Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="OneCrappy DM" data-source="post: 9819411" data-attributes="member: 7033788">ArilThe mud mephit appreciates the spell cast over her container, and the food in the Doss house, as you would call it in mystara, wasn't the worse around. At least it wasn't a flophouse. The leaky rafters far surpass the ones claimed in the leaky tenement.  Stepping back into the streets was another matter. The Cage never let you move cleanly. Every turn brought friction eyes, voices, hands drifting too close. The Crooked Sword cut through neighborhoods you’d rather not cross, its streets bending like bad intentions, dragging you past the market whether you liked it or not. Canvas stalls sagged under junk, charms, and lies. Smoke and spice tangled in the air.A peddler with a collapsed jaw and a grin full of gaps latched onto you, breath sour, fingers already pressing a trinket into your palm. “True ward,” he hissed. “Stops enchantments cold—hexes, compulsions, the lot.” The thing was a bent scrap of metal strung on twine, warm from his skin. He leaned in close, daring you to make it ugly, insisting the price was nothing. Just a pinch of jink. ((However much you’re willing to spare—unless you’d rather gut him.))By the time you shook him loose, your patience was thinner or your purse lighter. Ragpicker Square announced itself before you reached it. The noise rolled out in waves shouting, laughter, breaking glass. The square itself was a churn of bodies and refuse, but all eyes bent toward its single bar, the Crooked Sword, crouched like a wounded animal at the edge of the mess. Light spilled from its doorway in uneven flickers, and whatever was happening inside had the sound of spoils. In the Hive, commotion was never just noise. It was an invitation or a warning.</blockquote>

Verification