You’ve recently been hired and assigned to patrol the city of together. Neverwinter is a city divided — quite literally. Part of the metropolis is magnificent, with breathtaking architecture, marvelous spires, and opulent decorations. And amid that beauty is a terrible scar caused by the eruption of Mount Hotenow years before. Citizens are still rebuilding from that disaster, largely thanks to the extra taxes Lord Neverember levies against the wealthy. The city’s poorer residents benefit from the rebuilding work and live in hope that the artisans and builders in the City of Skilled Hands can turn their home into the Jewel of the North once again.
The first few days of the patrol pass quietly – breaking up the occasional hot-headed argument or drunken brawl. Nothing your group of experienced adventurers can’t handle. One morning, though, you get a note from the Taskmaster – at least, that’s what everybody calls Deon Asharrow, Lord Neverember’s head of militia.
“I need you to do a little extra work for me. It shouldn’t be too taxing. I have a contact in Neverwinter who’s secured a cache of treasure. Her name is Oppal DeScart, and you can usually find her in a tavern in the Bluelake District known as the Stable Quiver. She’s a shapeshifter, so I can’t say for sure what she’ll look like when you locate her. You can suss her out with the passphrase “That’s a big hen house,” and she should reply with “Only to a small fox.” When you locate her, tell her that it’s safe to “Move the cargo along the Platinum Road.” And that’s it. - Asharrow”
The Stable Quiver is a nondescript, well-built tavern in the Bluelake District, an area that covers the northwest part of the city. The tavern boasts a mixed clientele of lesser nobles, artisans, middle-class merchants, and skilled laborers. It’s a perfect meeting place for citizens engaged in activities they wish to keep out of the public eye. The low-life element normally eschews the place, except in cases where they meet with the tavern’s regular patrons — who are no less criminal in many cases.
"Finally, a tavern!" Mulligan declares upon the note being read. "A chance to sit! To drink!"
"To maybe make a little coin," he adds under his breath...
Mulligan McGuffin is tall for a halfling, but that's not much to brag about, and rather sociable. In the short time he has known the others in the group he has readily shared his own story and inquired about everyone else's. How true his own story is a matter of some speculation as it was definitely sprinkled with tall tales and exaggerated details but the short one made no effort to hide his colorful history - be it cheating at cards or scamming the well to do out of a little coin. He is most definitely a character and not afraid to let it be known. The more perceptive may have noticed that the only one Mulligan hasn't "chatted up" is Hollis Darellion. Hollis was greeted with a curt "Half-Deck" and a bit of a nod when introduced and few words have passed between the two since. There doesn't seem to be any outright hostility between the two but there is something...
"The Stable Quiver is nice enough," Mulligan assures. "A little something for everyone but not perfect for anyone, perhaps. A good place to meet and then move on to better, if you ask me..."
Mulligan is handsome, perhaps even dashing in his way, and could definitely be a charmer when he put the effort in. He has unruly brown hair that perhaps takes tame to get correctly unruly and he wears the garb of an adventurer - studded leather armor that seems comfortably worn in - but wears no visible weapons. "Someone draws on me I'll just steal their blade and draw it right back on them," he assures if asked about the lack.
"Oh! I think we turn here," Mulligan says, pausing and looking around at the buildings at the intersection. "A left I believe... No, no. The other left. Yes, that's it... Down that way a ways, I believe." Soon enough the Halfling is trotting to catch up to the party, a little jog to keep from falling behind as he is wont to do. Damn little legs and all...
Zyl huffed a little before pushing back a stray hair. "Whaddya mean a tavern finally? We had some good honest work, and you wanna lounge around a tavern? I dunno, seems like kind of a silly job for us really. I mean does it really take all of us to deliver one little message? I mean they aren't all the most savory kind there but come on, walk in, deliver the message, walk out. I don't think that takes a whole group of people. Right?"
Zyl was quite small too, barely reaching 3 feet, but while she was small, she was cute AND brawny, best of both! Not only that, but she had pristine gossamer wings which honestly really helped getting things off the higher shelves. Or getting in someone's actual face before clobbering them. Not that that ever happened of course. Well, maybe once or twice...Unless she got -really- angry, that's when things got more...even.
But she managed well enough with the group, as nothing too serious had been going on yet. She didn't wear much in the way of armor, just some simple leathers, boots and bracers and all. Easy attire to move around and perform in when that happened. She did however, carry around a greataxe which she managed to wield with surprising ease.
"Oh it can't be -that- hard to find! I've been around this city long enough to know that most places aren't hard to spot if you just keep your eyes open." She smirked at the halfling before rolling her eyes. Well at least he's easy on the eyes she thought to herself and fluttered off with everyone else.
"We're on the job, Mr. McGuffin," says Vesta. "We ought not to imbibe." The half-elven woman shakes her head at the boisterous halfling. Her expression is torn between disapproval and amusement.
Vesta Trevelyan would seem to be an ordinary, although attractive, half-elven woman if not for the glittering, golden scales that mark her cheeks, neck, and upper shoulders. They complement well her long, wavy red hair and green eyes. The sorcerer often coordinates her outfits to best show off the scales, for she knows they can be alluring, which is helpful in her profession. On this patrol she is wearing a green bodice, tightly laced, and soft, brown leather pants, tucked into doeskin boots. Belted to her waist is a nondescript pouch and a plain, unadorned dagger. She carries no other weapons. As her new traveling companions have come to learn, she needs no weapons but her own inner power, inherited from the blood of dragons at some point in her lineage, although the power is not expressed in every generation it seems.
"Hmm, the Stable Quiver. I've only been here the one time," remarks Vesta. "I wonder what sort of treasure this Oppal has secured for the Taskmaster. This seems like an odd little job."
Vesta had learned not to take things at face value. She always asked questions, too many questions some would say, poking her nose into places where it wasn't always welcome. For whatever reason, this job from the Taskmaster had her a little suspicious. Why did Lord Neverember's head of militia need treasure? Did Lord Neverember know about this job? The sorcerer was on alert as they entered the tavern.
