Seven o'clock. That's when Giles asked for everyone to show up - if you're late, you're staying in Swainbrook 'till the Winter freezes up. The sun has barely risen on this brisk, fall afternoon. The cold season's just around the corner, but this area shouldn't expect snow for another three weeks or so.
The morning activities of Swainbrook fill the quiet of the chilly air. Roosters crow; shops begin opening their windows. Bakers knead bread. Bankers run gold through their hands. People go about their daily business - just another day on the frontier. Thrilling, exciting, risky - the aura of adventure lingers almost palpably in the air.
Wagons squealing across the dirt pathways, too, break the morning silence. We begin our campaign just outside the gates of Swainbrook - a bustling hive of a frontier city, one we will never get to see. And one which many people on this journey - perhaps even the characters themselves - will never see again.
See the discord channel for additional NPC descriptions.
Five wagons have parked in a roughly circular fashion. A scraggly, lanky man with a mustache resembling one painstakingly grown and maintained wipes his brow as he heaves box after container after item into his medium-sized wagon. A woman nearby - likely his wife - does her best to control two children running around; all three have smiles on their faces, and despite the worry in the man's eyes, his mouth curls in the hint of a smile as he pauses to watch.
Nearby, a gaudily outfitted wagon, combined with three sleek, well-fed oxen, puts the rest to shame. A man dressed in a blue suit speaks with a similarly elegantly-dressed woman. The tightness in their eyes resembles an argument. A small girl - likely around eight or nine - stands next to the mother, expression bordering between bored and blank.
A third wagon nearby appears to be on its last legs - though once unquestionably grand, splintering wood and tattered cloth give away the wagon's age. A young man in his twenties aids a wrinkled, aged woman into the back of the caravan as a younger, raven-haired woman rolls her eyes nearby. Leaned against the side of the wagon, a disheveled, unshaved man nurses a bottle of something - by the pallor of his skin and redness in his eyes, he seems fond of the practice.
An argument seems to be breaking out along the fourth. A ruddy, crazed-eyed man, known as Sherriff Walter Riggs of Swainbrook, yells into the face of a raven-haired boy - barely more than a teenager - cloaked in simple, blue-robed attire. The Sherriff's voice is by far the loudest, though the younger man's occasional quips seem to infuriate the Sherriff all the more. Sitting aboard the back edge of the wagon is a scraggly man with an impressive beard and a wistful look in his gaze. He quietly watches the confrontation, almost as if amused.
The final wagon seems dressed with clerical vestments - the symbol of Selune blankets the wagon's tapestries and studs in its wheels. An armored woman polishes a sword with a stone while engaging in light conversation with an aged gentleman wearing robes of white.
Also clothed in white is a steel-jawed preacher doing his best to hold a sermon for two orange-skinned Tieflings. The priest's voice is raised, and judging by the vigorous movements of his arms and animated tone, he seems to be getting into his speech. One Tiefling, dressed in leathers and a sword hanging at her side, merely watches, clearly bored out of her mind. The other - also dressed in comfortable leathers, though bearing no weapon of note - eagerly watches, open-mouthed, nodding and cheering on occasion. It's plainly evident the second Tiefling is mocking the sermon entirely.
Or was it the first? Strangely, the only thing you can tell is different about the two Tieflings are their polar opposite expressions. Otherwise, they're identical.
And, finally - strolling through the gates are two figures with bows slung across their backs. The taller one, an impressively tall Elf, jovially laughs as he recounts some tale to his walking partner. A falcon perches along the Elf's shoulder - this is Giles Malstrimmon, the guide and navigator of the journey. Standing next to him is a creature resembling a cross between a raven and a human - a Kenku - reflects artificially mimicked laughs as Giles's tale concludes. Where Giles's clothing is made to blend with the greenery of the woods, the Kenku's dark robes and cowl seem closer to one who lurks in the dark.
Giles halts as he enters the center square. He clicks his tongue - the falcon emits an ear-piercing screech, drawing the attention of everyone within. The Elf cups his hands and speaks; "Has everyone arrived? Is everyone packed? We'll be leaving soon!"
Everyone - introduce your characters! Feel free to interact with each other - and/or the NPCs - and get acquainted with the cast of this adventure, all woefully unaware of the perils ahead.
Caleb's eyes took in his host. He'd never actually met him, but he'd heard some impressive tales about Giles; from the look of the elf, they all seemed plausible enough.
Which made the bounty hunter--well, former bounty hunter at this point, or maybe semi-retired--more at ease with his decision to head to Goldshire. Not that he wouldn't have gone anyway, but having a competent guide would make the trip smoother. And if there was one thing Caleb wasn't fond of, even if he tried to not let it get to him, it was when things didn't go smoothly.
The man stood up from where he'd been leaning against the frame of the city gate. A few ripples of, not exactly pain, but discomfort in several spots, partially born from having been motionless in his armor in the cold for so long, pessimistically reminded him of his age. He was still fit, and his skills were still (mostly) sharp, but between his newfound aches and having more white than black in his beard, he had to face it--that his nickname among his contacts had jokingly gone from "Whistler" to "Old Man Whistler" over the last few years wasn't entirely unwarranted. Of course, his sister always said he'd "acted old" even as a kid, but she'd run off with an actor and joined his stage troupe, so what did she know?
Caleb--or Whistler, as he decided he'd stick to for the trip--walked it all off as he approached the others, eager to get on the road. He double-checked his equipment as he moved, feeling the weight of his backpack, his buckler and shortsword, and every dart and dagger concealed on his person in turn. As he did, he eyed his traveling companions: various groups, each headed to Goldshire for their own reasons. But also a number of interesting individuals heading that way; a few even looked like they might be fellow adventurers, considering the way those in that line of work tended to stand out in some fashion or another. The thought put a grin on the fighter's face... this trip might not be a bore after all.
Mark comes out with a mug in his hands, drinking the rest of the breakfast coffee as he gets a good glimpse of the expedition.
He notices the wagon with Selunite symbols - a faith he considers close to his, due to the reverence of the night. However, seeing the man performing brings Mark a sense of radicalism that makes him avoid that wagon for now.
The rest of the participants appear to be families from the village searching for fortune and riches - including the Sheriff and his Vice.
He finishes his last sip, cleans the mug with a piece of cloth and puts it back into his backpack. An elf, who clearly seems to be a survival guy, shouts some words for everyone to hear, warning that they'll start the journey soon. Mark walks calmly towards him.
"Morning, Giles. I'm almost ready to go" Mark salutes, adjusting his backpack and checking his boots. He's not an expert, but he's wandered around on his own for long enough to know a thing or two. "Tell us, what should we expect to meet in this journey?"
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"Losing to a master is nothing to be ashamed of, unless you learn nothing from the experience."
Aware of the danger represented by his pursuers Manny exhibits what people not pursued by a Master Vampire might consider to be paranoid tendencies, casting Detect Evil and Good ahead of arriving at the caravan...
Walking slowly, a halfling dressed in blue and brown monk's garb arrives at the caravan, using a thumb-thick bamboo staff as a walking staff, arriving just after Whistler's arrival. He gives the older-looking man a nod, and makes a circular gesture to indicate that he's going to 'do the rounds' before coming over to speak. Looking around the groups, he looks pained for a moment, and then determined, as he sees the children. His sharp eyes also pick out some discordant notes among the wagons, which he determines to investigate on his rounds to try and better understand before the caravan begins. Now resolved, he heads towards the first of the wagons...
