It is the Leafall season in Phlan, and the weather is pleasantly warm as CRAP takes a well-deserved break in the common room of The Laughing Goblin Inn (it is one of Sagin's days off.) You already have a reserved corner booth out of the way of the entrance, and the meal you ordered is laid before you. Your good friend Markoth Hasselpond, or just Mar, who works at The Laughing Goblin as a waiter, happily recommended the tavern’s famous cabbage soup. It is an old secret recipe that comes with freshly baked bread and a piece of cheese. Other dishes served on your table include a salty fish stew and the blackened catch of the day, both dishes using a popular catfish species caught directly from the Moonsea, which is a freshwater lake. Mar has also promised you a whole fresh apple pie as desert "if you be good boys and girls and finish your dinner proper". You are well familiarized with the extensive drink list of the establishment, but Mar's advice is to stick to light ale, stout, or the really strong stuff. As he puts it, "the wine list this tenday is just not particularly appetizing."
The Laughing Goblin is a somewhat famous inn at the docks of Phlan catering to the rough crowd of sailors, mariners, and mercenaries. The common room has two floors with a large, open space in the middle containing the bar, a stage, and a large fireplace. A number of booths line the walls, and tables fill the rest of the room’s open space. The only decoration in the common room is a large carved totem resembling a laughing goblin. The totem is clearly very old and is well-worn. The manager and bartender, Imizael, is reading a broadsheet in this lazy late-afternoon. Though she is human, her name is clearly elven (you heard the story before of how her mother was obsessed with elves.) Mar is taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to mop up a spilled drink and wipe down the tables. You know him to love storytelling and gossip much more than actually doing his job.
You are not here only on a break, however. You have agreed to meet Captain Aleyd Burral of the Knights of the Black Fist here for an in-person debrief. Although your meal is already served, Aleyd is not late to your meeting. You planned to arrive early in order to enjoy your afternoon break a bit before it was time to discuss business.
(OOC: As it is now tradition, please go ahead and describe what your characters may be doing and use this time to share any info you’d like with your fellow adventurers. This is also my chance to remind you to share a description of your characters, as some of you may be sporting updated looks if you so desire. Don't be shy with details!)
Neya, a dark-skinned human woman in fashionable clothing. But, her appearnace hides years of training. She is currently nursing some tea while trying to eavesdrop on some conversations. Mostly for current events and how the overall mood of the town is after their partial success from the mission more than a month prior.
While no business of the day promised the need for either weapons or armor, this hadn't stopped the halfling of the group, a ruddy brown skin individual with curly, red-brown hair, from still having shown up at the laughing goblin with at least what he deemed to be the "bare essentials". These namely being a worn but well cared for dark brigandine armor, leather vambraces, a recently required enchanted shortsword sheathed and sat within easy reach in the booth, and a belt laden with plenty of pouched surprises.
"Mn... This is gonna take some getting used to."Doozey absently minded mused after pausing to play with an errant lock of hair. Over the break his bangs had grown long enough to suggest some trimming might be in order. But as he'd already went about shortening the back end of his head enough that a ponytail wasn't needed anymore but five days ago, the thought of another hair cut left him grumbling inwardly a bit.
Yet following a glance at a certain gnome and honorary member of the C.R.A.P, the halfling blushed a little, before then promptly focusing on devouring the rest of his meal. 'C'mon ya silly git. Keep talk'n like that, 'n she'll start think'n she did a bad job helping ya clean up that mess we called a hair do before'Doozey sighed through his nose at the thought, then nodded.
Even sat on the ground next to the table, the dark furred tundra mastiff and Doozey's almost constant companion could've more than easily devoured his meal from the table. In fact, he very nearly slipped his portion on the table by unraveling and unglamouring a few vine tendrils. However, Biscuit hadn't really cared to break tradition; especially with Mar and Imizeal being kind enough to let him eat with the party. "So-..."Said Doozey after taking a swig of his stout."You still remember what yer gonna ask her, Utar?"
Long Desc Doozey:
Doozey is a halfling with ruddy brown skin, a relatively lean build, and looks to be just shy of middle-aged for his species. Though given his propensity for frowning and narrowing his blue eyes in suspicion, one could be forgiven for presuming him to be much older. His hair -- once a long, curly, and red-brown mess -- has been trimmed down to the point that gone is his ponytail. A headband with splotchy green and brown pattern to it still helps keep contained his bangs to some extent. Though he has long since stopped the practice of using a concoction of tainted blood and other ingredients to gel his hair as a means of protection against certain forces, the faint scent of iron and some earthy herbs yet linger about him.
He has otherwise taken to adorning himself in well-worn blouse and trousers of the beige and brown variety, covered by a set of brigandine armor with outward facing metal plates. A pair of leather vambraces and shin guards might otherwise complete the ensemble were it not for the bandolier and belt bearing many a pouches, a green cloak with a leafy motif, and the surprisingly well cared for brown boots adorning his feet and intricate scrawling along the sole. Strangely, any tracks made by the halfling seem to never reflect his apparent size, let alone species.
