"I'm fer havin' a red if ye pleases," he says to her. He glances back at the party and says softly, "I'm fer thinkin' we pays fer the private room." Turning back to the woman he pauses thoughtfully, "Best to be tryin' one o' each. I'm fer knowin' whats what afore the thirds a comin'."
***OoC: I'm assuming we use Burqa's silver to fund our lodging and debauchery. If we are splitting it up and paying individually thats fine too.***
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
”I would like some tea, meditation, and rest. I feel so tired after our day…”. Krakan walks over to the guest register, picks up the quill and dips it into the ink. He pauses for just a moment, tip of the quill touching his chin, then he writes "Kamran" into the ledger. He pours some tea for himself, lays enough silver on the table to cover everyone, then walks toward the room for rest and relaxation.
((Short rest here?))
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Samir steps forward with a quiet grace, his expression calm but attentive. He offers a small nod of thanks to the woman behind the desk, though his dark eyes briefly flick to the sealed clay jars with curious interest. "I’ll take the tea, thank you," he says, voice low and even, then gestures subtly toward the jars.
"The Tamri Red and Gold—are they local brews? Fruit-based? Spiced? Or just strong enough to drown memory?" There’s no judgment in his tone, only a clinical curiosity, like a priest examining ritual offerings.
He then turns to his companions, adjusting the hood of his cloak slightly as he does so. "I agree Salty, the private room tonight" he says quietly. "It’s one gold, and the bunks should be fine. That is unless someone here snores like a reanimated ox." Samir reaches for the worn quill. His script is practiced and deliberate as he writes:
Silas Tharn
The name is borrowed from a grave inscription he once tended. He dots the "i" precisely, then steps aside, folding his hands in front of him with the stillness of a proper Kelemvorite.
Seeing the group is better at following directions than he is, he follows suit when Samir sets down the quill. As Salty approaches the book, he does a double take on the names. Judging by the furrowed brows and glance from names to the faces of his companions it was evident that he was a half step late in this dance. He got out an owls worth of "who" before someone stepped on his foot. He paused to address that when an elbow dug medium gently into his ribs. Like a stubborn candle with a wet wick the slight slowly sputtered to life. "Oh, er, um..." he mumbles as he clumbsily scrawled a word that looked like Pepper in the book.
He sheepishly replaced the quill and flashed the team a little grin. "I'm fer gettin' it," he whispers as he heads to the sitting area to enjoy a few moments of relaxation with his drinks. If nobody else wants to hang around he heads to the room when the jars are empty.
The front desk lady says "The red and gold brews are made from dates locally and yes Tamri red can drop you into a stupor if you are not careful. I recommend Tamri gold for a night you want to remember"
She then hands the keys for the room to the party.
There is a barrel used for the empty clay jars near the sitting area. The Wandering Sandal is a place where its more do it yourself.
After collecting the coins for payment, the front desk clerk goes back to her sensuous romance novel paying no mind to the party.
In the private room a narrow, arched window high in the wall lets in filtered moonlight, softened by a threadbare linen curtain once dyed indigo, now faded to ash-gray. The walls are whitewashed, but time have left them blotched with handprints, scuff marks, and the faint outlines of once-hung charms or woven mats.
Two sturdy bunk beds, carved roughly from local tamarisk wood, dominate the cramped space. Their frames groan with age, etched with initials in several scripts—some fresh, others smoothed by years of touch. The mattresses are thin and uneven, laid atop coarse hemp netting that sags in places. Each bunk has a single pillow and a woolen blanket smelling faintly of sun, sweat, and smoke.
A low table in the corner has 4 care worn chairs. A brass oil lamp, blackened at the wick, hangs from a wall peg. Beneath one bed lies a weathered chest meant for storage, its lid chipped, its contents forgotten.
The air is tinged with the mingled scents of old incense and old leather. Despite its roughness, the room has been cleaned and is clearly used often—its scars speak of lives passing through: pilgrims, traders, fugitives, and wanderers, each leaving behind a scratch, a stain, a story.
Sighing deeply, Salty inhales the familiar scents. This city was very different from his own port city home, but there were many similarities as well. The smell of the ocean and the bustling life that existed around it could make just about anywhere feel like home.
He yawned, the effort splitting his face and exposing his tusks prominently. He blinked a few times and said, "Yon gray bun twern't fer lyin'. The red's fer kickin' yer arse."
