(Tavern) City of Orussus, The Red Dragon Inn V
- Status
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Fant accepts the drink diplomatically, although she has not yet finished her first. She also takes a moment to reflect that, even when the drinks are free, people reflexively order drinks for each other as a sign of companionship. She also wonders what the devil a "welcher" is. In any case, none of this reaches her face.
"The problem, as I said before, is that he is some distance from here, and I do not know where. Even if I did, the land was, by his accounts, a corrupt and slaveholding magocracy. I doubt I could find any sort of recouse there, even if I could return. I assume that Jack is similarily minded."
"The problem, as I said before, is that he is some distance from here, and I do not know where. Even if I did, the land was, by his accounts, a corrupt and slaveholding magocracy. I doubt I could find any sort of recouse there, even if I could return. I assume that Jack is similarily minded."
Rillian takes a healthy swig from the flagon of ale.
"Well, seems to me, if he came here once, he'll come here again. Pa says 'If a mule drinks once, he'll always come back for another.' So I figure, you guys let people around here know that Janos guy welched on your deal, he wont be able to find anyone willing to trust him. Sure, and if you tell JOE, well, from the stories pa used to tell, I dont think that Janos guy will be too happy the next time he sticks his face in around here!"
Despite his earlier comment about things going better with ale, the sharp-eyed notice that his one first healthy swig is about all he drinks, though he cheerfully makes sure everyone else has a full flagon. Clearly, his pa IS a merchant.
"Well, seems to me, if he came here once, he'll come here again. Pa says 'If a mule drinks once, he'll always come back for another.' So I figure, you guys let people around here know that Janos guy welched on your deal, he wont be able to find anyone willing to trust him. Sure, and if you tell JOE, well, from the stories pa used to tell, I dont think that Janos guy will be too happy the next time he sticks his face in around here!"
Despite his earlier comment about things going better with ale, the sharp-eyed notice that his one first healthy swig is about all he drinks, though he cheerfully makes sure everyone else has a full flagon. Clearly, his pa IS a merchant.
DM-Rocco
Explorer
Sparrow over hears
The Red Dragon Inn is, as normal, quite busy. People coming and going about all manner of secret business, not offering the time of day to others, let alone a friendly smile. In the far corner of the Inn, next to the enormous fire place, sit a figure of lively entertainment. His thigh high black leather boots and vibrantly colored silk clothes and wide rimmed hat make him hard to miss. Those who were near him hung on his every word for he was a minstrel of the land and his voice was his instrument, his words, a poetry of life. He was an oratory man of myth.
His keen Half Elven ears perked up at the sound coming from the far off bar. While it was customary for others to buy one another drinks, this strange mix of fellows seemed odd somehow. He excused himself, much to the disappointment of his attentive audience, and made way for the counter. Feinting interest in a 21 year bottle of wine he eased drop on the conversation taking place a few seats away.
Robillard walked by the party in a casual manner and at the opportune time, paused dramatically and delicately reached for Fant's hand, cupping it into his own.
"Forgive me for the intrusion my lady," said Robillard with a deep sweeping bow, " I could not but help myself from over hearing your distress. My name is Robillard Lath'eon, an Oratory teller of tales and epic deeds from across the lands, but you, my lady may call me Sparrow," and with that he gently kissed her hand and stood erect, with a charming smile deeply chiseled in his sly Elven features.
The keen eyed noticed a figure who shadowed Robillard's every move, from the warmth of the hearth to the bar and now just a stones throw to the gathering of this band of strangers. Short, standing only 4'7," she carried herself with a weight of confidence of a man twice her size.
"Perhaps, if I may be so bold, you have mentioned that a man, this wizard, had hired you, and has done you a disservice by not living up to his end of the bargain. You think that the local authorities will shy away from any type of retribution and you fear the long road that leads to this land of danger and intrigue," said Sparrow as he moved his hands in sweeping gestures for dramatic effect.
"I am no warrior, I am a lover," he said with an intense look in his doe like, crystal blue eyes, "but I have my words and they are mightier than any sword. If you choose to enter this land and seek those that wronged you, I shall offer my services to you, for you will need a man who knows how to get information, be it from the street or the tight lip barmaid. I can talk a dragon into parting ways with portions of its hoard, I am sure I can be of use to you. Robillard, or Sparrow if you prefer, at your service.
