As the sun dips below the horizon, the Dyn Singh Night Market twinkles to life, gradually igniting in a dazzling display. The smells of food carts filled with pot stickers, coconut desserts, spiced meats, sticky buns, and more drift amid bright bouquets of glowing flowers and magical lights in the shapes of vendors' wares and whimsical. Crowds of shoppers wander the stalls, drawn by the colors, smells, and music. 

…Although, you all are nowhere near focused on that right now. Embarrassingly enough, the rickety wagon which brought you adventurers here has completely collapsed in the middle of the market. The wagon, barely held together by a couple of screws and nails, finally collapsed in the market's centerplace. You even swear you saw a poor halfling being chased by a wagon wheel twice its size.

The wagoner, a tan human man wearing a worn pair of overalls, lazily kicks the side of the wagon, leaving a clear dent in the side of the mushy wood. “Well, this old gal is gonna need a fixer upper,” he says, whipping out a hammer from the front of his overalls. “Depending on how bad this is, this may take up to a couple hours to… five days.” He adds as he watches the wagon sink to the ground. “You all should get going. Maybe explore the market a bit, see some new faces… while I fix the wagon.”

But, before I get ahead of myself, I must ask: who are you, my dear adventurers?

PART (1/12): A SALTED LEGACY

(Hey folks, GM Pluto here. Please introduce your character and yourself [in a separate bit] Also, for best PBP results, try and check the form daily so you don't miss your turn!)

Chronos Von Krasnakk hops off the back of the cart and stretches his muscles, stiff and sore from sitting in the cramped wagon for a couple days. "Well, it's certainly not the carriages back home..." He muttered under his breath, then turned back to the group, arms outstretched. "Well my friends, unless you wish to aid our companion in fixing our faithful chariot, the market beckons!" Then he rummaged into his money pouch and flicks the wagoner a gold piece. "For your service, my friend. Be sure to treat yourself to something nice at the market once the repairs are in order, eh?"

Chronos is of nobility, but you wouldn't know by looking at him. His clothes are matted and torn, his scales are dirty and unkempt, and his teeth definitely have one or two pieces of food lodged in there... He has a staff on his back, a dagger on his side, and a necklace around his neck.

Gryn jumps down from the back of the cart, the landing jarring him a little more than he expected, his attention drawn to the many sights and sounds of the bustling market.

"Let's get something to eat, I wouldn't mind one of those sticky buns."

Gryn Shadowquick is a short halfling cleric wearing a chain shirt over some traveler's clothes. He carries a mace at his hip and a throwing spear across his back, and currently has his shield secured there giving him much the look of a metallic tortle's shell.

 "Oh, my!

I'd better see if they're all right!"

Vaulting off the cart to a running start, Regith sprinted after the lost wheel.  Wearing a plain surcoat over a mail shirt, a mace tied to his backpack, his gear looks a lot more warlike than his quiet tones would suggest.

Moments later, from the shadows:
"No harm done.... But could someone help me with this wheel?  It's...rather (grunt) heavy."

Torm slides out of the decrepit wagon, arching his back and twisting his tall frame side to side to ease the aches of the rickety wagon ride. The sunlight glints across the mail covering his broad chest, where an amulet of Helm hangs upon a leather necklace. His face is smooth and well tanned, providing a stark contrast to the strikingly white shoulder length hair framing his bronzed face. 

He checks that the longsword is still secured at his hip and reaches back into the wagon retrieving a shield, bundle of javelins, and backpack. Maneuvering them to their rightful places across his back, Torm moves with a confident stride in the direction Regith's request for help.

Without ever saying a word, the paladin leans down, pries the wagon wheel upright onto its proper edge and rolls it back over to the side of the wagon.

He wipes the dust from his hands and follows after the others toward the market, in search of vendors with water skins and healers kits.

From beneath the wreckage, a soot-covered hand shoots up, fingers wiggling.

“Fear not! I am completely fine! …Probably.”

A wild-haired gnome bursts from the debris, trips over his own satchel, and faceplants. Muffled against the ground:

“…Exactly as planned.”

Springing up as if nothing happened, Gus adjusts his singed coat, grins at the group, and strikes a heroic pose, only for a wagon plank to hit him on the head.

“Right! Let’s assess: Regith and Torm have bravely subdued the rogue wheel! Chronos has paid off the wagon’s debts! Gryn! a visionary—has identified our greatest need: sticky buns! And me?”

He throws up his hands, sparks fly from his fingertips, his hat catches fire, and he frantically slaps it out.

“Ah-ha! And I present to you a controlled magical reaction! Exactly as intended.”

Without missing a beat, he marches toward the market.

“To food, magic, and at least one catastrophic decision before the night is through!”

Jerindra unfolds her full frame from where she was folded up in the wagon. Tugging on her chain mail which while large enough to cover her, is not particularly well fitted to her body. She looks around at the market and nothing catches her eye at first glance. She turns to the wagoner and says, “I’m a fair hand at working with my hands, and I would hate to leave you working alone. Would it help you out if I pull out my tools and gave you a hand?"

Tuu'Saayn was lost in quiet contemplation.  The rhythmic motion of the cart and the steady clomp of hooves creating a smooth tempo to meditate to.  He focused on his breath, his training helping to block out distractions.  So complete was his focus that he did not hear the crack of the wagon falling apart beneath him.  

Tuu'Saayn hit the ground rolling.  His body reacted to the fall before his mind registered it.  His shoulder dipped; tucking into a tight ball his body rolled with the impact.  The momentum carries him away from the splintering wood.  He found his footing in an instant, somehow ending up on his feet and easing into a casual step.

