"Well, right now I'm just wandering around, making just enough money in one place to move to the next. Not a bad way to live, actually. I'm lucky I arrived in Sandpoint in time for a festival, I haven't been to one in a long time." She takes a sip from her newly-arrived ale. "Speaking of money, do any of you know of some place that would hire me for a few days? I'm running low at the moment."
"I am looking for a job myself, being new in town. Bethana said something about the sheriff looking for deputies. Perhaps he seeks some help for the day tomorrow? I was going to ask him about a position after our meal or when I am dry again. Perhaps you want to join me?"
"Let's just say I have a past I am trying to leave behind. This looks liek as good a place as any for a new beginning."[/ooc]
"Mind if I join you on your trip to the sheriff. My coin purse is also running a tad low at the moment."
The young man then sits back and examines his new companions thoughtfully.
"Yes, I would gladly join you. I'm willing to do about anything for money right about now. Do you know what we would be doing on this job?"
“This halfling’s story is a sad one. Full of woe, misery and suffering. It is not a proper topic of conversation on a happy day like this. Perhaps, some other day, friend.”
“This halfling’s funds are also low. I wonder if the sheriff can find a use for a halfling.”
"I don't know if the sheriff has enough money to hire that many deputies, but maybe someone's offering a bounty on goblin ears."
Targ is about to spit on the floor again with the word "goblin" but then he remembers the half-orc behind the bar and thinks better of it.
"Anyways, the halfling woman said he'd be round later. No point getting off our duffs if he'll come to us."
"Then, to waiting 'til our rooms are made and our jobs are offered! At least we will have a bed and food until tomorrow." Szaranoth proposes a toast and raises his tankard waiting for the others to join in.
Afterwards he smiles into the round and finishes his meal with enthusiasm.
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Bethana arrives to tell Ingowil, Rilech, Szaranoth and Targ that their rooms are ready. In a sweet voice, she chimes, “Lady and gentle sirs your rooms are ready.” Motioning to the half-orc at the bar, “Durg, please assist our guests to their rooms.” Bethana then hands the room keys. 14 for Ingowil, 15 for Rilech, 17 for Szaranoth and 19 for Targ.
Bethana twirls by its key ring a key marked 20 and asks Soujiro, “Would you like to take the last room? Good old number 20 has an excellent view.”
"Why, of course. This halfling thanks you for your kindness." Soujiro winks at Bethana as he takes the last room's key.
Szaranoth takes his key from Bethana flashing his smile to her. "Thank you, Bethana. I will try to warm up until dinner then. If your mistress wants to speak to me before then, she will have to wake me up, but she may, if she wants..."
Then he goes into the corner of the pub, to pick up his pack and the things, that he rescued out of the sea, a scale mail and a shield with a coat of arms are buckled onto his pack and a morningstar dangles from its side. He goes upstairs to his room indicated by Bethana and inside. The door is locked afterwards.
Inside the room he takes off his clothes and and puts them up to dry, along with the contents of his pack that need drying. Afterwards he crawls into the (hopefully warm) bed and falls quickly asleep.
Snore. Snore.
The coat of arms belongs to the family of Vanderale from the Marble District in Magnimar, a wealthy family of merchants with a long history in Magnimar and a seat in the Council of Ushers.
Ingowil takes the key with a smile, and immeadiatly goes to room 14. She falls into bed, hoping this inn is quieter than the last one.
Targ takes his key and puts his gear in his room, after checking that the door does indeed lock securely. Then he heads back to the common room to enjoy more food and drink, and wait for the sheriff.
Ahhh, this is the life...
Ingowil sleeps soundly, not disturbed in the least by whatever is going on downstairs.
Targ looks around the common room to see who's here and what's happening, keeping an eye out for anyone looking particularly sheriff-like.
Nothing comes out of Szaranoth's room except for...
zzzzz.
Taking the key, Rilech returns to his room, not to sleep, but he doesn't like any sort of attention, and will return to the common room when things are a bit busier in order to suss out what this town is like.
Hearing the increase in noise form the common room, he returns, and with a slight nod of recognition to Targ, silently resumes his seat at the table, and focuses his attention on the rest of the room attempting to just pick up the general "vibe" of the town.
