Empire of Night: Way of the Wicked (Vampire Campaign)

Game Master Neil Mansell

Dane nods, "My thanks, sir, sometimes it's hard to remember the good work we're doing when barbarians are screaming in your face." Following the maid, Dane smirks a little. A city about ready for rape, slaughter, and pillaging, my time alive is running short, and I simply walk into an inn in which several... Dane glances at the "buxom" part of the description. Choice fruits are dangled in front of me to be plucked. Truly providence is a great and glorious thing. Nodding to the barmaid, Dane simply says, "Thank you lass, I'd like some of your mead, not the cheap stuff, not the expensive stuff, just somewhere in between if you've got a selection."

Dane leans on the table, but doesn't sit right off. "I'm going to go say hello to the men, see how things go up here." Walking up to the table of drinking guardsmen, Dane issues a greeting. "Ho there, lads! How goes the northern watch this fine day? Mind if I pull up a seat?"

Durova looks around nervously as the warrior approaches the table for guards for some unbeknownst reason. "What's he doing," the cleric hisses to the others.

He takes his goblet of mead, and observes the scene.

"I'll say one thing we got in Balentyne are dwarves. Infesting... I mean 'fixing' the watchtower."
One of them says with a grin. The other nod and chuckle in agreement.
"Oh yeah, the one in charge, that Barnabus fellow, boy he can down a few."
He turns to Dane.
"Oh, he and his dwarven gang come in here at dusk to booze. Take my advice and don’t challenge him to a drinking contest. He’ll drink you under the table every time!"
With that the conversation changes to duller topics.

Nodding and grunting in acknowledgement of the conversation, Dane pitches in various comments from time to time. "Ach, if only we were so lucky to have a wall west of us. Generally those damned Iraens just mind their own business but come summer we're always having to find some war band or another trying to sneak between the garrison forts and run off into the night with wheat or horses or whatever shiny baubles catch their savage eyes that day!" Dane takes a swig of his newly gained mead. "Annoying thing is that despite everything they're still not all entirely bad as goblins and the like, so then they're surrendering and you have to take them prisoner, knowing that a raid to free the prisoners is practically a coin flip's chance of happening if you do... but, to hell with it, least it proves us their betters! To Mitra! For making us better than those who'd deny the sun god's radiance!" Dane raises his mug as he offers his fake praise and takes another drink.

Once any following cheers or toasts in agreement die down, Dane lowers his voice to a tone somewhere between normal and conspiratorial. "Mm, but that reminds me." Another swig. "The commander was asking any troops who were going out to get their hands on some extra manacles. Last time the quarter master asked for ours to be replenished we got three crates of fishing line." The disguised Iraen shakes his head sadly. "So while paperwork and mule carts take their precious time we're down to about twenty pairs of rusty shackles that barely have their pins still in them to cover about twenty miles of border! Not much but small villages to watch I understand, but those brutes keep testing us since there's such a big gap to go through. Haven't found anywhere I can just buy them since there's little use to them for good honest folk, but the commander said he'd consider anyone who could arrange to get some to him for a promotion, figure I may as well try, right?"

Dane goes through the motions, laughing when they laugh, tossing in little jokes and insults when appropriate. While not from Talingard, Dane knows how to deal with soldiers. When the conversation slows for a bit, Dane asks, "So boys, given our illustrious salaries, I was already planning on throwing money around seeing as I have plenty" Dane's words drip with sarcasm. "But in all honesty, I was thinking that if you have a spare bunk I could borrow during my stay, that'd be a weight off my sad funds. Think you can put in a good word for me with the Lord Commander? Beds are probably nicer here but at least a free cot is free." Dane shrugs and grins to his "comrades."

Dane, make me a diplomacy check and a bluff check. The DC is quite low since the guards are tipsy and in a good mood.
One of the guards reply to Dane's words.
"I could put in a good word for you. My superior, Captain Eddarly is a fair man, I'm sure he'd come around. He should be able to help you with you supply shortage too. Tell me, where were you stationed and who was your commanding officer?"