Robillard, sensing the ladies eyes gazing towards the stranger who shadowed his every move, answered Fant's unasked question.
"Her, don't mind her," he said gesturing towards his companion, "that is Just Shearadynn, an elf I have hired for protection. She does a good job too, too good at times. She is my body guard and hired hand. Worry not, I pay her so the party doesn't have to. She does the dirty work of combat for me, I am a lover, not a fighter, remember. Would the lady do me the honor of dinning with me this evening? You are all welcome to join us of course."
The Red Dragon Inn is, as normal, quite busy. People coming and going about all manner of secret business, not offering the time of day to others, let alone a friendly smile. In the far corner of the Inn, next to the enormous fire place, sit a figure of lively entertainment. His thigh high black leather boots and vibrantly colored silk clothes and wide rimmed hat make him hard to miss. Those who were near him hung on his every word for he was a minstrel of the land and his voice was his instrument, his words, a poetry of life. He was an oratory man of myth.
His keen Half Elven ears perked up at the sound coming from the far off bar. While it was customary for others to buy one another drinks, this strange mix of fellows seemed odd somehow. He excused himself, much to the disappointment of his attentive audience, and made way for the counter. Feinting interest in a 21 year bottle of wine he eased drop on the conversation taking place a few seats away.
Robillard walked by the party in a casual manner and at the opportune time, paused dramatically and delicately reached for Fant's hand, cupping it into his own.
"Forgive me for the intrusion my lady," said Robillard with a deep sweeping bow, " I could not but help myself from over hearing your distress. My name is Robillard Lath'eon, an Oratory teller of tales and epic deeds from across the lands, but you, my lady may call me Sparrow," and with that he gently kissed her hand and stood erect, with a charming smile deeply chiseled in his sly Elven features.
The keen eyed noticed a figure who shadowed Robillard's every move, from the warmth of the hearth to the bar and now just a stones throw to the gathering of this band of strangers. Short, standing only 4'7," she carried herself with a weight of confidence of a man twice her size.
"Perhaps, if I may be so bold, you have mentioned that a man, this wizard, had hired you, and has done you a disservice by not living up to his end of the bargain. You think that the local authorities will shy away from any type of retribution and you fear the long road that leads to this land of danger and intrigue," said Sparrow as he moved his hands in sweeping gestures for dramatic effect.
"I am no warrior, I am a lover," he said with an intense look in his doe like, crystal blue eyes, "but I have my words and they are mightier than any sword. If you choose to enter this land and seek those that wronged you, I shall offer my services to you, for you will need a man who knows how to get information, be it from the street or the tight lip barmaid. I can talk a dragon into parting ways with portions of its hoard, I am sure I can be of use to you. Robillard, or Sparrow if you prefer, at your service.
Robillard, sensing the ladies eyes gazing towards the stranger who shadowed his every move, answered Fant's unasked question.
"Her, don't mind her," he said gesturing towards his companion, "that is Just Shearadynn, an elf I have hired for protection. She does a good job too, too good at times. She is my body guard and hired hand. Worry not, I pay her so the party doesn't have to. She does the dirty work of combat for me, I am a lover, not a fighter, remember. Would the lady do me the honor of dinning with me this evening? You are all welcome to join us of course."
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Dm-Rocco- Play by post gaming lends itself to soliloquizing- as evidenced by my own relatively lengthy posts- but you'll pardon me if I exercise the options available in face-to-face gameplay and cut you off/insert reactions. 
I mean no offense, but it adds a bit of versimilitude and, more to the point, it's what Fant would do. Oh, those crazy characters.
Fant tenses at the contact, and then cooly withdraws her hand. "You are forgiven," she says noncommitally. This has not been the first time her hand was taken in such a courtly manner, but those times were long ago and a long way away from here in stately ballrooms, not in a tavern, albiet a very good one, and the people taking her hands were, if unknown to her, guests invited into her father's or uncle's house, not strangers. She does not take kindly to the presumption. "May I help you?"