He grabbed one of the chairs and wedged it below the doorknob. He then leaned his javelins against the door. If anyone tried to enter without permission they would make quite a ruckus. After inspecting the makeshift alarm with a squinty red eye he deemed it adequate, if not a marvel in engineering.
With a groan he began pulling off his armor, pausing to inspect it for any sign of wear or damage. He did the same with his sword and shield. Old habits die hard, and the orc treated his gear as if it may save his life, and indeed it often did.
As he laid down to stretch out and get some rest he said, "Someone's not fer likin' 'er line o' questionin'. Tells me we're fer bein' on the right way. I'm fer thinkin' too dat we're needin' to keeps blades sharp 'n wits sharper."
While laying in the bunk and chatting with the team Salty carves the symbol of Valkur into the wood.
Samir finds a corner in the room that is out of the way. He removes some of his gear and stows it against the wall. He takes from his bag the flask of oil and holy water, and a small mirror. He sits on the cold, unpadded floor in a yoga-like meditative posture, back straight, hands resting on his knees, his holy symbol hanging on his chest, catching the dim firelight. He traces on the floor with the oil a circle around him. He begins to mutter softly and reverently;
"Kelemvor, The Great Guide, Judge of the Dead..." Samir pauses with three slow deliberate breaths, centering himself for his prayer.
"...I come to you tonight in stillness, with gratitude and with clarity. You have granted me another day within the mortal coil, and I thank you. Today, I was fed, sheltered, and tested. I am grateful for the warmth of fire, the strength of bread, and the roof above, even if it is temporary. These are mercies not owed, but gifted, and I do not forget them." He lifts the holy symbol off his chest with both hands, holding to his brow.
"I thank you also for the three companions I have found: Lucan, Krakan, and Salty. We walk in different rhythms, but toward the same purpose. I see their spark. You have stayed your hand today, and for that, I am thankful. Lucan, especially, as his life hung on the edge of the veil, and you did not call him to pass. I pray your judgment finds him worthy when his time truly comes, but not yet, not tonight." Samir uncorks the vial of Holy Water, dipping his fingertips in, and then marks a vertical line in the air, symbolizing the divide between life and death.
"One has crossed that line already: Malik. I do not know the whole of his deeds, but I ask that you weigh his soul fairly and without delay. If he suffers in unrest, let him pass swiftly. If he lingers due to injustice, let us be the hand that rights it." Samir picks up the mirror and gazes into it briefly, but not at himself. He gazes through the mirror, a symbol of reflection and truth. He sets it back down.
"Guide our steps, Lord Kelemvor. That we may find the one who broke the natural order. That we may bring peace to Malik's kin and show others that death may be met with dignity, not fear." He pauses once more, the prayer coming to a close.
"Until the day you call my name into the gray, I will walk with purpose. In life, I serve. In death, I submit. This I have vowed." Samir closes his ritual by touching the holy symbol again and then lowers his head in quiet stillness for a few minutes of silent meditation.
Lucan adds his name to the book Tyrese Halam,"Thanks folks, I'm have out of it and I could use something to sip on and a bed to lay on. I'll chat for as long as I'm conscious and that won't be long. I'm throwing back a few drinks and getting a good rest."
Lucan finds a spot in the room taking what is left for a spot.
"I can pitch in on the cost for the room too if you want."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Krakan sits down on the floor criss cross apple sauce opposite of Samir, holding his hands together and his head bowed respectfully. He takes deep breaths in and remains totally silent, reverent as Samir prays and communicates with his god. Krakan keeps his head down, his brows and furrows in his forehead wrinkle, dark patterns appear, come and go and his muscles tighten then release, in a rhythmic pattern almost of a wave. He goes through a series of exercises, all while sitting still, of making his body firm, then relaxing, all without moving. When Samir finishes, he nods and then stand, getting into whichever is the largest bunk bed and collapsing there, his head threatening to come over the edge and his feet lying off the end. He arches his arms up and finds the most comfortable position.
“What a day. I need a rest. Worn out. I’m sorry that I failed all of you, that I did not crush that woman with the deadly daggers. She will hunt us and use other dark friends of hers to help. We must be on guard, my friends. Yes, you are right. We are pressing into tender spots, areas that someone wants to keep hidden. Good. But we must be careful…”. He is talking in a lower and lower voice, then suddenly stops, and the sound of faint snoring comes from the goliath.
