Archon Basileus
First Post
Welcome to the game! Please, select a color to post and let's begin!
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Pathfinder 1E [IC] - TIDERULER OF MARAN
- Thread starter Archon Basileus
- Start date
Archon Basileus
First Post
Cool!
I'm writing the intro already! It will be up later on today, along with the map (if I can figure out why it isn't sticking to the post, lol).
Archon Basileus
First Post
@Trogdor1992 @Neurotic @KahlessNestor @Jago
Quest for the Tideruler
Prologue
Even though Maran has seen hardships beyond human measure for the last few years, it’s nights are still as luminous as ever. The starlit lines of the shores, covered in lamp’s fireflies from tall alabaster houses, draw narrow and crowded streets all around. Four, five-store buildings create a romantic setting for lovers and rhapsodes alike, allowing remedy from the brutal winds that fight between the rocky northern deserts and the heated seas to the southwest. Dwarven buildings made for travelers of all places and sizes, doors open to the night inviting passers-by to delight, music and laughs, all sorts of comforts are still available, even though just beyond the horizon sits the fleet of the Old King. The Old King, cruel and hungry hound, taker of women and riches, could not take the joy of Maran away…
Such truths are ever-present. Even as families make their ways through the bazaar and find comfort at the heart of taverns, there is one place, soft in appearance but dark in intentions, that sits atop the cliffs that crown the southern area of Maran’s bay. Carefully placed at the center of a little building block, Helen’s Fortune, the biggest inn of Maran’s port area, receives all sorts of wanderers. Comprised of a double house, the massive enterprise towers over a street, surrounding it and sealing it with thick stone walls and two double gates. The entrance to the place could be easily defined as a barbican. Above it, three-stores attack the skies from a bridge, completing the ominous image of the place. Many travelers, new to Maran, take the place for a fortress, such is the commanding position it occupies.
But more than that, the many buildings that surround the inn are now part of its complex. Once they accommodated many commercial companies - big ones, for that matter. But when Odros invaded, businessmen all around Maran suffered for it, and had to shut their offices. It was then that Mandos Ardares, the owner of the Helen, purchased all the buildings and offices, shacks and storages, houses and parcels in the area, reforming al of it to tend to its patrons’ every need.
Truth be told, no one really knows how Mandos managed to prosper while his patricians struggled to remain alive and in business, but the fact is that he survived and expanded his dominion in the last few years. Now he is the master of his own burg, a city within a city. There, he offers all a man might want or need, from regular merchandise and room for the night to exotic beverages and slaves from Ashir.
An entourage arrives at the gates, now opened, and places carefully two ox cars in front of the doors of Helen’s mead halls. Light, comfort and laughter explode from inside. The place must house more than two hundred people every night, at the very least, and tonight is no exception. The entourage comes from the port, bringing with it all sorts of travelers, seeking refuge among carriers and merchants, trying not to call attention. Once at the Helen’s doors, every recent arrival feels somehow safe to break from the main group and explore the confines of the inn and Mandos’ burg, since no Odros patrol will take notice of errant men up here.
Even so, the hole burg still feels like risks and lies, and between the loud cheers of drinking men, subtle glances and hushed tones give the place a taste of conspiracy. That rings especially true for Marius and Reynard, as well as some others, since they’ve been called here by a potential employer. He simply invited them to the mead halls, and he assured that, as long as they were there by the stroke of twelve (it’s short passed ten now), he’d make sure to recover them from the crowd and debrief them as necessary, all expenses covered.
[You are now at the Helen's entrance. You can do anything you want from here on, and you can decide if you start the game together or as separate travelers. You've all arrived with the merchant's entourage, though. Notice that everything supposed to exist in a tavern, inn or mead hall can be found in here, from merchants to games, from supplies to weapons. Around the place there is a plethora of shops and stores, including blacksmiths, a separate bazaar, a stable, and even a stage show. All of these seem to remain open and functioning throughout the night. More surely will be revealed around the burg and/or the city as you explore.]
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~ With a slow look around, the simple, straw hat that Reynard wore about his head was tilted back until it slipped gracefully down his back, the drawstring keeping it clinging to his body. His hair was unkempt but his eyes sharp, taking in the scene with all senses. The tension left his cloth-wrapped hands, one falling to rest gently on the curved piece of lacquered wood that protruded at a sharp curve from the strange pouch of leather at his hip. There was comfort there, a solidity that he found hard to reach on land. The ground was ... too steady. Too soft. He missed the rolling salt, the pitch and heave of the timbers under his boots, and the sharp wind that hardened hair and soul.
Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking.
Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts.
He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined.
" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink," he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came.
" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."
With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~
Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking.
Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts.
He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined.
" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink," he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came.
" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."
