Abiershire (Abba-sheer) is a small fortified town on the North side of the river Neverwinter. The warmth of the waters throughout the year allow for fertile fields, flooded every spring by the winter runoff. It sits on a rise overlooking a small river harbor and the only bridge across (Outside of the city) for miles beyond.
The ever presence of the Wintershields keeps order, but cares less for law, unless it suits them to do so. With less than 500 permanent residents the numbers can swell to 3 or 4 times that in the warmer months. Most of the population makes their living supplying, fixing, or otherwise enabling the trade in the summer. Inns, taverns, even brothels are found in abundance. A large warehouse district dominates the western bank and crafters such as carpenters and blacksmiths have set up shop around the town. The center of town is a bustling market with specialty shops to be found tucked into the streets around it.
Three buildings dominate the roof line, an administrative building resembling a small tower with bailey where the town council meet and the garrison of the Wintershields reside. The other two are churches that appear to be in competition for the grandest structures in town, The House of Coin dedicated to Waukeen and the Seat of the Triad.
Tarsakh 19, 1492 DR - Early Afternoon
A cold steel rain has fallen all week, drenching everything within minutes of being exposed. As the sun peeks from behind the softly scudding clouds a new life begins within the large town. The smell of refuse and sewage unfortunately was not washed away with the rains as chamber pots are dumped from windows and tossed into the street from open doorways. Your small group is huddled under the eaves of the Purple Pony, a respectable drinking establishment that caters more to the common folk than the travelers and merchants that have begun to swell the numbers. Unusual for this early in the trading season, few rooms remain for rent, merchants and travelers finding the gates to Neverwinter barred from their entry. The streets are bustling with activity, everybody getting in everybody else's way, jostling on their way elsewhere.
Please introduce yourself, Include Name, Race, Class, and a Backstory. As you introduce your characters, please also describe their defining physical traits, general demeanor and what brought them here for the benefit of the others.
Once all 5 players have posted Backstories, please make a connection between your character and another players character. Keep it small and simple.
There is no Plot. Rather everybody and everything will continue to pursue their agenda’s and goals. Most are simple or common like the daily struggles of the everyman, others may be more nefarious with impacts on the lives of others.
Kallith, a firbolg druid out to make her own way in the world.
It's hard to miss the 6'' 4' tall woman, a gap-toothed smile flashing out from a blue-skinned face. Disheveled brown hair swept to one side, proudly showing off the rings on her long ears. She's typically clad in an old creaky leather armor, patched up just enough to serve the purpose, a wooden shield slung over her backpack. The amulet dangling around her neck depicts a garland of flowers, only one of them fashioned from bone, the rest freshly plucked and intervowen. Her staff is never far, elaborately carved from oak, the top eternally sprouting fresh leaves. Her body language is generous and so is the volume in which she speaks.
Kallith traveled here from from Hartsvale, miles upon miles to the northeast, saying goodbye to her large family. She's on a journey both to serve the giant goddess Iallanis and to complete her druids training. It is her belief that giant kin could eventually be united in peace. But in order to achieve this grand goal, she would first need to find a willing teacher.
The keen observer also can't help but notice how her gaze tends to linger on the large volcano close to Neverwinter. But this... it would have to wait.
For now, nothing beats a good cup of tea while enjoying the smell of petrichor, here in the Purple Pony.
Her name is Chandle, she's a brick house (dwarf) dressed in black and tan about four foot hundred fifty pounds a hundred years give or take a few. Blue eyes white gold hair rosey complexion, she packs marigold in her pockets because she likes the scent. Although she is a long way from her clan in the Anauroch, her skill at glasswork and stonework has earned her the respect of many builders and craftsmen in the local area. Chandle is a rogue, she is somewhat private and self conscious yet when working on a project she becomes boastful and braggadocios. Her past brings her sadness, she was arranged to be married against her wishes, as she had a secret love. The wedding and her lover however were both gone when she became with child, heartbroken disowned and given the name Slagdar as a dishonor, Chandle made arrangement with a beloved family member to raise her daughter Crystal in her absence. Chandle left her desert clan in search of a new life for herself and someday her daughter. Now far from her former home she really pushes her craftsmanship to ignore the pain and loss of her past...
Chandle is also a rogue skilled in the gestures of thieves cant, and exemplary in moving in silence and shadow. Chandle is not above petty theft to provide for herself or others less fortunate. Saraphin Talus-dötter and Chandle may have inadvertently discovered one another's proclivity for stealth and thieve's cant, becoming rivals colleagues maybe friends.
Standing at just over 6' tall, Dornin can be seen mostly wearing brown and orange fitted robes that seem to be well-worn as there appears to be many small creases and tears near the ends and shoes that seem to have seen better days. His pale face is a kind and trustworthy one as it seems no matter what you say, he is there to comfort you. Brown shoulder-length hair is either tucked neatly behind his ears or tied into a small bun atop his head. His pack appears to have many scrolls, parchments and bottled liquids is shown to be haphazardly tossed about.
Around his waist, a wide belt is strapped snug with a small dagger sitting along his backside. The main feature, however, upon that belt on his hip a thick tome with coarse, black leather is pulled tight around mangled pages within. Two buckles hold the book in place along with a locked latch keeping the tome itself closed making it almost impossible for even the most skilled thieves to take it off his person.
