Ah, the Moonsea. A beautiful, iridescent body of water, its fierce waves reflecting the light of the sun, its seemingly-bottomless depths whispering of knowledge and promise below its stormy surface. Truly, it is a wonderful thing. Such a shame, then, that it is surrounded by such vicious dens of iniquity as those nations that call its shores home. Awe-inspiring as it is, the Moonsea is not the concerns of those who live by it. Their concerns largely amount to not being stabbed on their way home from whatever thankless job they might work. Even something as wonderful as the Moonsea is not free from the taint of its neighbors, as the smoke pumping from the industry buildings of Melvaunt blackens the sky, blocking out that sun which ordinarily shines so elegantly against the sea's tall waves.
It is this city, Melvaunt, where we now focus. A sprawling port city, and since the destruction of Zhentil Keep, the greatest seat of power in the Moonsea region. It is a hub of commerce and industry, where merchants from all corners of Faerûn hawk their wares. It's often said, "if it's not in Melvaunt, you don't need it." The city's heavy metalworking industry is the source of the choking smoke it emits, pouring gold into the seemingly bottomless pockets of the city's leaders as the rest of the world hacks and coughs. This smoke mingles and mixes with the fog that rises up from the Moonsea, forming an unhealthy concoction that oozes across the City of Swords at all times, heavily reducing visibility and contributing to the gloom which hangs over the land. Even through this gloom, the city's many forges often light up the city, hundreds of motes of light shining through the smog, but even the heat they emit cannot combat the chilling cold that bites into the bones of Melvaunt's citizens. All in all, it's a very unpleasant place to be.
Unfortunately for you all, it just so happens to the place that you are as well. You all have your reasons for being here, but whatever they may be, they have landed you in the Breakwater Inn, a rowdy dockside establishment, overlooking the crashing waves of the Moonsea. The docks can be seen out the front, and occasionally the sweeping light of the Finger of the Gods, the city's ever-burning lighthouse, will pass over the inn, briefly washing it in light. It's mid-afternoon, right before the inn's most active hours, so there is a brief moment of respite before all hell breaks loose, as all hell often does in the Breakwater. Behind the bar stands Amadeus Lorfin, the Inn's proprieter and barkeep, monotonously polishing a glass, as barkeeps are wont to do.
(If it ain't addressed to you, don't read it, or I'll give you a very stern look and tell you off ):< )
Von:
The journey from Thar, the Great Gray Land which you call your home, to Melvaunt was not a particularly easy one. Of course, any journey you've ever taken across the wastes of Thar has not been an easy one, and this one was nothing more than routine. You may have been alone, but you were in no way defenseless. Still, despite its difficulties, the journey has been more or less uneventful: the only trophies you've earned from it are a pair of Peryton antlers, torn from the beast's head while it was still breathing, and a nasty gash from a close encounter with a bullette, which looks like it could make quite a fashionable scar, if permitted to. Now, you dwell in an inhospitable environment of an entirely different type from that which you are accustomed to dealing with. Smoke and fog bear down upon you, while the din of hammers and the crash of waves assault your ears. The Great Gray Land may be dangerous, but it's certainly a lot more quiet.
Chlorys:
Your escape from your hometown of Thentia went off a lot smoother than you expected, and the fifty or so mile journey between Thentia and Melvaunt was as pleasant as ever. All your life, you'd been raised to fear the cruel lands outside of your town, which claimed to be one of the last spots around the Moonsea free from the evil that infects the rest of it. And yet, everything was going so smoothly! Then, you actually arrived. Within a few days of your arrival, everything you'd brought with you, that should have been more than enough to last you for weeks, even months, was all gone. You were never mugged, never pickpocketed, (at least as far as you know) never had your money parted from you by force. Instead, you were robbed in a far more mundane way: via the dark arts of mercantile trickery. You're by no means a fool, but the merchants of Melvaunt have been swindling and overcharging since they first pulled their fists out of their mouths and put them to the far more lucrative practice of grabbing all the gold they could. They say, "if it's not in Melvaunt, you don't want it," but that's not the only saying in the city, just the most famous. Another popular saying, though not one the merchants of Melvaunt would like spread, is this: "If you're seeking a good deal in Melvaunt, you're better off looking for a happy man in Thay!" Still, more important than your dwindling funds, is this: you're safe from your family. Here, nestled away in the busy city, there's no way that they could ever locate you... right?
