[Tavern Thread] The Dunn Wright Inn

[Aura]

Grunger, Dwarven Warrior
The door to the meeting room closes gently with Grunger on the outside. He sighs, frustrated by the turn of events, "Ug, seriously? Rejected. First the wizard, now the White Cloak." He grumbles some more as he sits down and drowns his sorrows in cheap swill.

 

[GlassEye]

The door to the Dunn Wright Inn swings open and bangs against the wall. Grog looks up and scowls.

"Gotta fix da demned door. Agin."

One of Venza's notorious Planks bravos enters the bar and looks around with a bold stare and a caress of the hilt of his rapier for anyone who dares look his way. He steps aside but in front of the door to keep it from swinging closed again. Walking into the bar after the bravo is an old woman, shoulders slightly hunched, dressed in a dark gray dress ragged along the hem. A linen scarf of the same dark gray covers her hair and frames her face. Her tanned, lined face and gray clothing all serve to draw attention to her clear, sky-blue eyes.

Though the old woman seems spry enough to not need it, she carries a walking stick that she raps on the floor of the inn before speaking in a thick, foreign accent. "I seek the Daughter of Fumon, a cunning woman..." She lets her gaze wander round the common room until it lights upon Mirra sitting and studying a book at the bar. She approaches the bar and stands looking at Mirra. "What do you read?"

[sblock=OOC] [MENTION=93930]Systole[/MENTION] Recruiting Mirra for Lost Imperium.

[sblock=K (Geography) DC 10]The old woman has an Inner Sea accent and looks to be of Goti ethnicity.[/sblock][sblock=K (Religion) DC 15]Fumon is the Pell god of storms, also called the Changewind and the Breath of the Seithr.[/sblock][sblock=Perception DC 5]The old woman has a noticeable scent...[sblock=K (Nature) DC 10]She smells of Hamamelis, a plant colloquially known as witch hazel or winterbloom.[/sblock][/sblock][/sblock]

. . . . Mother Telka . . . .

 

[Systole]

Mirra hardly notices the door open. She pricks her ears up at the mention of 'Fumon,' puzzles for a moment, and then nods to herself and goes back to reading. She seems somewhat surprised when the woman begins speaking to her. "Me? Oh well, this is Mare Speciem Interioris Ranis by Friedrichen Hencke ... err, you probably don't speak Old Landellian, do you? In Inner Sea, the title translates to Τα είδη αμφιβίων της εσωτερικής θάλασσας."

Without thinking about it, the alchemist continues speaking in the language of the Inner Sea. "I don't think Herr Hencke really knows what he's talking about, though. Would you be happen to be familiar with poisonous frogs of Heth or ... oh, wait. Hamamelis isn't common to wetlands, and the Changewind is generally worshiped on the plains and the foothills around Seithr. Sorry I asked. I didn't mean to presume."

[sblock=OOC]Taking 10 gets me all of those CRs, by, like, a lot.

The book's title is something like 'The Amphibian Species of the Inner Sea.'

I've got three languages left to take. I took Inner Sea since it seemed appropriate. Any others you'd like to suggest?[/sblock][sblock=Mini Stats]Mirra Weathersmith

AC: 16 (13 flat-footed, 13 touch)
HP: 28/28
CMB: +4 CMD: 17
Fort: +4 Reflex: +7 Will: +2

Perception: +7
Initiative: +3

Bombs: 10/10
Cognatogen Prepared: Intelligence
1st Level: 4/4
2nd Level: 0/2
Extracts Prepared: Barkskin

Current Weapon in Hand: Bomb (+6, x2, 2d6+4)
Current Conditions in Effect: None

Used Items:
None
[/sblock]

 

[Scott DeWar]

Vincenzo answers the sight of the exquisite rapier on the person of the bravo with a barely perceptible touch of his Ivory handled rapier, not aggressively-just 'artist to artist'.

 

[GlassEye]

The old woman smiles with just the corners of her mouth turning upward but even that expression appears unpracticed as it bends her wrinkles into new directions. She continues the conversation in the language spoken in the Inner Sea region, nodding and pleased with Mirra's demostration of knowledge. "Ah, you speak the tongue of the Goti. I am Telka, though the young ones of the Plank call me Mother Telka since I stitch their wounds after the brawls when they can't afford temple healing." She waves off Mirra's apology with bent and gnarled fingers obviously used to hard work. "You are her. No, my path has never crossed into Heth nor have the frogs of that land crossed mine. I have work suitable for a woman of knowledge and skill and I won't discuss it in common rooms. Come, come."

She walks to one of the private rooms.

[sblock=OOC]We can continue in the Lost Imperium game thread.[/sblock]

. . . . Mother Telka . . . .

 

[Aura]

Grunger, Dwarven Warrior
Hearing the old woman make a reference to a job, the dwarf stops swilling his beer long enough to give a semi-lucid look at her and Mirra. "I not e'en gonna have a chance, no?" He takes another long swig of beer and looks into the tankard, seemingly upset at it's less-than-full state.

Grunger's moment of reverie is broken as the door to the meeting room swings open and the White Cloak Commander, Jacobson, leads the way through the inn, to the door, with several of her newly hired crew also departing. The increasingly intoxicated Dwarven Warrior hails them with huzzahs, calls for good luck, and a plaintive, "Take me wif ya! Pleeeeezzzzeeeeeeee!", waving in their direction.

 

[Systole]

Mirra looks nonplussed for a moment. "But I'm just a natural philosopher, not a ... I mean, I don't know what I could ..." She sighs and packs away her book. "I'll do what I can to help you. My only condition is that human life is valued more highly than property or coin." She follows the old woman into the back room.

[sblock=Mini Stats]Mirra Weathersmith

AC: 16 (13 flat-footed, 13 touch)
HP: 28/28
CMB: +4 CMD: 17
Fort: +4 Reflex: +7 Will: +2

Perception: +7
Initiative: +3

Bombs: 10/10
Cognatogen Prepared: Intelligence
1st Level: 4/4
2nd Level: 1/2
Extracts Prepared: Barkskin

Current Weapon in Hand: Bomb (+6, x2, 2d6+4)
Current Conditions in Effect: None

Used Items:
None
[/sblock]

 

[Aura]

Grunger, Dwarven Warrior
Finally having reached the stage of being undeniably drunk, the blonde dwarf bids the inn-of-no-jobs goodbye. Singing a raunchy sailor's song to nobody in particular, he sways his way out the door and back into the city, hoping for better luck elsewhere.

 

[epicbob]

Brandon the Swift

A thin man, sporting long brown hair and a light beard, walks into the inn.

After a moment, he finds himself a seat, unfastens his traveling pack and settles down with a sigh of relief.

"Bartender, I'd like some ale, please."

He turns to the other patrons and declares :

"After my trek here, this ale will be the best thing I, Brandon the Swift, have tasted in a long time!"

----
http://livingpf.wikia.com/wiki/Brandon_the_Swift_(epicbob)

 

[Aura]

Grog the Bartender
"Ale," the orc-blooded bartender breaths out, "If ya want." He turns to the ale keg, an old, long scar running down his arm comes into plain view. Stepping back with a mug full of dark amber alcohol, he virtually slaps it down in front of the newcomer.

"If dat the best you had in long time, den pity. Dere be better, but dis good 'nuf fer now." The veteran leaves Brandon to his brewed drink, making himself busy with his supper, which it is late for. "Dis cold," he complains.