DM Salsa Presents - Rise of the Runelords (Inactive)

Game Master AdamWarnock

Tera shrinks back from Dare as the sorceress snaps at her. Joanna moves to put herself between the two of them, but she can't keep Dare from seeing the fear and shame Tera feels in that moment.

Cailyn was doing what Cailyn does in social situations if allowed to do so.
Bending into the background and simply experiencing.

One doesn't fully understand a story if they are in the middle of it. Or at least that is what she's been telling herself for years.

Plus there is food: mushroom tarts with flaky crusts, mutton strips marinated so nicely it is dripping, and oddly another of those yummy drinks. She does eye her suspiciously silent cousin on that one, but still sips.

fort: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Sippling does seem to be a better choice.

For a moment, she considers following Ms. Ashborn, not to apologize, since she feels that wouldn't help, but to 'perform' a touch of her own merger magic, thinking that might help.

Craning her neck she sees that she has made a new friend already, so she abandons that idea.

Being a good older cousin, she reaches across the table to grasp Tera's hand in comfort, then joins Joanna to divert the conversation away. "A priestess? A truly wonderful calling. Especially when the calling is Healing. Are you taking up residence here permanently or simply visiting?"

Conrad's gaze shifts from Dare to the rest of the table before he reaches a decision and stands up. "'Sc-cuse me."

He grabs his pint and sits in front of the half-orc. "Are you alright?" he asks.

As the gold-toothed man addresses her, she sees Conrad move toward her.

"Hang on, verisor," she says, addressing him as "cousin/cuz" in Varisian (she has a feeling he is Sczarni, but another Varisian shouldn't be too off-put by the address if she's wrong). "I came here with someone, shouldn't have left him behind." She tilts her head at Conrad, urging him to continue to approach.

As Conrad gets closer and asks her if she is okay, she nods. "I'm sorry. I really am. I thought we'd be less likely to get into a scrap here." She looks at the gold-toothed man who has also approached her, considers her words carefully given the presence of yet another stranger. "Look, I'm afraid those chits are trying to trick me into conjuring a spark, start some trouble... or accuse me of doing it. Gentry like to use people like me to stir shit all the time. I'm not having it."

She turns to the gold-toothed man. "Thank you for the hospitality, but is this urgent business? Can my friend join us or can I meet you later?"

Bit of an awkward thing here; I don't want to get in the way of the GM moving things forward, I also don't want to cut off opportunity for RP with the PCs. I'll dial back the drama, I don't need to be complicating this further. I just didn't think Dare would respond well to a total stranger asking her to show off her magic in a crowded room--especially a Magnimarian, whom she would (however irrationally) suspect of trying to prove she's guilty of the arson.

Dare, there's no need to apologize. It'll just give me an opportunity for some interesting interactions down the road. I try to be pretty flexible with these things and go with the flow.

She can't entirely help herself, and leans forward, almost conspiratorial, with a cheeky sort of smile. "And, Demon-spawn, if you'd like to be accurate in insulting me next time." [/ooc]

"Oh, quite!" the young man readily agreed, returning Lita's smile with delight. "Nothing so opprobrious as an insult that doesn't even apply!"

Though Willie considered himself a modern gentleman, cavorting with lords and laborers alike, he was less comfortable with the... well, monstrous, all that which transcended the familiar mores of human civilization - a class the storied fiends just about topped. To suddenly come face to face with a sprout of theirs, however distant, was then enough to rather throw him off his stride. And drink has rendered said stride a bit wobbly as was.

All the more reason to take heart in the tiefling's good humor! Wilberforce didn't particularly care whether the vitae running through her veins was part demon, all human or indeed mulligatawny soup; anyone capable of laughing at themselves was alright in his books!

"And should you ever want for insults against myself," he went on, sharing in the spirit of camaraderie, "then you may know that I was once entered in the Girls’ Under Fourteen Fifty-Yard Dash at the prep school's annual fair as a lark. I was their senior and lost to Tera here." A humbling episode, to be sure. But one show of bonhomie deserved - nay required - another. Such were the unwritten rules of social engagements, even over drinks, even in a rowdy tavern. To share laughs one had to share standings. Peers could joke together; subordinates could only ever be sycophantic. Whether this understanding was learned or intuitive, Willie had no interest in anything but genuine company. And so it was that he had hurried to even the playing field, tit-for-tat.

What he did know, however, was that for the very same reason, he shouldn't elucidate on how his apology had been for his drunken lapse in manner, not his choice of words. Hell spawn was hell spawn, surely? Well, apparently not, this woman being begotten by demons. Regardless, he gathered that the present company might not appreciate this sentiment.

Said company soon found itself shrinking, though, the orcish one flying off pipped as anything for reasons the gent wasn't entirely clear on.

"I say. Bit pricklish, what?"

Oh well. He had plenty to hold his admittedly increasingly slippery attention, namely in the fascinating Lita's story. A goodly half-fiend? How extraordinary!

Cailyn looks at her cousin, with a slow judgemental shake of her head. It is unknown, whether it is about the race, which in truth had made her giggle until she cried when she had first heard about it, or the comment about the angry Ms. Ashborn.

She pushes a plate of candied plums that she had ordered when no one was looking, toward her dinner companion, Scrapeknee. He had suggested the tart and mutton, so it was only polite to introduce him to a new delight. A motion, a tap of a shoulder with a smile, and a whispered "make sure you dap in the red sauce." so not to interrupt the story telling.

Conrad watches the gold-toothed man walk away worriedly. He looked like the kind of "work" he had to offer would involve a crowbar, several plastic bags, and a nearby river. "D-Do you know him?" he asks Dare.

Cailyn looks at her cousin, with a slow judgemental shake of her head. It is unknown, whether it is about the race, which in truth had made her giggle until she cried when she had first heard about it, or the comment about the angry Ms. Ashborn.

