Kingmaker

Game Master Rackal28

Does the Kellid woman have an accent? To put it another way, is Hallit probably her favored tongue? Wisp's gotta use these Linguistic ranks somehow.

Wisp meant it when she said it had been a long day for all of them—the gnome is tired, sore from a day spent sitting on the back of an unfriendly mastodon, and her skull helmet is starting to get uncomfortably sweaty after a full day's wearing it. The man spitting on Signy's shoes is the last straw. She gives a big smile to the man and curtseys. "Okay, sweetie, thanks for the advice. Take care!"

As she's walking away, she makes a funny chittering sound under her breath. A gnomish curseword, maybe?

She seems to be in a better mood after that, and once at the inn, she nods to what Meneas said. "Aye, somethin' to eat, a drink for each of us, an' a night's stay for us five, plus stablin'." She reaches for her bag, but looks meaningfully at the others, quietly hoping someone will offer to cover her.

Wisp has literally 1 sp. She'll pay for her own room with it if need be, and go out early in the morning to forage. But she'd like an ale and dinner. ;)

As the group walk away they hear the man shouting in the distance. "What?! What the 'eck 'as gotten into all these mice?! Away! AWAY YOU DEVILS!!"

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"Hmph." The woman grunts before taking an already visibly dirty rag to the countertop. "Well, stranger, it's late but I probably still have some leftover fish soup, some dumplings only the liver ones left though, stuffed pickled cabbages, annnd I probably have some potatoes left. Those'll each run you a silver, aside from the potatoes, five copper for those." She grunts.

"As for the ale it'll be two coppers a mug, it's a little warm but if it was cold you'd be able to taste it an' trust me you don't want that." The woman coughs onto the 'clean' countertop and proceeds to wipe it up with the rag, or rather spread it around. "Stablin for the night will be five copper same with the night's stay. We got straw mats in the back for you to use, shared space so I hope you ain't shy. And don't come b$&%~in' to me about the bugs. You wont even notice them 'til they've 'ad their fill and gone."

The woman has a noticeable accent, she probably isn't a local.

Wisp hesitates. "Kailangan ng manggagamot, teallach?" she asks, switching to a language low, gutteral, and deceptively terse. She gestures to Brental and herself. "Ar fáil pagtatapon. Salamat."

For the record, I settled on a completely unholy split between Filipino and Irish to represent how Hallit sounds. If anyone here speaks either language, I apologize for this rank butchery.

The woman looks at Wylhia befuddled for a moment before she gives a weak smile and responds in turn. Proshlo nekotoroye vremya s tekh por, kak ya mog govorit' na starom yazyke. Odnako, yesli tvoya magiya ne mozhet vernut' mertvykh, boyus', ona mne ne prigoditsya."

"But thank you for the offer."

I'm using Russian for Hallit since it seems the Kellid people were inspired in part by our real world Russian friends. Also because I have no idea how to replicate the Irish/Filipino combo you've created xD

Signy's fists are still balled when she walks into the 'inn'. She has spent half her life in taverns or tavern adjacent, starting with cleaning before moving on to kitchen work, then working the floor. So when the woman lays out her prices, it take only a few mental calculations for Signy to know two things. First, the woman's prices are ridiculously inflated. Second, they are ridiculously inflated because they aren't locals.

She estimates the woman's markup must be somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 to 500 percent, and that she will likely make most of her weekly profit off them alone. Nobody in town, given there may be an exception or two, would be able to afford the prices she lists, so if they were her regular prices she wouldn't even be here, having already gone out of business.

Signy doesn't care at this point though. Some things are meant to be put up with and left in the past as soon as possible. The prices are too galling to add up precisely so she takes two gold sails and lays them down on the counter.

"This will cover the lot, including the potatoes and stabling."

When they've found a place to sit, Signy, who is still seething, says to everyone "I hope you appreciate it. I would have kicked that old man's ass past the next hill. But I didn't exactly and only because it didn't seem like you all would have liked it. I love these boots. They were expensive."

Wisp curtseys respectfully to the woman, and quickly switches her dialect. "Pust' Shablon s toboy."

"Oh, I think he'll have his hands full, dear." Wisp gives a slight smile as she limps after the party and climbs, with practiced ease, into a creaking chair. "Between you an' me, I've noticed they've got a rodent problem around here. Because I gave him one." She giggles.

