Crumb, drops his travel pack in the room with the others, and signs to Eve “Be back later” as he leaves while putting on his cloak. 

He finds the mariner that told the tale of the hero that defeated the storm beast. Crumb presses a bit more if he remembers any more details about the hero.

(OOC: would I have to roll for anything to get more info?) 

Quote from Oclair >>

Quote from TheGatoLover >>

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

Quote from TheGatoLover >>

(OOC, I may have forgotten something. Eve is deaf, so they can't hear anything)

 [OOC: Ooh! Orrin has sign language. I figured it was good for soldierly communication on the battle field. But he can talk to Eve!]

 (OOC: YAY)

( OOC: Crumb also has sign language. It’s how the gnomes in the camp would communicate when they couldn't make any noise. )

 (OOC: Aspen is HoH and knowns common sign too, they just hear through sprout_

"Mae, how many beds per room?"

After getting answer he follows Crumb to hear the story too.

OOC. Zofsaadi knows common sign language too(I always suspected it's second most common language)

If there is a need he will use help action so Crumb rolls with advantage 

Aspen shifts their familiar from it’s normal imp form into a cat and sends it to follow Zodsaadi and crumb. He shouts out while Zofsaadi is leaving: “Make sure sprout doesn’t get hurt okay?!? I’ll have him with ya so I can help if ya get in a tricky situation, bye!”

"Okay, a good shepherd wouldn't let a pet get hurt under his watch anyway"

(OOC: Thanks, Gato!) 

"Two beds a room, sir!" Mae replies jovially, and bids you good -- well, night can't quite do, but morning can't either, can it? After a moment of confusion, she waves and you go up the stairs, a cat -- possibly a stray Mae feeds, sheltering from the storm? follows you. 

You head up to your rooms, two quaint-looking, essentially alley-facing closets with two beds, a small nightstand, and a chamber pot all shoved in -- a circus couldn't have done it better. It's not the best, but it's not the worst. Getting Orrin settled down on a bed, where he begins to snore quietly, murmuring nonsense in between, you can't help but stare out the window and think of the words of the mariners. Water rushes through the town, smashing buildings with waves, while the wind buffets the rain, making it appear as if the whole ocean was raining upon you. It's peaceful from the inside, but you wouldn't want to be out there. 

Even though it's really about ten in the morning, you feel tired -- that's what a fortnight on a ship can do to you. A yawn travels around the room, and you feel the urge to sleep. But eventually, Crumb continues back downstairs, ready to learn more of this elven hero.

Crumb, you return to a common yet sorry sight -- that of two mariners, just come into port, drinking themselves enough to make ale come out their ears. You try to press, but sadly you receive no more information from them -- they're as drunk as Orrin, and won't be any help until they've sobered. "Elv-uhn?" one replies when you query -- "I hav-n't heard of no elv-hun!" 

(OOC: Sorry for all those who had to read the original -- I hadn't seen the posts (had DDB in one tab and hadn't reloaded it to check.) Now updated.)

”ach, it’s been a long day. I should probably get some sleep before Orrin wakes up and needs to be taken care of.” before going to bed, Aspen tucks an unconscious Orrin into his bed, quicky muttering under his breath “yer lucky I luv ya, ya big oaf, otherwise I wouldnt’ae fret over ye like this…” Aspen settles into bed, quietly reading a book they brought along on the voyage, then eventually goes to sleep.

Tine leaned in as the mariner spoke, the firelight catching in her green eyes. She didn’t flinch at his mismatched stare, only listened, head tilted slightly as his tale unfolded. When he finished, she bowed her head in respect. “Thank you for the warning, friend,” she said softly. “If even half that tale’s true, sounds like the sea remembers what we’d rather forget.” Her hand brushed the edge of her fiddle case, that small tell whenever curiosity took hold. “An elf hero, a beast from the deep…maybe these storms are more than just wind and water.” Mae’s sudden change of tone at Leif’s question didn’t escape her. “Sworn not to tell,” she murmured. “That’s not a promise made lightly.” When Crumb called for rooms, she grinned faintly to Aspen and Eve. “Two beds, so draw straws on who gets to listen to his snoring.”

