Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
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Post by Jarovbees on Dec 2, 2019 22:52:46 GMT
The last of the day’s light had just slipped away in Mirepool, a tiny village wreathed in constant fog just outside of Blackwater Swamp. It took but a glance around to realize that the village itself had little to offer as a destination or source of trade; only its proximity to the Trade Way guaranteed any traffic, as Mirepool was the only stopover on the long road to the next city. No one had reason to linger otherwise, and no villagers typically expected such. They took what business they could from those passing by, merchants or adventurers, and watched them move onward while remaining in their corner of the world. However, this was not a typical night. Those who might have passed this way before -and even the perceptive among those who have not- could easily pick up on that the moment the village was entered. It was eerily quiet throughout, even for a night in a sleepy backwater such as this. The only source of light and discernable activity came from one structure ahead; a squat, two-story building made of stone with a shingled roof located in the heart of the village. A creaky wooden porch wrapped around the upper floor, and a tin bucket missing its bottom hung over the door with the name of the establishment -The Leaky Bucket- painted in cursive. Even from the outside, the tension was notable as raised voices carry, worry and anger mingling as one. The interior was much drier and warmer than its exterior would have led onlookers to believe. A large and well-fed fireplace kept the damp and chill from outside at bay, while casting a warm glow over the entire space. Long trestle tables stretched across the room in three rows; locals packed the benches, drinks and other fare going ignored as they constantly interrupted each other in their insistence on being heard over the din that multiple voices plus the banging from pots and pans in the kitchen created. A quiet conversation was near impossible, not that anyone seemed to be inclined toward such. “I’m telling you, we should send out a search party! Now, before we lose any more time--” “Why bother? Those Rotten Husks killed them, and you all know it! What we should be doing is burning out those swamp orcs, like we should have done a long--” “Are you mad? We’re farmers and laborers, not soldiers! We can’t possibly overtake them--” “Orcs aren’t the only menace in that swamp, you know! That’s why we established the patrols in the first place--” While the debate raged on, a woman at the bar -middle aged but thickly built and capable of hefting a barrel of ale easily over a shoulder- alternated between trying to calm them and barking orders to a harried serving boy. The commotion had taken a life of its own, however, and her efforts were akin to herding cats, meeting with just as much success. Or at least, that was true until newcomers entered the establishment. At that, the red-faced villagers stop quarreling amongst each other and stared. Relief washed over the woman’s features when obvious newcomers arrived. She wiped her hands and rushed forward to greet them, weaving around or shoving people back, as need be. “Thank goodness you’re here, there’s hope at last. Here, sit. Can I get you anything to eat?” Among the group to arrive was a dark-haired, somewhat unkempt looking woman with a pale, thin face and a hooded cloak. As the locals all turned to stare at them, she recoiled a bit and tugged the hood down as though trying to disappear into the cloak; sadly, it didn’t seem to help at all. She sighed, realizing this, and fidgeted, glancing to the others with the confused panic of someone who wasn’t used to being the focus of...well, anything. In a quiet, tight voice that didn’t carry far, she responded. “Um...just hot tea, please.”“Of course, of course. And you?” The barwoman glanced to the rest, determined to give them due hospitality first before anything was asked of them. moralhazard 3personal5me enchilada sojourn |
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Post by moralhazard on Dec 2, 2019 23:22:15 GMT
Before leaving, Kara had polished her armor. This was not a task she could entrust to anyone else. There were no dents to be ironed out, no slashes to try to close up, but all armor needed tending, and this was a task Kara preferred to do herself. She brought it, piece by piece, to a barrel of sand. Each piece she placed into the sand, and rolled around, until the rust was scoured away, and only gleaming metal left behind.
It was still not pristine, and never would be; Kara could match the dents in it to the marks left behind on her skin, scars some and bruises others, some new and some fading, some only memories long since of what had once hurt. There were more marks on her skin than the armor, memories of another time, but she was not sorry for the dents and dings, no more than she was for her scars.
Her glaive she cleaned last. She scrubbed the handle, polished it until every inch of the wood was gleaming; there were no chips, no missing bits, the entire thing restored to a gleaming shine. There was no drop of rust on the blade, not even the faintest edging; carefully, Kara poured herself a palmful of oil, and worked it into the weapon, coating the blade with such easy familiarity that she ran not even the slightest risk of cutting herself.
Then, piece by piece, Kara put herself together.
