The half-elf listens to Soren.  After telling of his loss, Rictavio says, plainly, "That is unfortunate.  I am sorry for your loss."

His mood brightening, he turns and adds, "But as fortune would have it, you have found me.  There and back again we went, only to meet here in the same place.  If you have questions for Rictavio, feel free to ask.  My life is an open book... though I should hope the best pages have yet to be written."

Giles:

Zefla, one of the brothers looks at you with bleary eyed confusion when you call 'next,' and his twin uses the opportunity to take initiative and slam his arm on the table.  "Hah!"

"Ow!" cries the confused one, rubbing his elbow.  "You twisted it, you blasted goat."

The victor just grins.

The wounded brother looks back at you.  "And who might you be then?"  He has slowly, subconsciously lowered his head to a level with yours, and now he almost stumbles and falls.  "...Daft..." he mumbles, putting a hand on the table to steady himself.  "You're a tiny thing."  

The victor continues to smile, seemingly less inebriated, if only by degrees.  "Karl Wachter, of Wachterhaus." He bows politely and offers to take your hand.  "Pleased to make you acquaintance, madame.  And this is my brother, Nikolai the Bruised... similar pedigree."

Quote from Bartjeebus >>

Rictavio looks up at Father Giles from his seat, bright eyes peeking out from under his hat, fox-pelt blanket wrapped around him.

He smiles and nods, "Ah, it is always a pleasure to meet a fan.  Yes, it is I, Rictavio, of late the master of ceremonies for Phantasmagorical Flights of Fancy, perhaps you have heard of it, yes?  A most wondrous carnival it was, though fortune dictated that I must chart a different path."  He places a hand over his hard, showing sorrow.  "No, I haven't personally met any arcanaloths," he laughs.  "Though how fascinating that would be... imagine, navigating the pitfalls of a conversation with a master manipulator... a fiendish, dangerous man-fox?  How wickedly exciting."

"Oh, Rictavio hails from all across the world," he adds.  "Most recently we toured in Dementlieu, though we have put on shows in Mordent, Darkon and Borca."  He looks at you.  "Your friend the druid mentioned you were out-of-towners as well.  Though I did not recognize the names... Neverwinter?  Daggerford?  They sound wonderful, though the names are a tad... generic?  As though one were populating a map and just sticking interesting sounding words together, no?"  He corrects himself.  "A thousand pardons, my tongue sometimes has a mind of its own... I mean no offense.  Tell me something about your homeland.  Do they have carnival shows there?  Would they like to see a new one, perhaps?"

At your question about the meal, he smiles brightly again.  "Yes, I have made friends with a local toymaker.  A brilliant but lonely man... I worry for his constitution.  I fear he would forget to eat did I not deliver a little something to him.  The man has taken to care for my monkey, Piccolo... the Martikovs, generous hosts though they are, would not allow the little scamp to stay here with me at the inn."

"It does seem you braved the storm as well.  It must have been something most pressing, to drag you out of the warmth and hospitality of the Blue Water Inn and into the teeth of that maelstrom.  I can only hope it was worth it."

At certain points, Giles will grunt and exclaim, even holding his hands up to his face, sometimes to hide a smile.  He dons the good, Father Giles persona of his dual personality, holding his hands together in a temple, but at times, his eyes sparkle and dance, up to the thrill of the hunt, enjoying stimulating conversation and a game of verbal chess with this interesting soul.  

“Fascinating, yes.  It would be quite fascinating to have a conversation with a master manipulator, wouldn’t it?”  Smile, and a sip of wine, clearly implying that he is speaking with, In fact, a half elven “arcanaloth” apparently.  “Have you ever been to Neverwinter or Daggerford, Rictavio?  Or any of the towns that we are familiar with?  Before we ended up in this … place?  We were hunting a group of werewolves before we ended up here.  Went through a very odd house, dastardly actually.  Can’t seem to find our way home.  That one up in the high castle seems to be pulling all of our puppet strings, eh?  (Leaning in, conspiratorially)  If only someone could put an end to him…. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?  Should I make sure that we can see your reflection in the mirror?  Or make sure that garlic doesn’t bother you?  Isn’t it interesting that you are out and about at night, all over town, then back in your room, all closed up during the day…”  Giles pauses here, smiling, and a glint appears in his eye, he pulls out the coin in his pocket and it starts rolling down his fingers, back and forth, back and forth.  The grin is mischievous, his personality seems to have changed, again.  No longer Father Giles, but a different sort of man, a real risk taker..high stakes gambler, breathing in risk and danger like it is oxygen.

