Gracey Darling's page

Gracey begins her morning the same way she starts every morning: performing preventative maintenance on her crossbow while reciting Abadar's holy works. Satisfied, the young acolyte makes her way to breakfast: "Good morning, Mr. Donga. How are you today?"

Gracey makes her way back to the temple, greeting Mr. Donga briefly before heading back to her work. The young acolyte dives eagerly back into her work.

"You can rely on it, Chef..." She pauses awkwardly, clearly expecting Chef to supply her with a name.

"With food like this, at prices like these: it would be negligent of me not to! So it is judged." Unless anyone stops her, Gracey will close out her (hopefully modest) tab, thank her waitress, and head back to the temple and her work.

"Oh, good!" Gracey quickly gets over the surprise appearance of Chef, and regains her composure. "Expertly seasoned, and cooked well too. Better than anything I had recently in New Stetven, that's for sure." Gracey stands up and reaches to shake Chef's hand. "My name is Gracey Darling, I'm an acolyte for Abadar. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Gracey sits quietly waiting until the waitress comes back around: "This was prepared by an apprentice, you say? It's very good."

Chef & Gracy

The waitress smiles, Well that happens to be one of our specialties.

She puts the order into ,you Chef. You look around Chef, and after a few tense moments you spot the final piece of chicken breast in the kitchen. You do a quick prep of herbs and spices, then quickly fry it. After a few minutes, you turn out a well seasoned chicken breast sandwich on fresh baked bread.

Gracey, about 10 minutes go by, and you are delivered a hot, well seasoned chicken sandwich, with a side of fruit.

Here you go miss, I hope the food is to your liking.

Gracey, treat the sandwich as a D20 roll of 15/20

Chef, you await the customer's reaction to the final lunch dish served.

Gracey bites delicately into the sandwich, a small grin spreading across her face as she enjoys her above-average lunch.

"That was rather delicious. My compliments to the chef!"

Gracey leaves her plate and silverware (if any) in a neat little pile, and tips the waitress as close to 15% of the price as she can manage.

Gracey blushes as her stomach rumbles loudly. "Yes, thank you. I would like some chicken sandwiches, please. Reasonably priced, I hope?"

Gracey thanks Mr. Donga, and heads into town in search of sustenance.

It isn't long before the young acolyte happens upon The Pink Bunny: she straightens her robes and headpiece then makes her way inside. Nice enough place. In my budget too, I hope!

"Hello? Are you still serving lunch?"

Bleary-eyed, Gracey emerges from the records room stretching and blinking. My word, what a mess. Now I just have to tally the numbers, collate the expenditures and donations, then try and balance the ledger, then work out the... Her thoughts trail off as her stomach thunders. Oh. Food first then, I suppose. Maybe I'll try out some local food.

Gracey will check in with Mr. Donga, then make her way to one of the local taverns and eat (assuming Mr. Donga doesn't object).

Gracey stands wide-eyed in the sea of papers, letting out a little involuntary gasp. When all the parchment finally comes to rest, Gracey sighs, mutters a small prayer to Abadar, and dives in near where she thought was the start.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 + 2 = 6 Yeesh!

Profession: Scribe: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 5 + 2 = 27 Boom! The extra +2 is from the Practicality racial trait (see the discussion page). If that's not ok, I guess it's just a 25.

Hey Stylz, I posted this earlier, I think you might have missed it:

I was wondering if alternative racial traits were okay? Could Gracey take "Practicality" in place of "Fearless" and "Sure-footed"?

After methodically dismantling, oiling, and reassembling her crossbow while reciting parts of Abadar's holy works, Gracey makes her way to the records room: cracking her knuckles and rolling up her sleeves, the devout little Halfling gets to work.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 + 2 = 5 ...It's going to be one of those days...

Gracey nods, thinking it over. "You may be right. A night of rest before starting on the books. Thank you, Mr. Donga."

The little acolyte gives Mr. Donga a prim curtsy before turning in.

Kraull

She looks up at you, ponders for a few moments.

How does 20 silver piece sound, paid over the course say ten days? Please remember though, if you renig on the payment...I can be quite nasty.

I love it, karma at work. 'So it is judged'!

"Everything is perfect, Mr. Donga. I think I am all settled in, and ready to take a look at those books when you need me to."

Gracey shakes her head no, thanking Steven for the tour. "You've been a big help. I should go speak to Mr. Donga, and see about getting to work."

Gracey will make her way to his (Mr. Donga's) room, and rap on the door with a precise little fist.

"Oh I get it. Making gold is more important than helping good folk. Yeah, I should have known better." Kraull nods to himself with a snarl, before showing himself out.

Gracey pouts angrily at Kraull's back. "Fostering economic and community growth is more important than helping a single, bad-tempered half-orc! In fact, if I..." Gracey cuts off mid-sentence as she realizes Steven is behind her. "Oh! Yes, Steven. It's a pleasure."

