Cottonseed Lodge (PFS2)

Game Master Redelia

Have you read the spell? It's not an attack.

Edit: Oh snap, I linked the wrong spell. My bad.

I can't edit the other post anymore, the spell I cast was supposed to be Undeath's Blessing (which apparently changed its name since the printing of my CRB, presumably because it shared its name with the cleric focus spell accidentally linked previously). Sorry again for the mix-up. I am not in the business of randomly attacking polite goblins, I swear!

That makes much more sense! I'd read the spell you linked earlier and you made it sound like it was a boon but the spell seemed to contradict that.

Ogren stands perfectly still as the elf casts a spell on him. He thinks there's a moment of almost phantom pain, but it proves to only be his imagination. He opens his eyes one at a time curious as to what might have happened, and grins broadly, his teeth looking yellow and decayed, what almost might be a maggot in his teeth. With eyes that almost look white from cataracts he peers at the nice lady with the grey skin. "You're a nice lady aren't you, uhhh," -the goblin clearly tries to reproduce the woman's name, ending up with something close to "Hrmph? Thank you for the spell... is it normal for everything to go black and white? I'm going to go show my new friend Patrick over there, if that's okay."

The goblin, looking for all purposes like he's just this side or that side of death, bounds over to the table with the wizard and plops down next to the man giving him a small nudge. "Patrick, Patrick! The nice elf over there, who was born in a grave yard I think, just made me undead! Everything is grey! You should go say hi. She's really kind! I always wanted to know what being undead was like, now I know what my friend Marcon was going through... but not why he was always so hungry."

And .. what sort of undead did you friend Marcon turn into ... zombie I presume ... and did he recover? Patrick speaks softly to not try and attract the lady elf's attention.

arcana: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (13) + 13 = 26

He then ponders for a bit. Undeath's Blessing. It only provides a ... simulation of undeath ... it should wear off in a moment

Ogren grins and starts to rattle off details about Marcon, "Oh he was a ghoul! Talked about eating people alot, but I think that was just an act!"

*looks for dots*

Maximilian pats his fiery leopard on the head as they enter the room. "Well now, this looks like just the place we are looking for Ruby. Plenty of vict... I mean good players around here for us to play with."

Stares at all the dots

"Hey folks, what can I get ya?" The goblin behind the bar tosses a coaster down and waits for the newcomers' orders. Looking over the wizard, he adds "also--and no offense intended--we have a 'No Evocation' policy inside the bar, so no practicing over a drink, alright? We can't afford to keep replacing tables. You can thank Xanno down there for that one" he says, giving a little wave to another goblin on the other side of the room.

"Hey, it was only one table, and I already apologized!"

There is no such thing as friendly fire a voice from a side table says quietly.

"That it may be, but still, it isn't good for an establishment's reputation that things explode while patrons could get harmed. As for myself, I might focus in evocation, but it is my duty to help heal those on the battlefield. Hence why quite a bit of my training is in the medical field."

Raising a finger, the human tries to call the bartender or server. "I'd like an ale with a side of brandy please. I need to get the taste of dead plant matter off of my tongue."

"I know, Xanno, I know. I'm just givin' you a hard time!" The goblin nods to Valdris and goes to fetch the order, returning shortly with a frosty tankard and a short snifter. "Enjoy, and may the Hero's own luck be with you!"

A head of wavy aquamarine hair pokes in the door; the amethyst eyes that follow brighten as they spot the bar at the back of the room. The rest of the gnome pops into the Lodge and nudges the door shut behind her. Shifting the strap of a voila on her back, she weaves her way over to the bar. "One pale ale, please!" Once paid up, she takes her drink over to a table near the thick of things and draws her instrument from its carrying case. After tuning it a bit, she takes a sip of her ale, nods in appreciation, and begins a simple, plucky tune about a fool who falls in love with a chicken that had been turned into a beautiful maiden by a mischievous fey. Her eyes twinkle in merriment as she sings the line about the girl turning back into a chicken just in time for their first kiss.

"You got it!" The goblin scurries down the bar to a keg labeled 'Puddles Pale', drawing a full tankard topped with foam and setting down before the gnome. "Enjoy!"

