Welcome to Waterdeep, once the City of Splendors, now the famed city destroyed by the acts of a particular dungeon underneath the city, and now regrowing at an alarming rate.
You are currently in a tavern, the most famous tavern in the Forgotten Realms in the current year, owned by an adventurer that got riches and fame from adventuring into Undermountain, but, this is not the Yawning Portal. Durnan is nowhere to be seen. News of the Immortal Durnan's death spread across the Sword Coast just 3 years ago, after the Battle of Undermountain destroyed most of the city. The new tavern taking the place of the Yawning Portal is new tavern positioned on Trollskull Alley, now known as "Turtle Peak".
The renowned tavern drew you in, it intrigued you. Some of you may have visited Waterdeep and the Yawning Portal before the tavern was destroyed and Durnan slain, but now none of the tavern remain, not even the Well in the ground that took brave adventurers into Undermountain.
The bartender is a pale bald elf, handsome, yet strange, alluring, yet strangely old. He wears vibrant colors, normal Waterdhavian garb, but with a bright yellow blouse, and deep black trousers, and a pure-white vest covering most of the blouse, except the mid-portion if the torso, and the long draping sleeves. You have heard others speak of this character before, his name is Erdan, former member of the famed adventuring party that delved into Undermountain, now retired, and the proprietor of the tavern.
Erdan stands behind a counter, the wall behind him has a swinging door to the kitchen, which is the source of wonderfully delicious smells. Above the door is a hung beautiful elven longbow, crafted out of the finest white wood, with a golden string, and green quiver below it. Around the bar that Erdan is standing behind are many bar-stools, filled with people from all across Faerun. The people of the tavern are diverse, all seeking adventure, or rumors of adventure, or famous stories and tales of forgotten empires of the known realms.
Sitting on a bar-stool at the counter, casually talking to Erdan, who seldom speaks, and when he does so, he speaks slowly and not long. The turned figure talking to Erdan is a male human with a scruffy beard, sideburns, and a mustache barely able to be seen from the current angle. He has light brown hair, and is wearing a gray ascot cap on his head, and flamboyant clothes with many variations of colors, whites, browns, grays, and edges lined with golden-dyed threads. He's holding a book in his hand, and wearing leather boots that go up 3/4's of the way to his knees.
Where are your characters, what are you doing, and do you want to order anything?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Please check out my homebrew, I would appreciate feedback:
Sitting at a table in a corner, carving a block of wood, sits a tall, well-built, gray skinned, dark haired, and darker eyed half-elf. He’s wearing old fashioned, but well-cared for leather armor and has a heavily loaded pack along with a large cloth wrapped bundle on the ground next to him. A pair of well worn dagger hilts and a crafted leather pouch are at his waist and a metal bound staff leans against the table within easy reach. He picks at the remains of a meal and has half a tankard still in front of him.
A black dragonborn sits across the table from her traveling companion, a gnome she met on the road just a few days previously. She is consulting a leatherbound tome, pausing every now and then to scribble down something in a notebook. A shard of amethyst hangs from a chain around her neck, casting a deep purple glow over her black traveling cloak threaded with pale green symbols. Two bone daggers protrude from her pack.
The door to the tavern opens and an unlikely pair enters: a seven foot tall firbolg and a gnome that stands barely half his height. Being about average size for a forest gnome, the small fellow stands a few inches above three feet, sporting a trim, light physique. His shoulder length dirty blond hair is pulled back and tied with a piece of thin leather cord, and he keeps his beard trimmed to a nice sharp point. His skin is the color of wood, somewhere between the hues of oak and walnut, marked with deep smile lines at the corners of his face. His eyes, deep emerald green, sit below eyebrows that are just starting to become a bit bushy.
He wears simple clothing, loose fitting trousers and a short sleeve shirt beneath an open robe the color of mustard, or autumn hay. At his waist, he wears a wide muted blue sash, which can double as a scarf in colder weather; his shoes are simple, unadorned leather. The only decorative ornaments he wears on his body are a necklace depicting a tree that’s been intricately carved into a small piece of exotic, figured wood and a wooden ring carved of similar material on his right pinky.