Once the others had gone, Tine lingered by the fire, her drink in hand. “You’ve a fine place here, Mae,” she called warmly, though her eyes followed the woman a moment longer. Something about this town’s quiet had weight, like a story half-told. She settled back on her bench, plucking a slow rhythm from her fiddle, the kind of tune that loosened tongues. Around her came whispers of tides too high and storms too cruel, and one hushed mention of the old town hall said like a prayer best left unfinished. Without looking up, she spoke lightly toward the nearest sailor still awake. “Funny, isn’t it? Every port’s got its story about something that came crawling out of the sea. Makes you wonder if it’s just superstition, or something that never left.” If he answered, she’d listen. If not, she’d keep playing soft, steady, and patient, her song a gentle mask for the questions that wouldn’t stop humming in her mind.

(OOC: Tine is going to try and gather some more information; do you want me to make a check?)

“‘s’fine tine, I’d better watch the big oaf, you two need more sleep than I do.” #GOOD NIGHT E-V-E, SLEEP GOOD#

(OOC: if it’s fine with everyone else, I thought we could use #whatever message you want to sign# as an indicator of signing? Also as someone who has been learning ASL since age 9, I’m using the asl writing system GLOSS for this but I don’t know if I will in the future)

After getting no where with the mariners Crumb goes sits just close enough to tine to hear her play the soft chords “sounds nice tine, where’d ya learn to play anyway?” While bobbing his head to the music he keeps his cloak wrapped around him, first for comfort but secondly just in case the storm lightens enough he can step out of the tavern.  

OOC: no one has a remove poison type spell?

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

OOC: no one has a remove poison type spell?

 (OOC: I do not, sorry buddy. Only minor illusions and speak to animals) 

(OOC: I do not have any poison neutralizing spells, I do have a Healer's kit but a medicine skill of 2, Rolling: 10  if I roll high enough maybe it will give you advantage on any saving throws?)

(OOC: My character has common sign language - he is a ranger and the ability to communicate while being silent or over long visual distances is a plus. he would have taught everyone who doesn't know sign language the signals for #STOP, #COME HERE/FOLLOW, #STAY HERE #HIDE, #QUIET #LOOK THERE/AROUND & #ATTACK.  Along with of course the obvious signals everyone knows like arms slightly out to the side, palms up head tilted to side with a frown means "The hell if I know...")

(OOC: @Hambergler, since Crumb was getting nowhere with her, I’d say a Persuasion check. The CSL stuff also sounds good.)

Tine’s bow slowed, the melody thinning to a soft hum as Crumb settled nearby. She smiled without looking up, eyes half on the strings as her fingers danced through a gentle rhythm. “Depends who you ask,” she said lightly. “My ma would claim I learned sweeping tavern floors, listening to drunk sailors try to remember their own songs and adventurers tell their tales.” A soft laugh slipped out. “Truth is, I just listened long enough to figure out what their hearts were saying when their tongues couldn’t. Tried to make the fiddle sound like that joy, loss, and a bit of longing all in one note.” She glanced up, meeting Crumb’s eye briefly, her expression calm and fond. “When I was old enough to hold a bow, one of them left his fiddle behind. Said it was time someone else gave it a voice. Been chasing that sound ever since.”

The next few notes were quieter, something slow and reflective that melted into the fire’s crackle. Then Tine looked up toward the bar, catching Mae between rounds. “Mae,” she called gently, setting her bow across her lap. “You’ve the look of someone who’s seen a few storms yourself. How’d you come to run a place like this?” Her tone carried no pressure, just curiosity softened by warmth. “Seems every tavern’s got a story hidden in its walls, and yours feels like it’s got more than one.”

She smiled faintly, fingers still idly plucking notes from the fiddle’s strings. “If you tell me yours, I might just have to make it into a song before morning.”

(OOC: Persuasion check 17, rolled in game log)

(OOC: Cool. Morning, all!) 

