Thuurvi frowns at the mention of the Wardens. "What connects people and things? Strife and confusion, or so it seems. The whole thing is gone pear-shaped. A creation myth involving two males and one female is surely suspect to be either horribly wrong, or horribly correct and absurd besides. As if menfolk of any species could create anything except spurts of..." She tips her cup over to spill a bit of drink on the table. "...blood."
"Sylbaran has definitely had its share of blood spilled during the war." Roderik sighs chillingly.
A somber pause hangs over the room. Aemon turns, looking at Tuk. "And where are you from, Master 273rd? What brings you to Sylbaran?"
Reaching across the table to fetch his cup, Tuk observes drily to Thuurvi, "The womenfolk ain't been shy of spilling the blood either, I reckon"
Having secured his drink from Aemon's demonstrations, Tuk takes a drink, then eyes Aemon before answering.
While he was supposed to be going into 'hiding' he had no intention on hiding himself!
"Well, I be from HalfHome, where all us Tuk's were born and bred. " he says proudly, biting off a piece of bread, "But , that's all gone now. Seems someone's got it out for us Tuks. Going ta ground, as they say, in Sylbaran...hopin' to make meself useful..."
He grabs a slice of cheese and mashes it, with a piece of back, into his piece of bread, folded. Taking a bite, Tuk leans back and looks at Aemon and the rest, gauging their reactions to what he said, looking for any signs of recognition of the conspiracy against the Tuks
"Only fair to deliver what's been given, Tuk; chivalry is dead and buried," replies Thuurvi. "Roderik, I heard a bit about that, but I was safe in Droaam during the War."
"...HalfHome?" Thuurvi knits her brows. "Can't say I recall it...something happened to it?"
Kurst sighs and sits back in his chair. "Not good things, that's for sure."
Roderik nods. "The village was hit by a landslide. Freak accident. There were a lot of good people there. Decimated it, unfortunately. My condolences, Tuk."
Aemon chuckles, a huge smile on his face. "Well said." He lifts his mug of beer towards Engineer #3 Mk. II and toasts. "To awareness..." He downs the mug in one long gulp, smacking his lips. "...and to ignorance."
"We have an afternoon to ourselves. I think we arrive later tonight -" Aemon plunks his mug down, standing.
"The quartermaster said something about arriving at the eleventh bell tonight." Roderik interjects.
"Did he?" Kurst mutters, chewing on his breakfast. "I must have missed that."
"...yes, we arrive at the eleventh bell." Aemon nods at Roderik. "Right. I will be doing a presentation around sunset on the pillar. I imagine some politicians aboard will likely try to take credit. Until then -" he claps his hands together and rubs them. "- the day is yours to do what you will. Does anyone have anything they need to do? I know I could start with a..." Aemon points at his empty mug and the empty craft of beer meaningfully, "... a bit of a starter. Anyone else have any plans?"
Thuurvi smacks her brow. "Ah, 'Steeth. I recall the name now. Only heard rumors about it and nothing about its destruction. I'm truly sorry, Tuk. The Byeshk Mountains are beautiful, but damned if they don't eat up a number of lives each year."
She ponders Three's words, then looks between Thalmor and Aemon with a bit of an eyeroll. "Usually barley-water and tea for me, thank you. And I must go meditate to my gods in order to prepare my sacred blessings of divine spells for the day." She holds an almost-pious expression, pursing her lips to hide her tusks and making her eyes puppy dog wide for a split second, then bursts out laughing. "Sorry. I can't lie to save my life. Nap, a round of song and cloud-watching on deck, and anything I can do to help without bothering the crew, that's what I have on the docket. Say, do warforged sing?"
In a more conversational tone, she continues, looking at Tuk. "Before you go, Master Nimbleguts, there's a matter we should discuss. With some privacy, if we can get any."
Thuurvi raises an eyebrow at the halflings.
"All right, Thalmor, I'll chew. What sort of oaths are we talking about? Seems like everyone around here has a mysterious secret they must secretly impart. Me, I just have demon-s**t in my shadow; no skulking about to know that."
She cleans her plate and cup and returns it to the galley for washing up.
