“Every man has a weight to carry,” Orrin shrugs. “If the sea wants a fight, I’ll give it to her. Do you think this man speaks some truth? Is there an enemy here I can put a blade to?”
You wait several minutes in the hope the man will wake up -- but, although his heart is steady, his eyes will not open, and he continues to mutter quietly, something under his breath that you can't quite hear. As you wait, a girl comes running into town -- her feet kicking up dust from the cobbles as she shouts her message: "Ship! Ship!" Townsfolk quickly cluster around her, eager to know. "It's the carnival!" one shouts, throwing his hands into the air in glee. "They've come back!"
(OOC: As of tomorrow, I'll be barely on/fully off DDB for ~3 days. Just letting you all know :) )
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A professional goofball, writer, and frisbee player. Probably the best thing to happen to you since you woke up this morning. DM: Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign, In the Depths - A Fantasy Homebrew Flying Pig Cultist of the Cult of Flying Pigs (don't ask) You're amazing, don't you know that? All of you. Extended sig here, check it out!
Eve and Zofsaadi, you watch the ship approach (OOC: you know what, I got this picture in my head and want to try it for Zofsaadi's Help action) -- Eve perched atop Zofsaadi's shoulders, peering at the ship coming in to port. Eve, you're able to discern some more about the ship, which is proving itself to be larger than expected: not only do the swirling banners suggest that it's some sort of traveling-performers' ship, but you spot crew members scurrying around and up the deck and mast, doing flips and jumps that seem impossible all the while. It seems that they want to be noticed. Eve -- looking even closer, as you strain your eyes, you spot burns and cracks along the ship -- it appears they've run into some problems before, which might also explain the cannons lining its sides.
A voice rings out from the ship, trumpets fanfaring it -- "Please welcome the Midnight Troupe! World-class performers! One night only!" The ship draws in, docking -- somewhat comically -- at the small pier sticking out from the shore. As soon as a plank is lowered, a stout man, dressed in the red-and-white of the ship and a smile. "Are you ready...for us?" he shouts to you. "Come see us tonight, right outside town!" And with an amazing efficiency, they're already unloading -- getting all their things out of the ship, dragging long swaths of their red-and-white fabric off the mast.
The gentleman in red and white approaches you, Eve and Zofsaadi, and extends a hand, bloated and covered with rings of all shapes and sizes. You take it anyway, not wishing to be disrespectful. "So who are you?" he asks politely. "I haven't seen either of you around these parts before..."
"We are travelers. Though more because of need than want. I am called Zofsaadi and they are Eve.
What trouble did you run in that made you point cannons everywhere?"
Eve and Zofsaadi, you watch the ship approach (OOC: you know what, I got this picture in my head and want to try it for Zofsaadi's Help action) -- Eve perched atop Zofsaadi's shoulders, peering at the ship coming in to port. Eve, you're able to discern some more about the ship, which is proving itself to be larger than expected: not only do the swirling banners suggest that it's some sort of traveling-performers' ship, but you spot crew members scurrying around and up the deck and mast, doing flips and jumps that seem impossible all the while. It seems that they want to be noticed. Eve -- looking even closer, as you strain your eyes, you spot burns and cracks along the ship -- it appears they've run into some problems before, which might also explain the cannons lining its sides.
A voice rings out from the ship, trumpets fanfaring it -- "Please welcome the Midnight Troupe! World-class performers! One night only!" The ship draws in, docking -- somewhat comically -- at the small pier sticking out from the shore. As soon as a plank is lowered, a stout man, dressed in the red-and-white of the ship and a smile. "Are you ready...for us?" he shouts to you. "Come see us tonight, right outside town!" And with an amazing efficiency, they're already unloading -- getting all their things out of the ship, dragging long swaths of their red-and-white fabric off the mast.
The gentleman in red and white approaches you, Eve and Zofsaadi, and extends a hand, bloated and covered with rings of all shapes and sizes. You take it anyway, not wishing to be disrespectful. "So who are you?" he asks politely. "I haven't seen either of you around these parts before..."
