Tales From The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern! (chapter 1, now closed)

As of 2-19-07, this is hereby now the old:

In Character thread for...

Tales From The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern!

Now, below are some ground rules I'd like for us (well, okay, you) to follow. Now, it may seem like a lot at first, but I guarantee that they will only help us (most importantly, me) keep track of what's going on a whole lot easier. So:

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1) Let's try to stay in character in this thread; any quick and simple out of character comments/questions should be set off from the rest of the message like so:

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OOC: My butt itches sumpin' fierce

Longer or non-game-related OOC comments/questions should go in the OOC thread (formerly the recruiting thread) here.

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2) I don't care how you refer to your character whilst in character on this thread; that is, I don't care if you refer to your character in the first person or third person. But do please try to be consistent - don't refer to your character in the first AND third person in the same post. (Yes, I've seen it happen. Most confusing.)

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3) Please set off spoken words in quotes and in a color, like this: "My butt itches sumpin' fierce!"

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4) If you like to describe your actions by keeping them separate from your dialog, please set them off in angle brackets like this:

<scratches butt sumpin' fierce, hocks loogie into spitoon>

Otherwise, just use a narrative style like this:

Roguey Bob scratches his butt sumpin' fierce, hocks a loogie into the spitoon and says, "Man, my butt itches sumpin' fierce!"

or, in first person,

I scratch my butt sumpin' fierce, hock a loogie into the spitoon and say, "Man, my butt itches sumpin' fierce!"

but not

Roguey Bob scratches my butt sumpin' fierce, hocks a loogie into the spitoon and I say, "Man, my butt itches sumpin' fierce!"

Who's scratching who, now? A classic case of mixing up your first person and third person narrative. See how confusing that is? Confusing is bad. (Having your butt scratched by a stranger ain't no picnic, either.)

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5) For clarity's sake, everyone should have a different color. (First come first serve - so if you really, REALLY have to have pink, better post quick and claim it.) Also, be sure it's not too light to show up in the "stealth" background mode (the white/grey background).

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6) Some players like to relate their character's thoughts. If you like, you can do this by putting thoughts in your speaking color with italics, like this: HotDAMN my butt itches sumpin' fierce...

Now, if you choose to post your character's thoughts every now and then, be careful what he/she thinks. For the most part, they should merely be embellishment for your character's mood or what he/she has said or is about to say. Your character's thoughts should not give away things that other players should know, i.e., do not think:

Dang, our Paladin is an idiot... But, he's got the highest charisma, so we're stuck.

This is a double whammy because 1) it can cause a problem in game play with regard to the 'idiot' comment, and 2) that metagaming no-no (how does your character know the Paladin has the highest charisma? And just what is "charisma", and what does he mean by "highest"?)

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7) If you want your character to do something without other players knowing, set it off similar to the OOC comment and in a spoiler block addressed to me, like this:

====================

DM: [sblock]My character scratches his butt surreptitiously (+3 to Hide Butt Scratching skill)[/sblock]
We'll count on other players to be honest and not peek!

8) I know that some players put their name and certain vital stats (class, race, character level, current hp, etc.) in the subject line of each post. That's not necessary here, and indeed will be frowned upon (at least in the beginning) since no one knows anyone else.

>>>>>

Okay, that's all the ground rules for now. I promise, this is as "strict" as I get. I'm NOT a rules lawyer, as you'll soon find out. I just want to make sure this game has as little confusion as possible, so we can all enjoy it and have a good time.

As far as die rolling goes, I'll be doing it all. I also prefer to just describe the action that's taking place:

Roguey Bob's Whirlwind Attack with the spiked chain sends goblin limbs flying across the clearing, landing at the feet of their bugbear master, and they fall down in a bloody heap!

...Rather than describe the die rolling that took place:

Your d20 rolls of 14, 12, and 16, coupled with your attack bonus of +12, easily surpasses the goblin's armor class of 15. Rolling 2d4+4 for damage with said weapon, you deal 12, 8, and 10 points of damage to goblins 1, 3, and 7 respectively, effectively terminating them. You have successfully vanquished three of your adversaries. Huzzah.