Camus:
Your life has been a blur, since... since... well, you're not entirely sure. It all comes in flashes. Untold amounts of energy, pumping through you, propelling you towards... something. And yet, an absence, an error, a... failure? You recall a great blast, charred bones, life that did not belong to you flooding into your bones, bones far too old for the mind that now inhabited them. And then... what? Loneliness. Those who might give you answers, nothing but hollowed out husks, their life drained out of their bodies, into... you? But why? Headaches, the most terrible, skull-splitting headaches, that made you want to reach through your eye sockets and pull out your brains, except... except you could, that's the thing. Your eyes were empty, black holes in a yellowing, fused-together skull. You were dead, and you were alive, and you were both, and you were neither. Revelation, a glimpse of what was. Death, destruction, pain, and those empty eyes watching it all, gumless teeth grinning at the grisly sight. And then, gone again. Lost to time. You remember wandering, was it... east? There was a forest, at some point. Then a plain. Before that... you can't recall. Aimless maundering, your only goal to escape that place that you can't quite recall. On top of it all, the nagging feeling that you were being watched, being followed. As your mind began to clear, and you became further aware of the bizarre situation you found yourself in, you also felt something else. Something that should have been impossible. In the months of your wandering, your chest was empty, as was the rest of your body, a shrivelled corpse granted a foul facsimile of life, and yet... as you traveled, you felt a heartbeat. Faint, but growing, as you traveled farther east, farther south. Following this strange urge, you have ended up in the city of Melvaunt, having to conceal your unusual form through whatever magical or mundane means you have at your disposal. From here... the heart that doesn't beat in your chest tells you to go south, even if you don't know why.
Alright, now that that's all done with, I'm just about done with research for the day. Feel free to introduce your characters, narrate what they're doing here in the Breakwater, and ask me whatever questions you'd like. Go wild!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
I sit near the edge of the inn's common room, paying little heed to the goings-on. My body is covered head-to-toe, black robes covering my skeletal body, hands sheathed in leather gloves, and my face is covered by an old wooden mask with little detail beyond holes for me to peer through and some faded color that may have once been ceremonial markings. My staff sits across my lap as I lean on the table studying the spell that most recently crawled out of the foggy abyss of my memory for me to write onto the pages of my grimoire. Most of the spells that find their way into the pages of the grimoire have a brutal and twisted feel to them, but this one especially makes me shudder. This spell has the power to restore the dead to a foul mimicry of life.
I close my book with and stash it in its bag, the long iron chain connecting it to my belt clinking against the splintered bench. I glance around the room at my fellow patrons with a sigh of regret. Though there are people all around, I feel utterly alone in this place.
A kelly green orc with a spiky black Mohawk darkens the doorway. She sits down at the bar, and orders, the clink of a chain mail dress softly muted by black leather. Strapped to her side is taxidermized head of a three-toothed orc, it’s eye sockets stretched and filled with glass in heretical imitation of a gabled reliquary.
Keeping a hand on her traveler’s bag (you can never be too sure in these places) she casts an eye around the inn, scanning patrons for the burly, powerful, or weird.
Head resting wearily in one hand, lazily holding a drink in the other, Chlorys Blythe sits alone, nursing a fading hangover. Absent-mindedly tucking a strand of her thick, auburn hair behind a pointed ear, she was reliving the celebration of the night before, celebrating her freedom, her new found independence and the beginnings of a new life. "What's there to be happier about?" She mused, taking a sip of her drink, grimacing at the taste. It was cheap wine, not something that Chlorys was used to having been brought up in Thentia; Chlorys choked it down anyway and figured she would have to palate the taste or else quit drinking altogether, "And that's not something I plan to do today." She chuckled to herself. However, that laughter soon turned to a silent anxiety, how would she be able to make her way in this world knowing so little of its ways. Her parents had her living a sheltered, spoiled life, far away from the sights, sounds and smells she had experienced within the last few days. Chlorys had managed to find this Inn and had taken shelter here for the time being.
