[Adventure] The Race of the Five Horns (DM: stonegod, Judge: THB)

[stonegod]

In the Bloody Wake

The tavern keeps its business going late into the evening. There is no shortage of custom, and a few heated words are exchanged, but no fights break out amongst the patrons. The ogre bodyguard the owner employs likely has something to do with that.

Vok and Crush mingle, trying to get a feel for the players. Not all are competitors, but there are enough. Crush finds one of the warforged teams, Team First to the Wall. All are former military—Brelish, Cyan, even one escaped from Thrane—now displaced in Sharn. Most have hard-working jobs in the Cogs due to the constructs' difficulty in securing regular employment, though the captain, an adamantine-plated hulk in a beaten up brown leather coat named Weapon, was formerly a semi-regular at the Tavern's Shard.

Vok leaves Crush to his fellows to find others. He hears of a few of the others teams. Blood of the Six Kings is the hobgoblin team. They sit at a table by themselves and hold themselves aloof from the masses around them; they seem very well trained. The female amongst them eyes Vok appreciatively. He also sees Tadrick from the Shard (The Salt Town Five), a group of shifters (Team Bloody Hands) accosting some half-drunk commoners (Team Six Bridges). Most annoying are some smashed frops loudly declaring their superiority (Tallain’s Rangers).

Bellegon does not find any of his kin, not unusual, or the benighted folk. There are a few of the more rough folk—bugbears, minotaurs, and such—who are preparing for the race. None of them seem particularly challenging in his eye.

As the evening passes the darkest hour, the Wake's tavern makes it last call.

[Feel free to interact with patrons. I'll move on when folks are ready.]

 

[pacdidj]

Rather than attempt to glean more information from the assembled competitors, an activity Crush deems to be likely fruitless, he instead attempts the common sportsman's tactic of "psyching out" the competition. He does not overtly threaten anybody, but tries to project an air of confident superiority. He snorts derisively at some of the exploits the other teams boast of, and spreads the good old stink eye around. While he's admittedly not at the top of his form this evening (Intimidate=21), after having had a long and taxing day, he nonetheless hopes that he's managed to dim the spirits and dull the competitive edge of some of the less experienced teams.

 

[renau1g]

Vok picks up on the hobgoblin female's interest and he asks the bartender what they're drinking, he'd like to buy a round for the table and one for himself.

When the waitress brings them over he'll raise his glass in a toast and offer a wink to the female along with a wide smile.

[sblock=ooc]
Not sure if Diplomacy would be the best?
diplomacy (1d20 14=15) jeez.... wtf that's the 7th time today under 10 on IC....oh and for the record Vok's only gotten 2 rolls over 10 out of 12 attempts...oh and 5 of those were diplomacy checks of which the highest was 7... waste of a +14 bonus [/sblock]

 

[MetaVoid]

Bellegon finds s spot in the middle of the tavern and concentrates, touching the threads of magic and scaning the room. After establishing who's the richest, he goes out and tries to gauge the power of those present. With combination of guile, fearsome reputation of his people and his own behaviour and power, he puts doubt and fear in few stout hearts. He even offers tentative alliance on the battlefield to some groups, trying to avoid potential conflict if they meet during the race.

[sblock=Rolls]
Arcana(1d20+10=28); Bluff(1d20+11=21); Intimidate (1d20+13=25)
Insight (1d20+2=8)

Arcana to sense magic, Bellegon stands back on support beam or even up on it as close to the middle as possible.

Bluff: offering the alliance in case of hardships or trouble with other teams to two most powerful (to his senses) monstruos crews.

Initimidate: put fear into lesser races and/or groups, plant doubt into more powerful and outright lie to enhance apparent power of his own group.

Insight: recognize the most powerful by something else beside number of magical items and apparent strength or skill...
[/sblock]

 

[stonegod]

Crush and Bellegon both manage to put the scare into a few or deceive some into false alliances. Vok, however, is less lucky. The hobgoblin lady smirks and raises a glass, then has a laugh with the others at her table.

There is little else that can be accomplished now. The race gets ever closer.

OOC: I'll update with race day on Monday.

 

[renau1g]

Vok's face reddens somewhat, but with a carefree shrug the half-elf joins his fellows and catches some rest before the big day.