In other words, I emphasize the roLE playing, not the roLL playing (cliche, yes, but true). If you really want to know what you rolled on something let me know, and I may or may not ignore your request altogether.

Intro

As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds over the seaside village of Lizard Spit, spilling its warm, golden glow over all, it took one look at the town and immediately wished it had stayed in bed. So, like so many days before this one, it spent the rest of the day hiding behind drizzle-soaked storm clouds and basically sulking its way across the heavens.

In other words, it was a normal day in Lizard Spit.

The grey sky loomed overhead like it always did, the clouds drooled dirty drizzle all around like they always did, and the citizens of Lizard Spit put up with this like they always did. Such was Lizard Spit.

However, there was something different about this particular day. There were new folks in town this day, having arrived late last night, each from distant lands unknown – the darkly beautiful young woman with the mysteriously quiet yet impeccably well-dressed companion; the rugged, swarthy man of the law; the dark and mysterious holy man; the, um… Extravagantly dressed and outspoken elf; and the rather plain-looking young man that seemed to have followed the elf into town (they say he was mesmerized by a shiny bauble on the elf’s attire…). Yessiree, such a stir hadn’t been caused in Lizard Spit since – well, we’ll get to that shortly.

Yes, as you could tell, the citizens of Lizard Spit were a hardy bunch, withstanding the weather, strangers, and even the occasional natural disaster with a grim, determined apathy. Why, even when the town was terrorized by that dragon all those years ago, the people of Lizard Spit merely put up with it, paying tribute to the dragon and providing maidens as needed. Truth be told, the dragon was about to pack it in and find an exciting, altogether more lively town if it hadn’t been for Sir Dudley, who decided to come to the town’s aid (even though they didn’t ask for it) and slay that monstrous dragon. Legend has it that, in a remarkable and largely unprecedented display of thoughtfulness, the citizens of Lizard Spit commissioned a statue of Sir Dudley and had it erected in the town square on the day of his departure. Of course, some might call the pose that the sculptor had chosen a bit questionable, what with him appearing to be scratching his butt and all, but it didn’t really seem to bother the fine people of the town. Life went on as usual – the sky loomed, the clouds drooled. Such was Lizard Spit.

But that was decades ago, and there weren’t many left in town that were witness to those crazy, reckless days of yore when Spittians (such was what they called themselves) went about erecting statues willy-nilly. Nosiree, those impetuous, hotheaded days were gone. Why, just last month marauding bands of goblinoids from the surrounding woods began raiding the town for food and loot, but do you see the townspeople complaining? Of course not, they’re Spittians, dammit! And it is on one of these later, altogether lackluster days that these five strangers happen to find themselves in The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern…

Ah yes, The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern. Quite a popular place, it seems, and not only because it’s the only place in town where you could get a decent meal and a good mug of ale (aside from The Water Weasel, but who wants to go to that dive?). Here is where the burly dwarf Feargal Sunderkeg, the current owner and proprietor of the tavern, plies his trade. With his sister Muirna tending tables and his cousin Olaf in the kitchen, Sunderkeg (as he likes to be called) has managed to make this establishment the jewel of the city. Well, not really. But he sure would like to think so, and he does serve up a mean mug o’ hooch. Most of the townsfolk like to come here after a hard, long day of indifference to the world and tie one on, perhaps listening to a wandering minstrel every now and again before he leaves (or hangs himself) from utter depression, or reveling in one of Sunderkeg’s many tall tales of his past adventures. The womenfolk keep abreast of the latest gossip via Muirna, who never lets a juicy bit of hearsay get past her. And everyone just loves Olaf’s lutefisk. Mm-mm, lutefisk…

…Er, so, as I said, it so happens that these five strangers have made their way into The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern, where some momentous things may or may not await them…

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OOC: ...Aaaaaaaaaaaand - action!