She pushes a plate of candied plums that she had ordered when no one was looking, toward her dinner companion, Scrapeknee. He had suggested the tart and mutton, so it was only polite to introduce him to a new delight. A motion, a tap of a shoulder with a smile, and a whispered "make sure you dap in the red sauce." so not to interrupt the story telling.

Scrapeknee seemed distracted for a moment, then realized he was being spoken to when she tapped his shoulder, "I'll try it. Thank you." And he does. "Mmn it's not bad. Thank you. "

Lita, for a moment, looks like she might try and follow Dare as she gets up, but thinks better of it. With any luck, this wouldn't be the last chance they'd get to talk.

Instead, she puts a smile back on her face, perhaps a little forced, and turns back to answer Joanna and Cailyn.

"I am. But, one whose training focused much more on the martial end of things than strictly the spiritual. Not much skill with healing, I'm afraid, and there's others more suited for standing behind a pulpit, but I aim to protect when there's something to protect."

She glances down, a little self-conscious to be talking about herself so much, and shrugs.

"So, I'm not sure if I'll be staying. Maybe the cathedral here has need of blades. Or maybe I move on and find somewhere that does." With that, she looks to Scrapeknee. "You might know better than I would. How has the town been handling itself, since..." She trails off, not quite wanting to explain the Chopper, or any of the incidents from that time, to the rest of the table.

At that, Scrapeknee sobers, "Old wounds linger, of course. But I think they're mostly healed? But I can tell you folks would probably feel better if the Cathedral had a regular temple guard." For a moment he isn't sure what more to say, but he goes on " Father Zantus maybe a Desnan, but he knows folks come to pray for all six regular like" He explains to the table to those that don't know "Desna, Abadar, Sarenrae, Shelyn, Gozreh, and Erastil." Then goes on to finish "So I think a holy warrior of Sarenrae would be most welcome. IF you feel called there and all wouldn't want to push if you don't . Speaking for myself I think it would be nice."

"Old wounds?" Cailyn asks, her curiosity tempered by Mr. Scrapeknee's somber tone and Priestess Turandarok's reluctance to bring it up. "If it is a subject best left for another night, or... avoided altogether, I do understand." one tablemate's self-ejection was enough for an evening. The experience, at least, has reminded Cailyn of her manners.

Scrapeknee seems reluctant to talk of it in detail, "Perhaps it is best to talk of The Late Unpleasantness at another time. Further, I was pretty young then and some did their level best to keep us youngsters out of the loop for own good.. not that we didn't hear things. It was a bad time of fire and blood. I'll leave it at that for now"

Even as he says 'fire and blood', Scrapeknee gets a shiver as if someone walked over his grave, and a sense of deja vu or... something. But that makes no sense so he waves it off, "Anyway, town has better talespinners and more learned sources than I for it. And tonight should be happy if we can manage." A smile to the ladies and gents

Adding the gold piece and marking off 7 more sp from her sheet

"Hear, hear," Willie chorused to young Scrapeknee's wish. He too hoped for the evening to be a happy one. Nay, not 'hope', he corrected himself. The Magnimar exile took pleasure in making every evening a convivial affair. And that meant chasing away such unpleasant topics as this Late Unpleasantness - whatever that was all about - or work. Of course, work was a subject he had but a theoretical grasp of, like governance or seagulls: these were concepts the gent readily accepted, but had no first-hand experience with. Still, he was given to understand most jobs weren't altogether jolly. Hewing the wood, drawing the old wet stuff and so forth? Good heavens, no, that didn't sound at all agreeable with him.

What good fortune then that he was born into moolah! The world had a funny way of sorting its tenants like that. "A resourceful girl like yourself will manage, Miss Lita," he said in sympathy, as empty a platitude as it was earnest.

What was it he had been thinking about? Oh yes, livening up the evening! Willie was a poor substitute for one of those Saracen genies, but he'd try fulfilling the likeable local's wish his own way regardless.

"O waitress!" he called to a passing halfling scuttling about the tavern as quickly as her stumpy legs allowed for. "The highest-proof hooch you serve, please, the sort of stuff that'll see me married to a lamppost in the morning and not live to see the honeymoon."

Before the table could grow too worried that the already half-seas over gent intended to go fully overboard, Wilberforce gave them real cause for concern. Turning his earlier emptied glass over, he reached forward to place it roughly midway on the slab, resting one finger on its raised bottom.

"Company, humor and drink
And yet I'm in want of ink."

The incantation was so far from proper, recognized wizardry that few discerned it for what it was; Willie was working magic. All knew, however, when the glass flashed a gaudy pink as if an especially flamboyant firecracker had been lit under it. It faded away without a sound, gone as quick as it had come. The young man lifted the tumbler theatrically like a proud chef uncovering his piece de resistance from under a cloche. Except there was nothing beneath the glassware, as anyone should be able to predict what with it being transparent - nothing expect a new perfectly pink circle adorning the table matching the rim of the glass.

Casting Prestidigitation, specifically the coloring application.

"Anyone for a game of shove ha'penny?" Willie asked with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy in recess. He momentarily turned to gratefully accept his ordered drink of clear-as-water devilry from the waitress. "Right on time! Thank you kindly!" But instead of drinking the stuff, he dabbed his handkerchief in it and set to scrubbing at the table, treating the drink as rubbing alcohol. "First step to shove ha'penny: preparing the game table. A clean surface ensures the coppers glide smoothly, don't you know.

Realizing that he'd lost at least a few present during all this, he went on, "Oh, come now, this noble pastime must have adherents outside jolly Magnimar? The rules are simple! Flick a copper piece across the surface of the table into the circle. And, yes, well, that's just about all there is to it. Ah! But there's a wrinkle, see." It was obvious to all that the gent was enjoying this greatly and the game hadn't even started yet. "It is tradition for participants to wager with one another. Nothing crude, just practical jokes and whatnot."