Early afternoon hours in the Inn went by slowly as most travelers or merchants didn't arrive until evening, where a warm supper would then be supplied, for a price of course. Over the last few days Chlorys had tried to get to know the barkeep, who went by Amadeus, as he would most likely have information or know of someone that would. Many beings of many races and trade passed through the Inn's doors and that's when the fun would start. As drinks began to flow, music and jovial voices would soon ring out from each and every corner, the sounds of laughter, sex and violence filling the air and Chlorys had never danced and drank so much in her entire life. Her first night in Melvaunt had been one wonderful, colorful blur, an experience that Chlorys could have only dreamed had she not risked everything to be here. No proper steps, no traditional customs to follow, "and no eyes watching me from across the room." She shuddered once thinking of her father's usual stern expression, "but no more!" Heart soaring and feeling lucky, she quickly finished her drink. "Amadeus?" She inquired politely, flashing him herr usual warm smile and watching as he expertly polished a glass as he so often did, "Have you heard of anyone looking to hire? As much as I love sitting here drinking and enjoying your wonderful company so much, I need work."
Von gazes about, her keen eye sweeping over the various patrons of the bar, but she doesn't pick up many faces that might be of interest to her. This is, after all, the calm before the storm, and very few patrons are about. She does, however, spot a conspicuous lack of a face. To be precise, a face covered by a wooden mask, gazing down at a thick grimoire. Their expression is as unreadable as the eldritch symbols that swim across the baleful book's pages, alien to Von's mind, which understands the divine far more than it does the arcane. As they close their tome and tuck it away, they gaze out at the rest of the inn, and the two of you briefly lock eyes. Or, at least, Von assumes that you do, since she can see nothing more than black pits behind the eyes of that impassive mask.
Camus: (In the future, you don't really need to roll checks unless I call for them or you're expressly faced by some sort of challenge. It's not a difficult action to scan the room, and thus a check wouldn't be needed for such a routine action)
As he looks around, Camus can't really see a lot that interests him. A few patrons sit in a dimly-lit booth in the back, whispering something. A pair walks in the door, perhaps excused early from the forges, raring to get drunk. An elven girl chats up the barkeep. An orc stares directly at Camus. A- wait, what was that last part? Yep, there it is. A six foot tall orc, adorned with a mohawk, some fearsome looking armor, and enough grit to stop the gears of Mechanus, is looking right at Camus. The two of you lock gazes briefly, then she returns to scanning the rest of the room.
Chlorys:
Amadeus pauses his glass cleaning, and looks up at Chlorys with his typical dour expression. All he says is this: "Well... just how badly do ye need work?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
(Thanks for the info on checks, I'll keep it in mind)
I frown underneath my mask... or at least, I would if I still had lips. I'm unsure of whether I should be afraid of the orc or if I may have just found a potential ally who might be less inclined than others to crush an animate skeleton on sight. But either way, I make a mental note to watch out for her in the future.
With nothing else to hold my interest and the light slowly fading from the window, I stand up and prepare to return to my room, where I will do my best to plan out my next move. If I want to find that... that something... which is calling to me, I know that I don't want to rush ahead recklessly.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
“Yep, definitely weird,” Von thinks as her eyes lock with the void behind the mask. She pays a gold towards her tab and approaches the masked patron making their exit. “Pardon me, but I noticed your reading no ordinary tome. What brings someone of extraordinary ability to a place as ordinary as Breakwater?”
Camus pauses nervously as the green stranger approaches him, but is pleasantly surprised at the orc's friendly greeting.
I briefly make eye contact, doing my best to gauge the orc's attitude before remembering that even with a mask she'll be able to see my empty eye sockets. I quickly avert my gaze.
"Hello stranger," I say. "I don't entirely know why I'm here myself... But I have felt a calling that I cannot ignore. I've already travelled a long way, and I've stopped here for a brief respite from my travels. But tell me, what interest does a powerful warrior like yourself take in a wandering mage?"
"I'm more familiar with the divine than the arcane. With how this town gets at night, diverse allies are a great advantage. Plus there was an elf drinking next to me and I wasn't having any of that."
"Cpt. Von The Bad Dream, Cleric of Luthic and commander of The Hearth's Bloodlust." She flexes her bicep to display Orcish runes printed in red. "Though around here its probably best to just go by Von. And yourself?"
I pause. What even is my name? I remain quiet for a moment, thinking so hard that my skull starts to throb. Suddenly, a name swims to the surface of my foggy memory.
"Camus," I reply at last. "Forgive me... I think I may have suffered a head injury recently. So, Commander Von of The Hearth's Bloodlust, what is it that brings you to a place like this without your warriors?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
"Frankly our last encounter with with a company of gnomes was a less than a successful conquest, what with their strange magic and vexing inventions. If we are to survive we must progress on all fronts to defeat more advanced foes. Plus I left my daughter and six wives in charge of my army and ordered them to conquer a docile village of halflings should supplies run low, so my troops are in good hands for now."
