CanadienneBacon
Explorer
[sblock=Unsung]How much does one dead rat weigh? 
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D&D 5E [D&D 5e] Planescape - In Through the Out Door
- Thread starter Unsung
- Start date
Unsung
First Post
[sblock=CanadienneBacon]Certainly not as much as 12 pounds. Probably a little under a pound or so? They would have weighed considerably more if they were not as desiccated as they currently are.
One other thing I keep forgetting to mention: I was thinking that Picayune's trombone is not so a physical object he carries (and thus has to track as weight), but is also incorporeal, as much a part of him as anything, something he can conjure at will but has no physical presence to anyone but him-- except when he plays it, of course, and others hear it.[/sblock]
One other thing I keep forgetting to mention: I was thinking that Picayune's trombone is not so a physical object he carries (and thus has to track as weight), but is also incorporeal, as much a part of him as anything, something he can conjure at will but has no physical presence to anyone but him-- except when he plays it, of course, and others hear it.[/sblock]
CanadienneBacon
Explorer
[section]
Picayune flitted through the rafters, picking up dessicated rat corpses. He picked up ten shrunken little rat bodies and held them by their tails like a bundle of posies, not minding that they sullied the white of his glove. Ammunition! He eyed the crowd below in the Jilted Planes, plotting his strategy.[/section]
Picayune flitted through the rafters, picking up dessicated rat corpses. He picked up ten shrunken little rat bodies and held them by their tails like a bundle of posies, not minding that they sullied the white of his glove. Ammunition! He eyed the crowd below in the Jilted Planes, plotting his strategy.[/section]
goatunit
Explorer
Suspecting his companions likely don't know what sort of grub is available in these parts, Eurid takes the initiative and orders a suitable meal for the lot.
"Dog stew," he says. "All around. With potatoes and dretch gravy."
He glances around for a specials board a moment as he thinks.
"Eh... you got bread? Something from Elysian wheat, mayhap? And larvae milk-butter--abyssal if you can, but we're not too picky. And wine, wine... I been ear good things on that load wot Estevan brung in last Lady's Day. Oh, and a pitcher o' Ysgard mead to share. I trust your tongue on that, chit. Whatever you're liking lately. And some of them coals out the oven for afters."
He seems to remember suddenly that his tiefling predilections aren't universal as he glances around at his companions.
"Er... better make that honey cakes for afters, and just the one coal brick for me. And all that with no arsenic, but mayhap some extra on the side."
"Dog stew," he says. "All around. With potatoes and dretch gravy."
He glances around for a specials board a moment as he thinks.
"Eh... you got bread? Something from Elysian wheat, mayhap? And larvae milk-butter--abyssal if you can, but we're not too picky. And wine, wine... I been ear good things on that load wot Estevan brung in last Lady's Day. Oh, and a pitcher o' Ysgard mead to share. I trust your tongue on that, chit. Whatever you're liking lately. And some of them coals out the oven for afters."
He seems to remember suddenly that his tiefling predilections aren't universal as he glances around at his companions.
"Er... better make that honey cakes for afters, and just the one coal brick for me. And all that with no arsenic, but mayhap some extra on the side."
Startled at both the bartender's snagging of his studies (At five for a mug, each must be worth but a small fraction of a proper silver sovereign) and at the ready placing of his homeworld, Graydon hesitated just a moment before shaking back. "A pleasure to meet you, master Fitzhavocke. I'm Sergei Creedel, and at the moment I'm all too curious- just how often do you find my kind around here? I had thought we were a rare sight out on this end of existence." He lifted his mug and took a cautious swig, looking to give himself a moment to settle into his lie and cope with the surprises- that mysterious feminine face included.
Really, it's too bad he's preoccupied and not hearing what's going on at the table... or maybe not, given how he'd want explanations of what each and every thing Eurid mentioned was like. There's so much to discover out here!
Really, it's too bad he's preoccupied and not hearing what's going on at the table... or maybe not, given how he'd want explanations of what each and every thing Eurid mentioned was like. There's so much to discover out here!
Unsung
First Post
The barmaid cracks a smile, and her hard face-- with cheekbones you could cut Styx ice on-- softens, as Eurid orders with facility. "A Dustman with an appetite, is it, now? Well, we're not Comstock's, but I'll see what's in the pantry. Was Bix's turn to cook last night-- should be something good left over." She starts to turn on her several heels, then stops and looks back, recounting each item with a nod of her head. "Stew, wheat-bread and butter, wine, mead. Coal, hold the arsenic...and something sweet. Did I get everything?" She smiles again, a little wider. "Well, we'll do what we can."