I reserve Green
(Description in Third person, I will do all else in first)
Jaunting in the front door...comes a Male Elf with Long, Lustrous, Shiny, Clean, Flowing, Blond hair. On his back is a bright Yellow and Red Backpack that has a small label applied near the edge. He is wearing Sky Blue and Purple Pantaloons and a Bright Orange and Periwinkle Shirt. On his waist is a Bright White Belt with a Royal Blue Scabbard. He appears to be wearing a suit of mail Under the clothing. He has a Black Bandana about 1/2 inch above his eyes. He is also wearing a fair bit of simple jewelry, like a necklace, some rings, earrings....ect...
(/end description)

I walk to the counter:: "Excuse me miss, is there some work that I can do to pay for a meal of that wonderful bread and food that I smell cooking. No meat however, does not agree with my stomach. Also I find myself short of cash overall and would like to know if there is work to be found in this town for one such as I?"

I then turn to the room and survey what is around me. I smile at those that make eye contact.:: "What charming people. I think I might grow to like it here. If I can find a place to ply my Trade. I am a clothier or tailor. "

I turn back to the counter and keep talking the whole time::"I can also help to teach reading and writing and assist in the training of young folks in the martial profession. As a last resort I can always try to clean and assist with any 'Problems' the town might have. But that might not be fair to the 'Problem'..."
I smile broadly ::"Could I beg a mug of water as well."

I finally stop talking for a bit.

A person in rattily attired clothes enters soon after the well dressed elf. His clothes are patch worked and not all rips are mended. He walks in and does not stop to affix his eyes to the darkness. In his temporary blind state he almost trips over a bench in the middle of the room. Stopping he sits down and with his gaze no longer fixed on the elf, he starts to look around. Seeing someone near by he studders a question, Wah..Wah...Wah...where am...am...am....Where am I?

He stares blankly at the person waiting for an answer.

A prolonged coughing can be heard from coming outside the door of the inn. It continues for nearly a minute, and you hear a man's baritone voice say, "Great Grandfather's ghost! I thought I was about to loose my lunch on that one."

There is the sound of some shuffling about and clearing of throat after which the door opens, revealing an extremely tall, lanky man clad in rust-red clerical robes, covered with a midnight-blue hooded cloak. Before entering the inn’s main room proper, he turns around and calls out sharply to someone out of sight, “No, no, put him in the stable and don’t give him oats. You know how gassy he gets when he eats plain oats. Just mix it with the straw.”

The man turns and enters the main room, ignoring everyone else, not bothering to close the door behind him, and quickly makes his way over to a table, where he unceremoniously plops into an empty child. He pulls the hood off of his head, revealing a bald pate, a black goatee and chillingly blue eyes. His features look patrician, accented by a narrow, aquiline nose and small, thin lips. He sits back in his chair, messaging his temples and mumbling to himself.

Finally, he looks up at someone he assumes is a waitress of some sort and very quickly blurts out, “Eh, hello there. Would you happen to have some warm soup or something like that? Nothing too strong, my stomach couldn’t take that. Perhaps a light leak soup? But nothing with cream, that would keep me up all night with cramps. Hmm, perhaps a chicken soup would be good? Well, I would think that would depend on the chickens. And then some bread. And maybe a little bit of venison if you have it. Oh, yes, and a wine, but nothing too sweet, and not that swill you sell the traders passing through. Something with a bit of age to it.” He clears his throat, looking up to see if the waitress got all that. “Oh, yes, and I guess you should get something for Luther. He’s in the stable with the horse. He’s fond of cheese, but don’t give him any. The soup’s good enough for him. Dairy makes him obstreperous.”

There's a jingling and clomping outside the door of the bar and loud curses about horse leavings. After a few moments of this, the doors splay wide and an imposing figure with a chest like a Gnollish beer barrel and arms like dragon sausages steps in. He stops, one hand holding a door open, the other lifting the brim of his wide, cinnamon-stick curled hat so his squinted, glinting eyes can get a long look at all the bar-dwellers.