"And how what about yourself? What brings a learned gentleman - I'm assuming you're a male of whatever species you are - here to suffer memory-clouding head injures?"
I carefully consider how much I should tell this strange orc. I quickly decide that the safest course of action is to give a true but very vague response.
"I'd rather not talk about that if it's alright with you," I say sadly. "I'll just say that I have seen death, and the experience changed me. Now my friend, it appears we're blocking the flow of traffic. Perhaps we should sit down if you wish to continue this conversation?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
Sliding the now empty glass back towards the sour faced bar-keep, Chlorys continues on with her inquiry, though from behind, she catches a word or two from those seated nearby. She scanned them over quickly, a gaunt figure, cloaked from head to foot, face intentionally covered, the other a burly green female orc, in that there was no doubt, "Interesting...." Chlorys thought, but decided they were not worth her attention at the moment. Chlorys had to find a way to survive in Melvaunt and with prospects slim, Chlorys knew she would probably struggle at first. "Depends on the job, Amadeus, I'm not looking to put my life on the line for meager table scraps," she laughed.
"Well. If you're willing to get your hands a little dirty, bloody a few knuckles, I might have something for you. A little grudge I might want to settle. But not now, I need to be ready for the evening's patrons. If you're still interested after things have settled down and the main crowd's moved on, you know where to find me."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
If she overhears talk of dirty hands, bloody knuckles, and settled grudges, Von is going to try and keep an eye on the elf and barkeep after the night's events. Whatever it is, it would sound up her ally.
"That's what I'm talking about, Amadeus," Chlorys eyes early shone at the mention of prospective work. "I'll talk with you later this evening then." She slipped off the bar stool and wandered out the establishments door, watching as the sun began to set
Ah, the Moonsea. A beautiful, iridescent body of water, its fierce waves reflecting the light of the sun, its seemingly-bottomless depths whispering of knowledge and promise below its stormy surface. Truly, it is a wonderful thing. Such a shame, then, that it is surrounded by such vicious dens of iniquity as those nations that call its shores home. Awe-inspiring as it is, the Moonsea is not the concerns of those who live by it. Their concerns largely amount to not being stabbed on their way home from whatever thankless job they might work. Even something as wonderful as the Moonsea is not free from the taint of its neighbors, as the smoke pumping from the industry buildings of Melvaunt blackens the sky, blocking out that sun which ordinarily shines so elegantly against the sea's tall waves.
It is this city, Melvaunt, where we now focus. A sprawling port city, and since the destruction of Zhentil Keep, the greatest seat of power in the Moonsea region. It is a hub of commerce and industry, where merchants from all corners of Faerûn hawk their wares. It's often said, "if it's not in Melvaunt, you don't need it." The city's heavy metalworking industry is the source of the choking smoke it emits, pouring gold into the seemingly bottomless pockets of the city's leaders as the rest of the world hacks and coughs. This smoke mingles and mixes with the fog that rises up from the Moonsea, forming an unhealthy concoction that oozes across the City of Swords at all times, heavily reducing visibility and contributing to the gloom which hangs over the land. Even through this gloom, the city's many forges often light up the city, hundreds of motes of light shining through the smog, but even the heat they emit cannot combat the chilling cold that bites into the bones of Melvaunt's citizens. All in all, it's a very unpleasant place to be.
Unfortunately for you all, it just so happens to the place that you are as well. You all have your reasons for being here, but whatever they may be, they have landed you in the Breakwater Inn, a rowdy dockside establishment, overlooking the crashing waves of the Moonsea. The docks can be seen out the front, and occasionally the sweeping light of the Finger of the Gods, the city's ever-burning lighthouse, will pass over the inn, briefly washing it in light. It's mid-afternoon, right before the inn's most active hours, so there is a brief moment of respite before all hell breaks loose, as all hell often does in the Breakwater. Behind the bar stands Amadeus Lorfin, the Inn's proprieter and barkeep, monotonously polishing a glass, as barkeeps are wont to do.