Tuk ponders Aemon's query, then says, "I'll likely snag a bit o' a nap, as I says, sleep wasnt' comin' last night. Or I'll haunt the deck, interesting view....more interesting conversations..." he says mystriously.
He sips his drink and nods at Jacynta, "Sure, if ya like. But, I'm no Master...not yet at least." Tuk responds with a smile.
Thalmor watches Aemon, then exhales, sighing and relaxing, ”it’s as good as any meal, Aemon.” He raises his mug, then shakes his head, grumbling ”nay, this contraption is not to to my liking. I’d stay below lest anyone have use of me.” He stretches a bit, looking a little unsettled, ”an unlikely event, I expect, given that there wouldn’t be much use for a banker on an erm, airboat. But- “ he raises a manicured finger, seemingly considering for a moment. ”should anyone wish to lose money in a game of cards or summat, I am certainly available to win it.” He grins for the first time, though it’s hard exactly to tell, given the length and thickness of his black, wiry facial hair. His eyes seem to glitter mischievously.
However, when Thuurvi asks him about oathbreakers, he shrugs, ”it’s my business, that’s all. Don’t know why I thought anyone in this lot would be in league with my quarry.”
"Fair," chuckles Thuurvi. "I like to shout at ducks when I'm hunting them as well. And no, I'd just as soon toss galifars right down the latrine. I can't fool people to save my life.".
"If the cards or dice are fair and balances, I would be amenable to a game. I admit, most humanoids are unlikely to ascertain my mental States. Perhaps dice night be the most equitable chance for each to win."
"Hahahahahaha!" Thuurvi wipes her eyes after a torrent of laughter escapes her.
She picks up a leftover fork, eyes on the 'forged. "Three. Say this is a die."
She drops it casually towards the table, still watching them.
It whisks off due south, to clatter ten feet away on the planks.
"No dice games for me. But do enjoy."
Aemon gets a refill on his mug from Roderik, taking another large swig. Suddenly, the fork Thuurvi launched across the room hits the wall behind him. Looking at the fork, then into his cup, he glows, ”Roderik my boy, you brought me the good batch!”
"That seems like it would make things difficult, Thuurvi. Is there something that can be done to alleviate you of this problem? Will that pose concerns for adventuring or working with you in the future?'
Engineer #3 watches the fork bounce away, then turns his eye-lenses back the half-orc.
"If I can be of assistance in this matter, please advise me what I can do."
"Nothing need be done, Three; thank you for your concern. I just try not to drop things. Fortunately, I don't live in Sharn."
She grins at the 'forged. "One learns to find value in one's flaws."
At the earliest opportunity, Thuurvi will clean her teeth and do a quick washing-up, then settle back in a hammock for a nap, for a few turns of the glass.
After a bit, she heads up to the deck and sings some Orcish tunes for anyone who cares to listen. It's a solid, clapping and stomping tune, with a growling melody.
Three poisons are dripping down
Towards my opened mouth
Spears have transfixed me
And disasters loom on every horizon
Though this be my last battle
I remain victorious;
I have fought well this day.
Villages may burn, and Gates may fall asunder
My land survives, as it always has
Mingle my blood with those who fell before me
And brew a draught of vengeance in my name.
Though this be my last battle
I remain victorious;
I have fought well this day.
Though this be my last battle
I remain victorious;
I have fought well this day!
After a few songs, she finds a good place to watch clouds, sipping warm barley-water from a cup.
Jacynta pulls Tuk into a corner of the room to speak with him in hushed tones.
She pauses to take a breath and break her rambling. "I knew one of your--I don't know, a cousin, maybe?--in Xen'drik, and he's dead."
As Jacynta pull Tuk aside, he says over his shoulder to Thalmor, "If it's a game of chance yer after, I'm up for it!"
Tuk rubs his face with one hand at the news, shaking his head, "Ah, 'tis sad news , Jacynta, but thank you. Xen'drik you say? Hmm, could have been Tuk , The Seeker...or perhaps, Tuk, The Lost. Hard to say, we went all over. " Tuk explains. Then he considers Jacynta for a moment, before deciding to confide in her, "I'll let you in on a secret. Seems one of my cousins pissed off someone or something, and Tuks have been dying ever since. That landslide that took out my home? Deliberate." he says the last word really slow to let it's meaning sink in.
