It’s rolls with an “L” not roles with an “E”.

*God damned autocorrect*

Tuu'Saayn smiles at the shenanigans centered around the mysteriously vanishing sticky buns.  It was refreshing to observe the banter, no such exchanges occurred at the monistary.

He let's out a soft whistle towards Gus.   "To tide you over," he says and softly tosses him an apple.

21 perception (5+3)

Perception: Nat 20 (though I do I have a -1 for the skill)

Standing a few feet back from Gus and Chronos, Torm scans the bustling market taking in the smells of spiced meats, dried herbs, cindering incense, and a faint hint of baked sweets masked by the other smells. He tries to ignore the ridiculous banter of his wagon mates, but a faint smile spreads across his usually deadpan face.

Spotting a vendor with water skins, he turns to walk over there. Before leaving, he says in a dry gravel voice to Gus and Chronos, “There’s a baker just beyond that butcher with the spiced meats.” Torm points in the direction of Ade. “Think he might have something for that sweet tooth of yours. In case apples aren’t your thing.”

Chronos immediately turns his head towards the direction pointed then turns to Gus. "Well, you know what me must do now, yes?" He asks excitedly, a twinkle in his eye.

Gus catches the apple in both hands like it’s a sacred relic, staring at it as though it personally offended him.

“Oh… thank you, Tuu’Saayn,” he says, his voice pitched high in a strained attempt at cheerfulness. He turns the apple over slowly. “An apple… yes. Nature’s snack. Crisp. Refreshing. Devoid of frosting, cinnamon, glaze, or joy.”

He takes a solemn bite. Crunch.

A pause. He chews slowly, staring off into the distance like a man reevaluating his life choices.

“…So this is how it ends,” he murmurs. “A Wobblewand brought low. Not by spell misfire. Not by wild magic. But by fiber.”

Then—Torm speaks. Gus’s head snaps toward him, eyes wide, apple halfway to his mouth.

“A baker? You—you saw a baker?!” The apple is instantly forgotten, passed to the nearest person without looking. “Praise be to the arcane weave and baked goods divine!”

Gus turns slowly to face Chronos, and narrows his eyes with the grave seriousness of a wizard invoking an ancient pact.

Gus pauses 

“Yes,” he says solemnly. “We retrieve the buns.”

And with that, Gus strides in the direction Torm pointed, cloak fluttering dramatically—only to trip over a stool, catch himself, and pretend it was all part of the plan.

Chronos eagerly bounds after Gus, chuckling a bit to himself as the Mage trips over a stool.

Tuu'Saayn shakes head but smiles all the while.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he strolls leisurely behind the group.  His eyes continue to glance around for a weapons vendor. 

**OoC assuming he finds one he wants to swap his spear for a quarterstaff and buy a shortbow and 20 arrows.  I'll mark off 26 gp - if he had any change from the swap he would pass it out to those in need  as he encountered them in the market.  If things are higher than the PhB lemme know how much more I need.  Plz & ty.**

Despite the sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance of sticky buns, Gryn somehow comes out of the whole situation with a sticky bun in hand. Next in order is vendor with a seller of hats. Gryn will need a proper hat if he is to go on a grand adventure.

Spying such a vendor Gryn approaches and inquires about purchasing a hat with a feather in it. Asking up front about what the price might be and then starting right in on the haggling.

He will move the sticky bun from one hand to the other so as to free a hand, with traces of sticky bun, that he can pick the hat up with and try it on.

After which he will take out his coin pouch and stuffing the sticky bun in his mouth to bite into it and temporarily and free another hand he will begin counting out coins.

Then he will quickly place the hat on the vendor's head and balance the sticky bun atop his own head.

After counting out the coins he will go to hand over his pouch instead, but pull it back and place the coins in the vendor's open hand.

Then Gryn will say, "Oh yeah, my hat!" and quickly switch the hat from the vendor's head to Gryn's head and in switching balance the sticky bun atop the vendor's head.

"And that sticky bun shouldn't go on your head!" Gryn will snatch his off the vendor's head and take another bite before offering the rest to the vendor.

"Here you go, you can have the rest!" and Gryn places the remainder of the sticky bun in the vendor's open hand while trying to pocket the coins in a sort of 'switcheroo' pickpocket maneuver.

Sleight of Hand: 5

Regith looks down at the part-nibbled apple in his hand, sighs and throws it quietly away.

He calls upon divine power in a casual moment of radiance, musing on what aspect of the frantic gnome to enhance...

'Investigation? Perception, perhaps.  No - this is more serious, this is life-and-death.'

[In the touch of their hands, Gus gains +1d4 for the next minute, for any use of the Survival skill]

"The quest for Pastry is an earnest endeavour.  May The Powers Bless this small seeker for truth and sugar."

As Regith’s quiet blessing settles over him, a faint shimmer glints in Gus’s eyes—not just arcane, but primal. The city noise fades into a background hum. His gnomish nose twitches once… twice…

“Cinnamon,” he breathes, reverently.

Then—boom—he’s off like a missile, weaving through the crowd with the urgency of a gnome late for second breakfast. Skipping past kebabs, hurdling a crate of squawking chickens, Gus skids to a halt beside Chronos, panting and pointing.

“There! There! Stall eleven! The sign says ‘Hot. Sweet. Sticky.’ —it’s got to be buns.”