He looked to the Shoanti. "But then I hear you don't back down from a dare, Scrapeknee my fellow." Willie's grin was positively indecent.

Conversation seemed to be dying down. Pub game! Sleight of Hand? Maybe.

Joanna, who'd been silently trying to console Tera after she'd inadvertently chased Dare off, looks up as Willie begins to work the crowd and quietly groans. She buries her head in her hands and slowly shakes it back in forth in futile denial. This was the game that had gotten her in so much trouble she'd been under house arrest for a month. She still isn't certain that her mentor in arts martial, Uncle Titus, had completely forgiven her for letting his best cassock get involved.

"Master Scrapeknee," she quietly asks the young shoanti, "Is there still room at the White Deer? Could you help Tera and I get a room? Now, if at all possible, please."

Meanwhile, the Dragon's patrons are beginning to gather around as it appears that some new entertainment is starting.

If y'all are interested, here's some rules for play.
- Players make a wager.
- Players make opposed DEX or Sleight of Hand checks.
- The first player must make a DC 15 check to get a copper into the circle.
- The second player tries to knock the first player's copper out. The DC is whatever the first player rolled, or a DC 15 to stop in the ring if the first player failed.
-- If they succeed, they knock the copper out of the ring (or get theirs into the ring if the first player failed) and win the wager.
-- If they tie (or both players fail to get a copper into the ring), they hit the first player's copper, but fail to knock it out of the circle. The players decide on if they will continue or declare it a draw.
-- If the second player fails, they miss the first player's copper. The first player wins the wager.

Have fun! Hope these are simple enough for some quick entertainment.

Joanna, who'd been silently trying to console Tera after she'd inadvertently chased Dare off, looks up as Willie begins to work the crowd and quietly groans. She buries her head in her hands and slowly shakes it back in forth in futile denial. This was the game that had gotten her in so much trouble she'd been under house arrest for a month. She still isn't certain that her mentor in arts martial, Uncle Titus, had completely forgiven her for letting his best cassock get involved.

"Master Scrapeknee," she quietly asks the young shoanti, "Is there still room at the White Deer? Could you help Tera and I get a room? Now, if at all possible, please."

"Of course. I'll take you both there right now, while they are still available. If you'll follow me." then he says "Or did you want to pay me, I pay my uncle and we reserve the rooms so you two can stick around? Either way is fine by me."

To be fair, he's looking a bit worried at the drinks being trotted out. One may get the feeling he does not drink hard liquor often if at all

Seeing the look on Scrapeknee's face, Joanna quickly makes her decision and pulls Tera up to her feet while she fishes out enough coins to pay for their drinks, their meals, and then some.

"If you'd be so kind as to escort us, Master Scrapeknee," she asks, leaving the "before dear Willie gets us into trouble" unsaid but all the more clear for it.

Scrapeknee nods, and says to Cailyn "I'll be back in a few." He doesn't want her to feel as if she's said something wrong with him and offended him.

He offers to help the ladies Joanna and Tera, much as he offered his arm with Cailyn but does not pester, then guides them out saying quietly "The rooms at the Deer are actually bigger than the Dragon."

And out they go. He is slow going but doubts they're going to go at a running pace.

Cailyn starts to rise as Scrapeknee does since he was her guide. But as he takes the moment to assure her he will return, she settles back down with a "Okay"

In truth, she's nearing her threshold of sociability. A homebody like herself expends an extra amount of energy for conversation, nearly double as a normal person would. So a protracted get-together can be simply exhausting.

But two things make her stay. One is the room wobbled something ridiculous when she rose, making her think maybe Sandpoint was on a fault line of some sort. And two was that Scrapeknee was returning. If she went back to her rooms, he would have no reason to return. The guilt of inn betrayal would keep him away. If he was having fun, then denying him of that would be plain rude.

So instead she turns to her cousin with a long sigh. "Your socks..." she states. "If I win, you lose your socks." A strange request, but Cailyn is a bit strange in truth.

As if to prove her point, she reaches into her bodice, pulling out a simple gray stone hanging from a leather cord. Grasping it firmly in her fingers, she waves the plates and glasses away from the pretty pink circle. One by one the objects seem to obey, sliding without being touched until out of the way.

mage hand, occultist style, which I hope I got right since this is my first.

And soon he returns to the Rusty Dragon, wondering if his seat is still available at that table.

While there is a crowd around the table as the games are truly underway, Scrapeknee does find that your seat next to Cailyn is still open.

If anyone other than Willie wants to compete with Cailyn, she would be happy to. She will wager for something mundane (but not indecent) from your person. Socks are important to most while very few of us are truly attached them, hence the request.

A hoot of laughter escaped the layabout lordling as Cailyn stipulated their rules of engagement. Hosiery? She wanted his hosiery?

"Do you know, you're great fun with a tipple in you, cousin. Socks it is!"

Oblivious to the young woman's social well slowly running dry, Willie was delighted to engage his otherwise so subdued kin in some good old fashioned tomfoolery. A marvelous thing, just a measure of the hard stuff was! Perhaps those Caydenites were onto something. However, his grin evaporated like dew before the morning sun best as he reached for his wallet. A realization struck him. His hand went from fishing for coppers to straining about his ankles, awkwardly bending down in his seat to confirm his fear.

"No, steady on," he cried. "These are my deer wool socks! 100% emperor stag thread I had imported from Taldor, the genuine article! These are what the Grand Prince wears! Cailyn, they only harvest a halfling's fist of the stuff from each deer per year!"

The poor gent's distress was evidently great. All the more admirable then when he collected himself with visible effort. No, no one would be able to say that a Whyte, nor indeed a Vetillus, went back on his word! "... Socks it is," he repeated, a dogged smirk on the lips and a competitive gleam in the eye.