There was more to Kara than just her armor and her glaive, much more – there was the horn of the lookout, long since won, which she tucked carefully away; there were the goggles of the night, which she carefully settled around her neck. There were healing potions, and rope, and a waterskin, and signal whistles; and javelins, and daggers too, kept as sharp as the glaive, if not so finely wrought.
There were many reasons to be in Mistpool; Kara had only one. Orcs.
There were rumors that had drifted from Blackwater Swamp, far, all the way to Waterdeep – rumors of missing villages from Mirepool, and Rotten Husk orcs living in deep in the swamp to blame. First, Kara decided, she would find the truth; was it the orcs? Dhaunmyr had pointed out that rumors were not always correct, although Kara was fairly sure no rumors could be bad enough that they could be untrue, when it came to orcs.
But, fine; they would investigate. If it was the orcs, there would be no mercy for them, not on the blade of her glaive. If not – she would stop it, whatever it was; she would throw herself at it, and never yield, with all the force she had. Helm demanded nothing less.
Kara followed the slight, dark-haired woman into the bar, her helmet tucked under her arm. She glanced around, slow and deliberate, and her gaze settled onto the barwoman. She shook her head in response to the question of hot tea, and glanced at Dhaunmyr instead.
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Post by 3personal5me on Dec 3, 2019 1:00:11 GMT
Anthony sat in his workshop, studying the armor before him. He had just finished installing the nightvision systems in his helmet, and he was ready to head to Mirepool. He began the process of strapping his armor on, starting with a layer of leather. It served to protect his joints and, more importantly, prevented chafing on metal. Over this he donned the scale mail itself, comprised of a complex arrangement of metal rings and small metal plates, meant to distribute an impact over a wider area. Within the interior of the suit was a complex web of sigiltry and magical conduit. As everything locked into place, the magic began to flow through the hard suit. He finished with the decorative touches; Crimson sashes and ribbons to add a touch of color to the brass and copper his armor was made of. He donned the helmet, the final connections in the sigiltry made. A soft blue glow emanated from the eyes of his helmet, as information was displayed on the glass. It was a rudimentary system, with basic lettering, but it allowed him to see that all systems were active, and power was at maximum capacity. He was ready.
Or so he thought. But the long trip wore him down faster than any combat could. It was so slow and boring. He was relieved to finally see the dim glow of the towns lights in the distance. He was all for rescuing people, but the travel time was a killer. He had long since removed his helmet, letting it hang from his belt as they travelled. He followed the rest into the tavern, his eyes quickly adjusting the light inside. He smiled at the barwoman, offering her a curt nod. "Wine, please".
(Infusions: Arm, Goggles of Night)
(Spells: Alarm, Expeditious Retreat, Faerie Fire, Cure Wounds, Detect Magic, Identify)
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Post by sojourn on Dec 3, 2019 4:04:39 GMT
I t was honestly not entirely surprising the kind of rewards some folks would pay for the head of an orc—any orc!—let alone for a whole slew of them. While Kieran didn't have a particular hatred for their species—he disliked most folks with just about the same intensity when it came to those who took advantage of the weak. Maybe he just disliked most folks in general on a bad day, far too used to too many assumptions made about his person and his origins based on appearances alone. Just because folks were up in arms over a handful of orcs didn't even mean they were guilty, either—if there was one thing the half-drow could empathize with, it as that sort of assumption.
Not that the he would have heard a thing about the troubles near Mirepool had he not chased a mark all the way to the edges of Blackwater Swamp, tracking the thief and arson who'd set fire to a few upstanding businesses after robbing them in the Dock Ward supposedly because of who the proprietors were. The reward for proof of his death was so very little in coin and so much in satisfaction that when Kieran paused in the Leaky Bucket on his long trudge back to Waterdeep proper for a meal and perhaps a place to stay the night, he couldn't help but listen to the murmuring locals.
Comfortable in his seat, his violet gaze took in the disquiet while he poked at his mediocre meal, attention suddenly diverted when a new crowd filtered in. Well, mostly new. One of the faces he knew quite well—Dhaunmyr—and the immediate hush that fell over the more interesting rumormongering about Rotten Husk orcs and missing villagers would have been disappointing had the new arrivals not looked like they'd come with a purpose.
Whether it was intuition or just a hardened insight into how people worked, Kieran assumed they'd heard the same troubles the locals were busy arguing over—the news had traveled all the way back to the City of Splendors, perhaps, and here were some folks willing to lend a hand. Well, good. He wouldn't have to murder a bunch of orcs by himself, after all.