With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~
Archon Basileus
First Post
[MENTION=6855130]Jago[/MENTION]
“Well, IF no one else cares to join... A rotund dwarf, feeling plenty at home, drags a bad leg towards the table Reynard managed to occupy. “I’ll sum some gold o’my own and we’ll share a flagon, shian….” – he sits, shambling his barrel-shaped body left and right as he adapts to his seat. A heavy leather backpack falls to the side, on the floor, along with a two-faced axe, resounding against the wooden planks. Smoke comes in thick voluminous waves from a table to the left, where a party of dwarf miners plays cards and share the pipes. On the other side, closer to the large open door that leads to the windy passage where the ox cars await, three elves try to make little case of their presence, their green capes insisting in doing the opposite. Even though the place is mostly dwarves and elves, it’s not uncommon to see men or lizards as well. Nevertheless, archers from the woods are a rare sight, and not very welcome as well.
“I gotta tell you, Shian…” – he says, reaching for a tray that approaches, a silent dwarven girl swaying it around to place a flagon and some bread on the table – “not a regular sight one a’you hats round here, let alone two in a day…” – the firm and round dwarf serves the flagon with one hand and throws a few coins at the tray with another. “First round’s mine, shian…” – the word resounds in Reynard’s ears for a third time, a way used by coastal dwarves to address those adept of his traditions, human or otherwise. He heard the word plenty from the smugglers that used the caves below the burg to do business, but never up here… not until now.
“Not too shabby, not too shabby…” – he turns over his shoulders with difficulty as the dwarf girl walk away. “Go ahead, my friend, DRINK!” – he raises a quick toast – “By the way, I’m Durkas….” – and swallows half the mug in a slow, continuous stream.
[Ooook, let us begin… Jago, would you kindly roll a perception test?]
“Well, IF no one else cares to join... A rotund dwarf, feeling plenty at home, drags a bad leg towards the table Reynard managed to occupy. “I’ll sum some gold o’my own and we’ll share a flagon, shian….” – he sits, shambling his barrel-shaped body left and right as he adapts to his seat. A heavy leather backpack falls to the side, on the floor, along with a two-faced axe, resounding against the wooden planks. Smoke comes in thick voluminous waves from a table to the left, where a party of dwarf miners plays cards and share the pipes. On the other side, closer to the large open door that leads to the windy passage where the ox cars await, three elves try to make little case of their presence, their green capes insisting in doing the opposite. Even though the place is mostly dwarves and elves, it’s not uncommon to see men or lizards as well. Nevertheless, archers from the woods are a rare sight, and not very welcome as well.
“I gotta tell you, Shian…” – he says, reaching for a tray that approaches, a silent dwarven girl swaying it around to place a flagon and some bread on the table – “not a regular sight one a’you hats round here, let alone two in a day…” – the firm and round dwarf serves the flagon with one hand and throws a few coins at the tray with another. “First round’s mine, shian…” – the word resounds in Reynard’s ears for a third time, a way used by coastal dwarves to address those adept of his traditions, human or otherwise. He heard the word plenty from the smugglers that used the caves below the burg to do business, but never up here… not until now.
“Not too shabby, not too shabby…” – he turns over his shoulders with difficulty as the dwarf girl walk away. “Go ahead, my friend, DRINK!” – he raises a quick toast – “By the way, I’m Durkas….” – and swallows half the mug in a slow, continuous stream.
[Ooook, let us begin… Jago, would you kindly roll a perception test?]
" Reynard will suffice, omae," the sailor replied, growing a little tense under the constant usage of the title.
Perhaps the dwarf was just humoring him; wasn't every day you saw such attire in Maran. Then again, it also pinged a sense of Reynard's.
Shian. 'Not a regular sight'. The language was muddled, but there was a drop of clarity within it.
The dwarf was telling him he stood out.
" To your health and our pleasant parting, Durkas" the human toasted, raising the mug to his rather charitable host. Suspicion swelled into his thoughts, though, and while the cup was tilted back until the liquid wet his lips, Reynard only drew in the drink slowly. He wanted to keep his mind clear, and his reflexes sharp if need be. ~
[sblock=Rolls]
Perception Check: 1d20+9: 14 [1d20=5][/sblock]
Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Gliding on dwarfs heels was a man wrapped in wide cloak that covered his body and he held his arms inside creating strange effect of floating head over silvery bell. It didn't help that this man had purple hair and his eyes when he would enter the shadow would also have slight purple sheen. He stood a little bit on the side, strong drinks and rowdy fun not his usual evening.
"When you're in Maras, do as Marasan do."
After observing for a short while, noting the elves that stood out just as much as he did with their capes he pulled the cloak back and revealed simple tunic, tattooed wiry arms and body. Fit, not overly strong is the initial impression.