Approaching the first wagon, he greets the human's and their children with a smile. 'Good morning. I'm Manny, I guess we'll be travelling together awhile.' he looks around at the rest of the caravan, and ahead to the hard road in their immediate future 'You let me know if you run into any trouble, I'm always happy to help.' he looks at the children, and a moment of pain passes over him 'And I do mean *any* trouble. I used to travel in a caravan a bit like this when I was even smaller, so I know it’s not always plain sailing, so to speak.' he finishes, with a disarming smile directed to the children to lighten his words, and a nod towards their parents.
Amara approaches the group, looking around at everyone. She briefly glances disdainfully at the man who seems to be stuffing his wagon full of things--what use does he have for that many things? Oh, who cares, it's not her problem. None of these people are, really. She's got one goal, and no reason to focus on the unimportant stuff.
She turns to the elf. "I'm ready to leave anytime," she says.
From the roof of one of the wagons comes a rustling noise, as a small shape drops from above, descending at a much slower rate than one would expect. Planting a long staff in the ground and landing atop it, seemingly effortly balancing on the rounded end, the little green-clad halfling looks around, eager grin on her gap-toothed face. She wears a long, faded-green coat, which likely once belonged to one of the big folk before she repurposed it for herself, and worn black clothes beneath that. A battered, flattened top hat rests on top of her head, unkempt curls poking out from beneath it, and her feet are entirely bare.
"I'm here," she chirps, descending down the side of the staff and picking it up, absently twisting it between her fingers. "I can't wait! Oh, hi, I should introduce myself, I'm Periwinkle. Periwinkle Bobbit, but you can call me Peri!"
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Waking up reluctantly, Gorm D'iabhal grunts and throws her arm across her eyes to shield them from the intrusive sun. "Too early," she mumbles to herself and lies on her back hoping against hope to fall back asleep again. Alas, she is awake, like it or not.
The ivory skinned Tiefling runs a hand up her face and into he short, bobbed blue hair. Her fingers comb through it in a half hearted attempt to make it neat before she finally sits up and looks about her. She grabs a jug that is near the random sack full of hay or weeds or whatever it is that the landlord laughingly calls a bed and takes a swig of what turns to be some kind of wine, perhaps? "What day is it, even?" she wonders mostly to herself but does indeed get answered...
Several empty bottles and other bric a brac on the table clatter and fall as a small imp pops up suddenly and brightly calls out "It's Rent Day!" Ignoring the inevitable groan from her mistress the imp continues, fluttering up into the air, "I do hope you have enough coin to cover this hovel for another week. It would be quite embarrassing to work for one who couldn't even afford these 'modest' dwellings..."
"Shuddup," Gorm grunts and with a wave of the fingers of her left hand dismisses the Imp from this existence to whatever pocket dimension she calls home. Gorm did indeed have enough coin for rent, for a change, but then she'd have nothing left for food... or drink.
Gorm gave up all ghosts of resting further and jumped into action. She quickly grabbed up her clothes and dressed, weapons came next and were quickly and expertly fastened, secured and hidden amongst the loose fitting clothes she wore. Next she grabbed her backpack and shoved anything and everything that she could fit into it... well, into it. The nice part of not renewing the lease on the room is that there was no cleaning required... Grabbing up and swimming into her oversized cloak, Gorm wrapped it around her and then threw the backpack over her shoulders...
Mentally going through her options, Gorm found none of them all that worthwhile. She had come to Swainbrook working as a bodyguard for Larkin, some wannabe prospector who was sure he would strike it rich and need the protection. It was work, and easy work. Until Larkin got here, forgot about the prospecting and instead lost their coin at the dice tables... Still and all, Swainbrook was like any other and there was work enough if you were willing to do it. Specially if you kept your mouth shut about it.
Walking out of her building and through the streets, Gorm nodded and waved to various people she knew by passing acquaintance, grabbed a muffin off of Mrs. Baker's cart with a sheepish grin and a nod of thanks, and then stopped by the local well to fill her couple of waterskins and ask about the current scuttlebutt.
"Leaving today? When? Already??" Gorm said interrogated upon hearing about the caravan. It wasn't that she had to leave town but she had been here a while and had found no grand prospects. "Thanks Lem!" she shouted out and tossed him the Botton half of the muffin. The tops were the best bit anyway but he'd be happy with any free food.
Rushing to the gates, Gorm was thrilled that the caravan was still there and hadn't even pulled up anchor, so to speak, yet.
"Hey Whistler!" Gorm called out pointing to him and flashing him a grin. She didn't know him but they had been introduced once or twice and she recalled his nickname well enough. She gives a familiar nod to Mark as well, though she's truthfully not sure if she knows him or has just seen him around. Gorm wanders a bit, checking out the different wagons getting ready to take off an assessing her options.
Gorm notices Manny also giving everything a once over and recognizes the grace and fluidity in his movements. She can't be sure just by watching him walk around and carrying the bamboo staff but she wonders if perhaps they have some types of training in common. She notes this and reminds herself to introduce herself later, but for now she's still looking... She hears someone call out they're ready and Gorm sees the dark skinned human, nodding a hello if their eyes happen to catch but otherwise just noting her for later.
Gorm is a couple wagons away when the second halfling does their acrobatic little show but Gorm does appreciate it from afar and throws out a thumbs up, if they can see it from afar...
But aside from spying upon and acknowledging the other ragamuffin Johnny-come-lately's , Gorm does her best to catch the attention of those with a wagon. Her eyes choosing the gaudily decked out wagon with the oxen first, Gorm approaches the gentleman in the blue suit and introduces herself and offers her services for hire...
"Excuse me, good sir! I am Gorm D'iabhal - Fighter, Warrior, Bodyguard... I was wondering if you would be interested in my services. You are in luck in that I am heading in the same direction anyway, so my services come much cheaper than is my custom."
Gorm does her best to persuade each wagon to hire her (stopping once/IF she finds one to hire her) going from the richest looking wagon to the most desolate. She does not ask for much - "A few coins, some supplements to the dried meat and stale bread I carry, the occasional permission to rest my butt upon your wagon and rest my feet a mile or so... Permission to steep beneath your wagon if the elements are falling..." She quickly lowers the amount of coin being asked, the fresher foods also quickly being dropped as she moves to lesser well off carts. But she does negotiate the best she can and is really, really hoping not to have to walk the entire way.
(( Persuasion: 4 -- If she's getting nowhere she considers trying Intimidation instead... but pushes that aside. If the road turns dangerous they'll change their minds.))
If Gorm finds herself taken on she will be much obliged and assure them repeatedly that they and their belonging's will be her #2 priority in any trouble that may befall them. "I do have to keep myself alive first. A dead bodyguard does nobody any good," she explains with a twinkle in her eye. She'll then spend the majority of her time around her new employer's wagon doing her best to help out but also stay out of their way...
If Gorm finds no employ she retreats to the other riff riff at the back of the wagon train and smiles wanly at the others. "Going to be a long walk," she says in chagrin and chit chats with the others.
The chatter in the clearing comes to a halt as Giles's voice cuts through the clear, chilly air. Giles flashes a smile before waving to the rest of the group - "Looks like we're all here. Get ready! We leave in five minutes."
The arguing, preaching, grunting, praying, and everything in between resumes a moment afterwards. The Kenku accompanying Giles stalks away in favor of leaning against a nearby tree, bringing out a whittling dagger and picking up a branch at random.