Walking with a wooden staff, the gnome moves with a light, soft step and quick movements as he steps into the inn. He surveys the crowed inside the tavern, and then turns to speak to his firbolg companion.
"Well, I'll be my own uncle Biffboddle, this place has changed quite a bit since I last visited many moons ago. The whole city has changed," he says with a heavy tone. "I was tucked away from the rest of the world for so long, and now it has become a much different place from when I saw it last."
Then, spotting the gnome sitting with the dragonborn, he gets an excited stir in his voice again. "Look, another gnome, and one of those dragon people folk! Come, Ramath, let us go sit by them and see if we can flag down the barmaid. I'm parched, and a few ales would suit me well right now."
A burly black dragonborn in tight clothing comes past the table to collect the empty glasses.
As he picks up the glasses, he attempts to make small talk with Hecate in common (seemingly ignoring that Hecate is trying to read) "Hello there traveler, I don't often get to see one of my own kind in here. As I always say, "a friendly face is always welcome." A copper piece for good service would also be welcome".
Hecate looks up from her book. "Well met, friend. It has been many tendays since I last met one of my own kind." She pulls out a silver piece from her belt pouch and lays it on the table. "I am sure one in a profession such as yours hears many rumors."
The tall firbolg looks down at his companion, watching him enter the tavern. He leans down to go through the doorway. The firbolg, known to his friend as Ramath, is a little over 7ft tall. At the top of his figure is long and unkempt light red hair, at the edge of which is this fleshy pink skin that looks tough enough to be leather. His eyes are soft and green, calming anyone who is intimidated by his size. His jawline is completely covered by a red bushy beard. Ramath’s clothes are worn, as if he has used them for much longer than he should have. With the amount of dirt he’s wearing, one might think he washes his clothes in mud. In appearance and in personality, the gnome and the firbolg could not be more different.
He quietly follows his friend, trying hard to not bump into tables.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
The dragonborn with a flick of the wrist pockets the silver and responds "for generosity like that, I am happy to share all the rumors that I know" and rattles off a number of low level rumours he has heard (LeviRocks - is there anything that Fen would have overheard that was useful - I'll post a roll below). He then indicates "If you are looking for something more juicy, I will have to send over Nef, she is much more of a gossip than I am" and he disappears out the back of the tavern.
A busty half-elf in baggy clothing then appears and starts wiping down the table, and addresses the entire table "My dragonborn friend tells me you are seeking rumors and are very generous with your coin and has sent me over. Between you lot and me, I overheard...." and shares the most useful rumors that I know.
Levirocks - My passive perception is 15 and I have a +5 perception, if there were conversations you think I tried to listen in on (included in the following Perception dice roll):
Hecate is particularly interested in ghost stories and other rumors relating to the undead. Those who happen to glance at the book she is reading can see that it is a book of necromancy.
Carlin stands on her chair, her tinker's tools laid out in front of her, occasionally picking one up or setting one down, a red ruby in front of her that she's working on glowing strangely with runes as she messes with it. She doesn't seem to notice the dragonborn conversing with Hecate.
The half-elf subtley checks out the ruby from the corner of her eye whilst not missing a beat in dishing up the information she has overheard to the table "and when I say that he was "indisposed of", of course what I mean is that he was..."
After leading his much larger firbog companion over to the table where the dragonborn is siting with the other elf, the small blonde haired forest gnome takes a seat next to his friend, also choosing to stand on his chair. He looks keenly across at what she's doing with her tinker tools and the bright red gem. After a couple minutes of observing while stroking his small beard, he says to her,
Carlin looks up, startled, "Oh... um, crap," Carlin drops her tools as she hastily writes down where she left off in exact detail. "Ya, I found it, still trying to figure out how it works."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Finishing up his meal, Ventheris notices the odd grouping gathering at another table and observes the group with curiosity while he finishes up his carving.
"How it works..." the gnome responds. "Didn't know that there was anything in rubies that makes 'em work. I thought they were just for looksies. What's it supposed to do?"
"My initial observations," Carlin says, moving her tools back to their places in her kit. "Say that it can be used to focus spell energy even if you don't have a traditional spellcasting focus or basic components in your hand. Could be useful for someone who carries heavy weaponry and needs to cast a spell in the middle of combat."