”What say we have a nice game, or a bet.  Then we cut the crap and really speak, honest and true, you and I, what say you?”  He pauses to see his response, then explains.  “What if I down this wine, throw the glass up high in the air, and then snatch it right out of air again without ever standing up, what do you think?  Or, what if I push one of these fellas across the room, without ever leaving this seat.  What do you think about that?”  The speed of the coin increases, up and down his hand, rolling it over and over.  

Rictavio's eyes remain fixed on Father Giles, ignoring the coin and watching the man.  Then he sighs and smiles.

"Ah, my intrepid friend, it seems the curiosity in your eyes is matched only by the ferocity of your determination. How fortunate I am to be in the company of such an inquisitive soul!  I have been known to gamble from time to time, but alas, at the moment I find myself without anything I am prepared to lose."

"I do not have the pleasure of ever traveling your homelands, no.  I have wandered through dense forests and climbed towering peaks, danced beneath starlit skies, and stood in awe of ancient ruins. Each step, a chapter, and every encounter, a brushstroke on the canvas of my existence.  But, pray, do not mistake me for a mere traveler of roads and trails.  No, my heart has found a home in the hearts of many, and taken many forms.  I've played the jester and the sage, the musician and the philosopher.  I am a dabbler in all of the fine arts and a seeker of wonders."

"I myself am but new to this misty land of dour folk and grey skies.   I have chosen to project this affect, this air of boundless joy and mystery, a mask woven from the threads of countless characters I've portrayed.  The veil of enigma grants me a freedom to observe, to learn, and to share the wisdom I have gathered along my journey.  It also allows me to illuminate the sharp contrast between the grim fatalism of this land and true mirth and joy, which I believe must be embraced.  Oh, but let us not dwell on the cloak of mystery that surrounds me.   For in truth, we are but reflections of the stories we create, and the questions we ask.   Our very existence is an incomprehensible tangle of joy, sorrow, confusion, and imagination.  Perhaps, like you, I have felt the touch of darkness.  And yet, I've discovered that even in the midst of night, stars shimmer, and hope flickers. It is through the sharing of our tales, through laughter and camaraderie, that we find solace in the most trying of times."

"So, my newfound friends, let us speak not of names and origins, but of dreams and aspirations!  Tell me of the wonders you've witnessed and the trials you've faced, for I find great joy in the narratives of courageous souls such as yours.  Let us set aside the role of interrogator and embrace that of storyteller instead.  I shall begin with a tale of a mystical traveling market, where wonders beyond imagination danced under a moonlit sky... but not all was as it seemed....".

He goes on to tell the story of a traveling troupe of Vistani who once came to a distant village.  Their wagons were laden with treasures and wonders from far off lands.  Beautiful carpets, strange contraptions, carved ivory and sparkling jewels.  The villagefolk, who had an abundance of the necessities of life but few luxuries, were smitten by the Vistanis' exotic wares.  They traded with the Vistani, giving food and beer, iron tools and wagons, lumber and grain.  They dipped into their abundance, but in return they were able to obtain wonderful items that let them feel like wealthy city-folk. 

But among the villagers, a young man named Tomas was uneasy.  The Vistani had such a wealth of treasure, a veritable hoard of jewels and trinkets... yet they were practically giving it away.  He shared his concerns with the village elders, but was rebuffed.  He was ordered to leave the Vistani alone, lest he sour the good relations between the town and the visitors.  When Tomas continued his investigations, he was actually cast out of the village. 

