The room is rife with the smell of old, spilled wine. The candles flicker upon an oaken table, much grooved and stained over the years, and chairs creak ominously as the five of you take your seats in the subterranean private chamber. You are all passingly familiar with each other as fellow denizens of Blackstaff Tower's lowest level. Despite your relatively low position within the tower itself, out here, beyond the arcane protections and mighty sigils of the Tower, the crowded streets part for you out of respect, and outright fear, as you make the well worn journey to the former originator of so many wondrous adventures: the Flagon Dragon. Now a home of thieves and smugglers, you five know better than most that this establishment represents one of the few intact supply and information lines left unravaged in the fall of Waterdeep to the terrors of the Spellplague, and the incursion of monstrous horrors from beyond our world.
You have scarcely taken your seats, dubiously accepting the grudging hospitality of a surly, thickset gnome who gruffly listens to requests for refreshment and shortly vacates the room, when a tall, gaunt figure sweeps back his silvery - blue half-cloak from where he had been standing in the room and abruptly registers clearly to your senses where he hadn't before. He spares a half-smile for those of you still unused to the secretive ways of the Blackstaff's many apprentices before reading a missive from an ornate scroll.
"There is little time. A shipment of supplies from our friends among the Zhentarim missed its rendezvous window near the Market, and has presumably gone astray. Under optimal circumstances, this risks the utter dissolution of civilization here beyond the tower, as we cannot afford to share what has already been designated for use within. You five have been selected from the Outermost tier to attempt to recover as much of the shipment as you can, and to salvage the rest. Other groups have been chosen as well, but since..." He pauses, sighing a little with his caught breath, "none of the apprentices of fourth tier or lower have volunteered to recover the shipment, the desperate will have to do. Reward for success is significant. Access to the second tier, limited use of designated augurs (by application and appointment), and increased likelihood of future employment on behalf of the Tower. All damages to be sustained at the cost of the adventurer. Consider this meal at the Flagon Dragon as an inducement, should you need time to consider other options. If I may save you time, you have very few. Cordially, Doctor Treswin, 'the Red', apprentice of the Fifth Tier."
The blue-cloaked figure lowers the scroll and steadily looks around the room. "I will maintain this projection for two minutes, should you wish to inquire further of an emissary of the Tower. Durstim has also been informed of this missive. I presume you are all mission-ready?" He beams a smile at you all.
Tyrfing, a slim, black-haired fellow in rather plain dress, looks up at Doctor Treswin with eyes that seem... oddly unemotive. As the apprentice finishes, he nods slowly and returns the smile. But the smile does not reach those expressionless eyes of his, and the result is something more unsettling than mirthful. As quickly as it came, the smile fades, and Tyrfing returns to his usual neutral expression. His eyes move over the rest of the group, and though he must recognize both Nyxi and Fenser, his expression reveals nothing. After a few more moments, he speaks, his voice as flat as his expression.
"Is there any information pertaining to the shipment's location beyond 'near the Market'?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"Yes, in fact, though Durstim may have more specifics about Zhentarim safe houses along their smuggling routes. Good luck getting him to divulge anything more than a grunt. By our best estimates, the shipment should be at one of three locations: Sorynth's silverware, down the Warrior's Way south from the market, Lightsinger Theater, at the far end of Bazaar street, or the Singing Sword Tavern, on the far end of the Market itself. We're not sure which of these might be correct at this time."
On Tyrfing's right, Fenser; a tall wood elf with a wide face and of youthful and effeminate visage, and long, rose-blonde hair tied in a descending ponytail glances towards Tyfring, in positive recognition of his pertinent question.