Everyone mingles around for another half an hour, chatting. Dishes are cleaned up, and the table is wiped down. The group of you talk about life and the war, of course. About airships and Houses, and about countries and treaties. You try to avoid too sensitive of subjects, as you're not completely comfortable with everyone, but you are all surprised at how nice it feels to have someone to be around, even if you're just listening to them and laughing on occasion. Someone to laugh at your jokes who doesn't judge you because of where you were born, or who your parents were; someone who treats you like any other living being, instead of like a tool; someone who reminds you of your family that is lost, and someone who reminds you of friends that you miss, of a life that doesn't seem to have ever been real.
Omast returns and he, Kurst and Roderik head above decks to meet someone. Aemon disappears into his room for a nap, and snoring can be heard echoing down the hall.
About an hour later, Roderik returns with the other two. Along with them is a swarthy human with chaotic brown locks and dark eyes that twinkle, a long scar from long ago running from his right cheek across his nose to just under his left eye. Tall and strong, he is followed by an older man, with long white hair hanging down over his shoulders and a styled beard wearing a neat set of high-quality blue robes. He carries a cane with the head of a dragon carved into it. They are all laughing as they come down the stairs into the common room.
"That was amazing, friends," the olive-skinned man laughs. "I think you knocked a tooth out, Kurst," he laments, rubbing his jaw. "Or would have."
"Consider it payback for where you decided to park your short sword, Valeros" Kurst gruffs. "My mind is telling me I shouldn't sit for a week, whether or not it was permanent."
"I thought that is where you Reachers liked it," Valeros jabs, winking at Kurst.
They all burst out laughing again. The older man sits on the built-in couch against the wall, kicking his feet up. "I still owe Omast here," he complains, pointing at the grinning man with a mustache as Omast wipes sweat from his brow. "He threw me from the top of the quarterdeck!"
"I missed you throwing Ezren off?" Roderik bemoans, looking at his friend. "When? Where was I? I would've paid good money to see a Thrane splat on the deck."
"You did pay good money," Ezren grins toothily, shaking a sack of coins. "But I did not splat on the deck."
"You were on the fo'c's'le, fighting Valeros," Kurst gestures at the dark-haired man, who has pulled out a mug and is drinking from it although he never filled it. "I could see you from where I was dangling."
Valeros coughs on his drink, laughing. "How did you get your leg caught up in those ropes?"
"I've no idea, but you just had to cut the ballast and drag me up into the rigging."
"Drag you screaming..." Roderik corrects.
"...screaming with my short sword lodged between your cheeks," Valeros adds, pointedly. "I could've used that against your brother here, but you disarmed me. With your ass."
They all laugh again, tears streaming down several of their cheeks in mirth.
Ezren chuckles. "You threw up all over the deck, dangling there. The Captain was not pleased."
Valeros perks up, "You lads want to take another turn?"
Kurst shakes his head, shifting in his seat, "I'm done."
Omast snorts, "Count me out."
"You should have a go with these folks, they're rested up," Roderik offers. "What say you all? Who wants to pound the stuffing out of this arrogant birk with nothing to lose but his pride? Tuk? Thalmor? Jacynta? Engineer #3 here could snap you like a twig. And Thuurvi..." Roderik whistles dramatically. "You likely couldn't handle her. Well, perhaps Ezren could, but that's cause he's been around the tower a few times. Dirty old man."
"Jealousy never suited you, Roderik," Ezren winks. He smiles politely, nodding at Thuurvi, "And a woman can only be handled when she wants to be."
"I'm game if they are," Valeros proclaims, placing his mug down, and surveying the lot of you.
"I will engage in melee training combat, if you are amenable. Would you prefer to utilize weaponry or fisticuffs? I do warn you that my construction affords me the opportunity to deal lethal damage without a traditional weapon in hand. As recipient of such a challenge, I afford you the traditional choice."
Valeros claps his hands together in excitement. ”A challenge!”