Use of 2 hit die, Krakan heals for 16 hit points as he slumbers…. (Taking a short rest here, let me know if we get a full long rest..)
Everyone has a long rest, and it is soon the next day. Please describe your morning routine if you have one.
The Wandering Sandal has a shared bathroom with a water basin and pump, plus a crude toilet that is shared by other customers.
For breakfast you see in the sitting room a table laden with:
2 kinds of flatbreads
Olives in brine and olive oil
Labneh (Strained Yogurt)
Dried dates and figs
Jar of wildflower honey with the honeycomb
Hard boiled eggs
Herbal tea
There nearby is a tall man dressed in a faded linen tunic rolled at the elbows and an apron smudged with grease and burn marks. He looks to be in his 50's or perhaps older as his stern expression makes him look older. Next to him is a sign Breakfast 6 cp.
Salty rises with the morning sun. He tied on a nice one the night before, the red being one he would remember, but his cast iron gut was ready for food. He stretches out slowly before putting his armor back on and carefully stowing his gear. He would make his morning commune with the sea in sight, or better yet, with sand under foot and the surf tickling his toes.
When they were all ready, he headed down to the common room. Seeing the food laid out he smiled from ear to ear. The boiled eggs were a favorite of his. He placed 3 silver in the man's hand saying, "I'm fer treatin' me mates dis fine mornin'. The rest is fer yerself." After loading up a plate he grabs a table with room for all. "If'n we gets a bit o' time I'm fer visitin' yon beach fer a moment to says me bit fer Valkur."
Before they leave he asks to buy a small clay put with a cork or other sealable lid. He just wants the empty pot if they will sell it.
***OoC: - 4 SP for b-fast for the team and his empty jar***
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The cook takes the money and just points to the barrel filled with used clay jars that use to have Tamri Red and Gold. Salty can take one with the wooden stopper.
Samir rises with Salty and does a series of morning stretches to get his limbs and muscles warmed up for the day. He doesn't speak much, keeping to his thoughts.
As Salty pays for the meals for all of us, Samir gives him a meaningful thanks and take a portion of olives and dates to eat, pockets a small amount for later use.
He sits with Salty, "I'd like to join you at the beach, if you would allow me?"
Krakan starts to perform his morning routine in the room, but seeing the others have a morning routine as well, he wishes to join them at the beach. “I am versed in many stretches and routines for muscular toning, relief of pain and spasm. Ahhh, I feel better after that rest.” He pays for morning breakfast and has some of the eggs and the honey with honeycomb, labneh, and the tea. He walks alongside Salty and Samir, beginning his morning routine, arched arms toward the sun, full body stretches to stretch his back, strengthen his core.
After the routine is done, he looks to them and says, “I’ve been playing over last nights events in my mind. We need to move swiftly before the group who hired Dark Leathers can target us again. I am curious about what we will find with that ticket, but also we should speak about bandit attacks, things that are meant to shut down other competitors in the spice trade, I think. Where do you think we should start?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The blue haired orc took the last drink of his now cool tea. He looked at Krakan and said softly, "Surein' we poked a dragon turtle wit our questionin'. Better fer livin' long if'n we moves wit a bit o' caution. I'm fer gettin' what gets got wit yon ticket, den makin' words wit the spice lady what falled on hard times."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Samir thinks for a moment and adds, "That caravan lead might be our safest bet. It gets us out of town and away from those that wish to cause us harm. We can get some leads from this route." Samir takes a sip from his drink and then adds, "It also makes those watching us think we are leaving the city after receiving the 'hint' they tried to give us with their attack."
Lucan gets up and cast mage armor on himself at 9am. He cleans himself up a bit joining the others to stay with the group. Safety in pairs for him as a minimum in communal situations.
At the mornings common sitting room table, "Lovely, a nice assortment of items to sample. I think I'll have just a little of everything."
He looks it over gabs a bit of each for his plate/bowl. Sniffs it and wary of poisons that might be hidden in the items. He nibbles at each to minimize any reaction as a precaution. Once satisfied there is no impending harm he'll take larger bites of the foods and sips of the beverages.
Perception check 10 game log.