His chest is covered in a solid hunk of Mithral, dulled with dust from the long road. A matching shield is strapped to his back, and a straight sword with a hilt shaped like the head of great dog-of-war hangs on a red scabbard at his hip. A bright blue feather juts from his backpack over his left shoulder. His pants, boots and gloves are all thick leather stained by well-oiling beneath the layer of trail dirt that exhales dust when he moves. He pounds at his arms and legs to knock most of the dust off then steps further into the room. His boot spurs jangle twice before he stops abruptly with a wrinkle of his nose and steps outside to stomp around on the porch a bit more before re-entering, this time without any flourish, but apparently satisfied with his smell.

He saunters up to the bar with still-squinted eyes and listens to the friendly yet babbling elf before popping a cigarillo between his lips. While he continues to listen to the elf, he takes a rag from his pocket and shines a bronze star attached to a strap on his armor, beneath which lies his gritty heart (too much grit?).

Once the elf's finally stopped . . . oh, wait, no . . . okay . . . NOW that the elf's stopped talking, between gnaws at his tobaccy-stick he says to the proprietor, "Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too." With that, he gives the elf a quick wink and nod of the head, and turns around to survey the rest of the citizenry.

A talkative elf

Wystan said:

Jaunting down the Stairs (or out of a back room as needed)...

Click to expand...

OOC: Looks like it'll have to be the front door... (Tavern map is up in OOC thread)

... comes a Male Elf with Long, Lustrous, Shiny, Clean, Flowing, Blond hair. On his back is a bright Yellow and Red Backpack that has a small label applied near the edge. He is wearing Sky Blue and Purple Pantaloons and a Bright Orange and Periwinkle Shirt. On his waist is a Bright White Belt with a Royal Blue Scabbard. He appears to be wearing a suit of mail Under the clothing. He has a Black Bandana about 1/2 inch above his eyes. He is also wearing a fair bit of simple jewelry, like a necklace, some rings, earrings....ect...
(/end description)

Click to expand...

As you enter the tavern, most... Well, okay, all of the patrons immediately stop their talking/drinking/drooling/whatever and look directly at you with slightly widened eyes. Then, almost in unison, they all shrug and immediately go back to talking/drinking/drooling as you step up to the counter. Behind the counter a young Dwarven lass with masses of slightly desheviled red hair tied up in a bright green bow polishes some mugs.

"Excuse me miss, is there some work that I can do to pay for a meal of that wonderful bread and food that I smell cooking."

"Well, I -"

"No meat however, does not agree with my stomach."

"Oh, ok-"

"Also I find myself short of cash overall and would like to know if there is work to be found in this town for one such as I?"

"Oh, well I -"

<turns to face the room> "What charming people. I think I might grow to like it here. If I can find a place to ply my Trade. I am a clothier or tailor. "

"Ther-"

<turns back to the counter>"I can also help to teach reading and writing and assist in the training of young folks in the martial profession."

"Uh-hu-"

"As a last resort I can always try to clean and assist with any 'Problems' the town might have."

"..."

"But that might not be fair to the 'Problem'..."

< :\ >

<smiling broadly>"Could I beg a mug of water as well."

She waits a few seconds, not quite believing that you've finally stopped talking, then reaches down below the bar. You hear a faint *sploosh* and she sets a cup of water down in front of you. "On the house," she says with a terse smile.

"If you're lookin' for tailor work, you could always check with Carlotta, she runs the clothier's up on the north end of Merchant's Row. As for 'problems', well, you might check with Sunderkeg. He'll be out in a minute."

