The fire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows that danced across Vethys' face. His lute lay silent across his lap, replaced by a hefty coin pouch that he tossed playfully between his hands, the clinking of coins a symphony to his ears. A triumphant grin stretched across his face, the memory of his successful negotiation still fresh.
"Well, companions," he announced, his voice dripping with amusement, "it seems some of us fared better than others in the spoils department." He gestured towards the bulging pouch, the unspoken implication hanging heavy in the air. Unfazed, he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "But fret not, my friends," he said, a hint of his signature charm returning, "for even the most meager of rewards can contribute to a grander purpose."
He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with an idea. "Now, with our… ahem collective resources at hand, perhaps we should seek out the good folk of the nearest town. Perhaps there are merchants or even allies who possess… peculiar wares, shall we say, that might be of great use in our endeavors."
Vethys raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. He knew the risks of their quest, the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But he also knew that a well-equipped party was a party more likely to succeed. And who knew, perhaps he could use his newfound wealth to not only acquire the necessary tools but also to secure a slight edge for himself, just in case things went south.
The fire seemed to crackle louder, the silence in the camp thick with anticipation. Vethys waited, his smile both genuine and calculating, as his companions contemplated his proposition. The decision, he knew, would determine not just their next step, but the very course of their infernal journey.
Balgron frowns at the human. Not particularly caring for his boasting or for humans in general. "The money even combined is paltry. I could use armor and a shield, however this is unlikely to provide for much. I will hoard this for now, and perhaps we can find some 'servants of the gods' who will volunteer to donate more to our cause."
"However..., I suggest we stop at a town regardless. We need information. Perhaps in a tavern we can find out some information about the mountains we seek."
Sensing the shift in mood, Vethys set down his coin pouch, the clinking sound ceasing abruptly. "Agreed," he conceded, "acquiring trinkets isn't our immediate need. Knowledge, on the other hand, is power. We should venture into town, not for merchants of the shadow variety, but for those who possess the wisdom of the past." He gestured towards the distant mountains, their peaks lost in the twilight sky. "Our destination, the bloody mountain seal, surely there are tales told about it. Whispers passed down through generations, perhaps even maps etched in forgotten tomes." Vethys stroked his beard, his voice adopting a more sincere tone. "Information," he continued, "that could guide us on the right path, warn us of hidden dangers, or even point us towards powerful allies."
It was a gamble. They could waste valuable time in fruitless searches, or they could stumble upon the very information they needed. As he watched their faces, searching for their response, a flicker of hope rekindled in his eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were not just a ragtag team of misanthropes, but a band bound by a shared purpose, one that transcended personal gain. As they set off towards the town, Vethys strummed a light melody on his lute, the music carrying the faintest echo of their initial triumph and hints of the challenges yet to come. The road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but Vethys, with his wit, charm, and ever-present touch of self-interest, was ready to face the music.
"And perhaps we should split up,"Mirk piped in. She stared down at the flames, the lights dancing in her eyes as she spoke. "We all have several different skill sets which could be beneficial in taking to certain types of people."
Her hands were clasped in her lap, "We could meet back at the town gate by this time tomorrow and compare our findings. Or perhaps not."
Synntax looks around the campfire, "I have 'skills' but.. as you might have noticed, I am also a tiefling -- which draws unwanted attention and, sometimes, unwanted violence, in towns in general." He shakes his head slowly, "It might be best if I stay with any spare animals outside town while you others go in and barter, banter, poke and prod for information and equipment."
Vethys nodded in agreement, "Legends and rumors are spun in taverns and marketplaces, but what about investigating ancient tomes & scholarly sources? Mirk, do you want to check those for information?Balgron can inquire at the taverns," his voice took on a theatrical flourish, "while I weave tales of our quest, painting a picture so vivid, so captivating, that information will flow to us like wine from a broken cask. Whispers of the mountain, legends of the bloody seals, these secrets will be ours for the taking. I shall pluck the strings of their memories, and hopefully, a melody of truth will emerge." He strummed a few playful notes on his lute, the melody echoing in the stillness. "Of course," he added with a wink, "a few well-placed coins here and there wouldn't hurt either. After all, knowledge, like any valuable commodity, often comes at a price." A mischievous grin spread across his face as he pictured himself in the town square, his lute weaving a captivating narrative, drawing out the secrets and knowledge they seek. He envisioned the barkeep, a weathered soul with stories etched in the lines on his face, the young stablehand with wide, curious eyes, or the gossipy market vendor, all drawn into his musical web. He gave his companions a confident nod, "See you all at the rendezvous point, with pockets full of knowledge and perhaps a few new tales to share over the campfire."
