NPC_Male_Ruffian's page

In Fenlin's defense Diplomacy of 23 means they were some very pretty words.

Look, I'm jus trying to find a way to get outta this alive mate. Turn me over to the authorities, jus please don't kill me...and let me have a fighting chance of avoiding the brothers or sumthin.

He looks in a panic. He may not completely turn over a new leaf, but he is certainly willing to do what it takes to extricate himself from this situation with his hide intact.

"I will. If given the chance I promise I will!"

GM Roll: 1d20 ⇒ 3

You believe him, although you know that it is a hard path he will have to walk if he is going to live an 'honest' life.

Will Save: 1d20 ⇒ 18

Ugh...Dice just are not on your side.

The tough looks in surprise at Fenlin
"Thas what they said, that the they could find us with these tattoos."

He tries to shimmy further away from Raivin, grunting in the process. The ropes do not give him much room to move.

"Now look here, I am rather attached to this hand if you don't mind. I would rather you not go lopping it off like poor Ranto there.

Now hows about you let me go, and I just take my chances with the brothers. Maybe theys take pity on me when they hear what you did to Ranto."

Fenlin, as you listen you realize that Journey, Favor, and Errand must be ranks in the organization. Given that these apparently low ranking members of the organization were Favors you would venture to guess that a Journey is some type of lieutenant.

The man stares at Raivin, fear shining in his eyes.

"You're crazy. All of you are crazy! I can't run. They find me man. They've made sure they can always find me. But if I don't say anything else maybe they will forgive me, or take pity, or something."

Knowledge History: Proving-Many secret societies and organizations through the ages have used some kind of task or challenge to validate their newest members. These have often been called Provings, or Cullings, or Tryings, or any number of other things.

For a thief's organization, like the one Fenlin says this man is a part of, such a trial often involved selecting or being assigned a mark and completing a job without help. It would be extraordinarily rare for such an organization to use an important contract as part of a trial though.

If this was a newcomer's challenge, it makes it less likely that you were selected because of some kind of agenda.

"Other two? Whatchoo talkin bout tree blood? Just me an Ranto get dis job. They don't assign more to a proovin."

The brigand looks at the elf defiantly, but the slowly turns his head down.

"Werent spose t tell none bout the proovin. No I real dead."

He turns his face up to Aran, for the first time there is fear in his face.

"Put yer point ear witch on a leash man. She make me say things that will kill me."

Because of the context clues lets do a call for know history (have you heard something about a proving before) or sense motive (what more can you intuit).

The man spits some blood out of the side of his mouth, just barely managing to miss Sarrissa's feet. He seems to be approaching coherence a little bit more. "I don't have to answer to no point ear. What I dos my business. Yous caught me doing it. Good for yous. Bad for me. Worse for Ranto over there."

He hooks his chin over to indicate his companion. The sudden movement of his head seems to have been a bad idea though as he groans in pain.

After Aran has tied him securely to one of the bedposts, he uncorks one vial of the smelling salts, bringing a sharp scent of cleaning solvent to the air. He waves it under the brigand's nose.

"Hrgh...Hrgh...Hagh...Poeu...hmmm."

His eyes flicker slightly, and he starts taking deeper breaths, trying to clear the irritant. He presses against his bindings. His eyes open fully, although there is a haze over them, like a man just coming awake after a poor night's sleep. He starts to form words, but they are slurred and nearly incoherent. Hard consonants seem beyond him right at this moment.

"Whassis? Why'jue jo tha? I shoulj be jead. Berrer off jead."