He moves with economy of motion that is deceptively fast and slides on the opposite side of the dwarves at the table.
"Fellow travellers. Master dwarf." he nods toward Reynard
"We traveled together and you invited everyone for a drink. Mind if I join you?"
He looks hard at both men, taking measure of their personality and intent and relaxes only slightly. His arm flies out as the wench weaves through the tables, just hard enough to slow her, not sudden enough to spill everything.
"Waitress, mead! And the next round is on me."
He settles back, sitting straight and not doing anything to help him really blend in. He sits still, no slight movements, no shifting on the seat. Just his eyes looking over the throng. Suddenly he remembers something else he's supposed to do in new company and he bends forward.
"My name is Marius Soarleaf. Pleasure to meet you." he offers his hand with the palm slightly up.
"When you're in Maras, do as Marasan do."
After observing for a short while, noting the elves that stood out just as much as he did with their capes he pulled the cloak back and revealed simple tunic, tattooed wiry arms and body. Fit, not overly strong is the initial impression.
He moves with economy of motion that is deceptively fast and slides on the opposite side of the dwarves at the table.
"Fellow travellers. Master dwarf." he nods toward Reynard
"We traveled together and you invited everyone for a drink. Mind if I join you?"
He looks hard at both men, taking measure of their personality and intent and relaxes only slightly. His arm flies out as the wench weaves through the tables, just hard enough to slow her, not sudden enough to spill everything.
"Waitress, mead! And the next round is on me."
He settles back, sitting straight and not doing anything to help him really blend in. He sits still, no slight movements, no shifting on the seat. Just his eyes looking over the throng. Suddenly he remembers something else he's supposed to do in new company and he bends forward.
"My name is Marius Soarleaf. Pleasure to meet you." he offers his hand with the palm slightly up.
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Archon Basileus
First Post
@Neurotic @KahlessNestor @Trogdor1992 @Jago
REYNARD
The dwarf’s smile says “good one”, but his eyes say “got it”. He brings his tone down a notch as he lays the mug on the table. Around the hall, Reynard notices the numerous attendants running back and forth to answer to the most excited patrons. The waiters – male and female alike – are of a regular ilk, mostly dwarves, even though prejudice isn’t a problem among them. Still, something about them seems to bother him, although he can’t quite point it out. Such thoughts distract Durkas for a second or two, and the arrival of another traveler seems to grant him the opportunity to recollect his thoughts.
MARIUS
Durkas measures Marius, clearly disturbed by his quickness. As the two men cross eyes Marius is able to try and determine his intentions. Nothing transpires, except eagerness to eat and drink. There is some malice in his manners, though, and Marius could bet he’ll end up being the fuller and richer man around the table, after the tab comes. Nevertheless, that’s about it for his darker intentions.
Watching the room for info brings more concerning details to the eye, though. At a balcony, several Odros soldiers are having a party, apparently. They’re accompanied by an officer – Marius cannot say it’s rank, though. All around, the colorful collection of people makes it difficult to devise the places’ true attributes. Further inside, lizards play dice against an entourage of half-men, as some light-handed dwarves “watch” the game. The servants going around the tables are distant and somehow inhuman, even though they always present a smile and a soft voice. In the back, beyond the balcony and the yelling dwarves that tend to it, a slender and tall woman, dressed in fine clothes, descends inconspicuous stairs, accompanied by a ferocious-looking dwarf bodyguard. As for the talk, it is very different than anything heard down at the port. Here, politics are discussed in reserved, but very audible, tones. Talk of miners is also predominant, and men seem to use joy as the wall that isolates severe and numerous frustrations. Things that adventurers would greet with ballads are spoken in fear: words of the cursed City of Caldora reappearing in the gray desert, just a day away from Maran; news of a wyvern swarm at the mountains; a serpent of fire descending from the mouth of the volcano… you name it. Every rumor is mentioned as an ill omen for the future.
The elves at the next table, for instance, are those more interested in such rumors. They seem to keep their voices low, but their gestures confirm their intentions. Marius believes they are scouting out, far away from their lands. A regional map confirms his suspicions, being studied between plates and bottles, strategically placed to try and hide its’ details. They repeatedly point out towards the desert, in an area now taken by odrosan fortifications. The name “Farinatta” is spoken over and over as they question his loyalty. Apparently he is the one that sold them the map.
As for the dwarves on the other side, the faces and complaints leave no doubt: they’ve come from mountain strands, pockets emptier than expected, and decided to spend their hard-earned gold in a relaxing banquet. Their table is covered in used cutlery and empty flagons as they share the pipes and mumble about fire elementals menacing the mining encampments up north. They go on about odrosan taxes and lack of protection, but seem otherwise uninterested in their surroundings.
