D&D 5E [D&D 5e] Planescape - In Through the Out Door

[Pembinasa]

The young wizard shrugged. "That was the sense of your words as best I could tell; your metaphor seemed to indicate a frustrated would-be assailant, even if only in indirect terms. I suppose 'right' and 'wrong' depends on which came first, the attacking or the taunting..." Graydon shook his head, considering. "Surely there's more to such 'comparative fighting morality' than just not being the first to strike.

"That said, I don't think he's too far off; the idea of 'don't trust in some other power to help, just pouch up and do it yourself' is one that I can find a lot of kinship with. Why grovel at a mighty being's knees when you can stand and look them in the eye? It's no difficulty in guessing which of the two is likely to manage to become a mighty being themselves, after all." He coughed, and hawked a glob of yellowish-black spittle off to the side. "You had the right idea, let's get to the bar; I need to wash my mouth clean."

OOC: Passive perception to notice the shenanigans of the rest of the party: I assume 13 easily covers it?

Eeeexcept then he saw whatever floaty-pranks those Fae must be playing on their new golem, or extrusion or whatever else it might be described as- and if his experience with their type meant anything, this 'Rusty' might get broken before he had a chance to study it! Best if he headed over there.

"Come now, come now you all; surely I'm not the only one who would like to get out of this foul air and into a place with drinks?"

 

[Fenris]

The cup taps the barrel once, twice, three times, then rights itself. Freed from interference, it daintily places itself over the satyr's coin.

All three cups scoot back, making a few mild adjustments to get themselves in a straight line. Then they begin to spin...

The glove, appearing out of nowhere, seems to wrestle with itself in front of the small gathering at the barrel.

You're putting on quite a show, as tourists often do.

How To Play The Shell Game: STEP 1: Either make a Perception check or choose randomly (just pick one, or roll 1d3). STEP 2: That's pretty much it, actually.

[MENTION=11146]CanadienneBacon[/MENTION] Roll a straight Strength check, please.

OOC: Nope, not even worth asking about my own sleight of hand skill. You want me to just guess then?
Roll(1d20)+3:
5,+3
Total:8

 

[Unsung]

OOC: Actually, yeah. What [MENTION=2820]Fenris[/MENTION] said. You can use Sleight of Hand as well.

 

[Fenris]

OOC: Cunning satyr that he is, Oz has quite quick hands and knows the tricks of the game. Sleight of Hand Roll(1d20)+6: 19,+6 Total:25

 

[Unsung]

OOC: Oops. @Pembinasa, what I meant to say was that since the rest of the party isn't actually hiding, you can notice them or not at your leisure.

The game seems almost too simple to someone skilled in the art of legerdemain. With no hands over the cups to fool the eye, they can only rely on speed. They spin constantly as they move, stopping and starting and changing direction suddenly, the unfamiliar writing on their surfaces shifting as the group watches.

The cup flips over as Oz reaches for it, revealing his coin underneath. The cup drops back down, only for the other two cups to immediately rise, sending two coins rolling back at him.

They are of similar weight to the one Oz plunked down, but slightly thicker, perhaps to make up for the square hole punched in the middle of each one. Both are quite dull and well-handled.

All three cups set themselves back in place.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty seems to almost be pouting, at least if its posture is any indication, that the others were interfering with its interaction with its new friends, the flying cups.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune wiffled down the byway, away from the cups. He drifted to Eurid and stuck out his new hand in greeting.[/section]

 

[Fenris]

Oz scoops up the two coins, "See Rusty, one coin became two. Magic! Ooohh" says Oz with a grin to the modron.

"Now, it will take your coin if you are not careful. But if you want to play with it, you need a coin." Oz starts to turn away, "And not mine" he adds.

 

[Unsung]

The Jilted Planes occupies the capacious basement of a rooming house: a dozen rooms, three storeys tall. It looks to be of fairly new construction, outer wood not yet worn smooth, with ornate metal brackets that haven't entirely turned to rust, worked into the likeness of leering fiendish faces. Its steep roof and narrow windows look meant to fit in with the rest of the city.

It's presumably work done by Godsmen apprentices at the Foundry-- imperfect, but earnest. Several walls, windows, and even parts of the surrounding street, however, have been painted with a rambling, incomprehensible mural, depicting a stream of water that turns into fire that turns into lightning that turns into letters that don't seem to spell anything-- and so on, and so forth. A pattern of tessellating frogs is woven into the background, in subtler shades.

Such bright colours don't seem to fit in with the rest of the neighbourhood. Or even the rest of the building, for that matter. A beggar in a blindfold huddles under burlap sack, split open and tied around his neck like a cape. He squats beside the mural, rocking back and forth on his haunches.

Such imagery does seem to suit the congregation of clowns at the corner of the street, however. Their capering is barring the way to the inn.

[sblock=DC 10 Wisdom (Perception)]Coming closer to them, it is possible to notice that there are scraps of armour, chain mail and hide, mostly, mixed in among the ragged circus clothes, and that among the things they are juggling is the occasional dagger, concealed in a scarf or fall of feathers.[/sblock]

OOC: Don't feel rushed to head straight for the Jilted Planes, now that I've posted this-- but at the same time, don't feel like you have to wait for me to tell you when it's time for the next leg of the journey, either.

 

[Shayuri]

The woman calling herself Shard paused to watch the antics with the strange cups and the floating hand, but when the inn was in sight she strode out ahead. The idea of being in a tavern...it made a yearning ache in her heart, like seeing home after a long, hard trip. Something quickened in her as she got closer, and suddenly the world was standing out in excrutiating detail. As if the filters that the mind used to protect itself from sensory overload had suddenly melted away...but instead of being overloaded, she was simply transfixed.

The mural seemed like a thing alive, twisting and dancing; the shadows of the ones who drew it rising from its surface in ones and twos. She saw not just the paint and stone, but the love and the fatigue and the moments of doubt and the moments of triumph, all boiled into it. And she saw it fading inexorably overtime, until strange creatures with pictures over their heads came along and took the wall away...

She saw the brightly dressed men near the entrance...the flash of metal under clothing, the weapons cleverly concealed in plain sight. Their pasts were full of blood and pain. And so were their futures.

The heretic had not angered her. But these men did. They dared to stand before her inn, her place, and attack those weary travelers who came to it? Rage was sweet and hot and old inside her, and the crystal in her forehead lit up with a bright and steady light.

"Eurid," she said. Her voice was quiet, but not gentle. If a lion stalking gazelle in the tall grass could speak, it would use that voice. "The men pretending to be fools over there. Tell me if this city has some custom, or tradition, that would mean they are not bandits and thieves. Tell me quickly."

(Wisdom: Perception [roll0])