"We are travelers. Though more because of need than want. I am called Zofsaadi and she's Eve.
What trouble did you run in that made you point cannons everywhere?"
(OOC: May I correct you on something?)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish) In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Eve and Zofsaadi, you watch the ship approach (OOC: you know what, I got this picture in my head and want to try it for Zofsaadi's Help action) -- Eve perched atop Zofsaadi's shoulders, peering at the ship coming in to port. Eve, you're able to discern some more about the ship, which is proving itself to be larger than expected: not only do the swirling banners suggest that it's some sort of traveling-performers' ship, but you spot crew members scurrying around and up the deck and mast, doing flips and jumps that seem impossible all the while. It seems that they want to be noticed. Eve -- looking even closer, as you strain your eyes, you spot burns and cracks along the ship -- it appears they've run into some problems before, which might also explain the cannons lining its sides.
A voice rings out from the ship, trumpets fanfaring it -- "Please welcome the Midnight Troupe! World-class performers! One night only!" The ship draws in, docking -- somewhat comically -- at the small pier sticking out from the shore. As soon as a plank is lowered, a stout man, dressed in the red-and-white of the ship and a smile. "Are you ready...for us?" he shouts to you. "Come see us tonight, right outside town!" And with an amazing efficiency, they're already unloading -- getting all their things out of the ship, dragging long swaths of their red-and-white fabric off the mast.
The gentleman in red and white approaches you, Eve and Zofsaadi, and extends a hand, bloated and covered with rings of all shapes and sizes. You take it anyway, not wishing to be disrespectful. "So who are you?" he asks politely. "I haven't seen either of you around these parts before..."
"We are travelers. Though more because of need than want. I am called Zofsaadi and she's Eve.
What trouble did you run in that made you point cannons everywhere?"
Eve will mostly stay quiet, because they assume that the gentleman doesn't speak in CSL
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish) In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish) In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Tine stayed crouched beside the sleeping man, eyes narrowing faintly as his lips moved in restless murmurs. Whatever he whispered was too soft to catch, but the tone carried dread, a prayer or a warning, she couldn’t tell which. When Orrin spoke, she looked up at him, a tired but sincere smile ghosting across her face. “Every man’s got his weight, aye,” she said quietly, standing and brushing the dust from her knees. “And if the sea does want a fight, I don’t doubt you’d give her one worth remembering.” Her gaze drifted back to the doomsayer, her expression softening. “But some enemies don’t take blades, Orrin. Some you’ve got to listen to before you learn where to strike.”She hesitated, the words half to him, half to herself. “I don’t know if he’s mad, cursed, or touched by something old, but the sea’s in his dreams seem like the same way it was in mine. That can’t be chance.”
She waited a few minutes longer, hoping the man might stir, but his eyes stayed shut, his muttering slipping further into nonsense. Then the silence shattered, by all the commotion of the carnival. Tine glanced toward Orrin, the corner of her mouth curving in a small, wry smile. “Well then,” she said, slinging her fiddle over her shoulder. “Looks like the sea’s not done sending us messages after all.” She cast one last look at the sleeping prophet. “Come on, big heart. Let’s see what the tide’s brought in.”
Orrin doesn't hide the disdain on his face at mention of a carnival. "Perhaps there will be feats of strength." But he follows Tine to check things out.
Tine caught the look on Orrin’s face the moment the word carnival was spoken, that half-scowl of suspicion and mild disdain. It only made her grin wider. “Oh, don’t look like that,”she teased, giving his arm a friendly nudge. “Not every carnival’s a den of cheats and noise. Some of them have real wonder, music, fire-dancers, storytellers…and maybe a strongman’s ring so you can impress the locals.” Her excitement was impossible to hide; it sparked in her voice and the bounce in her step as she turned toward the docks. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen a proper show. After days of storms and sour faces, I think we could both use a bit of color and noise, aye?”