Unwilling to abandon his friends and family, he snuck alone into the Vistani camp an uncovered the truth.  The hoard of wealth was all an illusion.  Vistani sorcerers had deceived the townfolk into purchasing stones, blankets, sticks and rags, believing them to be items of luxury.  In return, the Vistani were bleeding the town dry of resources.  They were almost finished and were planning to depart in the morning.  Once the truth was revealed, Tomas found he was able to see through the illusions. 

He returned to the village and - beginning with his family - he helped them all to see through the illusions as well.  The village was whipped into a frenzy and they charged into the Vistani camp, reclaiming much of what was taken from them and driving off the Vistani.  They still suffered that winter, but had been able to recover enough supplies to keep the village from starving.  From that day forward, Tomas held a place of leadership in the community, and they all learned the hard lesson that, if something seems too good to be true... it is.

Giles:

Zefla lets one of the brothers take her hand and she smiles at the ridiculousness of it all.  "Why yes, makes it easy to go places unnoticed." she shrugs.

"My name is Zefla Shadowquick and I'm not from around here.  It appears you two are having a great time, what game shall we play next?"  Wachterhaus...wasn't that the letter that Soren found?  About a bookclub?  She doubts these two have ever read a book, but wonders if befriending them will help her group understand a bit about the town.  

She hears Giles and the half-elf chatter a lot, but doesn't really listen to what is going on, as long as it remains civil, she stays where she is.

The two fur-clad hunters get up from the bar and grunt their farewells to the Martikovs.  One mumbles something about dawn coming early.  They grab their bows and head for the exit of the tavern.

Before Karl can answer, Nikolai retorts, "Nah.  She called winner.  You must'a arm wrestle the wee little lady now, tough guy."  He laughs.  "Tough turnip now.  You going to beat the lass and prove you're a chivalrous-less arse, or let her win and unman yourself?"  He grins, confident he is about to witness history.

Karl smiles through gritted teeth.  "Surely the lady was just speaking in jest...".  He raises the now 3/4 empty vodka bottle.  "Perhaps a drinking game instead?"

Nefire's face breaks into a broad grin, ignoring Nikolai's teasing, "Well now Karl, you are speaking my language."  She grabs a nearby chair and joins the pair, ready to dive in.  "So, what drinking games do you all play around here?"

They both smile.  "Electrum!" they shout almost in unison, with Karl slapping the table.  Elsewhere, the Martikov's roll their eyes and send the children upstairs to bed.

They reposition their chairs to let Zefla slide in.  They set an empty mug on the center of the table.  Nikolai fishes a handful of electrum pieces out of his pocket and sets them on the table.

"Its great," says Karl.  

"So here is how it works," says Nikolai. "We take turns.  We bounce an electrum piece off the table and try to get it to land in the cup.  If you miss, you miss.  But if you hit, we add a little vodka to the glass.  Then if the next person makes it, we add a little more vodka.  And so on... and so on... but the next person to miss has to drink the mug, however much vodka is inside."

"And then we start over," says Karl.

"You can go first, Miss....?" Nikolai says, indirectly asking your name.  [Yes, you did just tell him your name.]

Make 5 Sleight of Hand checks, please.

Burr draws closer, unfamiliar with this particular drinking game....it seems to involve less bodily harm than most of the ones he grew up with.

Soren watches Zefla as she engages with the two noble youths, bemused at the spectacle.  As if a tourist on safari in a wild grassland.

He mumbles to Burr as he too takes a step nearer, "City-dwellers make a game out of drinking alcohol?  I can see how friends might enjoy that.  Almost any game can draw the pack together.  I myself miss my forest friends so much that I forgot myself out there in the storm.  I rarely use it, but I have the power to turn into a beast, including one that could have climbed to the attic of Baron Vargas' manor to peek in at the source of the purple lights.  Or I could have summoned my spirit owl friend, Nettle to fly up and check herself.  But I did not think of it, preoccupied with the friends I have lost."

"Did you have friends near Daggerford, Burr?"  Soren realizes as he thinks about it that he does not quite know what Burr does... or rather did... other than being a militia member.  Farmhand?  Guard?  Swineherd?   Come to think of it, I do not really know what Zefla or Giles did either.  Or myself, really, after I fled Neverwinter Wood.  Perhaps we were all a little lost on our own even before arriving here through the mists...