I figure Robillard would change his tactics here; if you wish to continue onwards, I can respond to the rest of your post as well.
Edit: Also, in reference to hirelings or any other questions you may have about rules, this is the thread you want.
I mean no offense, but it adds a bit of versimilitude and, more to the point, it's what Fant would do. Oh, those crazy characters. DM-Rocco said:
Fant tenses at the contact, and then cooly withdraws her hand. "You are forgiven," she says noncommitally. This has not been the first time her hand was taken in such a courtly manner, but those times were long ago and a long way away from here in stately ballrooms, not in a tavern, albiet a very good one, and the people taking her hands were, if unknown to her, guests invited into her father's or uncle's house, not strangers. She does not take kindly to the presumption. "May I help you?"
I figure Robillard would change his tactics here; if you wish to continue onwards, I can respond to the rest of your post as well.
Edit: Also, in reference to hirelings or any other questions you may have about rules, this is the thread you want.
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DM-Rocco
Explorer
Of course Thomas Hobbes, how presomtious of me, I am new to this whole playing by post thing. Okay, I can play it that way. In order to capture the mood, I included the first part of the text, your response, and more to the point where I think you may reply, if you wish.
The Red Dragon Inn is, as normal, quite busy. People coming and going about all manner of secret business, not offering the time of day to others, let alone a friendly smile. In the far corner of the Inn, next to the enormous fire place, sit a figure of lively entertainment. His thigh high black leather boots and vibrantly colored silk clothes and wide rimmed hat make him hard to miss. Those who were near him hung on his every word for he was a minstrel of the land and his voice was his instrument, his words, a poetry of life. He was an oratory man of myth.
His keen Half Elven ears perked up at the sound coming from the far off bar. While it was customary for others to buy one another drinks, this strange mix of fellows seemed odd somehow. He excused himself, much to the disappointment of his attentive audience, and made way for the counter. Feinting interest in a 21 year bottle of wine he eased drop on the conversation taking place a few seats away.
"Forgive me, for the intrusion My Lady," said Robillard, walking by the party in a casual manner and at the opportune time, paused dramatically and delicately reached for Fant's hand, cupping it into his own.
Fant tenses at the slight contact, and then cooly withdraws her hand.
"You are forgiven," she says noncommitally. This has not been the first time her hand was taken in such a courtly manner, but those times were long ago and a long way away from here in stately ballrooms, not in a tavern, albiet a very good one, and the people taking her hands were, if unknown to her, guests invited into her father's or uncle's house, not strangers. She does not take kindly to the presumption.
"May I help you?"
Robillard, unaccustomed to others acting unfriendly towards his advances, innocent in intent or otherwise, quickly recovers his wits about him and slides the hand, intended to caress Fant's delicate palm, to his wide rimed hat and adjusts it nonchalantly, as if that was his intent all along.
"Again, forgive me for my intrusion My Lady, Fant is it," said Robillard with a deep sweeping bow, " I could not but help myself from over hearing your distress. My name is Robillard Lath'eon, an Oratory teller of tales and epic deeds from across the lands, but you, my lady may call me Sparrow," he said and he flashed a slight rosy blush at the elusive Fant, his grin hidden in his deeply chiseled features of his Elven heritage. Given the more serious nature of the fair maiden, that he had first assumed, he opted for a more serious tone himself, forgetting, at least for the moment, his more playful side.
"My Lady Fant," he continued, "it appears that you have a tale to be told, for I can see it rooted in your eyes. That something weighs so heavily upon your heart that it mars your beauty. Imprisons it inside the chambers of your heart. You know my name kind lady, and you may think it rude of me to make presumptions, but I cannot stand by idly while an innocent flower withers from a deep unchecked wound. Will you, if you do not find it to bold, share some time with me and tell me of your woes?
The keen eyed noticed a figure who shadowed Robillard's every move, from the warmth of the hearth to the bar and now just a stones throw to the gathering of this band of strangers. Short, standing only 4'7," she carried herself with a weight of confidence of a man twice her size.