[You can always roll the dice and link it to me when you decide to do a test. If anything stops you from doing it, I’ll say something by the time we collect the numbers! Also, I’ll keep DC secret when I see the need. In this situation, for example, I have to, since the response for Sense Motive is a Bluff or some other similar test. So you can assume the DC to be normal – 15 or 20 for these tests, mostly – or it might be that the other guy is actually trying to misguide you, giving a higher, or lesser, DC to your test. As for the tests, I’ve included them and described the scene according to the results. I also might have done some tests on my own end, trying to favor you guys a bit more, lol. Anyway, feel free to roll the tests you request, since that gives you guys a closer eye on the hole experience!]
Perception: 1d20+10 20
Sense Motive - Elves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Dwarves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Durkas: 1d20+10 13
REYNARD
The dwarf’s smile says “good one”, but his eyes say “got it”. He brings his tone down a notch as he lays the mug on the table. Around the hall, Reynard notices the numerous attendants running back and forth to answer to the most excited patrons. The waiters – male and female alike – are of a regular ilk, mostly dwarves, even though prejudice isn’t a problem among them. Still, something about them seems to bother him, although he can’t quite point it out. Such thoughts distract Durkas for a second or two, and the arrival of another traveler seems to grant him the opportunity to recollect his thoughts.
MARIUS
Durkas measures Marius, clearly disturbed by his quickness. As the two men cross eyes Marius is able to try and determine his intentions. Nothing transpires, except eagerness to eat and drink. There is some malice in his manners, though, and Marius could bet he’ll end up being the fuller and richer man around the table, after the tab comes. Nevertheless, that’s about it for his darker intentions.
Watching the room for info brings more concerning details to the eye, though. At a balcony, several Odros soldiers are having a party, apparently. They’re accompanied by an officer – Marius cannot say it’s rank, though. All around, the colorful collection of people makes it difficult to devise the places’ true attributes. Further inside, lizards play dice against an entourage of half-men, as some light-handed dwarves “watch” the game. The servants going around the tables are distant and somehow inhuman, even though they always present a smile and a soft voice. In the back, beyond the balcony and the yelling dwarves that tend to it, a slender and tall woman, dressed in fine clothes, descends inconspicuous stairs, accompanied by a ferocious-looking dwarf bodyguard. As for the talk, it is very different than anything heard down at the port. Here, politics are discussed in reserved, but very audible, tones. Talk of miners is also predominant, and men seem to use joy as the wall that isolates severe and numerous frustrations. Things that adventurers would greet with ballads are spoken in fear: words of the cursed City of Caldora reappearing in the gray desert, just a day away from Maran; news of a wyvern swarm at the mountains; a serpent of fire descending from the mouth of the volcano… you name it. Every rumor is mentioned as an ill omen for the future.
The elves at the next table, for instance, are those more interested in such rumors. They seem to keep their voices low, but their gestures confirm their intentions. Marius believes they are scouting out, far away from their lands. A regional map confirms his suspicions, being studied between plates and bottles, strategically placed to try and hide its’ details. They repeatedly point out towards the desert, in an area now taken by odrosan fortifications. The name “Farinatta” is spoken over and over as they question his loyalty. Apparently he is the one that sold them the map.
As for the dwarves on the other side, the faces and complaints leave no doubt: they’ve come from mountain strands, pockets emptier than expected, and decided to spend their hard-earned gold in a relaxing banquet. Their table is covered in used cutlery and empty flagons as they share the pipes and mumble about fire elementals menacing the mining encampments up north. They go on about odrosan taxes and lack of protection, but seem otherwise uninterested in their surroundings.
[You can always roll the dice and link it to me when you decide to do a test. If anything stops you from doing it, I’ll say something by the time we collect the numbers! Also, I’ll keep DC secret when I see the need. In this situation, for example, I have to, since the response for Sense Motive is a Bluff or some other similar test. So you can assume the DC to be normal – 15 or 20 for these tests, mostly – or it might be that the other guy is actually trying to misguide you, giving a higher, or lesser, DC to your test. As for the tests, I’ve included them and described the scene according to the results. I also might have done some tests on my own end, trying to favor you guys a bit more, lol. Anyway, feel free to roll the tests you request, since that gives you guys a closer eye on the hole experience!]
Perception: 1d20+10 20
Sense Motive - Elves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Dwarves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Durkas: 1d20+10 13
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~ Reynard used the tip of his boot to push out a chair towards Marius at his request to join them, wordlessly giving his acceptance of such a plan. He seemed an odd one ... but one he wanted to keep close, at the least. The oddity was highlighted even further when it took him two ticks to give his name as he stared into the depths of space, although Reynard was in no hurry either.
" Reynard," he introduced himself simply, raising his drink to Marius, " And no need to spend your hard coin, friend. The kindly Durkas is providing the food and drink for tonight."