Giles turns, emerald eyes scanning the new arrivals. He grins and salutes towards Whistler. "Whistler! Long time, no see. I've heard tales of your ventures. How are you faring?"Giles greets, affecting his usual pleasant tone.
Giles gives a nod towards Mark. It seems the elf was prepared to answer the question immediately. "The journey should take around three weeks. We don't predict any snowfall, but it's likely going to be quite cold. We'll be out of the mountains before a week's over, though, so it's unlikely we'll run into danger. Beyond the usual wolf pack and wild game? Bandits have been known to stalk this trail, though I doubt they'll attack after catching sight of me. I've earned myself a reputation for a reason. Once we hit the plains, we'll take a day of rest to go bison hunting - always a favorite pastime of travelers, but that's the only break we'll get. In order; we have a few trails to get through before we pass the actual canyon - Jackdaw Ridge, if you will - around a week into our travels. We'll be crossing a river after that, and from there - simple plains. Nothing truly special. Does that answer your question?"
The wiry man jumps, as if startled by Manny's presence. He swivels around and smiles to the best of his ability, hastily setting down the bundle he was loading into his wagon and extending a thin hand. "Good morning, Manny, I- I'm Varnest,. Varnest Durnon" he greets, quickly nodding his head. "We'll be traveling together for a while, yes." A moment of relief flashes through his eyes as he hears Manny offer his aid. Varnest's beady eyes glance around over the collection of citizens gathered for the journey. "Why, I- I don't know what to say. Thank- thank you, I've never quite been on a journey like this before. If I can be honest, it frightens me." Varnest glances over to his wife and children. "I've - I've heard the road's dangerous. I'll take what I can get. That's Clarabelle - call her Belle - and little Tico and Mary." Varnest smiles, though it seems strained. "If you need anything, we'll do our best to reciprocate the generosity."
More problematic, however - is the results of Manny's divination. Curled around the neck of the more quiet of Tieflings is a strong Fiendish presence, though whatever it is - is likely unable to be seen through mundane means. Nearby, radiating strongly from the body of the fire-and-brimstone preacher, is an aura of a Celestial.
Giles smiles and salutes towards Amara. "Good to hear, though I'd always double check you've packed and all. It'll be a long walk, and if you forget something, it's not a good idea to wander out into the winter."
Periwinkle's entrance drew many eyes, though few lingered over the strange halfling. In fact, only one decided to directly approach - the more energetic Tiefling of the two's eyes widened as she spun around, completely ignoring the sermon being held in order to stride towards Peri. The orange-skinned woman's yellow, pupilless eyes stare upwards in wonder. "Peril! Is it? Did I get that right? Perfect, perfect name. How'd you get it?" the Tiefling greets. "I'm Mockery. That's my sister over there - Misery. We get along, I promise. You can tell us apart by our horns." Mockery gestures upwards - her horns are entwined at the tips, while glancing over towards her sister reveals Misery's horns lie straight, fanning out to each side of her head. Otherwise, the two are impossible to tell apart. Mockery seems to ignore the priest's look of utter irritation thrown her way.
Gorm's arrival went unnoticed as the elegantly clothed man spoke. His voice affected a slight bit of steel - he seems to be reprimanding the woman nearby. "Get her inside," he commands, voice clear. "We don't want her around with those riffraff-" the man juts a thumb to the Tiefling twins, the sermon leader, and the Kenku- "Around her." The thin-lipped woman nods and whispers to her daughter. The two begin to enter their spacious wagon. The man sighs, straightens the cuff in his suit, and only then greets Gorm, eyes flickering over her figure with a hint of disdain. "Gorm. I see. My name is Henry Carpenter, Grand Judge of Swainbrook and surrounding Provincial Counties of the Frontier," he states, voice flat and curt. "I have already hired who I need. What makes you believe I'll give you any more of my hard-earned coin? Protection?" Henry scowls. "The most I'll pay you is a silver to stay away from my daughter." Henry spits at the Tiefling's feet and returns to the process of checking things off on a scroll procured from his belt.
Peri's face lights up, as Mockery approaches. She extends her hand in greeting, her grin widening. "My name? Oh, I stole it! Er, borrowed. Not stole. I borrowed it. From a book! Look!" Peri pulls off her hat, and pulls out a battered scrap of cardboard that may have once been part of a book's cover. The title is unintelligible, but the author's name is clearly legible as 'Parriwimple Babbitt'.
The semi-retired bounty hunter gave a toothy smile and a nod at Gorm's greeting. He'd taken a couple of odd jobs in Swainbrook, and had come to meet her and know of the youth's situation, what with her being left high and dry by her would-be employer. Still, he hadn't worried too much; she was clearly capable of handling herself, and Whistler had felt certain she'd land on her feet somewhere. It was a bit of a surprise that it was on this trip, though. Stroking his beard, he idly wondered if she'd just joined at the last minute.
Giles turns, emerald eyes scanning the new arrivals. He grins and salutes towards Whistler. "Whistler! Long time, no see. I've heard tales of your ventures. How are you faring?"Giles greets, affecting his usual pleasant tone.
Whistler returned Giles' salute, choosing to respond to the rhetorical question with another, reassuring smile, for now. It seemed as if the man in the dark cloak had a question or two for him (had he seen that man around town?) Might as well find out what the answer was as well.
"The journey should take around three weeks. We don't predict any snowfall, but it's likely going to be quite cold. We'll be out of the mountains before a week's over, though, so it's unlikely we'll run into danger. Beyond the usual wolf pack and wild game? Bandits have been known to stalk this trail, though I doubt they'll attack after catching sight of me. I've earned myself a reputation for a reason. Once we hit the plains, we'll take a day of rest to go bison hunting - always a favorite pastime of travelers, but that's the only break we'll get. In order; we have a few trails to get through before we pass the actual canyon - Jackdaw Ridge, if you will - around a week into our travels. We'll be crossing a river after that, and from there - simple plains. Nothing truly special. Does that answer your question?"
Sounded simple enough. Whistler's eyebrows went up at the mention of the elf's reputation alone keeping them safe, but he remained silent.
That finished, he turned to watch the others as he began prepping his belongings. But he made sure to maneuver to be closer to Sheriff Riggs' wagon; he'd been a pain even the short time Whistler had been in Swainbrook, and of all the people traveling with them, the sheriff seemed like the most likely to cause trouble. Whistler tried to listen in on what he was railing about, determined to keep an eye on the man.
"Right you are, Grand Carpenter of Swainbrook, sire! You want no protection and shall have none from me... Understood," Gorm says with a smile and a shrug and moves on to the next wagon. She'll skip the religious folk, they're always headaches no matter how peaceful things go. She also skips the rented looking wagon, for now. She suspects that one with the slideway eyes and weird weapon on their his is about as reasonable as this Carpenter Swainbrook. She'll approach the Moores next, offering them much a similar proposition though only hinting at payment in coin, mostly playing up the exchange of protection for the occasional right to take a load off by riding on the back of their wagon, sleeping under it when the elements are sloppy and perhaps any spare, fresh food they may have.
'Very nice to make your acquaintances, Varnest and Belle.' Manny gives a small bow towards Belle, and offers Varnest his hand. 'I'm sure the journey will be fine, Tico, Mary. Your Mum and Dad will look after you, and I'll look after them...' he grins
Hearing Giles' shout, Manny frowns slightly. 'Five minutes... I thought we had more time...' he shrugs with a small sigh 'Oh well, I'll have to manage. Would it be alright if my backpack travelled in your wagon some of the time, Varnest? My feet are tough enough, but I fear my pack will get very heavy by the end of the journey if I have to carry it all the way...'