Stepping inside with a slow and measured stride, a tall bean pole of a Dijon yellow figure enters the tavern. Standing just shy of 7' tall and given that size almost seeming malnourished especially with his gaunt slightly sunken eyes and stern expression, the Githzerai surveys the room slowly. Remembering some of the tips he had picked up in his short time on the plane, Rinzak stepped aside to see himself in the window, running a hand over his bald head to make sure it had not yet prickly. With a satisfied nod and smile he stood up, stroking the Fu Manchu mustache/beard combo which adorned his face, hanging perfectly groomed and even with the collar of his blue robes.
One figure in particular almost immediately caught his attention. Due in no small part to a bit of an obsession of his, Rinzak made his way towards the seated Firbolg, giving a slight nod of his head "Greetings. You are what is called a....Fur-bulge yes? I have read of your people and seen pictures. If it would not be a bother could you stand for a moment?" His accent is a bit thick, and the way he enunciates his words makes it rather obvious Common is not his first language, nor possibly even his second. As if an afterthought, after asking the question an awkward, obviously forced, fake warm smile appeared on the figure's face.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Well met, adventurers!
Welcome to Waterdeep, once the City of Splendors, now the famed city destroyed by the acts of a particular dungeon underneath the city, and now regrowing at an alarming rate.
You are currently in a tavern, the most famous tavern in the Forgotten Realms in the current year, owned by an adventurer that got riches and fame from adventuring into Undermountain, but, this is not the Yawning Portal. Durnan is nowhere to be seen. News of the Immortal Durnan's death spread across the Sword Coast just 3 years ago, after the Battle of Undermountain destroyed most of the city. The new tavern taking the place of the Yawning Portal is new tavern positioned on Trollskull Alley, now known as "Turtle Peak".
The renowned tavern drew you in, it intrigued you. Some of you may have visited Waterdeep and the Yawning Portal before the tavern was destroyed and Durnan slain, but now none of the tavern remain, not even the Well in the ground that took brave adventurers into Undermountain.
The bartender is a pale bald elf, handsome, yet strange, alluring, yet strangely old. He wears vibrant colors, normal Waterdhavian garb, but with a bright yellow blouse, and deep black trousers, and a pure-white vest covering most of the blouse, except the mid-portion if the torso, and the long draping sleeves. You have heard others speak of this character before, his name is Erdan, former member of the famed adventuring party that delved into Undermountain, now retired, and the proprietor of the tavern.
Erdan stands behind a counter, the wall behind him has a swinging door to the kitchen, which is the source of wonderfully delicious smells. Above the door is a hung beautiful elven longbow, crafted out of the finest white wood, with a golden string, and green quiver below it. Around the bar that Erdan is standing behind are many bar-stools, filled with people from all across Faerun. The people of the tavern are diverse, all seeking adventure, or rumors of adventure, or famous stories and tales of forgotten empires of the known realms.
Sitting on a bar-stool at the counter, casually talking to Erdan, who seldom speaks, and when he does so, he speaks slowly and not long. The turned figure talking to Erdan is a male human with a scruffy beard, sideburns, and a mustache barely able to be seen from the current angle. He has light brown hair, and is wearing a gray ascot cap on his head, and flamboyant clothes with many variations of colors, whites, browns, grays, and edges lined with golden-dyed threads. He's holding a book in his hand, and wearing leather boots that go up 3/4's of the way to his knees.
Where are your characters, what are you doing, and do you want to order anything?
Please check out my homebrew, I would appreciate feedback:
Spells, Monsters, Subclasses, Races, Arcknight Class, Occultist Class, World, Enigmatic Esoterica forms
Sitting at a table in a corner, carving a block of wood, sits a tall, well-built, gray skinned, dark haired, and darker eyed half-elf. He’s wearing old fashioned, but well-cared for leather armor and has a heavily loaded pack along with a large cloth wrapped bundle on the ground next to him. A pair of well worn dagger hilts and a crafted leather pouch are at his waist and a metal bound staff leans against the table within easy reach. He picks at the remains of a meal and has half a tankard still in front of him.