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Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
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Salty
"I'm fer havin' a red if ye pleases," he says to her. He glances back at the party and says softly, "I'm fer thinkin' we pays fer the private room." Turning back to the woman he pauses thoughtfully, "Best to be tryin' one o' each. I'm fer knowin' whats what afore the thirds a comin'."
***OoC: I'm assuming we use Burqa's silver to fund our lodging and debauchery. If we are splitting it up and paying individually thats fine too.***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
((Yes, let’s use Burqa’s silver.))
”I would like some tea, meditation, and rest. I feel so tired after our day…”. Krakan walks over to the guest register, picks up the quill and dips it into the ink. He pauses for just a moment, tip of the quill touching his chin, then he writes "Kamran" into the ledger. He pours some tea for himself, lays enough silver on the table to cover everyone, then walks toward the room for rest and relaxation.
((Short rest here?))
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Samir steps forward with a quiet grace, his expression calm but attentive. He offers a small nod of thanks to the woman behind the desk, though his dark eyes briefly flick to the sealed clay jars with curious interest. "I’ll take the tea, thank you," he says, voice low and even, then gestures subtly toward the jars.
"The Tamri Red and Gold—are they local brews? Fruit-based? Spiced? Or just strong enough to drown memory?" There’s no judgment in his tone, only a clinical curiosity, like a priest examining ritual offerings.
He then turns to his companions, adjusting the hood of his cloak slightly as he does so. "I agree Salty, the private room tonight" he says quietly. "It’s one gold, and the bunks should be fine. That is unless someone here snores like a reanimated ox." Samir reaches for the worn quill. His script is practiced and deliberate as he writes:
Silas Tharn
The name is borrowed from a grave inscription he once tended. He dots the "i" precisely, then steps aside, folding his hands in front of him with the stillness of a proper Kelemvorite.
Salty
Seeing the group is better at following directions than he is, he follows suit when Samir sets down the quill. As Salty approaches the book, he does a double take on the names. Judging by the furrowed brows and glance from names to the faces of his companions it was evident that he was a half step late in this dance. He got out an owls worth of "who" before someone stepped on his foot. He paused to address that when an elbow dug medium gently into his ribs. Like a stubborn candle with a wet wick the slight slowly sputtered to life. "Oh, er, um..." he mumbles as he clumbsily scrawled a word that looked like Pepper in the book.
He sheepishly replaced the quill and flashed the team a little grin. "I'm fer gettin' it," he whispers as he heads to the sitting area to enjoy a few moments of relaxation with his drinks. If nobody else wants to hang around he heads to the room when the jars are empty.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The front desk lady says "The red and gold brews are made from dates locally and yes Tamri red can drop you into a stupor if you are not careful. I recommend Tamri gold for a night you want to remember"
She then hands the keys for the room to the party.
There is a barrel used for the empty clay jars near the sitting area. The Wandering Sandal is a place where its more do it yourself.
After collecting the coins for payment, the front desk clerk goes back to her sensuous romance novel paying no mind to the party.
In the private room a narrow, arched window high in the wall lets in filtered moonlight, softened by a threadbare linen curtain once dyed indigo, now faded to ash-gray. The walls are whitewashed, but time have left them blotched with handprints, scuff marks, and the faint outlines of once-hung charms or woven mats.
Two sturdy bunk beds, carved roughly from local tamarisk wood, dominate the cramped space. Their frames groan with age, etched with initials in several scripts—some fresh, others smoothed by years of touch. The mattresses are thin and uneven, laid atop coarse hemp netting that sags in places. Each bunk has a single pillow and a woolen blanket smelling faintly of sun, sweat, and smoke.
A low table in the corner has 4 care worn chairs. A brass oil lamp, blackened at the wick, hangs from a wall peg. Beneath one bed lies a weathered chest meant for storage, its lid chipped, its contents forgotten.
The air is tinged with the mingled scents of old incense and old leather. Despite its roughness, the room has been cleaned and is clearly used often—its scars speak of lives passing through: pilgrims, traders, fugitives, and wanderers, each leaving behind a scratch, a stain, a story.
Salty
Sighing deeply, Salty inhales the familiar scents. This city was very different from his own port city home, but there were many similarities as well. The smell of the ocean and the bustling life that existed around it could make just about anywhere feel like home.
He yawned, the effort splitting his face and exposing his tusks prominently. He blinked a few times and said, "Yon gray bun twern't fer lyin'. The red's fer kickin' yer arse."