Suddenly his attention is drawn across the circle of wagons by his divine senses. 'Interesting...' he thinks to himself, making to sure to mark which of the Tiefling sisters has the fiendish presence. (OOC: Misery, straight horns?)
'I'd better go and quickly speak of spiritual things with one of the Selunites before we leave.' he says to Varnest, nodding towards the preacher... He touches his draconic pendant instinctively.
Mark waits patiently for the journey to begin while he has a quick look at the others that joined. A pair of dark-skinned humans, one seems a magical user and the other more mundane. A pair of halflings, one of them holier than the other. And a tiefling, which adds up to three with the two sisters.
"Light traveling is the best traveling" he adds to the human woman's words. "Mark" he introduces himself. "You don't seem a local, am I right?"
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"Losing to a master is nothing to be ashamed of, unless you learn nothing from the experience."
Amara looks relieved at Mark’s words. “Finally, someone with some sense around here,” she says. “Seems everyone else wants to bring everything they own with them, and they own far too many things, too.” She shakes her head. “Amara. And no, I’m not from around here.”
Peri's face lights up, as Mockery approaches. She extends her hand in greeting, her grin widening. "My name? Oh, I stole it! Er, borrowed. Not stole. I borrowed it. From a book! Look!" Peri pulls off her hat, and pulls out a battered scrap of cardboard that may have once been part of a book's cover. The title is unintelligible, but the author's name is clearly legible as 'Parriwimple Babbitt'.
"That's fascinating. I wouldn't say my name's been stolen - it was given to me, but honestly, I'm keen on keeping it." The Tiefling asks, grin spread over her expression. Jewelery hangs from her curled horns; despite her lack of a wagon, Misery seems quite well off. "Did you steal the book?"
Giles saluted towards Whistler in respect before he turned away. Approaching the rental caravan brings the sounds of shouting to Whistler's ears - Sherriff Riggs is renowned for his temper, and it's clear something has caught his ire this morning; the young man, barely over a teenager, with a grim expression over thin lips and an eyebrow raised in amusement at the Sherriff's blustering. The thin, younger man wears no armor nor weapons - a book is strapped to his waist, and vials of multicolored liquids hang on the other side of his hip. The large, scraggle-bearded man continues to observe. A paring knife is in his hand, and he appears to be slowly peeling and eating an apple while waiting for the shouting match to conclude.
"Shane! Shane, that's it?"The Sherriff puffs, sticking out a pudgy finger and placing it on the chest of the younger man. "Give me one reason to think you're up to no good and I'll have you jailed 'till you're as old as me, hear?" The other man unleashes the slightest bit of a laugh. "Calm down, Walter. You're making a fool of yourself. We're out of town - your word's not the law, and I don't believe anyone here will stand for your lunacy." "Is it? Is it?"Riggs yells, doing his best to swell in size."I'll show you what's the law, boy." The Sherriff rests a palm on the hilt of the pistol attached to his waist. "You kind are never up to any good. Mages, sorcerers, alchemists - all criminals. I have my eyes on you, Shane."
Gorm's approach to the Moore wagon is met with, initially, no reaction. The three younger individuals are busy hoisting a sleeping, aged woman into their caravan. Upon completion, one of them stumbles away - clearly already drunk. The other two turn towards Gorm. Judging by their faces, they are siblings. "Greetings. How may I help?" The man smiles, extending a dirtied hand. "I'm Jason, and this-" "I can introduce myself, Jason," the woman sighs, with a roll of her eyes. "I'm Isabelle. This idiot is Jason. Don't listen to him, his advice is always poor." The man opens his mouth to protest, but Isabelle holds up a fist. "Your offer is protection, right? The wilds are dangerous. Tell you what - I don't like spending coin for nothing like my brother, so here's this. If danger ever befalls the troop, you defend us as promised - only after you've proven your worth will we give you the amount of coin you stated. Until then, you're free to sleep under our wagon and dip into our provisions. We have more than enough, anyways. How's that sound?"
"Absolutely," smiles Varnest after hearing Manny's request, offering to take his pack and load it into the wagon from him. "Please, let us know if we can be of any help. We'll do our best to provide it. Take care, Manny."
(OOC: Misery is the Tiefling with straight horns, yes.)
Gorm never stated an exact amount, but the deal was fair enough to her. "Fair is fair, Isabelle, and a deal is a deal! Why pay for protection if all runs smoothly anyway, am I right?" Gorm says with a smile and a bow. She's happy enough to have the meager protection from the elements and potentially some fresh foods added to the dried and salted crap she was able to grab as she walked out the door.
"I'll try not to hover and be a pest, but I'll be close by the entire journey and always be keeping an eye out. Just call out my name, if you ever need..." Gorm assures the woman, looking to the man and giving him a bow as well.
True to her word, Gorm will do her best to fade away from their cart but subtly and over time. Nobody likes a stranger right on top of them, but the don't want to seem to be abandoned immediately after a deal either. Once detached for a bit, Gorm will continue looking over the others making the journey and making small talk with whoever wished...
‘Thank you, Varnest.’ says Manny with a smile, loading his backpack and a small chest of supplies onto the wagon. then walks over to the older preacher and warrior, ensuring his pendant is visible.
’Greetings...' he says, nodding his head respectfully to both the older man preacher and the woman. 'I wanted to introduce myself to you, before we began the journey. I'm Father Manny.' he touches his pendant with a smile. 'I don't follow a proselytising path fortunately...' he adds with a grin, and a nod towards their colleague, 'So we won't have to resort to arm wrestling or other shenanigans in search of an audience...' thinking for a moment, he adds ‘Though I fear the road might offer stony ground, even for someone as divinely inspired as your friend…’
"Steal the book? No, no, no, of course not! I borrowed it! And then I lost it. I still have the cover, though!" With this, she once again waves around that scrap of bent cardboard. "So, what brings you here? Why are you heading to the frontier? You don't really look like the type who would need to make their fortune out there, if you'll pardon me assuming."
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"Now den shuriff, surely they's no reason ta be makin' them sortsa threats to such a yungin'."
After hearing about the man's bias against magic users, Whistler had made a point of staying out of the sheriff's way even during his short stay in town. In the past his job had constantly brought him into contact with law enforcement, and diplomacy and discretion were his main tools of dealing with the more troublesome sort. But every now and then it made sense to stand your ground in the face of an especially unruly "officer of the law."
The former bounty hunter had approached the arguing pair quietly, and at the motion of the sheriff's hand to his pistol had decided to speak. He stood a few yards away, arms crossed, a gentle (if obviously-fake) smile on his face, taking a non-threatening posture, but with a dead-serious look in his eye.
He looked over the young man. He didn't immediately strike Whistler as a criminal sort, but even if he were, he seemed too young to be in THAT deep. Maintaining his casual smile, he turned back to Riggs.
"'Sides, I heard this wagon still had a spot o' two for rent, and I reckon I might as well oblige. So it seems we gonna be spendin' quite some time together; no point in clawin' at each other like a basket o' tomcats the whole time, I figga."The fighter broke into a broad toothy grin at that, then held his hand out to the young man first. "Name's Whistler, 'though most take to putting 'Ol' Man' in front o' that."
