Geoffrey's Finest (Inactive)

Game Master CampinCarl9127

~Dancehouse~

Lindale gets the interesting sound of hearing the dancers minds being focused on the music while he hears the music himself. It's an odd, three way echo.

What's the save DC for your detect thoughts Lindale? So far everybody has failed miserably with not a single roll over 5, but I'd like to know for future reference.

Bathhouse~

Ninnec bows. "You are too gracious master."Then he follows Bjorkus. The dwarven woman makes a note. "Three baths and laundry for you. Two gold and 5 silver please." After taking the coin she calls for some of the servants. Dalton is lead to the left and the other two to the right, where there is a changing room waiting on each side. The women either help you undress or leave you to yourself, whichever your prefer, then you are shown to the baths. Dalton is lead to a private chamber where two bare ladies are waiting to help and serve him.

Bjorkus is lead to a larger, public bath, but at this hour there are only two other slaves. A brawny, scarred ogre is snoring loudly on the far side. To the left is a black furred catfolk, leaning back with his eyes closed as one of the servants massages his shoulders. He's still as a rock, but the gentle humming sound emanating tells you he's awake.

Bjorkus readily strips out of his leather harness and sweat/filth crusted loincloth, depositing them alongside the rest of his belongings. I assume they're secure or in sight.

Now fully in the nude, the big bull slips into the water slowly enjoying the sensation of the warm water creeping up heat-exhausted muscles.

Is the rat following suit?

Also, what kind of public bathhouse are we talking? Serene Japanese hot spring? Debauched Roman bath? Something else?

Ninnec follows Bjorkus in slowly, and you see a visible amount of dirt coming off of him in the water.

Definitely much more Roman style.

After submerging long enough to douse his mane, Bjorkus glances at the other occupants briefly. Visible slave brands?

"You know those two?" he asks the rat-man in a low tone.

Are there other attendants waiting around or just the one?

Yes, easily visible slave brands.

Ninnec looks with a bit of fear at the ogre. "I do not know his name, but he is one of the slaves that serves willingly. He is entered in the tournament." His beady eyes turn to the catfolk. "Him I do not know."

Roughly a dozen attendants are doing various things about the room. Some are lounging, more or less clothed, a few are in the water, some are passing through to different rooms, but there is one waiting on each guest. The one waiting on Bjorkus is a short human with dark hair who stands quietly.

Offering Ninnec a nod of gratitude for the information, the bull wades across the water to where his attendant waits for him. He studies the woman briefly before turning his back to her. "I'm fightin' in the arena tomorrow and I'm tense. I could use some relief", he explains before flexing the wall of brawn that was his broad back.

Is this woman trustworthy?: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18

Are the servants sporting slave brands too or are they free employees?

Every one of the servants is branded a slave, but the dwarven woman at the front desk was not.

She looks fairly interested when you mention the arena, then inclines her head. "As you wish, find a comfortable spot." After Bjorkus gets comfortable she begins rubbing his muscles with a surprising amount of strength. "So I haven't seen you in the arena before, are you new? How do you fight?" She seems curious about the arena just for curiosities sake.

Bjorkus does just that, finding a good place to sit and soak while the woman goes to work on his back. He grunts in pleasure at her surprising strength.

"I carried a heavy two-handed blade on the way here but I can kill a man with anything you can put in my hands", the minotaur explains. "I'm new to Yenrick but not to fightin'. If you wanna know more you should show up tomorrow and see for yourself", he adds while turning his head for a flirtatious smirk.

"I know I'm not the only one in here. I hear the ogre over there's a fighter."

DC 14. Lasts for 5 mins, also tells me int scores aparently. That three way music thing. Trippy.

Lindale joins the game at his table.

Whats the game?

~Bathhouse~

I imagine this slave girl would look like Éponine from Les Mis.

"Hmm, that's the same way Targ fights. Yes I always try to come and watch, our mistress is very kind and usually allows us to go." She gives a smile, kneading at the knotty muscles. "Yes I've seen him a few times. Dreadfully boring fights, he just corners his opponents and crushes them, no skill at all. But you didn't hear that from me!" She laughs with a wink.

