This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Slag will turn and give the captain a nod "sounds good ter me... catch the pests and toss them overboard... we can let gravity do the exterminating fer us" he will pull out his massive mace shaped like an oversize blacksmiths hammer and poke Flint with the tip. "You coming or are ye still nursing a hangover?" Slag will then turn and start searching the airship for rodents, banging on the walls and floorboards of the ship with his mace trying to drive out any critters that could be hiding inside.
Sitting on a barrel in one of the few alley in this cute little town was a man who looked ready for a nightly prowl. Wearing the skull of an alpha deer, you may be able to see his chin of you got close enough. Far be it from that, though. The bartenders wouldn't let him in any of their establishments because of it. Or...maybe it was the scars...curious - But wait! It's happening again! Boo watches as the ribbons of light began making their way through the ally. When they reached him, Boo fell onto his knees I'm laughter. " Ahh, the sun - she rises once again! Praise be to the Gorgal for this joy." The sun rising means a new day has started. A day of laughter and merry making. But wait! There is a Holliday on the horizon. Not today, but word has said it was very soon. Boo couldn't wait!
Hold on...what was that? A man is pulling tricks of thievery on a glorious morning! The nerve. Boo marched out from the ally, people instinctively parting from him, and studied the man's face on the board. "Hmmmm," he stroked the chin of the deer head, "a trickster is afoot. Then he shall face surface law!"
Prospero re-opens all of his bags, and takes the time to remove his costume and put on his normal clothes. He messes up his hair, and takes out a small bag of dirt and rubs some on his face and hands, just enough to look believable. He places his nice clothes and nice bag into his rougher looking bag and swings it over his shoulder. Checking himself in the mirror to make sure he looks back to normal he peeks out the door of his room to make sure nobody is in the hallway.
Bigark is immediately alert at the sound of the hammering. His eyes like two piece of coal fly open, and a scowl wrinkles his gray green brow. "Stupid racket," he growls in Orcish. He sits up, the smallish bed creaking under his weight. He lifts a big hand to rub the top of his head, the bristly hairs feeling good against his Orc's palm. Standing, he crosses to the tiny mirror hanging low above the stained wash bowl. He leans over the table, peering at his reflection in the fogged surface. Same old Bigark. Big, square face. Haphazard tusks sticking out between his plump lips. He reaches up, delicately grasps an errant nose hair, and pulls. Grimacing, he tries again. Stupid tiny hair. It takes a third try before the bristle lets go. He reaches both hands into the bowl and lifts the clean, cold water to his face in a big splash. He does this a few more times, also rubbing some of the water into his short hair.
Dressed in his chainmail, long coat, and some other finery, like a red scarf and a few rings, Bigark descends the stairs into the tavern below. His boots knock loudly and his mail jingles with each step. At the bottom, he surveys the room with a haughty eye. He lifts his square chin and crosses to an empty table, swinging his shoulders to make sure everyone in the room gets a look at the greatsword and greataxe crisscrossing his back. Sitting casually, he places one arm on the table and waits for a wench. When one nears him, he orders a large breakfast of proteins and two mugs of ale. He doesn't mistreat the barmaid, but she still gets the impression that any servant of his wouldn't enjoy their job very much. Bigark waits patiently for his meal, eyeing the other patrons with apparent superiority. He's specifically keeping an eye out for this noble person who beat him to the best room in the inn.
Tallis entered the town wrapped in a thick traveller's cloak with a deep hood and a cover for his face. Tucked within the deep recesses were the elements of a dangerous breed of hunter: sturdy mail, a seasoned blade, and a quiver on each hip to match a longbow strapped to his pack.
As the bounty hunter passed, Tallis gave way and kept his head low. Certain accoutrements caught his eye such as the strange garb and weapons, but there was no need for chatter. He made his way to the market, trying to pick up any bits of gossip. Afterward, he checked the local garrison (town hall, town square, etc. wherever the DM would place a generic job board). Finally, he came to the tavern to restock his provisions and check with the owner for any local disturbances.