Fenser then turns back, looking through the projection and addressing no one in particular, as he tightens a black glove on his hand he utters: "I can get us to the Market's East side well enough, but beyond that we'll have to rely on our own wits; or Durstim's information, if he'll oblige us. I presume the shipment was arriving by cart or wagon? With luck, it'll still be with the supplies. " He passes a glance around and meets eyes with each of the others at the table. "We should speak to Durstim about what he knows, and activity in the city of late, or anything else we can think of. I'm ready when you all are." Fenser takes a long, deliberate swig of his beverage: a dark, stout beer now over halfway empty.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Nyxi - a dark-haired, older, female gnome wearing scale mail - listens attentively and studies the cloaked figure's face intently. She is a bit suspicious about some of what he said, especially with the pause when talking about other groups turning down the job. She'll try to see if she thinks he's hiding something, thinking maybe if there are details about the contents of the shipment or something else that made other groups shy away from the job.
Insight: 16
Rolling for Experimental Elixer (create random potion after finishing long rest): 3
An illusory projection of this nature is notoriously hard to read, but you detect fleeting movements in the eyes that betray a high-stress, high-stakes situation. It almost seems like either this apprentice or his betters may have a more vested interest in the shipment beyond simple foodstuffs and materiel for the maintenance of the bloated refugee community around the tower. While this tension is certainly present, you detect as well the unmistakable mark of fear, in the words both written and voiced - it seems that these apprentices are unwilling to risk themselves beyond the sanctum of the tower against whatever it is that has befallen the city.
"Suffice it to say we will try and retrieve this . . . shipment," Korlis says in an even toned voice. "It would, however, be beneficial to know what we are looking for. I mean a "shipment" of what? Something small, big, in boxes or bags, a wagon load of something, is it living, dead, inanimate? I need a bit moe information if time is not to be wasted guessing. No disrespect intended."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
The apparition pauses, frozen, apparently while its owner momentarily relinquishes control. After a moment, it stutters back into a simulacrum of life. "The shipment, yes. Ordinarily transported by wagon. Often disguised among other wares of lesser value. I don't... It appears a detailed manifest is not available at this time. Bring back what you can, ideally as a whole shipment but in pieces if convenient. Keep an eye out for magically sealed packages or containers - those will be of greatest interest to our number. Your reward may be tailored to the quality of your returns. Any further questions?"
You all take note of a certain draft now entering the room from the direction of the door, and the rest of the tavern. Motes of dust, caught in the gust of air, drift lightly beneath the door, creating small swirls in the light shining from a lamp in the hall beyond. The apparition shivers and its owner looks down as if surprised.
"I..."
Further shimmering occurs. The lower half of the projection winks out of sight. "The Plane of Air shifts on its axis. I cannot... I must go. If you happen to see a... a particular rock, fetch that for me personally. We'll be needing it in any case, but if you do get it, it might well save your lives. Goodb-" The projection ceases to exist as a distant scream echoes across the city, shivering rafters, windows and doors with a mournful cry, while knocking loose a moderate cloud of dust from the roof supports of your small chamber.
The thickset gnome reenters with a small wagon with goblets of thin ale and a little bread and cheese. He gruffly thrusts the food and drink upon the table, gesturing over his shoulder towards the rest of the tavern. "Make'em quick, darlings. Durstim has other reservations for this table." With a leer, he departs with the wagon.
As the wind picks up and the scream echoes, Tyrfing tenses and raises his hand in some odd way, fingers straight and pressed together. It seems to be something more along the lines of a fighting stance, rather than a magical gesture, but it also seems terribly inefficient, as striking a person with a closed fist would probably have more effect. After a few more moments, if the noise does not repeat himself, he settles back down and eats his meal. The way he chews is... interesting, to say the least. Each move of his jaw is exaggerated, as if he doesn't quite know how to chew properly. Despite this, he eats quickly and ravenously, and his drink follows his meal moments later. Unless another member of the group has a mouth like his, which acts more like an all-consuming door to the Abyss than anything else, he most likely finishes first.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Nyxi stands up and leaves the refreshments, at least for a moment. She walks over to peer through the doorway to see if there's anything amiss in the rest of the tavern. If there's nothing much to see and no immediate danger in the tavern, she'll look for an outside facing window or just crack open the tavern door to try to find the source of the disturbance and see if there's any immediate danger.