Inside his room, Soujiro cannot rest. His mind filled with worries about his siblings.
Hearing the voices below, Soujiro springs to his feet, cat-like. He moves silently yet his mischievous humor got the better of him and he knocks loudly on the doors of the rooms of Ingowil and Szaranoth, screaming: "The Sheeeeeeriff'ssssss heeeeeeeere!!!"
His dreams of drowning disturbed by loud steps and the shouted "heeere", Szaranoth gets up startled, but warm. His clothes are dry, too.
Good news... the sky shows him that some hours have passed.
Perhaps the sheriff is already there.
A little time after the halfling comes down to the taproom, Szaranoth joins the others at the table, where they had met earlier. He orders a mug of ale. Looking at the dwarf he says: "Did anything interesting happen, while I was asleep?"
Targ gestures at the collection of empty ale mugs on the table before him in answer to Szaranoth's question.
"Only if you think me drinking my way through a keg of the Rusty Dragon's ale is interesting."
"Wow, you certainly must have had invisible helpers. Are you sure I did not sleep for a complete day?" Szarantoth gives the dwarfa quick smile and takes a seat next to him. Then he looks to the others, that are already back down. "And where is the Sheriff?"
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The common room of the Rusty Dragon is full of people. They appear to be enjoying the inn’s fine drink and food. Meanwhile, the inn’s serving staff efficiently fights the battle to keep everyone’s mugs and plates filled with drink and food. An exotic looking woman is on a low stage near one end of the room and to the left of the fireplace, which casts light and shadow in varied patterns.
She begins to sing:
Under those eyelids are just admirance. Good-bye to passing seasons.
Instead of glistening kindness from far, I just want one selfish wish granted
Going under that cold glass street
I want to touch, to confirm those feelings I have
I hold close to me only those dreams that I can open my eyes to see
Even if my heart is swayed by the blowing howling wind and battering rain
I can endure the pain for dreams that I can open my eyes to see
As long as the sky has its way, I can be honest
Realizing everyone's alone, I got used to the emptiness a little. Lonely
In a room one boring afternoon, I raise that concealed face.
Crushing that boring discussion
Let's hit ideas together, towards the ill-humored tomorrow
I suppose there are lots of thorns in the dreams that I can open my eyes to see
Trusting in people, finding the lies, and the tears are painful
I'm always getting thrown around by the dreams that I can open my eyes to see
As long as the town has its way, I can't throw it away
It should come in handy, those dreams that I can open my eyes to see
Making a crack, kicking your heart, someone's trace
I don't need an occasion for the dreams that I can open my eyes to see
As long as the love has its way, I can walk on lively
I hold close to me only those dreams that I can open my eyes to see
Even if my heart is swayed by the blowing howling wind and battering rain
I can endure the pain for dreams that I can open my eyes to see
As long as the sky has its way, I can be honest
The crowd seems to be enthralled by the woman’s melodious voice, as they clap their hands in time with her song.
Spot Check DC 17
In reply to Szaranoth, Rielch returns his gaze form the corwded common room back towards his new "companions." As far as I can tell, there are three possible options here for the sheriff. Either the big bald dark guy over there, The guy with the short hair, or the Shiela with the Red hair over there."
"Don't think it's the short-haired man. You can see plate beneath his cloak. I don't think Sandpoint is so dangerous the sheriff walks around in full plate. No, it's the woman or the bald man. We could always ask someone."
Targ belches and looks for a barmaid to give him a refill.
"Where are they? I don't see them." Szaranoth looks around.
Hearing the voices below, Soujiro springs to his feet, cat-like. He moves silently yet his mischievous humor got the better of him and he knocks loudly on the doors of the rooms of Ingowil and Szaranoth, screaming: "The Sheeeeeeriff'ssssss heeeeeeeere!!!"
Ingowil wakes up with a start. "What? Who is here?" She jumpes out of bed, and dresses quickly before hurrying downstairs. She looks around the inn, then hurrys over to Szaranoth. "Did I hear something about a sheriff?" She sits down, obiously only half awake.
"Morning," Targ greets Ingowil with a smile. He then points out the three contenders for sheriff to Szaranoth and Ingowil.
For Radavel:
"You're right, Targ. Wearing a plate armor is a bit overkill."