Wilberforce took his position at one end of the table with all the ceremony of the professional athlete, even going so far as to stretch beforehand, an effort only made more ridiculous by his gawky limbs. He looked like nothing less than his trust fund was on the line. Bending forward to rest his chin on the table and concentrating furiously, he swished and swooshed his chosen copper back and forth, testing the waters. It slid comfortably on the polished wood. Well, in for a penny, as they said.

The most magnificent play ever seen in the history of shove ha'penny: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

If Heaven could not provide a sensation so relieving, so triumphant as what he felt when that coin slid to a halt, then Willie frankly wanted no part in it. Like Cayden before him, it seemed that fortune truly favored the bold and slightly inebriated, as when launched the copper piece glided forward with all the ease of a shadow over ice. It came to a halt perfectly - he dared say it again, perfectly - in the middle of the circle. None were more surprised than the young man himself, of course, though he endeavored to look every bit the champion he now felt like.

"Yes, well," he said, looking to Caylin when he had recovered, "my side of the family were always the athletes, what?" Willie tried to stay the self-satisfaction from his beaming face, he really did. He failed spectacularly.

If the game keeps going, Dare is totally setting up side wagers with the other bar patrons.

"Putting a copper on Princess Crinklenose getting her own on Willie Wibblesock there next round..."

Scrapeknee takes a seat, but doesn't take part in the event. I think maybe I take after my Uncle Garridan in that I too am not always fun.

Conrad has been counting his pennies ever since he got to Sandpoint, and doesn't particularly want to join in the bets.

The woman with the horns and the Shoanti aren't participating in the game so far. He doesn't have anything else to do but join them for watching.

He nods to Conrad as he comes over, "I'm not one for gambling, learned my lesson on a dare given once. But it is.. unusual."

A crit!!!! So soundly beaten, tis sad :)

Cailyn's face fell "Oh, Fu--dge" she caught herself, but the smile in her eyes countered the almost swear. With a sigh, Cailyn said "A wager is a wager."

The young woman kicks off her shoes, and reaches under the table, hidden only partially, as she lifts her skirts, unhooks, and then slides down her stocking. Like her cousin, her hosiery was not part of the working class. Hers was a creamy white silk with nary a single run. "Please do not do anything too questionable with them." she entreats her cousin with more dignity than someone missing socks should. After another sip of her drink, she cocks an eyebrow at him and says "Your turn to declare the wager, I believe."

Conrad, are you taking Dare up on sharing a whiskey with her? If so she'll move over to you when the order comes

"Please do not do anything too questionable with them."

The conquering general (a well jingled Wilberforce) hoisting aloft the spoils of war (Cailyn's legwear) only paused his victory lap to acknowledge his beaten foe, a playful glint in the baby-blues. "I cannot imagine what you're referring to, cousin."

He actually couldn't. Not gifted with the greatest of grey matter, the young man's limited imagination contributed to a perhaps unanticipated innocence. Willie was no saint - nay, perish the thought. But his wickedness was that of the adolescent schoolboy, an appetite for indulgences, comfort, leisure and the occasional extra serving of desert.

It was no surprise then when the young man's plans for the garment were thoroughly juvenile.

"I say, you there, the strapping chappie with the strong shoulders," he called to Conrad recently returned to the table. "Give us a leg up, that's a good lad. I want to get these up on the chandelier!"

Not sure how that's gonna go so could end the post here, but it's only fair that Cailyn gets a chance at revanche and I'm not about to fish for a higher roll.

----------

"I didn't think you a glutton for punishment, Cailyn you old top," Willie grinned at the young woman's eagerness for another round. It was anyone's guess whether he was blithely playing the role of pub game champion, or whether his one lucky win had gone entirely to his head. "The sporting spirit suits you well! I shall of course oblige! As for the wager..."

To see Willie in thought was a theater all in its own, forehead scrunching, eyebrows shimmying, lip rearing to reveal pearly whites. It was like watching cattle climbing stairs: manageable, but simply not what nature had intended for it. Then, with a click of his fingers, every feature snapped back in place to make way for a smile.

"O waitress...! Oh, there you are." The halfling still standing by had escaped his attention completely. "Would you go to the kitchens and fill this glass with, I dunno... a raw egg at minimum." He looked round the table. "Any three ingredients fit for a tumbler. Suggestions? Loser downs the lot!"

Cailyn could not miss the mischievous look from her cousin at the mention of 'loser'. But then what did Willie have to worry about? With his newfound talent at shove ha'penny, he could surely trounce the half-elf once more...

A very underwhelming play indeed: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

... Or so he thought, only to see his copper piece miss the bright pink goal entirely.

"Oh, rum."

He nods to Conrad as he comes over, "I'm not one for gambling, learned my lesson on a dare given once. But it is.. unusual."

"I've never taken p-part in that k-kind of g-gambling," Conrad admits. "The rules were s-simpler."

And easy to recall after a couple of years too: no holds barred, first one down loses.

Dare Ashborn]Conrad, are you taking Dare up on sharing a whiskey with her? If so she'll move over to you when the order comes

Sure!

Conrad takes a sip from the much stronger whiskey. He knows instantly that it would be better not to finish it. "You're not d-drinking the tame stuff," he tells Dare with a wince.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

Scrapeknee has to hide a smile with a hand as the stockings are put up on the chandelier, or about to be.

"You're a good sport, Cailyn." He asserts

****

"I've never taken p-part in that k-kind of g-gambling," Conrad admits. "The rules were s-simpler."

And easy to recall after a couple of years too: no holds barred, first one down loses.

"What kind of gambling DID you take part in?" He asks curious and guileless.

Willie, Give me a DC 15 Dex check. If you succeed, you drape Cailyn's socks over the chandelier.

The halfling, an older woman by the laugh lines and crows feet on her face and her graying hair nods and comes back with a vile smelling concoction a minute later.

DC 12 Fort save to avoid tossing your cookies.