The tavern's occupants do not seem to be in any immediate danger, though several are casting dark and doubting glances at the door. The broad windows opening onto the once bustling street are shuttered, and further covered with thick black curtains. A draft, pushing into the room from beneath the door leading into the street, is strong enough to cause open candles to flicker, and a few nearest the door to go out entirely. One of the Noose brothers, the shorter, wider one, catches your eye and gives you a chilling, one-fanged grin from across the room. In this light, he seems more Orc than Half, fingering a crude mace while looming patiently near the bar. Whatever it is that is causing the strange draft, and possibly the keening scream now fading from the air, came from outside, it seems.
"So," Korlis looks around at the others, "how are we going to go about this? Straight down the Street of Swords, maybe?" He shrugs, "I mean I don't know that we can trust much of anything around here, not even the folk we're supposed to find trustworthy. Too many strange happenings going on for that. If we want to make it through this, I think we can only trust our selves."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
"As we have very little to go off of, the Street of Swords sounds good. It doesn't quite matter where we go, as long as we go somewhere. How long does everyone need to prepare?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Fenser's ears prick up and, subtly, he seems alerted at the mention of the Elemental Plane of Air, however the projection has ended before he got to question the apparition.
In response to the echoing scream and the apparent trembling of the room, and the knocking of dust, Fenser visibly shifts in his chair and looks around in a kind-of unenthusiastic alarm. The elf imbibes the goblet in one gulp as he stands up from the table in the same action, with a gloved hand [not holding the goblet] he picks up his worn, dark tricorne hat that was on the table. He puts the goblet down briskly and then grabs a chunk of bread, and stuffs it in his mouth. While chewing he puts on his hat, straightening it with both hands.
"What's the significance of the Plane of Air?" he wonders aloud. Fenser then turns to Krolis, "I think the Street of Swords is as good a place to start our search as any, it's the closest at any rate - so we may as well start there, " Fenser backs away from the table and begins checking his gear, sweeping aside a long, black coat to check the shortsword sheathed at his hip, the continues his sentence, looking now between both Tyrfing and Krolis. "as you say we have little to go on."He also examines the bandolier under his coat that holds a number of darts, and a crystal-glass vial of pure, clear liquid, and picks up his light crossbow that was resting by a table leg.
Answering Tyrfing, he says "I'm about ready, but I'd just like to see what I can get out of Durstim. The Doctor seemed to think he might know something useful." Fenser nods curtly to everyone still at the table and then strides out of the backroom, towards the main/common room of the tavern, looking for Durstim, patting a dagger strapped to his thigh as he goes.
Sweeping by Nyxi in the tight corridor, crowded with barrels and containers, and into the main tavern room, you do not immediately notice the dour personage that is the half-elf Durstim. You do notice the one Noose brother mentioned previously, whose attention now shifts uncomfortably to you. The draft continues to push beneath the door, causing more dust and a previously unnoticed copper coin to be pushed into the middle of the room. A scrawny human, a sailor by his apparel, reaches for the coin, only to be kicked in the side by a dwarf who advanced on him from behind. Stooping quickly and scuttling back to his corner table, the black-bearded dwarf looks around the room with wild eyes, mouth moving perceptibly beneath his scraggled beard, though no sound can be heard. A few of the other tavern goers look on in interest as the sailor stands to his feet, leaning heavily against a table and trying to regain his breath.
The cloaked Kenku between Nyxi and Korlis, who has been infatuated with a mangled nail this entire time, suddenly shoots up when the sound of copper hitting wood hits their ears and lets out a soft rattle, only loud enough for their neighbors to hear — but, alas, they're too late, as bright hues watch the dwarf skitter away with the coin. Though they display no emotion on their face, they seem disappointed with this lost treasure, far more valuable than that old nail.
Their gaze slowly shifts to Tyrfing, over to the dwarf in the corner, then back again. There would be other shinies, they suppose. A curt clack of their beak signals that they're ready to leave whenever.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Fenser pauses to observe the scuffle between the dwarf and scrawny human, and briefly regards the Noose brother now pointed on him, then shuts his eyes for a moment. Caressing a holy symbol hanging by a silver chain from his neck he takes a deep breathe and, exhaling a breathy divine word, asks for Guidance.
