Well, there's Fencing Grace for rapiers.
Was not aware of that feat's existence! Thank you!
The tough part is now picking a feat to swap out. I think I'll lose Improved Initiative for now.
@Fnord: I have no plans for a third word.
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There's also the Slashing Grace feat if I wanted to switch from the rapier to a slashing weapon. To me, it makes no sense that it doesn't allow the rapier to add Dex to damage, but longswords, daggers, scimitars, etc. get it. Puzzling.
No changes here, unless you want to do something with this as a result of Weapon Finesse being eliminated:
If I were suggest something, I would say this allows Dex to be added instead of Strength for damage.
DMs: I hope the voice in my head is something you see as fun and unique, rather than a deal-breaker. A few more thoughts along those lines for your consideration: -- I'm flexible regarding the gods/demon lords who are involved with Devon's return. Right now, I'm thinking he paid lip service to Cayden Cailean (who's now dead of course), but wasn't a strong practitioner of the faith. Most of his return was fueled by Noticula, with a bit of interference from Pharasma. But I could go with a bunch of others: Calistria/Noticula, Desna/Lamashtu, etc. Whatever you think works best for the campaign. -- I'm thinking Auruvel the Drow was an Inquisitor of whatever entity she worshipped. -- Unless you choose otherwise, the Drow voice in my head won't have any game effect (crunch/rules), but may have some influence on his personality as time progresses. Have you seen Farscape? I'm thinking of the Harvey character in Crichton's brain. -- I'm also not married to the two words I've chosen if you think there's another pair better suited. I went with Luck because Devon's a gambler, but Night because of the Noticula/Darkness/Shadow demon connection. I could easily go with Passion or something else if you want the Drow to have had a different patron. -- I had asked about whether you would approve a 'Drow elite' sub-race and still haven't heard an answer. However, I found a bunch of Drow Nobility feats in the ARG and took them with the bonus even-level feats. But they only grant the additional spell-like abilities, so if you agree to the 19-point Drow elite class, with those feats I'm actually a full Drow noble. Kind of cool, huh?
Re: signature items -- understood. If you decide to go that route, I might choose the rapier (being a swashbuckler), but that seems too obvious. Instead, I might go with a gambling object, like dice or a deck of cards. Hmmm... Anyway, my gear is pretty much chosen, but I might tinker with my choices a bit.
Also, not planning to go with the Sorcery word. By the way, I reworked my character a bit; expanded the background and have most of the crunch completed. I still haven't allocated my gear, since I'm still waiting to see if there's any plans to add that signature item. But I've picked out most of the items I plan to buy, so that won't take very long.
Definitely still interested! Devon Prissault, swashbuckler. Died during Second Darkness. Came back with the words of Luck and Night.
I've got just about everything pieced together in my profile, including the Words and Gifts chosen (Luck and Night). The only thing I haven't done is purchase my equipment, but I'm holding off on that to see if there's going to be a special item bequeathed. Also, I've gone with the standard drow for the time being. Switching to a 18-19 point "Elite Drow" will be an easy adjustment. Waking up: Confusion reigned in Devon's mind when he felt the jab of the farm tool and heard the stableboy's voice. He had... died. In darkness, trapped by spider's webs, surrounded by stone and rock and miles below the surface. He blinked at the dazzling light, which seemed way too bright to his eyes. The boy poked again as he winced hard and squeezed his eyes shut again. "The insolence of that whelp! How dare he touch me! I will have him flayed!" Devon thought. Squinting, he pushed himself up and looked around for the boy and the affronted woman who sounded vaguely familiar to him. The boy he saw quickly, who was standing wide-eyed and staring straight at him. He saw no sign of the woman, who, now that he had a chance to think on it, was speaking in the underground language of the Drow.