" And I believe said kindly Durkas," he continued after another drink of his tankard, " Was just about to tell me why he was so interested in drinking with a Shian, neh?"
There was no intimidation, no push or press for information; just a desire for conversation explaining where the evening was going to take them. For his part, Reynard was comfortable for someone else to take the helm while he merely gauged the currents.
" Reynard," he introduced himself simply, raising his drink to Marius, " And no need to spend your hard coin, friend. The kindly Durkas is providing the food and drink for tonight."
" And I believe said kindly Durkas," he continued after another drink of his tankard, " Was just about to tell me why he was so interested in drinking with a Shian, neh?"
There was no intimidation, no push or press for information; just a desire for conversation explaining where the evening was going to take them. For his part, Reynard was comfortable for someone else to take the helm while he merely gauged the currents.
Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
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Marius remains still. He observes the dwarves, waiting for clarification of new ones intentions, but never stops paying attention to the room in general and the lady on the stairs and elves in particular. He isn't really concerned about dwarves stealing as long as they don't try it on him. He doesn't like it, but, not knowing local laws and customs, being in a rowdy tavern and a stranger to boot, he doesn't feel safe enough to draw the attention to himself. He does however note if any of those thieves comes too close to him.
OOC: he will ready an action in that case to catch the thief in the act as he grabs whatever tries to steal.
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Archon Basileus
First Post
@Neurotic @KahlessNestor @Trogdor1992 @Jago
REYNARD
“Well, since ya put it so lightly...” – Durkas smiles a half-toothless smile and continues, satisfied by the combination of food and drink laid before him. “I’m a merchant…. And you are one of the most exotic and traveled types in here, believe me…. Since my trade survives on intel, I might as well try and hear the news from abroad from you, my friend. Trust me, every piece a’ bread and every drop a’ mead we share here is gonna double its valor depending on the things you can tell me…” – he bends a bit over the table in a sign of complicity. “So tell me, Reynard” – the name rolls through the accidents of Durkas’ strong maranan accent – “you seem to have been around…. Maybe even on a boat or two, am I right? Maybe you got to see some of the blockade, maybe you got to see someone getting across, maybe someone tending to Old King’s galleons needs?”
Durkas continues to speak, even though his eyes are still turned towards Marius. Reynard notices a certain tension running through the dwarf, almost as if Marius’ gestures along Reynard’s attention were a menace to him.
[Ok, so your first impression falls down. It becomes clear that Durkas has a hidden intention, something he’s not letting out, despite his explanations and questions. You feel he is trying to fish something out with the questions, possibly your last whereabouts. Reasons unclear, though.]
MARIUS
As a hole, Maran never looked condescending with thieves. Nevertheless, the Helen’s Fortune seems to be an exception. Maybe it’s the political nature of the conversations, maybe it is the vagrant disposition of the mead halls, but something exudes malice within this place. The thieves calculate their movement and begin to search the area for suspicious patrons or watchers. It seems they are to act soon enough, but might notice Marius’ efforts to stop their actions, lest the monk be subtle in his intent. As for the remnant of the room, it becomes clearer that this is not a relaxation place for the most part. Those who choose to rest their honest pay tend to go towards the taverns down the coast, maybe even the emporium at the gates of the city. Here, it seems, is the place where big moves are pulled. This is the middle ground of business for the town, where enemies meet to discuss treaties and leaders go to meditate on their next steps. The city is, for the most part, an orderly community, quite indifferent to great causes and pleas, following no gods in particular. Odros, on the other hand, is a place of faith, where dwarves are less prone to toil and trade and more concerned with justice and divine will. And it truly shows! The odrosan men in the mead hall are heated in their intentions and large in their dispositions, acting with the passion and strength that only warriors could muster. The resentful maranan dwarves keep their silence, almost in subservience, and resort to a morose and hardened posture.
[OOC: You have it all spot-on, Neurotic! Also, you might want to go stealthy on your moves, or the thieves will notice you. Unless, of course, you want to be seen, in order to dissuade them from the theft.]
REYNARD
“Well, since ya put it so lightly...” – Durkas smiles a half-toothless smile and continues, satisfied by the combination of food and drink laid before him. “I’m a merchant…. And you are one of the most exotic and traveled types in here, believe me…. Since my trade survives on intel, I might as well try and hear the news from abroad from you, my friend. Trust me, every piece a’ bread and every drop a’ mead we share here is gonna double its valor depending on the things you can tell me…” – he bends a bit over the table in a sign of complicity. “So tell me, Reynard” – the name rolls through the accidents of Durkas’ strong maranan accent – “you seem to have been around…. Maybe even on a boat or two, am I right? Maybe you got to see some of the blockade, maybe you got to see someone getting across, maybe someone tending to Old King’s galleons needs?”