He grabbed one of the chairs and wedged it below the doorknob. He then leaned his javelins against the door. If anyone tried to enter without permission they would make quite a ruckus. After inspecting the makeshift alarm with a squinty red eye he deemed it adequate, if not a marvel in engineering.
With a groan he began pulling off his armor, pausing to inspect it for any sign of wear or damage. He did the same with his sword and shield. Old habits die hard, and the orc treated his gear as if it may save his life, and indeed it often did.
As he laid down to stretch out and get some rest he said, "Someone's not fer likin' 'er line o' questionin'. Tells me we're fer bein' on the right way. I'm fer thinkin' too dat we're needin' to keeps blades sharp 'n wits sharper."
While laying in the bunk and chatting with the team Salty carves the symbol of Valkur into the wood.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Samir finds a corner in the room that is out of the way. He removes some of his gear and stows it against the wall. He takes from his bag the flask of oil and holy water, and a small mirror. He sits on the cold, unpadded floor in a yoga-like meditative posture, back straight, hands resting on his knees, his holy symbol hanging on his chest, catching the dim firelight. He traces on the floor with the oil a circle around him. He begins to mutter softly and reverently;
"Kelemvor, The Great Guide, Judge of the Dead..." Samir pauses with three slow deliberate breaths, centering himself for his prayer.
"...I come to you tonight in stillness, with gratitude and with clarity. You have granted me another day within the mortal coil, and I thank you. Today, I was fed, sheltered, and tested. I am grateful for the warmth of fire, the strength of bread, and the roof above, even if it is temporary. These are mercies not owed, but gifted, and I do not forget them." He lifts the holy symbol off his chest with both hands, holding to his brow.
"I thank you also for the three companions I have found: Lucan, Krakan, and Salty. We walk in different rhythms, but toward the same purpose. I see their spark. You have stayed your hand today, and for that, I am thankful. Lucan, especially, as his life hung on the edge of the veil, and you did not call him to pass. I pray your judgment finds him worthy when his time truly comes, but not yet, not tonight." Samir uncorks the vial of Holy Water, dipping his fingertips in, and then marks a vertical line in the air, symbolizing the divide between life and death.
"One has crossed that line already: Malik. I do not know the whole of his deeds, but I ask that you weigh his soul fairly and without delay. If he suffers in unrest, let him pass swiftly. If he lingers due to injustice, let us be the hand that rights it." Samir picks up the mirror and gazes into it briefly, but not at himself. He gazes through the mirror, a symbol of reflection and truth. He sets it back down.
"Guide our steps, Lord Kelemvor. That we may find the one who broke the natural order. That we may bring peace to Malik's kin and show others that death may be met with dignity, not fear." He pauses once more, the prayer coming to a close.
"Until the day you call my name into the gray, I will walk with purpose. In life, I serve. In death, I submit. This I have vowed." Samir closes his ritual by touching the holy symbol again and then lowers his head in quiet stillness for a few minutes of silent meditation.
OOC - sorry lots going on here...
Lucan adds his name to the book Tyrese Halam, "Thanks folks, I'm have out of it and I could use something to sip on and a bed to lay on. I'll chat for as long as I'm conscious and that won't be long. I'm throwing back a few drinks and getting a good rest."
Lucan finds a spot in the room taking what is left for a spot.
"I can pitch in on the cost for the room too if you want."
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Krakan sits down on the floor criss cross apple sauce opposite of Samir, holding his hands together and his head bowed respectfully. He takes deep breaths in and remains totally silent, reverent as Samir prays and communicates with his god. Krakan keeps his head down, his brows and furrows in his forehead wrinkle, dark patterns appear, come and go and his muscles tighten then release, in a rhythmic pattern almost of a wave. He goes through a series of exercises, all while sitting still, of making his body firm, then relaxing, all without moving. When Samir finishes, he nods and then stand, getting into whichever is the largest bunk bed and collapsing there, his head threatening to come over the edge and his feet lying off the end. He arches his arms up and finds the most comfortable position.
“What a day. I need a rest. Worn out. I’m sorry that I failed all of you, that I did not crush that woman with the deadly daggers. She will hunt us and use other dark friends of hers to help. We must be on guard, my friends. Yes, you are right. We are pressing into tender spots, areas that someone wants to keep hidden. Good. But we must be careful…”. He is talking in a lower and lower voice, then suddenly stops, and the sound of faint snoring comes from the goliath.
