n the beginning there was nothing, until suddenly, there was everything.From the darkness and emptiness of the void sparked all forms of life, and in an instant, existence. In those early days the deep magic surrounded and inhabited every corner of Sfera. From it bloomed all manner of flora; bright pedaled flowers that shimmered in the moonlight, trees that reached toward the heavens with thick bark and healthy fruit, tall grass with sturdy blades, and vegetables with hearty meat and sweet flavor. Likewise, from this time every mortal creature sprang forth and lived harmoniously with the deep magic. For millennia the deep magic provided for all living things in the Valley of Life. The whole of Sfera rejoiced in its bounty. But, as is often the case, beauty begat lust and the mortal creatures began taking from Sfera beyond what the deep magic could provide. What was meant to be organic was refined into an engine. The plentiful crops were ravaged for their seeds and the tall grass stripped away to make room for farms. The humanoids captured other mortal creatures and confined them. They fattened them and ate of their meat. And, some attempted to harness the deep magic for themselves. This angered the deep magic, and one day, with a violent shaking the world was divided by sharp pointed mountains. Humanoids of all variety were separated from their kin, and were forced to coexist. No longer did the deep magic give freely, from this time forward all that was attained was toiled for.
At first, this was a fruitful establishment. Sfera was divided by 5 factions in this time; Kraujas, Ugnis, Auksas, Purvas, and Vandenynas, and those factions flourished. Their banks overflowed with precious jewels and their cities grew rapidly. Again, it seemed, the humanoids of Sfera were at peace. But, the deep magic was not pleased. Famine crushed the crops under its grasp, fires torched the lush forests, ice sealed the northern land under a sheet of dense frost, and the sun retreated from the sky making Sfera more dim and cold. In one generation the Gilded Age transformed into the Age of Turmoil. Out of this struggle affluent families rose to power. They looted the banks and exploited the workers. These families established monarchies all across Sfera and in their greed, the pushed the lower classes to war in their honor.
And, this is the state of Sfera. A marble floating in the heavens, fighting against itself. Nation against nation. Gold rules all. And, pantheons of invented gods and heroes guide the masses in their strife. It is a world of constant turmoil. However, there are pockets of peace...
This is where you find yourself. In the southern portion of the nation of Purvas. In an idealistic countryside county. The war and famine of the world never really touched this area too harshly, and the locals understand the immense value in that statement. It is a secret oasis from a world of hard labor and frivolous warfare. For generations the greatest threat to life in the Wolfpines has been occasional assaults from goblins and other, similar vermin. The fields are productive, the river carries plentiful fish, and the weather is inviting.
You find yourself on one of the daily commutes between Talbot and Myrehall, heading toward Myrehall for one reason or another.
Talbot is a medium sized city of about 400 residents. It is unique in that it is mostly an urban area. The majority of the city is housing and retail shops. Many of the residents of Talbot make the two-hour commute to Myrehall to work in the woods, on the lake, or the mines. In comparison: The village of Myrehall has a population of about 60 permanent residents who are mostly common laborers. Traveling merchants are spread throughout the well-traveled road between Talbot and Myrehall [if you want to spend some of your starting gold send me the specific item you want to look for and I will roll a percentage] and the general feeling is that if the two were a little bit closer they would be districts of the same city. Local politics usually make rulings in tandem and the residents of each live in harmony with each other.
[Go ahead and use this time to build whatever backstory you want. Post a character introduction here (as much as you want other to see and know, I'm a big fan of reference images) and I will give you the first post of the adventure Wednesday. Feel free to private message me or post to our message thread if you've got questions or comments. None of that is in the module... I used a random history generator to give me the bullet points and I fleshed it out from there, haha.]
Brigette opens her eyes and blinks. The darkness is complete and she can see just as much with them open as shut. She is alone. She can hear nothing, see nothing and feel nothing but the cold damp stone of the floor.
Very slowly she gets up and gropes about on all fours until she touches the wall she knows will be there. It is as featureless and comfortless as ever. As she moves she feels the tug of the manacles around her ankles and winces as the ever present bruises are inflamed anew. She opens her mouth as if to cry out and all that escapes is a rasping breath. She can not remember the sound of her own voice, her cries and pleading have long since been spent and now there is only the silence.