Meneas looks at Signy, before nodding his gratitude. "Many thanks for paying, miss." He says, a smile in his voice, before he looks down at her boots. "You do know that your boots will get worse things on them than spit when we get further in, yes? Just so it doesn't surprise you... there will not be paved roads where we are going."

He is careful not to name the Stolen Lands - bandits sometimes have informants in close-by settlements. Assuming the local nobility isn't funding them. Which is, in this case, a reasonable assumption, I think.

The young man turns to look at Wylhia. "That was unkind of you." Meneas says as though in reprimand, though there's a chuckle to his voice that gives a lie to his words.

The woman's eyes open wide and she scoops the coins right up. "Well, well big spenders here! Welcome, welcome. Go rest yer laurels, I'll have your food an' ale right out!"

After disappearing into the back for a while she comes back to the table the others are waiting at and places several slightly chipped plates in front of everyone each with a steaming peeled potato toped with melting butter and dill. "Enjoy yer food." She smiles and indelicately slams five mugs of sour smelling ale in front of the comrades before retreating back to her counter whistling smugly to herself.

"It's impolite to wear hoods an' helmets at the table," the be-skulled gnome replies, smiling slightly.

"And yet, I suspect we will both be rude at this point, no?" Meneas says, amused.

"A little history to keep the journey interesting," she chirps.

Wisp eagerly takes her potato and devours it, showing rather... startlingly bad table manners, actually. She's not messy, but it doesn't seem to even occur to her to use the cutlery in any way more complex than "bring food to mouth with fork". And if the fork won't do, hands are fine.

After tying Vodnykel near Veil and rubbing the spots where Wisp rode all day, Brental joins his companions inside. He doesn't quite follow Wisp's conversation with Oksana, but he surmises that they're speaking Hallit. Hmm, that might be good to learn...

Brental reaches towards his meager coin purse, doing some shoddy mental calculations at how he'll stretch his silver over the next few days, before Signy pays for the entire group. He smiles quietly at this kindness, thinking about how he'll pay her back in the future.

The aasimar similarly begins devouring the food, though his table manners are a sight better than Wisp's. Not impeccable, of course--it had been a few years since he had regularly supped at a proper table--but sufficiently genteel. The ale leaves something to be desired, as their hostess warned them, but it does the trick.
"It won't do much for this, but I may be able to treat us to at least middling-quality wine or mead tomorrow."

After a few minutes, Brental reaches into his pack and fishes out a small pouch. He upends it on the table, spilling out a set of dice.
"I don't suppose anyone would be up for a dice game? We don't have to play for money...unless someone wants to."
His face twists coy. He won't ask for it, but one of the more curious types could bet that if they win one of the currently-faceless two at the table would have to reveal themselves. Though that might be too mean...

"Ooh, I'm game." Wisp wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and steeples her fingers with a sly grin. "Been a while since I played you, Brother Odd-Eyes. I'll take bets, though I'm a bit, ah, broke at the moment. Maybe somethin' other than money." Meerlk and the other bandits taught Wisp a lot about gambling—probably more than should be taught to an adolescent gnome. She's not as under its spell as many are, but the sport of it is fun for her.

She also saw a different kind of gambling take place at the Market. Sometimes the fun is seeing just what oddities people will think to bet. Songs, secrets, favors... a part of her is very eager to see what someone like Meneas or Lorna would consider a worthy wager.

Brental's left eye flecks with gold and looks expectantly at the other three. "I suppose Wisp and I could play ourselves, but this is more fun with more."

Brental pulls out three six-sided die and eight twenty-sided die.

"I learned this from a Varisian half-elf at a Moot last year. It's called Bounder. She said it's popular in casinos, but you can stake anything. Anyone who wants to bet rolls one of your die."

The aasimar grabs one of the twenties and throws it on the table.
Bound 1: 1d20 ⇒ 19

"Oh, a 19! That's a strong start. So that's your first 'bound'. If we were playing for money, you could double your stake. I would for this. You're trying to bound the dealer's rolls. Then the dealer casts their die."
Dealer Roll: 3d6 ⇒ (5, 1, 1) = 7

"Ah, that's low. If my roll matches yours, you lose. Otherwise, you roll your your next twenty."
Brental casts again. Bound 2: 1d20 ⇒ 14

"If your two dice are on either side of my total, you win. Otherwise you lose. This loses. And if you roll a 1 and a 20, you win double."