Long Desc Biscuit:
Almost ever at his side is a black and brown furred Tundra Mastiff(think Tibetan Mastiff) and bestial companion who easily looked to be at least nearly half the size of a full grown dire wolf! As unusual as Biscuit's size may be, it is the clear look of a higher intelligence in his eyes, as well as occasionally reflected in his mannerism that speaks of their being something more the mastiff than first meets the eyes. It's only whenever roused to anger or some other intense emotions that primal glamours give way and reveal a slightly more lupine creature made largely of vegetation of various assortment but perfectly interwoven harmoniously as to maintain a sense of regalness, grace, and supernatural power.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Raist is pale.....even for an elf . His silver hair not helping with said paleness. Wearing his customary Grey robes trimmed in red and blue sits sipping tea as well perusing a notebook
Watching his companions ease into their wait after a very leisurely luncheon, the Orc cannot help but wish he could let his own guard down. He sits fully armoured in clearly well used full plate, dents and scratches from numerous battles and fights upon it. A simple cloth tabbard over it suggests he is no simple warrior, but rather dedicated to a holy order of some kind.
Indulging in a sip of his own stout. Bitter and malty and it feels like a meal in and of itself. Setting the mug back on the table, the Orc shakes his head and runs a hand through closely cropped hair. "Ah... I don't recall actually, it was a while ago that we last spoke of it. Best we recall it now and add anything else we've thought of!"
As you sit in the Laughing Goblin, it is readily apparent that the large, dark, old tavern has seen better days. The woodwork is worn, the once-white plaster has yellowed, and the chandeliers are rusted and tarnished. The furniture shows the signs of heavy use and the scars of various brawls. Its aesthetic shortcomings are easily overpowered by the strong smell of cabbage soup wafting from the kitchen.
Despite her intentions of focusing on her hearing sense, Neya's attention is swept away by her nose. The powerful scent of the cabbage soup overtakes any ambient hubbub that could otherwise seem interesting in this moment.
Referencing Utar, Villonah suggests: "I thought the idea was to engage the captain regarding the Gray Patriots, was it not?" She extends her arms past Raist and his notebook to reach for a fresh portion of blackened catfish. Once she serves herself, but before taking a bite, she shifts to look at Doozey from a slightly different angle. It looks like she is examining her handiwork with the halfling's new haircut.
EPISODE 15 – TYRANNY IN PHLAN
It is the Leafall season in Phlan, and the weather is pleasantly warm as CRAP takes a well-deserved break in the common room of The Laughing Goblin Inn (it is one of Sagin's days off.) You already have a reserved corner booth out of the way of the entrance, and the meal you ordered is laid before you. Your good friend Markoth Hasselpond, or just Mar, who works at The Laughing Goblin as a waiter, happily recommended the tavern’s famous cabbage soup. It is an old secret recipe that comes with freshly baked bread and a piece of cheese. Other dishes served on your table include a salty fish stew and the blackened catch of the day, both dishes using a popular catfish species caught directly from the Moonsea, which is a freshwater lake. Mar has also promised you a whole fresh apple pie as desert "if you be good boys and girls and finish your dinner proper". You are well familiarized with the extensive drink list of the establishment, but Mar's advice is to stick to light ale, stout, or the really strong stuff. As he puts it, "the wine list this tenday is just not particularly appetizing."
The Laughing Goblin is a somewhat famous inn at the docks of Phlan catering to the rough crowd of sailors, mariners, and mercenaries. The common room has two floors with a large, open space in the middle containing the bar, a stage, and a large fireplace. A number of booths line the walls, and tables fill the rest of the room’s open space. The only decoration in the common room is a large carved totem resembling a laughing goblin. The totem is clearly very old and is well-worn. The manager and bartender, Imizael, is reading a broadsheet in this lazy late-afternoon. Though she is human, her name is clearly elven (you heard the story before of how her mother was obsessed with elves.) Mar is taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to mop up a spilled drink and wipe down the tables. You know him to love storytelling and gossip much more than actually doing his job.
You are not here only on a break, however. You have agreed to meet Captain Aleyd Burral of the Knights of the Black Fist here for an in-person debrief. Although your meal is already served, Aleyd is not late to your meeting. You planned to arrive early in order to enjoy your afternoon break a bit before it was time to discuss business.
(OOC: As it is now tradition, please go ahead and describe what your characters may be doing and use this time to share any info you’d like with your fellow adventurers. This is also my chance to remind you to share a description of your characters, as some of you may be sporting updated looks if you so desire. Don't be shy with details!)
Neya, a dark-skinned human woman in fashionable clothing. But, her appearnace hides years of training. She is currently nursing some tea while trying to eavesdrop on some conversations. Mostly for current events and how the overall mood of the town is after their partial success from the mission more than a month prior.