Bluff: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6+5 For targets being drunk/inebriated, potential +5 for the targets "wanting to believe my story" and a potential +? (up to +10) for having convincing evidence (given the successful Int check below and a convincing disguise, I think that should count for some kind of bonus at your discretion).
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Intelligence: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

"Ah, Fort Nymella. Well, we like to call it a fort, but it's more a collection of sticks we tied together than anything deserving that title!" Dane laughs and backhands one of the guards on the arm jokingly. "But uhm, the whole 'who's in charge' question's a bit trickier. Recently the commander just got one of them Iraen swords in the face the poor bastard, right now this traveling knight who came upon us during the fight been running things for the moment since the only one with the rank to do anything like that is Sergeant Romswell and apparently this Sir Balin who's running things can tell that he's a complete fool who only got his rank by kneeling a lot if you know what I mean. I'm hoping by considering us for promotion, he means that I might have a chance to go fly with the eagles, seeing as I've already proven a bit hardier than a lot by surviving that mess."

And here's a generic Diplomacy roll to try and raise their starting attitude as Dane jokes and carouses with them.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

Diplomacy and Intelligence check is fine. Bluff is a little trickier. The guards aren't drunk, although the alcohol has relaxed them. Still, you're getting some substantial bonuses regardless.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
"Yeah, sorry to hear about that. Those Iraen savages can be real brutes. Hope they caught the barbarian responsible for that."
They listen to the rest of your tale.
"Sir Balin hey? I think I've heard of that knight."
Two of the other guards furrow their brows in thought.
"The name does sound familiar... Ah well, whatever."
After a few more moments chatting one of them indicates the time (dusk is fast approaching).
"Damn, guess we better go. I still got chores to finish before lights out. Besides, those stinking dwarves will be here soon. I can do without another headache from their damn singing."
The group rises to their feet after exchanging a few last jokes and comments.
"Sorry friend, we'd be glad to let you rest in the barracks but the Lord Commander would have our heads for ignoring military protocol. Spend a night here in the inn, trust me, you'll get a better night's sleep than where we have to stay. We'll put in a good word with our officer, Eddarly, in the morning and if you're still in town tomorrow maybe we can help you out."
They begin to depart.
"Hey Bellam! Get this fine man a bowl of stew on me will ya!"
The innkeeper nods, grinning at the extra income.
With a final farewell, the soldiers depart.

EDIT: BTW, Dane, did you tell them your name (false name or otherwise)?

Dane would have given them the name and rank Lance Corporal Dale Reeves if they either asked or introduced themselves first, or if the carousing went on for a while longer than what was written down.

Dane nods somberly, "Yeah can't say I cared for him much, but it's still worse than he deserved, Mitra rest his soul. But yeh, we captured the brute and lashed him in irons, last I heard he was awaiting execution down in prison." Dane listens to the rest of the short conversation in silence, when they get up to leave, Dane once again nods in understanding, "Eh don't worry friends I understand! Got to go through the proper channels and all that. But if the Captain's not overly receptive, the manacles are the important bit, those we need, the bed's just bonus. I'd like to get my hands on at least three sets, Balin said he was hoping for anyone leaving to try and come back with at least two sets, so I figure I'll look pretty good if I come back with three or more. And let 'em know I'm willing to work while I'm here, staying for the play since me and my party haven't seen one in ages, wouldn't mind overmuch to keep my hands busy while I'm here, I maintain the weapons and armor up at Nymella so he can put me to work if he wants."

As they depart and offer the bowl of stew to him, Dane raises his mug "Cheers, Mate!" Dane saunters over to his actual party's table and plunks himself down, not bothering to hide the wide smile given that it'd seem natural right now. Talking in a low but jovial tone, Dane comments to the rest of them whenever there's no one close enough to hear well "Well, that was productive. I've got news that there's apparently a lot of dwarves coming in and out of the watchtower, may be a way in. I've a potential to reassign some manacles for us to use, and a possible way into the castle for myself. I'd say this has been the best inn I've ever visited." Dane smiles to the bar maid as she brings out his stew. "Thank you lass, and might I say you're one of the loveliest women I've seen in some time?" Dane grins stupidly, possibly on purpose... possibly. As the maid turns away, Dane returns to his conspiratorial voice, "Oh, and I got some free stew." Dane continues to grin almost stupidly widely as he eats, then musses Durova's hair. "Looked like you'd near seen a ghost when I started walking over there lad, thought I was just going to brawl or something?"