Roderik takes a drink of water. "Not to worry, Three, Valeros here is a bearer of a rare mark from House Deneith.”
Valeros removes his bracer on his right arm to display a Mark of Sentinel, the dragonmark of House Deneith. "I am Valeros d'Deneith. My mark allows me to bind anyone who touches it - and who consents - to a non-lethal exchange for just under half an hour."
"So you can let loose. You cannot kill him, and he cannot kill you,” Roderik smiles at Engineer #3 Mk. II.
"You feel it still -" Kurst chimes in, pointing at his backside.
"Although at a remarkedly lessened rate," Valeros adds. "Still, I would say...avoid getting stabbed in the backside."
Thalmor will shake his head, ”nay, I reckon I’ll get sick if I venture on deck. It’s unnatural how high we are up...” He looks out the window, and it’s clear that he’s been sitting in the middle of the deck this entire time. He fidgets with one of his silver rings. He raises his second mug and says, grumbling ”besides, I’m a bloody banker not some kind of reckless brawler. You kids go have fun.”
All of what he said is true: he is afraid of the windows, he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty in a fight, but he doesn’t want to disrupt anyone’s fun. However, he’s also a little ashamed of his pride and cowardice. Moreover, he’s obviously quite strong and fit, so he must have learned to fight somewhere.
Thuurvi smiles around her tusks and wiggles her blackened fingers.
"Roderik, you flatter me dangerously--I'm used to talking my way out of fights, most of the time; it's a good habit when around giants and medusae. But sure, I'll go for a round, Ser Valeros d'Deneith. I'm always up for some friendly practice."
"Did you hear that?" Valeros crows. "She called me Ser."
Omast laughs, and fills up a mug with water for himself. Valeros offers him some beer, but Omast declines. "Thank you, I don't drink. And you never served in no noble army."
"Ezren," Kurst winks at Ezren, then nods meaningfully in the direction of Valeros. "I've got fifteen Sovereigns that Thalmor and the rest could take you and the old man."
"I'm just a mercenary, that's right. No Ser for me. And yeah, I'm old," Valeros huffs, turning towards Kurst. "And I'll take your bet, boy. I'll use my winnings to clean my short sword."
Ezren stands, and pulls out a dark leatherbound book. He looks over his notes for a few moments, and then walks around the room, muttering arcane syllables to himself. He touches items as he goes, and for a moment the items he touches seem to be the focus of the room...as if everything around them dims; but the moment is passing.
"Master banker, we can have our fun down here, rather than above decks, if you would care to join us." Valeros holds out his arm, the Mark of Sentinel prominent on it, for all in the room. "Anyone who wishes to join, grab my arm. Hold onto it until I tell you it is okay to let go, and each of you please say the phrase 'I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood.'"
As the event in the room lead to interesting diversions, Tuk smiles at Jaynta, "Thanks fer lettin' me ken about my cousin's fate, it stings but I appreciate it all the same."
He then smiles apologetically then turns and joins the others...
Tuk come out of the shadows of a nearby corner, marches right up to Valeros and grabs his arm, "I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood."
He then looks the warrior up and down, commenting ,"You'll make a good sound when you hit the deck!"
"Oh, Ezren, we're allowed to use magic to prepare before the fight begins? Because I'll do the same, if so," says Thuurvi, her tone light.
Valeros laughs heartily. "I like this one."
”Go right ahead,” Ezren smiles at Thuurvi, touching several more items. ” This is a spell of my own making that allows me to reset the room if we damage anything. It just takes me a few minutes to place a kind of memory over everything. You can prepare either before or after Valeros completes his ritual.”
Thuurvi will take note of items Ezren touches and any unattended items near Valeros.
"How very thoughtful, Ezren," says Thuurvi, her voice silky. After Tuk does his handshake, she walks up to Valeros, standing over him by a number of inches. She looks him in the eyes, takes his hand in one tattooed hand, and says, clearly, "I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood."
Engineer #3 stands upright and.places a large metallic hand alongside Ezrens, repeating the oath.
"I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood."
"I will strive not to injure or incapacitate anyone."