(Let me know if there are checks needed for job-hunting. Being that Tallis is more of a night hunter, that'll be his main focus)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
So Prospero hearing that the law is drawing closer, faster than you were expecting, having a wanted poster of your well most know alias, you think it time to retire the William Silverstring identity, at least for a while. Packing away the fancy robes, dirting yourself up a bit, you should be able to blend in easier, cause Nadaca sharing a border with Clover Hill, halflings are one of the more common non human races. Just as long as you keep a low profile, and not make yourself known, you should be able to slip with ease.
Bigark, you dress yourself, heading down for breakfast. Being the son of a real politician, especially a dead one, makes concealing your identity a little harder. As you sit, you are greeted by a porty blond haired woman in her 40s wearing and apron with the Pumpkin Gourd logo sown onto it. She greets you. "So what brings a big fancy orc like yourself Bigark to our little town." As you sit town and place your order,the woman hollars from your table. "Ma, get the ovens started, the fancy orc has a big appetite". As you sit, you notice not many people are down for breakfast, and you don't see any halflings currently.
Boo as you are sitting outside, on a couple of barrels in an alley, you see children run by, group of three of them. The last one stops, about 8 maybe 10, boy an looks at you, confused."Are you homeless mister?" Then looks closer examining the deer skull perched on your head."Are you a Savage Land Barbarian? My dad says they are real scary and I should never go out into the woods alone, for Savage Lad barbarians are cannibals. Are you a cannibal mister?
Boo stares dead in the child's face. After a few seconds of silence the barbarian lets out a long, overly dramatic gasp, clutching at his chest. "Scary!" he sobs, "Boo is not scary!" He pushes himself off the barrel and lands cross-legged as to be eye level with the child. "What's scary is you! With your laughter and wailing - you make Boo's ears bleed!" But wait! This child smells of curiosity and knowledge. He speaks of woods and homes - Gorgal praise be! "Homeless you say? Boo is not homeless. The land is Boo's home, yours as well!" Boo leans in for a quick second to sniff the child, then leans back, arms crossed. "Ah! You speak of homes with roof and walls! Boo does not have that. Do you?" He leans closer once more, radiating youthful curiosity.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Flint would give out a hardy laugh, "Yer alright, Slag!" Wide eyes scanning over the empty tankards before him until needing to brace himself from the Juggernauts firm pat. "Hah! It's the only way to live sometimes." He'd straighten up once again as he nods to Duham, "Well, I ain't against it, Captain, but hunting down rats certainly isn't my way of preparing for no festival." Eyes would shift to Slag as the mechanical titan was already making plans to squash the rodents, "Unless the critter sprouts wings!" Another chuckle before Flint would saunter toward Slag, in no hurry to become ship exterminator. "Nay, not a hangover today, but if I start stomping rats under my boots it may stir something that was hibernatin within me"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Kaldun hears the two gruff voices through the walls as the begin their investigation.
"Rats!" he thinks to himself, "Just my luck, nearly out of this godforsaken country and now these big oafs plan to toss me overboard, better make my way back to my favorite nook and lay low a bit longer. Terrible that we need to suffer these indignities just because of our Draconic blood!"
He positions himself so that he will be able to see his pursuers approach before they would see him, and does his best to conceal himself.
Tallis catches the strangest sight as he works through town. A man with an animal skull living in a barrel talking to a passing child. No time to think on it, he approaches while standing well out of reach, "Child, best get moving." An arm opens the side of his cloak to reveal the hilt of his sword and his mail shirt.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
When the portly, blond-haired woman returns to Bigark's table with his food, he grunts what might be a thank you. Then, before she can leave, he touches her arm tentatively to keep her attention. "This festival," he begins, his Common thick with a Tachunkan accent, "it busy? It fun? What can you me tell?" The orc folds his fingers on the table before his plate, looking at the woman with what could be his version of polite interest, but what looks more like consternation.