"Well that's a start. Let's sell what we have today and see what we can perhaps get for it in return. Dwarves huh. Maybe we can find out what their business here is."

Durova smooths his hair back down. "I was a bit worried, I must admit. Sounds like you got some good information, though. Do you think our disguises will allow us to assume the visage of a dwarf?"

Dane smirks, "I don't see why not so probably, but we've got time to explore our options, may be best if we all try to come in by different means, help disguise our entrance if five dwarves don't all just go missing. These lads supposedly should be here soon, drinking, singing and making a big ruckus, we'll see if they're worth our time soon I think."

"Drinking you say? If we decide they need to be dealt with, perhaps a bit of poison might be in order. I don't know much about alchemical solutions, but that might be nice and easy to deal with them.

Is there an apothecary in town, DM?

Is there an apothecary in town, DM?

There is indeed an alchemist in town. The really good poisons are, of course, illegal but you could probably get your hands on some ingestable poisons that are designed to kill rats (arsenic is the classic).

Dane shrugs, but with a displeased sounding grunt. "Poison is fairly obvious though, maybe not as pointing out the murderer, but unless you know a poison that doesn't end with all the puking and defecation, they'll probably make it known they're dying long before their demise. Be hard for us to take their place with such an obvious death."

Anton leans forward "Dwarves are known for their iron-cast stomach. I am doubtful such poison would have the desired effect. Save such thoughts for the garrison, after we gain entry... and, I would say, shortly before the... event... Timing, after all, is everything."

"It seems there are a plethora of access points into this wonderful little place. The Lance Corporal here, could put in for a transfer. Others could join the ranks of the servants... noone looks at the servants... although soldiers may treat them differently than a noble. Some, could try to replace a dwarf or five... And there is also the matter of the Ye Merrie Men... I like a nice tragic romance. One or more of the troupe comes up sick and they may need replacements, or, perhaps, they would enjoy some musical accompaniment... The play's the thing."

Perform (oratory): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

I've lost track of XP for a little while and I owe you all a bonus. For simplicity, round up your XP to 9000 and level up to 4th. That will put us all back on track.

Dusk very soon comes and goes. The dancing girl retires although the rest of the staff remain, and seem a little edgy as they hurriedly prepare mugs and tables.

Shortly afterwards, eleven stout dwarves crash in through the front doors, singing a dwarvish tune. Most wear chainmail and have warhammers at their side, but the leader is wearing half-plate and a greatsword is strapped to his back. They all look grubby after a days hard work.

The leader calls out to the innkeeper as the dwarves take their seats.
"Ale and food, Bellum! You know the drill!"
The innkeeper rolls his eyes and fills the mugs with impressive speed.
"Yes yes, its on the way."

Within a minute the dwarves are drinking heartily and chewing on bread and pork. They converse, mostly with their mouths full, in a language none of you can translate, but can say with certainty is dwarven.

Dane, seeing the Dwarves as less enjoyable company than the guards, and already tired of interacting with them, Dane just approaches the inn-keeper. "Oi Bellam, I'd like to get a room and get away from this nonsense. What do you got available?"

"We got rooms upstairs, for a gold piece per room per night. Each room is good for two or three people to stay in. Since you're a soldier, I'll even throw in breakfast for you and your friends for no extra charge. The only rule I have is that you stay in your room between midnight and dawn, since I lock the main doors to the inn during those times."
He continues to smile, clearly pleased about the extra business.
"So, you and your friends need a couple of rooms?"

You 'almost-dead' and your crappy con. This looks like a job for my uber enhanced antipaladin fort saves.

"I'll see if I can get anything out of these dwarves."

Sion walks over to the dwarves and speaks to them. "The ale here is quite good yes? It's been forever since I have tasted a dwarven brew. Nothing comes close. I could drink it all day."