Quote from Tybard >>

Soren watches Zefla as she engages with the two noble youths, bemused at the spectacle.  As if a tourist on safari in a wild grassland.

"Did you have friends near Daggerford, Burr?"  Soren realizes as he thinks about it that he does not quite know what Burr does... or rather did... other than being a militia member.  Farmhand?  Guard?  Swineherd?   Come to think of it, I do not really know what Zefla or Giles did either.  Or myself, really, after I fled Neverwinter Wood.  Perhaps we were all a little lost on our own even before arriving here through the mists...

" There were drinking games back home but they usually involved knife-play or taking hits to the face or gut.......then again our alcohol was a little more likely to send you blind or gasping than this stuff."

" Friends? Not really...my folk are not well liked.  There was one....she....we might have made a try of things...I joined the militia for her.  Wolf-things were menacing her holding, small though it was......and now I'm here and won't ever get back.....I'm hoping she had nouse enough to let the swine free and move into town...."

Burr looks at Soren, " Tomorrow.  You want to head for that cave.....not sure it will do any good....even if the false-wolves are destroyed the wolves here will still be under the influence of this Devil they speak of."

Zefla watches intently as Nikolai places a handful of electrum on the table.  She pries her eyes away from it with some difficulty as he asks for her name.  "It's Zefla, I'm in!"

Grabbing one of the coins she tries..

Five sleight of hand rolls:

12

10

13

9

20

Soren's brow furrows in sympathy.  "Not well-liked, your folk?  I am sorry..."  His words sound hollow, even to his own ears.

"I hope you find her again one day, Burr.  Nothing is more important than packmates.  Time will tell if you are right about the wolves.  Both beasts and humanoids have free will."  His voice drops low.  "Not all here serve the darklord.  Not all people, not all beasts.  The ravens on the roof here, for a start."

The trio engages in their game.  

Zefla's first coin clinks off the edge of the mug and rolls off the table, drawing a laugh from Nikolai... who then misses as well.  Karl sinks his first coin, so a little vodka is added to the cup.  And Zefla, starting to get the hang of things, sinks her next shot as well, leading to another pour.  Once again, Nikolai misses, and he is forced to drink two shots worth of vodka.  

This is followed up three consecutive misses, and then three consecutive hits, leading to an almost full mug of vodka.  This time it is Karl who misses the critical coin, and Karl who must gulp down three shots.

The game continues until final shot is poured, and it is once again Karl who misses the last shot and has to drink.

Nikolai looks forlornly at the now empty bottle, while Karl tries to ask Zefla a question.  "So... you're pretty good.  Are y-... aaer... are you... ar... arre... are you...a... are... are y-...".  He pauses and levels a glare at his brother.  "Nikolai.  I think I'm drunk."

Quote from Bartjeebus >>

Rictavio's eyes remain fixed on Father Giles, ignoring the coin and watching the man.  Then he sighs and smiles.

"Ah, my intrepid friend, it seems the curiosity in your eyes is matched only by the ferocity of your determination. How fortunate I am to be in the company of such an inquisitive soul!  I have been known to gamble from time to time, but alas, at the moment I find myself without anything I am prepared to lose."

"I do not have the pleasure of ever traveling your homelands, no.  I have wandered through dense forests and climbed towering peaks, danced beneath starlit skies, and stood in awe of ancient ruins. Each step, a chapter, and every encounter, a brushstroke on the canvas of my existence.  But, pray, do not mistake me for a mere traveler of roads and trails.  No, my heart has found a home in the hearts of many, and taken many forms.  I've played the jester and the sage, the musician and the philosopher.  I am a dabbler in all of the fine arts and a seeker of wonders."