"Who's talking? Why can't I move? Answer me!" the voice again spoke, but it sounded in Devon's head, not in his ears. He shook his head to straighten out his confusion, but the screeching voice refused to shake loose. Then he noticed the white hairs swishing in and out of his vision. "Oh, no," he muttered out loud, and the voice that reached his ears was of a higher pitch. "The spell hasn't worn off yet." He raises his hand up in front of his face and sees the deep, purplish-black hue of the skin on a far daintier hand than he was normally used to. The spell. The stupid, bloody ridiculous spell that had Devon and his companions all looking like Drow. The spell actually used fresh corpses as the raw material for the disguise. If it hadn't been for Krogun's extremely vicious battleaxe, Faenor's alchemical bombs, or Marek's summoned packs of savage beasts, there might have been a better selection of intact Drow corpses. As it were, there was a distinct lack of male specimens from which to choose. Which was why Devon had to go undercover as a Drow woman. "What have you done to me!?! I am Drow! I am Auruvel Zauvirr, Eighth of the House of Eri'tholyn, Guard-Captain of the Celwynvian Excursion!" came the voice again, now laced with panic. he responded to Auruvel. "Yes, I hear you! Answer me!"
A ringing scream echoed through Devon's mind as he pushes himself up to his feet and confirms that yes, he's still wearing Auruvel's body. "Well, this is certainly new," he says to the confused stable boy.
That's an excellent point about the race builder that I overlooked. Here's my thought process behind pitching the downgraded drow noble: the Second Darkness AP used the old 3.5 rules, so when the authors had the adventure turn the characters into drow, they got all the powers and abilities of 3.5 drow, which were superior to the Pathfinder drow, most notably in the spell resistance area. When you authorized races of up to 20 rps, I was shocked to find that regular Pathfinder drow were a mere 14 points. That's why I pitched the reduced drow noble. But though you make a good point about weak drow nobles, could I suggest then a "drow elite" that are a step above the rank and file, but not to the power level of a noble? It would make sense that elite drow would be trusted to go to the surface for a mission, in command of the weaker ones, but not house rulers who are too valuable to risk on such matters. It also makes sense that the disguises the heroes used in Second Darkness would be elite and not nobles (to avoid unnecessary attention), but similarly not the grunt level either (to avoid being always overlooked and ignored). Thoughts on that?
I'm on a work conference through the end of the week, so I can't update my character until I get to a real keyboard.
While you're working on questions, maybe you could think about this one, too? On Drow, nobles vs regular: Seeing how you're allowing races up to 20 rps, I'm hoping you can allow a modified Drow noble for me. Basically, Drow nobles are insanely expensive rp-wise because of their spell-like abilities. I'd be happy to ditch the Drow noble suite of SLAs for the much more manageable and reasonably priced regular one. According to the race builder, that puts me at a very reasonable 19 points. See:
What do you think?
Devon here. I went out of town right after I posted my submission, so I haven't been able to post anything until now, but I've been thinking about the game. I see a lot of submissions by players who have played pretty far into their respective APs. Devon didn't get very far. Here's the vignette I wrote as a submission for one of the Second Darkness games I did get selected, but we didn't get very far into the game before it ended.
