry I'm no expert at making weapons. I know the gist of it, but there's not much need here." He strokes his dry beard, frizzy from the heat as he thinks. "Tell you what though. If you've got a mind to help me, we could see what we can whip up together. I don't have anymore requests for the day. The one thing is, though, I'm a mite thirsty. Wouldn't mind slaking my thirst while we drink. So let's say, you get me a cup from the tavern across the way and keep it filled while we work, and I'll do the work for you for free. Deal?"
Joren merely rolls his shoulders in agreement, dusts his hands off and heads out of they smithy, towards the tavern. On his way out, he overhears Samir.
"Ghosts?" The warrior's brow furrows. "Who was saying that? One of the half-orc lads? Just a few short weeks ago, such talk would be making me chuckle. Not being so sure now. Perhaps one of our more... charming... friends should approach their mother and ask politely?"
If the bespectacled artificer is willing, Joren ushers him towards the tavern where their other companions have already made their way. Once there, beyond responding to anything Samir says, Joren glances around to check for trouble, then orders a large pitcher of whatever ale or lager he thinks the dwarven smith would prefer, along with two cups. He signals the others that he'll need some time, then ambles back to the smithy, full pitcher and cups in hand.
"Stev," the cheery man says, shaking Malachi's hand. "And this bloke's Brighton. Fitting, wouldn't you agree?"
"Bah, catch me on a day when I'm not on a losing streak to this bastard and I'm bright enough," Brighton says, placing another gold piece on the table.
Stev chuckles and shrugs. "So just avoid him on any day he's playing. Great ranger, awful dicer."
Brighton kicks him under the table. "Perhaps today's the day you get humbled. Anyway, roads pretty quiet. Even bandit activity is down lately, so there shouldn't be any trouble for you until you reach the city." (Malachi, give me an insight check).
Then Stev adds in, "Yeah, sure the roads may be quiet, but the city itself is where the problems lie right now. What I hear from the odd trader vessel coming through, with silver shipments from Cambria down these past few months, there's not many travelling the roads worth robbing, but there's some economic upset on the canal. And nothing riles up old resentments like fighting over scraps. Teyra'athal and Madurst have always gotten along like fish and chocolate, but it hasn't been this heated in a while."
The old man smirks wryly when Vilus orders him a refill. As the wizened lady behind the counter pours him a drink, she places a hand affectionately on his shoulder and gives him a cheery wink. He smiles back. Vilus' money is left untouched on the counter. Turning his attention back to Vilus, he takes a long draw, sets his cup back down, places his blade against the carving in his hand, and pauses. "Just ripples," he says, resuming his carving. "Big splashes don't happen here. They happen elsewhere. Then we just feel the ripples. That's all."
Opting for a fine strong brew, Joren pays 5 silver pieces for a pitcher of ale and brings it back. As he returns, he notices for the first time, a small table tucked away in a corner of the open smithy. On the table, he sees some small, intricate pieces. Fine, ornate jewelry with complex interlocking pieces that reminds him vaguely of the complicated mechanical components of some of Samir's contraptions. (For the forging, give me an athletics and a sleight of hand)
"that sounds... Very peaceful." Vilus says, deep in thought, his shoulders subconsciously raise a little.
'Do I remember the last time I didn't have to look over my shoulder for the next blade to come spinning out of the darkness, of poison in my vials.' he thinks to himself, the constant paranoia has grown overly familiar, but now that there seems to be no need for it, this perceived comfort feels uncomfortable to him. He downs his drink. "Say, where would one find the best view in town?"
Samir nods along at the mention of coin, doing a mental tally of his own belongings. "I've about the same as Vilus, I believe."
As the others head towards the tavern, Samir follows Joren for a moment, but when the other man enters the smithy and engages the proprieter in conversation, the half-orc remains outside. For long moments he simply takes in his surroundings, his hands gripping the strap of his ever-present bag. The sea air, the temperature, the general atmosphere of the region spoke to him. It wasn't quite home, certainly, but it was closer than he had been in some time now and the thought was a calming one. In his mind he could picture the canal itself, small boats plying up and down it's width and breadth between the two cities. Sea birds swooping low over the docks and the open air eateries in search of morsels they could snatch. His eyes drifted to a group of children further down the street, laughing and chattering as children are wont to do, wholly unaware of the doom waiting to fall over all of them if the cult had their way. With a shake of his head, Samir cleared away the sudden dark turn of his thoughts, when something that one of the boys from earlier said caught up with him, finally. He blinked, turning to look up and down the street as if expecting the pair of boys to still be under foot.
"Did one of them say something about ghosts?"
With the majority of the group having more than enough money, Vilus' worry is sated, at least one of them.
As Samir stops outside the tavern, Vilus waits too. He observes the small town, looks for any patrols of town guard that might be about, definitely looks up to see where the highest point in town may be and also listens to Samir's concern. "Ghosts are plenty real, perhaps the boy needs someone to talk to who won't just assume he has an overactive imagination hm?" The tiefling-disguised Goliath says as more of a statement than the offering of unwarranted advice, and then he enters the tavern.