Patrick sighs That's more evidence that falling in love is not logical he says quietly to himself.

A bedraggled, dirst-stained halfling with coffee-colored skin and a wild shock of frizzy hair laden with twigs, dirt, and--is that a bird?--slouches into the tavern, clambers up onto a stool, and plops her head onto the bar, resting a polished cedarwood cane on her legs.

"I picked the wrong line of business," she grumbles. "I need something hard. Whiskey, maybe. Double. Or... gods, do you have dwarven firewater?"

She looks absolutely miserable as she irritably swats her hair, sending the nesting bluejay in it flapping off in a twittering huff.

Erm .... excuse me ms halfling Patrick asks cautiously, wondering if she will attempt to bite his head off. May I enquire, what happened to you?

The lighthearted tune of the voila transitions first to comedic notes in response to the flying jay, then to a suspenseful tone as the gnome playing it watches for the newcomer's reaction to the man's inquiry.

The goblin behind the bar takes one look at the bedraggled halfling and immediately pulls a half-pint of small beer into a battered silver tankard and sets it in front of her. "I might have some of that firewater down in the cellar. Here's something to get you settled while I check. May the Hero's foam wash your cares away!" With that, he hops off the funning board he uses to see over the bar, opening up a panel in the floor and descending out of site. He returns a few moments later with a dusty bottle, which he wipes off before uncorking. The liquid inside is clear, and fills the area with a faint scent of pine resin as he pours two dwarf-sized fingers into a tumbler on the bar and slides over to the halfling.

Bina thanks Seedy and turns to Patrick. "You know what Bloodcove had? Intrigue. Shady deals. Back alley brawls. I like those." She scowls at the bird as it flaps its way out an open window. "You know what Bloodcove doesn't have? Goats. It doesn't have any friggin' wild goats. Mountains have goats. I now firmly hate mountains."

She downs most of the half-pint in one gulp. "And also goats," she adds with a loud belch.

A stooped, gray half orc limps into the Lodge with the aid of a cane that's heavy enough to double as a club. She weaves between the tables to the bar. In a voice as smooth as grit under a grindstone, she orders: "Ale, please. Stout." As she waits, her eyes rove around the establishment, lingering on the job board. She pays for the drink, nods at the barkeep, and thumps herself over there to check for listings. "...Hmp." Nothing.

Easing herself down into a chair nearby, she accidentally bumps the table on the way down. An explosion of furious squeaking erupts from her pocket, and a black rat pops out, berating her soundly in its own language. With an expression of contemptuous disgust, she grabs the rat and unceremoniously shoves it back in her pocket, holding it down until it finally gives up with one last loud squeak of remonstrance. Finally! Stupid rat.

And that is why I do not have a familiar

A large orc, Bubba, pauses his harmonica practice and looks over to Bina with a slight hint of surprise and confusion in his eyes.

"But goats are quite tasty? My ma even has a special hot sauce for them."

Itka's mouth begins watering. Her eyes make their way over to Bubba. It looks like she's trying to decide whether or not to respond. Finally she blurts out: "Is the hot sauce her own recipe?"

”Yep, aged for 30 days. We also spray it on the Chels whenever they show up, and they always run screaming.”

Bina turns a slightly unfocused gaze to Bubba. "Mm. Good thinkin'. Kill an' eat 'em. Only good goat is a dead goat." She raises her mug in salute and goes to down the whole thing, only to realize she's already emptied it. "Sumbuddy stole m'booze," she grumbles with a suspicious glare.

A messenger from the Society hustles up, hands her a letter, and leaves. She takes a long time reading it, mostly because all the letters keep trying to go all fuzzy on her. "Job. Better not have goats. Or mount'ns." She slides off her stool, spills onto the floor, tumbles up and lands on her feet, cane in hand, despite clearly still being inebriated. "Mentadodat," she announces, then wobbles out of the tavern to go sober up before she leaves town.

”Yep, aged for 30 days. We also spray it on the Chels whenever they show up, and they always run screaming.”

Chuckling, the woman replies: "Ah, now that's a sight I'd like to see! Hehe! Name's Itka. Pleased to meet you."