Dara walks alongside the group, moving with a quiet grace that he’s used to in the wilderness. Standing around six feet tall, his slender but toned frame is accentuated by his flowing silver hair, cascading past his shoulders in soft waves, interspersed with a few carefully woven thin braids and muted green and blue tinsels that complement his grey eyes.
“A shapeshifter,” he murmurs, his voice clear and smooth like water, interested. “What would a life like that be? You could be anyone you wanted.”
A wolf tooth earring dangles from one ear as he walks. An eclectic mix of necklaces hang around his neck, made from coral, feathers, shells, and ox bones - though they all seem quite worn, whether from age or from the sun. Among them is an amulet of Eldath, that might be easily lost in the bunch though somehow always shines through. A sheepskin wrap drapes over his shoulder, underneath it a silvery breastplate. At his waist, a sickle hangs, its jagged edges stained with grass and dirt, that looks more like a tool rather than a weapon.
Over the past few days, Dara has been getting to know the group while working for Lord Neverember, adjusting to the rhythms of city life. He finds it curious that their group is made up with such diverse individuals. For instance, he’s never encountered a fairy or seen a girl with dragon scales before. With the talkative halfling chatting up about his tales and adventures whenever he’s got a chance, Dara had to confess regrettably he’s never played cards before - not the kinds they play in the city anyway - and he wonders what’s so exciting about a tavern. He follows the others, not knowing the Stable Quiver’s location, but the large quiver hanging over the door is indicative enough as they enter the tavern.
If Hollis is amused — or even interested — in his colleagues’ banter, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he simply walks alongside seemingly pre-occupied with his own thoughts. The grey-haired, middle-aged half-drow keeps his eyes roving, occasionally furrowing his brow as he mutters under his breath like an actor rehearsing his lines, “Hen house . . . Small fox . . . Platinum Road . . .”
Although Hollis is no youngster, he moves with graceful balance and quiet confidence. He wears a somewhat bulky black leather longcoat, which conceals from sight his substantial armor and a mismatched pair of blades. A keen eye could probably surmise the weapons’ presence if looking closely enough, but Hollis counts on his ability to blend discreetly into the busy background of the city to prevent such unwanted attention.
Hollis has been to the Stable Quiver more times than he can count, though never to meet up with a shapeshifter. The idea that their contact could look like almost anyone has him on edge. And this fact, more than anything, has him scanning the faces of everyone they pass. Something about this job doesn’t smell right. He slows his pace until he falls behind the others — not far behind, but enough so that when they reach the tavern he’ll be the last one through the door.
- - -
Part of Hollis’ discomfort stems from his companions themselves. They’re all fine folk, that’s not his concern. It’s the fact that they’ve not been working together quite long enough to have developed any well-established roles or divisions of labor. It is a paradox of Hollis’s personality that he likes to think strategically, even though he frequently forgets — or ignores — agreed-upon plans in favor of trusting his own unique luck and ability to improvise. Still, the unresolved tension bothers him.
As they walk together, Hollis can’t seem to help but run through various considerations in his mind.
Mulligan? Too much of a wild card. No doubt the halfling is quite capable and talented, but a bit too frivolous to inspire confidence.
Zyl? Obviously, a giant (pun intended) asset in a fight — and even better, few would expect it, given her size, her cutesy demeanor and gossamer wings. But this job isn’t a stand-up fight . . . Yet. Probably best not for her to take the lead.
Vesta? Speaking of taking the lead, the half-elf sorceress seems like perhaps the best candidate — especially here among the more upstanding clientele of the Stable Quiver. She seems like she’d fit right in.
Dara? Filled with promising potential, but a bit too much of a foreigner for Hollis’ taste. The novelty of an outsider’s perspective might prove useful, but risks raising suspicions, especially this deep into the heart of the city
Hollis, of course, does not rule out his own ability to take charge and call the shots. He’s comfortable in that role, but at this early juncture in their tenure together, he prefers to observe from a distance first — assess the situation and step in when his particular skills are most warranted. Let the fresh legs take the first turn on the dance floor, he muses.
As the lunch hour is near, the Stable Quiver is nearly full. Every table has guests, and only a few seats at the bar are open. You estimate there are about 50 other people in the large room - 25 males, 15 females, and 10 who, honestly, could be either! For those who frequent this establishment, you see the barkeep, Squid (so-called by the locals because of a squid-shaped birthmark on his face), and his serving crew - his children of about 10 and 12 and a third young lady in her early 20's - working to keep up with orders.
And then there was her. Sprinkled in kind of like an after thought with this group of more refined individuals. A Snow White fox with big wide green eyes pads behind the group as if trying not to be forgotten, or stepped on. There were so many sights, sounds, and smells in the city, she couldn’t help but get distracted. Nose down, bum up, big fluffy tail at attention, she veers away from the group from time to time, sniffing out new to her smells, sticking her nose places she maybe shouldn’t. Soft prrt sounds would escape her when something would catch her attention, make her happy, or if someone actually looked at her. The most constant sound though, was her incessant huffing, with the occasional sneeze when she’s get something up in her nose that tickles it. Any time she got a bit carried away and ‘her people’ got ahead, she’d scurry trot to catch up. It was always easier to catch up to Mulligan, especially from the lower vantage point of her form.
Celeste wore her shifted forms like a security blanket, more specifically her arctic fox form. It felt easier for her to mask herself as someone’s familiar than it was to actually be herself. Belonging and fitting in were hard, especially when everyone else seems to have it all together. So, much like a fly on the wall, she’d quietly observe and listen to the others intently while trying to keep her presence small.
