"If you're bringing trouble our way, Vars, then how bad is it? Should we be drunk, or should we perhaps be somewhere else?" Bjorn slides his gaze over to the door, where his own weapon is resting against the wall: a rough strip of lumber, some four feet in length, snapped loose from a wagon or possibly from a table. It has a bit of dried blood and dirt as its only varnish, and inexplicably a tiny leaf is growing from it. Along the path to Luskan, a number of similar implements lie broken and discarded at the sites of whatever skirmishes befell the group prior to now. This one has two or three more solid strikes in it, probably. Though anyone can see that with only one good arm, he can't swing it.
Vars’s smile widens, “Aye, key member indeed.” He quickly pulls his hand away from his face and his smile becomes a smirk. Pausing, he glances at the door again, this time with distain, “Trouble? More like an inconvenience. A couple of idiots thought they recognized me. They also thought they would make an example out of me.” He chuckles, “So I made an example out of them. Sent one of them running back to tell the tale. They shouldn’t be an issue.” He shrugs, “Can’t be too careful though. I covered my tracks in case the fellow got any bright ideas about following me.” He smiles wryly, “By the way he ran though, I doubt we’ll have to worry about him.”
"We don't have many friends or carry favor in this city. It would be good for all of us to avoid any serious trouble. Also, save some for the rest of us."
Eberk raises his tankard and downs the rest of his drink.
"Friends. Perhaps this Scarsguard or his people are already in the bar, watching us and waiting for the opportune time." Sparhawk rubbed his always painful broken nose. A constant reminder of mistakes of his past. [Can I do a perception roll for anyone else watching us] "Careful Vars, your gonna start looking like me if you keep that up!"
After about a half an hour of eating, drinking and catching, you hear a bellowing voice from across the room.
” Ahhh, Sorsha. When heard the Kraken went under, I was worried you’d been lost. I told yer Captain many a times that naming a ship after a Kraken was an ill omen…It does me heart good to know ol’ Dave’s Jones spit you back up. I have work that needs doin and yer the type to do it…follow me you lot. He tosses a familiar looking bag on the tray of the nearest serving girl and says this will cover their bill…”
Mr. Fist Scarsguard is brutish looking man, a rotund Goliath, that seems a little misshapen. He has a large beard with finely curled whiskers, sort like lambs wool, huge, thick forehead and thick eye brows. One of his hands is larger than the other and has an off color to it, almost grey and dead like, but he uses it normal like and other hand. It’s just big…you can see where he got his name from. As he moves towards the back of tavern, towards the kitchen, everyone moves out of his way. Almost as if an invisible force was brushing them aside. Fist was clearly not a man to be trifled with and has the respect or at least the fear of all in this bar.
"Friends. Perhaps this Scarsguard or his people are already in the bar, watching us and waiting for the opportune time." Sparhawk rubbed his always painful broken nose. A constant reminder of mistakes of his past. [Can I do a perception roll for anyone else watching us] "Careful Vars, your gonna start looking like me if you keep that up!"
( you don’t have to wait for me to roll. If you want to precise, investigate at thing, steal something, etc…you go ahead and roll. Your actions drive the story.)
Bjorn squints at the coin purse, doing the math in his head. This money certainly won't cover us, and he knows it. "Ah, of course. Well, let's not waste our friend's time here, as he's been so kind as to cover our meal out of his own pocket! How may we be of assistance?" He shuffles along behind the goliath deferentially, gesturing for everyone to get a move on before the coins can be counted.
Vars chuckles at Syr's comment, then nudges Bjorn and says in a low tone, "Wasn't that your bag?" He tilts his head in the direction of the surfing girl's tray as he moves to stand up. Collecting his weapons he says to Sorsha, "Do you know this fellow? Sounds like he knows you." He waits until everyone else is ready before following Scarsguard.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Bjorn, perhaps that lad that brushed up against you earlier mistakenly acquired your coins. I'm sure it was an accident on his part, but if you like, I'll ask him for you." Sparhawk glares questioningly at the man he was watching earlier that Bjorn bumped into. "Friend, perhaps you should check your vest?" [intimidation/ persuasion]19 An overly friendly expression of concern on Sparhawks face.
"Bjorn, perhaps that lad that brushed up against you earlier mistakenly acquired your coins. I'm sure it was an accident on his part, but if you like, I'll ask him for you." Sparhawk glares questioningly at the man he was watching earlier that Bjorn bumped into. "Friend, perhaps you should check your vest?" [intimidation/ persuasion]12 An overly friendly expression of concern on Sparhawks face.
[I had missed some info when I posted my previous description of Bjorn's behavior. The coin purse Bjorn planted is currently being carried away by a server -- it seems the wealthiest mark here was our prospective patron. I fixed my comment, as there's no way he'd push the grift knowing that the mark had figured it out.]
[But I appreciate the willingness to go along with it, lol.]
To Vars's question, Bjorn shoots him a meaningfully arched eyebrow, as if to say, "hush!"
As they pass into the kitchen, the little sprouting leaf on the club near the door dries up, falls off, and is crushed under the foot of some drunkard.
Hey Vars, perhaps you're in need of a bath? Usually when you walk under a leaf in a doorway, you're in luck for a kiss." Sparhawk says with an impish expression and raised eyebrow.