Brental pairs the twenties and shifts them out to the other four. Then he takes the remaining sixers in his hand and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking.
"For this round we'll stay simple. If you play, you're betting the name of a nation--other than Brevoy--that you have visited. If you 'double' your stake, you bet a story from that nation. If you win, you get this from me, but if you lose you owe it to us."

Anyone who's interested, roll a d20!

Wisp's grin slowly widens—like many gnomes, she has a very large, expressive mouth. She reaches forward and takes a die. "So... I roll this twenty, then you roll your sixers, then I roll another twenty?"

She throws the die.

1d20 ⇒ 14

Should we run it so I roll the 3d6 for you to speed things along?

Lorna sits down by a table near the gamblers with a smile in her face, then gets her mug to drink. She was starting to be truly happy near her unconventional companions, and for a moment it troubled her; could moments like this last forever?

Yet, the spiritualist just decided to drink and enjoy the present. There was something brewing in the horizon; that Stag Lord man likely meant even worse business than the Aldori tried to make it sound, she was sure of it. The thrill for adventure had been stronger on her, though, but she couldn't help but look around and wonder - am I in the right place?

Because there she was, barely armored and with a laughable weapon by her side, mostly still dressed somewhat too nicely for an adventurer. Her companions, by other hands, seemed to have a world of experience ahead of her - or, at very least, seemed a lot better prepared. She? She was a stranded noblegirl with a brewing darkness inside of her.

Well - it's not great ale, but it's great company. And this will suffice today!

Not truly a "story-advancing" post, but I still wanted to convey some of her emotions. Rather, let's call it "character-advancing" :)

Oksana grumbles upon seeing the dice come out. "Dice is fine an' all but if you lot start comin' to blows your out of my establishment and I keep yer coin. Understand?"

Her grey eyes wander over the eclectic group and their strange dice game. "Where'd you lot say you was from again?"

Signy prefers cards because she has some talent for finding and reading players' tells. But dice will do for a little entertainment to delay the night of bug bites to come.

"Sure, I'm in."

She doesn't really understand the game, but it's dice. It's not like understanding it will help her throw good dice.

1d20 ⇒ 15

Wisp looks up sharply, suddenly back on guard. "We traveled through Brevoy, marm," she says. "My Brother, Brental, he and I are of the Green Faith. Money matters scarce a whit to us." She smiles. "We're gambling naught but stories tonight. If you want to hear our stories, you'll have to gamble one of your own."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26 +1 if she's a bandit. ;)

HOT DOG

Oksana smirks at the little gnome and makes her way over the the table, pulling up a rickety chair for herself. "Well, well how about that then? Been some time since any of your kin showed up around here Green one."

She then snatches a twenty sided dice for herself rather coarsely and rolls it on the table.

1d20 ⇒ 10

"But I'm supposing that's a story you'd be wantin' to win from me now then eh?" She says with a genuine buck-toothed smile at Wylhia.

Meneas shakes his head slightly. "I'm not one for much gambling, I'm afraid. I'll happily watch, though." He folds his gloved hands on the table as he seats himself, doing just that.

Brental notes who has joined and who has abstained and rolls his dice, pleased that they dragged their hostess in even if Meneas and Lorna weren't game yet.
Dealer: 3d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 1) = 12

"All right! So, Wylhia and Signy need below my 12, and our hostess above. Roll your next, ladies."

Signy rolls again.

"And I have it! So what now?"

1d20 ⇒ 6

1d20 ⇒ 7

"Aha! Lucky number seven, Brother." Wisp points proudly to the die.

Brental smiles. "So you win this round and each earn a story from me."

"I've been many a place outside Brevoy. As Signy knows I have been to Taldor many times. That's where we met earlier this year, but that's a story for another time. The Brothers and Sisters of the Wildwood Lodge are interesting folk and they throw a great Moot each year. But I'm rather partial to the city of Cassomir. I know a blacksmith there, name of Linden Freestrider, who forged this dagger for me after I drove out a nest of rats that had taken up in her shop." Brental reaches to his belt and puts the sheathed blade on the table. He slips it from its sheathe and anyone familiar with such construction knows that it is forged of cold iron. "Good for keeping fey to their word."