Boo snaps upright. What was that? Another voice? It was, oh joy, it was! And not from his head this time. Was it from the child? Was he psychic? Oh, the prowess of surface dwellers. Just so much to learn! He turns to where the voice came from, and all the joy left his body. A guard, clearly. Who else would brandish a weapon like that in daylight. He was sure he was quiet when praising the sun in all its glory. Perhaps that's shunned here. Notes for later. "Put that thing away, officer," he sighs, limply making a 'shoo' motion with his hand. "If you want to learn of the Gorgal and walled-homes, please wait your turn. We're talking," he sternly gestures to the child.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"What was that?!?" Slag will stop a moment and listen.... (Perception 6) At that moment a loud gurgle will start in his belly and another loud CRACK and backfire will erupt from deep inside him, with smoke shooting out his smoke stacks... WOAH, what was in that ale... letting out a hardy laugh. before turning around and continuing his search in anither direction.
Flint stopped in his tracks a few feet behind Slag, still in no rush to find any rats or even a stowaway. It wasn't his ship...
"You hear..." unable to finish his question with the walking furnace perhaps struggling to digest the ale from before. "Only Iron Sides finest!" Reaching out to pat Slag on the back, only to hesitate and pull away the last second. Wondering if he'd get burned from the stacks for a moment before returning to the search.
(Sorry, was just trying to fix things now that I'm at a computer. Deleted my perception: 3)
Hymn sleeps better on most nights than he thinks one in his position entirely deserves. On most nights, he finds little to complain about. That isn't the case today. Each thud echoed through his head, until he is sure it going to be split in two, and Hymn just manages to pull himself out of bed. Dragging his own feet, he is just a second too slow to yell at the perpetrator.
He pulls himself halfway out of his window, mindful of his left and only intact horn, looking for the source of the commotion, but instead catches sight of a horse's departing ass and a monster of a man standing in front of the notice board outside the inn.
A scared, roughed up mess with an animal skull - possibly the most interesting human in the entire town, and a small child that, should he be his, was probably adopted. And trouble.
"Hey!" The red Tiefling calls out. "What's all the noise about?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
On the Iron Giant air ship. Kaldun, being used to crawling through tight tunnels in the mountains, you are able to get into a nook of the ship, that even if someone located you, they would not be able to get to you, even if they tried without tearing out piece of the interior wall of the ship. You did hear them mention fumigation and you really don't want to be remaining on the ship when they start pumping poisons into the ship. You hear someone banging on the opposite wall as you are hiding in.
Flint and Slag, as Slag taps away at the wall, you both hear something, and behold 4 very angry giant rats pop out of the wall. They look mean and aggressive (Roll for .Initiative Slag and Flint. I just want to test out combat rolls before throw something bigger at you guys)
Rat A 15
Rat B 15
Rat C 20
Rat D 9
Back on the ground the child who was talking to Boo, watches as Tallis walks up, with hand on his hilt. "Are you two going to fight? Jerry, Joey come here, these two are going to fight!" The boy's shouting catching the attention of a town's guard. He is wearing a helmet, a chain mail shirt, and a hunter green cloak with emblem of what looks to be of a woman, but her hair is made out vines, her skin looks like cover in bark, she is standing in from of clouds blowing in the wind. "There shall be no blood on the streets today, not on my watch." Striding over he looks to see Boo, shaking his head, muttering to himself "Tourist who worships the old ways." He lets out a sigh and addresses Boo. "You might want to save the costume for the festival, don't want people mistake you for a Savage Lander. What seems to be the problem here?"
Inside the Pumpkin Gourd in, the portly blonde waitress addresses Bigark's question. "Well the basic premise is, everyone coming together to celebrate the year they'd had, celebrate their good fortune, celebrate the Earth Mother had given us. I will be selling our trademark pumpkin pies, and judging the pie cooking contest. As my ma, would tell you, the festival has gotten more commercial and less religious, but she doesn't want to admit times change."