All In:
"Here you go, Smeed," Devon said as he threw down a small sack of coins. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice, but he kept his cool. Getting out from under the debt of Lymas Smeed had been a long time in coming, and he had no desire to drag out this exchange. The loanshark undid the strings and dumped the contents on the table. He did not look happy, despite the large number of coins that formed the pile. "Coppers? Really?" he sneered. Devon straightened his shoulders and cleared his voice. "There's plenty of silver in there. And quite a few gold as well. Go ahead and count it; it's all there." "My time is worth so much more than counting these bleeding coppers. You've just cost yourself another ten gold by insulting me like this." "You have got to be kidding me! It's not like most of these flea-infested sailors gamble with anything better than coppers," the rakish human gestured at the glinting pile. Smeed gave him a look of contempt. "Not my problem. You needed funding for the big score? You live under my terms. And my terms mean no flipping coppers!" Devon looked at him dubiously. Smeed seemed to have forgotten to mention that when the original deal was done. He winced inwardly, making sure it didn't register on his face. The deal was supposed to set him up for a long time. Devon had needed the coin to grease a few palms so that the big concave lens made at the Sandpoint Glassworks got to the Cyphermages. It was a beautiful piece that he had hidden in the bottom of a wine barrel. From the Publican House to the Cypher Lodge, a nice bit of smuggling that would have paid off Smeed's loan three times over. If only he hadn't made that tiny wager with Arnando Rolf... Devon felt his fingers ache for the feel of the hilt of his rapier, but he resisted. It was absolutely not worth it. Instead, he reached into his boot cuff and pulls out a small number of coins. He slaps them down on the table. "Five gold. Best I can do; best you'll get from me. We're done here." Devon ignored Smeed's curses and threats as he stood and pushed away from the table. He hustled out of the seedy tavern and avoided the eyes of what had to be his hired goons. Stepping out into the light of the street, he pushed his way through the crowd, hoping to put some distance between Smeed's men and himself. Cutting down alleys and working his way through Riddleport, he took several twists and turns before allowing him to think he got away. He figured -- well, hoped, really -- that Smeed only wanted to rough him up and not give him the snickersnak, but he wanted to avoid that entirely. Especially since he had held out on him, and kept a few gold in reserve. He reached a small plaza where a shiny new gambling hall stood. Well, new-ish. Probably just renovated, but it looked promising. Catching a glimpse of a couple of Smeed's men out of the corner of his eye, the decision was made. He put on a broad smile, strode up to the front of the hall and produced a gold coin. "Evening, gentlemen. Where do I sign up?"
After becoming a partner in the Gold Goblin, Devon's history pretty much followed the AP as generally intended until the fourth book. Once in the Darklands, the entire adventuring party perishes in the dark, leading to no one from the surface survives with the knowledge of the impending doom of Kyonin. GMs: One of my ideas is that the entity responsible for Devon returning was actually Noticula -- who has been established as a sort of ally in Wrath of the Righteous. She meant to send back the drow who had been her worshiper, but the strangeness of the recorporeal incarnation spell interfered (along with, perhaps, some of Pharasma's own influence or another deity you might choose), and Devon's personality remains dominant. So the Words I plan on choosing will be a mix of the Swashbuckler's and something more appropriate for a Drow worshipper of Noticula. I'm thinking Luck, Alacrity, and Night (if there's an actual Darkness word in the full system, that'd be great -- but I haven't picked that up yet). Interested in hearing your thoughts on this idea. Let me know if you need anything else before your selection time.
Submission for Devon Prissault: Well, they did say it was a suicide mission... Devon worked his way deeper into the caverns, drawing the half-drow, half-spider creatures further away from his friends. He clutched his arm as he felt the poison burn through his bloodstream, but he still had hope. If he could lure them into the caverns deep enough, hide, then double back, he had a chance. He glanced over his shoulder just in time for a blue-white burst of electricity to course through him. He blinked in surprise and at the streak of light burned in his retinas, but mostly he marveled that he was unhurt. The drow-skin he wore as part of a gross but effective disguise still retained its resistance to magic and he was unharmed by the spell. However, the attack meant he was not eluding his pursuers as well as he'd hoped. He moved from chamber to chamber blindly, hoping to find a small crevasse that he could slip into and slow down the much larger aberrations. Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was going. A stream of webbing shot past his head, narrowly missing encasing him and ending his flight. Finding a fork in the passage, he had to veer into the rightmost passage because the errant web had blocked off the other passages. He hoped that it had been a mistake, but a feeling that he was being herded started to creep into his thoughts. This was it, he resolved. Rather than being driven into some place he didn't want to be, he turned around to face them. Perhaps he could make an accounting for himself, and comfort himself that the others were safe. The drider crawled along the wall at him, slowing up now that it saw that Devon had stopped running. Wait -- where were the other driders? There was only one chasing him? He swallowed hard as a new terror crept into his mind: The others aren't safe. He brandished his rapier, hoping that he could deal with one. Sure, he was wounded, but it was imperative that he make it and continue the mission. But the drider did not advance. It instead sent another web at him, this time landing true. He struggled against the sticky bonds, but the poison in his veins made his muscles feel rubbery and weak. Then it produced a long bow and began shooting arrow after arrow at him. He thrashed and slashed at the webbing but he was held fast and quickly became riddled with arrows. The last arrow pierced through his chain shirt and punctured his heart. His last thoughts were that the stories had always lied. Suicide missions weren't supposed to be literal... **************** My submission is a PC who got to the Chapter Four: Endless Night and took the (SPOILERS!) undercover drow mission in disguise. The twist in his coming back? He's now a drow, for realz. Since he died while wearing the recorporeal incarnation, he's back looking like the drow he had been disguised as. What's more, I plan to play it out like the drow still has a bit of a personality left inside his head. Sort of a "Harvey" or "Tyler Do'urden" (see what I did there?) inside his head that makes his life more interesting. And what would make it even more fun is if, on a lark, he chose a drow female to be his disguise.
