Anborn drains his mug of wine and slaps down another silver as he listens to Rictavio tell his tale for Corrin. "Yeah, I'll have a re-fill." 

Orilo rumbles and rolls his eyes. "As if our venture has granted a single coin as of yet." He states flatly, all folded up and looking annoyed now. But he kept an ear out all the same. 

"You got a viol out of it. And something else, if I'm not mistaken." Said Anborn in between sips.

"That was barter. For something more personal and precious. Not a gain of coin." Orilo replied, giving Anborn a sidelong look. Then as he looks away he adds, "Jackass." 

For the first time that day, Anborn had a smirk on his lips. It looks like I finally hit a sore spot under that armor.

Winter couldn't help but chuckle at Corrin thinking a loud, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder after he received look of disapproval from the giant. Just before he had walked off, the shifter had leaned down to whisper in his ear:  "Always open to create some havoc. Tell me what you have in mind when we're done here." And let him go. The rogue goes back to her usual blank demeanor when they join the bard at the table to listen to his tale, getting distracted by Orlio and Anborn's side conversation. "Men..." She mumbles quietly to herself, with an added roll of the eyes.

Elya scolds both Anborn and Orilo, "We're not here to make money like some band of mercen-"

She cuts off in the middle of her sentence as though reminded of something, but continues after a moment, "We're here, in this tavern, for one purpose, and we're here, in Barovia, for another. Neither involves getting rich."

"Actually, I'm reasonably certain that the majority of our party came to Barovia because of the promise of riches. I did not, I genuinely wanted to help. My adventures seem to make me no richer than I was at the start of them, or even poorer."

"Of course. You're here to help. Either way, I don't think we'll be finding any riches for a while."

"Excellent observation, Elya." 

RICTAVIO

"Welcome! Sit!" Rictavio says, "A tale you say?" he muses. "How about this one!"

"There is a rumor of an empire, ancient and lost to time. An Empire ruled by three perfect women who could never do wrong, and who could never die. And though they were beautiful, ageless, and merciful, the Kingdom that grew around the Triarchy was the most monstrous yet made. A tyranny of torture and pain that could never end while the three immortal sisters lay at it's center like pearls in a poisoned shell. Until one day it did. The women disappeared and were never seen again. The Empire slowly faded and fell, leaving only a memory, like a nightmare recalled at dawn." He pauses for effect. "Some say Barovia was somehow formed over this ancient Empire. One will never know, for those who would possibly remember have long since past."

There's a few other patrons in the bar today, but nothing really out of the ordinary, except for the fact that lots of the town guard are attending to whatever disaster happened down the street. Ireena is very entertained, and Ismark is pleased that she is distracted. Ireena gives Elya no mind. 

"Now!" Rictavio says, "This lovely young lady and his stepbrother are such wonderful company! I have no musical talent, but I occasionally entertain locals with my stories. I, you could say, and a travelling entertainer. My, the things I have seen in my day!"

"And tell us how so, wordsmith.What travels have you taken? What perils have you recorded? And what of the fiend who has this cursed land under his thumb? Tell us of him, wordsmith," Corrin says, growing weary of Barovia and its dark tidings. "Tell us how we rid this place of such a fiend so that we may go home."

"You know, looking at Barovia, I'm perfectly willing to believe that this country was built over the ruins of an ancient, evil empire. But we've really come here on an urgent mission that has to be done and we need your help. Once you've helped us we can tell all the stories you want. Hell, I'll even tell one." 

Rictavio's smile lessens a bit. "Those answers I do not have." He says to Corrin.

Ireena pouts sadly, "Surely, Rictavio, you must know SOMEthing. Strahd has already bitten me twice. For some strange reason, he is after me. These adventurers risked their lives to bring me here with my brother, and my father is already dead. You must know something.." she implores.

Rictavio looks at Ireena affectionately. "Perhaps I do. Your story, my dear, had enchanted me the most since I have been here. Take this." he reaches into his pack. "You might need it. Use it wisely."

He hands Ireena a Scroll of Resurrection. 

Ireena gasps in surprise, and Ismark's eyebrow raises. "Thank you!" she says.

Anborn laughs when Rictavio hands Ireena the scroll. Not his usual sardonic laugh, an actual laugh. Shit, that was easy. "That's actually what we were coming to talk to you for! We need it to bring back someone that might prove to be a very helpful ally in our mission and you just pulled it out like it was a copper piece. So, can you hand it over to us?"

Ireena takes the scroll and puts it in her pouch, and gives it a loving pat. "Thank you again, Rictavio.."

Anborn stands there wondering if Ireena heard him or if his creator's ******* DM is ******* around. "Um, Ireena we sort of need the scroll to bring back someone who might help us stop Strahd from killing you. Can we have it?"

He casts Guidance on himself and attempts to snatch it from her to prove a ******* point.

Athletics:16

Guidance:1

Failing that, Anborn casts Command on Ireena. "I'm serious, we need it."

DC13 Wisdom Save or drop the scroll.

Corrin watches the exchange with a bemused look. He then turns to catch Winter’s eye, raises an eyebrow and motions his head toward the scroll while mouthing the word, “Mischief.” The halfling then moves over to join Ireena, Anborn and the bard. “Now that good sir is how you punctuate a story’s end. Well done.” 

She expertly blocks your hand like a trained soldier. She gives you a sort of look that combines two emotions, one, as if you were trying to grope her breasts, and two, amused you think that grab would actually work. 

"Such a gentleman!" Rictavio mutters, surprised at Anborn's action. Ismark stands, giving you a confused, annoyed look. Ireena waves a hand gently, and Ismark settles a bit. 

"It's ok." Ireena says, her eyes not moving off Anborn. "I will let such an action slide, this time. You did, after all, keep your word in escorting my brother and I here. However..you forgot to say please. Are there no men in this land with manners, anymore?"

"There's probably some, but they aren't the ones who are going to kill Strahd." Anborn says as he pockets the scroll and takes the chest to a private room upstairs to get started on bringing the nobleman back so that he can move on from Vallaki and maybe stop looking like an ass. He comes back down the stairs. "Sorry about the whole trying to snatch the scroll thing. I really wasn't trying to cop a feel. Maybe Corrin might be right about the whole 'ensuring that I remain celibate' thing." He heads back up the stairs before coming down to make one last quip. "By the way, if you ever make a joke about my sex life again, I'll make sure that you'll be celibate too."