Upstairs of the Pumpkin Gourd in, Greenhill, if you were to venture downstairs, you would notice that the same tall red headed bearded man who was tending bar last night, one who checked you in, isn't around, but instead the blond woman currently talking to a fancy dressed orc, seems to be in charge of the place. Hymn, as you come out of your room, you see this halfling peeking around, acting nervously.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Slag will take a step back as the rats pour out of the wall "Looks like we found yer infestation!" Drawing his shield and hammer, he will attempt to smash the rats.
"You celebrate good fortune with pies of pumpkin? What is 'pumpkin'?" The barmaid indicates the embroidery on her apron, explaining with apparent amusement what a pumpkin is. Bigark, in recognition, says the Orcish word for that type of gourd. "That 'pumpkin'? I never have pumpkin pie before. I buy one pie."
The blonde woman, looks very surprised at this revelation that Bigark tells her, he had never had pumpkin pie before. "Oh my stars, you've never had pumpkin pie, what do ya orc fellas eat then?" As she waits for Bigark to answer, she turns back and hollers. "Ma, put a pie in the oven, this orc never had pie before." She then back to Bigark. "Well, I usually charge 5 copper for the pie, but for your first time its free. But for the rest of your meal, it is 4 copper for the larger portions, and 2 silver for the tankards of ale. My name is Betty by the way."
"Costume!?" Boo gasps, hands covering his heart. "Boo is not wearing costume. Boo is wearing Boo's skin...unless you want Boo to take it off." Boo then takes two fingers and pushes them a few inches deep into a fresh cut on his shoulder, to which the guard and children started to gag and cringe at the sight, and he stopped. "Boo cannot take off Boo's skin. Apologies." But wait! He heard of the talk of Gorgal and walled-homes. Now he comes to talk of the festival! "Gorgal praise this day!" He shouts to the heavens with glee. "Boo could not ask for a better one!"
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Slag will turn and give the captain a nod "sounds good ter me... catch the pests and toss them overboard... we can let gravity do the exterminating fer us" he will pull out his massive mace shaped like an oversize blacksmiths hammer and poke Flint with the tip. "You coming or are ye still nursing a hangover?" Slag will then turn and start searching the airship for rodents, banging on the walls and floorboards of the ship with his mace trying to drive out any critters that could be hiding inside.
Investigation: 12
Sitting on a barrel in one of the few alley in this cute little town was a man who looked ready for a nightly prowl. Wearing the skull of an alpha deer, you may be able to see his chin of you got close enough. Far be it from that, though. The bartenders wouldn't let him in any of their establishments because of it. Or...maybe it was the scars...curious - But wait! It's happening again! Boo watches as the ribbons of light began making their way through the ally. When they reached him, Boo fell onto his knees I'm laughter. " Ahh, the sun - she rises once again! Praise be to the Gorgal for this joy." The sun rising means a new day has started. A day of laughter and merry making. But wait! There is a Holliday on the horizon. Not today, but word has said it was very soon. Boo couldn't wait!
Hold on...what was that? A man is pulling tricks of thievery on a glorious morning! The nerve. Boo marched out from the ally, people instinctively parting from him, and studied the man's face on the board. "Hmmmm," he stroked the chin of the deer head, "a trickster is afoot. Then he shall face surface law!"
Prospero re-opens all of his bags, and takes the time to remove his costume and put on his normal clothes. He messes up his hair, and takes out a small bag of dirt and rubs some on his face and hands, just enough to look believable. He places his nice clothes and nice bag into his rougher looking bag and swings it over his shoulder. Checking himself in the mirror to make sure he looks back to normal he peeks out the door of his room to make sure nobody is in the hallway.
Bigark is immediately alert at the sound of the hammering. His eyes like two piece of coal fly open, and a scowl wrinkles his gray green brow. "Stupid racket," he growls in Orcish. He sits up, the smallish bed creaking under his weight. He lifts a big hand to rub the top of his head, the bristly hairs feeling good against his Orc's palm. Standing, he crosses to the tiny mirror hanging low above the stained wash bowl. He leans over the table, peering at his reflection in the fogged surface. Same old Bigark. Big, square face. Haphazard tusks sticking out between his plump lips. He reaches up, delicately grasps an errant nose hair, and pulls. Grimacing, he tries again. Stupid tiny hair. It takes a third try before the bristle lets go. He reaches both hands into the bowl and lifts the clean, cold water to his face in a big splash. He does this a few more times, also rubbing some of the water into his short hair.