A black dragonborn sits across the table from her traveling companion, a gnome she met on the road just a few days previously. She is consulting a leatherbound tome, pausing every now and then to scribble down something in a notebook. A shard of amethyst hangs from a chain around her neck, casting a deep purple glow over her black traveling cloak threaded with pale green symbols. Two bone daggers protrude from her pack.
The door to the tavern opens and an unlikely pair enters: a seven foot tall firbolg and a gnome that stands barely half his height. Being about average size for a forest gnome, the small fellow stands a few inches above three feet, sporting a trim, light physique. His shoulder length dirty blond hair is pulled back and tied with a piece of thin leather cord, and he keeps his beard trimmed to a nice sharp point. His skin is the color of wood, somewhere between the hues of oak and walnut, marked with deep smile lines at the corners of his face. His eyes, deep emerald green, sit below eyebrows that are just starting to become a bit bushy.
He wears simple clothing, loose fitting trousers and a short sleeve shirt beneath an open robe the color of mustard, or autumn hay. At his waist, he wears a wide muted blue sash, which can double as a scarf in colder weather; his shoes are simple, unadorned leather. The only decorative ornaments he wears on his body are a necklace depicting a tree that’s been intricately carved into a small piece of exotic, figured wood and a wooden ring carved of similar material on his right pinky.
Walking with a wooden staff, the gnome moves with a light, soft step and quick movements as he steps into the inn. He surveys the crowed inside the tavern, and then turns to speak to his firbolg companion.
"Well, I'll be my own uncle Biffboddle, this place has changed quite a bit since I last visited many moons ago. The whole city has changed," he says with a heavy tone. "I was tucked away from the rest of the world for so long, and now it has become a much different place from when I saw it last."
Then, spotting the gnome sitting with the dragonborn, he gets an excited stir in his voice again. "Look, another gnome, and one of those dragon people folk! Come, Ramath, let us go sit by them and see if we can flag down the barmaid. I'm parched, and a few ales would suit me well right now."
A burly black dragonborn in tight clothing comes past the table to collect the empty glasses.
As he picks up the glasses, he attempts to make small talk with Hecate in common (seemingly ignoring that Hecate is trying to read) "Hello there traveler, I don't often get to see one of my own kind in here. As I always say, "a friendly face is always welcome." A copper piece for good service would also be welcome".
Hecate looks up from her book. "Well met, friend. It has been many tendays since I last met one of my own kind." She pulls out a silver piece from her belt pouch and lays it on the table. "I am sure one in a profession such as yours hears many rumors."
The tall firbolg looks down at his companion, watching him enter the tavern. He leans down to go through the doorway. The firbolg, known to his friend as Ramath, is a little over 7ft tall. At the top of his figure is long and unkempt light red hair, at the edge of which is this fleshy pink skin that looks tough enough to be leather. His eyes are soft and green, calming anyone who is intimidated by his size. His jawline is completely covered by a red bushy beard. Ramath’s clothes are worn, as if he has used them for much longer than he should have. With the amount of dirt he’s wearing, one might think he washes his clothes in mud. In appearance and in personality, the gnome and the firbolg could not be more different.
He quietly follows his friend, trying hard to not bump into tables.
The dragonborn with a flick of the wrist pockets the silver and responds "for generosity like that, I am happy to share all the rumors that I know" and rattles off a number of low level rumours he has heard (LeviRocks - is there anything that Fen would have overheard that was useful - I'll post a roll below). He then indicates "If you are looking for something more juicy, I will have to send over Nef, she is much more of a gossip than I am" and he disappears out the back of the tavern.
A busty half-elf in baggy clothing then appears and starts wiping down the table, and addresses the entire table "My dragonborn friend tells me you are seeking rumors and are very generous with your coin and has sent me over. Between you lot and me, I overheard...." and shares the most useful rumors that I know.
Levirocks - My passive perception is 15 and I have a +5 perception, if there were conversations you think I tried to listen in on (included in the following Perception dice roll):
14
Hecate is particularly interested in ghost stories and other rumors relating to the undead. Those who happen to glance at the book she is reading can see that it is a book of necromancy.