"If you think that tieflingsss are unwelcome, you should sssee the reception I get. The only time folksss talk to me is when they are ssshouting for me to get lossst. Though mossstly they jusst attack."
Synntax chuckles, "No doubt. No doubt, my scaley friend. Being 'other' makes living an adventure; not always a fun one but..."
The tielfing turns to Mirk and Vethys, "Any chance you can do some small 'disguise' changes to your selves. Just in case anyone asks later they can't quite put a finger on who you were or looked like? Or maybe that is me being 'tiefling paranoid'?"
Synntax looks at Balgron, "I am afraid there is no disguising your mighty frame. Be bold. Be.... Balgron." He smiles at the thought of what is to come.
Vethys strummed a single chord on his lute, the melody melancholic and yet strangely hopeful. Synn is right, there are risks of entering the town – my reputation as a skilled bard might precede me. “Good idea! A disguise would be a shield, allowing me to gather information without attracting unwanted attention. Maybe you & Otho can inquire with any other outsiders you find on the outskirts of town.”
He knelt amongst his belongings, fingering the worn leather satchel, its contents a testament to his resourcefulness. Inside lay the tools of his latest trade – dyes, pigments, and a collection of odds and ends scavenged from his travels. A sly smile played on his lips as he dipped a brush into a pot of vibrant blue dye, the coppery scent filling the air. With practiced ease, he began transforming himself. A wig of thick brown hair, meticulously crafted from a mixture of wool and soot, disguised his clean-shaven head. His face, normally adorned with a roguish grin, became a canvas for skillful disguise. A prosthetic nose, molded from clay and painted with lifelike detail, was carefully attached. A smattering of fake freckles and a dab of rouge on his cheeks completed the illusion. A wide-brimmed hat, pulled low over his brow, further obscured his features. He looked like a weathered traveler, one who had seen his fair share of the world's harsh realities, rather than a renowned and wealthy performer. Stepping out into the cool night air, he vanished into the shadows, his true identity hidden behind a mask of weathered leather and borrowed anonymity. In the shadows of the town, amidst the whispers and secrets, Vethys would play his most crucial song yet – a song of discovery, a song of unraveling the mysteries that lay hidden within the mountain's bloody embrace.
"I have no way to disguissse mysssself. Though we could alwayssss try a russse for you to gain favour with the town. If I go in and sssstart to terrorisssse them, and you 'drive me out', they will ssssee you asss heroessss and welcome you more easssily" Otho says, while using one of the merchants broken bones as a toothpick.
"A possible Idea except perhaps once violence is involved it may get out of control. We may not be able to stop someone from hurting you. I believe our human has a gift with words, and this is the way to proceed."
"I agree they are his specialty,"she nods. "I will attempt at disguising myself, though I'm afraid I am a bit out of practice and my supplies have diminished."
She looks into her own bag pulling out scraps o torn fabric, jagged pieces of metal, wood, and other resources. She manages to make a misshapen mask which she wears, as well as a cape that covers most of her body.
"I can search and see what more ancient entities have to say about this mountain." She pulls the hood of the cape over her head, completing her shroud. "Farewell. I hope your adventures are fruitful."
Not long after, Synntax and Othokent watched as Veyths, Mirk, and Balgorn moved down the road toward town. They had said, "If we are not back by sundown, come looking for us." As if THAT would ease Syn's mind while waiting.
Slapping Otho on the shoulder, "Well my friend. Let us picket these stupid mules and horses and make a semi comfortable spot in some shade. I suspect we will be waiting a while before we 'see' what we will see about this latest move."
The bright sun slowly crept across the cloudless, blue sky. For the first few hours, Synntax was fine. The weather was pleasant enough and the shade was cool and the supplies were thin yet edible. And even the horses and mules were fed and lethargic. Life wasn't that bad at the moment. The tiefling began to nod off as Othokent prowled about the rocks and perimeter...
Syntaxx groaned as he rolled onto his side and felt around his back; pulling an embedded pebble from his back. The tielfing had to raise his hand to block the strong sunlight that was now trying to blind him. He grunted as he slowly righted himself and rose to his feet. More time had passed than he realized. The sun was already getting low in the sky and would be hitting the horizon soon.
And no sign of his companions. Turning about, he tried to locate Othokent since it looked like they may have to enter the town whether they liked it or not.