After some time she crawls through the dark toward the bucket that serves as her latrine and relieves herself. The thing has not been emptied and the stench causes her to retch. She tastes blood and bile in the back of her mouth as she covers her face with a grubby hand and completes the grim task. The sound brings the attention of the guard and dread fills her as the sound of heavy boots grows closer. Torchlight flickers around the door frame, bathing the cell in a dim light that hurts her eyes.
"You awake in there Silverbow?"
She does not answer. Instead she scrambles back away from the door and huddles against the wall. She brings a first to her mouth and bites down hard on her knuckles as she hears the sound of keys being worked into the lock. She closes her eyes as the grinding twist of metal on metal marks the unlocking of her cell. Her teeth break skin as the door slams open and the room is bathed in torchlight.
He reaches down and grabs her arm in a meaty hand, dragging her to her feet. He pushes her against the wall.
"Stay still." the guard growls as he kneels before her and releases the manacles about her ankles. For a moment she has a thought to strike him, knee him in the face and feel his nose collapse into that pig ugly face of his. She would have done that once, but not now. Now she was as weak as a kitten and as scared as a mouse; so she stands there in the blinding light of the torch and allows him to unbind her restraints.
At last he stands. She can feel his breath on his cheek as his hand clutches her arm once more.
"Congratulations my sweet. Today's the day you get to go free. Dont go forgetting old Toby will you?"
Her eyes snap open and fix on his, looking for the lie. Such a cruel lie to tell, but those dull brown orbs of his are flat and uncaring. Could this really be happening? Has it really been a year? So dumbstruck is she that she does not realised they are moving until she is stood at the bottom of the dungeon stairs leading upward toward... what? Freedom?
A curious-looking gnome in blue trousers, wearing a purple waistcoat over a shirt of brilliant white, scuttles about his room in the Talbot library dormitory - looking behind piles of books, rummaging in drawers and flinging clothes aside to look beneath. Beyond him, a white weasle in its own pink waistcoat totters to and fro on its hind legs as it tries to carry a small blue book with its front paws, toward the gnome.
"Ah, Wendle, my good friend! You found it!" says the gnome. And then, with a series of sqeaks and finger movements, the gnome asks the weasle where he found the book.
The weasle squeaks his reply.
"Ah, where I left it. Yes, of course. I should have thought to look there!"
The gnome hugs the book to his chest for a moment, then slides it into his ample waistcoat pocket.
"Well, I think that's everything."
He grabs up his oversized backpack, and takes the handle of his little wooden cart. The empty cart wobbles and squeaks as he pulls it along and leaves his home behind. The weasel races behind the gnome and hops into the cart.
"It's finally happening Wendle! Fritzel Fitzblunder's Festival of Wonders! We're going to shock and amaze the world my friend, and... Did you say something?... Oh, well, yes, I know we don't have anything yet, but... Yes, I know, I know, we will, and... Yes, but with all the knowledge we've amassed from our time in the library, and with the spells I've learned, and... Danger? Wendle, where's your sense of adventu... Oh, but we don't need money Wendle! We have this explorer's pack! Gold well spent. And there are good people out in the world who I'm sure will be more than happy to help us with our enterprise. Speaking of which, I wonder if someone would be kind enough to give us a ride out of town, and..."
Fritzel chatters on and Wendle lays back wearily in the cart as they leave the town proper, onto the mossy and rocky road beyond, as usual attracting curious glances from the townsfolk. When the cart hits a bump, Wendle is rudely thrown from it and dumped into a mossy hole in the rocky roadside. Popping his head out, he glares at the back of Fritzel's chuntering head, before scurrying after him.
You are heading toward the town of Myrehall from Talbot on a warm, Spring afternoon. Everything is normal. Vendors are posted along the road every 50 yards or so, trying their best to sell whatever wares they have, and the traffic is moving nicely. There usually 4 caravans that travel between the towns each day. It's only a 2 hour walk but there is always safety in numbers. As you walk though you notice the buzz of gossip slithering through the line of travelers. You can't quite tell what they are saying until a woman from the family that's traveling in front of you turns around and says with a concerned voice, "There is a wrecked wagon up ahead. Looks like someone tried to make a night trip and went of the trail. Looks pretty bad, maybe their lantern lit it on fire. Check it out if you think you might know whose wagon it is. Pass it on."