She adjusted the strap of her fiddle case and started down the street, her copper hair catching the sunlight in wild, windblown streaks. “Come on, Orrin,” she called looping her arm around his. “If the sea’s in a better mood today, I say we celebrate before she changes her mind.” Then, with a playful grin, “Who knows? Maybe they’ll have a stage open for guest performers, and I’d pay good coin to see you try juggling hammers while I play.”
After talking to the smith and presenting his credentials, Leif will head to the fishmen's area of the docks (If they have a specific area for that) and ask about the local waters (Known dangers, type of fishing and any local myths/legends.)
Zofsaadi, Eve -- as you inquire upon the ship's weaponry, the ringmaster begins to fuss, picking at the fringes of his coat while he begins to shout at the rest of the troupe. It seems as if you won't get an honest answer -- or one at all, as he hesitates several moments, only replying sotto voice as the troupe's about to leave -- "Everyone's made an enemy or two, friends. We've certainly had our fair share."
Tine, Orrin -- upon joining the amassing throng of locals, you're immediately swept up into intriguing (albeit tall and well-worn) tales of the traveling troupe's antics -- not only did they come when the village elder was a child, but they also then defeated the band of cutthroat pirates menacing the village, led by a mage who was veritably "flame incarnate" and two twins, not only skilled acrobats but trained martial warriors, the last of their kind from a long-lost land. The entranced villagers speak of singers who made the oceans stop to listen, wizards who vanished family and friends -- only to whisk them right back again, and, of course, dancing beasts and performers of all shapes and sizes. Tall tales, certainly, but entertaining ones. Those who avoided you just minutes ago now welcome you into their circle as they attempt to outdo each other at story-spinning. It seems as if each and every townsfolk, from the crones to the babes, have a story to tell.
However, as you listen, raptured by the tales you're hearing from this impromptu storytelling session, you neglect to check on your sleeping friend. Only once the stories have dried up, the villagers sitting and reminiscing on what they've heard, do you check -- finding an empty cobblestone square behind you, with no traces of your prophetic friend.
Leif -- you don't hear much more out of the blacksmith as he begins to work on Crumb's tools, so you head on down to the docks, hoping to find someone who can tell you of the area's drink. As you meander down the stone stairs again, relieved that you're going down -- and not up -- you spot a large ship, dwarfing the others that are in port. Although you instantly note the long, cold rows of iron guns, you also spot the red-and-white colors of a carnival among the crowd of workers pouring down the plank -- and aren't sure what to think, although the fact that you spot Zofsaadi and Eve down there, pleasantly chatting with one of the workers, suggests that there isn't much to fear.
Upon reaching the shore, you spot a group of grizzled mariners a ways down the beach, lugging sacks and buckets of fish off of small boats. Approaching them, you're instantly noticed and become the center of their attention -- conversation seems to have dried up around these parts. "Ahoy!" one cackles, clapping hands to his head so as not to lose his cap -- except his fingers close upon bare scalp, the wind having stolen it away. "Well, lad," he replies, scrambling around for his hat, "What is it ye wants? And would ye be content to earn a few gold, as well, carrying these bags up those stairs? Our backs aren't quite what they used to be..."
A professional goofball, writer, and frisbee player. Probably the best thing to happen to you since you woke up this morning. DM: Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign, In the Depths - A Fantasy Homebrew Flying Pig Cultist of the Cult of Flying Pigs (don't ask) You're amazing, don't you know that? All of you. Extended sig here, check it out!
Zofsaadi, Eve -- as you inquire upon the ship's weaponry, the ringmaster begins to fuss, picking at the fringes of his coat while he begins to shout at the rest of the troupe. It seems as if you won't get an honest answer -- or one at all, as he hesitates several moments, only replying sotto voice as the troupe's about to leave -- "Everyone's made an enemy or two, friends. We've certainly had our fair share."
Eve signs to Zofsaadi, "Ask about the enemies, and who they were? "
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish) In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Aspen comes out of their room, where they were reading. “Well, let me guess. It MAY have been you puking your guts out, but I’m assuming you didn’t remember that.”