’That’s a big hen house. Only to a small fox.’ Ears twitch and perk each time she may overhear Hollis mutter the secret phrase they were given for their contact. It had to have been a coincidence. All the farmer hen houses she’s been in have been pretty small, even for this petite fox. She wondered if the tavern they were going too was big and belonged to big birdie people. Those folks were rare! At least for her to have run into. They were going to meet with a shape shifter after all! Maybe someone she can connect with…
Prrt. Trotting with some pep in her step, Celeste slinks through the tavern doorway before it closes shut behind the group. Green eyes look up at the others to see if they’ll be taking a seat. Sniff sniff. Huff huff. Her nose up in the air, the little fox is sifting through all the scents, separating those of her companions from all the new ones in this room. Weaving through a pair of her companions legs, she slinks off out of habit to go sniffing around. She tries to see if she can locate their contact.
Celeste is a strange one, Mulligan thinks. Specially when not all white and furry. He understood her better that way and enjoyed watching her go here and there and everywhere. And it was nice to not be the straggler... He sinks his fingertips into her soft fur when she allows, clicks his tongue and calls for her to catch up when need be... But has mostly avoided her when she's been in human form. For one thing, she was bigger than him in that form.
"C'mon Celeste!" Mulligan calls as he slips in the door. "And watch your tail..." But beyond that, Mulligan stopped focusing on the white fox and was lost in the hustle and bustle of the tavern. He paused just inside the door and took a deep breath and just let the sounds wash over him. He was home. So to speak. But what first? A drink? Some mingling? Look to see if there is a game going? Or some overly heavy coin purses asking for relief? Certainly not calling out the passphrase! Plenty of time for that!
Mulligan melts into the crowd and makes his was to the barkeep. "Squid!" he calls out as he climbs up onto a stool, planting his feet firmly. He adopts a familiarity he probably doesn't quite have with him yet but in his experience barkeeps can't remember everyone they know and they don't and it is always best to have them thinking your friends. "An ale, my good man! And point me to the liveliest corner, eh?"
His eyes scan the room for themselves looking for a game or for marks. And, to a lesser extent, tracking his teammates. He gives no thought at all as to finding their contact - A shapeshifter could be anyone so that was pointless. Besides, he was in no rush for this break from walking around and patrolling to be over.
Investigation to see if there's a card game going? 15 Insight to see if he can spot any wealthy or gullible targets? Nat 20 for 23
Zyl could feel the blood pumping in her as they approached and entered the tavern. Not too much, mind you, just enough to keep her loose since she was on a job this time and not just looking for...fun, we'll call it. She certainly wasn't going to try and keep an eye on their group's pickpocket, so long as he stayed away from her pockets. She didn't have many pockets but they were hers. But she didn't have time to worry about that now, though she had to restrain herself from simply yelling out the passphrase, lest either their contact try and skip out, or worse, draw too much unwanted attention. She really wanted to punch something though. Too much walking lately, not enough action. She decided though to make her to the children servers, since experience had taught her that children are often overlooked and unnoticed so perhaps they might know who they were looking for.
As soon as she can flutter near one of the children, perhaps while they are loading up a tray she'll go for a quick question, "Hiya! I'm Zyl!" Then whisper, "I'm here on a secret mission! I'm looking for someone! Think you can help me!?"
Perception if needed: ??
Persuasion if needed: 4. (Hey, she's having a bad day okay!? Give the girl a break. :D )
Celeste doesn't quite know who she is sniffing around for, so she gets a sense of the crowd overall but nothing useful yet.
Mulligan is pointed to a lively dice game between four large craftsmen and women at a table along one wall, complete with laughter and sarcastic encouragement for bad rolls. He also spies silvers trading hands as part of the friendly betting. The crowd is mostly middle-class and minor nobles - all wealthy when compared to the poorer, working-class taverns on the south side of the river, but certainly not what one would consider 'rich.'
Zyl flits to the youngest, a boy, and introduces herself. With a friendly smile and a conspirational whisper, she asks her question. (Make a Persuasion check - opposed by the boy's Insight: 18)
Mulligan watches the game from the sidelines for a while, assessing just which dice game they're playing, who is winning, who is losing and most importantly if there is a way to influence the game in his favor, if he joins. You really need to invest in some dice, he thinks to himself knowing that the best way to cheat at dice is to use your own which are "properly" weighted and shaved.
After watching for a bit and getting a feel for the game, Mulligan would look to slide in and join. He's down to his last 5 gold but if silver is what is at play he figures it should last him until he can get himself on a hot streak... "That's a big hen house!" he declares the first time he sees someone roll double sixes and look side-eyed around at the others at the game to see if there's a reaction. "Least that's what we call it down south where I'm from," he adds to cover it up if there is no bites. Hey, at least he can honestly say he was working!
As Dara steps inside the tavern, he's immediately enveloped by the cacophony of laughter, the bumping of tankards, and lively conversation. The warm, smoky air, filled with the scent of ale and roasted meat, is a stark contrast to the open land and sky he’s used to, where the wind carries the soft nickering and snorting of horses. He glances around, realizing how difficult it would be to find a shapeshifter in such a crowded place without knowing what form she might take.
“What do you think?” He asks his companions, his voice carrying the rhythmic cadence of the open plains. “Good idea to split up, blend in, and talk to people. See what we can uncover.”
Dara still wears his riding boots, the worn leather and scratches, though navigating the busy streets and narrow alleys makes riding on horseback impractical. He adjusts the sheepskin wrap on his shoulder, his grey eyes scanning the tavern, lingering briefly on each face, particularly to see if anyone is paying attention to them. He also looks for any seats at tables where people seem approachable, open to conversation.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Hollis steps through the door of the Stable Quiver, and makes a quick scan of the common room. He isn’t sure whether he’d be able to pick a shapeshifter out of the crowd just by looking. Maybe a spell might detect a magical aura around them? But he figures it’s probably unnecessary, at this point. Given the mystery of their contact’s identity, it seems reasonable to allow their contact to make the first move. Hollis certainly didn’t want to go around the room mentioning hen houses to each patron one by one . . .