Dornin is friendly and easy-going, willing to contribute what he has learned in to almost any conversation as he has learned so much in his research. However, when it comes to his book on his hip, he quickly changes subject.
He grew up in Phandalin, then headed north to Neverwinter in search of knowledge and soon found himself in Abieshire. With his sights on research and adventure, Dornin is excited to see what is next for him. (If wanting to read more backstory, its on my character sheet)
Though he has years of practice at hiding and stealth, growing up in the twisted caverns below ground, in a town as populated as Abiershire, the shadows aren’t dark enough or deep enough, to hide a 7-foot-tall creature with 1-foot-long horns, covered in brown hair. And that is after shaving off an entire foot of horn before leaving his homeland.
Octo is told he looks like a bull, though he has never actually seen one. It was a common comparison made by visitors to his homeland, located underneath The Sword Mountains, and a comparison he continues to hear above ground.
But so far, the town has been accepting of him. Folk go about their business, giving him a quick glance when they pass by, a bit taken back when he smiles at them. “You call that a smile? Bahaha! Scare the shell off a turtle with that smile!” he was told by a friendly old dwarf when he first arrived in town. What was that fellow’s name? Octo wonders.
He knew when he left the members of his tribe, to enter the world above, that he had a lot to learn about this place and the ways of its inhabitants. He seems to understand goblin kin more so than human, dwarf, and elf, but that is exactly why he is here. He is here to learn about this world, so that he can make his mark on it. Octo cannot return home to claim his birthright as captain of the guard, Protector of the Eight Gate, until he has accomplished this. Every one of his seven brothers, had to leave home and make their mark before returning, and now it is Octo's turn. Some of his brothers choose the path of enlightenment, some arcane knowledge, or even that of entertainment. Octo plans to make his mark with his strength and his rage.
Outside of battle, he is quite pleasant, what did those men having drinks call him, “a good sport!”
Octo needs to find others, with a like mind as his, willing to help him make his mark, and perhaps teach him a thing or two about the ways of those who live under the sun. Until then, he will try and stick to the shadows and watch, unconsciously scraping his great axe along his horns, whittling them to a point.
Saraphin's mother abandoned her shortly after she was born under mysterious circumstances, leaving her father, Talus, to raise her in poverty. He had worked as a linguist and scholar in Waterdeep for most of his life, but his work started to dry up and he was unable to afford his rent. He took Saraphin and hit the road, travelling the sword coast from job to job. Due to an old injury from when he was young, he was unable to do any physical labor, so many nights he ended up washing dishes in small taverns to feed the pair of them. Many nights they went hungry. As soon as she was old enough, Saraphin joined him working odd jobs, and eventually they were able to afford to rent a small house in Waterdeep. Talus found some work as a tutor, but the income was barely enough to keep them afloat.
After a few years, he got sick. It was a treatable disease, but they hadn't the money to pay for the medicine. In desperation, Saraphin took to less savory methods of income. She started to hang around the taverns where rich merchants would drink late at night and cut their purses as they left. She quickly earned enough to help her father. Enthralled by the ease at which she could turn their fortunes, she did not stop when he recovered. Instead she took bigger and bigger risks, earning more and more each time and lying to her father about where the money was coming from. It was just a matter of time until she stole from the wrong person, and suddenly she was a wanted criminal. Not wanting to implicate her father she fled north, towards Neverwinter and a small town called Abiershire...
Standing at just over five and a half feet tall, and often dressed in well-worn travelling leathers, Seraphin is unassuming at first glance. Her often unkempt blond hair frames her small face and long ears, and her eyes are a dull purple, courtesy of her elfin heritage. Seraphin is a reclusive person, revealing almost nothing of her past to any of her companions. Her skills are varied, but if there was one thing she would claim to specialize in it would be subterfuge. Falsehoods are an art and Sera is the artist, she dons and sheds identities like a noblewoman trying on gowns. She only arrived in town a few weeks prior, and has mostly taken small jobs to pay her expenses. Chances are the first person she met was Octo, likely while drinking in a tavern.
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“I will take responsibility for what I have done. [...] If must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” ― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer.
Standing under the eaves, water still dripping from the roof line you smell the wafting of fresh baked bread coming from the building next door. A young woman sweeps the crusted dirt out the door and over the boardwalk to the road below. Shattering of glass draws your attention the other way, shouts of anger erupt from the tavern next to the Purple Pony just before a man is tossed bodily into the street. The Bouncer a long limbed Bugbear yells "And stay out". Even though you are two blocks away, the sound of merchants hawking their wares in the market can be heard as a dull rumble.
A burly man and his assistant grunt under the weight of a corpse, dragging it from a home across the street and unceremoniously tossing it onto a heap of other bodies, their combined weight causing the cart to groan and creak. The larger of the two whips the half starved pony into motion as the younger slops a red paint X upon the door. A frequent sight these days of the plague ripping through town.
A young boy stands in the road, “Straight from the city, get the latest, Neverwinter nights, get it here” he yells to the passerby. Several people stop and purchase a copy, a load of rolled scrolls held in a quiver by his side. Noise of laughter and excited shouts erupt as a gaggle of youngsters chases through the road. The Broadsheet hawker is jostled, stumbling he falls. The jangle of bells as a horse and cart are headed straight for him.