“Every man has a weight to carry,” Orrin shrugs. “If the sea wants a fight, I’ll give it to her. Do you think this man speaks some truth? Is there an enemy here I can put a blade to?”
Middle Grade Author
You wait several minutes in the hope the man will wake up -- but, although his heart is steady, his eyes will not open, and he continues to mutter quietly, something under his breath that you can't quite hear. As you wait, a girl comes running into town -- her feet kicking up dust from the cobbles as she shouts her message: "Ship! Ship!" Townsfolk quickly cluster around her, eager to know. "It's the carnival!" one shouts, throwing his hands into the air in glee. "They've come back!"
(OOC: As of tomorrow, I'll be barely on/fully off DDB for ~3 days. Just letting you all know :) )
A professional goofball, writer, and frisbee player. Probably the best thing to happen to you since you woke up this morning.
DM: Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign, In the Depths - A Fantasy Homebrew
Flying Pig Cultist of the Cult of Flying Pigs (don't ask)
You're amazing, don't you know that? All of you.
Extended sig here, check it out!
"We are travelers. Though more because of need than want. I am called Zofsaadi and they are Eve.
What trouble did you run in that made you point cannons everywhere?"
(OOC: May I correct you on something?)
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish)
In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you
Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you
They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different?
NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Eve will mostly stay quiet, because they assume that the gentleman doesn't speak in CSL
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish)
In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you
Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you
They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different?
NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
sure
(OOC: simply put, Eve is a they.)
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish)
In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you
Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you
They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different?
NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Oh, I somehow didnt notice that before
Tine stayed crouched beside the sleeping man, eyes narrowing faintly as his lips moved in restless murmurs. Whatever he whispered was too soft to catch, but the tone carried dread, a prayer or a warning, she couldn’t tell which. When Orrin spoke, she looked up at him, a tired but sincere smile ghosting across her face. “Every man’s got his weight, aye,” she said quietly, standing and brushing the dust from her knees. “And if the sea does want a fight, I don’t doubt you’d give her one worth remembering.” Her gaze drifted back to the doomsayer, her expression softening. “But some enemies don’t take blades, Orrin. Some you’ve got to listen to before you learn where to strike.” She hesitated, the words half to him, half to herself. “I don’t know if he’s mad, cursed, or touched by something old, but the sea’s in his dreams seem like the same way it was in mine. That can’t be chance.”
She waited a few minutes longer, hoping the man might stir, but his eyes stayed shut, his muttering slipping further into nonsense. Then the silence shattered, by all the commotion of the carnival. Tine glanced toward Orrin, the corner of her mouth curving in a small, wry smile. “Well then,” she said, slinging her fiddle over her shoulder. “Looks like the sea’s not done sending us messages after all.” She cast one last look at the sleeping prophet. “Come on, big heart. Let’s see what the tide’s brought in.”
Orrin doesn't hide the disdain on his face at mention of a carnival. "Perhaps there will be feats of strength." But he follows Tine to check things out.
Middle Grade Author
Tine caught the look on Orrin’s face the moment the word carnival was spoken, that half-scowl of suspicion and mild disdain. It only made her grin wider. “Oh, don’t look like that,” she teased, giving his arm a friendly nudge. “Not every carnival’s a den of cheats and noise. Some of them have real wonder, music, fire-dancers, storytellers…and maybe a strongman’s ring so you can impress the locals.” Her excitement was impossible to hide; it sparked in her voice and the bounce in her step as she turned toward the docks. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen a proper show. After days of storms and sour faces, I think we could both use a bit of color and noise, aye?”
She adjusted the strap of her fiddle case and started down the street, her copper hair catching the sunlight in wild, windblown streaks. “Come on, Orrin,” she called looping her arm around his. “If the sea’s in a better mood today, I say we celebrate before she changes her mind.” Then, with a playful grin, “Who knows? Maybe they’ll have a stage open for guest performers, and I’d pay good coin to see you try juggling hammers while I play.”
Orrin harrumphed but followed along at any rate. "Maybe they have something to eat," he said, seeking the positive in the situation.