Wolf, saying nothing, moves forward to investigate the wrecked wagon. Standing 6 feet 7 inches, Wolf is tall for an orc, with dark green skin, an athletic build, and piercing orange eyes. He wears a black hood, a mask covering the lower half of his face, leather armor oiled to make no noise and dyed in shades of black, green, gray and brown to blend into the forest backdrop, and tall boots. He had 2 short swords at his belt, looking as though they are well used.
"broken wagon aye? Wonder who this happened to..." Wolf grunts to the others with him, fingering one of his short swords.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Hmm."
Looking down, Wolf would perhaps be surprised to find a small gnome standing beside him, with a well-dressed white weasel sat upon his shoulder.
"Well, let's have a look about, shall we?"
The gnome steps forward, muttering some strange words and wiggling his fingers. A purple, cartoonish floating hand puffs into being beside him, and begins prodding at the crashed wagon, shifting debris and lifting broken pieces as the gnome and the weasel investigate beneath.
Investigation: 25
Perception would be 6 less if you want that instead.
Brigette hears the murmurs about the wagon and peers ahead. The wreck is drawing interest from a number of the passers by and she watches as a gnome with what looks like a weasel in a suit on his shoulder starts wiggling his fingers and then "poof" a floating hand appears in the air beside the diminutive fellow.
Brigette steps forward and speaks to you wolf, "Any idea what happened here?"
You see a tall, flame haired archer with brilliant green eyes set in a hard stare toward the shattered wagon.
You notice a few curious things. The cart has pretty much been burned to the point of being unusable along with most of the possessions in it. Specifically, here's what you see:
The cart is pretty small and could have been driven by one person.
The items that you can see that didn't get burned up seem to be of a personal nature. Travel clothes, books, a coin purse containing 10 silver. etc..
Sticking out from under the wreckage you see a fairly high quality silk shoe, you can't tell if there is a leg or foot attached from your vantage. And,
Interestingly, there is an envelope addressed to a "Mr. Chariz, 24 Milkdew Street, Myrehall, knock three times." It is completely sealed and untouched by the flames.
Fritzel handles the letter for a moment, smells it. He picks up the coin purse.
"It smells like a mystery... and smoke," he says, handing the sealed letter to the elven figure. "I think we should see it reach its rightful destination, don't you?"
He tosses the coin bag to the fire-haired woman. "Take care of these, won't you?"
"What a shame this is. I dont know what I would do if someone did such a thing to my own cart."
You might glance, slightly bewildered, at the small, empty pull-along cart on the road nearby - little more than a child's plaything.
"There are books!" Fritzel yells to Wolf suddenly, as though the orc of all people would share his excitement. "Come, help me gather them!"
Whether Wolf assists him or not, the gnome then proceeds to gather up what books he can from the wreckage and place them into his little wooden cart. "You poor things," He mutters to the books as he places the last two down.
Speaking to the crowd, he says "Nothing to be done for the poor soul beneath the cart I'm afraid! Does anyone recognise this shoe!?"
He then turns to the three of you, with a little bow.
"Fritzel Frank Fitzblunder, student of magic, seeker of wonder. Pleased to meet your acquaintance!"
He puts out his tiny hand for Brigette, and the purple one floats over and offers itself to Wolf. A blue hand swirls into existence in front of Keenan. Fritzel waits with a smile to see who will take a hand...
"There are books!" Fritzel yells to Wolf suddenly, as though the orc of all people would share his excitement. "Come, help me gather them!"
Wolf wordlessly begins to helps, handing books over. he looks at all the books before handing them over, and if he sees any with a mention of giants, he will unobtrusively pocket it.
"Oh, this is Wendle," says Fritzel, tickling the weasel's chin. "As for what I'm doing here, well, I'm trusting luck to lead me to the fantastical trinkets and curiosities required to start my travelling festival of wonders!
So far luck has led me to this curious letter, and seemingly to the three of you. There is a sense of destiny to this letter, I feel it! Who knows, perhaps it could be the catalyst for a wondrous and bountiful adventure.
I propose that the four of us continue on to Myrehall and deliver this letter together."
Fritzel's floating Mage Hand scoops up Wendle and deposits him back in the cart while the gnome takes the cart by the handle, seemingly ready to move on.
[okay, it sounds like you're committed to moving on to Myrehall. If not just let me know.]