Dressed in his chainmail, long coat, and some other finery, like a red scarf and a few rings, Bigark descends the stairs into the tavern below. His boots knock loudly and his mail jingles with each step. At the bottom, he surveys the room with a haughty eye. He lifts his square chin and crosses to an empty table, swinging his shoulders to make sure everyone in the room gets a look at the greatsword and greataxe crisscrossing his back. Sitting casually, he places one arm on the table and waits for a wench. When one nears him, he orders a large breakfast of proteins and two mugs of ale. He doesn't mistreat the barmaid, but she still gets the impression that any servant of his wouldn't enjoy their job very much. Bigark waits patiently for his meal, eyeing the other patrons with apparent superiority. He's specifically keeping an eye out for this noble person who beat him to the best room in the inn.
Tallis entered the town wrapped in a thick traveller's cloak with a deep hood and a cover for his face. Tucked within the deep recesses were the elements of a dangerous breed of hunter: sturdy mail, a seasoned blade, and a quiver on each hip to match a longbow strapped to his pack.
As the bounty hunter passed, Tallis gave way and kept his head low. Certain accoutrements caught his eye such as the strange garb and weapons, but there was no need for chatter. He made his way to the market, trying to pick up any bits of gossip. Afterward, he checked the local garrison (town hall, town square, etc. wherever the DM would place a generic job board). Finally, he came to the tavern to restock his provisions and check with the owner for any local disturbances.
(Let me know if there are checks needed for job-hunting. Being that Tallis is more of a night hunter, that'll be his main focus)
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
So Prospero hearing that the law is drawing closer, faster than you were expecting, having a wanted poster of your well most know alias, you think it time to retire the William Silverstring identity, at least for a while. Packing away the fancy robes, dirting yourself up a bit, you should be able to blend in easier, cause Nadaca sharing a border with Clover Hill, halflings are one of the more common non human races. Just as long as you keep a low profile, and not make yourself known, you should be able to slip with ease.
Bigark, you dress yourself, heading down for breakfast. Being the son of a real politician, especially a dead one, makes concealing your identity a little harder. As you sit, you are greeted by a porty blond haired woman in her 40s wearing and apron with the Pumpkin Gourd logo sown onto it. She greets you. "So what brings a big fancy orc like yourself Bigark to our little town." As you sit town and place your order,the woman hollars from your table. "Ma, get the ovens started, the fancy orc has a big appetite". As you sit, you notice not many people are down for breakfast, and you don't see any halflings currently.
Boo as you are sitting outside, on a couple of barrels in an alley, you see children run by, group of three of them. The last one stops, about 8 maybe 10, boy an looks at you, confused. "Are you homeless mister?" Then looks closer examining the deer skull perched on your head. "Are you a Savage Land Barbarian? My dad says they are real scary and I should never go out into the woods alone, for Savage Lad barbarians are cannibals. Are you a cannibal mister?
Boo stares dead in the child's face. After a few seconds of silence the barbarian lets out a long, overly dramatic gasp, clutching at his chest. "Scary!" he sobs, "Boo is not scary!" He pushes himself off the barrel and lands cross-legged as to be eye level with the child. "What's scary is you! With your laughter and wailing - you make Boo's ears bleed!" But wait! This child smells of curiosity and knowledge. He speaks of woods and homes - Gorgal praise be! "Homeless you say? Boo is not homeless. The land is Boo's home, yours as well!" Boo leans in for a quick second to sniff the child, then leans back, arms crossed. "Ah! You speak of homes with roof and walls! Boo does not have that. Do you?" He leans closer once more, radiating youthful curiosity.
