OK here we go:
A small fishing town along the Lost Coast. Founded a few short decades before next to the ruins of a long fallen light house, Sandpoint sits on a peninsula surrounding a natural harbor along the Lost Coast Road. It is a bustling community that has thus far weathered what life has tossed at it. Even the events of five years past, known as the Late Unpleasantness to the locals, which resulted in the burning down of the town cathedral have done little to dampen the spirit of the town.
Some of you know this already, having grown up in Sandpoint. The rest of you may have heard about the events only in passing during your travels or are being told of them right now as you sit in one of Sandpoint's inn the night before the first day of the Swallowtail Festival where a new cathedral has just been finished and is to be dedicated.
The festivities promise to be varied and interesting come the morn. Who knows what the day will bring...
So if you will introduce yourselves and give a brief background we can begin.
Weylyn sits alone at a table in the back of the Rusty Dragon. His keen, clever eyes scan constantly for a potential mark.
It's just easier when they're drunk. I could handle it sober...right under Hemlock's nose if I wanted. It's just easier this way. He thinks to himself.
Weylyn wears oft' repaired trousers tucked into soft leather boots at the ankle. Above, he wears a half-sleeved tunic of deep blue over a black, long-sleeved under-tunic. He wears a cuirass of leather lamellar over it all and tops off his look with a hooded cowl in a dark green. He wears a dagger at his belt, and the keen observer notices one tucked into his boot as well.
"And that's when I picked the little man up, looked him right in the eye and told him, 'I know this may be a surprise to you, but your mother is a prostitute.' Darius smiles and drains the flagon, slamming it down on the bar. The others around him, likewise deep in their cups, cackle and snort at the young man's tale. He had only been in Sandpoint a few days, but a generous coin purse and an endless supply of stories had already endeared him to some of the patrons of the inn.
As the group around him continued their laughing and drinking, Darius returned his, subtle, attention to the man sitting by himself at a table in the back of the inn.
Something about him seemed . . . not right. He'd have to keep an eye on him.
Beren quietly snorts a laugh in an effort to blend in and mumbles to himself 'More likely the child was the whore's pimp.' He quickly scans the room with deep green eyes, careful to be mindful of his surroundings.
He occasionally sips his wine, unmindful of the pedestrian vintage, gloved fingers brushing aside the cloth mask that hides most of his face.
Sitting at the bar, Oded looked up from his third mug of beer to see the same needy character tell some bad story. The crowd around him laughed the right amount, hoping for the reward of another round. He had been playing loose with the coin that night, thats for sure. Oded didnt really care why.
The caravan he'd been with arrived the day before, just in time for its owner to get ready for the coming festival the next day. After getting a room, all too expensive thanks to the festival, he had made straight for the bar. No longer would he risk himself for someone else's profits.
Not too many more. The next day would bring about a change, in one way or another. If only the stools weren't so stinking high.
Gellius sat nursing his drink along with a bruised rib. One hand on the mug handle and the other under his leather vest he sighed at every intake of breath.
The vest had done it's job though, as that scared horses hoof's could have done a lot more damage to the man. "I'd wear something thicker," he said the the dog lying nose down under the table. "But then the animals might think I didn't trust them Faux."
The hounds long ear twitched in answer but the rest of the dog didn't move. "Excatly my point." Gellius said raising his mug and grunting at the motion.
This brought the hounds head up but noticing no trouble Faux put his head back down trying to catch a nap.
Gellius looked about the room hearing the laughter. He smiled thinking it was good to have a place to call home after so long. The people of Sandpoint didn't think it odd he had a way with animals, just the opposite. Once they found out he could help treat illnesses and ease hard births, Sandpoint seemed not to want him to leave. So unlike the Chelaxians to the south of his homelands.
Gellius wiped his short cropped beard with the back of his hand. Still a year from what most called middle aged it was shot through with gray giving him an older appears than his years. But his blue eyes were still bright and sharp.
His gear laid in a heap behind him because he never knew when someone might need his help. It seemed every other day someone needed for Gellius to check in on an animal they owned. His staff leaned against the wall in case he had a particularly long walk to get out to one of the southern farms.
He just hoped that tomorrow would be different as the vet was looking forward to the festival.
"Let there be no trouble tomorrow by Erastil's Grace." he said as he lifted his mug and then winced once more.
Weylyn thinking he's found some folk to con, stands and moves to an empty table in the center of the pub.
"Anyone up for some cards?" He pulls his hood back to reveal a skinny neck and face made more gaunt still by the tightly pulled back hair. A small goatee is all that suggests this man is a man and not a boy. Both hair and beard are a dark: features famous in his Varisian kin.
Sitting at the table next to Weylyn's proposed card game, Caladrian adjusts his seat enough to give room, yet looks on curiously. Thus far he spent little time drawing attention to himself, simply enjoying the comfort of being back home after several years.
"Yes, I think I would be interested in a good game of cards."
