Tavern Thread: The Hanged Man

The front door of the tavern creaked slowly open, and a short but massively built orc in tattered hide armor poked his head in. He scanned the room warily (looking for someone, perhaps?), long enough for any locals to recognize him as Kraegyn, a local thug and enforcer. Without a word, he stalked back out again...

No more than a minute later, the door popped open to admit a tiny young girl clad in patched and faded garb. With a bright smile and her hair flowing loose in a cascade of dark ringlets, she appearred no more than ten- a particularly energetic and happy urchin. The large stuffed bear strapped to the top of her leather satchel only reinforced that impression.

Pausing just inside the door, she gave the room a quick glance before trotting over to an open table and propping her pack on an empty chair, so that the stuffed bear appearred to have taken a seat. Then she flounced over to the bar, sharing her bright smile with the other inhabitants of the place. "I'm Otter!," she piped in a cheerful voice. "And I would... I mean, Mr. Bear would like a drink- a big tankard full of stout!"

OOC: Insight (18+), I guess? [sblock] Definitely not a human child- looks like a full-grown young halfling woman, with a very well-practiced act; Bluff +8 (taking 10); [/sblock]

The portal had been merrily crackling away for some time when it jolted for no particular reason. Arcs of violet and green energy lance out across the floor and ceiling as holes appear in the shimmering circle of magic. The entire building shakes and a terrible whining sound starts coming from the gateway. A particularly wide torrent of orange sparks dance out across the wall creating another small circle at ground level, and through this comes tumbling a damply scorched form. The creature is tucked into a ball and rolls across the ground several times before lashing out with a clawed hand to steady itself as it tears a quartet of deep fresh furrows into the sturdy flooring of the tavern.

Uninteligeble growls and grunts that are coming from it subside as it starts to catch its breath. The exposed arm is covered in blue-black scales, but the deeply hooded being doesn't move from its crouch for a long time, aside from a cautious glance to either side of its position. "By Bahamuts tail! A curse on all portals and dark magics!" The creature stands up, revealing himself to indeed be a humanoid, and with a puff of breath blows the cloak's hood up out of his steely-grey eyes.

Pushing back the hood shows the strangely colored dragonborn to be a definite import. The scales that could loosely be called the "dreadlocks" of other breeds have been filed short and razor sharp on this fellow, along with some sort of bleaching process to turn them a stark bone white to match the long spurs of horn at his jaw and cheek lines. "Now where in Melora's floating Isles am I?" As he speaks, blue-white sparks of electricity dance over his teeth and in his eyes.

The chainmail he wears is charred black, as are the corners of his cloak and satchel. He walks up to the barkeep and puts his massive hands on the wood between them, waiting for an answer with an unabashed look of annoyance on his leathery blue-black scaled face.

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Wow, the roleplaying in here sure died down over Christmas. It was going so well, too. I think maybe something more structured would be good.
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A slight man in unassuming clothes slips into the tavern and speaks a few words to the bartender, who nods and waves him toward a board cluttered with notices. The man tacks up a brightly coloured sheet which stands out due to its neat, professional lettering and bold illustrations (cartoonish sketches of armoured adventurers fighting lions and dragons). It' s a sharp contrast to the quick scrawls of most of the notices.

Once the sign is in place, he steps back to admire his handiwork, then spins on his heel and addresses the room with a flourish.

"HEAR YE, HEAR YE! For those of you good gentlemen and ladies who are untutored in the literate arts, I will now summarize the gist of this wonderous proposal.

For the entertainment - and ENRICHMENT! - of all patrons of this fine establishment, I propose a COMPETITION. A competition in which all are welcome to participate! A competition of wits, of derring-do, of the very gift of gab itself! In short, I propose a STORYTELLING CONTEST!

Tell the tales your mothers taught you! Teach us the strange legends of your far-off, foreign homelands! Dazzle us with your own flights of invention! And the best tale of all - as chosen by YOU, the esteemed audience - will WIN a GRAND PRIZE of FIFTY PIECES OF GOLD!

And there's more! Widespread FAME will accrue to everyone who provides a story, for their tales will be spread far and wide, on the lips of myself and many another professional talespinner. All are welcome to contribute a tale! Step up, sign your mark and gain a little piece of IMMORTALITY!"