"I myself am but new to this misty land of dour folk and grey skies.   I have chosen to project this affect, this air of boundless joy and mystery, a mask woven from the threads of countless characters I've portrayed.  The veil of enigma grants me a freedom to observe, to learn, and to share the wisdom I have gathered along my journey.  It also allows me to illuminate the sharp contrast between the grim fatalism of this land and true mirth and joy, which I believe must be embraced.  Oh, but let us not dwell on the cloak of mystery that surrounds me.   For in truth, we are but reflections of the stories we create, and the questions we ask.   Our very existence is an incomprehensible tangle of joy, sorrow, confusion, and imagination.  Perhaps, like you, I have felt the touch of darkness.  And yet, I've discovered that even in the midst of night, stars shimmer, and hope flickers. It is through the sharing of our tales, through laughter and camaraderie, that we find solace in the most trying of times."

"So, my newfound friends, let us speak not of names and origins, but of dreams and aspirations!  Tell me of the wonders you've witnessed and the trials you've faced, for I find great joy in the narratives of courageous souls such as yours.  Let us set aside the role of interrogator and embrace that of storyteller instead.  I shall begin with a tale of a mystical traveling market, where wonders beyond imagination danced under a moonlit sky... but not all was as it seemed....".

He goes on to tell the story of a traveling troupe of Vistani who once came to a distant village.  Their wagons were laden with treasures and wonders from far off lands.  Beautiful carpets, strange contraptions, carved ivory and sparkling jewels.  The villagefolk, who had an abundance of the necessities of life but few luxuries, were smitten by the Vistanis' exotic wares.  They traded with the Vistani, giving food and beer, iron tools and wagons, lumber and grain.  They dipped into their abundance, but in return they were able to obtain wonderful items that let them feel like wealthy city-folk. 

But among the villagers, a young man named Tomas was uneasy.  The Vistani had such a wealth of treasure, a veritable hoard of jewels and trinkets... yet they were practically giving it away.  He shared his concerns with the village elders, but was rebuffed.  He was ordered to leave the Vistani alone, lest he sour the good relations between the town and the visitors.  When Tomas continued his investigations, he was actually cast out of the village. 

Unwilling to abandon his friends and family, he snuck alone into the Vistani camp an uncovered the truth.  The hoard of wealth was all an illusion.  Vistani sorcerers had deceived the townfolk into purchasing stones, blankets, sticks and rags, believing them to be items of luxury.  In return, the Vistani were bleeding the town dry of resources.  They were almost finished and were planning to depart in the morning.  Once the truth was revealed, Tomas found he was able to see through the illusions. 

He returned to the village and - beginning with his family - he helped them all to see through the illusions as well.  The village was whipped into a frenzy and they charged into the Vistani camp, reclaiming much of what was taken from them and driving off the Vistani.  They still suffered that winter, but had been able to recover enough supplies to keep the village from starving.  From that day forward, Tomas held a place of leadership in the community, and they all learned the hard lesson that, if something seems too good to be true... it is.

Giles:

Rictavio is disengaging from your interrogation. You still don't necessarily get the impression he is frightened of you, but he does not want to reveal anything else to you, intentionally or accidentally.  He has put his walls up.

The speech, and the story afterward, seems like something he just made up on the spot.

 

“Very good, very good.  You are a good story teller, Rictavio.  I like that one.  And so true, isn’t it?  If something is too good to be true, it likely is, right?  How about this… maybe I could see if you’ve ever had any experience with this.  Have you ever had your fortune told, Rictavio?  Tarot cards, and so forth?  Have you ever used them in one of your acts?  What if you came upon such a reading….”  He pauses for a second, considering, and making sure no one else was too close within earshot.  Also after considering, he changes his tack.  “Do you know how to interpret such signs?   These are unfamiliar to me, I am but a servant of Lady Tymora, she continually blesses me with abilities to get out of tough scrapes.”  He stops twirling the coin down his hand and holds it up for Rictavio to see, the four leaf clover and her visage on it, beaming into a huge grin.  Then he pockets the coin and stares straight into his face.  “I feel like there is more than you are letting me know, more than you are telling me, good sir.  I don’t know if that is because you don’t trust me, or if you just don’t trust anyone around here.  We are looking for friends.  For allies.  This is a troubled land, as you say.  And if we truly want “All to be well” (said in singsongy voice), then we must help each other.  Think about it.  And think of what you would have me do to prove that I can be entrusted with the true stories, the real stories, because perhaps you know something that could help me, and perhaps I know something that could help you.”  Giles stops there and takes a deep drink, and a deep breath, looking at Rictavio with a genuine smile.  