"If you insist, I shall retreat to the hearth and tell my tales to the children, and leave you to your misfortune," he mused, still trying to crack a slight smile from the cold and unpredictible Fant.
The shadowing firgure, whos features where covered within the deep cowl of her traveling cloak, rolled her eyes in dissatisfaction of the mischievous elf. Those with keen ears swore they could her her mumble, "well, he is Half Elf."
Well, I tend to be a bit wordy I guess, oh well . Oh, for the record, I am trying to get into my first play by post adventure, I am unsure if you are a DM out to hire a party for an adventure or a player who got screwed over on another adventure. You guys are the first people I saw in the Inn for over a week, so I don't know how it works. I really don't care which, cause it is fun to just write a response every once and a while, but could you clarify?
The Red Dragon Inn is, as normal, quite busy. People coming and going about all manner of secret business, not offering the time of day to others, let alone a friendly smile. In the far corner of the Inn, next to the enormous fire place, sit a figure of lively entertainment. His thigh high black leather boots and vibrantly colored silk clothes and wide rimmed hat make him hard to miss. Those who were near him hung on his every word for he was a minstrel of the land and his voice was his instrument, his words, a poetry of life. He was an oratory man of myth.
His keen Half Elven ears perked up at the sound coming from the far off bar. While it was customary for others to buy one another drinks, this strange mix of fellows seemed odd somehow. He excused himself, much to the disappointment of his attentive audience, and made way for the counter. Feinting interest in a 21 year bottle of wine he eased drop on the conversation taking place a few seats away.
"Forgive me, for the intrusion My Lady," said Robillard, walking by the party in a casual manner and at the opportune time, paused dramatically and delicately reached for Fant's hand, cupping it into his own.
Fant tenses at the slight contact, and then cooly withdraws her hand.
"You are forgiven," she says noncommitally. This has not been the first time her hand was taken in such a courtly manner, but those times were long ago and a long way away from here in stately ballrooms, not in a tavern, albiet a very good one, and the people taking her hands were, if unknown to her, guests invited into her father's or uncle's house, not strangers. She does not take kindly to the presumption.
"May I help you?"
Robillard, unaccustomed to others acting unfriendly towards his advances, innocent in intent or otherwise, quickly recovers his wits about him and slides the hand, intended to caress Fant's delicate palm, to his wide rimed hat and adjusts it nonchalantly, as if that was his intent all along.
"Again, forgive me for my intrusion My Lady, Fant is it," said Robillard with a deep sweeping bow, " I could not but help myself from over hearing your distress. My name is Robillard Lath'eon, an Oratory teller of tales and epic deeds from across the lands, but you, my lady may call me Sparrow," he said and he flashed a slight rosy blush at the elusive Fant, his grin hidden in his deeply chiseled features of his Elven heritage. Given the more serious nature of the fair maiden, that he had first assumed, he opted for a more serious tone himself, forgetting, at least for the moment, his more playful side.
"My Lady Fant," he continued, "it appears that you have a tale to be told, for I can see it rooted in your eyes. That something weighs so heavily upon your heart that it mars your beauty. Imprisons it inside the chambers of your heart. You know my name kind lady, and you may think it rude of me to make presumptions, but I cannot stand by idly while an innocent flower withers from a deep unchecked wound. Will you, if you do not find it to bold, share some time with me and tell me of your woes?
The keen eyed noticed a figure who shadowed Robillard's every move, from the warmth of the hearth to the bar and now just a stones throw to the gathering of this band of strangers. Short, standing only 4'7," she carried herself with a weight of confidence of a man twice her size.
"If you insist, I shall retreat to the hearth and tell my tales to the children, and leave you to your misfortune," he mused, still trying to crack a slight smile from the cold and unpredictible Fant.
The shadowing firgure, whos features where covered within the deep cowl of her traveling cloak, rolled her eyes in dissatisfaction of the mischievous elf. Those with keen ears swore they could her her mumble, "well, he is Half Elf."