Jacynta hesitates, then mutters, "I think I'm in a mood to blow off some steam."
She steps up to the Deneith scion and lays her hand on his arm. "I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood."
Omast and Roderik sit on the built-in couch against the wall, looking excited to watch the event about to unfold. They place bets amongst each other on what they think might happen, as Kurst returns from the kitchen with an orange he found on a shelf and joins them on the couch. He peels the orange with zeal as the inhabitants of the common room all bind to Valeros's dragonmark.
Ezren finishes touching the items all around the room with a light touch on Thalmor's notepad, and pulls out a small round item from his pocket as he walks back over to Valeros. Sitting down, Ezren places the item on the table and opens it. "This watch will now help me protect the room from any wanton destruction that happens when Valeros's body hits the deck," he explains, nodding at Tuk. Ezren opens a pouch on his belt and places several pinches of something inside the watch before snapping it shut. Placing it in his pocket, he stands, hanging his cane off his right forearm, and draws a wand with his left hand. "I think I'm ready," he grins, gripping Valeros's forearm. "I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood."
Valeros grins toothily, nodding at Thalmor once more. He walks over to the three men on the couch, and each of them in turn grips his dragonmarked forearm and repeats the phrase. He offers once more to Thalmor. "If you grab my arm and bind to it, it will protect you in case anything bad happens in here if you would like."
Closing his eyes, Valeros grips his own forearm over the Mark of Sentinel. "The Blood of the Sentinel watches. The Blood of Deneith protects us, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood, and blood runs deep." With that, he straps his bracer back over the mark. The thrum of the airships elemental can be heard in the silence of the anticipation of everyone in the room.
Valeros draws his long sword and his short sword from his back and cracks his neck, while Ezren holds his cane in his right hand and a wand in the other. They smile at each other and then launch forward, attacking!
Thalmor blinks and looks around, then takes Valeros' arm, "fine, '"I consent to train with Valeros d'Deneith, for all must bleed. Blood will have blood,'" then lets go and straightens out his clothing, as the line of his sleeve was slightly muffled from grabbing someone else, he nods, "aye, thanks, it was good idea." He grumbles something incomprehensible and goes back to his ledger.
Can Thuurvi cast Bless before we start? ;)
Thuurvi winks and doesn't even bother wiggling her hands or uttering anything remotely spell-like.
The area where Valeros and Ezren and the onlookers are suddenly fills with smoke, and something else can be glimpsed happening to the floor before the haze completely obscures it.
Swift action: Planar Haze.
Standard action: Unearthly Terrain. Oooh, I hope that messes up their charge. ;)
I can't draw the areas easily on a Google Sheet, but Thuurvi and Thalmor should be on the edge of the Haze and the Terrain effect.
Move action: draw dagger.
Thuurvi does wiggle her shadowy hands and arms and utters something that doesn't quite sound like Orcish.
Oh oops, you're correct. I'll do Bless + Planar Haze and draw the dagger.
And thank you--I really wanted her to play up the intimidate thing, which a half-orc Oracle can do well--and too many Oracles are not played sufficiently "cursed", imho. I'm glad she's presenting the creepy and lovely vibe well. :)
With regards to casting spells, and particularly with an oracle, what should Thuurvi call them, in character? She still has to utter syllables and move her hands about.
Would you mind putting a copy of each character's icon next to their condition tracker. Not exactly sure who everyone is...except for me and the iconics :)
Tuk moves forward, drawing his rapier as he does so until he's standing near the kitchen. Then he stands and waits for Valeros' charge, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, his relaxed stance betrayed by the intensity of his gaze on the large man.
He makes a impatient gesture to Valeros, egging the man on.
Move action.
Total Defence: +4 to Defence
When Valeros attacks....and misses :) Tuk will use 1 panache to engage his Underfoot Assault ability
Valeros curses as the common room fills with fog. "We've got a bloody witch, Ezren. Can't be that pretty half-orc. No, I bet it's the 'forged!"
"She's not using magic." Ezren warns from inside the fog. "I don't know what she's doing or how, but watch out!"
"Don't step on a halfling!" Kurst laughs from the couch, deep in the fog.