Oy, game play thread here, fellas!
The morning sun slants through the slats of a crate that once held apples but now supports a few boards all akimbo. On a pile of straw within this hovel, a wet nose touches the face of a small figure that could be a halfling or a human child.
"Ok, ok, I'm up!" The halfling reaches to his face, adjusting the bandage that he uses to cover his eyes. Runt feels an unusual tug this morning. Not that of a hungry dog, but something inside.
It's a windy spring day in Ptolus. Spring has sprung, and normally there would be rain, but the snow melting is a good sign that things are warming up. Winter was hard, but many people kept their houses warm with fire.
The birds are singing in the trees, and the wind has picked up. But it's not strong enough to blow people off the streets. You find yourselves in Midtown. Near Delver's Square. With the birds still chirping and the cats looking for rats, its a good thing you're in Ptolus.
To hear rumors, one would have to keep his ears to the ground and do perception checks.
Spring. A time of new beginnings.
A lovely early spring day that temps the gentleman to walk without his overcoat. Ah! But that is Spring's Trick! The biting winds that fly through Ptolus could give the unready an early fit of a cough. No. Argennon Dallimothan keeps his overcoat on, despite the frigid air never giving the nobleman any issue. But that wouldn't do well for appearances. And for House Dallimothan, appearances were everything.
Argennon decided this day to leave the manor early, without any assistants or secretaries. The gentleman sorcerer wasn't anticipating any larger purchases for them to be needed. Argennon figured he would start his day with a nice hot tea at Danbury's, a wonderful place for talk of matters arcane and localized.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
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Babysitting sitting duty! Fergor yelled at his commander. why the hell am I being put on babysitting duty?
His commander chuckled at the soldier’s outburst and pointed at Fergor, That, for one. he sits higher in his chair and places his fingers tip to tip, and looks at Fergor with earnest. Look, there have been rumors spreading, every nobleman from Ptolus has a target. The job is simple, watch him, listen, and whatever you do, don’t engage him unless necessary! You’re my best man for this job, I expect nothing but the best.
There was no use arguing. Orders were orders, and they had to be followed. Fergor arrived on the lane just before daybreak. There was a cold nip in the air, which meant he could keep his cloak bundled to hide his appearance even better. As his charge left, he followed several paces behind, watching in earnest for any sign of trouble.
Of course, even though the cloak was heavy, his chain mail was heavier, his shield bulky, and his sword, very large. Too preoccupied in him mind how he hated being a puppet. He has watched his own Lord murdered, the past replaying in his mind as he followed along, right up to Danbury’s. As Argenon walks inside, Fergor stands across the street, wondering if day drinking could warm him any coin better than this.
Hmm. That would be shame. Argennon thought. St. Gustav's a bit of a main stay in Midtown. A future Lothian paladin hopeful, the Dallimothian scion took the initiative to travel to St. Gustav's Chapel.
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now where, I’ve barely had time to rest! Fergor thinks to himself as he watches his charge leave Danbury’s. As he watches Argenon enter the small chapel, he can’t help but look about it. It’s old for sure, and in rough condition. Is this place even still open? He wonders, still not going inside, but staying across the street, watching the door for anyone else who may enter.
You both see Brother Fabitor with an initiate, trying to figure out financials. "We need about this much to stay open," says the intiate.
"Is there no other way? Can we do a bake sale or potluck?" says Fabitor.
Argennon steps forward to make his presence known.
"So the rumors [u]are[/u] true. That's terrible!" The clergymen look up from their financials to see an extremely well-dressed man with brown hair braided in back, wearing dragon-inspired fashion with one of Lothian's weapons on his hip.
Brother Fabitor looks at Argennon and says, "Excuse me, my son. But who are you?"
"I'm very sorry. So very rude of me. My name is Argennon Dallimothan of House Dallimothan, and paladin aspirant." The nobleman bows.
"A nobleman," Brother Fabitor says, "We haven't collected tithes in two weeks. So, we're trying to come up with ways to make money."
"But I understand this chapel is one of the best places to acquire healing potions and beneficial spells in Midtown." Argennon inquired. "The profits from those alone shouldn't have put this institution in such a state?"
"It's mostly non-attendance by the delvers," Brother Fabitor explains. "We offer healing potions and places for the sick and injured to receive succor. However, no one is attending services."
Runt sits on a small rug on the street, Tiny the dog sits beside him, tail wagging most of the time. There is a tin cup on the rug for people to toss coins into, but many like to hold out a coin. Tiny will trot up to them, take the coin from their hand, and place it in the cup with a satisfying clatter.