Opening his eyes, he studies the common room carefully. In particular, to get a sense of the general who's-who among the patrons, to see if he can see Durstim anywhere, and paying particular attention to black-bearded dwarf. Is he casting a spell? Fenser ponders.
Wisdom (Perception): 16
w/Guidance: 12 (final roll)
[OOC] I really want to get a read on the dwarf, can I tell if he is casting a spell? Is there something going on with this dwarf? Happy to make an additional Insight check. Wisdom (Insight): 10
Your initial focus on the dwarf serves to soothe your worry about him casting a spell of some kind - though his lips continue to move, they seem only to mumble from one syllable to the next, with neither vigor nor force behind them. Yet, under the influence of your cantrip, you are just barely able to notice a miniscule glint of metal from beneath the dwarf's beard. It seems he is wearing a thickset necklace of an unusual fashion. He turns his head to scratch roughly at his side, never ceasing to mumble, and you get a glimpse of a ring connected to the back of the metal piece, revealing it to be a collar of thick metal. Upon further reflection (your insight check), you deduce that the dwarf has likely escaped from some form of incarceration in which the rough collar was used, and he seems to be a little unhinged from what he's been through.
Noticing this, Fenser approaches the dwarf (who presumably is sitting at the corner table he retreated to) rather anxiously and hurried, as the earlier scream, rushing draft and of course the mission, hang principally in his mind. Fenser slings his crossbow over a shoulder and while keeping one eye trained on the attentive Noose brother, walks up and tries to gently place a calming hand on the dwarf's shoulder, the other leaning casually on the table.
"What troubles you, friend?" he asks, calmly and thoughtfully.
The dwarf makes a small squeal as you touch his shoulder, not having noticed you up until that point, and he scooches himself to the far side of the table.
Make a persuasion check, please.
Anything else the rest of you would like to do? If not, please indicate that you are heading outside of the tavern.
The room is rife with the smell of old, spilled wine. The candles flicker upon an oaken table, much grooved and stained over the years, and chairs creak ominously as the five of you take your seats in the subterranean private chamber. You are all passingly familiar with each other as fellow denizens of Blackstaff Tower's lowest level. Despite your relatively low position within the tower itself, out here, beyond the arcane protections and mighty sigils of the Tower, the crowded streets part for you out of respect, and outright fear, as you make the well worn journey to the former originator of so many wondrous adventures: the Flagon Dragon. Now a home of thieves and smugglers, you five know better than most that this establishment represents one of the few intact supply and information lines left unravaged in the fall of Waterdeep to the terrors of the Spellplague, and the incursion of monstrous horrors from beyond our world.
You have scarcely taken your seats, dubiously accepting the grudging hospitality of a surly, thickset gnome who gruffly listens to requests for refreshment and shortly vacates the room, when a tall, gaunt figure sweeps back his silvery - blue half-cloak from where he had been standing in the room and abruptly registers clearly to your senses where he hadn't before. He spares a half-smile for those of you still unused to the secretive ways of the Blackstaff's many apprentices before reading a missive from an ornate scroll.
"There is little time. A shipment of supplies from our friends among the Zhentarim missed its rendezvous window near the Market, and has presumably gone astray. Under optimal circumstances, this risks the utter dissolution of civilization here beyond the tower, as we cannot afford to share what has already been designated for use within. You five have been selected from the Outermost tier to attempt to recover as much of the shipment as you can, and to salvage the rest. Other groups have been chosen as well, but since..." He pauses, sighing a little with his caught breath, "none of the apprentices of fourth tier or lower have volunteered to recover the shipment, the desperate will have to do. Reward for success is significant. Access to the second tier, limited use of designated augurs (by application and appointment), and increased likelihood of future employment on behalf of the Tower. All damages to be sustained at the cost of the adventurer. Consider this meal at the Flagon Dragon as an inducement, should you need time to consider other options. If I may save you time, you have very few. Cordially, Doctor Treswin, 'the Red', apprentice of the Fifth Tier."
