Rachel Mustache's page

Locke thanked the pair, and listened intently to their advice. Unfortunately, friends was something he was currently lacking, and he didn't see anyone he'd like to get friendly with in the tavern. Still, he knew from previous experience that he was not yet a match for an entire gang.

He exited the tavern and noted that the morning was waning. There was still time to at least take a look around the capital. If he was lucky, he might run into some adventuresome types whom he could join.

As he wandered aimlessly, Locke noticed a frog chatting with a few strangers. No, wait; that wasn't a frog, but a grippli. And from the sound of it and the look of her equipment, she (if it was a she; Locke wasn't sure how to tell the difference) was also looking for adventure.

"Hello," Locke said to Chirk without preamble, "The local smithy is having trouble with a gang, and I am sure that there will be a reward. Would you like to help me get rid of them?"

If Locke dies and I end up using Hanl, I'll use:
Draconic - Afrikaans

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (6) - 1 = 5

Locke smelled an opportunity. Abandoning his unfinished drink, he approached the dwarf and half-orc. "Excuse me," he said. "I overheard your conversation about a smith having trouble with a gang. Could you tell me a little more about that?" He came across as rather blunt. He tried a different tact.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (14) - 1 = 13

"Where can I find The Bronze Hammer?"

Hours: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (11) - 1 = 10

No amount of good weather could brighten Locke's mood. It had been weeks since the deaths of Alorix and the other catfolk; he had recovered from his physical injuries, but he was far from healed.

He'd been traveling from one city to the next--taking on odd jobs along the way-- and had finally arrived at the capital. The first thing he did in the capital was the first thing he did upon entering any other city: located the nearest tavern and prepared to drink copious amounts of alcohol.

He had barely partaken of the poison before Alorix's death, and then it had only been in social situations. The taste revolted him, but he had come to appreciate how it dulled the senses and made him forget.

He ordered a drink and dropped a silver coin on the counter. The bartender snatched it up and walked away, quickly returning with a foaming mug and Locke's change. Locke accepted both and made his way through the crowd until he found an unoccupied table. He sat down heavily and began nursing his ale. The taste made him grimace.

As he drank, he stared off into space, but his ears were hard at work. It never hurt to keep an ear out for possible leads to jobs, but if he was honest with himself, Locke knew that he listened on the off-chance that he would recognize a voice and have a chance for revenge.

Languages I will be using:

Common - English
Varisian - Irish
Catfolk - Swahili

This is my character submission.