I'm still around!
Hello! I've submitted this character a few times and even managed to participate in a short-lived pbp. Here's a short vignette showing Devon's personality and "living on the edge" style. "Here you go, Smeed," Devon said as he threw down a small sack of coins. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice, but he kept his cool. Getting out from under the debt of Lymas Smeed had been a long time in coming, and he had no desire to drag out this exchange. The loanshark undid the strings and dumped the contents on the table. He did not look happy, despite the large number of coins that formed the pile. "Coppers? Really?" he sneered. Devon straightened his shoulders and cleared his voice. "There's plenty of silver in there. And quite a few gold as well. Go ahead and count it; it's all there." "My time is worth so much more than counting these bleeding coppers. You've just cost yourself another ten gold by insulting me like this." "You have got to be kidding me! It's not like most of these flea-infested sailors gamble with anything better than coppers," the rakish human gestured at the glinting pile. Smeed gave him a look of contempt. "Not my problem. You needed funding for the big score? You live under my terms. And my terms mean no flipping coppers!" Devon looked at him dubiously. Smeed seemed to have forgotten to mention that when the original deal was done. He winced inwardly, making sure it didn't register on his face. The deal was supposed to set him up for a long time. Devon had needed the coin to grease a few palms so that the big concave lens made at the Sandpoint Glassworks got to the Cyphermages. It was a beautiful piece that he had hidden in the bottom of a wine barrel. From the Publican House to the Cypher Lodge, a nice bit of smuggling that would have paid off Smeed's loan three times over. If only he hadn't made that tiny wager with Arnando Rolf... Devon felt his fingers ache for the feel of the hilt of his rapier, but he resisted. It was absolutely not worth it. Instead, he reached into his boot cuff and pulls out a small number of coins. He slaps them down on the table. "Five gold. Best I can do; best you'll get from me. We're done here." Devon ignored Smeed's curses and threats as he stood and pushed away from the table. He hustled out of the seedy tavern and avoided the eyes of what had to be his hired goons. Stepping out into the light of the street, he pushed his way through the crowd, hoping to put some distance between Smeed's men and himself. Cutting down alleys and working his way through Riddleport, he took several twists and turns before allowing him to think he got away. He figured -- well, hoped, really -- that Smeed only wanted to rough him up and not give him the snickersnak, but he wanted to avoid that entirely. Especially since he had held out on him, and kept a few gold in reserve. He reached a small plaza where a shiny new gambling hall stood. Well, new-ish. Probably just renovated, but it looked promising. Catching a glimpse of a couple of Smeed's men out of the corner of his eye, the decision was made. He put on a broad smile, strode up to the front of the hall and produced a gold coin. "Evening, gentlemen. Where do I sign up?"
Updated. Not much to add for Swashbuckler/Rogue gestalt. That's fine, though. He's very much a roguish swashbuckler, anyway.
Yep, I'll get to the crunch. Here's a little vignette showing his backstory.
