Welcome to the Wastes: Part 1: City Astride the Storm (Inactive)

Game Master Tark the Ork

Nari studies the monstrosity before sharing a look with Mumbar. Knowledge Nature1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21

By his exaggerated mouthing of his words she assumes he was whispering, which finds quite funny, wondering if he remembers that she is deaf. Still as he faces her she reads his lips.

"Um. I don't think my book will be any good for any of that." She tests the shackles holding her arms and then quietly slides them under her bottom and legs to rest her hands in her lap. She adds with a mousy grin "So who's Pluck? I hope he wasn't tasty".

Noonan's face crumples crumples into a mass of sadness. Pluck friend. Had job, friends, people to bash who needed bashing. All gone.

A single tear trickles down his cheek.

"Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I'll be quiet now." she says, biting her lip and looking off. She leans against the wall and starts staring intently out of the cell.

"All the time. Norgorber cultists like to make masks out of human skin. Nasty folk all around but..." The bespectacled half elf turns around and blinks as if just noticing you for the first time. "Ah, who the hell are you?"

" This...monster is entering people's skins. Pretending to be them. We brought him in for you to take a look."

Still examining Not-Vance, Mumbar holds up the hall chit. "Sent here for your expertise. Name is Mumbar, my partner is Nari. Every hear of a clawed cultist wearing a full body suit? He left his handiwork several times as we tracked him in town." Mumbar concentrates for a moment to make sure his skin tone is orcish green then sheds his robe and armor, pointing to his as-yet-unscabbed back. "He wanted to try mine for size but Nari stopped him in time. Any insight you have would be appreciated by us as well as the shield marshal."

Diplomacy 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

*sniff*

*Sob*
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I'm Hungry

"Hm" The half elf takes a brief glance at the body before shaking hsi head and turning back to the orc. "Skinstealer. They are normally found in deep woods and deep deserts but something about the wastes attracts them. Vicious, sadistic fey things who flay the skin from you. Good thing you illed it before it claimed any more victims. One hears stories of entire traveling parties killed over the course of a week by one of them."

Weep Not tilts her head back toward Noonan, eyeing him as he sobs gently in his bonds. "You look pretty strong, maybe you can try busting out again... If you get me out of here I'll make you delicious soup."

She turns and looks out of the cell again, a slight pout playing across her face.

Deal

Noonan Smash: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Unfortunately, Noonan hasn't eaten his Wheeties.

"Skinstealer..." Mumbar says the word as if tasting it, savoring every syllable. Abruptly, he swoops up the salvaged items over his shoulder, gently nudges Nari to the door as he leads the way.

Fingering the hallpass in his grip, he pauses at the first hallway intersection outside the morgue. A quiet shudder ripples from head to ground, possibly a cold chill or more likely an unconscious release of dread.

"Nari, What do ...." Stopping midstream, he turns to face Nari. Talking methodically, "Sorry, forgot about deafness. This skinstealer, likely more of them. You up for a repeat? We need backup, and I know how to get it AND make sure they aren't skinstealer infiltrated."

Waiting for some civil servant to pass by, a nearby lamp gives off the scent of sandalwood "Excuse me good sir/madam. Could you direct me to the holding cells? I am to pick up someone due to be released today." He holds up the pass.

Nari nods in the affirmative, a small glittering silver dust devil sweeping past her feet and down the hallway as she looks at the person Mumbar is addressing.

She watches Noonan try and fail again, sighing. "Thanks for trying at least...". She tries her own chains to no avail.

Strength: 1d20 ⇒ 13

"So I guess its you and me big fella. What's your name?"

Noonan grunts and strains a bit before stopping. Noonan.

"Noonan? Haven't heard that one before. I hear you're from the Shackles?". She stands and walks over to the wall the barbarian is tied to and takes a seat down next to him.

Yah. Dunno how I got here. Noonan shrugs. Magic maybe. No job anymore, had good job.

"And what job was that?"

Haul rope, clean deck, punch reefclaws. Good job. Rum, food, money.

"A professional strongman then? Here I was thinking those beefy arms came from the wastes."

Strong, yes.

You are getting the idea that Noonan has a certain dump stat.

Weep Not nods crosses her arms as much as she can with the shackles on. Frustration plays across her face and shoulder, both slumping under the weight of the situation. "So tell me about yourself. We're going to be here for a while so we might as well get friendly."

I'm a sailor. Noonan shrugs. How bout you?

"I'm... In between jobs right now." she says, somewhat somberly, "Its been a rough five years with the storms but I'm managing at least. How long have you been here in Alkenstar?"

Just came in last night. Got drunk and got arrested.

"The story of my life, Noonan..." she trails off and stands, looking around at anything outside of the bars. "I wonder where they're keeping my book."