Sure enough, nestled between jars of glowing honey and a stack of spiced flatbread, one lone sticky bun—golden, glossy, faintly steaming—rests like a jewel in the stall’s case.

Gus’s face falls into solemn horror. “There’s only one left.”

He turns to Chronos, eyes wide, voice grave. “You and I… we’ve seen things. Fallen wagons. Escaped wheels. Apples.” He spits the word like a curse.

Then, with great ceremony, he draws a small, slightly bent butter knife from his belt.

“I offer you… half. For courage in the face of mediocrity.”

He wipes an invisible tear. “Let history remember: we split the bun, but we did not split our bond.”

[OOC: Survival Check for sticky buns 16 I am assuming that would beat the DC as a vendor would not intentionally hide their wares, but if DM/others feel strongly about this I will retcon and await DM adjudication. To be clear in situations more dire than the search for Type II diabetes I would await the DM]

Chronos, seeing that there is only one beautifully sticky bun remaining, steps back, and shakes his head to his companion. "No, my friend. The spoils of this battle are for you and you alone. I can tell this particular sweet treat is important to you, and so I shall step back and allow you to enjoy it. As a noble it would be remiss of me to deprive a friend of his favorite treats, and so I shall bow out from this arduous quest."

Tuu'Saayn gave up on finding a weapons vendor.  He decided that it was fate.  He had been called to a higher purpose.  He was feeling inspired by the passion with which his new companions pursued the most coveted of pastries.

He approached the vendor as the party walked away.  

"Greetings," he says with a respectful bow. "It appears as if your baking skills are in great demand.  Perhaps you would consider setting aside eight fresh sticky buns for me tomorrow morning?  Please allow me to pay for the order now, and a gold piece for your trouble."  

He gave the vendor the needed coin and walked away with a slight smile.  He made a mental note of the carts location in the market.  He wasn't much of a talker, but it seemed like pastries would make fast friends in this group.

 With the quest achieved and the sticky buns recovered, Regith began to relax - no-one had got hurt, and everything was fine.

Then he started to notice: not all the stalls were occupied, some even had items scattered upon them, with no-one watching the store.  He could have sworn there was a pleasant old lady at that clothes store a moment ago - but now there was no-one, the racks of shirts swaying gently, as if bumped.

"Did anyone see where that stallholder went?  The silver-haired woman in the pale blue gown?  She was there just a moment ago."

Some of the nearby vendors looked pale and nervous, but none of them replied...

[OOC: No DM, no inkling of what they had in mind as a plot - we might as well amuse ourselves!]

Gus stares, utterly dumbfounded, as Chronos steps back with the dignity of a saint and the generosity of a sugarless monk. His eyes grow wide, mouth slightly agape—not from hunger this time, but sheer emotion.

“You… you’d do that? For me?” he chokes out, his voice catching like he’d just witnessed the birth of a new pastry god. “Chronos… you noble, selfless, beautifully flaky creature.”

And then—he devours it. With the gusto of a man who’s survived a famine. Honey drips from his beard, sugar sticks to his cheeks, and for a moment, all is right in the world. The bun is warm, and life is good.

That is, until he hears Regith.

Halfway through licking the sweet glaze off his fingertips, Gus slows… then stops. His eyes flick to the half-empty stalls ann unmistakable feeling of something missing.

He wipes a bit of honey off his chin, squints at the baker’s stand. It’s abandoned. Like they was never there.

“…Maybe they went to bake a fresh batch,” he says hopefully, voice thin.

A pause, as Gus continues to look around the market.

“Or,” he says more slowly, “maybe something’s got a taste for market vendors.”

He scratches his head, brow furrowing beneath his wild hair. “Can’t say I like the flavor of that thought.” Then, softly—“Not nearly enough cinnamon.”

 @Gustavo Wobblewand: Would you like to make a perception check?

Perception Check.....3

Slowly catching up to the group Tuu'Saayn mulls over the snippet of what he heard Gus say.  Always pleased to have a deep thought to ponder, he offers the following bit of sage wisdom, "Bakers and spice vendors may in fact be quite strongly flavored of cinnamon.  Perhaps they were eaten by a starving gnome..."  

He makes every effort to look serious, but is in fact quite amused

Gazing at his sticky fingers, and bemoaning the sparse supply of confectionery,  Gus hears and sees nothing out of place.

Wherever the baker has gone, they have left an apron on the end of the store, draped over the cashbox...

Gus, still basking in the sacred afterglow of pastry perfection, lets out a soft, blissed-out sigh. “Ahhh… sticky buns…” His beard glistens with honey and pride.

But then something tugs at the edge of his sugar-drunk daze.

He squints at the now-empty stall. A lonely apron… and beneath it?

“Oi.”

He blinks, leans in, and gasp!—the cash box.

Gus narrows his eyes. “Now hang on just a glaze-dusted minute…”

He points, half to Chronos and half to no one in particular. “That… that’s just bad hiding. Who just throws a cash box under a flimsy apron?"

He glances at Tuu’Saayn, expression torn between suspicion and sticky-fingered dismay. “I may be a gnome of many questionable decisions—but even I don’t tuck a coin box under an apron! Something’s not right. Either that baker left in a mighty rush…”

His eyes scan the crowd again, his sugar-high sharpening into focus.

“…Or someone—or something—wanted him gone.”