She turns to go. Just then, another great whoop arises from the card game at the back table.
[sblock=Picayune]This round seems to have been gone to a poker-faced TV set sitting in the very corner of the room. No-- the boxy creature, with the green, putty-like face set into its metal chassis, is one of those 'modrons' Eurid keeps mentioning, that Rusty is supposedly one of.
The modron pulls the pot toward itself, and begins rapidly assembling the coins into small, neat stacks in front of it.[/sblock]
To all: While you're waiting comfortably here in the relative safety of the bar, you may wish to consider your options. You find yourselves in one of the great cities of the multiverse-- apparently, at least, as not all you may have heard of it before now-- where do you go from here? Why did you come here? Where had you meant to go? How will you get back to where you belong, and how imperative is it that you do so?
She turns to go. Just then, another great whoop arises from the card game at the back table.
[sblock=Picayune]This round seems to have been gone to a poker-faced TV set sitting in the very corner of the room. No-- the boxy creature, with the green, putty-like face set into its metal chassis, is one of those 'modrons' Eurid keeps mentioning, that Rusty is supposedly one of.
The modron pulls the pot toward itself, and begins rapidly assembling the coins into small, neat stacks in front of it.[/sblock]
To all: While you're waiting comfortably here in the relative safety of the bar, you may wish to consider your options. You find yourselves in one of the great cities of the multiverse-- apparently, at least, as not all you may have heard of it before now-- where do you go from here? Why did you come here? Where had you meant to go? How will you get back to where you belong, and how imperative is it that you do so?
Last edited:
KirayaTiDrekan
Adventurer
Rusty is currently content to observe. It doesn't know its purpose so its attached itself to this group...it finds comfort in belonging to a group.
Unsung
First Post
[sblock=Graydon - passive Insight]It occurs to Graydon that the barman assumed that by putting down that many coins on the counter, he was ordering more than one mug. If so, then they may be forthcoming once introductions have been made.[/sblock]
"One or two, my good Creedel, just one or two. They come and go, come and go like the rest of us in Sigil-- we're all just transients here, y'know. Please, though, friend, call me Barstle-- it's Barstle, I insist. I've never been any man's master, and I can't see reversing that policy any time soon." He chuckles.
"Y'see, lad, I'm gifted with a strong memory-- never forget a face-- and I'm just a touch older than I look." He turns his whole head and screws up his well-tanned cheek in a wink. "I touted about Sigil for a turn or two, and the Outlands too, before I wound up confined here behind bar-- in this fine, fine drinking establishment."
The four-legged barmaid sets down a tray of dirty mugs on the bar. Barstle leers at her, but she merely rolls her eyes and goes into the bar.
Barstle picks up a pristine white rag, and sets to work polishing each mug in turn. "Well of course I love it, of course, wouldn't give it up for this world or that 'un, y'know-- but sometimes, I do miss the ground sliding out from under m'feet."
He gazes wistfully at the ceiling.
You notice he hasn't actually answered the question.
"One or two, my good Creedel, just one or two. They come and go, come and go like the rest of us in Sigil-- we're all just transients here, y'know. Please, though, friend, call me Barstle-- it's Barstle, I insist. I've never been any man's master, and I can't see reversing that policy any time soon." He chuckles.
"Y'see, lad, I'm gifted with a strong memory-- never forget a face-- and I'm just a touch older than I look." He turns his whole head and screws up his well-tanned cheek in a wink. "I touted about Sigil for a turn or two, and the Outlands too, before I wound up confined here behind bar-- in this fine, fine drinking establishment."
The four-legged barmaid sets down a tray of dirty mugs on the bar. Barstle leers at her, but she merely rolls her eyes and goes into the bar.
Barstle picks up a pristine white rag, and sets to work polishing each mug in turn. "Well of course I love it, of course, wouldn't give it up for this world or that 'un, y'know-- but sometimes, I do miss the ground sliding out from under m'feet."
He gazes wistfully at the ceiling.
You notice he hasn't actually answered the question.
CanadienneBacon
Explorer
[section]Picayune breezed down to Eurid. He selected the most grotesquely malformed dead rat from the bunch and extended the macabre posey to the tiefling.[/section]
[sblock=OOC]Casting message at Eurid. "Name's Picayune. I need to get home to New Orleans. You know the way?" Picayune struggled to make his words plain.[/sblock]
Picayune breezed down to Eurid. He selected the most grotesquely malformed dead rat from the bunch and extended the macabre posey to the tiefling.[/section][sblock=OOC]Casting message at Eurid. "Name's Picayune. I need to get home to New Orleans. You know the way?" Picayune struggled to make his words plain.[/sblock]
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