The whole time he was interacting with the kid and the sheriff, he'd kept watch over the large man eating the apple out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't picked up anything obvious from the man, which was fine; but he seemed like a bit of a wild card, and the bounty hunter wanted to feel him out during their journey. The snap decision to rent a spot on the wagon should help with that, he figured.
Day 1:
The Journey Begins
Seven o'clock. That's when Giles asked for everyone to show up - if you're late, you're staying in Swainbrook 'till the Winter freezes up. The sun has barely risen on this brisk, fall afternoon. The cold season's just around the corner, but this area shouldn't expect snow for another three weeks or so.
The morning activities of Swainbrook fill the quiet of the chilly air. Roosters crow; shops begin opening their windows. Bakers knead bread. Bankers run gold through their hands. People go about their daily business - just another day on the frontier. Thrilling, exciting, risky - the aura of adventure lingers almost palpably in the air.
Wagons squealing across the dirt pathways, too, break the morning silence. We begin our campaign just outside the gates of Swainbrook - a bustling hive of a frontier city, one we will never get to see. And one which many people on this journey - perhaps even the characters themselves - will never see again.
See the discord channel for additional NPC descriptions.
Five wagons have parked in a roughly circular fashion. A scraggly, lanky man with a mustache resembling one painstakingly grown and maintained wipes his brow as he heaves box after container after item into his medium-sized wagon. A woman nearby - likely his wife - does her best to control two children running around; all three have smiles on their faces, and despite the worry in the man's eyes, his mouth curls in the hint of a smile as he pauses to watch.
Nearby, a gaudily outfitted wagon, combined with three sleek, well-fed oxen, puts the rest to shame. A man dressed in a blue suit speaks with a similarly elegantly-dressed woman. The tightness in their eyes resembles an argument. A small girl - likely around eight or nine - stands next to the mother, expression bordering between bored and blank.
A third wagon nearby appears to be on its last legs - though once unquestionably grand, splintering wood and tattered cloth give away the wagon's age. A young man in his twenties aids a wrinkled, aged woman into the back of the caravan as a younger, raven-haired woman rolls her eyes nearby. Leaned against the side of the wagon, a disheveled, unshaved man nurses a bottle of something - by the pallor of his skin and redness in his eyes, he seems fond of the practice.
An argument seems to be breaking out along the fourth. A ruddy, crazed-eyed man, known as Sherriff Walter Riggs of Swainbrook, yells into the face of a raven-haired boy - barely more than a teenager - cloaked in simple, blue-robed attire. The Sherriff's voice is by far the loudest, though the younger man's occasional quips seem to infuriate the Sherriff all the more. Sitting aboard the back edge of the wagon is a scraggly man with an impressive beard and a wistful look in his gaze. He quietly watches the confrontation, almost as if amused.
The final wagon seems dressed with clerical vestments - the symbol of Selune blankets the wagon's tapestries and studs in its wheels. An armored woman polishes a sword with a stone while engaging in light conversation with an aged gentleman wearing robes of white.
Also clothed in white is a steel-jawed preacher doing his best to hold a sermon for two orange-skinned Tieflings. The priest's voice is raised, and judging by the vigorous movements of his arms and animated tone, he seems to be getting into his speech. One Tiefling, dressed in leathers and a sword hanging at her side, merely watches, clearly bored out of her mind. The other - also dressed in comfortable leathers, though bearing no weapon of note - eagerly watches, open-mouthed, nodding and cheering on occasion. It's plainly evident the second Tiefling is mocking the sermon entirely.
Or was it the first? Strangely, the only thing you can tell is different about the two Tieflings are their polar opposite expressions. Otherwise, they're identical.
And, finally - strolling through the gates are two figures with bows slung across their backs. The taller one, an impressively tall Elf, jovially laughs as he recounts some tale to his walking partner. A falcon perches along the Elf's shoulder - this is Giles Malstrimmon, the guide and navigator of the journey. Standing next to him is a creature resembling a cross between a raven and a human - a Kenku - reflects artificially mimicked laughs as Giles's tale concludes. Where Giles's clothing is made to blend with the greenery of the woods, the Kenku's dark robes and cowl seem closer to one who lurks in the dark.
Giles halts as he enters the center square. He clicks his tongue - the falcon emits an ear-piercing screech, drawing the attention of everyone within. The Elf cups his hands and speaks; "Has everyone arrived? Is everyone packed? We'll be leaving soon!"
Everyone - introduce your characters! Feel free to interact with each other - and/or the NPCs - and get acquainted with the cast of this adventure, all woefully unaware of the perils ahead.
Caleb's eyes took in his host. He'd never actually met him, but he'd heard some impressive tales about Giles; from the look of the elf, they all seemed plausible enough.
Which made the bounty hunter--well, former bounty hunter at this point, or maybe semi-retired--more at ease with his decision to head to Goldshire. Not that he wouldn't have gone anyway, but having a competent guide would make the trip smoother. And if there was one thing Caleb wasn't fond of, even if he tried to not let it get to him, it was when things didn't go smoothly.
The man stood up from where he'd been leaning against the frame of the city gate. A few ripples of, not exactly pain, but discomfort in several spots, partially born from having been motionless in his armor in the cold for so long, pessimistically reminded him of his age. He was still fit, and his skills were still (mostly) sharp, but between his newfound aches and having more white than black in his beard, he had to face it--that his nickname among his contacts had jokingly gone from "Whistler" to "Old Man Whistler" over the last few years wasn't entirely unwarranted. Of course, his sister always said he'd "acted old" even as a kid, but she'd run off with an actor and joined his stage troupe, so what did she know?
Caleb--or Whistler, as he decided he'd stick to for the trip--walked it all off as he approached the others, eager to get on the road. He double-checked his equipment as he moved, feeling the weight of his backpack, his buckler and shortsword, and every dart and dagger concealed on his person in turn. As he did, he eyed his traveling companions: various groups, each headed to Goldshire for their own reasons. But also a number of interesting individuals heading that way; a few even looked like they might be fellow adventurers, considering the way those in that line of work tended to stand out in some fashion or another. The thought put a grin on the fighter's face... this trip might not be a bore after all.
Sterling - V. Human Bard 3 (College of Art) - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist (w/ Mansion) - Jasper's [Pic] - Sterling's [Sigil]
Tooltips Post (2024 PHB updates) - incl. General Rules
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf
Mark comes out with a mug in his hands, drinking the rest of the breakfast coffee as he gets a good glimpse of the expedition.
He notices the wagon with Selunite symbols - a faith he considers close to his, due to the reverence of the night. However, seeing the man performing brings Mark a sense of radicalism that makes him avoid that wagon for now.
The rest of the participants appear to be families from the village searching for fortune and riches - including the Sheriff and his Vice.
He finishes his last sip, cleans the mug with a piece of cloth and puts it back into his backpack. An elf, who clearly seems to be a survival guy, shouts some words for everyone to hear, warning that they'll start the journey soon. Mark walks calmly towards him.
"Morning, Giles. I'm almost ready to go" Mark salutes, adjusting his backpack and checking his boots. He's not an expert, but he's wandered around on his own for long enough to know a thing or two. "Tell us, what should we expect to meet in this journey?"
"Losing to a master is nothing to be ashamed of, unless you learn nothing from the experience."
Master Suana.
Aware of the danger represented by his pursuers Manny exhibits what people not pursued by a Master Vampire might consider to be paranoid tendencies, casting Detect Evil and Good ahead of arriving at the caravan...