Tony's cloak billowed behind him as the gusty winds swirled about him on this fine spring day. Just coming up to Delver's Square Tony wasn't paying as much attention as he might have otherwise.
He thought dreamily of the girl he would try to see a the opera tomorrow.
Seeing a beggar doing tricks with a dog, he reached for his coin pouch but was embarrassed to feel it flat, as usual. The constant state of a poor student.
Offering a tip of his hat and a smile, he swung past, intending to head to the Guards, Mercenaries and Adventurer's hall. Maybe he could pick up an easy job there...
Argennon fell silent, his hands crossed with a partial fist up to his lips in deep thought. "That is quite a conundrum! Has there been any type of audience the last few weeks?"
Runt sits on a small rug on the street, Tiny the dog sits beside him, tail wagging most of the time. There is a tin cup on the rug for people to toss coins into, but many like to hold out a coin. Tiny will trot up to them, take the coin from their hand, and place it in the cup with a satisfying clatter.
Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Profession (beggar): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Argennon fell silent, his hands crossed with a partial fist up to his lips in deep thought. "That is quite a conundrum! Has there been any type of audience the last few weeks?"
"No," said Fabitor. "It plain seems that the god of Luck is gaining more adherants than Lothian."
"Perhaps something can be done," The sorcerer interjected. "I could put in an advertisement in the papers, telling of the chapel's plight, or give an interview? Perhaps Midtown just needs a reminder of St. Gustav's imprint on it's psycho-social identity."
"At either point, I'd like to make a donation." Argennon turns away from the clergy to produce 100gp, and places them on the table.
[dice=Perception]1d20+3-2
[dice=Know:Local]1d20+3Tony's cloak billowed behind him as the gusty winds swirled about him on this fine spring day. Just coming up to Delver's Square Tony wasn't paying as much attention as he might have otherwise.
He thought dreamily of the girl he would try to see a the opera tomorrow.
Seeing a beggar doing tricks with a dog, he reached for his coin pouch but was embarrassed to feel it flat, as usual. The constant state of a poor student.
Offering a tip of his hat and a smile, he swung past, intending to head to the Guards, Mercenaries and Adventurer's hall. Maybe he could pick up an easy job there...
The Guards, Mercenaries, and Adventurer's hall was full of people looking for work. Everyone wanted to show their bravery. The thing about this hall is the diversity. There were elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, Litorians, and even a few centaurs here and there. Most everyone was wearing a leather jerkin. And even those tend to be many different colors. Some of the adventurers were women, and even then they looked like they were dressed for the beach or something intimate. Most everyone here were either eating or drinking some fair alcoholic beverage. At the front desk was a man who was overweight, had a beard, and looked like he was overworked.
"Perhaps something can be done," The sorcerer interjected. "I could put in an advertisement in the papers, telling of the chapel's plight, or give an interview? Perhaps Midtown just needs a reminder of St. Gustav's imprint on it's psycho-social identity."
"At either point, I'd like to make a donation." Argennon turns away from the clergy to produce 100gp, and places them on the table.
Brother Fabitor looked at him and said, "Your generous donation to the Church of Lothian is welcome."
"Splendid," Argennon smiles. The young noble is turning to leave then stops. "Brothers, if I may be so bold, may I receive a blessing before I leave you esteemed personages, please?"
[dice=Perception]1d20+3-2
[dice=Know:Local]1d20+3Tony's cloak billowed behind him as the gusty winds swirled about him on this fine spring day. Just coming up to Delver's Square Tony wasn't paying as much attention as he might have otherwise.
He thought dreamily of the girl he would try to see a the opera tomorrow.
Seeing a beggar doing tricks with a dog, he reached for his coin pouch but was embarrassed to feel it flat, as usual. The constant state of a poor student.
Offering a tip of his hat and a smile, he swung past, intending to head to the Guards, Mercenaries and Adventurer's hall. Maybe he could pick up an easy job there...
"Thanks anyway, kind fellow. May Lothian watch your path."
Runt turns his attention back to the street. "Alms...Alms for a poor blind beggar...thank you Lady Pothtrain, you are always so generous, and don't worry, your daughters will perform admirably in salon."
Lizbit Freewind makes her way down Center Street, holding her tattooing tools to her chest with one hand and attempting to hold her cloak closed against the wind with the other. Snow-melting season is one of her least favorite seasons. Not because she dislikes the spring, but because the dirty puddles that form on the streets make such a mess of Handsome's fur. Handsome, her pet cat follows as close as he can behind her, occasionally bumping in to her. The unusual feline is larger than most draft horses and she giggles as his whiskers tickle her face. His mssive, purple-furred form blocks the worst of the chilly spring wind.