Well, I tend to be a bit wordy I guess,
oh well . Oh, for the record, I am trying to get into my first play by post adventure, I am unsure if you are a DM out to hire a party for an adventure or a player who got screwed over on another adventure. You guys are the first people I saw in the Inn for over a week, so I don't know how it works. I really don't care which, cause it is fun to just write a response every once and a while, but could you clarify? Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Sure, no worries all around. The typical way you do play-by post is a sort of call and response- For example, you would write up to where I first inserted a reaction, and then post that; you would see the reaction, and post a similar small chunk, and so on. It tends towards shorter posts, since that's the way conversation flows. It slows things down and restrains some artistic impulses, but it works best that way. A pretty big part of play by post is that you don't have other people's characters do things (for the obvious reasons), and inaction is in itself something you do. Pause and give people a moment to react (unless, of course, your character doesn't intend them to get a word in edgewise....)
Reading other play by posts, or the previous tavern threads, or the rest of this one, should give you a good idea.
As for the player/DM thing, nope, just a player whose character would seek to pre-form a group (and I didn't so much get screwed over as an absentee DM caused us to write our own ending... in which I got screwed over). Jack's in the same boat.
Hope that helps, and hope you have fun with play-by-post.
It is only with great effort that Fant watches the man speak without her face betraying some sort of expression. She cannot decide whether or not he is a con man, who would want to take her valuables, or a rake, who would want to take her chastity, or a fop ,who simply wants to take her timel she is unwilling to part with any of those things. And then he begins to... flatter her? This is unexpected. Were it not for her utter distaste for flowery language in general and romance in particular, she might be charmed. Fant is direct, and expects others to be so; the fact that this man is wasting her time with his verbiage irritates her. She simply stares impassively at him as he continues.
She holds her peace, thinking and, while doing so, seeing what the man’s reaction is to her continued silent stare. She is currently sitting, and the man standing; what sort of statement is made by her standing, letting her stand eye-to-eye (or better) with him? No, she thinks, to rise in the presence of another means that the other person is powerful enough to warrant respect.
More pertinently, how does she deal with the man? She intends to organize a group so that, when the next job comes along, she and her compatriots may quickly and efficiently secure the contract. This… “Sparrow”, in any other circumstances, would be quickly dismissed from her presence. Currently, though, she must wonder whether he has any useful talents to contribute. The Dragon attracts a very particular sort of clientele: those who would be adventurers. The question is, can this half-elf turn that desire into any sort of successful reality?
Fant, as is her nature, settles for driving straight to the point, although she consciously phrases it as diplomatically as her patience allows.
“I’m unclear as to what you desire of me, Lath'eon.” Her tone is as expressionless as her face.
Reading other play by posts, or the previous tavern threads, or the rest of this one, should give you a good idea.
As for the player/DM thing, nope, just a player whose character would seek to pre-form a group (and I didn't so much get screwed over as an absentee DM caused us to write our own ending... in which I got screwed over). Jack's in the same boat.
Hope that helps, and hope you have fun with play-by-post.
DM-Rocco said:
It is only with great effort that Fant watches the man speak without her face betraying some sort of expression. She cannot decide whether or not he is a con man, who would want to take her valuables, or a rake, who would want to take her chastity, or a fop ,who simply wants to take her timel she is unwilling to part with any of those things. And then he begins to... flatter her? This is unexpected. Were it not for her utter distaste for flowery language in general and romance in particular, she might be charmed. Fant is direct, and expects others to be so; the fact that this man is wasting her time with his verbiage irritates her. She simply stares impassively at him as he continues.
DM-Rocco said:
She holds her peace, thinking and, while doing so, seeing what the man’s reaction is to her continued silent stare. She is currently sitting, and the man standing; what sort of statement is made by her standing, letting her stand eye-to-eye (or better) with him? No, she thinks, to rise in the presence of another means that the other person is powerful enough to warrant respect.
More pertinently, how does she deal with the man? She intends to organize a group so that, when the next job comes along, she and her compatriots may quickly and efficiently secure the contract. This… “Sparrow”, in any other circumstances, would be quickly dismissed from her presence. Currently, though, she must wonder whether he has any useful talents to contribute. The Dragon attracts a very particular sort of clientele: those who would be adventurers. The question is, can this half-elf turn that desire into any sort of successful reality?