Walking slowly, a halfling dressed in blue and brown monk's garb arrives at the caravan, using a thumb-thick bamboo staff as a walking staff, arriving just after Whistler's arrival. He gives the older-looking man a nod, and makes a circular gesture to indicate that he's going to 'do the rounds' before coming over to speak. Looking around the groups, he looks pained for a moment, and then determined, as he sees the children. His sharp eyes also pick out some discordant notes among the wagons, which he determines to investigate on his rounds to try and better understand before the caravan begins. Now resolved, he heads towards the first of the wagons...
Approaching the first wagon, he greets the human's and their children with a smile. 'Good morning. I'm Manny, I guess we'll be travelling together awhile.' he looks around at the rest of the caravan, and ahead to the hard road in their immediate future 'You let me know if you run into any trouble, I'm always happy to help.' he looks at the children, and a moment of pain passes over him 'And I do mean *any* trouble. I used to travel in a caravan a bit like this when I was even smaller, so I know it’s not always plain sailing, so to speak.' he finishes, with a disarming smile directed to the children to lighten his words, and a nod towards their parents.
Amara approaches the group, looking around at everyone. She briefly glances disdainfully at the man who seems to be stuffing his wagon full of things--what use does he have for that many things? Oh, who cares, it's not her problem. None of these people are, really. She's got one goal, and no reason to focus on the unimportant stuff.
She turns to the elf. "I'm ready to leave anytime," she says.
From the roof of one of the wagons comes a rustling noise, as a small shape drops from above, descending at a much slower rate than one would expect. Planting a long staff in the ground and landing atop it, seemingly effortly balancing on the rounded end, the little green-clad halfling looks around, eager grin on her gap-toothed face. She wears a long, faded-green coat, which likely once belonged to one of the big folk before she repurposed it for herself, and worn black clothes beneath that. A battered, flattened top hat rests on top of her head, unkempt curls poking out from beneath it, and her feet are entirely bare.
"I'm here," she chirps, descending down the side of the staff and picking it up, absently twisting it between her fingers. "I can't wait! Oh, hi, I should introduce myself, I'm Periwinkle. Periwinkle Bobbit, but you can call me Peri!"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Waking up reluctantly, Gorm D'iabhal grunts and throws her arm across her eyes to shield them from the intrusive sun. "Too early," she mumbles to herself and lies on her back hoping against hope to fall back asleep again. Alas, she is awake, like it or not.
The ivory skinned Tiefling runs a hand up her face and into he short, bobbed blue hair. Her fingers comb through it in a half hearted attempt to make it neat before she finally sits up and looks about her. She grabs a jug that is near the random sack full of hay or weeds or whatever it is that the landlord laughingly calls a bed and takes a swig of what turns to be some kind of wine, perhaps? "What day is it, even?" she wonders mostly to herself but does indeed get answered...
Several empty bottles and other bric a brac on the table clatter and fall as a small imp pops up suddenly and brightly calls out "It's Rent Day!" Ignoring the inevitable groan from her mistress the imp continues, fluttering up into the air, "I do hope you have enough coin to cover this hovel for another week. It would be quite embarrassing to work for one who couldn't even afford these 'modest' dwellings..."
"Shuddup," Gorm grunts and with a wave of the fingers of her left hand dismisses the Imp from this existence to whatever pocket dimension she calls home. Gorm did indeed have enough coin for rent, for a change, but then she'd have nothing left for food... or drink.
Gorm gave up all ghosts of resting further and jumped into action. She quickly grabbed up her clothes and dressed, weapons came next and were quickly and expertly fastened, secured and hidden amongst the loose fitting clothes she wore. Next she grabbed her backpack and shoved anything and everything that she could fit into it... well, into it. The nice part of not renewing the lease on the room is that there was no cleaning required... Grabbing up and swimming into her oversized cloak, Gorm wrapped it around her and then threw the backpack over her shoulders...
Mentally going through her options, Gorm found none of them all that worthwhile. She had come to Swainbrook working as a bodyguard for Larkin, some wannabe prospector who was sure he would strike it rich and need the protection. It was work, and easy work. Until Larkin got here, forgot about the prospecting and instead lost their coin at the dice tables... Still and all, Swainbrook was like any other and there was work enough if you were willing to do it. Specially if you kept your mouth shut about it.
Walking out of her building and through the streets, Gorm nodded and waved to various people she knew by passing acquaintance, grabbed a muffin off of Mrs. Baker's cart with a sheepish grin and a nod of thanks, and then stopped by the local well to fill her couple of waterskins and ask about the current scuttlebutt.
"Leaving today? When? Already??" Gorm said interrogated upon hearing about the caravan. It wasn't that she had to leave town but she had been here a while and had found no grand prospects. "Thanks Lem!" she shouted out and tossed him the Botton half of the muffin. The tops were the best bit anyway but he'd be happy with any free food.
Rushing to the gates, Gorm was thrilled that the caravan was still there and hadn't even pulled up anchor, so to speak, yet.
"Hey Whistler!" Gorm called out pointing to him and flashing him a grin. She didn't know him but they had been introduced once or twice and she recalled his nickname well enough. She gives a familiar nod to Mark as well, though she's truthfully not sure if she knows him or has just seen him around. Gorm wanders a bit, checking out the different wagons getting ready to take off an assessing her options.
Gorm notices Manny also giving everything a once over and recognizes the grace and fluidity in his movements. She can't be sure just by watching him walk around and carrying the bamboo staff but she wonders if perhaps they have some types of training in common. She notes this and reminds herself to introduce herself later, but for now she's still looking... She hears someone call out they're ready and Gorm sees the dark skinned human, nodding a hello if their eyes happen to catch but otherwise just noting her for later.
Gorm is a couple wagons away when the second halfling does their acrobatic little show but Gorm does appreciate it from afar and throws out a thumbs up, if they can see it from afar...
But aside from spying upon and acknowledging the other ragamuffin Johnny-come-lately's , Gorm does her best to catch the attention of those with a wagon. Her eyes choosing the gaudily decked out wagon with the oxen first, Gorm approaches the gentleman in the blue suit and introduces herself and offers her services for hire...
"Excuse me, good sir! I am Gorm D'iabhal - Fighter, Warrior, Bodyguard... I was wondering if you would be interested in my services. You are in luck in that I am heading in the same direction anyway, so my services come much cheaper than is my custom."
Gorm does her best to persuade each wagon to hire her (stopping once/IF she finds one to hire her) going from the richest looking wagon to the most desolate. She does not ask for much - "A few coins, some supplements to the dried meat and stale bread I carry, the occasional permission to rest my butt upon your wagon and rest my feet a mile or so... Permission to steep beneath your wagon if the elements are falling..." She quickly lowers the amount of coin being asked, the fresher foods also quickly being dropped as she moves to lesser well off carts. But she does negotiate the best she can and is really, really hoping not to have to walk the entire way.
(( Persuasion: 4 -- If she's getting nowhere she considers trying Intimidation instead... but pushes that aside. If the road turns dangerous they'll change their minds.))
If Gorm finds herself taken on she will be much obliged and assure them repeatedly that they and their belonging's will be her #2 priority in any trouble that may befall them. "I do have to keep myself alive first. A dead bodyguard does nobody any good," she explains with a twinkle in her eye. She'll then spend the majority of her time around her new employer's wagon doing her best to help out but also stay out of their way...
If Gorm finds no employ she retreats to the other riff riff at the back of the wagon train and smiles wanly at the others. "Going to be a long walk," she says in chagrin and chit chats with the others.