With no empty tables, Hollis heads to one of the open seats at the bar. But he keeps some distance from Mulligan, considering it might be prudent not to advertise the fact that they’re all working together. “Eh, Squid,” Hollis says softly, taking a seat whilst giving the barkeep a familiar nod of his head. “I’m here to meet someone, but damned if I’m not quite sure who,” he says ruefully. “Any shifters or changelings in the house?”
As he asks, Hollis continues his survey of the room, looking for any signs of their contact in the postures, mannerisms, and other conscious and unconscious behaviors of the clientele.
Mulligan edges closer to the table with the friendly dice game, watching for a few rounds. It's a dice game commonly called 'Twenty-One', or '21 Guns' by sailors. It involves rolling 3 six-sided dice, then choosing to roll any number of additional six-sided dice (at once.) You add up all of the numbers rolled, and the person closest to 21 without going over wins. The group is betting 2 silvers to join (the first 3 dice), and you 'buy' additional die to roll for 1 silver each (you have to buy and roll them all at once.) Here's a round for an example:
Player 1: Rolls a 3, 2, & 5 for 10, then he 'buys' three additional rolls (3, 3 & 1) - Total 17. (cost 5 sp) Player 2: Rolls a 2, 5, & 3 for 10, then buys another four rolls (6, 2, 6, 6) and busts! (cost 6 sp) Player 3: Rolls a 2, 3 & 3 for 8, then buys another four rolls (2, 1, 4 & 6) - total 21!! (cost 6 sp) Player 4: Rolls a 5, 4 &5 for 14, then buys another 2 rolls (3 & 1) - total 18. (cost 4 sp)
Player 3 wins the pot (21 sp)
Hollis quietly asks the bartender, Squid, if he knows of any shifters or changelings. Squid responds, "Sorry, mister. How would I know a shapeshifter if they look like whatever they shift into?"(Since you succeeded on a DC13 Insight check, read the spoiler:)
You determine that Squid is clearly concealing something... do you push the issue? If so, write out what you say and make a Deception, Intimidation, or Persuasion check. Do you try some other means to get Squid talking? Or do you leave it alone and move on?
Mulligan of course jumps into the game when he gets a chance. In order to chat up the players and drop the passphrase, of course! It's all about the job, totally. He does his best to be charming and disarming and generally a likable fella... Even as he tries to win as much as he can.
I don't want to slow down the thread going round for round or anything so I'll just do a few of his rolls to get a general sense of how he does?
Game 1: 2+2+4 plus he buys 3 more dice: 6+6+6 - BUST lost 5 silver Game 2: 2+4+3 plus he buys 3 more dice: 5+4+4 - BUST lost 5 silver Game 3: 5+4+5 plus he buys 2 more dice: 1+6 - Total 21 spent 4 silver Game 4: 5+5+2 plus he buys 2 more dice: 1+1 - Total 14 spent 4 silver Game 5: 6+5+1 plus he buys 2 more dice: 2+2 - Total 16 spent 4 silver
The way that is going I kind of assume Mulligan loses most, if not all, his gold pretty quickly...
Not doing all that great at dice Mulligan decides he's going to have to supplement his income a little bit if he wants a warm dinner tonight... He surveys the crowd for a likely target but holds off on any pickpocketing just yet - Best to find out who their contact is first. Wouldn't do to be stealing from them unintentionally...
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Soft purrs and light prrts come from the white fox when Mulligan would pet her fur, putting him on her list of favourite people for the moment, so she’d listen when he’d call her back when she’d get to distracted. It was at least helping to keep her on track, from falling behind and from getting her floofy tail jammed in doorways. So from that, Mulligan’s ‘earned’ himself a loyal white shadow for the time being. Until he’d find, and busy himself, with a game of rolling number rocks.
The little fox would have sat near Mulligan, tail flicking from time to time as she’d fight the urge to pounce and swat at the pretty pebbles. Though every time she’d look up at him, she’d be reminded not to interfere. Big green puppy eyes and pouts ensued, even small huffs, especially when he’d step up to join in. She’d flop over at the base of his chair for dramatic sake, groaning. Coin isn’t edible! How’s he supposed to feed her? She didn’t see one berry bush or rabbit through the city, so now she expected their tavern dweller Mulligan to provide. Laying there lazily, she would turn her head to start biting and gnawing on his shoe laces.
Eventually, by like the starting of the third game Celeste was beyond bored and her attention span dwindling. So, she lifts her nose up in the air to go sniffing around once more. This time, she pokes her nose around to see if she finds any secret nooks and crannies. Should there not be anything fun to find, she’d then searches out the best to her smell. She’d prioritize anyone who smelled like flowers, honey, berries and/or fresh baking seeing if she can make a new friend that would take to her, feed her, and maybe even give her a nice warm lap to snuggle in. And if there was no one of the sort… towards the kitchen!
“Exactly!” Hollis says, nodding agreeably with Squid. “How the hells, indeed?!” Holli uses this moment of agreement to try to cement a positive rapport with the bartender. “They could be anyone,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Hard to feel at ease knowing one of them’s in your taproom right now, even as we speak. Which is why I’m asking you, if you know anything about it, even just a rumor or a hunch or a suspicion, you let me know and I’ll handle it for you. I’ve got a message for them that will get them moving, right out of your hair and on their way,” he nods again. “Far away.”
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Vesta gives Celeste an affectionate pat as they enter the tavern. Always an animal lover, the sorcerer is delighted when her new companion takes on the form of an arctic fox. She's just so cute! Not that she's ugly or anything in her human form, but there's something to be said for an adorable, fuzzy animal following you about. It definitely puts Vesta in a good mood as she begins to scope out the tavern. The rest of her companions drift off to different activities, everyone agreeing that the best way to find this shapeshifter would be to split up.
Flummoxed by the seemingly impossible task of finding a shapeshifter, Vesta is unsure of where to begin. She looks around the room, trying to see if anyone is off by themselves or otherwise acting somewhat aloof or disinterested in socializing with others.