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The fire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows that danced across Vethys' face. His lute lay silent across his lap, replaced by a hefty coin pouch that he tossed playfully between his hands, the clinking of coins a symphony to his ears. A triumphant grin stretched across his face, the memory of his successful negotiation still fresh.
"Well, companions," he announced, his voice dripping with amusement, "it seems some of us fared better than others in the spoils department." He gestured towards the bulging pouch, the unspoken implication hanging heavy in the air. Unfazed, he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "But fret not, my friends," he said, a hint of his signature charm returning, "for even the most meager of rewards can contribute to a grander purpose."
He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with an idea. "Now, with our… ahem collective resources at hand, perhaps we should seek out the good folk of the nearest town. Perhaps there are merchants or even allies who possess… peculiar wares, shall we say, that might be of great use in our endeavors."
Vethys raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. He knew the risks of their quest, the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But he also knew that a well-equipped party was a party more likely to succeed. And who knew, perhaps he could use his newfound wealth to not only acquire the necessary tools but also to secure a slight edge for himself, just in case things went south.
The fire seemed to crackle louder, the silence in the camp thick with anticipation. Vethys waited, his smile both genuine and calculating, as his companions contemplated his proposition. The decision, he knew, would determine not just their next step, but the very course of their infernal journey.
Balgron frowns at the human. Not particularly caring for his boasting or for humans in general. "The money even combined is paltry. I could use armor and a shield, however this is unlikely to provide for much. I will hoard this for now, and perhaps we can find some 'servants of the gods' who will volunteer to donate more to our cause."
"However..., I suggest we stop at a town regardless. We need information. Perhaps in a tavern we can find out some information about the mountains we seek."
Sensing the shift in mood, Vethys set down his coin pouch, the clinking sound ceasing abruptly. "Agreed," he conceded, "acquiring trinkets isn't our immediate need. Knowledge, on the other hand, is power. We should venture into town, not for merchants of the shadow variety, but for those who possess the wisdom of the past." He gestured towards the distant mountains, their peaks lost in the twilight sky. "Our destination, the bloody mountain seal, surely there are tales told about it. Whispers passed down through generations, perhaps even maps etched in forgotten tomes." Vethys stroked his beard, his voice adopting a more sincere tone. "Information," he continued, "that could guide us on the right path, warn us of hidden dangers, or even point us towards powerful allies."
It was a gamble. They could waste valuable time in fruitless searches, or they could stumble upon the very information they needed. As he watched their faces, searching for their response, a flicker of hope rekindled in his eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were not just a ragtag team of misanthropes, but a band bound by a shared purpose, one that transcended personal gain. As they set off towards the town, Vethys strummed a light melody on his lute, the music carrying the faintest echo of their initial triumph and hints of the challenges yet to come. The road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but Vethys, with his wit, charm, and ever-present touch of self-interest, was ready to face the music.
"And perhaps we should split up," Mirk piped in. She stared down at the flames, the lights dancing in her eyes as she spoke. "We all have several different skill sets which could be beneficial in taking to certain types of people."
Her hands were clasped in her lap, "We could meet back at the town gate by this time tomorrow and compare our findings. Or perhaps not."
Synntax looks around the campfire, "I have 'skills' but.. as you might have noticed, I am also a tiefling -- which draws unwanted attention and, sometimes, unwanted violence, in towns in general." He shakes his head slowly, "It might be best if I stay with any spare animals outside town while you others go in and barter, banter, poke and prod for information and equipment."
Balgron nods at the others. "I will head to a tavern to see what I can find out"
Vethys nodded in agreement, "Legends and rumors are spun in taverns and marketplaces, but what about investigating ancient tomes & scholarly sources? Mirk, do you want to check those for information? Balgron can inquire at the taverns," his voice took on a theatrical flourish, "while I weave tales of our quest, painting a picture so vivid, so captivating, that information will flow to us like wine from a broken cask. Whispers of the mountain, legends of the bloody seals, these secrets will be ours for the taking. I shall pluck the strings of their memories, and hopefully, a melody of truth will emerge." He strummed a few playful notes on his lute, the melody echoing in the stillness. "Of course," he added with a wink, "a few well-placed coins here and there wouldn't hurt either. After all, knowledge, like any valuable commodity, often comes at a price." A mischievous grin spread across his face as he pictured himself in the town square, his lute weaving a captivating narrative, drawing out the secrets and knowledge they seek. He envisioned the barkeep, a weathered soul with stories etched in the lines on his face, the young stablehand with wide, curious eyes, or the gossipy market vendor, all drawn into his musical web. He gave his companions a confident nod, "See you all at the rendezvous point, with pockets full of knowledge and perhaps a few new tales to share over the campfire."