The artist had been having troubling dreams of late. Dreams that carry with them a stifling weight of danger. In an admittedly silly move as some kind of response to the menacing dreams, Lizbit had custom ordered a fine set of leather barding for Handsome from the Feek brothers at Bull and the Bear Armory. She had received a messenger early the previous day informing her that the armor was ready to be tried on for final adjustments. While she is heading to Delver's Square, the armory is not her immediate destination. The barding had cost most all of her savings! Rent was payed through the month and she had food to last a few more weeks, but her purse sat sad and flat on her belt.
Lizbit primarily worked on the docks as an independent tattoo artist and, while the docks offered functionally endless work opportunities for her, the sailors rarely had much coin to spend and Handsome has a large appetite. Today she hopes to find better paying work in Delver's Square. New adventurers, recently returned from their first or second delving into the endless catacombs beneath the city, often have both gold from selling their loot and a desire to mark the occasion. What better way to commemorate their first safe return than a beautiful tattoo?
Handsome's ears perk up, as if he hears something interesting...
Deepening his voice and strutting up to the front desk, Tony leaned against it casually.
"Got any jobs close to the city?" He asked the fat guy, pretending experienced adventurer blase.
"Splendid," Argennon smiles. The young noble is turning to leave then stops. "Brothers, if I may be so bold, may I receive a blessing before I leave you esteemed personages, please?"
[dice=Diplomacy]1d20 + 7
Brother Fabitor hands you a healing potion. "I'm too worried about the finacials to give a blessing right now," he says. "But I hope this healing potion (Cure-light Wounds), will help you in a pinch."
"Thanks anyway, kind fellow. May Lothian watch your path."
Runt turns his attention back to the street. "Alms...Alms for a poor blind beggar...thank you Lady Pothtrain, you are always so generous, and don't worry, your daughters will perform admirably in salon."
A nobleman sees Runt while he begs. He places ten gold as alms to the little druid.
Lizbit Freewind makes her way down Center Street, holding her tattooing tools to her chest with one hand and attempting to hold her cloak closed against the wind with the other. Snow-melting season is one of her least favorite seasons. Not because she dislikes the spring, but because the dirty puddles that form on the streets make such a mess of Handsome's fur. Handsome, her pet cat follows as close as he can behind her, occasionally bumping in to her. The unusual feline is larger than most draft horses and she giggles as his whiskers tickle her face. His mssive, purple-furred form blocks the worst of the chilly spring wind.
The artist had been having troubling dreams of late. Dreams that carry with them a stifling weight of danger. In an admittedly silly move as some kind of response to the menacing dreams, Lizbit had custom ordered a fine set of leather barding for Handsome from the Feek brothers at Bull and the Bear Armory. She had received a messenger early the previous day informing her that the armor was ready to be tried on for final adjustments. While she is heading to Delver's Square, the armory is not her immediate destination. The barding had cost most all of her savings! Rent was payed through the month and she had food to last a few more weeks, but her purse sat sad and flat on her belt.
Lizbit primarily worked on the docks as an independent tattoo artist and, while the docks offered functionally endless work opportunities for her, the sailors rarely had much coin to spend and Handsome has a large appetite. Today she hopes to find better paying work in Delver's Square. New adventurers, recently returned from their first or second delving into the endless catacombs beneath the city, often have both gold from selling their loot and a desire to mark the occasion. What better way to commemorate their first safe return than a beautiful tattoo?
Handsome's ears perk up, as if he hears something interesting...
Perception(Rumors?): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Deepening his voice and strutting up to the front desk, Tony leaned against it casually.
"Got any jobs close to the city?" He asked the fat guy, pretending experienced adventurer blase.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
"One of the Dallimothans is asking someone to baby sit his son," said the man at the front desk. "Other than that, you have to wait tomorrow."
Brother Fabitor hands you a healing potion. "I'm too worried about the financials to give a blessing right now," he says. "But I hope this healing potion (Cure-light Wounds), will help you in a pinch."
Argennon holds up his hand and pushes the curative potion back to Brother Fabitor. "Brother, I meant a simple gesture of faith. Save that potion for someone who needs it."
The young noble left smiling. "May Lothian looks after us all. Good day, gentlemen."
The offer is about what he'd expect; but he wasn't in any fiscal shape to turn it down.
Lowering his voice, he glanced around hoping the other adventurers wouldn't overhear, he muttered "I'll take it. When and where?"
Before Argennon steps back out into the street, he takes a silver piece out of his coin purse and holds it on his hand. Outside St. Gustav's, the gentlemen sorcerer gets his bearings, looking for a newsboy selling his papers.