Cailyn pulls in a deep breath as the fate of her former stockings is declared. She holds it a second, letting the world wonder if a wickedly sharp admonishment was coming... but no, the breath comes out in a long sigh. "Please don't kill yourself. I'd hate to have to explain the circumstances of your demise to your mother."

-----------

Cailyn looks at the concoction in alarm "That... is a blight on our realm, you do understand that, Wilberforce? Truly and deeply."

the coin: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Once again, Cailyn's aim is suspect at best. The table seems to be wobbly, the room as well, so she takes another sip of her drink to help settle things and tries again.

the coin: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

This time the frown is fierce, the warmth in her eyes disappearing into a serious irritation. Without waiting for her cousin's turn so goes ahead and tries to see if ANY coin can make it into the circle (ignoring the fact that Willie had made a perfect shot the first time).

the coin: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

Then she Whoops with glee, finally sending a coin in the circle like it is the greatest accomplishment in the known universe.

Lita had fallen silent, content to let Scrapeknee field the questions about the Late Unpleasantness, though she did raise her glass in a quick cheers, first to him and then to Willie in turn as they addressed her. She might be confident in her own ability, but hearing a local say her presence would be a comfort was still... Well, surprising, mostly, but a relief, and while Willie's platitudes may not carry much weight, she was hardly about to turn down any well-wishes.

She was, however, perfectly happy to leave the betting to the cousins, though she does lean back in her chair to watch the two of them, occasionally hiding a laugh behind her hand or her drink as they make a spectacle of themselves. She leans towards Conrad and Scrapeknee to join their conversation, keeping her eyes on the action in front of her.

"I don't mind something like cards or a simple contest, but once the stakes have moved past simple coin..." Lita eyes the foul-smelling concoction placed on the table warily, even without the chance of being the one who has to drink it. "That gets a little dangerous." Her tone, still light, still bearing the last hints of laughter, does not suggest a real danger as much as it does perhaps some humiliation.

Seeing that the merchants have gone and the other two Magnimarians are distracting themselves, Dare gets the plate of mutton strips and carefully balances the two shots in the other hand and follows to where Conrad is watching the spectacle.

Quote:

Dare Ashborn]Conrad, are you taking Dare up on sharing a whiskey with her? If so she'll move over to you when the order comes

Sure!

Conrad takes a sip from the much stronger whiskey. He knows instantly that it would be better not to finish it. "You're not d-drinking the tame stuff," he tells Dare with a wince.

She shrugs. "I figured this'd be safer than what the other guy gave me. 'S'just whiskey." She downs her shot in one go.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

And her eyes water and she begins to cough. Shoving the plate of meat into the nearest person's hands, she grabs her belly with one hand, clapping her hand on the other as smoke begins to escape from between her fingers.

She shouts to no one in particular, "I asked for whiskey, not goblin piss, you backwater jackanapes!" She lifts the fist that was on her belly to shake it, stumbles, and decides to take a nice, safe seat on the floor. "Cayden's Swinging Cock, this f%~*ing place..." Even as she speaks, tiny puffs of smoke curl and rise out of her mouth.

"Goblin Piss?!" The barkeeper, a young man with long black hair and well-toned muscles, calls Dare out when he hears her complaining about the booze. "That's Janderhoff Dragon's Breath! What kind o' froofy drinks have you been havin'? Bethan, can you make sure our sweet daisy ain't about to keel over," he tells the old halfling woman who's been busy serving customers most of the night. She comes over and rubs Dare's back as she tries to comfort the half-orc sorceress.

"Don't mind Michelangelo, He's proud of what her serves. Can I get you anything, dear? I always keep something mixed up for those that need something to settle their stomachs," she tells her.

We can continue playing out the scene from the Dragon in spoilers. In the meantime, let's actually get to the meat of this AP. Sorry for the delay.

Chapter 1 - Burnt Offerings
She rubbed her fingers over the jackal-headed symbol that hung from her neck, a habit she had from her childhood, long before she came into Mother's care. Silver hair shone in the lamp light as her violet eyes looked over the plans before her. The first raid would be but a taste of what the town deserved, as much as she looked forward to the chaos and slaughter that it would cause, and on such a auspicious day, too, the raid was but a mask. There were other things that needed to be gathered.

She looked to one of the others she'd gathered, a half-elven man with features foreign to Avistan. His silky black hair and dark eyes could have won him any number of women's beds and even more of their hearts, but he'd so far chosen to woo her. She didn't feel the same. In fact, his infatuation with her was more than a little disgusting, but it was also useful. A leash for one of her dogs.

"Well, My Love, is everything ready," she asked, her voice a husky timber that set men's minds ablaze with thoughts of what it would sound like whispering their names, or howling with passion.

"It is," he answered without hesitation. "That bastard has agreed to clear out the Glassworks and set things up at the gate. There shouldn't be any problems there," he answered.

It was his cocky attitude, she decided, that pissed her off the most. He was so sure of himself and his abilities. One of these days, he's bound to screw up and land him in trouble his speed, agility, nor his silver tongue could get him out of. For now, though, he was too useful to her.

"Excellent," she purred, genuinely pleased to hear that things were going so smoothly, even if she didn't like the source of the news. She turned to one of the goblins sitting with her in the chamber.

"It's time to send word to the other tribes, Chief Ripnugget. Soon you'll be able to kill the longshanks in the town to your heart's content," she told him, and was also pleased to see his eager grin.

Yes, soon the goblins would raid the town in force, and with the offerings she'd soon be giving to Mother, they would be far too strong for anyone to stop. When the time came, after five long years of planning and gathering allies, she would burn her hometown in an offering to her goddess, Lamashtu, just as she had her so-called father five years ago and her feckless lover a year after that.

Soon, she promised herself. Not yet, but soon.

