[LPF] The Inheritance

Thuvian maintains a stoic appearance as he makes note of the name. "Thuvian; good to see someone that doesn't let the shadows affect their mood. Perhaps folks around here bothered to look, they would realize that light is most visible when the hour is darkest. And yes, part of the trip we were guarding parsnips; it may not be glamerous job, but it got us here, and now we can begin work on the commission that brought us here in the first place." Thuvian orders a light ale as he rolls his eyes at the dwarf, "Yes, his name is a cleverly hidden message explaining how magicians are safe from rust monsters. That was an extremely deductive comment. I think you earned yourself a good solid drink with that." Thuvian orders a hard drink for the dwarf hoping that with luck, folks will end up pinning the dwarf's oddity's on the drink and pay no particular attention to him.
 

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Damaris, Tasanto, & Tyrion

It doesn't take Damaris, Tasanto, and Tyrion long to determine that Old Mags prys for information much more than she gives information out despite all appearances that she likes the trio. Even with Damaris' skillful turning of the conversation Old Mags somehow manages to turn it around into a seemingly innocuous question about their business in Sumbru. With that realization it is clear that Old Mags isn't going to give out any useful information.


. . . . . . Old Mags . . . . . .
 

Thuvian & Cavernous Hode

Cosmin looks baffled by Cavernous Hode's wordplay then breaks out in a grin and guffaws loudly. " 'No magicians rust.' That's a good one, my friend." At the Sumbran's outburst of laughter others in the bar look long at the three men though the glances aren't so much curious as they are dark looks. You get the impression that Cosmin is not well liked.

"And what sort of commission might that be, friend."


. . . Cosmin Siguranta . . .
 

Damaris offers to play a song or two while they wait for the rest to come back. Perhaps Old Mags can direct her to a place where she can learn more about the local folklore songs? She's sure that even in such a dark place, people must have some sort of traditional songs around to try ease life.

Otherwise, she will simply ask for a nice warm plate of food.
 

Tyrion shakes his head at the fact that Old Mags is not being helpful. He pats Damaris on the shoulder and says "Good try kid. Can't win them all though. How bout that song eh? Know anything from Sangre de Sol?"
 



After her successful performance, Damaris feels much more cheerful and turns to Tyrion and Tasanto. "You know what... we should check on the others. Just to make sure the are not in trouble (as Mags commented). Specially having Cavernous Hode around..." she suggests chuckling and gathering her stuff.
 

"I don't hear a stampede in the streets, so our friend must be restraining himself quite well. Or he found a kite. We should get along anyways. It is only a matter of time." Tasanto follows Damaris, trying to be a dutiful servant. He watches carefully to see who pays attention to their departure.

Tasanto_headshot_small.png

Perception 16;Sense Motive 22
 

Damaris, Tasanto, & Tyrion

The small crowd of patrons in the inn seem much more disposed to be friendly. At the least they aren't shooting dark looks towards the group anymore and a few are even smiling and tapping along to the music Damaris provides. She figures that is the best she is going to get from the dour Sumbrans without spending more time entertaining.

Mags claps stiltedly after the performance but when she sees the group get up and prepare to leave she hurries over. "Preparing to leave so soon? I had hoped for another song. I haven't heard a voice so clear and pure as that since I was a lass. Maybe later, yes?" Her fingers pluck at Damaris' sleeve.

Tasanto's surreptitious examination of the patrons of the inn discovers no more than an innocent, yet guarded, interest. He isn't so certain of Old Mags. The innkeeper seems to have some motive for wanting the three to stay other than getting Damaris to sing another song. Yet she makes no effort to prevent them from moving towards the door...


. . . . . . Old Mags . . . . . .
 

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