Tursyn’s eyes brightened at the mention of a bed and a bath. Both would be delightful. A bath especially, if only to remove the grime on his skin and the blood beneath his nails. Perhaps he could brush out his hair after the wash, given its tangled state. If it wasn’t salvageable, he could cut it instead.
He followed after everyone, a spring in his step. While he disagreed with the deep gnome’s comment—water was much more soothing than dust—he smiled at her still, too excited not to. He also smiled at the drow beside him—before he faltered. The drow. How could he forget?
This time, Tursyn willed himself to stay still, although his hands trembled worse than usual. As he kept an ear out for Foley’s conversation, he nodded stiffly at the drow in acknowledgment. “Hello,” he said softly.
Qorotl can only flinch, as if the Aasimar's words are physical projectiles. He does not respond, at least not verbally, but offers a subtle nod of his own. His gaze doesn't even rise to meet Tursyn's, but his eyes are clearly quite empty, an image not unlike many of the slaves Tursyn likely saw in his own captivity. This drow is near broken.
"Hmm.... Well, I suppose the barrack stay would be best. How about complimentary baths, one per person? We are after all, very dirty travelers, and I'm sure you wouldn't want our grime in your accommodations, it'd be much more of a hassle to clean than just giving the baths to us for free..."
Foley vaguely gestures at his face while asking for free baths, to try to show how dirty his face is.
Persuasion check if you want it: 12
"Hm.." *He seems to size you over for a minute.* "A turn in turn.." he mutters. "Alrigh', I'll cut ya a break... given the look o yas.."
*The barkeep waves for the dwarven barmaid to come over, and taps the counter in a 'pay up front' manner.*
"Oh fantastic! All the people in this tavern are so kind and accommodating! (under his breath) Unlike some others in the Underdark..."
Foley slides the appropriate amount of coin (14 silver) over the counter with a grin. "And with that, I need a long nap. Storytelling, among other things, do make a performer so tired. Come along, friends, when you are ready of course, to a night of luxury, sponsored by: (whispers to the group) People's now empty pockets. (normal again) I'm off to a bath, and then a bed. If there are bunk beds, I call top bunk!"
Foley leaves for the bath, with a skip in his step that certainly doesn't seem tired.
Adewild will wait until after the men have bathed to take her bath, unless there is privacy for modesty. She will then slap, anything is better than what she's been through.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards. DM - The Old Keep
Qela keeps to the shadows as she makes her way to the back rooms.
"Too much attention, Oh, but to bathe."
Qela has lived most of her life in barracks and shared baths and will not be concerned for modesty. But anyone paying undue attention will be due a lesson in manners.
From the shadows by the door she will cast mage hand to tug at the clothes of the others, pulling them towards the door to let them know that Foley has succeeded in obtaining rooms for them. She pauses for a moment as the drow moves to follow them, remembering the raid on the creche, but then sighs and motions for him to follow also.
"Never reject an ally. But I will watch him closely."
Waeslen darted towards the communal bath, stripping as he goes not caring who watches. He leaps into the bath with a giddy cackle, splashing water everywhere as he greedily soaked in the warmth. After but a few minutes and thoroughly enjoying his bath, he shook himself like a wet dog, flinging water droplets in every direction.With a mischievous grin, Waeslen chuckled to himself before sauntering over to a corner of the room and curling up into a ball on the floor. Exhausted he drifted off to sleep almost immediately, his snoring filling the room with a rumbling chorus.
Qorotl doesn't bathe, at least not as the others would. He merely strips, sets himself upon a stool and wipes the grime from his flesh with a wetted rag. He was always taught tubs and showers were for those worthy of such things. He only needed to be clean enough. When he forgot such things, Mother was often there to remind him.
'SUCH IS THE REALITY OF MEN. REMEMBER THAT.'
Her words ring in his mind, as clear as they were the day she spoke them. Those near him may notice the scars that run along his entire form; rope burns on his wrists, restraint marks and bruises from a collar on his neck, medical incision scars along his torso, archaic sigils carved onto the flesh of his chest, and countless lashes across his back, newer and very old -- his body is a tapestry of abuses, a timeline of the tragedy that is Rot. He looks to no one and says nothing, as is fitting for him. He only finishes wiping what grime he can, slipping back into his own meager rag of tunic and finding a spot in the corner of the room with which to sag and wallow.
Foley glances at the Drow's scars. Foley knows no details, but certainly can understand that most people go through heavy experiences, like himself, and so a piece of Foley's fear falls away. This Drow is a person, too. Foley will also stow a certain morbid curiosity for now. He can imagine a stranger wouldn't been keen on sharing such personal details. But he does feel sorry for the Drow's pathetic display, so he tries extending a metaphorical olive branch.