Within the tavern a raised angry voice can be heard, high pitched, the Halfling that shoved his way past you not ten minutes before. It seems he has commanded the ear of the barkeep, "Can you believe this nonsense, My Granpoose dies, leaving me his 'Manor", he says the last word laced heavily with sarcasm and bile, "Damn thing is derelict, should 'av been torn down years ago. Now the city wants back taxes, I cant afford that', The barkeep grumbles a gentle sentiment as he tries to extract himself to no avail. "This here ledder says there are 'disturbances' around the house and I am to pay 10 moons a month for security, this is going to ruin me"
Across the road you catch the eye of a wiry human, not more than a teenager in size but his face says otherwise. Hair all akimbo and a patchy beard more like whiskers. As he spots you looking at him he ducks into the shadows of the alley behind him.
A young woman mounts the steps, a hammer and parchment in her hand, ducking into the tavern she yells, "Arfed, ok if I hang this" The barkeep hand waves his reply as she tacks a notice next to the door 'Halp neded, ofer nit gurd dudy', the poorly scrawled notice directs seekers to the Red Herring warehouse, one of many in the town.
It is said that if you stand on a street corner long enough the whole world will go by, What do you wish to do?
As a new arrival in Abiershire, it was hard to picture doing anything other than getting out of this storm. Luckily enough, a tavern by the name of the Purple Pony seemed the right place to be to hopefully dry off my robes and warm up with a nice hot tea. The bar room is packed, even the stools are taken. I look around to see a Firbolg sitting by herself at a table. How fascinating, I've never met one before! Spending a lot of time reading about Giant-kin, I know that seeing one out in busy populations and outside their kin is unlikely.
I approach the table, taking note of her kind smile and speak in Giant to the firbolg. "Good afternoon, my name is Dornin, I do not mean to intrude on your space but it appears that most of these tables are taken. Would you mind if sit here and rest my feet by your table? I promise I will not be a bother"
A young boy stands in the road, “Straight from the city, get the latest, Neverwinter nights, get it here” he yells to the passerby. Several people stop and purchase a copy, a load of rolled scrolls held in a quiver by his side. Noise of laughter and excited shouts erupt as a gaggle of youngsters chases through the road. The Broadsheet hawker is jostled, stumbling he falls. The jangle of bells as a horse and cart are headed straight for him.
Though she tries to weave through the crowd and scoop the boy up and out of harms way…
Acrobatics 9 Athletics 8 she might be too late…
“Get outta the way! Someone grab that kid!” she looks around hoping to get someone’s attention.
Octo finds it a bit difficult to stay awake. He is not use to water falling from the sky, rain they call it, and finds the monotony of the sound peaceful, a bit too peaceful perhaps, as he seems to keep nodding off. He shares a table with an elf maiden named Saraphin. She hasn’t shared much but seems comfortable with Octo, so he's comfortable with her. Together they sit, and watch.
As he starts to surrender to a nap, he wonders what a “Grandpoose” is. He is jostled awake by the sounds of a dwarf, yelling something about a boy. He grips Sparks, his great axe, feeling a bit anxious with the yelling and the hammering that just started, but he waits, still unsure of how to act in this town.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Saraphin stands at the corner of the building, the large minotaur sitting at the table next to her. Her arms are crossed and her face is blank as she observes the bustle, silently casing the area and drawing up a mental table of the daily routines of the merchants. She gives the Broadsheet hawker a cursory glance before moving on to more interesting sights. As he gets pushed into the road, she sighs and pushes off the wall with one foot. Weaving her way between the outdoor tables of the Purple Pony and ducking underneath plank of wood being carried by two burly men on the sidewalk, she reaches out and grabs at his collar, pulling him out of harms way.
"What in the hells are you doing?" She chides "Don't stand so close to the road. Not only is it dangerous, but no-one will stop to buy anything. Pick a bakery or teahouse and stand near the exit. People will have change on hand on their way out, and you won't get squished by traffic."
(Acrobatics just in case it's required, will edit my post if I fail: 18)
(OOC: Edited the post to add context, seems to have added the manipulated tag even though the roll is the same. I forgot how awful the forum dice roller is, I'll use the character sheet one from here on out if that's alright :P)
Kallith is absorbed in her tea and the smells, good and bad, of the town around her. Very busy place, this! Because of her seating position, she does not see the broadsheet hawker getting into trouble.
When a half-elf steps up to her table and asks for a seat, she needs a moment to register the address, then smiles broadly, moving some amount of her own sprawled legs out from under the table. She replies in the same language: "Sure Dornin! I'm Kallith." Noting the comment about the occupied tables, she continues "It feels like this Abiershire is getting overrun with people. What's that about? Do they all want to go to the big city? What's there to see?" The firbolg has always had trouble understanding the merchantile mindset and is imagining that there should be something more important that brings that many people to one place.
Hearing the scrape of metal with one hear, she turns to see the agitated minotaur. It seemed peaceful, but somewhat nervous. Shortly after, the minotaurs table companion rushes out in a flurry onto the street. She just saved a kid from a wagon! Kallith blinks, having her own troubles registering the events.
Her ears also pick up the complaining halfling at the bar counter. Seems like he could use some help, although she wasn't very sure about what. She turns to Dornin and asks: "See that halfling? Do you know what 'taxes' are? And what do they have to do with moons?"