Middle Grade Author
After talking to the smith and presenting his credentials, Leif will head to the fishmen's area of the docks (If they have a specific area for that) and ask about the local waters (Known dangers, type of fishing and any local myths/legends.)
Cats go Moo!
Zofsaadi, Eve -- as you inquire upon the ship's weaponry, the ringmaster begins to fuss, picking at the fringes of his coat while he begins to shout at the rest of the troupe. It seems as if you won't get an honest answer -- or one at all, as he hesitates several moments, only replying sotto voice as the troupe's about to leave -- "Everyone's made an enemy or two, friends. We've certainly had our fair share."
Tine, Orrin -- upon joining the amassing throng of locals, you're immediately swept up into intriguing (albeit tall and well-worn) tales of the traveling troupe's antics -- not only did they come when the village elder was a child, but they also then defeated the band of cutthroat pirates menacing the village, led by a mage who was veritably "flame incarnate" and two twins, not only skilled acrobats but trained martial warriors, the last of their kind from a long-lost land. The entranced villagers speak of singers who made the oceans stop to listen, wizards who vanished family and friends -- only to whisk them right back again, and, of course, dancing beasts and performers of all shapes and sizes. Tall tales, certainly, but entertaining ones. Those who avoided you just minutes ago now welcome you into their circle as they attempt to outdo each other at story-spinning. It seems as if each and every townsfolk, from the crones to the babes, have a story to tell.
However, as you listen, raptured by the tales you're hearing from this impromptu storytelling session, you neglect to check on your sleeping friend. Only once the stories have dried up, the villagers sitting and reminiscing on what they've heard, do you check -- finding an empty cobblestone square behind you, with no traces of your prophetic friend.
Leif -- you don't hear much more out of the blacksmith as he begins to work on Crumb's tools, so you head on down to the docks, hoping to find someone who can tell you of the area's drink. As you meander down the stone stairs again, relieved that you're going down -- and not up -- you spot a large ship, dwarfing the others that are in port. Although you instantly note the long, cold rows of iron guns, you also spot the red-and-white colors of a carnival among the crowd of workers pouring down the plank -- and aren't sure what to think, although the fact that you spot Zofsaadi and Eve down there, pleasantly chatting with one of the workers, suggests that there isn't much to fear.
Upon reaching the shore, you spot a group of grizzled mariners a ways down the beach, lugging sacks and buckets of fish off of small boats. Approaching them, you're instantly noticed and become the center of their attention -- conversation seems to have dried up around these parts. "Ahoy!" one cackles, clapping hands to his head so as not to lose his cap -- except his fingers close upon bare scalp, the wind having stolen it away. "Well, lad," he replies, scrambling around for his hat, "What is it ye wants? And would ye be content to earn a few gold, as well, carrying these bags up those stairs? Our backs aren't quite what they used to be..."
A professional goofball, writer, and frisbee player. Probably the best thing to happen to you since you woke up this morning.
DM: Liquid Swords - A Historical Wuxia Campaign, In the Depths - A Fantasy Homebrew
Flying Pig Cultist of the Cult of Flying Pigs (don't ask)
You're amazing, don't you know that? All of you.
Extended sig here, check it out!
Eve signs to Zofsaadi, "Ask about the enemies, and who they were? "
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish)
In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you
Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you
They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different?
NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT:[roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
"So what enemies have found you on the way here?" dragonborn asks little louder so other troupe member might answer him.
Orrin’s stomach rumbles loudly. “Tine, we should find some food. I’m not sure what was in that ale but it made me so hungry!”
Middle Grade Author
Aspen comes out of their room, where they were reading. “Well, let me guess. It MAY have been you puking your guts out, but I’m assuming you didn’t remember that.”
Sorlock fanatic (I’m not a minmaxer I swear)
“I don’t puke.”
Middle Grade Author
“Gee, whatever was I bringing you crackers and tea yesterday for, tough guy?”
Sorlock fanatic (I’m not a minmaxer I swear)