"If you think that tieflingsss are unwelcome, you should sssee the reception I get. The only time folksss talk to me is when they are ssshouting for me to get lossst. Though mossstly they jusst attack."
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Synntax chuckles, "No doubt. No doubt, my scaley friend. Being 'other' makes living an adventure; not always a fun one but..."
The tielfing turns to Mirk and Vethys, "Any chance you can do some small 'disguise' changes to your selves. Just in case anyone asks later they can't quite put a finger on who you were or looked like? Or maybe that is me being 'tiefling paranoid'?"
Synntax looks at Balgron, "I am afraid there is no disguising your mighty frame. Be bold. Be.... Balgron." He smiles at the thought of what is to come.
Vethys strummed a single chord on his lute, the melody melancholic and yet strangely hopeful. Synn is right, there are risks of entering the town – my reputation as a skilled bard might precede me. “Good idea! A disguise would be a shield, allowing me to gather information without attracting unwanted attention. Maybe you & Otho can inquire with any other outsiders you find on the outskirts of town.”
He knelt amongst his belongings, fingering the worn leather satchel, its contents a testament to his resourcefulness. Inside lay the tools of his latest trade – dyes, pigments, and a collection of odds and ends scavenged from his travels. A sly smile played on his lips as he dipped a brush into a pot of vibrant blue dye, the coppery scent filling the air. With practiced ease, he began transforming himself. A wig of thick brown hair, meticulously crafted from a mixture of wool and soot, disguised his clean-shaven head. His face, normally adorned with a roguish grin, became a canvas for skillful disguise. A prosthetic nose, molded from clay and painted with lifelike detail, was carefully attached. A smattering of fake freckles and a dab of rouge on his cheeks completed the illusion. A wide-brimmed hat, pulled low over his brow, further obscured his features. He looked like a weathered traveler, one who had seen his fair share of the world's harsh realities, rather than a renowned and wealthy performer. Stepping out into the cool night air, he vanished into the shadows, his true identity hidden behind a mask of weathered leather and borrowed anonymity. In the shadows of the town, amidst the whispers and secrets, Vethys would play his most crucial song yet – a song of discovery, a song of unraveling the mysteries that lay hidden within the mountain's bloody embrace.
"I have no way to disguissse mysssself. Though we could alwayssss try a russse for you to gain favour with the town. If I go in and sssstart to terrorisssse them, and you 'drive me out', they will ssssee you asss heroessss and welcome you more easssily" Otho says, while using one of the merchants broken bones as a toothpick.
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
"A possible Idea except perhaps once violence is involved it may get out of control. We may not be able to stop someone from hurting you. I believe our human has a gift with words, and this is the way to proceed."
"I agree they are his specialty," she nods. "I will attempt at disguising myself, though I'm afraid I am a bit out of practice and my supplies have diminished."
She looks into her own bag pulling out scraps o torn fabric, jagged pieces of metal, wood, and other resources. She manages to make a misshapen mask which she wears, as well as a cape that covers most of her body.
"I can search and see what more ancient entities have to say about this mountain." She pulls the hood of the cape over her head, completing her shroud. "Farewell. I hope your adventures are fruitful."
Not long after, Synntax and Othokent watched as Veyths, Mirk, and Balgorn moved down the road toward town. They had said, "If we are not back by sundown, come looking for us." As if THAT would ease Syn's mind while waiting.
Slapping Otho on the shoulder, "Well my friend. Let us picket these stupid mules and horses and make a semi comfortable spot in some shade. I suspect we will be waiting a while before we 'see' what we will see about this latest move."
The bright sun slowly crept across the cloudless, blue sky. For the first few hours, Synntax was fine. The weather was pleasant enough and the shade was cool and the supplies were thin yet edible. And even the horses and mules were fed and lethargic. Life wasn't that bad at the moment. The tiefling began to nod off as Othokent prowled about the rocks and perimeter...
Patience 16
Syntaxx groaned as he rolled onto his side and felt around his back; pulling an embedded pebble from his back. The tielfing had to raise his hand to block the strong sunlight that was now trying to blind him. He grunted as he slowly righted himself and rose to his feet. More time had passed than he realized. The sun was already getting low in the sky and would be hitting the horizon soon.
And no sign of his companions. Turning about, he tried to locate Othokent since it looked like they may have to enter the town whether they liked it or not.