The blue-cloaked figure lowers the scroll and steadily looks around the room. "I will maintain this projection for two minutes, should you wish to inquire further of an emissary of the Tower. Durstim has also been informed of this missive. I presume you are all mission-ready?" He beams a smile at you all.
Tyrfing, a slim, black-haired fellow in rather plain dress, looks up at Doctor Treswin with eyes that seem... oddly unemotive. As the apprentice finishes, he nods slowly and returns the smile. But the smile does not reach those expressionless eyes of his, and the result is something more unsettling than mirthful. As quickly as it came, the smile fades, and Tyrfing returns to his usual neutral expression. His eyes move over the rest of the group, and though he must recognize both Nyxi and Fenser, his expression reveals nothing. After a few more moments, he speaks, his voice as flat as his expression.
"Is there any information pertaining to the shipment's location beyond 'near the Market'?"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
"Yes, in fact, though Durstim may have more specifics about Zhentarim safe houses along their smuggling routes. Good luck getting him to divulge anything more than a grunt. By our best estimates, the shipment should be at one of three locations: Sorynth's silverware, down the Warrior's Way south from the market, Lightsinger Theater, at the far end of Bazaar street, or the Singing Sword Tavern, on the far end of the Market itself. We're not sure which of these might be correct at this time."
On Tyrfing's right, Fenser; a tall wood elf with a wide face and of youthful and effeminate visage, and long, rose-blonde hair tied in a descending ponytail glances towards Tyfring, in positive recognition of his pertinent question.
Fenser then turns back, looking through the projection and addressing no one in particular, as he tightens a black glove on his hand he utters: "I can get us to the Market's East side well enough, but beyond that we'll have to rely on our own wits; or Durstim's information, if he'll oblige us. I presume the shipment was arriving by cart or wagon? With luck, it'll still be with the supplies. " He passes a glance around and meets eyes with each of the others at the table. "We should speak to Durstim about what he knows, and activity in the city of late, or anything else we can think of. I'm ready when you all are." Fenser takes a long, deliberate swig of his beverage: a dark, stout beer now over halfway empty.
Nyxi - a dark-haired, older, female gnome wearing scale mail - listens attentively and studies the cloaked figure's face intently. She is a bit suspicious about some of what he said, especially with the pause when talking about other groups turning down the job. She'll try to see if she thinks he's hiding something, thinking maybe if there are details about the contents of the shipment or something else that made other groups shy away from the job.
Insight: 16
Rolling for Experimental Elixer (create random potion after finishing long rest): 3
Nyxi:
An illusory projection of this nature is notoriously hard to read, but you detect fleeting movements in the eyes that betray a high-stress, high-stakes situation. It almost seems like either this apprentice or his betters may have a more vested interest in the shipment beyond simple foodstuffs and materiel for the maintenance of the bloated refugee community around the tower. While this tension is certainly present, you detect as well the unmistakable mark of fear, in the words both written and voiced - it seems that these apprentices are unwilling to risk themselves beyond the sanctum of the tower against whatever it is that has befallen the city."Suffice it to say we will try and retrieve this . . . shipment," Korlis says in an even toned voice. "It would, however, be beneficial to know what we are looking for. I mean a "shipment" of what? Something small, big, in boxes or bags, a wagon load of something, is it living, dead, inanimate? I need a bit moe information if time is not to be wasted guessing. No disrespect intended."
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
The apparition pauses, frozen, apparently while its owner momentarily relinquishes control. After a moment, it stutters back into a simulacrum of life. "The shipment, yes. Ordinarily transported by wagon. Often disguised among other wares of lesser value. I don't... It appears a detailed manifest is not available at this time. Bring back what you can, ideally as a whole shipment but in pieces if convenient. Keep an eye out for magically sealed packages or containers - those will be of greatest interest to our number. Your reward may be tailored to the quality of your returns. Any further questions?"
You all take note of a certain draft now entering the room from the direction of the door, and the rest of the tavern. Motes of dust, caught in the gust of air, drift lightly beneath the door, creating small swirls in the light shining from a lamp in the hall beyond. The apparition shivers and its owner looks down as if surprised.