It will be a festival to remember, she told herself as the goblin chief barked orders and riders went out to tell the other tribes that the first raid would begin in only a few days time.

The Swallowtail Festival The day dawned on a town quivering in anticipation. At long last, Sandpoint could put the Late Unpleasantness where it belongs, in the past. The residents wake to the smell of food vendors preparing their wares for sale mixing with the salty sea breeze. The call of gulls is soon drowned out by the buzz of conversation and jovial laughter as merchants of all kinds set up stalls and ready their carts full of wares. Children play gaily around the bustle even as they assure their parents they'll be careful. Brightly colored banners are strung up wherever there is room to tie them off. Everywhere one looks there is a riot of color and bright smiles.

As the sun rises, the town erupts into a cheerful song. Music plays from every street corner while dancers twirl about with colored scarves and skirts arc gracefully around them. Bards tell stories of heroes and magic while a few illusionists ply their magic to entertain the crowds. Games have been set up and many try their hand at them, looking for bragging rights more than anything else. Cheers resound for those that have the skill and luck to succeed while good-natured jibes are aimed at those who are found wanting in both respects.

As noon approaches, word about Mayor Deverin and Father Zantus giving speeches in the square before the Cathedral spread and bring the crowds into the space. The mayor's welcome and good humor is well received, especially after Sheriff Hemlock's dour warning about pickpockets and causing trouble, especially with fire, followed by the awkwardly long moment of silence he calls for to remember those that died in the fire that claimed much of northern Sandpoint five years ago.

Thankfully, Cyrdak Drokkas, owner of the Sandpoint Theatre as he's more than happy to tell everyone, is more than up to the challenge of lifting everyone's spirits with a few jokes at the sheriff's expense and a masterfully wrought tale about the many, many mishaps during the Cathedral's construction, some of which have Father Zantus hiding his face behind his hand and a few of the acolytes turning red with embarrassment. He only hands the stage back over to Mayor Deverin once he's promoted his latest production, "The Harpy's Curse," premiering the next evening and starring the Magnimarian Diva Allishanda as the harpy Queen.

Despite the buoyed mood, there are some whispers wondering why Lonjiku Kaijitsu hadn't given a speech as had been planned during Crydak's speech, since his Glassworks was responsible for all of the glass in the Cathedrals. The whispers are answered by rumors of him falling ill, and other rumors that the infamously irritable Lord Kaijitsu is faking it to avoid the crowds and festivities. Those that know of the man think it plausible enough to shrug away his absence as Father Zantus takes the stage.

"Many years ago, an avatar of Desna, the Starsong, fought Lamashtu, the Mother of Monsters, and was cast down to Golarion," he begins as the crowds hush and the acolytes under him roll out a cloth covered cart before the stage. "A young, blind boy found the goddess's injured avatar and nursed her back to health. To repay his kindness, Desna granted him the form of an immortal swallowtail butterfly so that he may go out and see the world he could not. This festival reminds us of his act and that we can all change for the better. So let this year be a new start for Sandpoint and all of us that journey though life."

As he finishes, the acolytes pull the cloth from the cart and thousands of butterflies in all colors of the rainbow circle out in a storm of jewel-toned wings, delighting children and amazing adults who find that they haven't entirely lost that childish sense of wonder. The swarm of butterflies disperses throughout the town and provide an afternoon's worth of entertainment as children chase them and the adults teach them the best way to attract them, and that one landing on you is a sign of good luck.

Meanwhile, Sandpoint's eateries and taverns have set up stalls to serve the hungry crowds. The Rusty Dragon's Ameiko serves her ever popular Curried Salmon. The Hagfish's Jargie Quinn has cooked up some delicious clam chowder. Risa's children that now run the restaurant bearing her name have a rib-sticking beef stew along with their famous spiced potatoes. Jesk "Cracktooth" Berinni of Cracktooth's Tavern has smoked pork with a sweet and spicy sauce on toasted rolls from Sandpoint Savories. Garridan Viskalai of the White Deer is serving venison in peppercorn sauce over quinoa. Notably, the line for the fried pies from the Fatman's Feedbag is non-existent.

The murmur of happy conversations and laughter rolls over the town as people are fed and the festivities continue.

If you could, please make a post describing what you've been up to so far today and what you do in the afternoon. I'm all for some roleplay, but it felt like things were starting to slow with the scene at the Dragon, so I'll be moving onto the evening and the main event in my next post. Below are some things that I think you'd gotten up to in the few days between the night at the Dragon and the Swallowtail Festival. Or in Willie's case, what his put upon cousin has had him doing. If you don't think that's what would have happened, then feel free to ignore it. Just make sure you tell me since I was also trying to lay some hooks here. I tried not to make too many assumptions, but I had to make a few.

After her continued (assumed) losses at the Dragon and the horrible morning following where her head wants to split open, one would think that she would curl up in embarrassment, slipping more into her shut-in personality. But one thing that she could remember quite clearly from the night before was OjWoj Viskalai talking about a Book Store.

Cailyn has forgotten her purpose. The one where she was banished from her home by a caring but firm mother to Make Something Of Yourself. The last part is in a booming Mother voice in her head. Instead of doing that she is lost in the Curious Goblin, chatting all day about books or curled up in the chair reading. Then there is Wonderful Master Parooh with so many curious objects and even more stories.

She is rarely in the Deer other than for meals and quick bright conversations with the hero-to-be, Scrapeknee.

For the festival, she is open early, greeting with cheer Scrapeknee, Sarla, and dour owner, in a simple blue silk dress, before popping back out (after breakfast) to visit the stores.

She does get distracted by the sheer amount of food stalls, thinking it is only polite to sample from each. Before she knew it, she had watched performances, taken part in games, returned to the inn to get her crossbow to compete in an archery competition, and eventually ended up at the speech before the cathedral.

'we can all change for the better' It might have been the kindly Father Zanthus that said it, but it was her mother that Cailyn heard.

