Congratulations to those who made it through. I'm sad I won't get to play with you :(
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Madge stands up, shaking her head furiously. "Oh, nonono! I don't want to make any fuss. I'm probably not rolling them right or something, ya know?" She looks at the people that responded to Garridan's waves and starts giving a forced laugh. "Just a joke, ya? Oh, you're a character Garridan, haha! Nothing to see here, folks! My friend was just having a laugh, dontcha know?"
"Well, here goes." She breathes deeply, holding her breath as she shakes the dice.
She exhales and smiles. "Well there ya go! I just got lucky on that first one. I betcha I couldn't roll the same thing two times in a row if I tried." She picks up the dice then tosses them back onto the table.
Her eyes widen. "Aw jeez."
Madge waves her hands frantically, as though she could wipe away the roll if she just waved enough. Her attempt to raise Garridan's spirits by playing along has backfired. " I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! Those three twos ya got were pretty super, dontcha know. You were trying to get something good and got it, and I just got lucky, so you totally get bonus points or something, ya?"
Noticing Garridan's exasperation, Madge's desire to keep everyone happy takes over. "Well, I guess if ya say so. Since it's just a friendly game, I guess I could give it a try." She takes the dice, glancing about at the others as she tumbles them in her hands, looking for approval, then tosses them.
"Three threes, that's...something, right?"
Madge's brow scrunches up and her mouth cocks to one side. "No strategy? Well that's kinda silly. Trying to figure out how to win while your buddy's trying to do the same thing is what makes games fun, dontcha know?" She leans back, shaking her head and frowning to herself. "I just don't understand it." She suddenly leans forward again, her eyebrow raised at Garridan. "So am I missing something? What makes it fun?"
Madge nods and smiles approvingly. "Oh, just a good friendly game! Some neat fun between buddies." Madge kneels on her chair, leaning over onto the table. "So how's this whole thing work, anyways, eh?" She mimes holding some dice then throwing them. "Ya just like roll them in your hand and throw them? There some kinda strategy or something?"
Madge tries hard to get a better look at the conversation between the half-orc and Bartlebe, but has a hard time doing so while also giving off an appearance of disinterest, particularly considering the crowd and her relative size. She gives a lopsided frown, channeling her frustration by kicking a bottle on the floor a few feet. "Aw, jeez!" Suddenly realizing that someone could trip on it, she goes after it, crawling between the legs of some much larger patrons, apologizing as she goes. "Sorry about that! Just got get this one thing, if ya don't mind." Madge trudges back towards Garridan and Perhilion at their table, grabbing a few napkins along the way. She sits down with them and begins to to try to wipe off the dirt and spilled alcohol on her elbows and knees. "Being 3 feet tall is just so gosh darn inconvenient sometimes!"
Madge's expression turns serious as the large half-orc makes his way in. She mutters to herself, "Oh, that doesn't sound good. Large serious fella walks into a bar looking for somebody, usually doesn't mean he wants to give him a hug and buy him a drink." She adjusts her stance so that he's visible (or as visible as a half-orc in a crowd can be visible to a halfling) and tries to get a read on the situation.
Madge laughs at the reactions to her "designated halfling" comment. "That was kind of a inside joke back in Braynard. Aside from Ma and Pa Zolversson, I was the only halfling around, dontcha know! So whenever the girls wanted to go around the town they would say I was the 'Designated Halfling.'" She nods, her gaze off somewhere far away, or perhaps somewhen long ago. Madge rouses from her reverie and crawls down the side of her stool, her coat and hat couched in her arm--after leaving a couple of coins on the counter for the barkeep, of course. She gives a thumbs up to Ryssa, Perhilion, and Turt. "All good to go here!" She throws a fist a cheer up in the air. "Let's go be responsible adults!"