He turns to Wisp. "And perhaps a story you don't know, Sister...ah! Two years back I traveled through Ustalav on my way to a mission in Nirmathas. The Nirmathi mission didn't go well, but I met I fascinating half-orc shaman working with the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye. I didn't understand much of his ravings on occult matters, poor fellow, but as I helped him gather herbs in the area he showed me a ritual to enhance a campsite with warding stones. It's a bit complex for me to do myself, though."

I'll await the GM's roll, and then anyone else can be the "dealer".

"Ustalav!" Wisp whistles softly under her breath. "I had no idea you'd strayed so far, Brother."

She looks over to see how Oksana fares, but is already getting ready to roll again.

Oksana rolls her second dice. "Cmon, no one beats Olsana in her own house!"

1d20 ⇒ 16

"HA! Read 'em 'n weep! Too bad for you too it was a real good story."

Signy takes up the 6-sided dice and rolls them.

"Alright, I'll deal this round."

Her mood seems to be improving after some food and something to divert her attention from the old man at the gate.

3d6 ⇒ (3, 3, 5) = 11

As I understand the rules on the linked page, either the first or the second roll can be the higher or lower dice. You just need a higher and lower roll. The first dice roll by non-dealers shouldn't be needed since the wager is already set. Does that sound right?

I haven't read the page yet, but by my understanding, the game goes like this:

Players roll 1d20. Place their wagers.

Dealer rolls 3d6.

Players roll 1d20, trying to get on the opposite side of the Dealer's Roll from the first roll.

So, Wisp rolls a 2, places her wager. Dealer rolls 11. Wisp has one roll lower than an 11, so she tries to roll higher than an 11, but fails with a 6.

I haven't read the page yet, but by my understanding, the game goes like this:

Players roll 1d20. Place their wagers.

Dealer rolls 3d6.

Players roll 1d20, trying to get on the opposite side of the Dealer's Roll from the first roll.

So, Wisp rolls a 2, places her wager. Dealer rolls 11. Wisp has one roll lower than an 11, so she tries to roll higher than an 11, but fails with a 6.

Ah right, only 2 rolls are needed by players, not 3. Players are rolling once before and once after the dealer.

"... Speak o' the Drunkard, and he shall disappear," Wisp grumbles, though she doesn't seem to be in a bad mood about it. The druidess sets down her now-empty ale tankard, leans forward in her seat, and cracks her knuckles. "I'm not much for wanderin', I s'pose. I grown up in the River Kingdoms, and most o' my life to this point was spent there. I..."

She pauses, her head still a little slushy from the ale and company but her good sense warning her. What story to tell them? Let's see... ah, yes, that'll do. A nice funny story to keep our spirits light.

"When I was but a thimble-wearin' gnomeling," she says, giggling slightly, "I got in a tussle with a trapped raccoon. See, by then I'd learned to speak wi' foxes—foxes an' squirrels are tricky for me, as they're less o' the earth an' more o' the thickets an' trees. I thought I could let the Old Ghost Cat free, talk sense into it. We didn't mean to catch 'im. The traps was for rabbits, deer. Maybe I'd even get me own companion, like Brother Odd-Eyes's mammoth or my mentor o' the time's bobcat.

"But, see, raccoon tongue's a lot hissier, much more o' the trees than the ground the trees grow on. Took me too long to realize I wasn't actually understandin' a word o' him, and him neither o' me. Dumbass beast got spooked and leaped at me."

The gnome puts up one finger knowingly. "Only, see, my... old man was just o'er the ridge, puttin' out the very traps that had caught this old burglar. So he comes over, an' he's screamin' bloody murder, but he's got no weapon. So 'e just kicks the thing right into the river." Her eyes flicker, and the (muted) sound of an almost demonic shriek is heard, followed by a great splash. "An' I get carried home, an' a tellin' off from just about everyone in the camp for gettin' in conversations with dinner, and for the next fifteen years after they're still gettin' me to eat my supper an' wash the dishes with the threat that the Old Ghost Cat was gonna come back for me if I didn't."