The silver dust devil catches Mumbar's attention, concentrating briefly to dismiss it but only summons a rolling white fog engulfing it as the it continues to dance within. "Huh, Its not me. Fog is mine. Go away." Squinting and clenching an empty fist the fog is squashed into dusty stone floor, leaving behind a metallic tang to the air. He turns to Nari, reassessing the human. "Please tell me this is yours. I thought I was the only one with this problem."

Maybe they let us out in morning. Noonan seems resigned to being stuck in prison.

"No, it happens to me too, has ever since getting caught in a storm." Nari says with a shrug and a bit of a smile.

Zzzzzzzz

I hear ya. I am trying to play a brusque half-orc with paranoia and I am asked to make small talk. He is an orc of action and suspicious of authority. He much more comfortable with a non-committal grunts with just met associates. Still I gotta pay to play. :-)

Mumbar waits, leaning against the carved rock wall, which sprouts a variety of designs based on the flickering torchlight. He does not appear to be aware of the expressive art upon he rests.

The servant nods at the half orc and gives him directions to the holding cells.

By this point Weep Not has snuggled in with Noonan, his body providing a better pillow than anything else in the cell.

ZzzzzzNORREEEEE!

Leaving behind the artwork still uncompleted scrawling, Mumbar leads the way to the holding cells. "Not sure about the pickings but perhaps we can escort a few out sooner rather than later. Provided they volunteer for mutant duty. It seems to be the designated pet project to dispose of malcontents. If true, I've got another conspiracy to prove." This last said in a stage whisper and much waggling of the eyebrows.

Nari shrugs as Mumbar comments.

"We'll let's see what they have to offer."

Much to Mumbar's surprise there no one guarding the holding cless. PErhaps there's a feeling that no one would be insane enough to let whatever's in out.

Pluck..My friend..why? Zzzzzz...

So all the pc's are together now.

Noonan is still tied up and moping, he looks up at the others with red-rimmed eyes.

Right. Got it. Flavor text coming up.

Walking around the tunnels, Mumbar follows the directions to the holding cells. His nose confirms he is on the right path. "I'll make a note to management to wash down the cells more than once a century." Noticing the lack of guards, he keeps an eye out for likely places to post the keys, stuffed in a drawer or under a cloak and if he is really lucky a prisoner manifest. He'll take 10 for 16

Not spending too much time looking for keys, he confidently walks through the hall of holding cells, nose twitching from the stench until a random memory of a night in the red-light district. A most un-orc male-like flowery feminine eau de perfume wafts from Mumbar, enough to overpower the stink of sweat, urine and vomit. A slightly embarrassed half-orc peeks into the holding cells, ignoring those still sleeping off yesterday's proclivities. He comes across a weepy mostly naked human male and a elf(half-elf? He cannot tell) female snuggled against him. With a surreptitious scan for eavesdroppers, "Two for one. Wake up. You are under my charge now. Do I need to get the guards and manacles or will you behave?"

Noonan looks at Mumber, Me be good.

Weep Not opens her eyes and blinks at Mumbar, then leans her head back to look at Noonan. "I'd rather you got guards and manacles," she says, sitting up and popping her neck, "for I do not know you sir, nor do I know what authority you have to dictate the terms of my release."

Nari snickers a bit at the perfumed scent the wafts from Mumbar. At seeing the two selections she shakes her head.

"You can stay here in this filth, or hunt monsters with us and earn a living."

I come. hunt monsters for food, gold. Noonan looks at his chains. Got keys?

Weep Not is unwavered, "No one made mention of hunting monsters until just now. If you do not mind, sir and madam, I... We would like a little more context before trading the monsters jailing us in the filth for the monsters looking to rip us apart in the wastes." she crosses her arms and looks up at Noonan, sincere worry for him showing in her eyes. "I would say that's fair, wouldn't you Noonan? Or is it out of line to ask strangers to explain why we've suddenly become worthy of coming under their charge?"

Mmm..Ok. Fair enough.

For speeds sake, Noonan is soon standing outside jail, happy to be free but with no parrot to share his joy with.

I was kinda stumped for words. I was trolling some conspiracy sites for phrasing Mumbar's response but anything I drafted came off as more than a wee bit unhinged; probably would've had you screaming for the guards. ;-) He isn't that far gone. Yet. So trying to seem reasonable with his viewpoints sounding acceptable on the surface although not widely supported. So along that vein of thought...

"There are always monsters. The ones currently being hunted are some mutant skincrawlers that killed a bunch of dwarven miners. They attack, slip inside somehow and replace them completely." This last said with a bit of wide-eyed emphasis. Closing his eyes as a shudder ripples through his body. "One of dem wore the skin of my partner, couldn't tell any different until he started to claw out my liver." He shows you his still-bandaged back, now blood-soaked and overdue to be changed. "Field Marshal authorized the hunt, bribing volunteers with reward per head. Only a matter of time before he starts forcibly drafting from undesirables. This is where he'd start, figured I'd give you a head start to join with us."