Madge waves at the now awake Turt, then retrieves her jacket. Turning to the halfling he asks, "I take it you frown upon gambling. Madge feels her mouth, which--is indeed--frowning. It swiftly morphs into a smile. "Well I guess if ya mean literally, then ya got me! But, oh, well I wouldn't want to tell ya what to do, fella. I'm just saying it doesn't sound so safe to me, here in the big city with lots of folks not caring whether something's legal or not, dontcha know?" She finishes off her milk, pausing for a second before putting the glass back on the table. "I guess I just don't get it, that's all. Maybe that's just 'cause we didn't do any of that stuff back in Braynard. I mean, ya, Jorgesen and my friend Astrid's husband Rolf would have their guy friends over for some cards and laughs, but it was just for laughs." "I try not to gamble as much as I used to. Don't want to cause any problems to the House of the Silken Veil. I still gamble from time to time, but I'm much more careful now than I was living on the streets." Madge leans in, engrossed by Ryssa's biographical tale. "That was quite a tale ya had there, Missy. Quite a tale, dontcha know! That sounds like ya know what you're doing now, though, so that's good. Ma Zolversson always said, 'Be safe or be sorry.' And you're doing it for a good cause, I suppose, so who's Madge Zolversson to say anything bad about it, ya know?" Garridan nudges Ryssa and whispers, "Shush, your story is just helping to make the halflings point about the dangers of gambling. He moves his chair a little closer to Ryssa and in a consperital tone continues, "She's a halfing, they're the luckiest people I know," nodding vigorously, "we need to convince her to come with us." Madge's eyes widen at the suggestion not only that she's lucky, but that she should come along to a gambling hall. "'Come with ya?' Well, I mean, I don't exactly have a lot else to do right now." She catches Turt in the corner of her eye. "And from the looks of it, some of you guys might need a Designated Halfling--that's what we called the job back in Braynard. It's the person that's supposed to make sure everybody gets back okay when they go out and have a bit too much of the juice of the evening."
Madge raises her hand in just the same matter as Perhilion. "By the power (formerly) vested in me by the City Council of Braynard, Varisia, I, (former) Deputy of the Sheriff's Department accept your pledge." She gives a hearty laugh and pats him on the back. "Sounds like I might be going with you guys, so I'm gonna be enforcing that pledge with the full force of the law, dontcha know!"
Madge leans in to listen to Perhilion's explanation, her eyes widening in interest. She gives occasional interjections of "Yep" and "Oh, gosh" at appropriate moments to let him know that she is engaged. "Gosh! No wonder everybody's been fretting over the Blot, if it's all that complicated. Sure is super interesting. Wish I knew more about all that planar magic stuff. Might have to start reading, especially if everybody's talking about it!" Madge frowns at the mention of the gambling hall opening. "Oh, that doesn't sound like such a great idea, going to wither away all your money. Those places could only stay open because they got the math on their side, dontcha know? People go in thinking 'oh, yeah, I'm gonna be the one that wins!' then find themselves without a copper piece to tip the waiter." She shakes her head. "Oh, no. Not such a good idea. Especially with what ya said about people getting all in a tizzy and thinking they got the right to kill ya if they don't like ya. Ya win all a guy's money, well I think he's gonna be kinda cross with ya, ya?"
"Oh, ya got a good sense of how policework works, dontcha know! The challenge sounds like it would be good for the old noggin'." She taps her head with her pencil at the word "noggin'." "There's so many ways to go about doing it. Ya could put out a BOLO if ya got the manpower and the way to get out the message, but with a super solid description, ya should just need to put in a bit of legwork." Madge takes another gulp of her milk, then gives a strained grin. "At least that's what I'm hoping, hon!" Turt burps loudly and begins to sway on his stool almost bumping into Madge. He then giggles and says ” Geh Wan Aqui (HIC) Ko, Ahrk Zu’u Los Faad!, Daar’s Aan Nu Ronak!” He holds up his ale victoriously and faceplants on the counter before going limp. You can hear light snores coming from his body. Madge reaches out to steady Turt. "Whoa there, fella! I think ya might have had too muc--" Turt's faceplant cuts her off mid-sentence. She looks back towards Perhilion, giving a quick laugh. "Well, think that answers that question!" She takes her coat off the counter and drapes it over Turt. Even her heavy winter coat manages to look like little more than a mantlet on the much larger man, then returns to her conversation with Perhilion. "So, you seem like a knowledgeable fella--specially since you're writing about it--what's this 'Blot' thing I hear everybody all up in a tizzy about?"
