"What exactly have you heard about the Empty Net?"Red asks as they walk. Internally glad that nobody had looked at her to tell her tale of woe. Not that she couldn't have come up with a brilliant lie, or just tweaked the truth a little. But that wasn't really the sort of thing good people did. And now that she's free, free from everything she wants to work on that.
Kasimir shrugs. "Nothing specific. I've just heard that's where more unconventional people hang out. Not that I've anything against fishermen or miners, but that's not the kind of news I'm interested in. Slavers, werejackals, weird glowing lights in the forest -- there's some weird stuff going down in this town, and I figure the seedy underbelly is as likely as anywhere to know what it is."
(I'll assume everybody will stop at the Empty Net before heading back to the Mariners' Guildhall? Let me know if anyone has other plans. I will post shortly.)
Following directions you received back at the Mariners' Guildhall, you pass the bridge and wander further downriver, along a village street hugging the opening waterway. You pass a large patch of well-travelled dirt on the banks of the harbor, where a market of some kind must stand during the day.
The Empty Net is hard to miss. It's a rickety, dirty-looking tavern partially supported by stilts driven into the harbor waters. A semi-conscious man slumps outside. As you approach the open doorway, a wiry and wary man in leather spots you. His eyes open wide and dart around rapidly. "Well, well! Look what the tide brought in." A dozen more figures can be seen inside, staring at you. It's a pretty sketchy-looking, low-class dive. The jumpy man who greeted you seems to be in charge. Somebody inside is playing a fiddle, terribly.
I suppose this is where the smugglers would be? Or least where you could get ahold of them. Red thinks as they approach the Empty Net. She supposes at this time it's not really surprising that it's not actually empty. Keeping the smile plastered on her face while the fiddler inside butchers that poor tune is hard, but Red thinks she manages it well enough.
"Quite Literally."She tells the man in charge, wryly, then shrugs at Omens question. What she really wants to do is go take the fiddler's place, at least while she's here. Now, how does one go about telling someone that they suck at something nicely? She wonders.
"Hail! How's business on this bleak eve?"Qivys says hoping to seem like something other than an ex-slave. These men could even be the end buyers of one or more of his companions.
"This might turn sour quickly, be courteous but on alert" he whispers to the group.
The interior is a cramped, drab, and musty-smelling. An open door leads to a rickety porch over the harbor. A set of mismatched stools are scattered around, mostly occupied, filled with half-inebriated human goons of all sizes and shapes - about 6 or 8 in total, plus the host, together with a musician with the look and demeanor of a scarecrow. There's an (occupied) card table and a low wooden bar (or crude resemblance of one.) There's a lot of booze evident. Red splotches cover the floor (which don't quite look like blood, but who knows.)
They all stop conversing to stare at the lot of you, although the "music" continues, unabated. A bald and beefy gorilla-like guy leers maliciously at Qivys as a scrawny mustachioed man whispers in his ear. They all glance nervously at Red.
Without prompting, the host/bartender pours five cloudy mugs of liquid smelling of fish and alcohol, and pushes them your way. "One silver," he says. "You guys lost?"
"Lost indeed, sir," he says, dropping a silver on the bar. "You may have heard a rumor of a shipwreck just east of here. That's us." He leans against the bar and takes a gulp of ale. "We've been in town for a few hours and already we've witnessed an attack of dog-monsters, heard a tale of ghostly lights and sounds coming from the forest, and had people tell us the town is beseiged by evil spirits. I was hoping you kind folks could help clear up just what kind of mess we've landed in."
It's no ale - it's sort of a sour fish brandy. It's clearly an acquired taste, but it's most certainly potent.
"Oh I see, we're a mess, aye?" says a barrel-chested guy, standing. The hair on his back is as thick as the hair on his head is thin. "And what blessed land are ye' all from?"
"I like yer pets!" calls out some jokester from the back in a piping adolescent voice.
Omen remains silent only looking around to make sure the parties back is covered and to occasionally eye a patron, seeing if there is any resemblance to some of the thug he has run into in Greyhawk.
"Somewhere far away and just as messy." She hesitates then shrugs internally. This dosen't seem to be going well. Might as well drop a name and see if it helps or hinders. "So far away in fact, that I don't believe any of my contacts are this far out, so I'm looking to make some new ones. I've heard a certain Gellan Primwater shares my occupation. You wouldn't happen to know how I could get in touch would you?"She focuses on the leader and gives him a winning smile. As if trying to force him to be friendly through sheer force of will.
He sips the brandy and tries to determine if it's laced with anything or just strong brandy.
The only thing the brandy seems to be laced with are a few scummy fish scales.
Red's words noticeably defuse the situation. The dropping of Primwater's name seems to make the group in general a bit more sober.
"Some of us do work for Primwater Textile and Lumber Exports, yes," says the jumpy bartender/host. "We can talk if you like."
But just then, the beefy gorilla-like guy and the scrawny mustachioed man suddenly lurch forward at Qivys. "No place for dirty dwarves!" shouts the big guy. "Bath time!" shrieks the scrawny goon. They attempt to grapple Qivys and pick him up off the floor.