~Dancehouse~

Blah, constant abilities are always a headache (doubly so in this case). From this point on I'll tell you if there's any significant thoughts that pop up, like something murderous. Other than that specify somebody you want to focus on so I don't have to type out paragraphs every time you walk into a new room.

A barrel chested human with a fat cigar gives you an eye. "Game is five card draw. We keep it simple this early in the day, can't do the hard thinking until we're good and drunk." His gives a small smile as the other men at the table erupt into laughter. Then the large man who Lindale noticed earlier gets up and grunts, sliding his way over. "Mind if I throw in?" He takes out a pocketful of tokens. The game starts, five cards dealt to each of the five players.

The ante is one gold. The first man bets two, the second checks, then the large man who sits next to Lindale raises it to four and gives Lindale a smile. "So you're new, what brings you here?" The barrel chested dealer chews on his cigar, waiting to see what Lindale does.

Lindale's Hand
8♠
A♦
K♠
4♣
Q♥

An excellent choice. I thought she was far cuter than Cosette.

"That's how Targ fights? He climbs into the arena himself? I thought he was in charge. Men that powerful don't usually put themselves into harm's way."

Reflecting on the the servant girl's words a moment, the minotaur rumbles with laughter.

"The arena may be all 'bout cornerin' and crushin' but I'ma bull of many talents. I've got skills my master doesn't get to see too often..."

Lindale calls, equalling the 4gp.

He shifts his eyes to take in the man, as if for the first time. "Gold, girls, slaves. Is there something i'm missing?" he smiles, then as if remembering, "The arena tomorrow looks to be quite entertaining."

Toramin will set up shop in a good spot to watch the dancers. Do any of them look like a Naome?

Dalton lets his clothes be removed, the air harsh at first against his skin; it had been a long time since he'd completely undressed, sandy deserts not the best environs to do so.

"Do be careful with the garments," Dalton requested, his folds of fat falling out into the air. "They tear if too much pulling is done."

Too tired at the moment for much more conversing, he was happy to relax. The shapely figures around him entered his mind, but they, along with his consciousness, quickly passed into a subdued state.

~Community Bathhouse~

I'm a sucker for dark haired girls myself, as you would be able to tell from my girlfriend.

She shrugs. "Getting into a fight and getting into harm's way is not the same thing for Targ. I haven't once seen him in a close fight. Besides, in Yenrick you do rule by right, you rule by might." She raises a brow. "Oh, and what would those be?"

~Private Bathhouse~

One of the servants bows, gingerly taking Dalton's clothes to be washed.

~Dancehouse~

Toramin, all you know is she is an elven dancer named Naome, you were not given a description. Both of the dancers are elven.

The other men laugh, nodding and agreeing with Lindale. Everybody else calls, then begin exchanging cards. The first exchanges three, the second two, and the large man one. He rubs at his stubble. "Did you know that if one of Targ's slaves wins the tournament they're set free? There's an interesting beauty in that."

"You know what they say 'bout bulls", the minotaur adds with a knowing smirk. "Come find me after my victory and I'll show you."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (15) + 11 = 26
Sense Motive - Is she interested?: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25

"You think Targ'll show up at the arena tomorrow?"

Bjorkus hears her give a little coo. "I'll hold you to that...no I very much doubt it. He only rarely enters himself, and even then it's only the larger tournaments."

Satisfied that he's got her attention, Bjorkus turns around again and leaves the servant to her work on his back. "What's your name girl? I might break a few necks in your honor."

She laughs. "Oh, how romantic. I'll have to remember that one. My name is Coralla."

"Coralla? That's a nice name" Bjorkus answers. "I'm called Ares."

"You got anything for my horns? I want 'em to shine tomorrow."

"Well, very nice to meet you Ares. I'm sure I can scrounge up some bear fat and heat it."

"Why don't you do that. I need to check on the rat I came in here with", 'Ares' answers.

After she's left, the big minotaur wades through the water, pausing long enough to dip beneath its surface again. He really did miss the sea and even though the bathhouse was still a world apart from the roiling oceans he'd grown up on, being in the water was a familiar comfort. He wonders briefly how his crew was doing.