Bravo to the antipaladin. :)
The dwarves fall mostly silent at Sion's words, then a few of them start to chuckle. Their leader turns and grins at Sion.
"Oh, is that so? This isn't dwarven brew though, it's hops and water. I could drink it all week."
Behind the counter, Bellam frowns at the comment.
"But I know a challenge when I hear one. Let's see what ya made of, lad."
The dwarf kicks a stool over to Sion, an indication for him to join the dwarf's table.
"The name's Barnabus. 10 gold pieces says I can drink you under the table."
He chuckles as he passes Sion a large mug of frothy ale.
I'm assuming Sion accepts the offer...
At first the ale is easy to swallow, but the beers keep on coming and both Sion and Barnabus show early signs of inebriation. The other dwarves cheer on their leader, clearly getting drunker themselves.
Barnabus 1st Fort: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30 (pass)
Barnabus 2nd Fort: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17 (pass)
The way this will work is Sion and Barnabus must make a DC 10 Fort save with each successive drink. This is a poison effect. However, after each drink both participants receive a cumulative -1 penalty to the save. Failure leads to either passing out or regurgitation, and thus the loss of the game.
We'll do two checks for each turn (so Sion needs to make two DC 10 Fort saves, the second with a -1 penalty)

"Yeh, a couple of room would be nice. And cheers on the breakfast, Bellam, mighty kind of you." Dane fishes into his pockets and plunks two gold on the counter.

Fort: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19
Fort: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Sion smiles and sits and begins drinking with barnabus.

Mordesel turns to those at the table with him, I agree that trying to get in via separate avenues would be the best. It would allow us access to different areas, and we could abandon one identity without compromising the others. He sits for a bit longer before moving, he stars to stand, But for now, I'm going to go see what I can find out elsewhere.

Mordesel seeks out a crowd, either in the inn or elsewhere, and attempts to discover rumors around the town. He seeks particularly rumors about the defenses of the castle--I've heard there are goblins gathering north of here. Are we safe here?--but he keeps his ears open for anything.

Gather Information: 20 + 3 = 23

Durova stays watching the drinking contest. He figures he will kick in and share a room with the others, but, this could be entertaining, so he waits.

Barnabus nods respectfully at Sion as he downs the ales.
"Not bad lad, glad to see ya ain't a soft-stomached human like them... lot in Balentyne. Mitra is fine and all, but most of them soldiers would rather spend a Sunday morning in that stuffy chapel of theirs instead of where they should be. Here! Drinking!"
The other dwarves laugh a bit and down more ale.
3rd Fort: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10
4th Fort: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
It looks like he gets in a talkative mood as gets drunker.
----------------------------------------------------
Mordesel chats to another person to talk to. He quickly discovers the inn in the best place to find personable conversation, and is never devoid of patrons. There are currently nineteen other people in the inn.

Talking to a couple of middle-aged local merchants, they overhear Barnabus's words. One of them sighs.
"Oh, the chapel! Have you ever been to the choir hall of Balentyne? Amazing! The priests are such beautiful singers and sometimes the stone saints that adorn the place join in the chorus. Such a miracle! I've only been there a few times though, a while ago during my soldiering days.

"I'm not much of a church man myself. No good at singing. Haha."

Fort 3: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Fort 3: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Sion's face turns pale as nausea sweeps over him. With a groan, he slumps over the table, knocking over his next mug in the process and spilling its contents over the table.

The dwarves give a cheer to their victorious leader. Sion quickly regains his faculties and pushes himself back from the tabletop, but spilling his mug had lost him the match. Barnabus slaps him on the back.

"Good effort lad! You're better than most!"

The barmaids quickly begin cleaning up the mess and you all see Bellam shake his head at the raucous scene.

Nothing worse than the dreaded nat 1.

Dane helps Sion to sit up right. "I'm thinking a rematch is in order tomorrow! I know this guy and he's a better drinker than that! I'm sure you'd be interested in a better fight than that." Dane extends his hand to the dwarven leader. "But congratulations are in order regardless! Reeves, Dale Reeves at your service! Can't say I've seen many people be able to put that much away, not even most dwarves."