Berenwyr eases himself up from his stool at the bar and strolls over to the table where the card game is forming. 'May I sit in for a hand or two?' He sets a silver piece on the table before him and when the deck is revealed, he keeps a close eye out for marks, folded corners, and other signs of a card cheat. 'By the way, does anyone know if this...' he pauses for a moment, as if searching for an inoffensive term, 'town boasts an arcanist's shop or apothecary?'
The Tavren is roughly 1/2 full as it is still early in the evening. There are several games of scach as well as baduck going on. A few groups of people playing cards are scattered through the common room as well.
@Berenwyr: A male half-elf sitting at the table next to you looks up at you from the game of scach that he is playing with powerfully built male human. "Apothecary?", he asks with grin slowly rising on his face, "That would be me, good sir."
The grinning man says a few words to his opponent, gets up and walks over to you, right hand out. "Nisk Tander, proprietor of Bottled Solutions, at your service!"
@Darius: The hooded man just seems to want to play some cards and maybe win a round of ale or two.
@Gellius
@Oded: The Barkeep walks over to you as you finish your third mug, "Another mug for you?",she asks with a winning grin?
Oded sees the three men sit down at a table, the new game begin, and watches cards get dealt. While enjoying his time alone, he is reminded of a need to be social. After all, this town is home for... who knows how long.
The barkeep walks over as he's looking, and he hears her ask if he'd like another beer. He nods, slides over the coins, and grabs the mug. "Thanks," he mumbles as he shuffles over to the table.
"Too late to get in on this? As long as the stakes arent too high, I'm in," he addresses the table. "Better yet, next game, we make the stakes beer! That way, the card sharks among you will get as sloppy as the rest of us." With a grin on his face, teeth peeking out underneath a not-so-well groomed beard, he looks around at the others.
Berenwyr nods in greeting to the dwarven caravan guard before turning his attention to the apothecary.
Ah, greetings Mr. Tander. Please forgive me if I do not shake hands. I am Berenwyr Feladrannil of Kyonin. I have but recently arrived here in Sandpoint and would be interested in perusing your wares. Tell me, will your shop be open tomorrow before the festival begins?
He keeps a finger on the silver piece placed on the table, interested to hear what the game will be.
"The stakes are fair. To play each hand will cost the same as a pint. Winner gets drunk. I can see, my dwarven brother, that you've been winning tonight! Have a seat"
"So, I don't recognize many of you. That must mean your visiting or recently moved. I'm Weylyn Dell: lived here all my life. Who might you all be?"
@Berenwyr: A gleam forms in Tander's eyes, "The Shop itself will be open in the early hours, then will be closed when the festival begins at when Sarenrae (the sun) shines through the gap in The Old Light (about 8am."
He looks at Berenwyr, "Is there something of particular interest to you? I can reserve it or mix for you tomorrow morning."
@Berenwyr: A gleam forms in Tander's eyes, "The Shop itself will be open in the early hours, then will be closed when the festival begins at when Sarenrae (the sun) shines through the gap in The Old Light (about 8am."
He looks at Berenwyr, "Is there something of particular interest to you? I can reserve it or mix for you tomorrow morning."
Berenwyn's mask flutters slightly as his month turns behind it. 'Excellent' he rasps in a voice that is a far cry from typical elven speech. 'I require certain esoteric inks for my
scrivening. I would also be interested in any other writings you may have access to, especially ones that relate to arcane matters and the recent Thassalonian empire.'He pauses for a moment to ponder. 'Perhaps instead I shall visit you after the festival. After all, we wouldn't want to miss the inevitable greased pig wrestling that will most likely pass as the day's entertainment.'
"Oded, and a pleasure to meet you all. I'd shake hands, but I have a feeling I'd have worse luck with the table than Darius, here. Speaking of, dont be silly. The night is still young, a festival begins tomorrow, and you've got the worst out of you already. Besides, its a good thing I was holding my drink."
Oded looks around the table, and sees the masked man discussing potions or some such. A magic man of some sort, hiding his face to disguise... what? He'd had a few run ins with wizards and sorcerers and the like, and they came just as everyone else: most good, some bad. Curiosity was getting the better of him, and he thought to ask more when the man turned around.
D20+ Luck + bluff or CHA vs opposing rolls of everyone else.
First player to loose (having the lowest roll of all) twice pays for the round
Berenwyr turns his attention back to the game and realizes how far behind he has fallen.
'Well, you haven't won yet, Weylyn, was it?' He gestures noncommittally. 'I never quit before I'm truly beaten. Actually, that probably explains quite a bit...'
"I'd say lad, that you're well on your way to losing this one.
"Well, never mind that. Thats what I get for speaking too soon. I remember you from the caravan, right? Now that I've got a little liquid courage, I have to admit, something's been bugging me. I've never seen you remove the mask. I have nothing against you magicmen, handy in a tight spot, but why all the time?"
'Well Master Firehand, I certainly admire your patience on not asking all that time we were on the road. The truth is quite simple really. What lies beneath this mask is a testament to my youthful foolishness, and one hopes that the intervening decades have cured me of it. I wear it in consideration of everyone else on this common room'. He gestures expensively. 'After all, I wouldn't want to spoil anyone's supper. The cook has already done a fine job of that. Looks like you're down this hand, Oded.'