"Come in, the waters fine..." Foley jokingly flirts with the Drow, then realizes the Drow might not realize the joke. "Only joking. Well not about the water. The water is actually fine. There are enough baths for all of us, if you want one."
Foley will stick around for a couple minutes, if the Drow or anyone else wishes to speak with him. Then he will eventually retire to the barrack stay, in search of a bunk bed.
quick thing on a couple posts back i rolled a 12 on a check to convince the barkeep but now i look back and it says 14 even though i didn't edit it to say that. anyone know about it? maybe there's away to edit other people's posts and someone added a guidance?
The gnome would eschew a bath, as she had said, she preferred other methods of remaining clean. Instead she would make her way directly towards the barracks which had been pointed out by Foley.
Stripping what linen there is from one of the beds, she assembles a small, nest-like bundle, burying herself beneath the fabric such that only her dark eyes peer out from between the folds. As the rest of the impromptu party trickled into the room, the more perceptive among them may be able to hear hoarse whispers emanating from the blanket cocoon as the old woman seems to mutter to herself for some time before eventually falling silent.
Qorotl can only flinch, as if the Aasimar's words are physical projectiles. He does not respond, at least not verbally, but offers a subtle nod of his own. His gaze doesn't even rise to meet Tursyn's, but his eyes are clearly quite empty, an image not unlike many of the slaves Tursyn likely saw in his own captivity. This drow is near broken.
The drow’s expression was hauntingly familiar, and Tursyn’s eyes widened at the sight of it. It was strange to see a glimpse of himself in someone he was scared of. He didn’t know what to think of it—how to feel about it, even.
Tursyn shook his head and followed the others into the bath. As he passed by the githyanki, he murmured his thanks for her reminder.
Once inside, Tursyn stripped and set his clothes beside the bath. For a moment, he savored the water’s warmth, then scrubbed away at his skin until it was pink and raw. He ignored the painful sensation from the burns on his back. It would pass, as it always did.
He emerged from the bath, tugging at his hair. He winced. As expected, it was too tangled to be saved. Tursyn looked around, asking with a tentative voice; “Does anyone have… something sharp… to cut hair with?”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Nobody seemed to, but Tursyn should’ve expected as much. Everyone seemed to be in a rough spot right now. After getting dressed, he made his way to the barracks. Quietly, to not disturb the others, he looked around the barracks for tools to aid him. Even a candle would do, although he was afraid of handling fire.
Tursyn’s eyes brightened at the mention of a bed and a bath. Both would be delightful. A bath especially, if only to remove the grime on his skin and the blood beneath his nails. Perhaps he could brush out his hair after the wash, given its tangled state. If it wasn’t salvageable, he could cut it instead.
He followed after everyone, a spring in his step. While he disagreed with the deep gnome’s comment—water was much more soothing than dust—he smiled at her still, too excited not to. He also smiled at the drow beside him—before he faltered. The drow. How could he forget?
This time, Tursyn willed himself to stay still, although his hands trembled worse than usual. As he kept an ear out for Foley’s conversation, he nodded stiffly at the drow in acknowledgment. “Hello,” he said softly.
hello! i'm vii or 7. pronouns are any.
Qorotl can only flinch, as if the Aasimar's words are physical projectiles. He does not respond, at least not verbally, but offers a subtle nod of his own. His gaze doesn't even rise to meet Tursyn's, but his eyes are clearly quite empty, an image not unlike many of the slaves Tursyn likely saw in his own captivity. This drow is near broken.
"Hm.." *He seems to size you over for a minute.* "A turn in turn.." he mutters. "Alrigh', I'll cut ya a break... given the look o yas.."
*The barkeep waves for the dwarven barmaid to come over, and taps the counter in a 'pay up front' manner.*
"Oh fantastic! All the people in this tavern are so kind and accommodating! (under his breath) Unlike some others in the Underdark..."
Foley slides the appropriate amount of coin (14 silver) over the counter with a grin. "And with that, I need a long nap. Storytelling, among other things, do make a performer so tired. Come along, friends, when you are ready of course, to a night of luxury, sponsored by: (whispers to the group) People's now empty pockets. (normal again) I'm off to a bath, and then a bed. If there are bunk beds, I call top bunk!"
Foley leaves for the bath, with a skip in his step that certainly doesn't seem tired.
Adewild will wait until after the men have bathed to take her bath, unless there is privacy for modesty. She will then slap, anything is better than what she's been through.
Coriana - Company of the Grey Chain
Wagner - Dragon Heist: Bards.
DM - The Old Keep
Qela keeps to the shadows as she makes her way to the back rooms.
"Too much attention, Oh, but to bathe."