Chandle steps up to the boy, “I’ll take a Neverwinter Night. You should listen to Saraphin, youngling, she is right of course, less rowdy crowd too. Oh the sound of broken glass, I’ve gotta check that out excuse me.” She grabs a newsletter hands over a copper and hustles over to the neighboring tavern to see about fixing or replacing the damage…
The driver of the cart tries to settle the horse. "Stay out of the road you cursed twits" with a yank on the reins he pushes you out of the way.
"Thanks lady, I owe you, I got nothin to give really but always keep my ear.to the street. Names Petyr, I'm usually around here, or over at the orphanage on river road."
*Moons are the silver piece denomination used in Neverwinter.
Dornin pulls out a pipe from his pocket and begins to pack the bowl lightly with fragrant herbs. He finds himself more invested in conversation rather than the commotion outside the bar as confrontation has never been his cup of tea. Before sparking his pipe, he replies to Kallith, “I’m unsure what the reason is for this rise in travelers, I heard some rumours about the gates to Neverwinter being closed but I’m not entirely sure.” After walking alone many days, Dornin feels the blood start to come back to his feet as the walk has done a number on him physically. He lights his pipe and takes a long draw before giving a comforting sigh of satisfaction. “ And taxes… well it’s complicated. A system that humans manufactured that involves people of power taking a percentage of what everyone earns in currency. This allows them to fund roads, housing and most importantly to them, their pockets full.” Dornin shifts some of his focus on the Minotaur and remembers going to libraries and reading about life in the Underdark. How neat to see such a creature above ground.
looks over towards the Flowing Flagon watching a man pick himself up from the mud, he gestures angrily at the Bugbear, grumbles then heads toward the open door of the Purple Pony. Catching you looking at him "Whad you want, huh" thrusting out his bruised chin as he strides past.
Saraphin
After chiding the boy he says, "I said I owe ya and I meant it, thanks again lady", as he turns to dash away...
You notice a small knot of men and woman climb the steps to the bar, only two head in, two hang by the open doorway, while the fifth takes a couple strides away, watching the street.
Octo
Sitting at the table on the boardwalk outside Octo is startled to full wakefulness as the Half -elf woman, Saraphin, dashes into the road. A young child is pulled aside as the horse bucks, slamming its hooves just where he was laying. Quickly however things seem to settle back to 'normal' chaos.
Kallith, Dornin
The room quiets immediately as new patrons enter.
A small group of men and woman enter the Purple Pony Tavern, The female dwarf and an elf (Half-elf?) hang back at the entrance while the other two stride to the bar with a sneer on their faces. TA Human male with a pointed hawkish nose pulls a chair over with a long scraping sound while the heavy set Human stands just behind.
The previously angry Halfling slowly gets up from his chair at a look from the muscled man, he slowly backs into the corner close to you. The sound of scraping chairs as a half dozen patrons start to stand. The slowly sit again.
“Dangerous times Arfed, don't ya think. Why just yesterday the Flowing Flagon next door was robbed. Wouldn't want that to happen to you now would we” The hawkish mans sneer turned to a beatific smile. “It’s that time of month Arfed, cant keep you safe without the ‘proper incentive’”
Kallith
Kallith nearly misses the gentle head shake (No) from the elf at the door as every one begins to rise.
Note
If you pick up an item or purchase anything, drop or use anything, please add or remove it from your character sheet as appropriate
Kallith doesn't even notice that something is off until the hawkish man starts speaking to the bartender and people start getting up. The firbolg was busy proclaiming "You're shitting me! I've heard that they like to make it complicated at the coast, but this is a whole different animal! If you're asking me - "
She quietens at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor and looks around to the bar. It was clear that Arfed was getting threatened by someone. What was this about?
The firbolg catches the eye of the elf by the door. She mouths "what?" back to the woman, making an exagerrated hand motion towards the two thugs at the bar. Were these people all in it together?
She leans over to Dornin with her eyebrows raised. "Lemme guess. Looks like taxes, but isn't?"
While her demeanor is outwardly calm, the hand not holding the cup of tea has reached up to her necklace, touching the flowers on it for reassurance. 'Iallanis, let this not end badly.' She tries to see if any of these people were armed [perception 10].
Saraphin sighs as the boy takes off. My words probably went into one ear and out of the other. At least I won't have the guilt of not trying on my conscience. She pulls her cloak about her, then turns and heads back to the minotaur.
"Hey big guy, anything interesting happen in the five seconds I was gone? Who am I kidding, nothing interesting ever happens here. I should probably find a job soon, I don't want rent to eat into my savings."
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“I will take responsibility for what I have done. [...] If must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” ― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer.
“Well, a small group of individuals just entered the bar, and things are now quiet inside the Pony. Can’t you hear the lack of talking inside? That dwarf and elf in the doorway were part of the group.” Octo replies to Saraphin, shrugging. “Oh, there is some skinny man in the alley across the way who doesn’t want to be seen.”
“Also, you’re right, this town is boring.”
“...haven’t had a good fight since I left home…”he mumbles to himself.