He absent mindedly patted the dust from his drab clothing, and walked wordlessly towards the escaping wheel.  

"How may I assist?" He asked in a soft voice.

Tuu'Saayn is of medium height and slight frame. The slender red twigs he calls arms would be laughable were it not for the speed with which they can move. His horns and hair (if he had any) are jet black, as are his eyes. His gaze offers an opponent no insight, his eyes akin to those of a shark.  His plain traveling clothes hang off of his thin shoulders, and he has what seems like 200 daggers tucked into every every convenient location (it's actually 7).  He wields a spear, but treats it more like a walking stick than a weapon.

 "We've... Torm's got it, thanks"

Regith looks on while Torm lifts the wheel easily without his help.

"But if Gustavo is on a Quest for Sticky Buns, I should go - people will be needing healing."

He says it with a smile, and follows the group headed deeper into the market.

“Ah, my dear Regith, you understand! The Quest for Sticky Buns is not undertaken lightly.

Gus strokes his chin, eyes narrowing as he studies the market with great intensity—a scholar searching for truth, a visionary seeking enlightenment, a gnome in desperate need of a sticky bun.

He squints at a dumpling stand. Too round.
A cart with skewers. Sacrilege. “Who—who—would put skewers and sticky buns together?"
A bakery stall with… pies? Deception.

His brow furrows. He nods sagely. He has absolutely no idea.

“…Well, this is deeply troubling.” He sighs, hands on his hips. “Fine! We do this the old-fashioned way—trial, error, and excessive amounts of pastry!”

"To Pastry!"  Regith shoulders his pack.

"Indeed my friends! To the sweets!" Chronos shouted, before laughing heartily.

Gryn searches for a source of either sticky buns or... hats.

Perception: 13

"Perhaps this way?" Gryn dashes off through the crowd to the left, zeroing in on his target.

Tuu'Saayn nods his approval to the group.  It pleased him to know that he would be working with others who think of others.  He has found that actions speak louder than words, and many sprang to action to assist the driver.

When it was clear that the wagon was in good hands and all parts were retrieved he clasped his hands behind his back and followed the party into the market; albeit with less enthusiasm.

He passed by the pastries without a second glance.  He was trained to fuel his body with fresh, wholesome foods.  He would never deny another their sweet tooth, but his eyes scanned the market place for fresh fruits and vegetables.  He also looked for folks who were in need; the elderly, disabled, or poverty stricken children.  To those he found he offered a warm smile and a piece of fresh fruit.  

He was used to living simply, his order forsaking many comforts correlated with wealth.  He did keep his eyes open for a weapons stand or shop.  He disliked the spear he was given and sought to trade it in for a sturdy quarter staff.  He was also looking for a short bow.  He preferred his combat up close and personal, but he was wise enough to be prepared for anything.

*investigation: 11 (1 + 10)*

Kronos approaches the pastry wagon, and his jovial smile switches to a frown. "Hm... well, this is concerning. It appears all the pastries have disappeared."

Quote from LuckyBee13541 >>

Also, for best PBP results, try and check the form daily so you don't miss your turn!)

 
[[The DM has missed their turn, and all the pastries have been eaten by an interloper who, by virtue of not joining the campaign, doesn’t even exist.]]

Just before the vagon collapsed, Ade began to get up, but wasn't fast enough to do anything before the inevitable. At least he managed to land upright. He slapped off what dust got on his clothes, before stepping away from the wreckage. He says to the wagoner: "Thank you for the journey so far, my good man. It would have been very much harder without you."

As some of the others head to seek sticky buns, he heads towards some of the other stalls. "I find myself more intrigued by this smell of spiced meats in the air", he states, before heading to search for the source of that smell.

Ade wears faded reddish-brown robes, which he says are the guard uniform from his homeland. He is always holding his wand in his hand, though usually hidden by his long sleeves. He has dark skin, bald head, and black eyes. He is tall, but otherwise of an average size. 

(Sorry, didn't notice the PM had a link here until now.)

Jerindra caught a scent of the spices on the wind, the darkening sky contrasting with the lights beginning to turn on around the market. She grew impatient with the wagoner, engrossed in the task, ignoring the help being offered. “If you don’t need help, then, I’ll be off.” she said, eyeing a cart selling skewers of meat and vegetables shiny with grease.

Gus steps up beside Chronos, blinking in disbelief at the barren pastry shelves. His shoulders slump, and he stares for a long, silent moment.

“…Gone?” he mutters, voice low. “Just… gone?”

He places a hand on the cart as if to steady himself, sighing through his nose. “Of course. The sticky bun—pinnacle of pastry perfection, with its golden crust, gooey core, and promise of fleeting joy—ripped from the world before my very eyes. Probably by someone who doesn’t even appreciate the balance of cinnamon to glaze.”

Gus straightens slowly, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his coat. “Fine,” he says, a touch too sharply. “Spiced meat it is. Not my first choice, not my fiftieth—but hunger is cruel, and I must adapt.”

He casts a final mournful glance at the empty tray before turning away. “But mark my words—this isn’t over. A pastry like that doesn’t just disappear. It escapes.”

Chronos nods grimly. "Indeed, my friend. It appears that we have a pastry thief on our hands." He exhales slowly in an attempt to calm himself and looks about for any other sweet treats that might be sold here at this market.

*Perception: 6 (7 - 1)*

*Dear lord my rolls are terrible at the moment. Also for future note: it's Chronos with a CH, not Kronos with a K*