"I..."
Further shimmering occurs. The lower half of the projection winks out of sight. "The Plane of Air shifts on its axis. I cannot... I must go. If you happen to see a... a particular rock, fetch that for me personally. We'll be needing it in any case, but if you do get it, it might well save your lives. Goodb-" The projection ceases to exist as a distant scream echoes across the city, shivering rafters, windows and doors with a mournful cry, while knocking loose a moderate cloud of dust from the roof supports of your small chamber.
The thickset gnome reenters with a small wagon with goblets of thin ale and a little bread and cheese. He gruffly thrusts the food and drink upon the table, gesturing over his shoulder towards the rest of the tavern. "Make'em quick, darlings. Durstim has other reservations for this table." With a leer, he departs with the wagon.
As the wind picks up and the scream echoes, Tyrfing tenses and raises his hand in some odd way, fingers straight and pressed together. It seems to be something more along the lines of a fighting stance, rather than a magical gesture, but it also seems terribly inefficient, as striking a person with a closed fist would probably have more effect. After a few more moments, if the noise does not repeat himself, he settles back down and eats his meal. The way he chews is... interesting, to say the least. Each move of his jaw is exaggerated, as if he doesn't quite know how to chew properly. Despite this, he eats quickly and ravenously, and his drink follows his meal moments later. Unless another member of the group has a mouth like his, which acts more like an all-consuming door to the Abyss than anything else, he most likely finishes first.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Nyxi stands up and leaves the refreshments, at least for a moment. She walks over to peer through the doorway to see if there's anything amiss in the rest of the tavern. If there's nothing much to see and no immediate danger in the tavern, she'll look for an outside facing window or just crack open the tavern door to try to find the source of the disturbance and see if there's any immediate danger.
Perception (if needed): 5
The tavern's occupants do not seem to be in any immediate danger, though several are casting dark and doubting glances at the door. The broad windows opening onto the once bustling street are shuttered, and further covered with thick black curtains. A draft, pushing into the room from beneath the door leading into the street, is strong enough to cause open candles to flicker, and a few nearest the door to go out entirely. One of the Noose brothers, the shorter, wider one, catches your eye and gives you a chilling, one-fanged grin from across the room. In this light, he seems more Orc than Half, fingering a crude mace while looming patiently near the bar. Whatever it is that is causing the strange draft, and possibly the keening scream now fading from the air, came from outside, it seems.
"So," Korlis looks around at the others, "how are we going to go about this? Straight down the Street of Swords, maybe?" He shrugs, "I mean I don't know that we can trust much of anything around here, not even the folk we're supposed to find trustworthy. Too many strange happenings going on for that. If we want to make it through this, I think we can only trust our selves."
Panic is a mechanism that strengthens the gene pool.
"As we have very little to go off of, the Street of Swords sounds good. It doesn't quite matter where we go, as long as we go somewhere. How long does everyone need to prepare?"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Fenser's ears prick up and, subtly, he seems alerted at the mention of the Elemental Plane of Air, however the projection has ended before he got to question the apparition.
In response to the echoing scream and the apparent trembling of the room, and the knocking of dust, Fenser visibly shifts in his chair and looks around in a kind-of unenthusiastic alarm. The elf imbibes the goblet in one gulp as he stands up from the table in the same action, with a gloved hand [not holding the goblet] he picks up his worn, dark tricorne hat that was on the table. He puts the goblet down briskly and then grabs a chunk of bread, and stuffs it in his mouth. While chewing he puts on his hat, straightening it with both hands.
"What's the significance of the Plane of Air?" he wonders aloud. Fenser then turns to Krolis, "I think the Street of Swords is as good a place to start our search as any, it's the closest at any rate - so we may as well start there, " Fenser backs away from the table and begins checking his gear, sweeping aside a long, black coat to check the shortsword sheathed at his hip, the continues his sentence, looking now between both Tyrfing and Krolis. "as you say we have little to go on." He also examines the bandolier under his coat that holds a number of darts, and a crystal-glass vial of pure, clear liquid, and picks up his light crossbow that was resting by a table leg.