Initiative:
Big goon 1 Scrawny goon 4 Qivys 20 Claire 13 Omen 19 Kas 19 Red 15
The bartender looks irritated at the two lowlifes. The crowd's mood swings from brief seriousness at Primwater's name, to drunken jubilance at the opportunity to watch an entertaining spectacle. The fiddler strikes up a livelier (if still awful) tune.
The big guy gets off to a sloppy start. (Natural one. Qivys, meanwhile, rolled a natural 20!) No weapons are drawn yet.
Told you so. But the thought is gone as quickly as it appeared. He braces himself to be lifted by the goon. Seeing the goon stumble and fail miserably to even get close brings a smile to Qivys' face. "Now guys, if you didn't want me in here, all you had to do was ask nicely." He looks at the barkeep, "Would you rather me step outside alone or with these two?" gesturing to the gorilla and the moustache. "I'd prefer not to spill anyone's drink, or blood, this evening."
Qivys tries to reason with the goons, but they are too drunk on fish-booze, adrenalin, and attention to listen. The barkeeper shows no signs of sympathy to Qivys or his friends, but you can tell he's irritated at these two for starting a fight. "Butts!" he yells to no avail, "Butts! Knock it off!" However, they don't pay him any attention either.
Omen, who's clearly been in a few bar fights in his past, steps up and punches the big guy ("Butts") in the gut. It hits home, but it only slightly phases the beefy miscreant. Omen then attempts to restrain him. Butts tries to throw him off – 10 – and succeeds.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Kasimir:
Kas winks at Red. "See? I told you this place would be fun!" He slides up behind Butts just as he breaks free of Omen. He draws two daggers from his belt and rams them butt-first into the brute's skull.
Kas manages to slam his second dagger's pommel into Butts' eye with an audible crack. (4+6=10 damage) He screams in pain - probably broke his eye socket - but Butts is far from done.
Red and Claire are up.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Red
"What exactly have you heard about the Empty Net?" Red asks as they walk. Internally glad that nobody had looked at her to tell her tale of woe. Not that she couldn't have come up with a brilliant lie, or just tweaked the truth a little. But that wasn't really the sort of thing good people did. And now that she's free, free from everything she wants to work on that.
Kasimir:
Kasimir shrugs. "Nothing specific. I've just heard that's where more unconventional people hang out. Not that I've anything against fishermen or miners, but that's not the kind of news I'm interested in. Slavers, werejackals, weird glowing lights in the forest -- there's some weird stuff going down in this town, and I figure the seedy underbelly is as likely as anywhere to know what it is."
Omen
Omen listens and nods in agreement. If there is something to all this a tavern such as this will surely have information. He thinks to himself.
Omen will follow along.
(I'll assume everybody will stop at the Empty Net before heading back to the Mariners' Guildhall? Let me know if anyone has other plans. I will post shortly.)
Following directions you received back at the Mariners' Guildhall, you pass the bridge and wander further downriver, along a village street hugging the opening waterway. You pass a large patch of well-travelled dirt on the banks of the harbor, where a market of some kind must stand during the day.
The Empty Net is hard to miss. It's a rickety, dirty-looking tavern partially supported by stilts driven into the harbor waters. A semi-conscious man slumps outside. As you approach the open doorway, a wiry and wary man in leather spots you. His eyes open wide and dart around rapidly. "Well, well! Look what the tide brought in." A dozen more figures can be seen inside, staring at you. It's a pretty sketchy-looking, low-class dive. The jumpy man who greeted you seems to be in charge. Somebody inside is playing a fiddle, terribly.
Omen
Just as the party enters, seeing the slumpt man out side Omen will whisper to Kas: "What kind of establishment are you taking us to?"
Upon entering the establishment Omen will say under his breath : "Seemed to have found where the villainy hangs out I see."
Omen looks at the greeter and smiles though he can't get the image of the poor fiddle player killing a cat rather than playing a tune.
"A table I assume." Omen declares looking to the group for confirmation.
Red
I suppose this is where the smugglers would be? Or least where you could get ahold of them. Red thinks as they approach the Empty Net. She supposes at this time it's not really surprising that it's not actually empty. Keeping the smile plastered on her face while the fiddler inside butchers that poor tune is hard, but Red thinks she manages it well enough.
"Quite Literally." She tells the man in charge, wryly, then shrugs at Omens question. What she really wants to do is go take the fiddler's place, at least while she's here. Now, how does one go about telling someone that they suck at something nicely? She wonders.
Qivys
"Hail! How's business on this bleak eve?" Qivys says hoping to seem like something other than an ex-slave. These men could even be the end buyers of one or more of his companions.
"This might turn sour quickly, be courteous but on alert" he whispers to the group.
The interior is a cramped, drab, and musty-smelling. An open door leads to a rickety porch over the harbor. A set of mismatched stools are scattered around, mostly occupied, filled with half-inebriated human goons of all sizes and shapes - about 6 or 8 in total, plus the host, together with a musician with the look and demeanor of a scarecrow. There's an (occupied) card table and a low wooden bar (or crude resemblance of one.) There's a lot of booze evident. Red splotches cover the floor (which don't quite look like blood, but who knows.)