“Nice of you to help that boy though.” he says to the elf, then mumbles a bit more to himself “… though if the kid got hurt, I probably could have beat up the horse at least…”
Chandle catches up with the bouncer, “Hey big guy, your boss around? Looks like he could use a new glass pane or two. He’s in luck, I’m the best.” She thinks to herself, the Flowing Flagon could use a stained glass image…
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Wise as a serpent and sly as a fox.
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Over The Hills And Far Away
Abiershire (Abba-sheer) is a small fortified town on the North side of the river Neverwinter. The warmth of the waters throughout the year allow for fertile fields, flooded every spring by the winter runoff. It sits on a rise overlooking a small river harbor and the only bridge across (Outside of the city) for miles beyond.
The ever presence of the Wintershields keeps order, but cares less for law, unless it suits them to do so. With less than 500 permanent residents the numbers can swell to 3 or 4 times that in the warmer months. Most of the population makes their living supplying, fixing, or otherwise enabling the trade in the summer. Inns, taverns, even brothels are found in abundance. A large warehouse district dominates the western bank and crafters such as carpenters and blacksmiths have set up shop around the town. The center of town is a bustling market with specialty shops to be found tucked into the streets around it.
Three buildings dominate the roof line, an administrative building resembling a small tower with bailey where the town council meet and the garrison of the Wintershields reside. The other two are churches that appear to be in competition for the grandest structures in town, The House of Coin dedicated to Waukeen and the Seat of the Triad.
Tarsakh 19, 1492 DR - Early Afternoon
A cold steel rain has fallen all week, drenching everything within minutes of being exposed. As the sun peeks from behind the softly scudding clouds a new life begins within the large town. The smell of refuse and sewage unfortunately was not washed away with the rains as chamber pots are dumped from windows and tossed into the street from open doorways. Your small group is huddled under the eaves of the Purple Pony, a respectable drinking establishment that caters more to the common folk than the travelers and merchants that have begun to swell the numbers. Unusual for this early in the trading season, few rooms remain for rent, merchants and travelers finding the gates to Neverwinter barred from their entry. The streets are bustling with activity, everybody getting in everybody else's way, jostling on their way elsewhere.
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Notes
Kallith, a firbolg druid out to make her own way in the world.
It's hard to miss the 6'' 4' tall woman, a gap-toothed smile flashing out from a blue-skinned face. Disheveled brown hair swept to one side, proudly showing off the rings on her long ears. She's typically clad in an old creaky leather armor, patched up just enough to serve the purpose, a wooden shield slung over her backpack. The amulet dangling around her neck depicts a garland of flowers, only one of them fashioned from bone, the rest freshly plucked and intervowen. Her staff is never far, elaborately carved from oak, the top eternally sprouting fresh leaves. Her body language is generous and so is the volume in which she speaks.
Kallith traveled here from from Hartsvale, miles upon miles to the northeast, saying goodbye to her large family. She's on a journey both to serve the giant goddess Iallanis and to complete her druids training. It is her belief that giant kin could eventually be united in peace. But in order to achieve this grand goal, she would first need to find a willing teacher.
The keen observer also can't help but notice how her gaze tends to linger on the large volcano close to Neverwinter. But this... it would have to wait.
For now, nothing beats a good cup of tea while enjoying the smell of petrichor, here in the Purple Pony.
Her name is Chandle, she's a brick house (dwarf) dressed in black and tan about four foot hundred fifty pounds a hundred years give or take a few. Blue eyes white gold hair rosey complexion, she packs marigold in her pockets because she likes the scent. Although she is a long way from her clan in the Anauroch, her skill at glasswork and stonework has earned her the respect of many builders and craftsmen in the local area. Chandle is a rogue, she is somewhat private and self conscious yet when working on a project she becomes boastful and braggadocios. Her past brings her sadness, she was arranged to be married against her wishes, as she had a secret love. The wedding and her lover however were both gone when she became with child, heartbroken disowned and given the name Slagdar as a dishonor, Chandle made arrangement with a beloved family member to raise her daughter Crystal in her absence. Chandle left her desert clan in search of a new life for herself and someday her daughter. Now far from her former home she really pushes her craftsmanship to ignore the pain and loss of her past...
Chandle is also a rogue skilled in the gestures of thieves cant, and exemplary in moving in silence and shadow. Chandle is not above petty theft to provide for herself or others less fortunate. Saraphin Talus-dötter and Chandle may have inadvertently discovered one another's proclivity for stealth and thieve's cant, becoming rivals colleagues maybe friends.
Wise as a serpent and sly as a fox.
Dornin, A Half-Elven Warlock.
Standing at just over 6' tall, Dornin can be seen mostly wearing brown and orange fitted robes that seem to be well-worn as there appears to be many small creases and tears near the ends and shoes that seem to have seen better days. His pale face is a kind and trustworthy one as it seems no matter what you say, he is there to comfort you. Brown shoulder-length hair is either tucked neatly behind his ears or tied into a small bun atop his head. His pack appears to have many scrolls, parchments and bottled liquids is shown to be haphazardly tossed about.
Around his waist, a wide belt is strapped snug with a small dagger sitting along his backside. The main feature, however, upon that belt on his hip a thick tome with coarse, black leather is pulled tight around mangled pages within. Two buckles hold the book in place along with a locked latch keeping the tome itself closed making it almost impossible for even the most skilled thieves to take it off his person.
Dornin is friendly and easy-going, willing to contribute what he has learned in to almost any conversation as he has learned so much in his research. However, when it comes to his book on his hip, he quickly changes subject.