Flint would give out a hardy laugh, "Yer alright, Slag!" Wide eyes scanning over the empty tankards before him until needing to brace himself from the Juggernauts firm pat. "Hah! It's the only way to live sometimes." He'd straighten up once again as he nods to Duham, "Well, I ain't against it, Captain, but hunting down rats certainly isn't my way of preparing for no festival." Eyes would shift to Slag as the mechanical titan was already making plans to squash the rodents, "Unless the critter sprouts wings!" Another chuckle before Flint would saunter toward Slag, in no hurry to become ship exterminator. "Nay, not a hangover today, but if I start stomping rats under my boots it may stir something that was hibernatin within me"
Investigation: 13
Kaldun hears the two gruff voices through the walls as the begin their investigation.
"Rats!" he thinks to himself, "Just my luck, nearly out of this godforsaken country and now these big oafs plan to toss me overboard, better make my way back to my favorite nook and lay low a bit longer. Terrible that we need to suffer these indignities just because of our Draconic blood!"
He positions himself so that he will be able to see his pursuers approach before they would see him, and does his best to conceal himself.
Stealth: 20
Vercinius Thrax: Lizardfolk Cleric - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
L’Ouverture Zinn: Kobold Sorcerer - Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage
Titus Vorenus: Dragonborn Paladin - Waterdeep: Dragon Heist
Nemean Goldenmane: Tabaxi Fighter - Lost Mine of Phandelver (Retired)
Tallis catches the strangest sight as he works through town. A man with an animal skull living in a barrel talking to a passing child. No time to think on it, he approaches while standing well out of reach, "Child, best get moving." An arm opens the side of his cloak to reveal the hilt of his sword and his mail shirt.
Characters:
Grishkar Darkmoor, Necromancer of Nerull the Despiser
Kelvin Rabbitfoot, Diviner, con artist, always hunting for a good sale
Bründir Halfshield, Valor Bard, three-time Sheercleft Drinking Competition Champion, Hometown hero
When the portly, blond-haired woman returns to Bigark's table with his food, he grunts what might be a thank you. Then, before she can leave, he touches her arm tentatively to keep her attention. "This festival," he begins, his Common thick with a Tachunkan accent, "it busy? It fun? What can you me tell?" The orc folds his fingers on the table before his plate, looking at the woman with what could be his version of polite interest, but what looks more like consternation.
Boo snaps upright. What was that? Another voice? It was, oh joy, it was! And not from his head this time. Was it from the child? Was he psychic? Oh, the prowess of surface dwellers. Just so much to learn! He turns to where the voice came from, and all the joy left his body. A guard, clearly. Who else would brandish a weapon like that in daylight. He was sure he was quiet when praising the sun in all its glory. Perhaps that's shunned here. Notes for later. "Put that thing away, officer," he sighs, limply making a 'shoo' motion with his hand. "If you want to learn of the Gorgal and walled-homes, please wait your turn. We're talking," he sternly gestures to the child.
"What was that?!?" Slag will stop a moment and listen.... (Perception 6) At that moment a loud gurgle will start in his belly and another loud CRACK and backfire will erupt from deep inside him, with smoke shooting out his smoke stacks... WOAH, what was in that ale... letting out a hardy laugh. before turning around and continuing his search in anither direction.
Flint stopped in his tracks a few feet behind Slag, still in no rush to find any rats or even a stowaway. It wasn't his ship...
"You hear..." unable to finish his question with the walking furnace perhaps struggling to digest the ale from before. "Only Iron Sides finest!" Reaching out to pat Slag on the back, only to hesitate and pull away the last second. Wondering if he'd get burned from the stacks for a moment before returning to the search.
Hymn sleeps better on most nights than he thinks one in his position entirely deserves. On most nights, he finds little to complain about. That isn't the case today. Each thud echoed through his head, until he is sure it going to be split in two, and Hymn just manages to pull himself out of bed. Dragging his own feet, he is just a second too slow to yell at the perpetrator.
He pulls himself halfway out of his window, mindful of his left and only intact horn, looking for the source of the commotion, but instead catches sight of a horse's departing ass and a monster of a man standing in front of the notice board outside the inn.