Mae returns to Crumb and Tine, producing a dusty chair from a corner you hadn't seen to take a seat. Without asking, her fingers suddenly shoot out, tracing the fragile, intricate woodwork of the fiddle. "That's a story I don't tell to many a friend," she says, no warmth escaping her trembling voice. But, abruptly, her features soften, her hand -- all of a sudden attempting to hide her face -- betraying a small smile that creeps across her visage. "But ye seem worthy of knowing it." She adjusts herself slightly in her seat, her metal beer-tray finding itself on top of the table with a metallic clank. She begins to speak, and this is what she tells you:

"Long, long ago, I was young, like you all - lived in this town, always have." She smiles at the recollection, some reminiscence on times long gone. "My father ran this tavern before me, and his father before him. Always, whether in storm or in sunlight, he would be here, talking to the townsfolk and those from far away - always a kind soul." 

"But, kindness can lead to danger, it turns out. One night, a ship like yours came in. Th'lighthouse, when we had it back then, wasn't lit. A storm was just beginning, powerful - stronger than this one, if you can believe it. My father hurried out to help the lighthouse keeper, with rain and hail and whatnot falling outside. He rushed out, promising to come back." Here, her voice breaks, a peal of sadness marring her calm tone. "He took me by the shoulders, before he left, and promised he would return soon. He never did." Here, she covers her face again, this time breaking out in sobs. "W-we awoke the next morning to sunny skies. He wasn't there. Me, my mother - we rushed out, ran to the lighthouse. In the storm - in the storm, the top was ripped off. He wasn't there. The sea took him." She ends her story with a loud wail, before breaking down into sobs. "Th-there," she says, after regaining her composure. "That's my story. For years, I've owned this tavern, making my father proud." Another pause. You think she's done, but then she interrupts one last time -- "You remind me of him, Tine. Same personality, for sure. Thank you."

"Tell a drunk bastard your story, Aspen," Orrin says, looking out the window at the storm.

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

"Tell a drunk bastard your story, Aspen," Orrin says, looking out the window at the storm.

(OOC: I believe Aspen's asleep, just to let you know.) 

Tine sat quietly as Mae spoke, the room seeming to shrink around her words. The storm outside faded into background noise, just wind and memory. When Mae’s voice broke, Tine’s gaze dropped to the fiddle resting in her lap, thumb brushing absently along the worn wood. When the story ended, she leaned forward slightly, voice low but clear. “Mae…that’s a hard thing to carry,” she said softly. “To watch someone walk into a storm and never walk back out.” She paused, eyes glinting with the firelight. “My story’s not the same, but it rhymes with yours a bit.”

She smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “My father left, too. But I never got to know him at all. I didn’t even get the promise of a return. Just…stories, to my mother, he was an elvish noble…charming, clever, with hands too soft for dock work. But to the tavern keeper who raised me while she worked the tables, he was an adventurer, the kind who could spin a tale and disappear before the truth caught up.” She gave a small shrug. “To me, he’s neither. Just a ghost made of stories. A different man every time someone decides to remember him.” Her fingers drifted back to the fiddle, tracing its edge. “Maybe that’s why I play. It’s the only way I’ve found to make all those stories sound like one person, even if I’ll never know which one was really him.” She looked up at Mae again, her smile gentler now. “You kept this place going for your father. I think he’d be proud, not just that you endured, but that you gave others somewhere to belong when the sea takes too much. You gave them somewhere to return to after each adventure.”

After a quiet moment, she lifted her bow as her voice began to drift out. “I’d like to play one for them both, for the ones who left, and for the ones who stayed.” The melody that followed was soft and haunting, the kind of tune that fills a silence instead of breaking it…a song for loss, and for those still listening.

Quote from Weslockes >>

 

 

Quote from chrisbodmann >>

"Tell a drunk bastard your story, Aspen," Orrin says, looking out the window at the storm.

(OOC: I believe Aspen's asleep, just to let you know.) 

 [OOC: right you are...]