A nervous, excitable Garundi man bursts through the doors of the lodge, his arms barely containing a bundle of unkept papers.

He darts from table to table looking for one whose surface is completely clear of drinks. At each one, he makes a frustrated and frantic face at the occupants already seated there.

Finally he gives up and claims a stool at the bar with an empty space on each side, dropping the bundle of papers onto the bartop.

Catching the bartenders gaze very deliberately, and pointing squarely at the space to his left, he asks One ale p-p-p-please, over here.

Pulling out what you assume is a formula book, he begins madly copying into it from the sundry notes scattered about. Only after five full minutes does he look up and notice those around him.

Oh, h-h-hi Itka! How's that little rat doing?

"Sure, sure, coming right up." The goblin scurries over to fill a mug of ale, depositing it carefully in front of the seat to the newcomer's left. After a moment's consideration, he arranges several clean-ish bar towels in a little barrier between the mug and the papers. "Just in case."

Oh, oh! Thank you! Good th-th-thinking! A bartender who appreciates the written capture of discovery and innovation!

He flips the goblin an extra copper for his trouble.

Oh! You'll appreciate one of these that I've acquired recently. Here!

He retrieves a small amount of reagents from his belt pouch and gets to work on a mixture... that ends up going into his mug of ale!

This is called the Bravo's B-B-B-Brew! It steels your will, and wards off f-f-fear. I'm surprised it wasn't given a name with more flair by the Caydenites! This is right up their alley!

You can see the excitement in the alchemists eyes as he momentarily dives back into his notes to continue his transcription.

I wonder if they have one to give one confidence Patrick muses from the corner.

Oh, h-h-hi Itka! How's that little rat doing?

Suddenly glowering, Itka replies: "It ain't dead yet, cursed thing."

"Cheers, friend!" the bartender says. "May the Hero's own luck be with you!"

Bubba thoughtfully examines his harmonica.

"Ain't never done a blues song about a rat that ain't dead, hmmm."

"How about being stuck with a rat given by someone you hate? Forced to keep that...manifestation of someone you wish never existed!" Seething contempt contorts Itka's face as she spits out these words in her harsh, gravelly voice. Her expression melds into introspective disgust. "Being forever bound to the one who is responsible for every horrendous thing that happened in your life, all represented by a little, furry token that grants you a piece of his power." She shudders, hunching her shoulders inward, and stares into the dark liquid in her mug.

A burly woodsman swings the door wide open and strides in. With a cocked eyebrow he glances around the room.
Need a flagon of mead, Seedy, and a spot near the job postings.
He smiles warmly when he sees a couple of familiar faces.

Itka! Haha. Good to see ya. I see ya still have a rat problem. Haha!
He laughs boisterously.

Elsha! My chilly friend! How ya been?
He gives his friend a hardy pat on the back.

You two waiting for a mission? Same here. Oh! I made some more of my 'Brünwulf's Bristle-back Boar Bratwurst'.
He reaches into his satchel, pulls out a bunch of sausages wrapped in waxed parchment, and places them in the center of the table.
Go on, have one. It'll help soak up that alcohol.
He takes a seat and munches on a bratwurst.

Erm .... excuse me ... how much are you selling those for?

Itka jerks her head up from staring into her cup, clearly startled out of her dark musings. Her eyes crinkle at the edges as something akin to a smile ghosts briefly across her lips--until he mentions the rat. Choosing to drop that particular subject this time, she greets him in her gruffly warm manner: "Ah! Brünwulf! Good to see you, too. Thank you; I'll eat any food you cook any time. How've you been?"

"Howdy! Go ahead and take a seat, I'll bring the mead over in a second!" The goblin pulls a mug of pale liquid from a keg emblazoned with a honey bee burned into the end, ducking under the folding bar-top and depositing it in front of the ranger. "Blessings of the Hero be with you, though it seems Old Deadeye might have beaten him to it, by the look of those links."

Brünwulf looks up at the wizard.
Selling my bratwurst? Haha! No no no, my good man. I made these to share! We're all hungry friends here. And this is a public house! Here, have one.