"But both of the others were at the beach, when I was 'rescued'. And both of them were treated, as if they had some say in this town. More muscle would get my vote for sheriff."
"Morning," Targ greets Ingowil with a smile. He then points out the three contenders for sheriff to Szaranoth and Ingowil.
"Morning," Ingowil replies. She yawns widely, and looks between the three people, and then asks of Targ, "So...Which one is the Sheriff?"
Szaranoth nods in the direction of the one he thinks is holding the sheriff's office. "Two silver on that dark bald guy being the sheriff."
"Thanks, Bethana. Perhaps after we have spoken with the sheriff I'd like one."
Bethana passes by the party's table and refills the mugs of anyone who wants one. She mentions that: "There is some fine whiskey at the bar."
"No thank you," Ingowil says. "To early in the morning." She looks over at the tall dark man, still bleary-eyed. Why are the sheriffs always men? I was hoping for the woman. She thinks with a dissapointing glare.
Amidst all the noise and bustle of the dinner patrons, a figure in a hooded gray cloak enters the Rusty Dragon. Shaking off the night dew and dust of the encroaching night, he takes a moment to survey his surroundings. Eyeing the crowd, he seems to have located his target - and starts to wend his way through all the patrons towards the main bar.
His clothes are of Varisian style - a practical, but appealing design of dark blues with white accents. The cloak he wears is simple, but has an amazing pattern of blue and purple swirls and symbols embedded in the fabric on the back. As he walks across the space, he pulls the hood back- revealing an appealing man with short, black hair, olive-brown complexion, and a warm smile. Slightly more than medium height (5'9"), his hair grows slightly longer along the back - but more visible throughout are the strands of steel-grey hair that almost shine against the black in the room's light. Perhaps most notable is that his ears extend slightly up into points, marking him as neither man nor elf, but as a half-breed.
Perhaps it is the combination of his appearance and race, but a few farmers glance at him - some suspiciously at this uncommon sight; others bemused by what they probably deem a gaudy fellow.
Making his way to the bar, he is looking to get the barkeep's attention. While he waits, he glances pleasantly and attentively at the woman singing for the crowd.
Ingowil looks around, and notices the man walking in. She gives him a small smile, then looks around for the barmaid, hoping to get something to eat.
Briefly turning away from the bar, he notices the lady's smile - and gives a quick wink and a smile. His outstretched hand suddenly finds it filled with a mug of somesort of brew...something he seems not to be expecting.
Looking down at this drink...I need to speak with this barkeep...
When he glances back, the lady's interest has clearly moved on...so he's back to getting the barman's attention for now.
Szaranoth looks quickly to the man at the bar, before he adresses the others. "Let's speak to the sheriff."
Still a bit miffed, that Bethana has crossed his good chances for a quick bet.
In reply to Szaranoth: "OK. sounds like a plan. After you. Who else is coming?"
Targ says to Szaranoth, "Glad I didn't take your bet. I think a little whiskey is just what I need after all that ale. I'll join you with the sheriff in a moment."
He stands up and stretches, then heads to the bar.
Szaranoth looks quickly to the man at the bar, before he adresses the others. "Let's speak to the sheriff."
Still a bit miffed, that Bethana has crossed his good chances for a quick bet.
Ingowil looks around, and still not spotting the barmaid, stands up to follow Szaranoth. "Yes, let's talk to the sheriff."
Once he manages to get the barkeep's attention amidst the distracted crowd, Etellio declares:
"Good fellow, while I appreciate the quick drink...could I get something stronger to warm a body - whiskey or a brandy perhaps? Traveling in near-dark over hills and forest has put a chill in me that I hope to dispell."
"I would also speak with your innkeep concerning a room perhaps?"
Hearing a bit of conversation, he glances in the direction of a dark-skinned man he passed on the way in...a look of curious interest on his face.
Hmmm...a possible opportunity...
Listen check - +1 aura (1d20+1=18)
"Sheriff and mayor together, and a town in need. Fortune smiles upon us indeed."
Ingowil looks over to the sheriff with a big grin on her face. A lady mayor? That is wonderful! She suddenly seems to have much more energy than usual, as if this fact just brightened her day.