Durkas continues to speak, even though his eyes are still turned towards Marius. Reynard notices a certain tension running through the dwarf, almost as if Marius’ gestures along Reynard’s attention were a menace to him.
[Ok, so your first impression falls down. It becomes clear that Durkas has a hidden intention, something he’s not letting out, despite his explanations and questions. You feel he is trying to fish something out with the questions, possibly your last whereabouts. Reasons unclear, though.]
MARIUS
As a hole, Maran never looked condescending with thieves. Nevertheless, the Helen’s Fortune seems to be an exception. Maybe it’s the political nature of the conversations, maybe it is the vagrant disposition of the mead halls, but something exudes malice within this place. The thieves calculate their movement and begin to search the area for suspicious patrons or watchers. It seems they are to act soon enough, but might notice Marius’ efforts to stop their actions, lest the monk be subtle in his intent. As for the remnant of the room, it becomes clearer that this is not a relaxation place for the most part. Those who choose to rest their honest pay tend to go towards the taverns down the coast, maybe even the emporium at the gates of the city. Here, it seems, is the place where big moves are pulled. This is the middle ground of business for the town, where enemies meet to discuss treaties and leaders go to meditate on their next steps. The city is, for the most part, an orderly community, quite indifferent to great causes and pleas, following no gods in particular. Odros, on the other hand, is a place of faith, where dwarves are less prone to toil and trade and more concerned with justice and divine will. And it truly shows! The odrosan men in the mead hall are heated in their intentions and large in their dispositions, acting with the passion and strength that only warriors could muster. The resentful maranan dwarves keep their silence, almost in subservience, and resort to a morose and hardened posture.
[OOC: You have it all spot-on, Neurotic! Also, you might want to go stealthy on your moves, or the thieves will notice you. Unless, of course, you want to be seen, in order to dissuade them from the theft.]
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Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
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Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Listening with only half attention to the curious dwarf, Marius speaks after the last question, not in answer, but a warning "I'm not sure if this is normal atmosphere here, with local and odrosan soldiers together, but something is not right. And there is group of thieves checking the patrons and preparing to move in. Take care of your valuables."
He pulls several copper pieces from his pouch and starts playing with one, rotating it on a point, flipping it through the fingers or passing it between hands. The rest lie down in line in front of him.
Ooc: warning shot preparation, regardless of the target ;-)
Ooc2: if any violence erupts, he will go for the Lady to protect her. Most probable kidnapping or mugging target, weak?, rich? female.
He pulls several copper pieces from his pouch and starts playing with one, rotating it on a point, flipping it through the fingers or passing it between hands. The rest lie down in line in front of him.
Ooc: warning shot preparation, regardless of the target ;-)
Ooc2: if any violence erupts, he will go for the Lady to protect her. Most probable kidnapping or mugging target, weak?, rich? female.
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Archon Basileus
First Post
@Trogdor1992 @KahlessNestor [MENTION=6855130]Jago[/MENTION] [MENTION=6801450]Trogdor1992[/MENTION]
REYNARD/MARIUS
Durkas uses the question as a quick detour to his former inquiries, leaving Reynard some space and buying himself some as well.
“Err… You really wanna know?” – he looks over his shoulders, as if to avoid undesired eavesdroppers. “The guard couldn’t care less about the thefts. The captain up there receives a fat cut of every piece of action in the burg to lay quiet and pretend he sees nothing. As for the owner, he invited the thieves into the place. Sure it looks like a fortress, but it doesn’t work as one if you do not have the manpower to handle it. And since we can’t pick up arms, rogues are the second best thing. Word is that there’s plenty of ’em to go around as well. Mallet’s crew, a strong guild, numerous…” – the last words are spoken in a tone of warning as Durkas looks at the monk’s hands.
Judging he has a better hold of the conversation, he now turns once more towards Reynard. “Folks like you could find easy job around here, by the way… Mandos is always looking for competent …. Workers. Or so I’ve heard.”
MORGRYM/VA’ARAHKIR
Meanwhile, near the balcony, a group of lizards indulges in the peculiar tastes of the species, gorging themselves in blood and pieces of raw meat. The guttural accents of draconic language spread far and wide through the hall. This looks like a mercenary group, very distinct of most lizards seen around the south. Apparently, they have abandoned their primitive habits at least in part, adopting a set of weapons more adequate to humans and dwarves. Most of them are also armored, even though the pieces of gear are mostly leather and won’t protect them fully in a battle. The weary aspect of the combatants and the appetite they exercise in their meal suggests a long trip towards Maran. In fact, the beasts arrived not an hour earlier, seeking almost immediate comfort in food and drink.