He grew up in Phandalin, then headed north to Neverwinter in search of knowledge and soon found himself in Abieshire. With his sights on research and adventure, Dornin is excited to see what is next for him. (If wanting to read more backstory, its on my character sheet)
Though he has years of practice at hiding and stealth, growing up in the twisted caverns below ground, in a town as populated as Abiershire, the shadows aren’t dark enough or deep enough, to hide a 7-foot-tall creature with 1-foot-long horns, covered in brown hair. And that is after shaving off an entire foot of horn before leaving his homeland.
Octo is told he looks like a bull, though he has never actually seen one. It was a common comparison made by visitors to his homeland, located underneath The Sword Mountains, and a comparison he continues to hear above ground.
But so far, the town has been accepting of him. Folk go about their business, giving him a quick glance when they pass by, a bit taken back when he smiles at them. “You call that a smile? Bahaha! Scare the shell off a turtle with that smile!” he was told by a friendly old dwarf when he first arrived in town. What was that fellow’s name? Octo wonders.
He knew when he left the members of his tribe, to enter the world above, that he had a lot to learn about this place and the ways of its inhabitants. He seems to understand goblin kin more so than human, dwarf, and elf, but that is exactly why he is here. He is here to learn about this world, so that he can make his mark on it. Octo cannot return home to claim his birthright as captain of the guard, Protector of the Eight Gate, until he has accomplished this. Every one of his seven brothers, had to leave home and make their mark before returning, and now it is Octo's turn. Some of his brothers choose the path of enlightenment, some arcane knowledge, or even that of entertainment. Octo plans to make his mark with his strength and his rage.
Outside of battle, he is quite pleasant, what did those men having drinks call him, “a good sport!”
Octo needs to find others, with a like mind as his, willing to help him make his mark, and perhaps teach him a thing or two about the ways of those who live under the sun. Until then, he will try and stick to the shadows and watch, unconsciously scraping his great axe along his horns, whittling them to a point.
Seraphin, Half Elven Rogue.
Saraphin's mother abandoned her shortly after she was born under mysterious circumstances, leaving her father, Talus, to raise her in poverty. He had worked as a linguist and scholar in Waterdeep for most of his life, but his work started to dry up and he was unable to afford his rent. He took Saraphin and hit the road, travelling the sword coast from job to job. Due to an old injury from when he was young, he was unable to do any physical labor, so many nights he ended up washing dishes in small taverns to feed the pair of them. Many nights they went hungry. As soon as she was old enough, Saraphin joined him working odd jobs, and eventually they were able to afford to rent a small house in Waterdeep. Talus found some work as a tutor, but the income was barely enough to keep them afloat.
After a few years, he got sick. It was a treatable disease, but they hadn't the money to pay for the medicine. In desperation, Saraphin took to less savory methods of income. She started to hang around the taverns where rich merchants would drink late at night and cut their purses as they left. She quickly earned enough to help her father. Enthralled by the ease at which she could turn their fortunes, she did not stop when he recovered. Instead she took bigger and bigger risks, earning more and more each time and lying to her father about where the money was coming from. It was just a matter of time until she stole from the wrong person, and suddenly she was a wanted criminal. Not wanting to implicate her father she fled north, towards Neverwinter and a small town called Abiershire...
Standing at just over five and a half feet tall, and often dressed in well-worn travelling leathers, Seraphin is unassuming at first glance. Her often unkempt blond hair frames her small face and long ears, and her eyes are a dull purple, courtesy of her elfin heritage. Seraphin is a reclusive person, revealing almost nothing of her past to any of her companions. Her skills are varied, but if there was one thing she would claim to specialize in it would be subterfuge. Falsehoods are an art and Sera is the artist, she dons and sheds identities like a noblewoman trying on gowns. She only arrived in town a few weeks prior, and has mostly taken small jobs to pay her expenses. Chances are the first person she met was Octo, likely while drinking in a tavern.
“I will take responsibility for what I have done. [...] If must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” ― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer.
Standing under the eaves, water still dripping from the roof line you smell the wafting of fresh baked bread coming from the building next door. A young woman sweeps the crusted dirt out the door and over the boardwalk to the road below. Shattering of glass draws your attention the other way, shouts of anger erupt from the tavern next to the Purple Pony just before a man is tossed bodily into the street. The Bouncer a long limbed Bugbear yells "And stay out". Even though you are two blocks away, the sound of merchants hawking their wares in the market can be heard as a dull rumble.
A burly man and his assistant grunt under the weight of a corpse, dragging it from a home across the street and unceremoniously tossing it onto a heap of other bodies, their combined weight causing the cart to groan and creak. The larger of the two whips the half starved pony into motion as the younger slops a red paint X upon the door. A frequent sight these days of the plague ripping through town.
A young boy stands in the road, “Straight from the city, get the latest, Neverwinter nights, get it here” he yells to the passerby. Several people stop and purchase a copy, a load of rolled scrolls held in a quiver by his side. Noise of laughter and excited shouts erupt as a gaggle of youngsters chases through the road. The Broadsheet hawker is jostled, stumbling he falls. The jangle of bells as a horse and cart are headed straight for him.