Spoiler: "Here you go, Smeed," Devon said as he threw down a small sack of coins. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice, but he kept his cool. Getting out from under the debt of Lymas Smeed had been a long time in coming, and he had no desire to drag out this exchange. The loanshark undid the strings and dumped the contents on the table. He did not look happy, despite the large number of coins that formed the pile. "Coppers? Really?" he sneered. Devon straightened his shoulders and cleared his voice. "There's plenty of silver in there. And quite a few gold as well. Go ahead and count it; it's all there." "My time is worth so much more than counting these bleeding coppers. You've just cost yourself another ten gold by insulting me like this." "You have got to be kidding me! It's not like most of these flea-infested sailors gamble with anything better than coppers," the rakish human gestured at the glinting pile. Smeed gave him a look of contempt. "Not my problem. You needed funding for the big score? You live under my terms. And my terms mean no flipping coppers!" Devon looked at him dubiously. Smeed seemed to have forgotten to mention that when the original deal was done. He winced inwardly, making sure it didn't register on his face. The deal was supposed to set him up for a long time. Devon had needed the coin to grease a few palms so that the big concave lens made at the Sandpoint Glassworks got to the Cyphermages. It was a beautiful piece that he had hidden in the bottom of a wine barrel. From the Publican House to the Cypher Lodge, a nice bit of smuggling that would have paid off Smeed's loan three times over. If only he hadn't made that tiny wager with Arnando Rolf... Devon felt his fingers ache for the feel of the hilt of his rapier, but he resisted. It was absolutely not worth it. Instead, he reached into his boot cuff and pulls out a small number of coins. He slaps them down on the table. "Five gold. Best I can do; best you'll get from me. We're done here." Devon ignored Smeed's curses and threats as he stood and pushed away from the table. He hustled out of the seedy tavern and avoided the eyes of what had to be his hired goons. Stepping out into the light of the street, he pushed his way through the crowd, hoping to put some distance between Smeed's men and himself. Cutting down alleys and working his way through Riddleport, he took several twists and turns before allowing him to think he got away. He figured -- well, hoped, really -- that Smeed only wanted to rough him up and not give him the snickersnak, but he wanted to avoid that entirely. Especially since he had held out on him, and kept a few gold in reserve. He reached a small plaza where a shiny new gambling hall stood. Well, new-ish. Probably just renovated, but it looked promising. Catching a glimpse of a couple of Smeed's men out of the corner of his eye, the decision was made. He put on a broad smile, strode up to the front of the hall and produced a gold coin. "Evening, gentlemen. Where do I sign up?"
Had this swashbuckler lying around from a Second Darkness game that didn't last.
I'll throw Devon in for consideration. He was accepted into a Second Darkness game that faltered because several other players dropped. So he's already got the SD trait and should be good to go. Backstory: "Here you go, Smeed," Devon said as he threw down a small sack of coins. There was a hint of satisfaction in his voice, but he kept his cool. Getting out from under the debt of Lymas Smeed had been a long time in coming, and he had no desire to drag out this exchange. The loanshark undid the strings and dumped the contents on the table. He did not look happy, despite the large number of coins that formed the pile. "Coppers? Really?" he sneered. Devon straightened his shoulders and cleared his voice. "There's plenty of silver in there. And quite a few gold as well. Go ahead and count it; it's all there." "My time is worth so much more than counting these bleeding coppers. You've just cost yourself another ten gold by insulting me like this." "You have got to be kidding me! It's not like most of these flea-infested sailors gamble with anything better than coppers," the rakish human gestured at the glinting pile. Smeed gave him a look of contempt. "Not my problem. You needed funding for the big score? You live under my terms. And my terms mean no flipping coppers!" Devon looked at him dubiously. Smeed seemed to have forgotten to mention that when the original deal was done. He winced inwardly, making sure it didn't register on his face. The deal was supposed to set him up for a long time. Devon had needed the coin to grease a few palms so that the big concave lens made at the Sandpoint