Alongside them, two very dissonant figures are seated. They’ve travelled into Maran with the mercenaries, having shared a battle or two with the savage reptile barbarians. Under the invitation of Shagru, their shaman and leader, the two small figures are now feasting amidst draconian hauls and hisses. One of them seems quite familiar with the scene, being of a shorter draconian stock, but as reptilian as the others; the other one, a dwarf with savage looks and barbaric habits, rests indifferently among them, but favors the company of the one closer to him in stature.
“Eat, little Va’Arahkir! We have not emaciated these with our own heat, but they’re soft nonetheless!” – he speaks in strong, old draconian, and throws a big slice of game towards the little reptilian.
He then turns to Morgrym, a hint of jealousy and respect permeating his body and voice. “You have other tastes, Morgrym of Gozreh” – he says in rustic dwarven - “But share the drink with us…” – the happiness he directed towards Va’Arahkir turns into reserve and respect. He contemplated the power of Morgrym’s god flowing through his prayers and now he believed the dwarf as a greater shaman than he himself. He pushes a flagon into Morgrym’s direction, indifferent to his lack of composure and hygiene.
[Ok, everyone's in! This is our test area! Feel free to try out the chars before we get into the story once and for all! I hope you like it!
Also, Neurotic, if you want to hide your intentions towards the thieves, roll stealth. Otherwise, just leave it as it is. You're still gonna have a huge advantage, considering how crowded the room is!
Jago, you get to roll Sense Motive if you want. You'll also have a bonus now that Durkas left something slip out.
Kahless and Trogdor, welcome and enjoy!]
REYNARD/MARIUS
Durkas uses the question as a quick detour to his former inquiries, leaving Reynard some space and buying himself some as well.
“Err… You really wanna know?” – he looks over his shoulders, as if to avoid undesired eavesdroppers. “The guard couldn’t care less about the thefts. The captain up there receives a fat cut of every piece of action in the burg to lay quiet and pretend he sees nothing. As for the owner, he invited the thieves into the place. Sure it looks like a fortress, but it doesn’t work as one if you do not have the manpower to handle it. And since we can’t pick up arms, rogues are the second best thing. Word is that there’s plenty of ’em to go around as well. Mallet’s crew, a strong guild, numerous…” – the last words are spoken in a tone of warning as Durkas looks at the monk’s hands.
Judging he has a better hold of the conversation, he now turns once more towards Reynard. “Folks like you could find easy job around here, by the way… Mandos is always looking for competent …. Workers. Or so I’ve heard.”
MORGRYM/VA’ARAHKIR
Meanwhile, near the balcony, a group of lizards indulges in the peculiar tastes of the species, gorging themselves in blood and pieces of raw meat. The guttural accents of draconic language spread far and wide through the hall. This looks like a mercenary group, very distinct of most lizards seen around the south. Apparently, they have abandoned their primitive habits at least in part, adopting a set of weapons more adequate to humans and dwarves. Most of them are also armored, even though the pieces of gear are mostly leather and won’t protect them fully in a battle. The weary aspect of the combatants and the appetite they exercise in their meal suggests a long trip towards Maran. In fact, the beasts arrived not an hour earlier, seeking almost immediate comfort in food and drink.
Alongside them, two very dissonant figures are seated. They’ve travelled into Maran with the mercenaries, having shared a battle or two with the savage reptile barbarians. Under the invitation of Shagru, their shaman and leader, the two small figures are now feasting amidst draconian hauls and hisses. One of them seems quite familiar with the scene, being of a shorter draconian stock, but as reptilian as the others; the other one, a dwarf with savage looks and barbaric habits, rests indifferently among them, but favors the company of the one closer to him in stature.
“Eat, little Va’Arahkir! We have not emaciated these with our own heat, but they’re soft nonetheless!” – he speaks in strong, old draconian, and throws a big slice of game towards the little reptilian.
He then turns to Morgrym, a hint of jealousy and respect permeating his body and voice. “You have other tastes, Morgrym of Gozreh” – he says in rustic dwarven - “But share the drink with us…” – the happiness he directed towards Va’Arahkir turns into reserve and respect. He contemplated the power of Morgrym’s god flowing through his prayers and now he believed the dwarf as a greater shaman than he himself. He pushes a flagon into Morgrym’s direction, indifferent to his lack of composure and hygiene.
[Ok, everyone's in! This is our test area! Feel free to try out the chars before we get into the story once and for all! I hope you like it!
Also, Neurotic, if you want to hide your intentions towards the thieves, roll stealth. Otherwise, just leave it as it is. You're still gonna have a huge advantage, considering how crowded the room is!
Jago, you get to roll Sense Motive if you want. You'll also have a bonus now that Durkas left something slip out.
Kahless and Trogdor, welcome and enjoy!]