Picking up his lukewarm drink but leaving his disappointing dinner, Kieran stood and made himself obvious, offering a grin in the drow's direction before pouring himself into the general vicinity of the table with all the swift, grace-filled fluidity that could be expected of all his martial training,
"At least a round 'f drinks on me, please—" Kieran ordered generously, adding beneath his breath in the hopes the burly woman wouldn't hear, "An' I wouldn't recommend th' stew."
He looked to the barkeep before looking over the other three faces—one belonging to a woman he might have actually (finally?) been taller than who looked more than capable, one belonging to a young man who might have been more machine than he thought possible, and the last belonging to a dark-haired woman who looked just as wary of a crowd as he tended to be anywhere but in the Dock Ward,
"Good t'see y' again, Dhaun. Here with some friends as a stoppin' point between travels 'r here t' investigate a bit 'f local heresay?" Nudging a seat, it was obvious the half-drow was inviting himself to sit at their table without actually asking to do so.
((Just as an OOC note, Kieran is an Urban Bounty Hunter by trade and his background gives him the Ear to the Ground Feature—this provides him with a contact of some kind in Mirepool that can supply him with info about people and places of the area. I'm happy to RP this into the beginning of the thread somewhere here in the tavern, maybe?)) |
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Post by enchilada on Dec 3, 2019 21:25:50 GMT
Dhaunmyr had a fairly uneventful existence that they were more than happy to continue. Their own customs came to them like a natural awakening, guided by light and creatures drawn to it in the night. Dhaunmyr would flutter off in the night as soon as they had rested the minimum, taking advantage of the gift of trance, for once, and take a few hours wherever there were trees, spreading offerings and whispering prayers as they went. While the day job had always had its own voice and facade, Dhaunmyr felt more distanced from it the more they engaged in these silent nights, finding some kind of meaning or calling in what was simply an act of instinct.
This was a passing trip, hopefully. Kara had wanted to get some orc-violence in, and Dhaunmyr didn’t want to be left alone, not that they were actually ever alone in Waterdeep, a hundred different beautiful men, women, and people would be more than happy to listen to Dhaunmyr’s many laments, but they did not fulfil any kind of emotional requirement in conversation. Essentially, they were all fake, and Dhaunmyr had been figuring out what was more important. Hopefully, if all went well, Dhaunmyr would be able to get Kara on a few of their own desired stops before they returned home. That was the idea, anyway.
While they made their way over, Dhaunmyr was more pensive, and quiet — the surroundings were very interesting to them, like they’d just poked a snow covered head from the Underdark. If Kara noticed, she probably didn’t care, or think much of it.
“I brought along some foreign infusion teas, if you would be so kind as to supply me with a cup of hot water, I would be most pleased, fine lady. Kara are you certain you don’t want anything?” They smiled warmly to the woman, then craned their neck a bit to look at Kara. They didn’t expect much of a response.
“Well, it can’t be all that nice to see me, if you can’t be bothered to give me the respect of my name. It’s Elven, you can’t rip it apart like some common ‘Ellie’ from ‘Eleanor’. Surely I could half count on you to know that.” Dhaunmyr rolled their eyes, traces of a smile still present enough to be polite. They pulled a golden compact from their pocket, luxuriously laden with red gems in the shape of rose petals, surrounding their last initial, and checked their appearance, lightly tousling their hair.
“Well, my dear, I am here on Kara’s business. This is hardly my scene, but, there was promise of a look in some more interesting towns. Maybe some pretty boys to flatter me, I honestly just never know. For now, I suppose you’ll do.” They snapped it shut. “I can only assume that after so many coincidences with me, that you missed me.”
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Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
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Post by Jarovbees on Dec 3, 2019 23:20:07 GMT
"Hot tea, wine, hot water, a round of drinks...." The barwoman muttered all that to herself, glancing around at them all to be sure she didn't overlook anyone. "I'm Berniss Hall and this is my establishment. Any gathering of sorts tends to happen here, as you can see. Mirepool doesn't have soldiers, so we look out for each other. Or we try, but...well, last night was a departure from the norm. I'll get your drinks, and the lad here can explain, he's been here long enough to soak up the details." She nodded to Kieran, showing no sign that she'd heard his comment about the stew...but then concern had taken its toll and she was a bit distracted.