The offer is about what he'd expect; but he wasn't in any fiscal shape to turn it down.
Lowering his voice, he glanced around hoping the other adventurers wouldn't overhear, he muttered "I'll take it. When and where?"
[dice=Perception]1d20+3-2
[dice=Know:Local]1d20+3
[dice=Know:Nobility]1d20+4
"You are to see that Argennon doesn't get into trouble," said the overworked hall master. "And make sure he doesn't spend too much."
The hall master gets out a map. "He is mostly found around Delver's Square. But he can be found in Midtown."
Before Argennon steps back out into the street, he takes a silver piece out of his coin purse and holds it on his hand. Outside St. Gustav's, the gentlemen sorcerer gets his bearings, looking for a newsboy selling his papers.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
You find one selling papers near the Guards, Mercenaries, and Adventurer's Guild Hall. The kid just seems to sell more papers here.
"One paper, please." Argennon addressed the urchin, tossing the silver piece. "You may keep the change."
Poor miss Thone. Lizbit thinks when she overhears the conversation If I ever need to delve into the depths of the city, I should keep that in mind. Get a good deal on adventuring gear and help a poor widow! She carefully makes her way towards the square, doing her best to avoid puddles that Handsome might step in. As she nears the Ghostly Minstrel, she sees a familiar, tiny form sitting at the edge of the street. She grins and skips up to the little halfling, jumping to a stop and dropping to her knees next to the druid. "Good morning, Runt! How is the street entertainment game treating you today?" She had seen the blind man many times during her charity work. His furry companion's antics never failed to entertain.
"One paper, please." Argennon addressed the urchin, tossing the silver piece. "You may keep the change."
He hands you a paper, the top of which is printed: Ptolus Times.
Argennon reads the top page of the paper, also looking for any address of the Ptolus Times offices.
Argennon reads the top page of the paper, also looking for any address of the Ptolus Times offices.
Their address is in Midtown, although away from Delver Square.
Argennon irked inwardly. That's quite a walk. May chance I'll order a carrage. But for now, I find a nice place to sit and read.
The Dallimothan noble tucked the Ptolus Times under his arm and looked for an unattended place to sit in the sun and read the paper.
You find such a place by the statue in delvers square.
Poor miss Thone. Lizbit thinks when she overhears the conversation If I ever need to delve into the depths of the city, I should keep that in mind. Get a good deal on adventuring gear and help a poor widow! She carefully makes her way towards the square, doing her best to avoid puddles that Handsome might step in. As she nears the Ghostly Minstrel, she sees a familiar, tiny form sitting at the edge of the street. She grins and skips up to the little halfling, jumping to a stop and dropping to her knees next to the druid. "Good morning, Runt! How is the street entertainment game treating you today?" She had seen the blind man many times during her charity work. His furry companion's antics never failed to entertain.
The two of them look something like this, without the intense stare.
Runt smiles, "Some toffer just gave us quite a drop. Was thinking of knocking off for the day. Find some food."
Tiny sniffs the air and rolls over, revealing his belly to the nice lady.
"You are to see that Argennon doesn't get into trouble,"
"Got it." Tony said, signing the standard contract.
"And make sure he doesn't spend too much."
"Right." Nodded Tony. Then he looked confused.
"Wait. I thought this was a babysitting job; just how old is this Dallimothan?" Said Tony, smelling a more complicated job than watching a toddler.The hall master gets out a map. "He is mostly found around Delver's Square. But he can be found in Midtown."
"OK, OK, but when you say 'make sure he doesn't spend too much'...
Tony finds himself escorted out onto the street again.
"Well then..." Muttered Tony. Looking at the map, he started walking up to Delver's Square to look for this 'Argennon Dallimothan' fellow.
Argennon sits down to read the Ptolus Times; scanning current events, then the social pages.
Handsome jumps back a step as the fearsome dog suddenly rolls over. The big cats ears fold flat against his head as he glares in suspicion at the vicious canine. Lizbit does not seem to notice and she reaches out to scratch the rotund belly of the beast. "I was just going to the Ghostly Minstrel to see if I could find some new delver's looking to get tattoos to commemorate their first successful return to the surface. Why don't you come in with me out of this wind? I'll buy you dinner and we can listen to the adventures of the delver's while I work."
Tiny groans at the belly scratch, rumbling deep in his chest. At "come" he regains his feet and his tail wags vigorously. He looks at the cat and his front paws do a little playful prance.
Runt smiles up at Ms. Freewind, "That sounds delightful, but let me buy for once. I can't let too much of this coin jingle in my purse, or some cutthroat will come to take it from me."