So at the moment, the well-dressed well-fed noblewoman is wondering about the festival, lost in an internal dialog (probably with her mother) with a heavy crossbow on her back...

crossbow contest: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

... a first-place sash across her chest, and a sack full of famous spiced potatoes she is nibbling on.

The Day of the Festival
Dizzy from the firebreath's aftermath and exhausted from having tossed and turned, she asks an obliging inn-wench for simply warm water in day-old bread and a strong cup of tea for breakfast. She packs up her things--all of her things--leaving the common room corner cot she slept in tidy as she can, and signs herself out of the guest register, should the Feedbag be fancy enough to have one. Either she will eventually find lodging with the merchants or fail to do so, and she understands as implicit, therefore, her complimentary stay at the Feedbag, such as it was, is over.

Conveniently, last night she had been sulking in the corner when the merchants had left, so she uses the excuse that she does not know where they are staying--if only to herself--to carry out her plans for the day as she originally made them: to find a corner and try to hawk some of her wooden butterfly coins. She will make a good faith effort to keep an eye out for Tera and Joanna, but she will also not mourn if she fails. It's going to be a crowded day, so what will happen will happen.

She enters the already crowded town and does her best to hold out the coins to potentially passersby, knowing that while she may have presence, she doesn't exactly have a face for genteel business. "Copper or two for a butterfly?"

Charisma: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

She might earn at least enough for some street meat on a stick, which is better than nothing. As she eats her hard-earned luncheon, she pushes her way to a spot in the crowd to listen to Father Zantus's speech.

His final words strike her in the gut far harder than any dosage of Janderhoff Dragon's Breath. ... We can all change for the better. So let this year be a new start for Sandpoint and all of us that journey though life. When the hundreds of butterflies take flight, a tear trickles down her scarred cheek as she fervently wishes she could be one of them.

Conrad spends the Festival in an awfully good mood, sauntering from stall to stall according to his desires. He never buys anything, but takes pleasure from admiring the pretty baubles the artists have for sale, occasionally stopping to better appreciate the lively music played by musicians.

He is especially giddy to have stumbled upon the two noblewomen he met at the Rusty Dragon a couple of days ago. They had barely exchanged any words back at the tavern, and he'd never expected to meet them again -yet alone to be recognized- on one of his daily visits to the Cathedral. And to think that one of them should be a follower of Shelyn as well! He'd thought he would be mocked for his interest in the goddess of beauty, especially after telling them more or less the same story he had told Dare, but they had seemed nothing if not understanding. Perhaps even a little touched -or maybe he was just seeing what he was hoping to see.

That they didn't really have any kind of job to offer him either came as a little of a disappointment, but at least it had led to an interesting discussion. Maybe he would see them again after the Festival with Father Zantus. Maybe. They had seemed to like him well enough, but he didn't want to push his luck. They didn't come from the same world. In the meantime, he was perfectly happy enjoying what the Festival had to offer.

It's only after he wandered off from the opening speeches given in front of the Cathedral (a few of Drokkas' anecdotes had made him chuckled) that he found Dare again. He hadn't seen the half-orc woman since their little escapade at the Rusty Dragon, and had presumed it could be because she was working on her wares.

He waves at her. "Hello! Any luck with the w-woodburning?" His tone gets a bit more serious. "I saw the two women ag-gain -Joanna and..." He pauses. Gods, he was never good at names. "The other one," he adds lamely. "They said they w-wanted to apologize to you. In p-person, if you want it. Just p-passing the message."

Willie, you ol' boffin, he thought. You've gotten yourself in a right nasty jar this time. Willie's little furlough in Sandpoint had been a pleasant enough affair until now, provincial limitations aside. Rising at noon, partaking of the Deverin manor's pantry, entertaining his cousins there with stories of city life ribaldry, and then making merry at any given tavern till morning. Rinse and repeat. A modest existence perhaps, but quite enough for a humble chappie such as he. No more. Now the house's matriarch had taken to rustling him out of bed in the grey dawn to act as her mayoral assistant! No, 'lackey' was more like it. The past few days had been nothing but carrying ledgers, writing minutes, finding references, ankling about town to confirm one meeting or the other delivery - in brief, whatever needed doing to prepare for this blasted festival. She had even insisted on the odd physical labor, as with loading a crate of donated wine from the cellar to a cart! His cuffs weren't even designed to allow for the pulling up of sleeves and so and so!

On reflection, the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back was probably that evening out at the Dragon, not that Willie would ever call dear old Kendra a camel. Well, not within earshot of her, anyway. His recollection of the night was admittedly foggy, though his return to the manor may have involved an armless statue that hadn't been armless before his run-in with it in his disoriented state. That and some vomit.

Of course, the letter from Aunt Arabella presumably hadn't helped. The old gespenst had finally found him, aunt calling to aunt like mastodons bellowing across primeval swamps. The young man wasn't privy to whatever communication had taken place between the women, but he could only assume that one had informed the other of his injudicious tumble with the law in Magnimar, and that he subsequently needed whipping into some shape or another. Said shape had done a number on him, mind you. His back, for example, was contorted like a barrel hoop from leaning into books for hours on end. It was all terribly taxing! Small wonder all those author blokes had bald heads and faces like suffering birds! And this cousin Cailyn did for her own enjoyment? Willie had to wonder.

His middle finger too had developed the most frightful blister from holding a pen all day. Truly, he had never felt more sympathy nor a greater kinship to the working classes than these last few days. Still, the promised festival had at last lumbered into the present, and with it came reprieve. Kendra allowed him the day off, though how a young fellow was supposed to function without his ten hours of the old dreamless was quite beyond him. He wandered the grounds for a while - dressed for the occasion, of course, frankly looking the last word in his grey check suit even if few of the revelers seemed to appreciate fashion. Why, some cheeky blighters even sniggered at him! No matter how resplendent he looked, however, the festival spirit simply wasn't in him, tired and battered as he felt.