A scared, roughed up mess with an animal skull - possibly the most interesting human in the entire town, and a small child that, should he be his, was probably adopted. And trouble.
"Hey!" The red Tiefling calls out. "What's all the noise about?"
On the Iron Giant air ship. Kaldun, being used to crawling through tight tunnels in the mountains, you are able to get into a nook of the ship, that even if someone located you, they would not be able to get to you, even if they tried without tearing out piece of the interior wall of the ship. You did hear them mention fumigation and you really don't want to be remaining on the ship when they start pumping poisons into the ship. You hear someone banging on the opposite wall as you are hiding in.
Flint and Slag, as Slag taps away at the wall, you both hear something, and behold 4 very angry giant rats pop out of the wall. They look mean and aggressive (Roll for .Initiative Slag and Flint. I just want to test out combat rolls before throw something bigger at you guys)
Rat A 15
Rat B 15
Rat C 20
Rat D 9
Back on the ground the child who was talking to Boo, watches as Tallis walks up, with hand on his hilt. "Are you two going to fight? Jerry, Joey come here, these two are going to fight!" The boy's shouting catching the attention of a town's guard. He is wearing a helmet, a chain mail shirt, and a hunter green cloak with emblem of what looks to be of a woman, but her hair is made out vines, her skin looks like cover in bark, she is standing in from of clouds blowing in the wind. "There shall be no blood on the streets today, not on my watch." Striding over he looks to see Boo, shaking his head, muttering to himself "Tourist who worships the old ways." He lets out a sigh and addresses Boo. "You might want to save the costume for the festival, don't want people mistake you for a Savage Lander. What seems to be the problem here?"
Inside the Pumpkin Gourd in, the portly blonde waitress addresses Bigark's question. "Well the basic premise is, everyone coming together to celebrate the year they'd had, celebrate their good fortune, celebrate the Earth Mother had given us. I will be selling our trademark pumpkin pies, and judging the pie cooking contest. As my ma, would tell you, the festival has gotten more commercial and less religious, but she doesn't want to admit times change."
Upstairs of the Pumpkin Gourd in, Greenhill, if you were to venture downstairs, you would notice that the same tall red headed bearded man who was tending bar last night, one who checked you in, isn't around, but instead the blond woman currently talking to a fancy dressed orc, seems to be in charge of the place. Hymn, as you come out of your room, you see this halfling peeking around, acting nervously.
Slag will take a step back as the rats pour out of the wall "Looks like we found yer infestation!" Drawing his shield and hammer, he will attempt to smash the rats.
***Initiative 12***
"You celebrate good fortune with pies of pumpkin? What is 'pumpkin'?" The barmaid indicates the embroidery on her apron, explaining with apparent amusement what a pumpkin is. Bigark, in recognition, says the Orcish word for that type of gourd. "That 'pumpkin'? I never have pumpkin pie before. I buy one pie."
The blonde woman, looks very surprised at this revelation that Bigark tells her, he had never had pumpkin pie before. "Oh my stars, you've never had pumpkin pie, what do ya orc fellas eat then?" As she waits for Bigark to answer, she turns back and hollers. "Ma, put a pie in the oven, this orc never had pie before." She then back to Bigark. "Well, I usually charge 5 copper for the pie, but for your first time its free. But for the rest of your meal, it is 4 copper for the larger portions, and 2 silver for the tankards of ale. My name is Betty by the way."
"Costume!?" Boo gasps, hands covering his heart. "Boo is not wearing costume. Boo is wearing Boo's skin...unless you want Boo to take it off." Boo then takes two fingers and pushes them a few inches deep into a fresh cut on his shoulder, to which the guard and children started to gag and cringe at the sight, and he stopped. "Boo cannot take off Boo's skin. Apologies." But wait! He heard of the talk of Gorgal and walled-homes. Now he comes to talk of the festival! "Gorgal praise this day!" He shouts to the heavens with glee. "Boo could not ask for a better one!"