Brünwulf takes a big gulp of mead.
A ton of thanks, Seedy!
He flips a copper from his pocket with his thumb. It arcs high overhead as it spins and lands perfectly on Seedy's serving tray.
Aye! Blessings of the Hero be with you as well!

Good to see you're doing well, Itka. I spent a couple days in Sauerton after our adventure there. Cozy little town. Thinkin' of building a cabin on the outskirts. Just beyond the edge of the woods.
Brünwulf spends good time chatting with Itka as he waits for his next adventure.

Thank you very much the wizard says quietly. He takes one and retreats back to his quiet corner.

Does this count as a social interaction? he wonders to himself.

Walking into the tavern, the robed man takes in a deep breath before finding a stool at the bar.

"You know what sounds perfect right now? A good ale! I've been at the blasted books a bit too long and need something to make my eyes swim that are words."

Looking up from his seat, Valdris takes in the sights of all the others before settling on the bratwurst. With a loud gurgle from his stomach, the wizard sheepishly grins.

"Perhaps food would be in good order as well. I sometimes forget to eat while in studies."

"Ale's comin' right up!" the goblin behind the bar calls, moving to fill the order. "It'll be a bit before the stew's ready, but I got some peanuts, or some of this jerky my friend Bucklund brought by. Might help to tide you over until then, just...don't ask what the jerky's made of. Buck was a little evasive on that front."

A tall human female, made taller yet by the heels of her knee-high dark brown boots strides into the tavern and looks about. Her clear green eyes scan the room and catch sight of the tankards on the bar. A look of unfeigned pleasure forms on her face. "Mon Dieu! Juste vat I vaz hopeeng for," she says in a heavy Galtan accent.

She strides up to the bar, removing the wide-brimmed cavalier hat with the red feathers from her equally red-haired head as she goes. She shifts the sheathed rapier and main-gauche at her waist slightly to one side, and flicking the long tail of her royal-blue coat, sits herself down on one of the stools.

Catching the barkeep's eye, she calls out, "I vill 'ave a chope, um, 'ow you sey? a tankaard, yes? of your veree best biere. Eet 'as been un âge seence I last 'ad a dreenk vorthee of de name."

"Ah, I have just the thing! A lovely biere de garde from a temple to Cayden near Bellis that specializes in traditional Galtan brews." Descending for a moment into the cellar, the goblin returns bearing a dusty glass bottle with a cork held in place by wax. Scraping away enough of the wax to pull the cork, he pours most of the pale liquid into a waiting mug, leaving the last quarter-inch in the bottle to prevent sediment from escaping. "May the blessings of the Hero be upon you!"

Mimi takes a deep slug from the mug that the goblin filled. Her reaction is immediate, "Sveet barleybrew! Deez eez fantastique. I 'ave not tasted anytheeng deez good in ma life." She lifts the mug at the goblin in acknowledgement and adds, "de 'eros bénédictions indeed," before taking another satisfying gulp.

Iris enters the tavern without a sound and looks around. Her eyes pass on the flamboyant woman and the bartender to stop on the notice board. She slowly moves to the board, her hand on the hilt of her rapier as if there could be danger. She starts reading the job offers, especially the adventuring ones. After a minute, she takes a table nearby, sitting quietly. She then puts her purse on the table and starts counting her coppers, pensively.

Hearing someone behind her, Mimi turns to see who came in. Spotting Iris, she says, "Vell, vell, 'ello dere estranger. 'Ow goes teengs?" She taps the stool next to hers with her free hand. "Don't be timide. Come seet up 'ere vith moi," and raising her mug, she adds, "You must 'ave a taste of dees merveilleuse biere. Dere ees trulee noteeng like eet."

Iris feels a bit annoyed to be suddenly the center of attention. And the drunken lady's proposition doesn't look like one you can dismiss with a "No, thank you.".

"I... I... I'm just here for a meal. I don't want to disturb. I'm sure there are plenty of people who will gladly drink with you."

While speaking, Iris can't refrain from looking at the lady from tip to toe. She surely is quite the sight.

Patrick just glances over at Iris because of her reaction to Mimi, then looks away, embarrassed, hoping he wasn't caught.

He then uses a message spell to send a message to the bartender. An mild apple cider and some pork scratchings please