She smirks. "'Course, I ain't scared none o' raccoons any more. Before I got this pretty thing," she gestures to the gecko skull she wears, "I wore a raccoon's skull around the camp. I've always liked keepin' my head covered."

The gnome's tale completed, she leans back in her seat and waits to see Oksana's and Brental's rolls.

Casting Ghost Sound for sound effects.

Brental chuckles as the three all won their round. "Another story from me then. As Wisp suggested: I saved my mastodon calf from a pack of wolves that were chasing him. I struck one down and chased the others off. His poor mother was on death's door when we found her, but she told me to take Vod and raise him. That was here in Brevoy, of course, but I can speak of another place if you desire."

Unsure of what Signy was asking for in wager, Brental cast his dice anyway.

Bound 1: 1d20 ⇒ 5

Bound 2: 1d20 ⇒ 12

Just to recap, I think Signy's keeping the same terms of the bet—probably because none of us have gotten to lose the first wager yet! She got an 11 for the dealer's roll, meaning Wisp lost and Brental needs to roll a 12 or higher.

EDIT: And so he did! Signy owes Brental a tale!

Brental grins. "I'll likely not run out of stories, but I'd love to hear one of yours."

"It is interesting to see druids gamble. It's not something I would've associated with you." Meneas comments, sitting back in his chair. "But I'm always somewhat refreshed when I learn something new about the world."

Signy puts on her religion hat for a moment, she figures it's sort of her place to correct what seems to be a misconception.

"Well Wisp, you're invoking the wrong personage. Cayden Cailean is lucky no doubt, but he doesn't deal in luck otherwise. You might want to call on Desna. she's Lady Luck after all."

Signy shrugs apologetically in the not really apologetic way of a shop girl directing a wayward customer to the store down the street that they're actually looking for.

"And I'm you case in point. See? Now I owe a story."

Signy considers for a few moments.

"Songs are stories are they not? Doesn't matter, that's what you're getting."

Signy pulls her little rebec out of her pack. She checks the bowstring, the tucks it into the crook of her arm. She plays the rebec simply, just a couple of chords to accompany herself. Her voice won't land her on an opera stage any time soon, but it's fairly good. Signy sings in a deeper, smokier voice than her appearance would suggest could come from her, but it's also clear and unwavering.

What does one do with all the things one hears, or sees, the snippets of gossip, the third-hand rumors? Signy has a mountain of such things stored up in her head from the Ale-church's customers when she was slinging flagons out on the floor. She supposes one does what they did in the kitchen with leftovers after a few days, make cottage pie or goulash with it all. It's the dining version of quilt making, and the song she's pieced together is the quilt version of storytelling.

Signy puts on her religion hat for a moment, she figures it's sort of her place to correct what seems to be a misconception.

"Well Wisp, you're invoking the wrong personage. Cayden Cailean is lucky no doubt, but he doesn't deal in luck otherwise. You might want to call on Desna. she's Lady Luck after all."

Signy shrugs apologetically in the not really apologetic way of a shop girl directing a wayward customer to the store down the street that they're actually looking for.

"Agh, we're in an alehouse, lass, I'm bein' respectful!"

Wisp grins and claps along (enthusiastically, but quietly—it's nearly 11pm!) to the song, if it's the kind of song one claps to. She grabs the three sixers and readies to deal the next roll, once they've seen Oksana's twenty and everyone's made their opening bets for the next round.

Maybe the last round? Or we can end it here and move along. I know Lorna and Meneas aren't taking part in the game, so I'm fine with the option that lets them get back into things sooner.

Brental inclines his head to Meneas before Signy begins singing. "As my Skull Sister said, it's scarcely about the money and more of another way to pass the time with our fellows. An elk is not likely to care for a game of chance, but an elf might."

During the song, Brental leans back in his chair, tapping his hand on the table to the beat and humming along during the chorus.
"A song is one of the best kinds of stories," Brental sighs as Signy finishes. "Anyone else for this round? Perhaps you care to try your luck again, madam hostess?"

Oksana rolls again for the second round.