Carlin stands on her chair, her tinker's tools laid out in front of her, occasionally picking one up or setting one down, a red ruby in front of her that she's working on glowing strangely with runes as she messes with it. She doesn't seem to notice the dragonborn conversing with Hecate.
Elra Skylash - Human Cleric | Vanzaren Tanidoni - Half Elf Wizard
Mindartis Liadon - Eladrin Barbarian | Naivara Siannodel - Half Elf Ranger
Arrila Evenwood - Half Elf Paladin | Callaphe of Setessa - Human Rogue
Katernin Nemetsk - Aasimar Cleric | Melody - Tiefling Bard
The half-elf subtley checks out the ruby from the corner of her eye whilst not missing a beat in dishing up the information she has overheard to the table "and when I say that he was "indisposed of", of course what I mean is that he was..."
The large firbolg awkwardly tries to fit in a seat before giving up and sitting on his knees.
After leading his much larger firbog companion over to the table where the dragonborn is siting with the other elf, the small blonde haired forest gnome takes a seat next to his friend, also choosing to stand on his chair. He looks keenly across at what she's doing with her tinker tools and the bright red gem. After a couple minutes of observing while stroking his small beard, he says to her,
"Now that's a right pretty ruby, m'lady!"
Carlin looks up, startled, "Oh... um, crap," Carlin drops her tools as she hastily writes down where she left off in exact detail. "Ya, I found it, still trying to figure out how it works."
Elra Skylash - Human Cleric | Vanzaren Tanidoni - Half Elf Wizard
Mindartis Liadon - Eladrin Barbarian | Naivara Siannodel - Half Elf Ranger
Arrila Evenwood - Half Elf Paladin | Callaphe of Setessa - Human Rogue
Katernin Nemetsk - Aasimar Cleric | Melody - Tiefling Bard
Finishing up his meal, Ventheris notices the odd grouping gathering at another table and observes the group with curiosity while he finishes up his carving.
Perception: 16
"How it works..." the gnome responds. "Didn't know that there was anything in rubies that makes 'em work. I thought they were just for looksies. What's it supposed to do?"
"My initial observations," Carlin says, moving her tools back to their places in her kit. "Say that it can be used to focus spell energy even if you don't have a traditional spellcasting focus or basic components in your hand. Could be useful for someone who carries heavy weaponry and needs to cast a spell in the middle of combat."
Elra Skylash - Human Cleric | Vanzaren Tanidoni - Half Elf Wizard
Mindartis Liadon - Eladrin Barbarian | Naivara Siannodel - Half Elf Ranger
Arrila Evenwood - Half Elf Paladin | Callaphe of Setessa - Human Rogue
Katernin Nemetsk - Aasimar Cleric | Melody - Tiefling Bard
Ramath slowly turns his head to the red gem as Zook points it out. His calm green eyes seem to start pulsating as his vision is enhanced.
Looking at the gem with Detect Magic, but any magical item within 30ft would be affected as well
(I’m assuming Ventheris is within 30 feet.)
You would see the cloth wrapped bundle by his chair glowing with magic.
Stepping inside with a slow and measured stride, a tall bean pole of a Dijon yellow figure enters the tavern. Standing just shy of 7' tall and given that size almost seeming malnourished especially with his gaunt slightly sunken eyes and stern expression, the Githzerai surveys the room slowly. Remembering some of the tips he had picked up in his short time on the plane, Rinzak stepped aside to see himself in the window, running a hand over his bald head to make sure it had not yet prickly. With a satisfied nod and smile he stood up, stroking the Fu Manchu mustache/beard combo which adorned his face, hanging perfectly groomed and even with the collar of his blue robes.
One figure in particular almost immediately caught his attention. Due in no small part to a bit of an obsession of his, Rinzak made his way towards the seated Firbolg, giving a slight nod of his head "Greetings. You are what is called a....Fur-bulge yes? I have read of your people and seen pictures. If it would not be a bother could you stand for a moment?" His accent is a bit thick, and the way he enunciates his words makes it rather obvious Common is not his first language, nor possibly even his second. As if an afterthought, after asking the question an awkward, obviously forced, fake warm smile appeared on the figure's face.