They all stop conversing to stare at the lot of you, although the "music" continues, unabated. A bald and beefy gorilla-like guy leers maliciously at Qivys as a scrawny mustachioed man whispers in his ear. They all glance nervously at Red.
Without prompting, the host/bartender pours five cloudy mugs of liquid smelling of fish and alcohol, and pushes them your way. "One silver," he says. "You guys lost?"
Kasimir:
"Lost indeed, sir," he says, dropping a silver on the bar. "You may have heard a rumor of a shipwreck just east of here. That's us." He leans against the bar and takes a gulp of ale. "We've been in town for a few hours and already we've witnessed an attack of dog-monsters, heard a tale of ghostly lights and sounds coming from the forest, and had people tell us the town is beseiged by evil spirits. I was hoping you kind folks could help clear up just what kind of mess we've landed in."
It's no ale - it's sort of a sour fish brandy. It's clearly an acquired taste, but it's most certainly potent.
"Oh I see, we're a mess, aye?" says a barrel-chested guy, standing. The hair on his back is as thick as the hair on his head is thin. "And what blessed land are ye' all from?"
"I like yer pets!" calls out some jokester from the back in a piping adolescent voice.
Omen
Omen remains silent only looking around to make sure the parties back is covered and to occasionally eye a patron, seeing if there is any resemblance to some of the thug he has run into in Greyhawk.
Qivys
This is going to end badly he thinks to himself.
He sips the brandy and tries to determine if it's laced with anything or just strong brandy.
Investigation 8
Red
"Somewhere far away and just as messy." She hesitates then shrugs internally. This dosen't seem to be going well. Might as well drop a name and see if it helps or hinders. "So far away in fact, that I don't believe any of my contacts are this far out, so I'm looking to make some new ones. I've heard a certain Gellan Primwater shares my occupation. You wouldn't happen to know how I could get in touch would you?" She focuses on the leader and gives him a winning smile. As if trying to force him to be friendly through sheer force of will.
The only thing the brandy seems to be laced with are a few scummy fish scales.
Red's words noticeably defuse the situation. The dropping of Primwater's name seems to make the group in general a bit more sober.
"Some of us do work for Primwater Textile and Lumber Exports, yes," says the jumpy bartender/host. "We can talk if you like."
But just then, the beefy gorilla-like guy and the scrawny mustachioed man suddenly lurch forward at Qivys. "No place for dirty dwarves!" shouts the big guy. "Bath time!" shrieks the scrawny goon. They attempt to grapple Qivys and pick him up off the floor.
Initiative:
Big goon 1
Scrawny goon 4
Qivys 20
Claire 13
Omen 19
Kas 19
Red 15
The bartender looks irritated at the two lowlifes. The crowd's mood swings from brief seriousness at Primwater's name, to drunken jubilance at the opportunity to watch an entertaining spectacle. The fiddler strikes up a livelier (if still awful) tune.
The big guy gets off to a sloppy start. (Natural one. Qivys, meanwhile, rolled a natural 20!) No weapons are drawn yet.
Omen
Omen will immediately yell: "Hands off Boyo" as he punches the larger of the two.
Strike: 23
If he hits then:
Damage: 4
Then use my bonus action to grapple the larger man to restrain him.
Grapple: 16
Qivys
Told you so. But the thought is gone as quickly as it appeared. He braces himself to be lifted by the goon. Seeing the goon stumble and fail miserably to even get close brings a smile to Qivys' face. "Now guys, if you didn't want me in here, all you had to do was ask nicely." He looks at the barkeep, "Would you rather me step outside alone or with these two?" gesturing to the gorilla and the moustache. "I'd prefer not to spill anyone's drink, or blood, this evening."
Qivys tries to reason with the goons, but they are too drunk on fish-booze, adrenalin, and attention to listen. The barkeeper shows no signs of sympathy to Qivys or his friends, but you can tell he's irritated at these two for starting a fight. "Butts!" he yells to no avail, "Butts! Knock it off!" However, they don't pay him any attention either.
Omen, who's clearly been in a few bar fights in his past, steps up and punches the big guy ("Butts") in the gut. It hits home, but it only slightly phases the beefy miscreant.
Omen then attempts to restrain him. Butts tries to throw him off – 10 – and succeeds.
Kas, Red, and Claire are up next.
The crowd is hooting and hollering.
Kasimir:
Kas winks at Red. "See? I told you this place would be fun!" He slides up behind Butts just as he breaks free of Omen. He draws two daggers from his belt and rams them butt-first into the brute's skull.
Action: First nonlethal dagger attack = 8 -- Damage = 5
Bonus action: Second nonlethal dagger attack = 18 -- Damage = 4
Sneak Attack if either hits = 3
(OOC: Ugh, I haven't rolled better than an 8 so far.)
Kas manages to slam his second dagger's pommel into Butts' eye with an audible crack. (4+6=10 damage) He screams in pain - probably broke his eye socket - but Butts is far from done.
Red and Claire are up.