Branch stands there and stares at Mirabelle. "You're kidding me right? We're after your silver? You want to know why we want it? We told you, to rid your town of this beast that is threatening your relatives or family or whatever you call yourselves. Do you not even care about one another? Here we are, complete strangers, well other than Brimthenel here but he seems to have the only honor in this God forsaken place, And I'm a rogue! Me, shaming you all for no honor, never thought I'd see the day."
She shakes her head, sick of this entire place, and storms out the door.
Chatcho watches as Branch storms out and lowers Tik-Tik to the floor.
Stay with her.
The wizard clicks his mandibles in annoyance. Even the Kreen hold silver in high regard for its astral conductivity as well as its utility against creatures of the night. It had been Chatcho’s hope that this backwater hovel would be ignorant of its value, but alas…
"I'll fetch him myself." Adrnir declares, as incensed at his cousin's attitude as Branch was. He keeps his mind, however, pausing as he passes by the elf-warrior before he disappears further into the building. "Don't agree to anything until I return."
"A hefty debt indeed." The younger gnome muses, seemingly so uninterested in the prospect that his gaze lingers on the fire, rather than turn to look at whoever he was addressing. "But, let it never be said that the Sparklebraids aren't a people of business. A debt that could be paid back at a later date... It could work." He smiles into the flame as he makes the offer.
Mirabelle watches Branch's explosive exit from the threshold to the kitchen, disappearing back into it as she goes, followed soon after by Chatcho. She hums quietly to herself as she sets the pot to boil, only turning to answer the stranger once she has done so. "What could I want? I've everything I need right here." She smiles at him. "But your funny little friend is right. I suppose it is our town, and we ought to defend it how we can. So, since you're offering, let's call it a favor. If there's anything I need from you one day, you can pay me back then. How's that sound?"
The two of them together extend a hand to each of their conversation partners, a small, circular purple amethyst made fast to the center of their palms.
"A favor, for a favor..." "A favor, for a favor...?"
The door slams with a dull thud as Branch exits. The house is located in town, so people are out and about their day, but this is a quieter part of town. The household behind her is large, there're surely a dozen and a half ways someone with the right skill set could get in, even during the waning hours of the day. And with the rest of the party holding the inhabitants' attentions...
Of course, there was the whole rest of the town open to her.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Noting that the her friends do not follow her out, she relishes the fact of being alone and not having to worry about how she carries herself in this odd destination. Looking out across the town, she looks to see if she can see any of the ones that were against them when they first arrived, for no reason whatsoever.
If she does see any, she follows, trying to find out where they live.
If she doesn't, she turns around and looks at the large abode in front of her. She looks for a good, quiet, way back into the home without being noticed.
Fire shoots through Chatcho and Kellem as they take the hand extended to each of them--an intense, white-hot, pain that travels up from the palm until it comes to rest in the chest, a weight that constricts their breathing for several long moments, before finally relenting but a little. A small, tight, feeling remains ever-present, a reminder of the debt now owed.
"Allow me to fetch that silver for you." Adrnir's cousin announces, smiling, as Mirabelle helps Chatcho back into the main room. He departs without a moment's pause, before either of them has finished catching their breath.
The militia seems to be ever-present, in small ways. It lacks the structured, disciplined unity of a formal city guard, or local military. Their uniformed members do not patrol the streets, if anyone does, that is. But, looking closer, it does seem they have some kind of unofficial presence in the shape of armed townsfolk, who wear nothing to signify their membership in the militia save for the weapons on their backs or at their hips--hunting bows, and crude carved clubs. It is a couple of these such armed townsfolk who Branch spots a handful of buildings down the street. Those aforementioned clubs are drawn, as the two men corner what looks to be a teenage boy. Their raised voices and harsh tones make the distance to where she's standing, but the words are lost over the distance.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Still fuming, Branch watches as the armed townsfolk corner the boy. Trying to stick to the shadows, she creeps closer, hoping to overhear their conversation.
The pain an impossible to ignore nuisance. It clasped something in his chest like a collar clamped harshly around a dog's neck. Kellem found himself thoughtlessly rubbing the a hand around the point where his skin slipped out of a wood-iron gauntlet. "At least we're getting what we came for."
Branch stands there and stares at Mirabelle. "You're kidding me right? We're after your silver? You want to know why we want it? We told you, to rid your town of this beast that is threatening your relatives or family or whatever you call yourselves. Do you not even care about one another? Here we are, complete strangers, well other than Brimthenel here but he seems to have the only honor in this God forsaken place, And I'm a rogue! Me, shaming you all for no honor, never thought I'd see the day."