You approach the village and everything seems normal except for the buzz of gossip about the wrecked cart. Myrehall is a very pleasant village set in a meadow, surrounded by thick pine trees. You've been here a hundred times, and it never seems to change. Today a band has gathered in the center of the village and is playing for tips. You follow the address on the envelope and arrive at a very quaint looking house settled right on the banks of the river. It has a large, round tower with a protruding telescope and a waterwheel spinning dutifully on the back. You see a name painted in fancy script next to the front door: "The Immaculate Chariz"
On the road, Fritzel would have excitedly used Mage Hand to lift each of the books in his cart in front of him in turn, checking them over quickly for their general contents and for signs of anything interesting...
When they reach the house they're looking for, Fritzel would pause and rub his chin. "Well, I guess we should knock three times!"
Standing 10 feet back with the rest of the group, he would hold his mage hand in a loose fist in front of the door and look to the others for assurance. If no one suggests otherwise, he will go ahead and have the mage hand knock three times.
"You'd best get that letter ready my elven friend!"
At first, this was a fruitful establishment. Sfera was divided by 5 factions in this time; Kraujas, Ugnis, Auksas, Purvas, and Vandenynas, and those factions flourished. Their banks overflowed with precious jewels and their cities grew rapidly. Again, it seemed, the humanoids of Sfera were at peace. But, the deep magic was not pleased. Famine crushed the crops under its grasp, fires torched the lush forests, ice sealed the northern land under a sheet of dense frost, and the sun retreated from the sky making Sfera more dim and cold. In one generation the Gilded Age transformed into the Age of Turmoil. Out of this struggle affluent families rose to power. They looted the banks and exploited the workers. These families established monarchies all across Sfera and in their greed, the pushed the lower classes to war in their honor.
And, this is the state of Sfera. A marble floating in the heavens, fighting against itself. Nation against nation. Gold rules all. And, pantheons of invented gods and heroes guide the masses in their strife. It is a world of constant turmoil. However, there are pockets of peace...
This is where you find yourself. In the southern portion of the nation of Purvas. In an idealistic countryside county. The war and famine of the world never really touched this area too harshly, and the locals understand the immense value in that statement. It is a secret oasis from a world of hard labor and frivolous warfare. For generations the greatest threat to life in the Wolfpines has been occasional assaults from goblins and other, similar vermin. The fields are productive, the river carries plentiful fish, and the weather is inviting.
You find yourself on one of the daily commutes between Talbot and Myrehall, heading toward Myrehall for one reason or another.
Talbot is a medium sized city of about 400 residents. It is unique in that it is mostly an urban area. The majority of the city is housing and retail shops. Many of the residents of Talbot make the two-hour commute to Myrehall to work in the woods, on the lake, or the mines. In comparison: The village of Myrehall has a population of about 60 permanent residents who are mostly common laborers. Traveling merchants are spread throughout the well-traveled road between Talbot and Myrehall [if you want to spend some of your starting gold send me the specific item you want to look for and I will roll a percentage] and the general feeling is that if the two were a little bit closer they would be districts of the same city. Local politics usually make rulings in tandem and the residents of each live in harmony with each other.
[Go ahead and use this time to build whatever backstory you want. Post a character introduction here (as much as you want other to see and know, I'm a big fan of reference images) and I will give you the first post of the adventure Wednesday. Feel free to private message me or post to our message thread if you've got questions or comments. None of that is in the module... I used a random history generator to give me the bullet points and I fleshed it out from there, haha.]
One Month Ago...
Brigette opens her eyes and blinks. The darkness is complete and she can see just as much with them open as shut. She is alone. She can hear nothing, see nothing and feel nothing but the cold damp stone of the floor.
Very slowly she gets up and gropes about on all fours until she touches the wall she knows will be there. It is as featureless and comfortless as ever. As she moves she feels the tug of the manacles around her ankles and winces as the ever present bruises are inflamed anew. She opens her mouth as if to cry out and all that escapes is a rasping breath. She can not remember the sound of her own voice, her cries and pleading have long since been spent and now there is only the silence.
After some time she crawls through the dark toward the bucket that serves as her latrine and relieves herself. The thing has not been emptied and the stench causes her to retch. She tastes blood and bile in the back of her mouth as she covers her face with a grubby hand and completes the grim task. The sound brings the attention of the guard and dread fills her as the sound of heavy boots grows closer. Torchlight flickers around the door frame, bathing the cell in a dim light that hurts her eyes.