You’ve recently been hired and assigned to patrol the city of together. Neverwinter is a city divided — quite literally. Part of the metropolis is magnificent, with breathtaking architecture, marvelous spires, and opulent decorations. And amid that beauty is a terrible scar caused by the eruption of Mount Hotenow years before. Citizens are still rebuilding from that disaster, largely thanks to the extra taxes Lord Neverember levies against the wealthy. The city’s poorer residents benefit from the rebuilding work and live in hope that the artisans and builders in the City of Skilled Hands can turn their home into the Jewel of the North once again.
The first few days of the patrol pass quietly – breaking up the occasional hot-headed argument or drunken brawl. Nothing your group of experienced adventurers can’t handle. One morning, though, you get a note from the Taskmaster – at least, that’s what everybody calls Deon Asharrow, Lord Neverember’s head of militia.
“I need you to do a little extra work for me. It shouldn’t be too taxing. I have a contact in Neverwinter who’s secured a cache of treasure. Her name is Oppal DeScart, and you can usually find her in a tavern in the Bluelake District known as the Stable Quiver. She’s a shapeshifter, so I can’t say for sure what she’ll look like when you locate her. You can suss her out with the passphrase “That’s a big hen house,” and she should reply with “Only to a small fox.” When you locate her, tell her that it’s safe to “Move the cargo along the Platinum Road.” And that’s it. - Asharrow”
The Stable Quiver is a nondescript, well-built tavern in the Bluelake District, an area that covers the northwest part of the city. The tavern boasts a mixed clientele of lesser nobles, artisans, middle-class merchants, and skilled laborers. It’s a perfect meeting place for citizens engaged in activities they wish to keep out of the public eye. The low-life element normally eschews the place, except in cases where they meet with the tavern’s regular patrons — who are no less criminal in many cases.
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
"Finally, a tavern!" Mulligan declares upon the note being read. "A chance to sit! To drink!"
"To maybe make a little coin," he adds under his breath...
Mulligan McGuffin is tall for a halfling, but that's not much to brag about, and rather sociable. In the short time he has known the others in the group he has readily shared his own story and inquired about everyone else's. How true his own story is a matter of some speculation as it was definitely sprinkled with tall tales and exaggerated details but the short one made no effort to hide his colorful history - be it cheating at cards or scamming the well to do out of a little coin. He is most definitely a character and not afraid to let it be known. The more perceptive may have noticed that the only one Mulligan hasn't "chatted up" is Hollis Darellion. Hollis was greeted with a curt "Half-Deck" and a bit of a nod when introduced and few words have passed between the two since. There doesn't seem to be any outright hostility between the two but there is something...
"The Stable Quiver is nice enough," Mulligan assures. "A little something for everyone but not perfect for anyone, perhaps. A good place to meet and then move on to better, if you ask me..."
Mulligan is handsome, perhaps even dashing in his way, and could definitely be a charmer when he put the effort in. He has unruly brown hair that perhaps takes tame to get correctly unruly and he wears the garb of an adventurer - studded leather armor that seems comfortably worn in - but wears no visible weapons. "Someone draws on me I'll just steal their blade and draw it right back on them," he assures if asked about the lack.
"Oh! I think we turn here," Mulligan says, pausing and looking around at the buildings at the intersection. "A left I believe... No, no. The other left. Yes, that's it... Down that way a ways, I believe." Soon enough the Halfling is trotting to catch up to the party, a little jog to keep from falling behind as he is wont to do. Damn little legs and all...
Zyl huffed a little before pushing back a stray hair. "Whaddya mean a tavern finally? We had some good honest work, and you wanna lounge around a tavern? I dunno, seems like kind of a silly job for us really. I mean does it really take all of us to deliver one little message? I mean they aren't all the most savory kind there but come on, walk in, deliver the message, walk out. I don't think that takes a whole group of people. Right?"
Zyl was quite small too, barely reaching 3 feet, but while she was small, she was cute AND brawny, best of both! Not only that, but she had pristine gossamer wings which honestly really helped getting things off the higher shelves. Or getting in someone's actual face before clobbering them. Not that that ever happened of course. Well, maybe once or twice...Unless she got -really- angry, that's when things got more...even.
But she managed well enough with the group, as nothing too serious had been going on yet. She didn't wear much in the way of armor, just some simple leathers, boots and bracers and all. Easy attire to move around and perform in when that happened. She did however, carry around a greataxe which she managed to wield with surprising ease.
"Oh it can't be -that- hard to find! I've been around this city long enough to know that most places aren't hard to spot if you just keep your eyes open." She smirked at the halfling before rolling her eyes. Well at least he's easy on the eyes she thought to herself and fluttered off with everyone else.
"We're on the job, Mr. McGuffin," says Vesta. "We ought not to imbibe." The half-elven woman shakes her head at the boisterous halfling. Her expression is torn between disapproval and amusement.
Vesta Trevelyan would seem to be an ordinary, although attractive, half-elven woman if not for the glittering, golden scales that mark her cheeks, neck, and upper shoulders. They complement well her long, wavy red hair and green eyes. The sorcerer often coordinates her outfits to best show off the scales, for she knows they can be alluring, which is helpful in her profession. On this patrol she is wearing a green bodice, tightly laced, and soft, brown leather pants, tucked into doeskin boots. Belted to her waist is a nondescript pouch and a plain, unadorned dagger. She carries no other weapons. As her new traveling companions have come to learn, she needs no weapons but her own inner power, inherited from the blood of dragons at some point in her lineage, although the power is not expressed in every generation it seems.
"Hmm, the Stable Quiver. I've only been here the one time," remarks Vesta. "I wonder what sort of treasure this Oppal has secured for the Taskmaster. This seems like an odd little job."
Vesta had learned not to take things at face value. She always asked questions, too many questions some would say, poking her nose into places where it wasn't always welcome. For whatever reason, this job from the Taskmaster had her a little suspicious. Why did Lord Neverember's head of militia need treasure? Did Lord Neverember know about this job? The sorcerer was on alert as they entered the tavern.