Perception: 5
Extended Signature
While no business of the day promised the need for either weapons or armor, this hadn't stopped the halfling of the group, a ruddy brown skin individual with curly, red-brown hair, from still having shown up at the laughing goblin with at least what he deemed to be the "bare essentials". These namely being a worn but well cared for dark brigandine armor, leather vambraces, a recently required enchanted shortsword sheathed and sat within easy reach in the booth, and a belt laden with plenty of pouched surprises.
"Mn... This is gonna take some getting used to." Doozey absently minded mused after pausing to play with an errant lock of hair. Over the break his bangs had grown long enough to suggest some trimming might be in order. But as he'd already went about shortening the back end of his head enough that a ponytail wasn't needed anymore but five days ago, the thought of another hair cut left him grumbling inwardly a bit.
Yet following a glance at a certain gnome and honorary member of the C.R.A.P, the halfling blushed a little, before then promptly focusing on devouring the rest of his meal. 'C'mon ya silly git. Keep talk'n like that, 'n she'll start think'n she did a bad job helping ya clean up that mess we called a hair do before' Doozey sighed through his nose at the thought, then nodded.
Even sat on the ground next to the table, the dark furred tundra mastiff and Doozey's almost constant companion could've more than easily devoured his meal from the table. In fact, he very nearly slipped his portion on the table by unraveling and unglamouring a few vine tendrils. However, Biscuit hadn't really cared to break tradition; especially with Mar and Imizeal being kind enough to let him eat with the party. "So-..." Said Doozey after taking a swig of his stout. "You still remember what yer gonna ask her, Utar?"
Long Desc Doozey:
Doozey is a halfling with ruddy brown skin, a relatively lean build, and looks to be just shy of middle-aged for his species. Though given his propensity for frowning and narrowing his blue eyes in suspicion, one could be forgiven for presuming him to be much older. His hair -- once a long, curly, and red-brown mess -- has been trimmed down to the point that gone is his ponytail. A headband with splotchy green and brown pattern to it still helps keep contained his bangs to some extent. Though he has long since stopped the practice of using a concoction of tainted blood and other ingredients to gel his hair as a means of protection against certain forces, the faint scent of iron and some earthy herbs yet linger about him.
He has otherwise taken to adorning himself in well-worn blouse and trousers of the beige and brown variety, covered by a set of brigandine armor with outward facing metal plates. A pair of leather vambraces and shin guards might otherwise complete the ensemble were it not for the bandolier and belt bearing many a pouches, a green cloak with a leafy motif, and the surprisingly well cared for brown boots adorning his feet and intricate scrawling along the sole. Strangely, any tracks made by the halfling seem to never reflect his apparent size, let alone species.
Long Desc Biscuit:
Almost ever at his side is a black and brown furred Tundra Mastiff(think Tibetan Mastiff) and bestial companion who easily looked to be at least nearly half the size of a full grown dire wolf! As unusual as Biscuit's size may be, it is the clear look of a higher intelligence in his eyes, as well as occasionally reflected in his mannerism that speaks of their being something more the mastiff than first meets the eyes. It's only whenever roused to anger or some other intense emotions that primal glamours give way and reveal a slightly more lupine creature made largely of vegetation of various assortment but perfectly interwoven harmoniously as to maintain a sense of regalness, grace, and supernatural power.
When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Raist is pale.....even for an elf . His silver hair not helping with said paleness. Wearing his customary Grey robes trimmed in red and blue sits sipping tea as well perusing a notebook
Laissez les bons temps rouler
Watching his companions ease into their wait after a very leisurely luncheon, the Orc cannot help but wish he could let his own guard down. He sits fully armoured in clearly well used full plate, dents and scratches from numerous battles and fights upon it. A simple cloth tabbard over it suggests he is no simple warrior, but rather dedicated to a holy order of some kind.
Indulging in a sip of his own stout. Bitter and malty and it feels like a meal in and of itself. Setting the mug back on the table, the Orc shakes his head and runs a hand through closely cropped hair. "Ah... I don't recall actually, it was a while ago that we last spoke of it. Best we recall it now and add anything else we've thought of!"
As you sit in the Laughing Goblin, it is readily apparent that the large, dark, old tavern has seen better days. The woodwork is worn, the once-white plaster has yellowed, and the chandeliers are rusted and tarnished. The furniture shows the signs of heavy use and the scars of various brawls. Its aesthetic shortcomings are easily overpowered by the strong smell of cabbage soup wafting from the kitchen.
Despite her intentions of focusing on her hearing sense, Neya's attention is swept away by her nose. The powerful scent of the cabbage soup overtakes any ambient hubbub that could otherwise seem interesting in this moment.
Referencing Utar, Villonah suggests: "I thought the idea was to engage the captain regarding the Gray Patriots, was it not?" She extends her arms past Raist and his notebook to reach for a fresh portion of blackened catfish. Once she serves herself, but before taking a bite, she shifts to look at Doozey from a slightly different angle. It looks like she is examining her handiwork with the halfling's new haircut.