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The notice backs up the storyteller's words, and adds some details: signups will close in two days. Everyone who writes their name (or their mark, for the illiterate) to the signup sheet will be eligible to present one story. After all have told their tale, the listeners will vote by applause for their favourite story. The next day, the top four vote-getters will give a second story, and the winner of this round will claim the prize (which, according to the fine print, comes from the coffers of the Jongleur's Guild of Bacarte).

The bottom line of the sheet promises that "if the response is good, the Jongleur's Guild will sponsor more entertainments in the future - so let's tell some tales to remember!"

OOC rules and mechanics:
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So here's how this is going to work. (Since this involves mechanics and rewards, I got approval from the judges before posting.)

PC's will have two days to sign up by posting their intent in this thread. (That's midnight on Wednesday - however, I won't be posting the next step until early Thursday evening, and I won't turn away anyone who signs up before that point.) When the signups close, I'll RP the jongleur acting as MC, calling up and introducing the next contestant. They will then post their story (IC as their character telling the story), along with a Diplomacy check rolled at Invisible Castle. (Others are free to post heckling and applause in character. I recommend splitting up your story into several posts so people have some space to interject, whatever you think makes the best rhythm.)

After all stories are done, there will be another two day period for everyone to cast a vote for their favourite story. Any registered character that could legitimately be in the tavern (ie. isn't currently taking part in an adventure) can vote, even if they didn't post anything indicating they were there up to that point - assume they were just sitting quietly until then. The character with the highest Diplomacy roll will get a another free vote representing the applause of all the NPC's. (If characters tie for
highest roll they will each receive a free vote.)

The top 4 vote-getters will enter a runoff, so each will post a second story and Diplomacy roll - after all 4 stories in the runoff are finished, there will be another voting period. Winner of this voting gets the prize.

I thought this would be a good way to get some more roleplaying going while we're waiting for more DM's to show up, and also give people a good way to post something a little more dramatic than the run-of-the-mill chatting around a table waiting for something to happen.

If anyone has any other RP exercises, I encourage them to post them as well!
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"Well, come on folks! I know there's a lot of talented people in the crowd - who'll be the first to come up and sign the sheet?"

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[sblock=OOC]
Aww such a great idea! I was planning on trying to do something like this if a game hadn't come up. Good luck! I'd love to participate but Les is kind of wandering around in Overgrowth now >.>
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Shorrin stood and walked over to the barkeep, "Tell me sir, where can a person such as myself find a start to an adventure?" Shorrin went on to order a drink as he waited for the barkeep.... or anyone else's reply.

[sblock=OOC]@Raven: Well, perhaps we'll be back in the tavern soon enough to vote on the stories at least And hey, now you have a new, epic story - that of how we vanquish the vile orc shaman residing within Daunton itself [/sblock]

Realizing that the bartender is obviously a mute, the annoyance in his expression seems to intensify briefly before draining away. Var'uuk takes the ale proffered by the mute and storms over to a sturdy table crashing down onto a heavy bench. He looks over to the slinking fellow at some kind of large, parchment covered shingle and is talking about a story telling contest. The strangely colored dragonborn takes a deep drink of the brew and then starts checking his gear to make sure none of it is still smoldering. He puts out the last couple of sparks with a little hiss as he smothers the orange points of light on his cloak and pack.

The jongleur returns! This time he is dressed in a flowing purple velvet cloak and a narrow peaked cap adorned with bright yellow feathers, and he carries a bundle of sticks draped with glittering chains tucked under one arm. (Those closest to him as he whisks past realize this is a comically oversized scroll, probably a stage prop, rolled up and secured.)

He strides over to the notice, and his face falls when he sees that there are no signatures. "Nobody? Not a one? Well, I suppose I'll leave this here, then - the contest will commence as soon as at least four people have signed up!" He looks around at the sea of patrons nursing their drinks. "Better make that three. Can't have a contest with less than three contestants - it'd be unlucky."

[Sblock=OOC]Lol I'd say if we get back Vashik could tell the story, but it would last about 30 seconds, and would be the opposite of grand[/sblock]

[sblock=OOC]
Grand? Of course it is! you just have to elaborate. It's a vicious battle that we almost lost! And I may even get to throw someone up through the roof at a sniper

But anyway, we might even just be back to be the only contestants. Hah! I already have a story idea or two stewing around. Perhaps a story of some vigilante-ism Les performed in the past.
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