Making his way to Ninnec, Bjorkus grunts to get the rat's attention. "You're not just here to clean up. Find out what you can 'bout that ogre. If he's climbin' into the ring with me tomorrow, I wanna know about him."

Coralla gives Bjorkus a smile, pulling away to go and fetch the bear fat.

Ninnec is happily scrubbing off the layers of dirt in his fur, but gives a scared look to the ogre when Bjorkus approaches him. "He does not resent being a slave, in fact he embraces it. He seems to like the simple life where everything is decided for him and the only things he does is what he's told. Big, strong, and stupid. He can't even think inside the box, if at all."

"Simple nuff", Bjorkus replies. "Find out who the cat is."

Ninnec opens his mouth, then closes it as the considers the catfolk. "I shall do what I can, but I know nothing of him beyond his appearance. If I may ask, why are you interested in him so?"

Bjorkus shrugs. "He looks like he might be a fighter and I like to know folks before I kill 'em. I'm intimate like that."

Lindale smiles, "That's a rather generous gift." he hands in the 8 and 4 for 2 more cards, a slight frown forming. "Bit of hope for the slaves."

Can't read my, po po poker face: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (9) + 11 = 20

The dealer grunts, sliding the two cards across the table. He exchanges four himself, then the bets go around again. The first and second man check, but the large man raises ten gold. The first man groans and the dealer raises his brow. "Either a good hand or a load of s#~~." The large man laughs. "Try your luck than!" The turn passes to Lindale.

Lindale's Hand
3♠
A♦
K♠
K♣
Q♥

Ninnec gives Bjorkus a ponderous look. "I shall do what I can."

Coralla returns with a clay pot filled with warm bear's fat. She sets to polishing Bjorkus's short horns. "So, tell me. How did you come to be a slave?"

"You already know lots 'bout me. Why not tell me your story first", Bjrokus rumbles as the girl goes to work on his horns.

Coralla smiles. "I'm afraid it's a terribly boring story about being born into high slavery and living most of my life in a house like this. And I hardly know anything about you, fighting rarely covers most of what a man can do. And if it does, well then it's a terribly boring man."

”I was born on the water and was raised by the freebooters that hunt the trade routes along the coast. The sea can teach you a lot if you give her a chance – from how to keep your hooves under you in a ragin’ storm to the proper rhythm for a long hard @#$%. I ran into some trouble on land and before you know it I’m property of the chubby knife-ears you saw me come in with. He liked the way I scrap and thinks I can make him some coin here in Yenrick, maybe even make his way into Targ’s pocket”, ‘Ares’ rumbles as Coralla works.

”You ever wonder what life’s like outside this hole? You ever see the ocean?”

She shrugs. "Thought about it, but I'll never have the chance. Not in this lifetime."

Bjorkus snorts while trying to keep his head still. ”Don’t give up so easily. A pretty thing like you can go anywhere.”

"Being a pretty thing is specifically why I can't go anywhere."

Waiting on Lindale.

Lindale calls. "Going to the arena tomorrow?"

"Oh, for certain. I hear there's new talent coming in that I don't want to miss." The first man calls as well, but the other two fold. The first man reveals a pair of jacks, then the large man reveals he almost had a strait but currently has naught but an ace high. Lindale takes the pot as the other men shake their heads at the large man. He shrugs with a grin. "It's funny how the lack of truth can hang you. But I'm not one to enforce the truth-well not today anyways." He raises a brow at Lindale.

How much did I win? Are they leaving or more games?

"Oh there is. Be sure not to let me take all your gold tonight. You'll want to try winning some tomorrow." Lindale looks at the man as he collects his pot, "Truth? truth is those dancer's up there are interesting. The way they dance."

The pot was 45 gold, 15 of it was yours, so you have a net gain of 30 gold. Not bad! They look like they're going to play another hand.