"You awake in there Silverbow?"
She does not answer. Instead she scrambles back away from the door and huddles against the wall. She brings a first to her mouth and bites down hard on her knuckles as she hears the sound of keys being worked into the lock. She closes her eyes as the grinding twist of metal on metal marks the unlocking of her cell. Her teeth break skin as the door slams open and the room is bathed in torchlight.
He reaches down and grabs her arm in a meaty hand, dragging her to her feet. He pushes her against the wall.
"Stay still." the guard growls as he kneels before her and releases the manacles about her ankles. For a moment she has a thought to strike him, knee him in the face and feel his nose collapse into that pig ugly face of his. She would have done that once, but not now. Now she was as weak as a kitten and as scared as a mouse; so she stands there in the blinding light of the torch and allows him to unbind her restraints.
At last he stands. She can feel his breath on his cheek as his hand clutches her arm once more.
"Congratulations my sweet. Today's the day you get to go free. Dont go forgetting old Toby will you?"
Her eyes snap open and fix on his, looking for the lie. Such a cruel lie to tell, but those dull brown orbs of his are flat and uncaring. Could this really be happening? Has it really been a year? So dumbstruck is she that she does not realised they are moving until she is stood at the bottom of the dungeon stairs leading upward toward... what? Freedom?
To be continued...
DM - Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters
"Fiddlesticks!"
A curious-looking gnome in blue trousers, wearing a purple waistcoat over a shirt of brilliant white, scuttles about his room in the Talbot library dormitory - looking behind piles of books, rummaging in drawers and flinging clothes aside to look beneath. Beyond him, a white weasle in its own pink waistcoat totters to and fro on its hind legs as it tries to carry a small blue book with its front paws, toward the gnome.
"Ah, Wendle, my good friend! You found it!" says the gnome. And then, with a series of sqeaks and finger movements, the gnome asks the weasle where he found the book.
The weasle squeaks his reply.
"Ah, where I left it. Yes, of course. I should have thought to look there!"
The gnome hugs the book to his chest for a moment, then slides it into his ample waistcoat pocket.
"Well, I think that's everything."
He grabs up his oversized backpack, and takes the handle of his little wooden cart. The empty cart wobbles and squeaks as he pulls it along and leaves his home behind. The weasel races behind the gnome and hops into the cart.
"It's finally happening Wendle! Fritzel Fitzblunder's Festival of Wonders! We're going to shock and amaze the world my friend, and... Did you say something?... Oh, well, yes, I know we don't have anything yet, but... Yes, I know, I know, we will, and... Yes, but with all the knowledge we've amassed from our time in the library, and with the spells I've learned, and... Danger? Wendle, where's your sense of adventu... Oh, but we don't need money Wendle! We have this explorer's pack! Gold well spent. And there are good people out in the world who I'm sure will be more than happy to help us with our enterprise. Speaking of which, I wonder if someone would be kind enough to give us a ride out of town, and..."
Fritzel chatters on and Wendle lays back wearily in the cart as they leave the town proper, onto the mossy and rocky road beyond, as usual attracting curious glances from the townsfolk. When the cart hits a bump, Wendle is rudely thrown from it and dumped into a mossy hole in the rocky roadside. Popping his head out, he glares at the back of Fritzel's chuntering head, before scurrying after him.
You are heading toward the town of Myrehall from Talbot on a warm, Spring afternoon. Everything is normal. Vendors are posted along the road every 50 yards or so, trying their best to sell whatever wares they have, and the traffic is moving nicely. There usually 4 caravans that travel between the towns each day. It's only a 2 hour walk but there is always safety in numbers. As you walk though you notice the buzz of gossip slithering through the line of travelers. You can't quite tell what they are saying until a woman from the family that's traveling in front of you turns around and says with a concerned voice, "There is a wrecked wagon up ahead. Looks like someone tried to make a night trip and went of the trail. Looks pretty bad, maybe their lantern lit it on fire. Check it out if you think you might know whose wagon it is. Pass it on."
[and with that, your adventure begins...]
Wolf, saying nothing, moves forward to investigate the wrecked wagon. Standing 6 feet 7 inches, Wolf is tall for an orc, with dark green skin, an athletic build, and piercing orange eyes. He wears a black hood, a mask covering the lower half of his face, leather armor oiled to make no noise and dyed in shades of black, green, gray and brown to blend into the forest backdrop, and tall boots. He had 2 short swords at his belt, looking as though they are well used.
