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Culdren takes a knee and whips out his crossbow from beneath his cloak, leering directly at Dimma. His irises flash with the runes of a pair of clocks, the large hand on his left eye ticking forward. For a brief moment, just enough to blink a couple times, time is still for him. Even the sounds around him are muffled in this mid-quantum leap through the fabric of time which he uses to steady his weapon and fire with greater accuracy.
Well...it's hard to get poison that doesn't change the flavor of what you're eating/drinking. Even if there's no rule for detecting poison, it's not entirely unreasonable for there to be a Perception check. Semantics aside, I still agree with you and would go as far as to say that this Perception check should have been in secret. The suspense is exciting, even if it is negative.
Culdren lurches forward as the poison strikes him, eyes leering on the dwarven servant girl. He tugs at the crossbow hidden behind his cloak and sneers, "Couldn't even afford good poison. A street bum would make a better assassin."
Culdren hadn't drank anything yet, the conversation having focused on him and the issue concerning Antorm. He lifts the cup to drink but burns his tongue, wincing in pain. He sets it down and decides to just wait for it to cool off, folding his legs and fidgeting in his seat.
Culdren grins briefly when Tilly serves him, sitting down and wincing slightly. He lofts a brow when Arnor speaks, listening quietly. "Indeed," he concludes, turning to Silibar and explaining, "I make it my business to know what fools are up to, because it's only a matter of time before they cause a nuisance. I heard from good sources that Toda was a significant part of Moai history, so to take the name was intriguing to say the least. I came here to tell you in hopes of meeting him personally. Despite his...well, being Antorm...I can't help but share his interests in lost artifacts though if he's out of control then I suppose his operations will have to come to an end. As to how long he's kept the name, it's been a few moons; that news is old hat. As to why...probably because he wants to make a profit by claiming the artifacts his to sell." Culdren's Thoughts: The Moai culture is very old, and the possibility that they know how to transfigure him into a pure elf is possible. They were alive when there were more of his kind, and they may have interacted with the Moai.
Culdren smirks, stifling a spot of laughter. He clears his throat, shaking his head and stepping forward, his steps hardly making a sound against the cold stone floor. He says, "Pardon my rudeness. For a second, I thought I heard correctly, that you were talking about the last man you want to see in these halls. By the way, might I compliment the architecture of the Halls, it's quite.." he looks up and around, pondering what to say but settles with, "..old." He returns to the current affairs with a gesture of dismissal, explaining, "In any case, I thought it'd only be appropriate to mention that Antorm..Toda..is quite at home using that name. He's made quite a lot of money off of moai sleeping grounds hasn't he High Redman Silbilar?" He takes a breath and adjusts the brooch of his cloak, muttering, "Before you ask, I'm Culdren." He bites the corner of his lip and links his hands behind his upright posture.
Culdren looks like an effeminate human with wild, neck length brown hair covering his somewhat elfish ears. Gray hairs streak along the left side of his head, a strange sign of aging for someone so young. His eyes are light brown, and his fingers are calloused from his work as a craftsman. He is somewhat tall at 5'9" and lanky. He sometimes has stubs of facial shadow and sports a goatee on and off. I filled in my languages and traits; all that's left is misc gear.
http://www.dndsheets.net/view.php?id=49513 Just need to do gear and a couple of languages. |