"Tomorrow we shall drink more. I won't give in that easily." he says to Barnabus. "What brings you to this small town on the edge of the kingdom to drink such liquids? Name is Simon. I'm a traveller and bodyguard." hr pffers to shake hands with the dwarf.

The dwarf smiles and stands up, clearly proud of his drinking prowess.
"Thanks very much Dale. Fair enough, guess we all have our bad days. Might have been the ale. It ain't quality dwarven stuff."
Barnabus happily shakes both your hands.
"That's the spirit Simon! I look forward it. The name's Barnabus Eisenbauch and I'm captain of this ugly lot."
The other dwarves chuckle and throw a few weak insults at Barnabus. The dwarf officer grins and ignores them.
"The lads and I were called in to work on the gatehouse in Balentyne a few months back. That's the fortification at the front of castle, on the north side of the river."
He continues.
"It's a long term job but its not too serious, fixin' the old crenelations, replacing a few doors, making a few extra murder holes. Simple stuff. We're just done repairing the balistas on the roof, that took a few weeks. Don't worry though, the place is tough enough to hold back them goblins to the north."

The conversation is interrupted by Bellam. He rings a small bell.
"Just a warning to get the last round or two in, everyone. I'd like to close up in an hour."

Barnabus ignores the innkeeper.
"The work's good, but we don't sleep in their barracks. We got ourselves some long-term accommodation upstairs. This place feeds us better than the slop they serve in the castle, and good ol' Lord Commander Havelyn is footing the bill. Ha!
He takes another swig from his mug.

"Hahaha. You can't complain at that. Maybe tomorrow you can show me some of them games you were playing before. Much honour to your clan or however you say it." Sion laughs half drunkenly as he finishes up and rejoins his companions. "So we got rooms? I'd prefer not to sleep outside again."

"Yeah, I got 'em lined up, breakfast free too. You owe me though, four silver for your share."

Let me know who's bunking with who. Each room can accommodate no more than three people.

Dane will attempt to bunk away from Sion, so that one of the heavy front-liners is stationed in each room in case of a night attack. Otherwise, no preference.

Doesn't matter to me, unless Anton hooks up with the dancer or some other beauty and stays at their place. Although perhaps bunk away from Sion too, since I'd rather not have drow puke splash on my clothes or anything.

Basic tasks that Anton will be performing over the next little while:
Chatting up that fine dancer.
Gathering information in the markets and inn.
Keeping an eye/ear out for Ye Merrie Men.

Diplomacy (dancer): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29
Diplomacy (gather information): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (17) + 14 = 31

EDIT: I forgot that I could just take 10. Oh well. Next time I shall do so. And take 20s when folks are at least friendly (with regards to the seduction/persuasion as I don't think it works with gather information).

So there are ballistas in the castle. We need to make a point to disable those before letting the horde in.

Durova heads to the first room, not caring who was in it, and grabs a hunk of bed, prepared to heavily sleep during the night. Before hand, he was quite willing to talk to the others and make notes about what they had discovered and preparing a checklist about tasks they needed to make sure were done.

@Anton: Ye Merrie Men won't arrive for a few days. You keep your eyes open regardless.
Gather info: 1d20 ⇒ 11Gather info: 1d20 ⇒ 7
The dancer flirts at Anton for some time, and appears very tempted to spend some private time with him. Eventually, she politely declines, explaining that it would be bad for business and her reputation.

Still, she chats for a good while with the bard, telling him that Bellam is a lush with a pendant for expensive wines. Apparently, the innkeeper complains that he can't get the good stuff here in the borderlands. Of more interest, it seems Bellam is the younger brother to Captain Samuel Barhold (aka "Iron Sam" among the soliders), a high ranking officer in Balentyne who (rarely) visits his brother Bellam (and Bellam's wife) for dinner in the inn. The two have differing values though (the Captain is a stict non-drinker) and frequently the meetings descend into arguments.

Chatting to locals, Anton gets a general feeling of quiet optimism from the average civilian.
"They say the bugbears are massing up north. I wonder what their up to? Well, it doesn’t matter! We’ll be ready for ‘em! You’d think those shaggy walking carpets would have learned by now that the Watch Wall is unbreakable!" Says one local.