Fant, as is her nature, settles for driving straight to the point, although she consciously phrases it as diplomatically as her patience allows.
“I’m unclear as to what you desire of me, Lath'eon.” Her tone is as expressionless as her face.
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Da Stick
First Post
Thomas Hobbes said:
"So you want us to help you or something? I can help. I learn from my father to be a hunter, and I know a lot of the woods and how to track down the enemy. With my bow I can provide food, if needed. So if you want I can help."
RillianPA said:
"thanks for the drink mate"
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DM-Rocco
Explorer
Robillard, finding the icy calm of this Lady most intriguing, pauses for a moment.
"Well, it occurs to me that I may have over stepped my bounds," he said, "I merely offered my humble services, such that they are, to lend to your aid should find yourself on a journey to recover your earnings. While I do no, or little, fighting myself, my hireling more than makes up for my lack of combat. Be it not said that I do not have my uses though, for I have words, and more often than not they are sharper than most swords and cut deeper than an ax.
"If you ever find yourself in a situation that might require the gathering of knowledge, be it from the cold street, the cruel tongue of civil society or the tight lips of a barmaid, then I am your man. Now if you will excuse, it appears as if I have rudely interrupted a gathering of friends, and the children are calling for another tale. Keep me in mind however, should you have a need.
With that he offered a less flaring bow and turned, spiining on his heel, pausing to look at his hireling, who stood less than ten feet away and faced himself and the Lady Fant. He paused to gauge the reaction of Fant through the eyes of his hireling.
"Well, it occurs to me that I may have over stepped my bounds," he said, "I merely offered my humble services, such that they are, to lend to your aid should find yourself on a journey to recover your earnings. While I do no, or little, fighting myself, my hireling more than makes up for my lack of combat. Be it not said that I do not have my uses though, for I have words, and more often than not they are sharper than most swords and cut deeper than an ax.
"If you ever find yourself in a situation that might require the gathering of knowledge, be it from the cold street, the cruel tongue of civil society or the tight lips of a barmaid, then I am your man. Now if you will excuse, it appears as if I have rudely interrupted a gathering of friends, and the children are calling for another tale. Keep me in mind however, should you have a need.
With that he offered a less flaring bow and turned, spiining on his heel, pausing to look at his hireling, who stood less than ten feet away and faced himself and the Lady Fant. He paused to gauge the reaction of Fant through the eyes of his hireling.
Pbartender
First Post
Thomas Hobbes said:
"Morning, Ma'am," Jack replies after a hefty swallow.
Thomas Hobbes said:
"'Bugger 'em enough, and they'll give you want you want just to get rid of you', or so my Gaffer always said," he explains.
Thomas Hobbes said:
Jack sits sullenly quietly elucidating into his beer about the numerous and explicit deficiencies that a certain breed of wizard has in specific parts of their anatomies.
Thomas Hobbes said:
Jack simply continues his muttering diatribe between copious amounts of alcohol-laden liquids.
DM-Rocco said:
Thomas Hobbes said:
Jack, beginning to forget his so recent ill-luck, turns around in his seat and sits back to enjoy the show. With a snickering chuckle, he grins sardonically at the expected outcome, tries excessively hard to not snort beer out his nose (the bubbles sting so), and idly wonders if anyone nearby would be willing to take odds on the fop walking away with his hide intact.
Before the encounter gets too bloody, and before he fails to not spurt booze out his nostrils, Jack steps over to a small table set up in the corner of the taproom. There he can be seen speaking with a gruff looking one-eyed dwarf who is the Red Dragon Inn's pawnbroker and fence. An odd-looking shortsword, a rolled up scroll of parchment and a dozen gold candlesticks appear on the table, in return for two clinking purses of coin.
His business transaction over, Jack returns to his stool beside Lady Fant, just in time for Robillard's final bow.
Jack drops one of heavy purses beside Lady Fant, "Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but I got a fair price from Mister Gurdek for the loot, and that's your share. Dravin and Quickwhip haven't showed up yet, so's I figure they're out, more's the pity."
OOC: TH... our shares of the loot amount to 1425 gp each in assorted coins of the realm.
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