Qela has lived most of her life in barracks and shared baths and will not be concerned for modesty. But anyone paying undue attention will be due a lesson in manners.
From the shadows by the door she will cast mage hand to tug at the clothes of the others, pulling them towards the door to let them know that Foley has succeeded in obtaining rooms for them. She pauses for a moment as the drow moves to follow them, remembering the raid on the creche, but then sighs and motions for him to follow also.
"Never reject an ally. But I will watch him closely."
Dugar Rilsky, Reborn Undying Warlock / Aberrant Mind Sorcerer (retired)
Konstatin Markilov, Dhampir Lore Bard (retired)
Qela, Githyanki Gloomstalker Ranger
Thistlebottom, Fairy Swarmkeeper Ranger
Waeslen darted towards the communal bath, stripping as he goes not caring who watches. He leaps into the bath with a giddy cackle, splashing water everywhere as he greedily soaked in the warmth. After but a few minutes and thoroughly enjoying his bath, he shook himself like a wet dog, flinging water droplets in every direction.With a mischievous grin, Waeslen chuckled to himself before sauntering over to a corner of the room and curling up into a ball on the floor. Exhausted he drifted off to sleep almost immediately, his snoring filling the room with a rumbling chorus.
Qorotl doesn't bathe, at least not as the others would. He merely strips, sets himself upon a stool and wipes the grime from his flesh with a wetted rag. He was always taught tubs and showers were for those worthy of such things. He only needed to be clean enough. When he forgot such things, Mother was often there to remind him.
'SUCH IS THE REALITY OF MEN. REMEMBER THAT.'
Her words ring in his mind, as clear as they were the day she spoke them. Those near him may notice the scars that run along his entire form; rope burns on his wrists, restraint marks and bruises from a collar on his neck, medical incision scars along his torso, archaic sigils carved onto the flesh of his chest, and countless lashes across his back, newer and very old -- his body is a tapestry of abuses, a timeline of the tragedy that is Rot. He looks to no one and says nothing, as is fitting for him. He only finishes wiping what grime he can, slipping back into his own meager rag of tunic and finding a spot in the corner of the room with which to sag and wallow.
Foley glances at the Drow's scars. Foley knows no details, but certainly can understand that most people go through heavy experiences, like himself, and so a piece of Foley's fear falls away. This Drow is a person, too. Foley will also stow a certain morbid curiosity for now. He can imagine a stranger wouldn't been keen on sharing such personal details. But he does feel sorry for the Drow's pathetic display, so he tries extending a metaphorical olive branch.
"Come in, the waters fine..." Foley jokingly flirts with the Drow, then realizes the Drow might not realize the joke. "Only joking. Well not about the water. The water is actually fine. There are enough baths for all of us, if you want one."
Foley will stick around for a couple minutes, if the Drow or anyone else wishes to speak with him. Then he will eventually retire to the barrack stay, in search of a bunk bed.
quick thing on a couple posts back i rolled a 12 on a check to convince the barkeep but now i look back and it says 14 even though i didn't edit it to say that. anyone know about it? maybe there's away to edit other people's posts and someone added a guidance?
The gnome would eschew a bath, as she had said, she preferred other methods of remaining clean. Instead she would make her way directly towards the barracks which had been pointed out by Foley.
Stripping what linen there is from one of the beds, she assembles a small, nest-like bundle, burying herself beneath the fabric such that only her dark eyes peer out from between the folds. As the rest of the impromptu party trickled into the room, the more perceptive among them may be able to hear hoarse whispers emanating from the blanket cocoon as the old woman seems to mutter to herself for some time before eventually falling silent.
The drow’s expression was hauntingly familiar, and Tursyn’s eyes widened at the sight of it. It was strange to see a glimpse of himself in someone he was scared of. He didn’t know what to think of it—how to feel about it, even.
Tursyn shook his head and followed the others into the bath. As he passed by the githyanki, he murmured his thanks for her reminder.
Once inside, Tursyn stripped and set his clothes beside the bath. For a moment, he savored the water’s warmth, then scrubbed away at his skin until it was pink and raw. He ignored the painful sensation from the burns on his back. It would pass, as it always did.
He emerged from the bath, tugging at his hair. He winced. As expected, it was too tangled to be saved. Tursyn looked around, asking with a tentative voice; “Does anyone have… something sharp… to cut hair with?”
hello! i'm vii or 7. pronouns are any.
Nobody seemed to, but Tursyn should’ve expected as much. Everyone seemed to be in a rough spot right now. After getting dressed, he made his way to the barracks. Quietly, to not disturb the others, he looked around the barracks for tools to aid him. Even a candle would do, although he was afraid of handling fire.
hello! i'm vii or 7. pronouns are any.