With it getting late though, you all turn in for the night...
(More to come later.)

Yeah, I was just presenting a more long-term plan of what Anton would be doing over the next few days, until we have gathered enough information and have devised a proper plan.

Consider future gather information requests over the next few days to be taking 10s for a 24

And now that the dancer is in freindly territory, I can take 20s (for a 34 total) with her to improve her attitude or make a 'request'. Not looking for a one-nighter. Developing a relationship with her (and/or others) can help his cover while in the town. And once we get to level 5, he'll need a close companion or two (or more) to lightly feed from. Building for the future.

To go with out disguises, can we get an official listing of any names people are going by? I know Sion is Simon and I'm paying homage to ol' Dale, but for reference, who else is going by what?

1st room: Dane, Durova, Anton; 2nd room: Sion, Mordesel.
You are given keys for the rooms, both are opposite from the other.
That night...

Mordesel awakens, hearing the creaking of floorboards outside the door. Someone is outside, sneaking about. However, it sounds like whoever is out in the hall is simply passing by.

Sion snores... ZZZzzz...

Mordesel controls himself with a breath. He stands slowly and goes to the door. When he thinks the person is beyond the door, but not too far to follow, he steps out his door and follows.

Stealth: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28
Perception: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (15) + 15 = 30

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17 (Penalty for distance taken into account)
Mordesel times his steps carefully as he pursues the mysterious wanderer. Although difficult to make out, the person appears to be male and is holding an unlit lantern. Mordesel follows the figure down the stairs to the ground level where the man takes a few seconds to pick up a small crate. Judging by the sound of clinking glass it sounds like the crate is full on wine bottles. He then heads down the stone steps behind the bar into the cellar. Being dark, the man is forced to light the lantern. Mordesel takes cover as the figure turns around, making sure no one is around before proceeding.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 (Penalty for distance taken into account)

Mordesel then realises it is none other than Bellam, the innkeeper. Bellam puts his hand on the stone wall and feels around for a moment.
"Where is that damn..."
He mutters quietly.
His hands find what they're searching for, pushing back a loose brick. Bellam then applies pressure on the wall, which suddenly opens up! A brilliantly concealed hidden door leading... who knows where.

With his crate of wine under one arm and the lantern in the other, Bellam steps into the darkness. A moment later the stone doors close behind him.
Plan of action, Mordesel?

Mordesel moves back up the stairs and waits in the corner of the common room, hoping the man would have his lantern out by then, and the dim light would conceal him. He waited.

Stealth: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16 + any bonus for lighting if applicable.

Mordesel lies in wait. He is left waiting for a fair amount of time. Almost two hours pass before the secret door opens again. Light shines out from the cellar as Bellan works his way back up. As before, he is holding a crate full of wine bottles and the lit lantern.

Bellam has a lantern, which effectively negates any stealth bonus for being in darkness.
Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25 (Not that it would matter with that roll)
Mordesel hears the innkeeper drop the crate the ground with a clatter (although not a smash). Bellam draws a knife from his belt as he reaches the top of the steps.
"Who's there? Show yourself ya rat!"
I'm not sure exactly how close Bellam is to you, but I'd imagine he would be at least 20ft away if it matters.

Mordesel stands slowly holding a hand in the air in a gesture of peace, Whoa Bellam, it's just me, Mendar. The older gentleman traveling with Dale? he limps into the light, leaning on his staff. I'm sorry to have given you a fright. I just came down a few minutes ago, had to stretch my leg, Mordesel indicates the twisted leg. It pains me sometimes in the night. He gives a sheepish grin as if he were reluctant to admit it. He pauses a moment, I'm surprised you didn't hear me though, the noise I make coming downstairs. . . . He trails off shaking his head. Once again I apologize for startling you.

Bluff: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25

Mordesel stares for a second, then smiles. He takes the pouch, Mighty kind of you. 'Course I can't forget something that never happened. Mordesel winks, then begins to limp his way upstairs. Once in his room he stands near the door listening for the man to return to his own room.

1d20 + 15 ⇒ (5) + 15 = 20

The innkeeper grins at Mordesel. He then retires for the night.
The pouch contains 20 gold pieces.