"If you're bringing trouble our way, Vars, then how bad is it? Should we be drunk, or should we perhaps be somewhere else?" Bjorn slides his gaze over to the door, where his own weapon is resting against the wall: a rough strip of lumber, some four feet in length, snapped loose from a wagon or possibly from a table. It has a bit of dried blood and dirt as its only varnish, and inexplicably a tiny leaf is growing from it. Along the path to Luskan, a number of similar implements lie broken and discarded at the sites of whatever skirmishes befell the group prior to now. This one has two or three more solid strikes in it, probably. Though anyone can see that with only one good arm, he can't swing it.
Vars’s smile widens, “Aye, key member indeed.” He quickly pulls his hand away from his face and his smile becomes a smirk. Pausing, he glances at the door again, this time with distain, “Trouble? More like an inconvenience. A couple of idiots thought they recognized me. They also thought they would make an example out of me.” He chuckles, “So I made an example out of them. Sent one of them running back to tell the tale. They shouldn’t be an issue.” He shrugs, “Can’t be too careful though. I covered my tracks in case the fellow got any bright ideas about following me.” He smiles wryly, “By the way he ran though, I doubt we’ll have to worry about him.”
"Ah, drunk it is, then." Bjorn raises his horn in a toast. "To exemplary conduct!"
"We don't have many friends or carry favor in this city. It would be good for all of us to avoid any serious trouble. Also, save some for the rest of us."
Eberk raises his tankard and downs the rest of his drink.
"Friends. Perhaps this Scarsguard or his people are already in the bar, watching us and waiting for the opportune time." Sparhawk rubbed his always painful broken nose. A constant reminder of mistakes of his past. [Can I do a perception roll for anyone else watching us] "Careful Vars, your gonna start looking like me if you keep that up!"
After about a half an hour of eating, drinking and catching, you hear a bellowing voice from across the room.
” Ahhh, Sorsha. When heard the Kraken went under, I was worried you’d been lost. I told yer Captain many a times that naming a ship after a Kraken was an ill omen…It does me heart good to know ol’ Dave’s Jones spit you back up. I have work that needs doin and yer the type to do it…follow me you lot. He tosses a familiar looking bag on the tray of the nearest serving girl and says this will cover their bill…”
Under his breath so the table can hear, "Ah, Master Scarsguard I presume. Very generous. Watch your backs." Sparhawk mutters.
Mr. Fist Scarsguard is brutish looking man, a rotund Goliath, that seems a little misshapen. He has a large beard with finely curled whiskers, sort like lambs wool, huge, thick forehead and thick eye brows. One of his hands is larger than the other and has an off color to it, almost grey and dead like, but he uses it normal like and other hand. It’s just big…you can see where he got his name from. As he moves towards the back of tavern, towards the kitchen, everyone moves out of his way. Almost as if an invisible force was brushing them aside. Fist was clearly not a man to be trifled with and has the respect or at least the fear of all in this bar.
( you don’t have to wait for me to roll. If you want to precise, investigate at thing, steal something, etc…you go ahead and roll. Your actions drive the story.)
[Oh no! My grift!]
Bjorn squints at the coin purse, doing the math in his head. This money certainly won't cover us, and he knows it. "Ah, of course. Well, let's not waste our friend's time here, as he's been so kind as to cover our meal out of his own pocket! How may we be of assistance?" He shuffles along behind the goliath deferentially, gesturing for everyone to get a move on before the coins can be counted.
Vars chuckles at Syr's comment, then nudges Bjorn and says in a low tone, "Wasn't that your bag?" He tilts his head in the direction of the surfing girl's tray as he moves to stand up. Collecting his weapons he says to Sorsha, "Do you know this fellow? Sounds like he knows you." He waits until everyone else is ready before following Scarsguard.
[As an aside, is "Syr" a name, or a variant spelling of "sir"?]
"Bjorn, perhaps that lad that brushed up against you earlier mistakenly acquired your coins. I'm sure it was an accident on his part, but if you like, I'll ask him for you." Sparhawk glares questioningly at the man he was watching earlier that Bjorn bumped into. "Friend, perhaps you should check your vest?" [intimidation/ persuasion]19 An overly friendly expression of concern on Sparhawks face.
yes, a varient of Sir (like a knight), but using it as a title for the paladin. Hopefully, that works, Most friends call him Sparhawk.
(Oh, I thought it was his name. lol.)
[I had missed some info when I posted my previous description of Bjorn's behavior. The coin purse Bjorn planted is currently being carried away by a server -- it seems the wealthiest mark here was our prospective patron. I fixed my comment, as there's no way he'd push the grift knowing that the mark had figured it out.]
[But I appreciate the willingness to go along with it, lol.]
Funny, it would be like calling you, Mr.
Could have been funny, another opportunity will present itself. Always love to have some fun.
To Vars's question, Bjorn shoots him a meaningfully arched eyebrow, as if to say, "hush!"
As they pass into the kitchen, the little sprouting leaf on the club near the door dries up, falls off, and is crushed under the foot of some drunkard.
Hey Vars, perhaps you're in need of a bath? Usually when you walk under a leaf in a doorway, you're in luck for a kiss." Sparhawk says with an impish expression and raised eyebrow.