As Mal sits down at the gambling table, Vilus makes his way to the bar and gets a drink. He surveys the area for the typical type of person who he thinks isn't so much on the up and up, and with his experience in that there would be signs he would pick up on (18 perception if needed). The person he deems most 'in the know' he will saunter over to and take a seat nearby. (If no such person exists he would likely just pick someone who is drinking more alone than the rest of the bar)
Inside the tavern a small fire is going, adding a bit of warmth to the spring weather. There is a low din sometimes broken by laughter from one of several tables. There is also a lingering smell of fish that isn't just from the cooking. Most of the clientele appears to be fishermen taking a break. Two of them are in the middle of packing up to head back out, and a minute later another one comes in through the door. There is a general sense of ease and comfort in the conversation between tables. It's a small town and these people all know each other and their place.
Vilus does see one aged man who neither fits in nor draws attention. He is seated at the far end of the bar, turned out to view the rest of the room. In his hands, he holds a small knife and knot of driftwood which he is diligently carving and whitling away at. Little wooden shavings fall off and land in his long white beard. Though he is old and appears engrossed in his activity, Vilus recognizes the eyes of an observer. The man is more canny than he first appears.
Vilus sidles up to the guy and takes a perch on a barstool "the comings and goings of a small town must have it's boring days, monotony only breeds rumour, then suddenly here we are unknown newcomers in a town unknown to us... tell me, thats the rumour mill churning out these days?"
"Heh," the old man chuckles. "What you folk call monotony, we call peace. Trouble up north shutting down the ports in Talmouth, racial tensions to the south escalating... Here we get to just work, eat, fall in love, and live our lives. So if you folk are gentle travelers passing through, be welcome. Enjoy the peace here. If you're bringing some of those outside troubles with you, best make haste for the door. Which is it?"
The first round of dice goes by uneventfully. Malachi starts working right away at reading his opponents tells, but is confident that no one can beat his roll. Playing cautiously to feel out Malachi's style, both of the others call with the bets still at 1 gold piece each. When the dice are revealed, the cheerful man chuckles and slides the pot over to Malachi. "Well played. Another round?"
(Malachi wins 2 GP)
“Beginner’s luck.” Malachi says with a small grin. “Another round, sure. Call me Mal. My friends and I are just passing through on the way to Mardurst. Any news of the road ahead?” Mal grabs the dice and blows on his hand for luck for round two.
"I'd actually love some peace right now..." Vilus begins and signals the bartender to give the old man a refill on him when the guy is finished. "But I Am wary, nowhere is completely devoid of trouble, you're telling me there is absolutely nothing to be cautious of in this town?"
Joren's Perception: 10 (Passive 15)
Joren merely rolls his shoulders in agreement, dusts his hands off and heads out of they smithy, towards the tavern. On his way out, he overhears Samir.
"Ghosts?" The warrior's brow furrows. "Who was saying that? One of the half-orc lads? Just a few short weeks ago, such talk would be making me chuckle. Not being so sure now. Perhaps one of our more... charming... friends should approach their mother and ask politely?"
If the bespectacled artificer is willing, Joren ushers him towards the tavern where their other companions have already made their way. Once there, beyond responding to anything Samir says, Joren glances around to check for trouble, then orders a large pitcher of whatever ale or lager he thinks the dwarven smith would prefer, along with two cups. He signals the others that he'll need some time, then ambles back to the smithy, full pitcher and cups in hand.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons | Lyra(Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(Sorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(Cleric3/Sorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
"Stev," the cheery man says, shaking Malachi's hand. "And this bloke's Brighton. Fitting, wouldn't you agree?"
"Bah, catch me on a day when I'm not on a losing streak to this bastard and I'm bright enough," Brighton says, placing another gold piece on the table.
Stev chuckles and shrugs. "So just avoid him on any day he's playing. Great ranger, awful dicer."
Brighton kicks him under the table. "Perhaps today's the day you get humbled. Anyway, roads pretty quiet. Even bandit activity is down lately, so there shouldn't be any trouble for you until you reach the city." (Malachi, give me an insight check).
Then Stev adds in, "Yeah, sure the roads may be quiet, but the city itself is where the problems lie right now. What I hear from the odd trader vessel coming through, with silver shipments from Cambria down these past few months, there's not many travelling the roads worth robbing, but there's some economic upset on the canal. And nothing riles up old resentments like fighting over scraps. Teyra'athal and Madurst have always gotten along like fish and chocolate, but it hasn't been this heated in a while."
The old man smirks wryly when Vilus orders him a refill. As the wizened lady behind the counter pours him a drink, she places a hand affectionately on his shoulder and gives him a cheery wink. He smiles back. Vilus' money is left untouched on the counter. Turning his attention back to Vilus, he takes a long draw, sets his cup back down, places his blade against the carving in his hand, and pauses. "Just ripples," he says, resuming his carving. "Big splashes don't happen here. They happen elsewhere. Then we just feel the ripples. That's all."
Opting for a fine strong brew, Joren pays 5 silver pieces for a pitcher of ale and brings it back. As he returns, he notices for the first time, a small table tucked away in a corner of the open smithy. On the table, he sees some small, intricate pieces. Fine, ornate jewelry with complex interlocking pieces that reminds him vaguely of the complicated mechanical components of some of Samir's contraptions. (For the forging, give me an athletics and a sleight of hand)
"that sounds... Very peaceful." Vilus says, deep in thought, his shoulders subconsciously raise a little.
'Do I remember the last time I didn't have to look over my shoulder for the next blade to come spinning out of the darkness, of poison in my vials.' he thinks to himself, the constant paranoia has grown overly familiar, but now that there seems to be no need for it, this perceived comfort feels uncomfortable to him. He downs his drink. "Say, where would one find the best view in town?"