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures
Dara walks alongside the group, moving with a quiet grace that he’s used to in the wilderness. Standing around six feet tall, his slender but toned frame is accentuated by his flowing silver hair, cascading past his shoulders in soft waves, interspersed with a few carefully woven thin braids and muted green and blue tinsels that complement his grey eyes.
“A shapeshifter,” he murmurs, his voice clear and smooth like water, interested. “What would a life like that be? You could be anyone you wanted.”
A wolf tooth earring dangles from one ear as he walks. An eclectic mix of necklaces hang around his neck, made from coral, feathers, shells, and ox bones - though they all seem quite worn, whether from age or from the sun. Among them is an amulet of Eldath, that might be easily lost in the bunch though somehow always shines through. A sheepskin wrap drapes over his shoulder, underneath it a silvery breastplate. At his waist, a sickle hangs, its jagged edges stained with grass and dirt, that looks more like a tool rather than a weapon.
Over the past few days, Dara has been getting to know the group while working for Lord Neverember, adjusting to the rhythms of city life. He finds it curious that their group is made up with such diverse individuals. For instance, he’s never encountered a fairy or seen a girl with dragon scales before. With the talkative halfling chatting up about his tales and adventures whenever he’s got a chance, Dara had to confess regrettably he’s never played cards before - not the kinds they play in the city anyway - and he wonders what’s so exciting about a tavern. He follows the others, not knowing the Stable Quiver’s location, but the large quiver hanging over the door is indicative enough as they enter the tavern.
If Hollis is amused — or even interested — in his colleagues’ banter, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he simply walks alongside seemingly pre-occupied with his own thoughts. The grey-haired, middle-aged half-drow keeps his eyes roving, occasionally furrowing his brow as he mutters under his breath like an actor rehearsing his lines, “Hen house . . . Small fox . . . Platinum Road . . .”
Although Hollis is no youngster, he moves with graceful balance and quiet confidence. He wears a somewhat bulky black leather longcoat, which conceals from sight his substantial armor and a mismatched pair of blades. A keen eye could probably surmise the weapons’ presence if looking closely enough, but Hollis counts on his ability to blend discreetly into the busy background of the city to prevent such unwanted attention.
Hollis has been to the Stable Quiver more times than he can count, though never to meet up with a shapeshifter. The idea that their contact could look like almost anyone has him on edge. And this fact, more than anything, has him scanning the faces of everyone they pass. Something about this job doesn’t smell right. He slows his pace until he falls behind the others — not far behind, but enough so that when they reach the tavern he’ll be the last one through the door.
- - -
Part of Hollis’ discomfort stems from his companions themselves. They’re all fine folk, that’s not his concern. It’s the fact that they’ve not been working together quite long enough to have developed any well-established roles or divisions of labor. It is a paradox of Hollis’s personality that he likes to think strategically, even though he frequently forgets — or ignores — agreed-upon plans in favor of trusting his own unique luck and ability to improvise. Still, the unresolved tension bothers him.
As they walk together, Hollis can’t seem to help but run through various considerations in his mind.
Mulligan? Too much of a wild card. No doubt the halfling is quite capable and talented, but a bit too frivolous to inspire confidence.
Zyl? Obviously, a giant (pun intended) asset in a fight — and even better, few would expect it, given her size, her cutesy demeanor and gossamer wings. But this job isn’t a stand-up fight . . . Yet. Probably best not for her to take the lead.
Vesta? Speaking of taking the lead, the half-elf sorceress seems like perhaps the best candidate — especially here among the more upstanding clientele of the Stable Quiver. She seems like she’d fit right in.
Dara? Filled with promising potential, but a bit too much of a foreigner for Hollis’ taste. The novelty of an outsider’s perspective might prove useful, but risks raising suspicions, especially this deep into the heart of the city
Hollis, of course, does not rule out his own ability to take charge and call the shots. He’s comfortable in that role, but at this early juncture in their tenure together, he prefers to observe from a distance first — assess the situation and step in when his particular skills are most warranted. Let the fresh legs take the first turn on the dance floor, he muses.
As the lunch hour is near, the Stable Quiver is nearly full. Every table has guests, and only a few seats at the bar are open. You estimate there are about 50 other people in the large room - 25 males, 15 females, and 10 who, honestly, could be either! For those who frequent this establishment, you see the barkeep, Squid (so-called by the locals because of a squid-shaped birthmark on his face), and his serving crew - his children of about 10 and 12 and a third young lady in her early 20's - working to keep up with orders.
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
And then there was her. Sprinkled in kind of like an after thought with this group of more refined individuals. A Snow White fox with big wide green eyes pads behind the group as if trying not to be forgotten, or stepped on. There were so many sights, sounds, and smells in the city, she couldn’t help but get distracted. Nose down, bum up, big fluffy tail at attention, she veers away from the group from time to time, sniffing out new to her smells, sticking her nose places she maybe shouldn’t. Soft prrt sounds would escape her when something would catch her attention, make her happy, or if someone actually looked at her. The most constant sound though, was her incessant huffing, with the occasional sneeze when she’s get something up in her nose that tickles it. Any time she got a bit carried away and ‘her people’ got ahead, she’d scurry trot to catch up. It was always easier to catch up to Mulligan, especially from the lower vantage point of her form.
Celeste wore her shifted forms like a security blanket, more specifically her arctic fox form. It felt easier for her to mask herself as someone’s familiar than it was to actually be herself. Belonging and fitting in were hard, especially when everyone else seems to have it all together. So, much like a fly on the wall, she’d quietly observe and listen to the others intently while trying to keep her presence small.