Red-faced with embarrassment, Gracey introduces herself and shakes hands with the young acolyte. "My name is Gracey, I'm from the New Stetven branch. Do you think you could you give me a tour before I get to work? Maybe tell me a little about my new home?"

Gracey sighs, frustrated with the half-orc. "First of all, no. We don't have any 'roots' or 'mold'. This is not some gathering of druids, but a proper temple dedicated to fiscal gains and maintaining order and civilization. Also, no. I don't know anything about the taverns in town. I just got here. I would suggest trying another temple, or maybe some 'woodsy weirdo'. Sorry I couldn't be of more help." I go out of my way to help someone, and this is what I get. Nice going, Gracey.

Flustered, the little adept turns to leave, straightening her robes again.

The beefy, tattooed half-orc looks down at the halfling woman with a smirk, "Yo, my name is Kraull. Man, you Abadars are expensive. How much for one of them gooberries? One of those woodsy weirdos used to give them out willy-nilly back in my old town, and there was a rumor that he laced them with something. Anyway, if you're fresh out of those, I just need something for a headache, if that ain't too expensive. My new boss wanted to spar, so I took a couple of blows to my dome."

"No Goodberries, I'm afraid. Like I said, the best I could do is try and patch you up with a healer's kit. That's not going to do much for a headache though..." She pauses, turning away towards the door and grabbing Kraull by the elbow, whispering: "Alright, I don't really have time to find a healer's kit. How much do you have? I'll take a stab at it for 2 or 3 gold, but let's make it quick." I don't know how much they charge here, after all...

If Kraull agrees to 2 gold, Gracey will pull him into one of the mediation/prayer rooms and attempt to heal him.

A flustered Gracey greets the new arrival, barely a part of the temple an hour herself. "Uh, Greetings! Abadar's blessings. I am Acolyte Gracey, and you are?"

The young acolyte straightens her robes and headdress nervously, then begins rattling off a practiced spiel about healing: "The clergy of Abadar offer a variety of curative services, ranging from the magical to the mundane. A restorative spell costs... uh... bother. I don't know what they charge here. At my old temple basic services usually cost around 10 gold, but things are... different here." she pauses, fighting the urge to say more. "Anyway, if that's too expensive for you, I'm sure they have a healer's kit around here: that is quite a bit cheaper. Want to help me look for one?"

Gracey is quick to unpack, tidying and straightening her blanket on the bed and tucking all of her travelling equipment into the bottom drawer of her dresser. She unhooks her treasured crossbow from her satchel belt and puts it on the workbench, along with her case of bolts.

Finally, the halfling swaps out her uncomfortable studded leather for regular undergarments, relaxing with a small sigh. She thumbs through her travel copy of The Order of Numbers for a little while, seeking comfort and wisdom from passages that detail travelling and local customs.

Settled in, Gracey leaves her room to find Mr. Donga again—and maybe some dinner!

I was wondering if alternative racial traits were ok? Could Gracey take "Practicality" in place of "Fearless" and "Sure-footed"?

Despite his orcish... Gracey suppresses a gasp as she approaches Mr. Donga, clearly not expecting a half-orc.

As Gracey listens to Mr. Donga's predicament, she steels herself: This could be tough, but if I can pull it off... The short acolyte waits a few moments after he finishes, still mulling it over.

"I suppose so, yes. Fair warning though, Mr. Donga: I've only ever assisted with the ledgers—though that was at a much larger temple."

Gracey straightens her robes and headdress with a yawn, hinting at her weariness.

"Can I see my room? and do I have time to unpack first?"

I snuck an Abacus into Gracey's list of possessions: it seemed like something any self-respecting scribe of Abadar would have, and I was pretty tired by the time I finished her sheet. It doesn't look like it has a mechanical effect, anyway.

"Guidance from..." Gracey thinks about it for a second, then giggles. "I suppose so! My name is Gracey. I'm from the New Stetven Branch. Banker Stanton-Gavare said I was supposed to report to Mr. Donga..." The little acolyte starts digging around in her satchel, pulling out an official-looking document. "Here. These are my orders."

"So, what's your name?"

Gracey hops off of the cart, hitting the ground with a quiet thud and a small cloud of dust.

"Thank you, Noah. You've been most pleasant company."

The short holy woman gives the farmer a curt handshake and hands him a small pile of coppers: "As promised."

Gracey approaches the temple of Abadar, watching Noah's horse and cart depart over her shoulder. All alone then. Here goes. Gracey Leans heavily on the temple door, struggling for a while before finally getting it open.

"Hello? Anyone here? My name is Gracey, Gracey Darling. From the New Stetven Branch?"

This is Tomato Jam. Still looking for NPCs?

I would like to submit Gracey Darling: a promising young follower of Abadar that's just been transferred from the New Stetven branch.