The chatter in the clearing comes to a halt as Giles's voice cuts through the clear, chilly air. Giles flashes a smile before waving to the rest of the group - "Looks like we're all here. Get ready! We leave in five minutes."
The arguing, preaching, grunting, praying, and everything in between resumes a moment afterwards. The Kenku accompanying Giles stalks away in favor of leaning against a nearby tree, bringing out a whittling dagger and picking up a branch at random.
Giles turns, emerald eyes scanning the new arrivals. He grins and salutes towards Whistler. "Whistler! Long time, no see. I've heard tales of your ventures. How are you faring?" Giles greets, affecting his usual pleasant tone.
Giles gives a nod towards Mark. It seems the elf was prepared to answer the question immediately. "The journey should take around three weeks. We don't predict any snowfall, but it's likely going to be quite cold. We'll be out of the mountains before a week's over, though, so it's unlikely we'll run into danger. Beyond the usual wolf pack and wild game? Bandits have been known to stalk this trail, though I doubt they'll attack after catching sight of me. I've earned myself a reputation for a reason. Once we hit the plains, we'll take a day of rest to go bison hunting - always a favorite pastime of travelers, but that's the only break we'll get. In order; we have a few trails to get through before we pass the actual canyon - Jackdaw Ridge, if you will - around a week into our travels. We'll be crossing a river after that, and from there - simple plains. Nothing truly special. Does that answer your question?"
The wiry man jumps, as if startled by Manny's presence. He swivels around and smiles to the best of his ability, hastily setting down the bundle he was loading into his wagon and extending a thin hand. "Good morning, Manny, I- I'm Varnest,. Varnest Durnon" he greets, quickly nodding his head. "We'll be traveling together for a while, yes." A moment of relief flashes through his eyes as he hears Manny offer his aid. Varnest's beady eyes glance around over the collection of citizens gathered for the journey. "Why, I- I don't know what to say. Thank- thank you, I've never quite been on a journey like this before. If I can be honest, it frightens me." Varnest glances over to his wife and children. "I've - I've heard the road's dangerous. I'll take what I can get. That's Clarabelle - call her Belle - and little Tico and Mary." Varnest smiles, though it seems strained. "If you need anything, we'll do our best to reciprocate the generosity."
More problematic, however - is the results of Manny's divination. Curled around the neck of the more quiet of Tieflings is a strong Fiendish presence, though whatever it is - is likely unable to be seen through mundane means. Nearby, radiating strongly from the body of the fire-and-brimstone preacher, is an aura of a Celestial.
Giles smiles and salutes towards Amara. "Good to hear, though I'd always double check you've packed and all. It'll be a long walk, and if you forget something, it's not a good idea to wander out into the winter."
Periwinkle's entrance drew many eyes, though few lingered over the strange halfling. In fact, only one decided to directly approach - the more energetic Tiefling of the two's eyes widened as she spun around, completely ignoring the sermon being held in order to stride towards Peri. The orange-skinned woman's yellow, pupilless eyes stare upwards in wonder. "Peril! Is it? Did I get that right? Perfect, perfect name. How'd you get it?" the Tiefling greets. "I'm Mockery. That's my sister over there - Misery. We get along, I promise. You can tell us apart by our horns." Mockery gestures upwards - her horns are entwined at the tips, while glancing over towards her sister reveals Misery's horns lie straight, fanning out to each side of her head. Otherwise, the two are impossible to tell apart. Mockery seems to ignore the priest's look of utter irritation thrown her way.
Gorm's arrival went unnoticed as the elegantly clothed man spoke. His voice affected a slight bit of steel - he seems to be reprimanding the woman nearby. "Get her inside," he commands, voice clear. "We don't want her around with those riffraff-" the man juts a thumb to the Tiefling twins, the sermon leader, and the Kenku- "Around her." The thin-lipped woman nods and whispers to her daughter. The two begin to enter their spacious wagon. The man sighs, straightens the cuff in his suit, and only then greets Gorm, eyes flickering over her figure with a hint of disdain. "Gorm. I see. My name is Henry Carpenter, Grand Judge of Swainbrook and surrounding Provincial Counties of the Frontier," he states, voice flat and curt. "I have already hired who I need. What makes you believe I'll give you any more of my hard-earned coin? Protection?" Henry scowls. "The most I'll pay you is a silver to stay away from my daughter." Henry spits at the Tiefling's feet and returns to the process of checking things off on a scroll procured from his belt.
Peri's face lights up, as Mockery approaches. She extends her hand in greeting, her grin widening. "My name? Oh, I stole it! Er, borrowed. Not stole. I borrowed it. From a book! Look!" Peri pulls off her hat, and pulls out a battered scrap of cardboard that may have once been part of a book's cover. The title is unintelligible, but the author's name is clearly legible as 'Parriwimple Babbitt'.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The semi-retired bounty hunter gave a toothy smile and a nod at Gorm's greeting. He'd taken a couple of odd jobs in Swainbrook, and had come to meet her and know of the youth's situation, what with her being left high and dry by her would-be employer. Still, he hadn't worried too much; she was clearly capable of handling herself, and Whistler had felt certain she'd land on her feet somewhere. It was a bit of a surprise that it was on this trip, though. Stroking his beard, he idly wondered if she'd just joined at the last minute.
Whistler returned Giles' salute, choosing to respond to the rhetorical question with another, reassuring smile, for now. It seemed as if the man in the dark cloak had a question or two for him (had he seen that man around town?) Might as well find out what the answer was as well.
Sounded simple enough. Whistler's eyebrows went up at the mention of the elf's reputation alone keeping them safe, but he remained silent.
That finished, he turned to watch the others as he began prepping his belongings. But he made sure to maneuver to be closer to Sheriff Riggs' wagon; he'd been a pain even the short time Whistler had been in Swainbrook, and of all the people traveling with them, the sheriff seemed like the most likely to cause trouble. Whistler tried to listen in on what he was railing about, determined to keep an eye on the man.
Sterling - V. Human Bard 3 (College of Art) - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist (w/ Mansion) - Jasper's [Pic] - Sterling's [Sigil]
Tooltips Post (2024 PHB updates) - incl. General Rules
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf
"Right you are, Grand Carpenter of Swainbrook, sire! You want no protection and shall have none from me... Understood," Gorm says with a smile and a shrug and moves on to the next wagon. She'll skip the religious folk, they're always headaches no matter how peaceful things go. She also skips the rented looking wagon, for now. She suspects that one with the slideway eyes and weird weapon on their his is about as reasonable as this Carpenter Swainbrook. She'll approach the Moores next, offering them much a similar proposition though only hinting at payment in coin, mostly playing up the exchange of protection for the occasional right to take a load off by riding on the back of their wagon, sleeping under it when the elements are sloppy and perhaps any spare, fresh food they may have.
Amara just shrugs. “Trust me, this is everything. I’m a light packer.”
'Very nice to make your acquaintances, Varnest and Belle.' Manny gives a small bow towards Belle, and offers Varnest his hand. 'I'm sure the journey will be fine, Tico, Mary. Your Mum and Dad will look after you, and I'll look after them...' he grins
Hearing Giles' shout, Manny frowns slightly. 'Five minutes... I thought we had more time...' he shrugs with a small sigh 'Oh well, I'll have to manage. Would it be alright if my backpack travelled in your wagon some of the time, Varnest? My feet are tough enough, but I fear my pack will get very heavy by the end of the journey if I have to carry it all the way...'