’That’s a big hen house. Only to a small fox.’ Ears twitch and perk each time she may overhear Hollis mutter the secret phrase they were given for their contact. It had to have been a coincidence. All the farmer hen houses she’s been in have been pretty small, even for this petite fox. She wondered if the tavern they were going too was big and belonged to big birdie people. Those folks were rare! At least for her to have run into. They were going to meet with a shape shifter after all! Maybe someone she can connect with…
Prrt. Trotting with some pep in her step, Celeste slinks through the tavern doorway before it closes shut behind the group. Green eyes look up at the others to see if they’ll be taking a seat. Sniff sniff. Huff huff. Her nose up in the air, the little fox is sifting through all the scents, separating those of her companions from all the new ones in this room. Weaving through a pair of her companions legs, she slinks off out of habit to go sniffing around. She tries to see if she can locate their contact.
just an unstable unicorn.
Celeste is a strange one, Mulligan thinks. Specially when not all white and furry. He understood her better that way and enjoyed watching her go here and there and everywhere. And it was nice to not be the straggler... He sinks his fingertips into her soft fur when she allows, clicks his tongue and calls for her to catch up when need be... But has mostly avoided her when she's been in human form. For one thing, she was bigger than him in that form.
"C'mon Celeste!" Mulligan calls as he slips in the door. "And watch your tail..." But beyond that, Mulligan stopped focusing on the white fox and was lost in the hustle and bustle of the tavern. He paused just inside the door and took a deep breath and just let the sounds wash over him. He was home. So to speak. But what first? A drink? Some mingling? Look to see if there is a game going? Or some overly heavy coin purses asking for relief? Certainly not calling out the passphrase! Plenty of time for that!
Mulligan melts into the crowd and makes his was to the barkeep. "Squid!" he calls out as he climbs up onto a stool, planting his feet firmly. He adopts a familiarity he probably doesn't quite have with him yet but in his experience barkeeps can't remember everyone they know and they don't and it is always best to have them thinking your friends. "An ale, my good man! And point me to the liveliest corner, eh?"
His eyes scan the room for themselves looking for a game or for marks. And, to a lesser extent, tracking his teammates. He gives no thought at all as to finding their contact - A shapeshifter could be anyone so that was pointless. Besides, he was in no rush for this break from walking around and patrolling to be over.
Investigation to see if there's a card game going? 15
Insight to see if he can spot any wealthy or gullible targets? Nat 20 for 23
Zyl could feel the blood pumping in her as they approached and entered the tavern. Not too much, mind you, just enough to keep her loose since she was on a job this time and not just looking for...fun, we'll call it. She certainly wasn't going to try and keep an eye on their group's pickpocket, so long as he stayed away from her pockets. She didn't have many pockets but they were hers. But she didn't have time to worry about that now, though she had to restrain herself from simply yelling out the passphrase, lest either their contact try and skip out, or worse, draw too much unwanted attention. She really wanted to punch something though. Too much walking lately, not enough action. She decided though to make her to the children servers, since experience had taught her that children are often overlooked and unnoticed so perhaps they might know who they were looking for.
As soon as she can flutter near one of the children, perhaps while they are loading up a tray she'll go for a quick question, "Hiya! I'm Zyl!" Then whisper, "I'm here on a secret mission! I'm looking for someone! Think you can help me!?"
Perception if needed: ??
Persuasion if needed: 4. (Hey, she's having a bad day okay!? Give the girl a break. :D )
Celeste doesn't quite know who she is sniffing around for, so she gets a sense of the crowd overall but nothing useful yet.
Mulligan is pointed to a lively dice game between four large craftsmen and women at a table along one wall, complete with laughter and sarcastic encouragement for bad rolls. He also spies silvers trading hands as part of the friendly betting. The crowd is mostly middle-class and minor nobles - all wealthy when compared to the poorer, working-class taverns on the south side of the river, but certainly not what one would consider 'rich.'
Zyl flits to the youngest, a boy, and introduces herself. With a friendly smile and a conspirational whisper, she asks her question. (Make a Persuasion check - opposed by the boy's Insight: 18)
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Mulligan watches the game from the sidelines for a while, assessing just which dice game they're playing, who is winning, who is losing and most importantly if there is a way to influence the game in his favor, if he joins. You really need to invest in some dice, he thinks to himself knowing that the best way to cheat at dice is to use your own which are "properly" weighted and shaved.
After watching for a bit and getting a feel for the game, Mulligan would look to slide in and join. He's down to his last 5 gold but if silver is what is at play he figures it should last him until he can get himself on a hot streak... "That's a big hen house!" he declares the first time he sees someone roll double sixes and look side-eyed around at the others at the game to see if there's a reaction. "Least that's what we call it down south where I'm from," he adds to cover it up if there is no bites. Hey, at least he can honestly say he was working!
As Dara steps inside the tavern, he's immediately enveloped by the cacophony of laughter, the bumping of tankards, and lively conversation. The warm, smoky air, filled with the scent of ale and roasted meat, is a stark contrast to the open land and sky he’s used to, where the wind carries the soft nickering and snorting of horses. He glances around, realizing how difficult it would be to find a shapeshifter in such a crowded place without knowing what form she might take.
“What do you think?” He asks his companions, his voice carrying the rhythmic cadence of the open plains. “Good idea to split up, blend in, and talk to people. See what we can uncover.”
Dara still wears his riding boots, the worn leather and scratches, though navigating the busy streets and narrow alleys makes riding on horseback impractical. He adjusts the sheepskin wrap on his shoulder, his grey eyes scanning the tavern, lingering briefly on each face, particularly to see if anyone is paying attention to them. He also looks for any seats at tables where people seem approachable, open to conversation.
Perception: 24
Hollis steps through the door of the Stable Quiver, and makes a quick scan of the common room. He isn’t sure whether he’d be able to pick a shapeshifter out of the crowd just by looking. Maybe a spell might detect a magical aura around them? But he figures it’s probably unnecessary, at this point. Given the mystery of their contact’s identity, it seems reasonable to allow their contact to make the first move. Hollis certainly didn’t want to go around the room mentioning hen houses to each patron one by one . . .
With no empty tables, Hollis heads to one of the open seats at the bar. But he keeps some distance from Mulligan, considering it might be prudent not to advertise the fact that they’re all working together. “Eh, Squid,” Hollis says softly, taking a seat whilst giving the barkeep a familiar nod of his head. “I’m here to meet someone, but damned if I’m not quite sure who,” he says ruefully. “Any shifters or changelings in the house?”