 

[MetaVoid]

Satisfied with this nights work, Bellegon catches the eye of the paladin and nods toward exit. On the way there he goes by Crush not interrupting whatever conversation he's engaged in, just to notify him of his going.

 

[pathfinderq1]

Before going to sleep, Rikka took the time to go through all of her pack and gear. Despite the urban environment, she was not willing to leave any of her equipment behind, if only because she didn't have anywhere really secure to store it... She did spend a reasonable effort to make sure everything was packed as efficiently as possible, as she would before any serious travelling.

She slept in one corner of the rented inn room, bedded down on the floor with the actual bed and any other available furniture arranged as a makeshift shelter. And in the morning, she was awake before sunrise and out the door. In the shape of a large shaggy dog, she padded through the streets until she found a comfortable vantage within sight of the Bloody Wake. Once she found a spot, she crouched down in the shadows to watch the participants begin to assemble...

 

[stonegod]

Race Day

The day dawns cold and damp, winter in Sharn. Crush and Bellegon see Rikka sneak out early with a quick word that she'll meet them at the Wake.

The druid's vigil rewarded her with a view of contestants arriving on the scene. But, she also saw some other men decorated in bluish cloaks deliver several large crates with a gorgon-headed symbol on the side to the large open area at the back of the wake. A few guards–warforged–keep an eye on the proceedings.

The others awake back and the inn and break fast in order to quickly make it to the Wake. Rikka joins them when they arrive, melting out of the crowd. Various human guards in some noble house's livery direct the throng, keeping them in line within the large common room and out in front while some sort of preparations are made. After about a half-an-hour, the doors to the back are opened.

The back of the Bloody Wake (which is actually a large door cut in the "ship's" stern) opens into a bowl like area between several towers. The side of the towers are carved to simulate the bottom of the ocean, with fake coral or stone fish showing on the sides of the stone structures. Rope has been tied in small squares all over the yard, with signs hanging from each. It becomes soon obvious the signs are divided up by team name.

Once the teams are assembled—there are may be a score in total—an older man takes the stage flanked by some human guards. Everyone can now see the crates Rikka saw earlier in the back of the fishbowl, opened by their contents still hidden.

Contestants! I am Lord Staforth ir'Haran, patron of these games. I want to welcome you all to these, the first Race of the Five Horns! Applause, naturally.

Before we begin, let me first go over the rules. Rule first, no killing. This is a competition, not some bloody skirmish. While there will be some simulated combat, no magics deadly or sharpened blades should be brought to bare. The penalty is disqualification and an appointment with the Watch. There is both laughter and disappointed grunts at this.

Rule second, the only other, is to follow the instructions given to you at each stage exactly. They should be self-explainator. Keep within the lines and all that. Murmuring.

Staforth adjusts his glasses as some servants in livery (most likely of his house) begin delivering folded papers to the teams. This first stage is simple: You must race! But not on foot, not yet! During the Attack on Aruldusk, the reason Lord Dornal had such surprise was how he infiltrated the city. Born in Sharn, he knew of the crafty magics that allowed us to soar the skies, so he too took to the winds by adapting the simple soarsled to keep low and drop down on the garrison with narry a warning. You too will do the same. He turns to the blue-cloaked men in front of the crates. Gentleman!

The men open up the crate to reveal stacks of green-blue soarsleds, magical disks that allow the bearer to fly. Ryk's stomach almost sinks at the sight.

Vok quickly glances at the paper. It lists five marks one must make during the race, essentially instructions to the next stage. How one gets between said marks is left entirely up to the team.

Welcome to the Race of the Five Horns!

[I'll pause for any IC or OOC questions before we begin the first skill challenge.]

 

[pathfinderq1]

Rikka listened to the initial speechifying, but most of her attention was on the other teams, now that the assignments were clear. Once the sleds were revealed, she watched to see who was excited, and who was confused or frightened. Once she had taken her first look, she watched the ones who seemed most confident, to see how they acted- and once the sleds were parceled out, she continued to watch them for clues in how to use the crafts.

"Has anyone flown before?," she whispered to her companions- though she did not sound hopeful. "And do we all need to go to each spot, or can we split up, one person to each place?" She seemed almost to lean forward as she spoke, visibly eager to get underway...