"broken wagon aye? Wonder who this happened to..." Wolf grunts to the others with him, fingering one of his short swords.
I totally advise riding an animated castle.
"Hmm."
Looking down, Wolf would perhaps be surprised to find a small gnome standing beside him, with a well-dressed white weasel sat upon his shoulder.
Brigette hears the murmurs about the wagon and peers ahead. The wreck is drawing interest from a number of the passers by and she watches as a gnome with what looks like a weasel in a suit on his shoulder starts wiggling his fingers and then "poof" a floating hand appears in the air beside the diminutive fellow.
Brigette steps forward and speaks to you wolf, "Any idea what happened here?"
You see a tall, flame haired archer with brilliant green eyes set in a hard stare toward the shattered wagon.
DM - Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters
Fitz:
You notice a few curious things. The cart has pretty much been burned to the point of being unusable along with most of the possessions in it. Specifically, here's what you see:
The cart is pretty small and could have been driven by one person.
The items that you can see that didn't get burned up seem to be of a personal nature. Travel clothes, books, a coin purse containing 10 silver. etc..
Sticking out from under the wreckage you see a fairly high quality silk shoe, you can't tell if there is a leg or foot attached from your vantage. And,
Interestingly, there is an envelope addressed to a "Mr. Chariz, 24 Milkdew Street, Myrehall, knock three times." It is completely sealed and untouched by the flames.
"A reasonable deduction friend!"
"sorry, no. I'm wondering myself what happened." wolf answers.
Wolf wordlessly begins to helps, handing books over. he looks at all the books before handing them over, and if he sees any with a mention of giants, he will unobtrusively pocket it.
I totally advise riding an animated castle.
Brigette pockets the coin and steps forward with s shrug. "Looks like I've just been hired." She observes.
"So gentlemen and... weasel. What are we doing here?"
DM - Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters
"Oh, this is Wendle," says Fritzel, tickling the weasel's chin. "As for what I'm doing here, well, I'm trusting luck to lead me to the fantastical trinkets and curiosities required to start my travelling festival of wonders!
So far luck has led me to this curious letter, and seemingly to the three of you. There is a sense of destiny to this letter, I feel it! Who knows, perhaps it could be the catalyst for a wondrous and bountiful adventure.
I propose that the four of us continue on to Myrehall and deliver this letter together."
Fritzel's floating Mage Hand scoops up Wendle and deposits him back in the cart while the gnome takes the cart by the handle, seemingly ready to move on.
"Unless you all have other plans?"
Brigette plucks out the pouch and sifts through the coin. She shrugs, "Sure that will cover it. I'm in."
Truth be told she is following more out of amusement and curiosity, and because this short task is taking her in the right direction anyway.
"Lead the way master gnome."
DM - Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters
[okay, it sounds like you're committed to moving on to Myrehall. If not just let me know.]
You approach the village and everything seems normal except for the buzz of gossip about the wrecked cart. Myrehall is a very pleasant village set in a meadow, surrounded by thick pine trees. You've been here a hundred times, and it never seems to change. Today a band has gathered in the center of the village and is playing for tips. You follow the address on the envelope and arrive at a very quaint looking house settled right on the banks of the river. It has a large, round tower with a protruding telescope and a waterwheel spinning dutifully on the back. You see a name painted in fancy script next to the front door: "The Immaculate Chariz"
On the road, Fritzel would have excitedly used Mage Hand to lift each of the books in his cart in front of him in turn, checking them over quickly for their general contents and for signs of anything interesting...
When they reach the house they're looking for, Fritzel would pause and rub his chin. "Well, I guess we should knock three times!"
Standing 10 feet back with the rest of the group, he would hold his mage hand in a loose fist in front of the door and look to the others for assurance. If no one suggests otherwise, he will go ahead and have the mage hand knock three times.
"You'd best get that letter ready my elven friend!"
Fritz roll a perception on the books
14
If you'd take take investigation, history, religion or arcana, that would be +6 to the above. :)
Brigette stands back with the Orc and the elf as they watch the crazy little gnome do his trick with the floating hand.
"So... either of you know this guy?" she gestures toward Fritzel.
She waits expectantly as the floating hand knocks three times.
DM - Caves of the Kobold Slave Masters