Tander blinks, "Thassalonian Empire?" He pauses as if in thought, "I'll have to see what me stocks are."He the chuckles, "Mind, if I sell my secrets, I'd put myself out of business."
Tander's opponent frowns at him, "Are done trying to sell naga oil? Get back over here so I can take your cleric with my fortress."
"Of course, Das." He turns back to Berenwyr, "We both have games to attend so I will leave you to yours and perhaps see you in the morning."
With that, Tander gives a slight bow and sit back down to continue his game
"Master I am not. Oded, please. Another example of youthful foolishness. That is one experience that unfortunately we share. But enough of that. Tonight is for good times, and friends."
Oded noticed a well studied and thoughtful man sitting nearby. Beside him sat a pile of some sort of supplies, with a staff leaning against a wall. He appeared conflicted between joining the group and keeping to himself. A few more drinks, and maybe Oded would have invited him over. Instead, he chose to stick to those he knew, and the prospect of change.
"Like to sit in but..." Gellius thinks as he looks to the dog who he finds snoring quietly.
"I see my company is out. Guess perhaps the two legged kind it is then." He says standing and walking toward the table.
Gellius nods to those who see him approach. "Mind if I watch? Need to keep an eye on my stuff and my friend," he says with a nod towards the sleeping dog.
"He had one to many and needs to sleep it off."
"Hahaha!" Darius laughs loudly and stands again (this time being more careful not to bump the table. He reaches out for Grellius' hand. "Welcome friend I am Darius. You might be better off watching then sitting with these scallywags!" Darius eyes the other players suspiciously before the facade cracks and he lets out another bellowing laugh.
Berenwyr fixes Weylyn with a level gaze, and taps what you can only assume is the tip of his nose through the heavy cloth veil. 'Not quite. But only because I have since learned not to stick it where it does not belong.'
He then turns his attention to Gellius. 'Be welcome friend. Poor company that we are, we hope to some day be as enthralling as a sleeping dog.
Finally he turns his gaze to Darius. 'Have a seat then Darius, before this table is smashed to flinders.
One of the waitstaff walks up to your table, "Ah! You're playing Tabs.", she then pulls out a note pad, "Has the buyer been decided, yet, or are you still playing?"
In the far corner of the room near the hearth, a young halfling lass tunes up a violin while a young human lad assembles a wooden flute-like instrument. After a few moments to get their tempo, the pair begin the lively jig of a popular drinking melody that has had so many different lyrics attached to it over the centuries that the original song has been lost to antiquity.
"Thanks, but I think we're still playing. Some people seem to forget to play their hand." To the newcomer he says, "Have a seat, and please, we're on our second round. Someone needs to have worse luck than me!"
He looked around, and thought to draw some more small talk. "Well, me and Berenwyr here - Did I get that right? - clearly arent from around here, and just arrived today. How about you? What brings you all to this tiny little village in the middle of nowhere?"
One of the waitstaff walks up to your table, "Ah! You're playing Tabs.", she then pulls out a note pad, "Has the buyer been decided, yet, or are you still playing?"
'Never fear lass, I'll cover this next round. Though I haven't lost yet, I'm sure these fine gentlemen will reimburse me on the off chance that I prevail. Besides, my cup is already down to the lees, and that simply will not do. Now, just how impoverished will this leave me?'
"The ale's five copper a mug, a silver if you break said mug. Local wine's a silver per goblet, anything imported is two silver. I see you've been drinking the Fairmain's, good local stuff, sweet enough to take the bite out of the grape, but not so sweet, it rots your teeth. Another goblet and ale for the rest?"
"The ale's five copper a mug, a silver if you break said mug. Local wine's a silver per goblet, anything imported is two silver. I see you've been drinking the Fairmain's, good local stuff, sweet enough to take the bite out of the grape, but not so sweet, it rots your teeth. Another goblet and ale for the rest?"
Berenwyr withdraws four silver pieces from his belt pouch and hands them to the barmaid.
Yes, wine for me and ale for the rest, but none for the dog. I hear he's been cut off.
A small raven hops out from underneath his cloak, alights on one of the rafters and makes strange, quorking sounds, almost like speach.
He cocks his head at the bird, then continues, Oh, and a loaf of bread, if it's not too much trouble. Should there be any coin left, the remainder is yours.
Darius' eyes go wide and he turns to Berenwyr.
[b]Elven: ** spoiler omitted **
Berenwyr delicately rips apart some of the bread and begins tossing pieces of the crust up to the raven, who gobbles them up greedily and caws happily by turns.
O, gael iddo i siarad yn y rhan hawdd, mae'n ddistawrwydd sy'n anodd ei gyflawni.
He spends the rest of the evening in company with the rest, no longer playing cards, but peppering the conversation with barbed quips as the mood strikes him. If nothing untoward occurs at the inn, he retires for the evening at a reasonable hour to rest in anticipation of an interesting day on the morrow.