Glassworks got to the Cyphermages. It was a beautiful piece that he had hidden in the bottom of a wine barrel. From the Publican House to the Cypher Lodge, a nice bit of smuggling that would have paid off Smeed's loan three times over. If only he hadn't made that tiny wager with Arnando Rolf... Devon felt his fingers ache for the feel of the hilt of his rapier, but he resisted. It was absolutely not worth it. Instead, he reached into his boot cuff and pulls out a small number of coins. He slaps them down on the table. "Five gold. Best I can do; best you'll get from me. We're done here." Devon ignored Smeed's curses and threats as he stood and pushed away from the table. He hustled out of the seedy tavern and avoided the eyes of what had to be his hired goons. Stepping out into the light of the street, he pushed his way through the crowd, hoping to put some distance between Smeed's men and himself. Cutting down alleys and working his way through Riddleport, he took several twists and turns before allowing him to think he got away. He figured -- well, hoped, really -- that Smeed only wanted to rough him up and not give him the snickersnak, but he wanted to avoid that entirely. Especially since he had held out on him, and kept a few gold in reserve. He reached a small plaza where a shiny new gambling hall stood. Well, new-ish. Probably just renovated, but it looked promising. Catching a glimpse of a couple of Smeed's men out of the corner of his eye, the decision was made. He put on a broad smile, strode up to the front of the hall and produced a gold coin. "Evening, gentlemen. Where do I sign up?"
Devon is a rakish fellow that was selected for a Second Darkness campaign that didn't get very far. I could work up a bit of continued backstory and as a Swashbuckler, he could take some class features/multiclass into more of a trapspotter or urban ranger to get the trapfinding and DD that is requested.
Devon allowed himself a small grin at the exchange between Kariel and the men. They weren't likely to get anything from her, but their minds were so in the gutter that she was likely to get nowhere with them. At least it worked as a nice diversion. He keeps moving up the stairs to the upper floor and looks for anything that might tell him where the mysterious man went.
Wonderful idea, Kariel. You minister to these folks, and I'll go fetch our poor soul upstairs. Devon takes a wary step towards the men, looking to skirt by them and reach the stairs. His hand stays near his rapier, but does not draw it just yet.[/b]
Devon called over his shoulder back to the group. Ladies, I think I've found a lead in our investigation. Can you come over here? With that, he steps through the door and greets the two tough-looking fellows. Good morning, gentlemen. Could you tell me who that man was? He dropped something and I'd like to return it.
Devon gently gives a reassuring pat to the lad's shoulder as he gets up and starts to move. Tell the nice ladies about where you found it. I've got to check on something. He heads quickly and quietly to the side room door and glances inside.
Devon nods. You might also let him know that we can give him a real coin for his trouble.
Devon lowers his voice and tries to make sure there are no one nearby to overhear. A regular trouble-maker, someone who just tried to murder someone a little while ago. Known to frequent this alley, under disguise. Any ideas? He might be passing around tokens from a gambling hall as currency.
Devon clears his throat. Well, information, hopefully. We're looking for someone who might be hiding in this alley. He smiles genially, and tries to take in the whole room, looking for anyone who might be listening in.
Sounds good, Devon agrees, hand resting lightly on his rapier. I think our best bet would be to see Father Padrick and find out if he knows of any leads on Kreun. Any chance you might know him, Kariel? He's recently allowed a shrine to Korada to be added.
Devon walks back inside, face scowling. He catches the tail end of the conversation, and the name. Kreun's a con-artist, and good at disguises. But he hails from an alley nearby a place you might be interested in, Kariel. The trick is figuring out who he is, since no one's willing to come forward to say what he really looks like. If he's going to try to pass off your tokens, we might be able to locate him. He looks at Saul, then at the others around him. If you're the sort to want to go after him for disrupting your business, he adds.
Devon is about to be hot on the man's heels, but pauses long enough to snatch up whatever it was that he dropped. He then heads out into the courtyard and looks around, ready to pursue if it seems like he can spot and catch him.