She shakes her head, sick of this entire place, and storms out the door.
Chatcho watches as Branch storms out and lowers Tik-Tik to the floor.
Stay with her.
The wizard clicks his mandibles in annoyance. Even the Kreen hold silver in high regard for its astral conductivity as well as its utility against creatures of the night. It had been Chatcho’s hope that this backwater hovel would be ignorant of its value, but alas…
The Kreen looks down at Mirabelle.
Surely you want something.
Brimthenel Persuasian (Adv Branch): 13
Branch Perception: 10
"I'll fetch him myself." Adrnir declares, as incensed at his cousin's attitude as Branch was. He keeps his mind, however, pausing as he passes by the elf-warrior before he disappears further into the building. "Don't agree to anything until I return."
"A hefty debt indeed." The younger gnome muses, seemingly so uninterested in the prospect that his gaze lingers on the fire, rather than turn to look at whoever he was addressing. "But, let it never be said that the Sparklebraids aren't a people of business. A debt that could be paid back at a later date... It could work." He smiles into the flame as he makes the offer.
===================================================================================================================
Mirabelle watches Branch's explosive exit from the threshold to the kitchen, disappearing back into it as she goes, followed soon after by Chatcho. She hums quietly to herself as she sets the pot to boil, only turning to answer the stranger once she has done so. "What could I want? I've everything I need right here." She smiles at him. "But your funny little friend is right. I suppose it is our town, and we ought to defend it how we can. So, since you're offering, let's call it a favor. If there's anything I need from you one day, you can pay me back then. How's that sound?"
===================================================================================================================
The two of them together extend a hand to each of their conversation partners, a small, circular purple amethyst made fast to the center of their palms.
"A favor, for a favor..."
"A favor, for a favor...?"
They each offer, separately and together.
===================================================================================================================
The door slams with a dull thud as Branch exits. The house is located in town, so people are out and about their day, but this is a quieter part of town. The household behind her is large, there're surely a dozen and a half ways someone with the right skill set could get in, even during the waning hours of the day. And with the rest of the party holding the inhabitants' attentions...
Of course, there was the whole rest of the town open to her.
Chatcho crouches, extending his hand.
A favor for a favor.
Brimthenel sucked in air through his nose and took the hand of one of his ghosts, trying to bury the feeling that he was making a mistake.
Noting that the her friends do not follow her out, she relishes the fact of being alone and not having to worry about how she carries herself in this odd destination. Looking out across the town, she looks to see if she can see any of the ones that were against them when they first arrived, for no reason whatsoever.
If she does see any, she follows, trying to find out where they live.
If she doesn't, she turns around and looks at the large abode in front of her. She looks for a good, quiet, way back into the home without being noticed.
Stealth 26
Perception 13
Fire shoots through Chatcho and Kellem as they take the hand extended to each of them--an intense, white-hot, pain that travels up from the palm until it comes to rest in the chest, a weight that constricts their breathing for several long moments, before finally relenting but a little. A small, tight, feeling remains ever-present, a reminder of the debt now owed.
"Allow me to fetch that silver for you." Adrnir's cousin announces, smiling, as Mirabelle helps Chatcho back into the main room. He departs without a moment's pause, before either of them has finished catching their breath.
===================================================================================================================
The militia seems to be ever-present, in small ways. It lacks the structured, disciplined unity of a formal city guard, or local military. Their uniformed members do not patrol the streets, if anyone does, that is. But, looking closer, it does seem they have some kind of unofficial presence in the shape of armed townsfolk, who wear nothing to signify their membership in the militia save for the weapons on their backs or at their hips--hunting bows, and crude carved clubs. It is a couple of these such armed townsfolk who Branch spots a handful of buildings down the street. Those aforementioned clubs are drawn, as the two men corner what looks to be a teenage boy. Their raised voices and harsh tones make the distance to where she's standing, but the words are lost over the distance.
Still fuming, Branch watches as the armed townsfolk corner the boy. Trying to stick to the shadows, she creeps closer, hoping to overhear their conversation.
Stealth 18
The pain an impossible to ignore nuisance. It clasped something in his chest like a collar clamped harshly around a dog's neck. Kellem found himself thoughtlessly rubbing the a hand around the point where his skin slipped out of a wood-iron gauntlet. "At least we're getting what we came for."
Chatcho stoically endures the pain, appreciating the simplicity of the transaction.
Equivalent exchange. A favor for a favor, as it should be.
Chatcho looks around for his other two clutchmates.