Zefla grins widely, "I am.  I am good.  But drunk?  Nah, you're not drunk, you're just getting started!"

She waves her hand towards either Martikovs, "Let's get another bottle, on me." she tells the brothers.  Then looking back towards them, remembering what Urwin warned her about Izek, she steers clear of that topic, "So, what do you two do for fun around here?  What are these festivals all about?"

Giles, Rictavio doesn't betray any recognition when you show him the holy symbol.  "Lady Tymora, you say?  I can't recall having heard that name before.  Though she sounds like nobility, your words suggest she is something much more... a goddess then?  And one who helps her faithful out of tight situations..." he laughs.  "That there is a goddess worth prayer or two, I should say!"

He smiles again, though his eyes narrow slightly.  "Fortune telling and card readings, now that's an intriguing subject!   I have always had a certain... skepticism... for fortune tellers.  Don't get me wrong!  As performance pieces or when done just for fun, I think they can make for stupendous entertainment.  But for practical use... I try not to take these things too serious."

"That isn't to deny their power... I believe that, in hands of an actual diviner, it is possible to glimpse what lies ahead.  Legends say the cards are capable of unveiling both destiny and doom.  You must understand, however, that its interpretations are shrouded in symbolism and metaphor.  And that is the rub.  Should a fortune teller advise you that 'You will be married when the mountains blow away with the wind,' that could be a euphemism to suggest you will never be wed.  Or perhaps, it means there will be great stormclouds, reminiscent of mountains, that will part and blow away on the day of your nuptials.  In practice, neither interpretation is very helpful to someone in the moment, as they lack the context to put it to any real use.  Fortune tellers seldom are able to give you a clear, direct prediction or path to follow.  That is part of what makes it so easy for fraudsters to succeed in what should be a highly specialized field... if your prediction is vague enough, it is easy to claim it has been fulfilled."

At Giles' final comments, he smiles again.  "That is it exactly.  We should be friends.  You wish for secrets to be revealed?  All secrets are eventually revealed, with time.  Though... I cannot help but get the impression you are looking for a different kind of answer than that which I can provide. "

"But who can say?  I plan to share these haunts for some time yet.  If you wish to know more of me and my stories, then continue to share this wonderful space with Rictavio, and with his many friends," he gestures to the dour faces around the room.  "I will be here each evening and it would be my pleasure to continue to dine with you and share stories of our adventures."

Zelfa, Danika Martikov brings another bottle of vodka to your table.  She smiles but says quietly, "Just so you are aware, for an entire bottle of vodka we would have to charge 15 gold."

[Assuming that doesn't stop you, make another 7 sleight of hand checks, please!  And if you want to invite anyone else to play, go ahead.]

Zefla smiles at Danika, rummages around in her bag and pulls out the 15g, "Here you are, Danika, thank you."  She then looks over to Giles, Burr and Soren, as well as their new found friend, "Any of you want to join us?  We got a full bottle, and with these two, we need to increase their odds or they'll be on the floor!"

"All right boys, I'll start and let's chat!"

Sleight of hand rolls:

16

24

23

19

24

20

17

As Rictavio and Giles' conversation continues to pass well above his head, Soren turns his attention to Zefla's drinking game with the two noble sons.

His face becomes a little green as he witnesses just how much vodka is being consumed and puts his hand to his head as if he already has a hangover, managing only a tiny shake of his head to decline the halfling's offer to join the contest with the new bottle.  He looks over at Burr and mumbles "well, I hope this game does not come to blows as yours did with your pack back home, though if it comes to knives, Zefla has no shortage."

Turning back to the bar, Soren asks Urwin or Danika Martikov quietly when one of them is available, "I apologize, you may have already answered this while I was outside or not attentive, but who are those two?  They spend coin on drink without concern, though so too does my halfling friend apparently, but they also consume alcohol as if they decidedly do not have a full day of work or hunting ahead of them tomorrow.  Are they Baron Vargas' children?"