As he asks, Hollis continues his survey of the room, looking for any signs of their contact in the postures, mannerisms, and other conscious and unconscious behaviors of the clientele.
insight 17 Investigation 14 Perception 20
Mulligan edges closer to the table with the friendly dice game, watching for a few rounds. It's a dice game commonly called 'Twenty-One', or '21 Guns' by sailors. It involves rolling 3 six-sided dice, then choosing to roll any number of additional six-sided dice (at once.) You add up all of the numbers rolled, and the person closest to 21 without going over wins. The group is betting 2 silvers to join (the first 3 dice), and you 'buy' additional die to roll for 1 silver each (you have to buy and roll them all at once.) Here's a round for an example:
Player 1: Rolls a 3, 2, & 5 for 10, then he 'buys' three additional rolls (3, 3 & 1) - Total 17. (cost 5 sp)
Player 2: Rolls a 2, 5, & 3 for 10, then buys another four rolls (6, 2, 6, 6) and busts! (cost 6 sp)
Player 3: Rolls a 2, 3 & 3 for 8, then buys another four rolls (2, 1, 4 & 6) - total 21!! (cost 6 sp)
Player 4: Rolls a 5, 4 &5 for 14, then buys another 2 rolls (3 & 1) - total 18. (cost 4 sp)
Player 3 wins the pot (21 sp)
Hollis quietly asks the bartender, Squid, if he knows of any shifters or changelings. Squid responds, "Sorry, mister. How would I know a shapeshifter if they look like whatever they shift into?" (Since you succeeded on a DC13 Insight check, read the spoiler:)
You determine that Squid is clearly concealing something... do you push the issue? If so, write out what you say and make a Deception, Intimidation, or Persuasion check. Do you try some other means to get Squid talking? Or do you leave it alone and move on?
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
Mulligan of course jumps into the game when he gets a chance. In order to chat up the players and drop the passphrase, of course! It's all about the job, totally. He does his best to be charming and disarming and generally a likable fella... Even as he tries to win as much as he can.
I don't want to slow down the thread going round for round or anything so I'll just do a few of his rolls to get a general sense of how he does?
Game 1: 2+2+4 plus he buys 3 more dice: 6+6+6 - BUST lost 5 silver
Game 2: 2+4+3 plus he buys 3 more dice: 5+4+4 - BUST lost 5 silver
Game 3: 5+4+5 plus he buys 2 more dice: 1+6 - Total 21 spent 4 silver
Game 4: 5+5+2 plus he buys 2 more dice: 1+1 - Total 14 spent 4 silver
Game 5: 6+5+1 plus he buys 2 more dice: 2+2 - Total 16 spent 4 silver
The way that is going I kind of assume Mulligan loses most, if not all, his gold pretty quickly...
Not doing all that great at dice Mulligan decides he's going to have to supplement his income a little bit if he wants a warm dinner tonight... He surveys the crowd for a likely target but holds off on any pickpocketing just yet - Best to find out who their contact is first. Wouldn't do to be stealing from them unintentionally...
Soft purrs and light prrts come from the white fox when Mulligan would pet her fur, putting him on her list of favourite people for the moment, so she’d listen when he’d call her back when she’d get to distracted. It was at least helping to keep her on track, from falling behind and from getting her floofy tail jammed in doorways. So from that, Mulligan’s ‘earned’ himself a loyal white shadow for the time being. Until he’d find, and busy himself, with a game of rolling number rocks.
The little fox would have sat near Mulligan, tail flicking from time to time as she’d fight the urge to pounce and swat at the pretty pebbles. Though every time she’d look up at him, she’d be reminded not to interfere. Big green puppy eyes and pouts ensued, even small huffs, especially when he’d step up to join in. She’d flop over at the base of his chair for dramatic sake, groaning. Coin isn’t edible! How’s he supposed to feed her? She didn’t see one berry bush or rabbit through the city, so now she expected their tavern dweller Mulligan to provide. Laying there lazily, she would turn her head to start biting and gnawing on his shoe laces.
Eventually, by like the starting of the third game Celeste was beyond bored and her attention span dwindling. So, she lifts her nose up in the air to go sniffing around once more. This time, she pokes her nose around to see if she finds any secret nooks and crannies. Should there not be anything fun to find, she’d then searches out the best to her smell. She’d prioritize anyone who smelled like flowers, honey, berries and/or fresh baking seeing if she can make a new friend that would take to her, feed her, and maybe even give her a nice warm lap to snuggle in. And if there was no one of the sort… towards the kitchen!
Perception: 10
just an unstable unicorn.
“Exactly!” Hollis says, nodding agreeably with Squid. “How the hells, indeed?!” Holli uses this moment of agreement to try to cement a positive rapport with the bartender. “They could be anyone,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Hard to feel at ease knowing one of them’s in your taproom right now, even as we speak. Which is why I’m asking you, if you know anything about it, even just a rumor or a hunch or a suspicion, you let me know and I’ll handle it for you. I’ve got a message for them that will get them moving, right out of your hair and on their way,” he nods again. “Far away.”
Persuasion 19
@DM in case it got lost :)
Vesta gives Celeste an affectionate pat as they enter the tavern. Always an animal lover, the sorcerer is delighted when her new companion takes on the form of an arctic fox. She's just so cute! Not that she's ugly or anything in her human form, but there's something to be said for an adorable, fuzzy animal following you about. It definitely puts Vesta in a good mood as she begins to scope out the tavern. The rest of her companions drift off to different activities, everyone agreeing that the best way to find this shapeshifter would be to split up.
Flummoxed by the seemingly impossible task of finding a shapeshifter, Vesta is unsure of where to begin. She looks around the room, trying to see if anyone is off by themselves or otherwise acting somewhat aloof or disinterested in socializing with others.
Perception - 7
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus & Phandalin Adventures