I'm migrating this character off this campaign as it is clearly dead. Good luck finding another game, folks. :)
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As far as I know, the DM has to... which seems like a problem. :/
Been almost three weeks. Game dead?
Everyone still here?
See you soon! Works out 'cuz maybe we can get everyone back at the same time. ;)
Orson draws his scimitar and steps up so that the enemies won't be able to close on Ceril as the archer pulls back. He lashes out at the gnome on the table that attempted to gut Nicolai, though his cut is uncertain. (includes +1 from bless)
Orson moves up behind the warriors and unleashes a quick primal blessing, invigorating them with the power of the natural world.
I have no skill with locks, so not much I can do! :D
"Since they looked at this door," whispers Orson, "Using a different entrance may be advisable. Except that it's been tough going just getting the lock open -- if he left it unlocked we might just want to take the opportunity that we have."
Orson nods agreement but remains quiet.
Orson nods quietly, unlimbers his shield, and waits for the right moment.
Orson whispers to Atherton, "If we can get the door open a crack without being noticed, I might be able to get that dog to settle down and let us sneak in."
"Hmm. Should we see what's in the barrels, or do we care? Anyone handy with locks?" whispers Orson as he huddles with the rest of the group.
I had a sinus infection yesterday that had me out of it, but I'm on the mend.
"I've no pressing obligations tonight," says Orson. "I think this card is probably self-explanatory."
Well, looks like they are chewing their way through all of 'em. That'll be nice in about six years when they get to Kingmaker after I've finished running it.
"Sable company! Quite a feat," says Orson. "My name, for those who didn't get it before, is Orson. I have a small garden plot here in town and I make my living simply, by tending a few vegetables and animals and bartering in the market. I am an adept of the green world and I work to bridge the gap between the city and the wild by helping people to understand and appreciate the gifts of nature even in the city."
Orson taps his finger on the arm of his chair, thinking, then finally says, "All right. Of note, the waterfront occasionally has altercations with local druids who try to protect the tidal areas. I know a bit about the scuffles there; if such individuals make an appearance, let me try talking to them first."
"Don't be so hasty," says Orson firmly. "You're going to, what, march past his minions and through his establishment and you expect it to be a simple stroll? You think he won't scamper off as soon as he hears someone coming, leaving his thugs to fight while he escapes out some back way, then creeps out of the slime later and uses his own ears on the street to hear that it was you and subject you to still greater torments than he has already?" Orson leans back and steeples his hands and says, "If you - or we - are going to do this, it must be done right. Quietly. Knowing what we're getting into." "Maybe Westpier 17 is just an old empty warehouse and Gaedren Lamm is sitting on a sack of fish-heads, counting his ill-gotten gains. But maybe it's a front for a maze of rickety stalls and markets, with thugs and minions around every corner. We don't even know that much. Let's get some eyes on the castle before we lay siege to it."
Orson rummages around under his cloak and produces the Midwife.
Orson sits and crosses his legs. He holds his mug casually as he says, "I don't know her personally, only by the general reputation of Varisian fortune-tellers. Given that everyone here seems to have a connection to Lamm and she has figured it out, she either has some actual divinatory skills or some excellent information-gathering networking, either of which could be quite useful to any of us." "I presume we're all here because Madam Zellara left you notes?"
Orson inclines his head to Ceril, then pours a drink for Arianna and passes it to her. He accepts her hand and gives a faint incline -- not exactly a deep bow, but not nearly so forward as to try to kiss the hand of a complete stranger. His hands are somewhat rough, like those of a man close to the earth. As he leans nearby, she can tell that he smells faintly of mint. "Madam Zellara indicated that there would be several people with a shared agenda. It sounds that this is related to Lamm. A shared adversary, perhaps?" he says with a raised eyebrow.
"Depends on whether you are talking about shooting someone with that in the middle of a crowded street during the day, or orchestrating the downfall of a criminal organization and dismantling its entrenched power base in order to salve the poison that it spreads through the city's society," Orson says, deadpan, as he rummages through the basket and sniffs at the proffered beverage before pouring some for himself. "Something to drink?" he says as he offers to pour for the others.
Arriving somewhat after the first two curious visitors, a well-tended man in a dark green cloak pauses at the door, then lets himself in. He seems to be none too suspicious, rather making his entrance without trepidation; like many Varisians he has an olive complexion and an easy smile, but he also sports a well-trimmed beard and mustache. He glances once over his shoulder as he steps inside the door, then makes his way into the simple chamber beyond. At the sight of two other visitors he ducks his head and says, "Hello -- more guests of Madame Zellara, I presume?" He takes in the note on the table and gives a wry smile, then adds, "Seems that she hasn't lost her touch for the dramatic, having us wait here and get to know one another until she can swoop in and make her introduction. I'm Orson."
Welcome to the party! Glad to see a new and friendly face!
Greetings and salutations! |