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KahlessNestor
Adventurer
Maran/Helen’s Fortune
Evening
Morgrym considered again why he’d left his little hermitage up in the mountains. Sure, he needed to sell some of the wool from this season, but he could have sent one of the other druids into the city to do that. And that fool boy he’d set up to watch his sheep had better take care of them!
He’d gotten a decent price for the wool, so now had some coin in his pocket, though not much. He’d fallen in with some lizardfolk mercenaries on the way down. Not that he much liked their company. He didn’t really like anyone’s company. That’s why he lived at the hermitage. But there was ale and food, so he’d accepted their invitation to the Helen’s Fortune.
Morgrym slouched on a bench. An uglier dwarf would be hard to find, with an oversized nose and mismatched eyes set in craggy features. Beside him leaned his cudgel and a finely crafted battle axe, the black blade indicating it wasn’t ordinary steel. A darkwood shield leaned against the wall with them, next to his pack. The lizards’ leader Shagru, a shaman, spoke to him and pushed a tankard of ale in Morgrym’s direction. “Th-Thank’ee,” the dirty dwarf muttered into his dark green-black beard, matted with twigs, leaves, and dirt. His eyes -- two different colors, one blue and one green -- surveyed the room. He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sipped his ale, then took a big bite from a leg of mutton on the plate before him.
Morgrym eyed the soldiers in the balcony suspiciously. They could cause trouble. Rowdy soldiers in their cups always did. He noted the elves, don’t a bad job of blending in to the clientele in the place. And then there was the woman coming down the stairs with the bodyguard. Morgrym wondered just what she was doing in a place like this.
“Wh-Wh-Where yeh off tae n-next?” Morgrym asked Shagru. He didn’t particularly care, but the reptile was paying for the food and ale, so the dwarf figured he’d put forth a modicum of effort at being social. Besides, he kind of enjoyed the sycophantic fawning.
Evening
Morgrym considered again why he’d left his little hermitage up in the mountains. Sure, he needed to sell some of the wool from this season, but he could have sent one of the other druids into the city to do that. And that fool boy he’d set up to watch his sheep had better take care of them!
He’d gotten a decent price for the wool, so now had some coin in his pocket, though not much. He’d fallen in with some lizardfolk mercenaries on the way down. Not that he much liked their company. He didn’t really like anyone’s company. That’s why he lived at the hermitage. But there was ale and food, so he’d accepted their invitation to the Helen’s Fortune.
Morgrym slouched on a bench. An uglier dwarf would be hard to find, with an oversized nose and mismatched eyes set in craggy features. Beside him leaned his cudgel and a finely crafted battle axe, the black blade indicating it wasn’t ordinary steel. A darkwood shield leaned against the wall with them, next to his pack. The lizards’ leader Shagru, a shaman, spoke to him and pushed a tankard of ale in Morgrym’s direction. “Th-Thank’ee,” the dirty dwarf muttered into his dark green-black beard, matted with twigs, leaves, and dirt. His eyes -- two different colors, one blue and one green -- surveyed the room. He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and sipped his ale, then took a big bite from a leg of mutton on the plate before him.
Morgrym eyed the soldiers in the balcony suspiciously. They could cause trouble. Rowdy soldiers in their cups always did. He noted the elves, don’t a bad job of blending in to the clientele in the place. And then there was the woman coming down the stairs with the bodyguard. Morgrym wondered just what she was doing in a place like this.
“Wh-Wh-Where yeh off tae n-next?” Morgrym asked Shagru. He didn’t particularly care, but the reptile was paying for the food and ale, so the dwarf figured he’d put forth a modicum of effort at being social. Besides, he kind of enjoyed the sycophantic fawning.
Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
"What?! I'm just playing with some coins. In the open. No danger there." too open to be credible liar, the monk tries to look innocent as toothy smile appears, but he quickly gets serious again.
"What you're saying, dwarf, is that we should condone theft here by not acting unless we want trouble from both thieves and guards."
As the first thief makes his move, Marius flicks his wrist and copper piece pings off targets leg causing it to look down straight onto a thief. Somehow, Marius still has 5 copper pieces despite his companions knowing he had five to begin with. The one that flew definitely wasn't from his cache. Except it was obvious, at least to those next to him, he pulled new coin from his bracer.
Stealth: 1D20+8 = [16]+8 = 24
Sleight of Hand to re-appear coin: 1D20+3 = [2]+3 = 5
[sblock=Sense Motive Check]1d20+3: 11 (1d20=8)
You never mentioned what the bonus would be, so feel free to add what you so please to the result of 11.[/sblock]
You never mentioned what the bonus would be, so feel free to add what you so please to the result of 11.[/sblock]
Trogdor1992
First Post
Va'arahkir eats, never passing up free food and says "Thank you, I was feeling a bit famished"
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Sent from my HUAWEI Y536A1 using Tapatalk