Within the tavern a raised angry voice can be heard, high pitched, the Halfling that shoved his way past you not ten minutes before. It seems he has commanded the ear of the barkeep, "Can you believe this nonsense, My Granpoose dies, leaving me his 'Manor", he says the last word laced heavily with sarcasm and bile, "Damn thing is derelict, should 'av been torn down years ago. Now the city wants back taxes, I cant afford that', The barkeep grumbles a gentle sentiment as he tries to extract himself to no avail. "This here ledder says there are 'disturbances' around the house and I am to pay 10 moons a month for security, this is going to ruin me"
Across the road you catch the eye of a wiry human, not more than a teenager in size but his face says otherwise. Hair all akimbo and a patchy beard more like whiskers. As he spots you looking at him he ducks into the shadows of the alley behind him.
A young woman mounts the steps, a hammer and parchment in her hand, ducking into the tavern she yells, "Arfed, ok if I hang this" The barkeep hand waves his reply as she tacks a notice next to the door 'Halp neded, ofer nit gurd dudy', the poorly scrawled notice directs seekers to the Red Herring warehouse, one of many in the town.
It is said that if you stand on a street corner long enough the whole world will go by, What do you wish to do?
Dornin-
As a new arrival in Abiershire, it was hard to picture doing anything other than getting out of this storm. Luckily enough, a tavern by the name of the Purple Pony seemed the right place to be to hopefully dry off my robes and warm up with a nice hot tea. The bar room is packed, even the stools are taken. I look around to see a Firbolg sitting by herself at a table. How fascinating, I've never met one before! Spending a lot of time reading about Giant-kin, I know that seeing one out in busy populations and outside their kin is unlikely.
I approach the table, taking note of her kind smile and speak in Giant to the firbolg. "Good afternoon, my name is Dornin, I do not mean to intrude on your space but it appears that most of these tables are taken. Would you mind if sit here and rest my feet by your table? I promise I will not be a bother"
Though she tries to weave through the crowd and scoop the boy up and out of harms way…
Acrobatics 9 Athletics 8 she might be too late…
“Get outta the way! Someone grab that kid!” she looks around hoping to get someone’s attention.
Wise as a serpent and sly as a fox.
Octo finds it a bit difficult to stay awake. He is not use to water falling from the sky, rain they call it, and finds the monotony of the sound peaceful, a bit too peaceful perhaps, as he seems to keep nodding off. He shares a table with an elf maiden named Saraphin. She hasn’t shared much but seems comfortable with Octo, so he's comfortable with her. Together they sit, and watch.
As he starts to surrender to a nap, he wonders what a “Grandpoose” is. He is jostled awake by the sounds of a dwarf, yelling something about a boy. He grips Sparks, his great axe, feeling a bit anxious with the yelling and the hammering that just started, but he waits, still unsure of how to act in this town.
Saraphin stands at the corner of the building, the large minotaur sitting at the table next to her. Her arms are crossed and her face is blank as she observes the bustle, silently casing the area and drawing up a mental table of the daily routines of the merchants. She gives the Broadsheet hawker a cursory glance before moving on to more interesting sights. As he gets pushed into the road, she sighs and pushes off the wall with one foot. Weaving her way between the outdoor tables of the Purple Pony and ducking underneath plank of wood being carried by two burly men on the sidewalk, she reaches out and grabs at his collar, pulling him out of harms way.
"What in the hells are you doing?" She chides "Don't stand so close to the road. Not only is it dangerous, but no-one will stop to buy anything. Pick a bakery or teahouse and stand near the exit. People will have change on hand on their way out, and you won't get squished by traffic."
(Acrobatics just in case it's required, will edit my post if I fail: 18)
(OOC: Edited the post to add context, seems to have added the manipulated tag even though the roll is the same. I forgot how awful the forum dice roller is, I'll use the character sheet one from here on out if that's alright :P)
“I will take responsibility for what I have done. [...] If must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” ― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer.
Kallith is absorbed in her tea and the smells, good and bad, of the town around her. Very busy place, this! Because of her seating position, she does not see the broadsheet hawker getting into trouble.
When a half-elf steps up to her table and asks for a seat, she needs a moment to register the address, then smiles broadly, moving some amount of her own sprawled legs out from under the table. She replies in the same language: "Sure Dornin! I'm Kallith." Noting the comment about the occupied tables, she continues "It feels like this Abiershire is getting overrun with people. What's that about? Do they all want to go to the big city? What's there to see?" The firbolg has always had trouble understanding the merchantile mindset and is imagining that there should be something more important that brings that many people to one place.
Hearing the scrape of metal with one hear, she turns to see the agitated minotaur. It seemed peaceful, but somewhat nervous. Shortly after, the minotaurs table companion rushes out in a flurry onto the street. She just saved a kid from a wagon! Kallith blinks, having her own troubles registering the events.
Her ears also pick up the complaining halfling at the bar counter. Seems like he could use some help, although she wasn't very sure about what. She turns to Dornin and asks: "See that halfling? Do you know what 'taxes' are? And what do they have to do with moons?"
Chandle steps up to the boy, “I’ll take a Neverwinter Night. You should listen to Saraphin, youngling, she is right of course, less rowdy crowd too. Oh the sound of broken glass, I’ve gotta check that out excuse me.”