Answering Tyrfing, he says "I'm about ready, but I'd just like to see what I can get out of Durstim. The Doctor seemed to think he might know something useful." Fenser nods curtly to everyone still at the table and then strides out of the backroom, towards the main/common room of the tavern, looking for Durstim, patting a dagger strapped to his thigh as he goes.
Sweeping by Nyxi in the tight corridor, crowded with barrels and containers, and into the main tavern room, you do not immediately notice the dour personage that is the half-elf Durstim. You do notice the one Noose brother mentioned previously, whose attention now shifts uncomfortably to you. The draft continues to push beneath the door, causing more dust and a previously unnoticed copper coin to be pushed into the middle of the room. A scrawny human, a sailor by his apparel, reaches for the coin, only to be kicked in the side by a dwarf who advanced on him from behind. Stooping quickly and scuttling back to his corner table, the black-bearded dwarf looks around the room with wild eyes, mouth moving perceptibly beneath his scraggled beard, though no sound can be heard. A few of the other tavern goers look on in interest as the sailor stands to his feet, leaning heavily against a table and trying to regain his breath.
The cloaked Kenku between Nyxi and Korlis, who has been infatuated with a mangled nail this entire time, suddenly shoots up when the sound of copper hitting wood hits their ears and lets out a soft rattle, only loud enough for their neighbors to hear — but, alas, they're too late, as bright hues watch the dwarf skitter away with the coin. Though they display no emotion on their face, they seem disappointed with this lost treasure, far more valuable than that old nail.
Their gaze slowly shifts to Tyrfing, over to the dwarf in the corner, then back again. There would be other shinies, they suppose. A curt clack of their beak signals that they're ready to leave whenever.
your soul is mine. ♡
Fenser pauses to observe the scuffle between the dwarf and scrawny human, and briefly regards the Noose brother now pointed on him, then shuts his eyes for a moment. Caressing a holy symbol hanging by a silver chain from his neck he takes a deep breathe and, exhaling a breathy divine word, asks for Guidance.
Opening his eyes, he studies the common room carefully. In particular, to get a sense of the general who's-who among the patrons, to see if he can see Durstim anywhere, and paying particular attention to black-bearded dwarf. Is he casting a spell? Fenser ponders.
Wisdom (Perception): 16
w/Guidance: 12 (final roll)
[OOC] I really want to get a read on the dwarf, can I tell if he is casting a spell? Is there something going on with this dwarf? Happy to make an additional Insight check. Wisdom (Insight): 10
(A perception check will suffice.)
Your initial focus on the dwarf serves to soothe your worry about him casting a spell of some kind - though his lips continue to move, they seem only to mumble from one syllable to the next, with neither vigor nor force behind them. Yet, under the influence of your cantrip, you are just barely able to notice a miniscule glint of metal from beneath the dwarf's beard. It seems he is wearing a thickset necklace of an unusual fashion. He turns his head to scratch roughly at his side, never ceasing to mumble, and you get a glimpse of a ring connected to the back of the metal piece, revealing it to be a collar of thick metal. Upon further reflection (your insight check), you deduce that the dwarf has likely escaped from some form of incarceration in which the rough collar was used, and he seems to be a little unhinged from what he's been through.
Noticing this, Fenser approaches the dwarf (who presumably is sitting at the corner table he retreated to) rather anxiously and hurried, as the earlier scream, rushing draft and of course the mission, hang principally in his mind. Fenser slings his crossbow over a shoulder and while keeping one eye trained on the attentive Noose brother, walks up and tries to gently place a calming hand on the dwarf's shoulder, the other leaning casually on the table.
"What troubles you, friend?" he asks, calmly and thoughtfully.
The dwarf makes a small squeal as you touch his shoulder, not having noticed you up until that point, and he scooches himself to the far side of the table.
Make a persuasion check, please.
Anything else the rest of you would like to do? If not, please indicate that you are heading outside of the tavern.