(If it ain't addressed to you, don't read it, or I'll give you a very stern look and tell you off ):< )
Von:
The journey from Thar, the Great Gray Land which you call your home, to Melvaunt was not a particularly easy one. Of course, any journey you've ever taken across the wastes of Thar has not been an easy one, and this one was nothing more than routine. You may have been alone, but you were in no way defenseless. Still, despite its difficulties, the journey has been more or less uneventful: the only trophies you've earned from it are a pair of Peryton antlers, torn from the beast's head while it was still breathing, and a nasty gash from a close encounter with a bullette, which looks like it could make quite a fashionable scar, if permitted to. Now, you dwell in an inhospitable environment of an entirely different type from that which you are accustomed to dealing with. Smoke and fog bear down upon you, while the din of hammers and the crash of waves assault your ears. The Great Gray Land may be dangerous, but it's certainly a lot more quiet.
Chlorys:
Your escape from your hometown of Thentia went off a lot smoother than you expected, and the fifty or so mile journey between Thentia and Melvaunt was as pleasant as ever. All your life, you'd been raised to fear the cruel lands outside of your town, which claimed to be one of the last spots around the Moonsea free from the evil that infects the rest of it. And yet, everything was going so smoothly! Then, you actually arrived. Within a few days of your arrival, everything you'd brought with you, that should have been more than enough to last you for weeks, even months, was all gone. You were never mugged, never pickpocketed, (at least as far as you know) never had your money parted from you by force. Instead, you were robbed in a far more mundane way: via the dark arts of mercantile trickery. You're by no means a fool, but the merchants of Melvaunt have been swindling and overcharging since they first pulled their fists out of their mouths and put them to the far more lucrative practice of grabbing all the gold they could. They say, "if it's not in Melvaunt, you don't want it," but that's not the only saying in the city, just the most famous. Another popular saying, though not one the merchants of Melvaunt would like spread, is this: "If you're seeking a good deal in Melvaunt, you're better off looking for a happy man in Thay!" Still, more important than your dwindling funds, is this: you're safe from your family. Here, nestled away in the busy city, there's no way that they could ever locate you... right?
Camus:
Your life has been a blur, since... since... well, you're not entirely sure. It all comes in flashes. Untold amounts of energy, pumping through you, propelling you towards... something. And yet, an absence, an error, a... failure? You recall a great blast, charred bones, life that did not belong to you flooding into your bones, bones far too old for the mind that now inhabited them. And then... what? Loneliness. Those who might give you answers, nothing but hollowed out husks, their life drained out of their bodies, into... you? But why? Headaches, the most terrible, skull-splitting headaches, that made you want to reach through your eye sockets and pull out your brains, except... except you could, that's the thing. Your eyes were empty, black holes in a yellowing, fused-together skull. You were dead, and you were alive, and you were both, and you were neither. Revelation, a glimpse of what was. Death, destruction, pain, and those empty eyes watching it all, gumless teeth grinning at the grisly sight. And then, gone again. Lost to time. You remember wandering, was it... east? There was a forest, at some point. Then a plain. Before that... you can't recall. Aimless maundering, your only goal to escape that place that you can't quite recall. On top of it all, the nagging feeling that you were being watched, being followed. As your mind began to clear, and you became further aware of the bizarre situation you found yourself in, you also felt something else. Something that should have been impossible. In the months of your wandering, your chest was empty, as was the rest of your body, a shrivelled corpse granted a foul facsimile of life, and yet... as you traveled, you felt a heartbeat. Faint, but growing, as you traveled farther east, farther south. Following this strange urge, you have ended up in the city of Melvaunt, having to conceal your unusual form through whatever magical or mundane means you have at your disposal. From here... the heart that doesn't beat in your chest tells you to go south, even if you don't know why.
Alright, now that that's all done with, I'm just about done with research for the day. Feel free to introduce your characters, narrate what they're doing here in the Breakwater, and ask me whatever questions you'd like. Go wild!
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
I sit near the edge of the inn's common room, paying little heed to the goings-on. My body is covered head-to-toe, black robes covering my skeletal body, hands sheathed in leather gloves, and my face is covered by an old wooden mask with little detail beyond holes for me to peer through and some faded color that may have once been ceremonial markings. My staff sits across my lap as I lean on the table studying the spell that most recently crawled out of the foggy abyss of my memory for me to write onto the pages of my grimoire. Most of the spells that find their way into the pages of the grimoire have a brutal and twisted feel to them, but this one especially makes me shudder. This spell has the power to restore the dead to a foul mimicry of life.