Son of a--! Devon yells as he dashes back to the floor and looks around for the attacker.
Seeing Alfsigr have a rough go at it this day, Devon takes a break himself from strolling the floor and looks in on the bard. You all right, lass? Anything I can do to help?
Devon looked about for something to do, but unless he suddenly sprouted wings himself and join Kariel, there was nothing. After the strangeness and the death, Devon shakes his head and heads inside the Golden Goblin, grateful that Kariel didn't succumb to the gulls' madness herself. He takes up his position as bouncer, guard, and general keeper of the peace as the crowd begins to filter in. He hoped that his easy-going face would be a welcome change from the usual scowling bruiser types that generally fill that role. But he makes sure that his quick eye and hands discourage any shenanigans.
That's... very odd. He takes a couple steps forward out into the street, but realizes there's little he can do. Huh. Any ideas?
Sounds like birds, Devon says while he steps outside to investigate.
She makes a mean drink, he says with a smile. Mean drinks make for happy customers. Well, drunk ones, anyway.
Devon winks back with a broad smile. I'd say our little venture is coming together, wouldn't you say? he asks the group. We've still got to get the patrons coming in, but they'll be along soon, I'm sure.
Devon shifts in his seat, then turns back to Kariel. Worthwhile? Oh, yes! All along the Lost Coast, the legends will grow. More riches and fame to be had than anything even the great monuments of Varisia can promise! And the meanest drinks one could possibly find! he picks up his own drink and lifts it toward Marzielle. Before she actually gets the entirely wrong idea, he brings himself back down to earth for a moment. Alas, only a part-owner. Well, partner, of some small interest in the place. It remains to be seen whether that place can really start to turn a profit. He knocks back his drink. Mmm. But that's one way to bring in the crowds and keep their spirits up. I'd be happy to invite you to come work. I'm sure Saul will see the wisdom in employing one of your keen sense for libations.
Devon shakes the coin pouch a couple times to hear the clink of the coins within. While nowhere near the most he'd ever walked away from a table with, it was also far more than the least. He nodded to Saul with a smile of satisfaction. He'd stick around a bit longer, thinking that Saul likely would start taking larger risks with his casino. Simply working steadily for steady coin didn't seem like Saul's style; nor was it Devon's. But if the casino owner decided to play the long, steady game, he might decide to move on to bigger things. Anyone up for a drink? How about that place across the street where we first met?
Devon will patrol the floor a bit, looking stern. He is aware that he isn't the largest or most imposing figure, but he hopes that word would have spread about his and the others' actions.
Devon shrugs. Well, I'd say that's a pretty good arrangement. Lixi here gets a job, the Gold Goblin gets a feature no other gaming hall can boast, and our curious wizard here gets something new to study. Whaddya say, Saul?
Devon smiles brightly. Oh, so that was you with the head! I hadn't had the chance to play at your table before we were so rudely interrupted by that sorry attempt at a robbery. I'd love a chance at a game with you. And yes, don't worry about another robbery; I'm sure word's gotten around by now that there's no profit to try another stunt like that at the Gold Goblin.
Devon also tries to set the young woman at ease. Easy, luv. We'll find this Dungo for you. What is he, some sort of pet? Saul, help a lady out here. He smiles easily and tries to out on the charm.
I'll be careful, Devon says, while shading his eyes and peering at the rising figure. Well, wouldja look at that? Lots of folk flying about today.
That's... very odd. Alia will love this, Devon muses while watching the strange phenomenon. He goes back inside to tell her, when he stumbles across her pulling out her notebook and sketching. Hey, I guess you've seen-- Watch out! he grabs her and pulls her back just in time when an awning breaks and spills a torrent of the black "hail" where she had just been sitting. When it finally finished, he strolls around the exterior of the Gold Goblin, checking for signs of damage. If there's the opportunity, he also climbs up on the roof with Hans, less to check for damage and more for the view such a vantage would give him.
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