That was until the release of the butterflies. "I say." The good father's speech hadn't done much for him, but the kaleidoscope of flittering colors was such that the bleary-eyed gent was set a-gawking. So wondrous a sight was it that he felt quite invigorated! Yes, why shouldn't he make the most of the day? Why indeed when Kendra had promised more duties tomorrow! It was with this in mind that Willie toodled forth, a new pep in his step.

'This festival reminds us of his act and that we can all change for the better,' he considered, humming a tune. A worthy message for all the wastrels of the world!

"Bu-dum di duuum... ba-deeh di deeh... For makin' whoopee..."

Longwinded post saying that Willie walks the grounds.

He waves at her. "Hello! Any luck with the w-woodburning?" His tone gets a bit more serious. "I saw the two women ag-gain -Joanna and..." He pauses. Gods, he was never good at names. "The other one," he adds lamely. "They said they w-wanted to apologize to you. In p-person, if you want it. Just p-passing the message."

Dare smiles genuinely at Conrad, just kind of chuffed in general at the idea of someone greeting her in a friendly fashion. She flips one of her coins to him. "Sold a few. Given I'm not much good for sales, I'll call it a win."

Her face falls as he brings up Joanna and Tera, but she does not believe in shooting the messenger, fortunately. "I see. Yeah, I have to find them, actually. Turns out they have business with my Family." She quirks an eyebrow, lets that sink in. "So I am apologize to them," she says, her tone making it clear this is not her idea. "'Preciate it if you point them in my direction if you see them first."

She uses the excuse of a human child, toe-headed and blue-eyed, who has stopped to gaze up in awe at the tall tusky, husky woman, to turn her attention away. "Hey chief, want a butterfly token?"

It's frankly a miracle that Garridan doesn't figure out that you took Cailyn to the Rusty Dragon. That only means he works you half-to-death as preparations for the Swallowtail Festival ramp up. You find yourself with precious little free time. If you're not helping out in the tavern room, you're helping to prepare for the noon meal, and if you're not doing either of those, you're sleeping as exhausting hits. Your cousins are frazzled by the time the day of the festival arrives, and it doesn't appear that the White Deer hitting capacity two days before the big day has done anything for your uncle's foul mood. With most of the patrons heading out for the day and your cousins and aunt giving your uncle more than enough hands, you're free to do as you like. Though Garridan has already told you that he'll need you for the supper rush after the end of the Cathedral's consecration.

Scrapeknee is torn by both guilt profound for betraying his Uncle, and a fond memory of some good times at the Dragon. He really enjoyed the company of Cailyn and her friends, all lovely ladies. If only they were Shoanti. *Sigh* His Uncle Garridan wasn't against dating non Shoanti per se, but he sure made it sound like he had HOPES OjWoj would find a nice Shoanti girl to settle down with, perhaps out there in the tribal lands. It was on his mind, how could it not be, as many of the Sandpointers would have a date on their arms. Social pressure was stupid, and presumptious, but that doesn't mean it didn't have power.

Sadly, he can't dance well, and doesn't try. The village girls give his leg ONE look and seek others who are better suited to sweeping them off their feet.

Foods are sampled, particularly ones that are not good for him. And he claps as loudly as anyone as storytellers spin their tales of heroes of legend and history.
He simmers down at Noon, and listens to the Mayor give his speech, and he grows respectful as Father Zantus explains to explain the reason for the festival, and when the butterflies are released, he once more lets loose a cheer joining the throng. He quiets as a butterfly moves near him and he uses his own knowlege of butterflies to try to get them to settle on him.
Knowledge Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

And the most amazing thing happens!
Dozens and dozens of the butterflies land on him, one by one. He is surprised that it worked this well!

But they land mostly along his bad leg, in a glorious star like pattern. Mostly, not all. Others land about his brow in a pattern that is almost a butterfly substitute of Shoanti headwear , a 'crowning' of sorts.

Forgive me taking liberties, but a nat 20 is not to be missed. I figure those with Religion Knowledge rolls of 13 or higher might notice the star symbol on the leg actually resembles the 'Starknife' pattern, favored by Desnan clergy

"It looks like a pattern?" An inquisitive voice draws Scrapeknee's attention from the wonder of the crowning. Cailyn is bent over, rather close to his leg, looking at the butterflies, who seem content to simply stay fluttering in rest.

She looks up at him, blue eyes dancing with curiosity, but the movement causes
her dark hair in its complex buns to press into the cocking stirrup of the crossbow on her back. History has taught her, that this is bad, so she rises to standing quickly, silk rustling, before strands get caught.

A quick wince tells him she failed. As she reaches back to disentangle herself, she asks "Is it random chance, or is there meaning behind it?"

"It looks like a pattern?" An inquisitive voice draws Scrapeknee's attention from the wonder of the crowning. Cailyn is bent over, rather close to his leg, looking at the butterflies, who seem content to simply stay fluttering in rest.

She looks up at him, blue eyes dancing with curiosity, but the movement causes
her dark hair in its complex buns to press into the cocking stirrup of the crossbow on her back. History has taught her, that this is bad, so she rises to standing quickly, silk rustling, before strands get caught.

A quick wince tells him she failed. As she reaches back to disentangle herself, she asks "Is it random chance, or is there meaning behind it?"

"I have no idea..." He admits holding very still, "Every year I get a few of them, there's a trick with sugar water that makes it more likely by the by. But mostly you act gentle and still and hope" He moves his mouth slowly as he talks so not to disrupt "Never had this many on me before. And I didn't put the sugar water on my leg, not sure what that's about, maybe they just feel sorry for me." Half amused, half resigned, "What pattern? I'm afraid if I look down I'll disrupt things."

Then he smiles "Congratulations about the Crossbow contest." The Sash he could see.