The large man's eyes don't stray from you. "Well I have a way to handle both of those. Why don't you take some of that hard-earned gold and I'll get you a private dance? One of the good kinds, in the back."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, please do." Lindale isn't sure what is going on but getting close to at least one dancer might help him find the one he is looking for.

The large man stands, rather quietly for somebody his size, inclining his head to the others. "I daresay they'll want to win their money back sometime. Another day." He leads Lindale to the back, where a door of silk and beads obscures the view into the next room.

Back there are several smaller areas closed off, but Lindale can hear music and singing and...other noises coming from behind them. The large man has Lindale enter one of the vacant rooms, then to his surprise the large man goes in with him, shutting the door quickly. He turns, then speaks in a musical, completely feminine voice. "You're denser than a dwarf, you know that?" His form wavers and shifts, shrinking down in height and girth to show an elven woman clad in expensive looking silks. She has black hair and brilliant sky blue eyes, and as the illusion finishes dispelling you see a pair of blades hidden on her thigh. She pulls out an Aestheric badge, showing it clearly before stowing it away. "Naome. It's a...pleasure to meet you." Her blue eyes sparkle as she takes in your dark skin. "Well I imagine you have some questions so ask away."

"Or careful as a, scheming drow." he smiles charmingly, "Nice disguise, how did you do that. I thought magic was banned here."

"Robbing a bank is banned too but that doesn't stop people from doing it." She shakes her head, loosening out her waist length midnight-black hair. "Ah, it's just an illusion but it still feels gross to impersonate that man. Still, he's accepted here and has friends so I do what I can." She sits, folding her legs. "Whenever you need to contact me it is as simple as coming here and asking for a private dance. Don't continue to send the same person or else it will get suspicious. I'll be here to get whatever you need, and can afford. Normal things like armor and weapons you can buy in town without turning any eyes, but anything beyond that and you come to me. So, any questions?"

"I'll be sure to send someone different each time. What I need is information you have gathered on Targ that might be helpful. You helped the other teams? Is there something we don't know. A brute getting close won't help much with that sorcerer he has. Any idea what she is or where she is from?"

We need to find a weakness somewhere

Naome leans back, seeming to relax for the first time all day. "Yes, I was in contact with the other teams. Second one almost compromised me as well because they kept sending the same person. Targ is uneducated but not stupid. He came to and holds his power through brute strength with just a bit of wisdom. Now, I have learned something interesting about Acera. Despite appearances and all the rumors, she's actually a wizard. Yeah, would never have guessed it myself. But I managed to get a serving girl close to her who saw her spellbook. She's into necromancy for sure, but we're not sure what else she's good or isn't good at. My girl only got a brief glance at the book, but she's educated enough that if she got a longer look she could figure it out. There are three other things we know about Acera for what little help they give. One: he's from the north, we're guessing the mountains, but we don't know exactly where. Two: She has enough magic protecting her and Targ that it gives our spellcasters a headache when they try to identify it, and anyone that has tried has been rooted out and killed. And three: She's got some necklace she's deadly attached to. Once a servant bumped into her and touched up against it, and not only did Acera kill her for it but she made an entire gruesome display. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say it wasn't very pretty."

Picture of Acera, to remind you.

"Thankyou. That should help us. I'll warn our wizard of that. Perhaps if we can get more information from her spellbook would be helpful. What do you think the chances of taking it would be?" he looks towards the door as if needing to go. "Hopefully we will succeed where the others failed. I am just pleased that I get to work with a lovely elf such as yourself. Yes, yes, you've no doubt heard it all before. Nevetheless." He kisses her on the cheek giving her a charming smile before walking away back to Toramin. "We're leaving. Come."

He will return and wait for the others and then relay all the information learned about Acera.

"I fear taking her spellbook might cause severe consequences. With how paranoid she is you can only imagine her safeguards...still, I wonder about simply reading through the book to learn what spells she knows." She gives a small smile as Lindale kisses her. "Oh it's always a little different each time." She laughs musically as Lindale leaves.

Eventually everybody wraps up their business and meets back at the inn where Jaware has your rooms ready. Kahina has drinks waiting for you in your rooms, where the night passes uneventfully.