Use of 2 hit die, Krakan heals for 16 hit points as he slumbers…. (Taking a short rest here, let me know if we get a full long rest..)
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The party can have a long rest here
Just let me know if that is what the party wants.
Everyone has a long rest, and it is soon the next day. Please describe your morning routine if you have one.
The Wandering Sandal has a shared bathroom with a water basin and pump, plus a crude toilet that is shared by other customers.
For breakfast you see in the sitting room a table laden with:
There nearby is a tall man dressed in a faded linen tunic rolled at the elbows and an apron smudged with grease and burn marks. He looks to be in his 50's or perhaps older as his stern expression makes him look older. Next to him is a sign Breakfast 6 cp.
Salty
Salty rises with the morning sun. He tied on a nice one the night before, the red being one he would remember, but his cast iron gut was ready for food. He stretches out slowly before putting his armor back on and carefully stowing his gear. He would make his morning commune with the sea in sight, or better yet, with sand under foot and the surf tickling his toes.
When they were all ready, he headed down to the common room. Seeing the food laid out he smiled from ear to ear. The boiled eggs were a favorite of his. He placed 3 silver in the man's hand saying, "I'm fer treatin' me mates dis fine mornin'. The rest is fer yerself." After loading up a plate he grabs a table with room for all. "If'n we gets a bit o' time I'm fer visitin' yon beach fer a moment to says me bit fer Valkur."
Before they leave he asks to buy a small clay put with a cork or other sealable lid. He just wants the empty pot if they will sell it.
***OoC: - 4 SP for b-fast for the team and his empty jar***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The cook takes the money and just points to the barrel filled with used clay jars that use to have Tamri Red and Gold. Salty can take one with the wooden stopper.
Samir rises with Salty and does a series of morning stretches to get his limbs and muscles warmed up for the day. He doesn't speak much, keeping to his thoughts.
As Salty pays for the meals for all of us, Samir gives him a meaningful thanks and take a portion of olives and dates to eat, pockets a small amount for later use.
He sits with Salty, "I'd like to join you at the beach, if you would allow me?"
Salty
"Yer fer bein' welcome, Samir. The mornin' sun 'n song o' the surf 'er the gods gifts fer us all to be enjoyin'."
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Krakan starts to perform his morning routine in the room, but seeing the others have a morning routine as well, he wishes to join them at the beach. “I am versed in many stretches and routines for muscular toning, relief of pain and spasm. Ahhh, I feel better after that rest.” He pays for morning breakfast and has some of the eggs and the honey with honeycomb, labneh, and the tea. He walks alongside Salty and Samir, beginning his morning routine, arched arms toward the sun, full body stretches to stretch his back, strengthen his core.
After the routine is done, he looks to them and says, “I’ve been playing over last nights events in my mind. We need to move swiftly before the group who hired Dark Leathers can target us again. I am curious about what we will find with that ticket, but also we should speak about bandit attacks, things that are meant to shut down other competitors in the spice trade, I think. Where do you think we should start?”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Salty
The blue haired orc took the last drink of his now cool tea. He looked at Krakan and said softly, "Surein' we poked a dragon turtle wit our questionin'. Better fer livin' long if'n we moves wit a bit o' caution. I'm fer gettin' what gets got wit yon ticket, den makin' words wit the spice lady what falled on hard times."
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Samir thinks for a moment and adds, "That caravan lead might be our safest bet. It gets us out of town and away from those that wish to cause us harm. We can get some leads from this route." Samir takes a sip from his drink and then adds, "It also makes those watching us think we are leaving the city after receiving the 'hint' they tried to give us with their attack."
Lucan gets up and cast mage armor on himself at 9am. He cleans himself up a bit joining the others to stay with the group. Safety in pairs for him as a minimum in communal situations.
At the mornings common sitting room table, "Lovely, a nice assortment of items to sample. I think I'll have just a little of everything."
He looks it over gabs a bit of each for his plate/bowl. Sniffs it and wary of poisons that might be hidden in the items. He nibbles at each to minimize any reaction as a precaution. Once satisfied there is no impending harm he'll take larger bites of the foods and sips of the beverages.
Perception check 10 game log.
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;