I close my book with and stash it in its bag, the long iron chain connecting it to my belt clinking against the splintered bench. I glance around the room at my fellow patrons with a sigh of regret. Though there are people all around, I feel utterly alone in this place.
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
Provide feedback!
A kelly green orc with a spiky black Mohawk darkens the doorway. She sits down at the bar, and orders, the clink of a chain mail dress softly muted by black leather. Strapped to her side is taxidermized head of a three-toothed orc, it’s eye sockets stretched and filled with glass in heretical imitation of a gabled reliquary.
Keeping a hand on her traveler’s bag (you can never be too sure in these places) she casts an eye around the inn, scanning patrons for the burly, powerful, or weird.
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Head resting wearily in one hand, lazily holding a drink in the other, Chlorys Blythe sits alone, nursing a fading hangover. Absent-mindedly tucking a strand of her thick, auburn hair behind a pointed ear, she was reliving the celebration of the night before, celebrating her freedom, her new found independence and the beginnings of a new life. "What's there to be happier about?" She mused, taking a sip of her drink, grimacing at the taste. It was cheap wine, not something that Chlorys was used to having been brought up in Thentia; Chlorys choked it down anyway and figured she would have to palate the taste or else quit drinking altogether, "And that's not something I plan to do today." She chuckled to herself. However, that laughter soon turned to a silent anxiety, how would she be able to make her way in this world knowing so little of its ways. Her parents had her living a sheltered, spoiled life, far away from the sights, sounds and smells she had experienced within the last few days. Chlorys had managed to find this Inn and had taken shelter here for the time being.
Early afternoon hours in the Inn went by slowly as most travelers or merchants didn't arrive until evening, where a warm supper would then be supplied, for a price of course. Over the last few days Chlorys had tried to get to know the barkeep, who went by Amadeus, as he would most likely have information or know of someone that would. Many beings of many races and trade passed through the Inn's doors and that's when the fun would start. As drinks began to flow, music and jovial voices would soon ring out from each and every corner, the sounds of laughter, sex and violence filling the air and Chlorys had never danced and drank so much in her entire life. Her first night in Melvaunt had been one wonderful, colorful blur, an experience that Chlorys could have only dreamed had she not risked everything to be here. No proper steps, no traditional customs to follow, "and no eyes watching me from across the room." She shuddered once thinking of her father's usual stern expression, "but no more!" Heart soaring and feeling lucky, she quickly finished her drink. "Amadeus?" She inquired politely, flashing him herr usual warm smile and watching as he expertly polished a glass as he so often did, "Have you heard of anyone looking to hire? As much as I love sitting here drinking and enjoying your wonderful company so much, I need work."
As I look up from the book, is there anything of interest going on in the room which should concern me?
Perception: 7
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
Provide feedback!
Von:
Von gazes about, her keen eye sweeping over the various patrons of the bar, but she doesn't pick up many faces that might be of interest to her. This is, after all, the calm before the storm, and very few patrons are about. She does, however, spot a conspicuous lack of a face. To be precise, a face covered by a wooden mask, gazing down at a thick grimoire. Their expression is as unreadable as the eldritch symbols that swim across the baleful book's pages, alien to Von's mind, which understands the divine far more than it does the arcane. As they close their tome and tuck it away, they gaze out at the rest of the inn, and the two of you briefly lock eyes. Or, at least, Von assumes that you do, since she can see nothing more than black pits behind the eyes of that impassive mask.
Camus: (In the future, you don't really need to roll checks unless I call for them or you're expressly faced by some sort of challenge. It's not a difficult action to scan the room, and thus a check wouldn't be needed for such a routine action)
As he looks around, Camus can't really see a lot that interests him. A few patrons sit in a dimly-lit booth in the back, whispering something. A pair walks in the door, perhaps excused early from the forges, raring to get drunk. An elven girl chats up the barkeep. An orc stares directly at Camus. A- wait, what was that last part? Yep, there it is. A six foot tall orc, adorned with a mohawk, some fearsome looking armor, and enough grit to stop the gears of Mechanus, is looking right at Camus. The two of you lock gazes briefly, then she returns to scanning the rest of the room.
Chlorys:
Amadeus pauses his glass cleaning, and looks up at Chlorys with his typical dour expression. All he says is this: "Well... just how badly do ye need work?"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
(Thanks for the info on checks, I'll keep it in mind)
I frown underneath my mask... or at least, I would if I still had lips. I'm unsure of whether I should be afraid of the orc or if I may have just found a potential ally who might be less inclined than others to crush an animate skeleton on sight. But either way, I make a mental note to watch out for her in the future.