She grabs a newsletter hands over a copper and hustles over to the neighboring tavern to see about fixing or replacing the damage…
On her way she’ll browse the paper she purchased.
Wise as a serpent and sly as a fox.
The driver of the cart tries to settle the horse. "Stay out of the road you cursed twits" with a yank on the reins he pushes you out of the way.
"Thanks lady, I owe you, I got nothin to give really but always keep my ear.to the street. Names Petyr, I'm usually around here, or over at the orphanage on river road."
*Moons are the silver piece denomination used in Neverwinter.
Dornin pulls out a pipe from his pocket and begins to pack the bowl lightly with fragrant herbs. He finds himself more invested in conversation rather than the commotion outside the bar as confrontation has never been his cup of tea. Before sparking his pipe, he replies to Kallith, “I’m unsure what the reason is for this rise in travelers, I heard some rumours about the gates to Neverwinter being closed but I’m not entirely sure.” After walking alone many days, Dornin feels the blood start to come back to his feet as the walk has done a number on him physically. He lights his pipe and takes a long draw before giving a comforting sigh of satisfaction. “ And taxes… well it’s complicated. A system that humans manufactured that involves people of power taking a percentage of what everyone earns in currency. This allows them to fund roads, housing and most importantly to them, their pockets full.” Dornin shifts some of his focus on the Minotaur and remembers going to libraries and reading about life in the Underdark. How neat to see such a creature above ground.
Chandle
looks over towards the Flowing Flagon watching a man pick himself up from the mud, he gestures angrily at the Bugbear, grumbles then heads toward the open door of the Purple Pony. Catching you looking at him "Whad you want, huh" thrusting out his bruised chin as he strides past.
Saraphin
After chiding the boy he says, "I said I owe ya and I meant it, thanks again lady", as he turns to dash away...
You notice a small knot of men and woman climb the steps to the bar, only two head in, two hang by the open doorway, while the fifth takes a couple strides away, watching the street.
Octo
Sitting at the table on the boardwalk outside Octo is startled to full wakefulness as the Half -elf woman, Saraphin, dashes into the road. A young child is pulled aside as the horse bucks, slamming its hooves just where he was laying. Quickly however things seem to settle back to 'normal' chaos.
Kallith, Dornin
The room quiets immediately as new patrons enter.
A small group of men and woman enter the Purple Pony Tavern, The female dwarf and an elf (Half-elf?) hang back at the entrance while the other two stride to the bar with a sneer on their faces. TA Human male with a pointed hawkish nose pulls a chair over with a long scraping sound while the heavy set Human stands just behind.
The previously angry Halfling slowly gets up from his chair at a look from the muscled man, he slowly backs into the corner close to you. The sound of scraping chairs as a half dozen patrons start to stand. The slowly sit again.
“Dangerous times Arfed, don't ya think. Why just yesterday the Flowing Flagon next door was robbed. Wouldn't want that to happen to you now would we” The hawkish mans sneer turned to a beatific smile. “It’s that time of month Arfed, cant keep you safe without the ‘proper incentive’”
Kallith
Kallith nearly misses the gentle head shake (No) from the elf at the door as every one begins to rise.
Note
If you pick up an item or purchase anything, drop or use anything, please add or remove it from your character sheet as appropriate
Kallith doesn't even notice that something is off until the hawkish man starts speaking to the bartender and people start getting up. The firbolg was busy proclaiming "You're shitting me! I've heard that they like to make it complicated at the coast, but this is a whole different animal! If you're asking me - "
She quietens at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor and looks around to the bar. It was clear that Arfed was getting threatened by someone. What was this about?
The firbolg catches the eye of the elf by the door. She mouths "what?" back to the woman, making an exagerrated hand motion towards the two thugs at the bar. Were these people all in it together?
She leans over to Dornin with her eyebrows raised. "Lemme guess. Looks like taxes, but isn't?"
While her demeanor is outwardly calm, the hand not holding the cup of tea has reached up to her necklace, touching the flowers on it for reassurance. 'Iallanis, let this not end badly.' She tries to see if any of these people were armed [perception 10].
Saraphin sighs as the boy takes off. My words probably went into one ear and out of the other. At least I won't have the guilt of not trying on my conscience. She pulls her cloak about her, then turns and heads back to the minotaur.
"Hey big guy, anything interesting happen in the five seconds I was gone? Who am I kidding, nothing interesting ever happens here. I should probably find a job soon, I don't want rent to eat into my savings."
“I will take responsibility for what I have done. [...] If must fall, I will rise each time a better man.” ― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer.
“Well, a small group of individuals just entered the bar, and things are now quiet inside the Pony. Can’t you hear the lack of talking inside? That dwarf and elf in the doorway were part of the group.” Octo replies to Saraphin, shrugging. “Oh, there is some skinny man in the alley across the way who doesn’t want to be seen.”
“Also, you’re right, this town is boring.”
“...haven’t had a good fight since I left home…” he mumbles to himself.
“Nice of you to help that boy though.” he says to the elf, then mumbles a bit more to himself “… though if the kid got hurt, I probably could have beat up the horse at least…”
Chandle catches up with the bouncer, “Hey big guy, your boss around? Looks like he could use a new glass pane or two. He’s in luck, I’m the best.”
She thinks to herself, the Flowing Flagon could use a stained glass image…
Wise as a serpent and sly as a fox.