The doors of the tavern fling open as the darkly beautiful young woman with the mysteriously quiet yet impeccably well-dressed companion enter. The woman, a short human with long black hair, a pale compliction and dressed in revealing black leather waltzes up to the bar. She is smiling broadly the entire way. Either talking to her companion or herself "What a gorgeous day, I wish everyday was like this"


Her tall, skinny compainion follows, dressed head to toe, Clothing covering all flesh. A sword, a bow and a back pack identify a warrior

The woman smacks the bar oblivious to anyone how would care, "Hey barman, gimme a, well gimme the special if you have one of those and be quick we're thirsty"

I take the glass::"Why thank you lass, and may I say that you would have to be the prettiest dwarven maid I have ever seen. However that color does not highlight or flatter your hair and the tecture is all wrong for your skin type. I would reccomend a less subtle earth tone, maybe overtones of copper thrown in for a mix....Look at me talking, let me introduce myself. I am Ranti Akande, Clothier and Problem Solver supreme. Heck I remember this one time that I was asked to clear a den of 200 Kobolds. At least that is how many it seemed to be when I was done. However I did not stick around long when I was done. They fell before me..."

I appear to be turning a slight green

"I think that my tales like that might have to wait. They make me slightly queasy.. Anyway, would you be willing to spot me a slight meal, maybe some of that broth or soup that the gentleman over there is requesting."

Looking down my nose at him::

"And you sir REALLY need to clean your armor and clothing some more and a bath or at least simple cleaning could do you well. At least you don't carry the stench of carrion on you. I will make do with my water for now."

I proceed to sip at the water checking for chemical tastes and the like....

Muirna meets another stranger

Branding Opportunity said:

A prolonged coughing can be heard from coming outside the door of the inn. It continues for nearly a minute, and you hear a man's baritone voice say, "Great Grandfather's ghost! I thought I was about to loose my lunch on that one."

There is the sound of some shuffling about and clearing of throat after which the door opens, revealing an extremely tall, lanky man clad in rust-red clerical robes, covered with a midnight-blue hooded cloak. Before entering the inn’s main room proper, he turns around and calls out sharply to someone out of sight, “No, no, put him in the stable and don’t give him oats. You know how gassy he gets when he eats plain oats. Just mix it with the straw.”

Click to expand...

At this, a severe little balding man wearing thick spectacles and heavy brown robes rolls his eyes, tosses up his hands, pushes his plate of food away from him in disgust, and quickly exits the tavern, giving you a cold look and muttering under his breath.

The man turns and enters the main room, ignoring everyone else, not bothering to close the door behind him, and quickly makes his way over to a table, where he unceremoniously plops into an empty child.

Click to expand...

OOC: Um... You sure about that? The parents might get a bit upset...

He pulls the hood off of his head, revealing a bald pate, a black goatee and chillingly blue eyes. His features look patrician, accented by a narrow, aquiline nose and small, thin lips. He sits back in his chair, messaging his temples and mumbling to himself.

Click to expand...

Few patrons bother to turn and look at you, but those who do simply shrug and turn back to draining their mugs. You think you hear someone say something like, "When it rains, it pours..."

The Dwarven barmaid bustles up to you and starts to say something but stops short as you begin to talk:

“Eh, hello there. Would you happen to have some warm soup or something like that? Nothing too strong, my stomach couldn’t take that. Perhaps a light leak soup? But nothing with cream, that would keep me up all night with cramps. Hmm, perhaps a chicken soup would be good? Well, I would think that would depend on the chickens. And then some bread. And maybe a little bit of venison if you have it. Oh, yes, and a wine, but nothing too sweet, and not that swill you sell the traders passing through. Something with a bit of age to it.” <clears throat, looks up expectantly>

Halfway through your order, you thought you caught an almost imperceptible rolling of the eyes as if to say, "Here we go again," but you're not sure. When you pause, she perks up a bit, looks at you expectantly, and just as you start to speak she quickly says, "Cockaleekie soup, thin, with bread, venison and a dry wine, not inexpensive, well-aged. Right away." She turns to go, then turns back as you speak again.

“Oh, yes, and I guess you should get something for Luther. He’s in the stable with the horse. He’s fond of cheese, but don’t give him any. The soup’s good enough for him. Dairy makes him obstreperous.”

"Two soups, no cheese for the stubborn loudmouth. Right. Back in a jiff." She bustles toward the back of the tavern and yells, "Feargal! Little help up front, please," before she disappears through the kitchen door.