After taking off her coat and setting it on the counter, Madge takes a big drink of her milk, punctuating the gulp with a contented sigh. "Well, that's just silly! Ya just can't be running around killing people because you don't like them. I mean, ya, you should try to like everybody, but killing the ones ya dont't? That's just not okay." After wiping her mouth, Madge manages a nice warm smile, patting Perhilion. "But that's sure super nice of you to agree with me about the law! I was worried nobody'd have an appreciation for the way we always did things back in Braynard, dontcha know?" Madge swivels around her stool and waves at the shoanti woman. "So, you say you're looking for a fella? Well, it's your lucky day! I just happen to be trained in fella-finding." The halfling woman reaches into the pocket of her coat and produces a notepad and pencil. "So, what's he look like? Got any distinguishing marks?" Were there any friends you were specifically fond of - that you miss more than the others?
Madge gives a little wave, subdued laughter suffusing her words. "Oh dontcha make nothing of it. Just teasing ya, hon! That's sure super sweet of ya to be so concerned!" She pats Turt on the shoulder. "Some people will do anything for a bit of money. I say, there's more to life than money, ya know? Why do all that swindling and killing just for a bit of money when it's such a beautiful day outside? I just don't understand it."
While Madge initially glances about in distress at the motor-mouth of the gnome, seeing that the others view the display as nothing out-of-the-ordinary prompts her to return to her gregarious affect. "Whoa, ya sure speak pretty fast there, fella! Got so many threads of thought going on in different directions ya might just end up a sewing a sweater by talking." She looks up and away, tapping her chin with one hand as she fans herself with her other. "Which laws do I particularly like? Well, can't say I've ever heard somebody ask that! I'd say the big ones, like not killing people ya don't like, or not taking stuff that don't belong to ya. They're just common sense, dontcha know? Ya break one of the biggies, ya know ya screwed up. It's not like fining somebody for making their bonfire too big or forgetting about the zoning laws. They don't mean no harm, so breaks my heart to have to let them know I'm gonna need 10 silver or else I'm gonna have to put them in lock-up."
Madge stares at Turt, blinking a few times as she finds the words to answer politely. "You betcha, I am! Suppose it's hard to tell with all the nice warm clothing, but there ya go!" She suddenly smiles awkwardly. "Oh, or are you trying to flirt? I just can't gosh darn tell sometimes, dontcha know! Awful sweet of you, if so."
A halfling in unseasonably warm clothing enters the bar. In fact, the bar patrons have probably never seen a halfling wearing shoes before her, much less fur-lined boots. Her cap, coat, and gloves are also lined with fur. She could easily be mistaken for a young man with her boyish walk, square frame, lack of make-up, and heavy clothing. The halfling takes in the bar, completely unashamed of such touristy behavior. ”Aw, jeez. Nothing as big as this back in Braynard. So gosh darn loud, too!” She speaks with a provincial accent that transforms her every turn-of-phrase into a warm, friendly greeting. Any hint of trepidation stiffled by an energetic optimism, the young woman walks up to the bar and climbs onto a stool. ”Oh, hey there, Mr. Barkeep. Just a nice cold glass of milk for me, if ya don't mind.” She turns over towards the other patrons at the bar, speaking to them with all the casual gregariousness of a lifelong acquiantance. She deposits her hat onto the bar and peels off her gloves. ”Seems like I dressed a bit too warm! Gonna have to get a whole brand new wardrobe, dontcha know!” True enough, beads of sweat have collected on her face. Nothing about her body is particularly attractive or unattractive. Her nose isn't quite straight, but it has a nice shape. One eyelid droops slightly, but her eyes are clear blue. She is a bit pudgy, but her proportions are pleasing. Her mouth is a little too big for her face, but she has an irrepressible—if perhaps not quite carefree—smile. The barest traces of lines in her face place her probably in her 30's. She gives a casual salute. “I am Madge Zolversson, from up North just off the highway to the Land of them Linnorm Kings, lovely little town called Braynard. Been looking to change things up and thought 'Ya know, Madge, maybe it's time ya go find your fortune in the big city. They got plenty a need for law enforcement down there, eh?' And, well, here ya go!” She takes a napkin off the counter and dabs the sweat on her face. ”So, how all you guys doing? What's the wordies, birdies?”
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