Your sleep is broken by - of all things - the screams of dying men. Racing to the windows or outside shows four of the white-clad warriors facing off against half a dozen people of various race and genders all dressed in rags. Steel, bone, and obsidian are drawn, but to call what is happening a fight would be understating it. The supposed outlaws stand no chance, barely even a glancing blow landing on the white warriors who fall mercilessly upon the poorly equipped low-lifes. The dust settles (quite literally, fighting in all this dirt and sand kicks up a noticeable cloud) and the warriors take a moment to glance over the bodies, then after scanning the crowd they depart silently. Kahina mumbles something under his breath, then barks for some of the slaves to clean up the bodies, although he helps them.

Ninnec emerges from the barrel he was hiding behind, trembling at the violence. With a short bow he leads you to the Colosseum, then begins speaking to Bjorkus. "I asked questions and trailed the catfolk. He is very good with a harmonica, but beyond that I learned little. I can, however, assure you that he is not enlisted in the tournament - well this one at least - so you won't be fighting him anytime soon."

The party arrives at the massive stone building and sees how the bracket has been drawn up. Bjorkus is second on the list of most likely to win, with the ogre at the top (all of the participant's names, genders, and races are listed). The tournament contains 16 participants in a one-sided, single elimination style. Bjorkus's first match is against the person at the very bottom of the win list, a male human. It's also the first match of the day, so Bjorkus has about ten minutes to get prepared. There is an entrance for the slave participants that is guarded by four white warriors.

Feel free to say your goodbyes good lucks. Bjorkus, you will have nothing defensive on your person. You get to pick one or two simple weapons. Any bludgeoning weapon will be made from bone, any piercing or slashing will be made from obsidian. Feel free to post up until I get the beginning of the tournament wrote up.

Bracket. The number tells how expected they are to win, with a lower number being the higher chance of success.

"That's good to hear. Nice job", Bjorkus answers the rat-man after he's delivered his report.

***

Bjorkus looks over the listings and snorts. Though he was disappointed that his bout against the ogre would likely be saved until the end, it would allow him to save his strength. After removing what few possessions he had and handing them to his master's house-slave (Anafa), the bull beats his bare chest and roars to get the attention of the crowd before departing down the competitor's entrance.

After looking through the assorted low-qualities weapons, Bjorkus helps himself to a sturdy spear of bone.

No nets? I thought they were iconic gladiator weapons.

No nets. First string is just weeding, they don't want any good weapons broken by amateurs.

The crowd is just shy of a hundred people and the air is alive with excitement. The talk is loud, the food is plentiful, and the air is hot as the morning sun begins to heat the sands. The Colosseum is anything but crowded and the rest of the party manages to find excellent front-row seats to watch the spectacle. Just as the sun casts a beam of light through a raised stone ring, marking the hour as 8am, a massive bell rings. The talking boils down to a few scattered whispers as a figure stands at the head of the Colosseum.

He is a short, round man with fair skin and clad in the richest silks you can imagine. His voice is high and rich as it booms across the area, magically enhanced. "Welcome, to the very first preliminary tournament!" The crowd hoots and hollers and claps as the man continues to talk over them. "Today we find the diamonds in the rough, those few lowly slaves who might find a place of honor at the top of the tournament...or a less honorable spot six feet under the sand!" The crowd laughs as the man soaks in the adoration of the crowd. "Well, I'll save the long speech for later because most of you didn't come here to hear a fat man talk. Although I suppose a few of you did..." More laughter ensues; apparently the man is well known. "So, without further ado, let the fighting begin!"

The two metal gates swing open to reveal the first two combatants. Bjorkus enters from one side while a skinny runt of a human walks in from the other. His arms tremble and his eyes jump about, and in his hands he clenches a longspear with white knuckles. One look at Bjorkus and it appears he's about to wet himself.

Up in the stands a lot of the people are laughing at the man, and a few throw food or small rocks. The crowd appears to like Bjorkus, but only because his competition looks so pathetic. One man (a slaver by the look of him) chuckles and leans over to Dalton. "That one's mine, entered him just to punish him. Thought I'd try something new for a change."