1d20 ⇒ 18 1d20 ⇒ 2

"Well how about that." the woman grins at her suspiciously good rolls. "Seems Desna favors me right now, almost wish this were for cash. Guess you won't be gettin' any juicy gossip from me tonight."

After Signy's wonderful song a loud snort and a shout can be heard from the bar where the old man has awoken. "N-no what what's goin' on?!"

"Oh fantastic! Now you've woken the old fart up!" Oksana curses and stands up from the table making her way back to the bar. "I think that's enough ganes for tonight mind you, so you can either pipe down for the rest of the evsning or find yerselves some shut-eye. Porridge in the morning then you lot can find yer way out of town quick as you like. Strangers aren't welcome long 'round these parts."

Brental chuckles quietly as the game comes to a close. "No trouble intended, but glad to have something to pass the time while we digest. Thank you again for the hospitality, Oksana."

Brental gathers the dice, nodding towards Meneas and Lorna. "Perhaps another time. We'll have plenty of it."

Packed up, the aasimar stretches his arms over his head and yawns. "Until tomorrow, then." He wanders off to one of the straw mats and quickly finishes some pre-bed grooming. Before he passes to sleep, he reaches into the straw and brings out a small ant that has crawled up. He smiles before letting the diminutive creature crawl back into the bed, and then drifts off.

"Agh, sleep well, you lot." Wisp gives a friendly little salute, clearly still a little tipsy, or at least enjoying acting like it. Then she pulls a face. "I've gotta do my rituals. You remember, Brother, mine are in the revelin' hours. I'll be back in a spell. We'll be askin' for company on the road, yeah? Horses? I'll call one." She clambers out of her seat, takes her staff from where she left it, and limps out the front door.

Wisp hobbles back into the inn close to midnight, groggy and a little dazed—as she always is after her rituals. She prods a mat and wrinkles her nose. The gnome turns to an unoccupied stretch of floor and limps over, casting her quilted robe down.

Anyone still awake can see that the gnome is surprisingly fit, with an athletic, limber build clearly kept in very good condition aside from her misshapen right leg. The clothes under her robe are plain and practical, but well-loved. It's... well, pretty obvious she doesn't have more than one or two outfits to choose from by the wear and tear they've experienced. Her green tunic is a bit too small for her, and her pale blue trousers, clearly quite valuable once, have faded to a musty gray like the mold on an tomato. There's more than one reason why she was relying so heavily on the cloak.

Finally, assuming nobody's watching—not that she's paying much attention at this point, sleepy as she is—she removes her skull helmet. In the dim light of the tavern, her near-shoulder-length hair's deep sunset hues are mostly lost to all but the keenest of eyes. As is the creeping paleness descending from the fringes, turning deep violets, pinks and oranges into pale underripe peach shades. She has a pretty face, but eyes worn by worry and bitterness, unfocused by the intensity of her rituals' completion.

The gnome curls up in her blanket, covering her hair within as she does so, and drifts very quickly off to sleep. It's been a rather long day, after all.

No time for knitting tonight, alas! Brental's new mittens will have to wait!

Signy calls it a night and settles in to sleep.

Meneas returns to the stables, feeds Veil what he can, and turns in for the evening.

Lorna sees the others retiring after their game. This was a fun night, but the work brewing in the horizon likely won't be so fun. She yawns - it's late for her too, and it'll be good to catch some sleep. She finally retires to her room, thoughtfully going over the happenings of the day.

The night is long and their accommodations leave a lot to be desired but the group all find sleep eventually.

In the early morning hours they are awoken to the smell of potato pancakes being made and the sounds of dozens of farmers muttering amongst one another as they scarf down their morning feed.

Wisp allows herself to be woken this morning by one of the party, determined to eke out every last minute of sleep since she was kept up so late the night before. It's not like she's going to get any herbalism done in town.

When someone in the party does wake her, she stretches and yawns dramatically, then wastes little time in getting dressed and ready for the day ahead. She is quite complimentary of the porridge, both verbally and in her voraciousness shoveling it into her mouth. Pleasant dreams aside, she's quite eager to get out the door and back into the wilds.

"Everyone sleep well?" she chirps as she sets about packing up her few possessions.

"I'll have to do won't it?" answers Signy as she stands and brushes herself clean.

"Let's eat and get moving. There's a long way to go yet right?"