With nothing else to hold my interest and the light slowly fading from the window, I stand up and prepare to return to my room, where I will do my best to plan out my next move. If I want to find that... that something... which is calling to me, I know that I don't want to rush ahead recklessly.
Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
Provide feedback!
“Yep, definitely weird,” Von thinks as her eyes lock with the void behind the mask. She pays a gold towards her tab and approaches the masked patron making their exit. “Pardon me, but I noticed your reading no ordinary tome. What brings someone of extraordinary ability to a place as ordinary as Breakwater?”
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Camus pauses nervously as the green stranger approaches him, but is pleasantly surprised at the orc's friendly greeting.
I briefly make eye contact, doing my best to gauge the orc's attitude before remembering that even with a mask she'll be able to see my empty eye sockets. I quickly avert my gaze.
"Hello stranger," I say. "I don't entirely know why I'm here myself... But I have felt a calling that I cannot ignore. I've already travelled a long way, and I've stopped here for a brief respite from my travels. But tell me, what interest does a powerful warrior like yourself take in a wandering mage?"
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"I'm more familiar with the divine than the arcane. With how this town gets at night, diverse allies are a great advantage. Plus there was an elf drinking next to me and I wasn't having any of that."
These words are smaller than the other ones.
I glance down at the drunken elf slumped over the counter next to us and chuckle.
"Fair point, on both fronts. Tell me stranger, what name shall I call you by?"
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"Cpt. Von The Bad Dream, Cleric of Luthic and commander of The Hearth's Bloodlust." She flexes her bicep to display Orcish runes printed in red. "Though around here its probably best to just go by Von. And yourself?"
These words are smaller than the other ones.
I pause. What even is my name? I remain quiet for a moment, thinking so hard that my skull starts to throb. Suddenly, a name swims to the surface of my foggy memory.
"Camus," I reply at last. "Forgive me... I think I may have suffered a head injury recently. So, Commander Von of The Hearth's Bloodlust, what is it that brings you to a place like this without your warriors?"
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"Frankly our last encounter with with a company of gnomes was a less than a successful conquest, what with their strange magic and vexing inventions. If we are to survive we must progress on all fronts to defeat more advanced foes. Plus I left my daughter and six wives in charge of my army and ordered them to conquer a docile village of halflings should supplies run low, so my troops are in good hands for now."
"And how what about yourself? What brings a learned gentleman - I'm assuming you're a male of whatever species you are - here to suffer memory-clouding head injures?"
These words are smaller than the other ones.
I carefully consider how much I should tell this strange orc. I quickly decide that the safest course of action is to give a true but very vague response.
"I'd rather not talk about that if it's alright with you," I say sadly. "I'll just say that I have seen death, and the experience changed me. Now my friend, it appears we're blocking the flow of traffic. Perhaps we should sit down if you wish to continue this conversation?"
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Sliding the now empty glass back towards the sour faced bar-keep, Chlorys continues on with her inquiry, though from behind, she catches a word or two from those seated nearby. She scanned them over quickly, a gaunt figure, cloaked from head to foot, face intentionally covered, the other a burly green female orc, in that there was no doubt, "Interesting...." Chlorys thought, but decided they were not worth her attention at the moment. Chlorys had to find a way to survive in Melvaunt and with prospects slim, Chlorys knew she would probably struggle at first. "Depends on the job, Amadeus, I'm not looking to put my life on the line for meager table scraps," she laughed.
Chlorys:
"Well. If you're willing to get your hands a little dirty, bloody a few knuckles, I might have something for you. A little grudge I might want to settle. But not now, I need to be ready for the evening's patrons. If you're still interested after things have settled down and the main crowd's moved on, you know where to find me."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
If she overhears talk of dirty hands, bloody knuckles, and settled grudges, Von is going to try and keep an eye on the elf and barkeep after the night's events. Whatever it is, it would sound up her ally.
These words are smaller than the other ones.
Camus pays little attention to what the elf and the barkeep are discussing... though he may take note of a change in the orc's demeanor.
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"That's what I'm talking about, Amadeus," Chlorys eyes early shone at the mention of prospective work. "I'll talk with you later this evening then." She slipped off the bar stool and wandered out the establishments door, watching as the sun began to set