Suddenly his attention is drawn across the circle of wagons by his divine senses. 'Interesting...' he thinks to himself, making to sure to mark which of the Tiefling sisters has the fiendish presence. (OOC: Misery, straight horns?)
'I'd better go and quickly speak of spiritual things with one of the Selunites before we leave.' he says to Varnest, nodding towards the preacher... He touches his draconic pendant instinctively.
Mark waits patiently for the journey to begin while he has a quick look at the others that joined. A pair of dark-skinned humans, one seems a magical user and the other more mundane. A pair of halflings, one of them holier than the other. And a tiefling, which adds up to three with the two sisters.
"Light traveling is the best traveling" he adds to the human woman's words. "Mark" he introduces himself. "You don't seem a local, am I right?"
"Losing to a master is nothing to be ashamed of, unless you learn nothing from the experience."
Master Suana.
Amara looks relieved at Mark’s words. “Finally, someone with some sense around here,” she says. “Seems everyone else wants to bring everything they own with them, and they own far too many things, too.” She shakes her head. “Amara. And no, I’m not from around here.”
"That's fascinating. I wouldn't say my name's been stolen - it was given to me, but honestly, I'm keen on keeping it." The Tiefling asks, grin spread over her expression. Jewelery hangs from her curled horns; despite her lack of a wagon, Misery seems quite well off. "Did you steal the book?"
Giles saluted towards Whistler in respect before he turned away. Approaching the rental caravan brings the sounds of shouting to Whistler's ears - Sherriff Riggs is renowned for his temper, and it's clear something has caught his ire this morning; the young man, barely over a teenager, with a grim expression over thin lips and an eyebrow raised in amusement at the Sherriff's blustering. The thin, younger man wears no armor nor weapons - a book is strapped to his waist, and vials of multicolored liquids hang on the other side of his hip. The large, scraggle-bearded man continues to observe. A paring knife is in his hand, and he appears to be slowly peeling and eating an apple while waiting for the shouting match to conclude.
"Shane! Shane, that's it?" The Sherriff puffs, sticking out a pudgy finger and placing it on the chest of the younger man. "Give me one reason to think you're up to no good and I'll have you jailed 'till you're as old as me, hear?"
The other man unleashes the slightest bit of a laugh. "Calm down, Walter. You're making a fool of yourself. We're out of town - your word's not the law, and I don't believe anyone here will stand for your lunacy."
"Is it? Is it?" Riggs yells, doing his best to swell in size. "I'll show you what's the law, boy." The Sherriff rests a palm on the hilt of the pistol attached to his waist. "You kind are never up to any good. Mages, sorcerers, alchemists - all criminals. I have my eyes on you, Shane."
Gorm's approach to the Moore wagon is met with, initially, no reaction. The three younger individuals are busy hoisting a sleeping, aged woman into their caravan. Upon completion, one of them stumbles away - clearly already drunk. The other two turn towards Gorm. Judging by their faces, they are siblings.
"Greetings. How may I help?" The man smiles, extending a dirtied hand. "I'm Jason, and this-"
"I can introduce myself, Jason," the woman sighs, with a roll of her eyes. "I'm Isabelle. This idiot is Jason. Don't listen to him, his advice is always poor." The man opens his mouth to protest, but Isabelle holds up a fist. "Your offer is protection, right? The wilds are dangerous. Tell you what - I don't like spending coin for nothing like my brother, so here's this. If danger ever befalls the troop, you defend us as promised - only after you've proven your worth will we give you the amount of coin you stated. Until then, you're free to sleep under our wagon and dip into our provisions. We have more than enough, anyways. How's that sound?"
"Absolutely," smiles Varnest after hearing Manny's request, offering to take his pack and load it into the wagon from him. "Please, let us know if we can be of any help. We'll do our best to provide it. Take care, Manny."
(OOC: Misery is the Tiefling with straight horns, yes.)
Gorm never stated an exact amount, but the deal was fair enough to her. "Fair is fair, Isabelle, and a deal is a deal! Why pay for protection if all runs smoothly anyway, am I right?" Gorm says with a smile and a bow. She's happy enough to have the meager protection from the elements and potentially some fresh foods added to the dried and salted crap she was able to grab as she walked out the door.
"I'll try not to hover and be a pest, but I'll be close by the entire journey and always be keeping an eye out. Just call out my name, if you ever need..." Gorm assures the woman, looking to the man and giving him a bow as well.
True to her word, Gorm will do her best to fade away from their cart but subtly and over time. Nobody likes a stranger right on top of them, but the don't want to seem to be abandoned immediately after a deal either. Once detached for a bit, Gorm will continue looking over the others making the journey and making small talk with whoever wished...
‘Thank you, Varnest.’ says Manny with a smile, loading his backpack and a small chest of supplies onto the wagon. then walks over to the older preacher and warrior, ensuring his pendant is visible.
’Greetings...' he says, nodding his head respectfully to both the older man preacher and the woman. 'I wanted to introduce myself to you, before we began the journey. I'm Father Manny.' he touches his pendant with a smile. 'I don't follow a proselytising path fortunately...' he adds with a grin, and a nod towards their colleague, 'So we won't have to resort to arm wrestling or other shenanigans in search of an audience...' thinking for a moment, he adds ‘Though I fear the road might offer stony ground, even for someone as divinely inspired as your friend…’
"Steal the book? No, no, no, of course not! I borrowed it! And then I lost it. I still have the cover, though!" With this, she once again waves around that scrap of bent cardboard. "So, what brings you here? Why are you heading to the frontier? You don't really look like the type who would need to make their fortune out there, if you'll pardon me assuming."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"Now den shuriff, surely they's no reason ta be makin' them sortsa threats to such a yungin'."
After hearing about the man's bias against magic users, Whistler had made a point of staying out of the sheriff's way even during his short stay in town. In the past his job had constantly brought him into contact with law enforcement, and diplomacy and discretion were his main tools of dealing with the more troublesome sort. But every now and then it made sense to stand your ground in the face of an especially unruly "officer of the law."
The former bounty hunter had approached the arguing pair quietly, and at the motion of the sheriff's hand to his pistol had decided to speak. He stood a few yards away, arms crossed, a gentle (if obviously-fake) smile on his face, taking a non-threatening posture, but with a dead-serious look in his eye.
He looked over the young man. He didn't immediately strike Whistler as a criminal sort, but even if he were, he seemed too young to be in THAT deep. Maintaining his casual smile, he turned back to Riggs.
"'Sides, I heard this wagon still had a spot o' two for rent, and I reckon I might as well oblige. So it seems we gonna be spendin' quite some time together; no point in clawin' at each other like a basket o' tomcats the whole time, I figga." The fighter broke into a broad toothy grin at that, then held his hand out to the young man first. "Name's Whistler, 'though most take to putting 'Ol' Man' in front o' that."
The whole time he was interacting with the kid and the sheriff, he'd kept watch over the large man eating the apple out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't picked up anything obvious from the man, which was fine; but he seemed like a bit of a wild card, and the bounty hunter wanted to feel him out during their journey. The snap decision to rent a spot on the wagon should help with that, he figured.
Sterling - V. Human Bard 3 (College of Art) - [Pic] - [Traits] - in Bards: Dragon Heist (w/ Mansion) - Jasper's [Pic] - Sterling's [Sigil]
Tooltips Post (2024 PHB updates) - incl. General Rules
>> New FOW threat & treasure tables: fow-advanced-threat-tables.pdf fow-advanced-treasure-table.pdf