Umbrae watched the woman depart into the kitchen and slid her gaze to Kieran, she nodded and gestured for him to sit down and join them. "Oh--um, thank you. That was kind." She glanced around at the villagers eyeing them, though some had gone back to muttering among themselves about the lost patrol. That made her fidget, and she forced herself into conversation to prevent herself from unraveling under the scrutiny. "So...what did she mean? What are the details?" She drummed her fingers on the table, her other hand reaching up for the purple crystal just below her throat.
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Post by sojourn on Dec 5, 2019 3:34:09 GMT
K ieran wasn't one to forget a name or a face, and while he certainly didn't make a living through his charming nature (because he didn't possess anything resembling one, not really), his clumsy social ineptitudes with even those people he could call friends burned bright like a brand in the moment. Had he less self-control, the half-drow might have winced, but he managed to take everything in swift stride, shaking his head at the accusation. He would have rolled his eyes, but instead he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, murmuring in quiet Elvish,
"No need to carry on about something meant in comfortable familiarity instead of disrespect." He huffed stray strands of cropped white hair from his face without finishing the rest of his words, already ruffled by the half-implication. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to such things from the lips of full-blooded elves, but Dhaunmyr had claimed himself trustworthy only to prove himself just another of his kind all in a breath or two. The half-drow was hardly surprised and too expectant to even be disappointed, choosing to simply sit down with a nod because Umbrae wasn't a stranger, either. She was just, thus far, a kinder one.
No one wanted his drinks, either—well, fine.
He waved a few calloused fingers at Berniss as if to dismiss his order—why waste his coin on those disinterested in his offer? He didn't smile or frown about it, either, however, choosing not to draw attention to his own weaknesses by simply not pushing the issue.
When the barwoman then called Kieran out directly, he finally smirked before settling into the chair and sweeping the same outstretched hand at Umbrae's table as if wordlessly requesting everyone else to sit without saying so directly. They could stand if they wanted to—didn't matter to him.
"I've been askin' 'round, yes, an' I've got a few, uh, friends here." He offered by means of very non-specific explanation, the half-drow bounty hunter not interested in giving away his contacts or his talents, "Mirepool's too small for professional guards 'r a city watch like bigger cities 've got, so local folks volunteer t' do th' patrolin' themselves, even int' th' swamp."
He let his violet gaze stray past the faces of those at the table to the patrons of the Leaky Bucket, pausing for a moment before coming back into focus on everyone whether they were listening or not,
"They weren't havin' much trouble until folks started disappearin'—all 'f 'em on th' patrol were human, includin' Berniss' son. Hughes Hall were jus' a young man, an' with 'im Kenneth, quite a bit his elder. An' there were Tendra, a young woman, an' Gerrad, jus' another man. 'S far 's I can tell, there hasn't been any change in orc activity an' while th' patrol disappeared right on th' trail near th' tree line, that's 'bout all anyone's really willin' t' tell me."
It was probably enough to go on, honestly, though truth be told, Kieran would have been interested in talking to a few orcs before trying to murder them all. He wasn't even quite convinced it seemed like normal orc behavior, but he wasn't sure if that was something he needed to speak up about or not. Choosing to keep that to himself, he studied the expressions of everyone else at the table as if weighing their reactions. |
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Post by moralhazard on Dec 5, 2019 19:05:56 GMT
Kara’s gaze flickered to Dhaunmyr when he asked if she was sure she didn’t want anything, and she shook her head, very slightly, in response. Her eyes scanned the room, slowly, searching every nook and crevice, taking in the villagers around them.
Dhaunmyr knew the man who’d come over to them. Kara watched him, and there was the faintest easing of her habitual frown at the nickname ‘Dhaun,’ as if it amused her. It did not, apparently, amuse Dhaunmyr. Kara’s eyes stayed on the stranger as he replied in Elvish. She puzzled carefully through the words one-by-one, but months of study had paid off, and she could understand him without issue.
The dark-haired woman who’d asked for hot tea asked the man Dhaunmyr knew to explain. Kara looked back to him, and listened, her gaze intent on his face. Hughes Hall, Kenneth, Tendra, Gerrad. Kara marked each name, breathing steadily in and out, and nodded, firmly. Even if it was only to know what had become of them, she would search. Better to know, no matter how painful the knowledge, then to be left in agonizing uncertainty. False hope was no better than a swamp light, flickering in the distance and pulling you forward, and so often in the wrong direction.
“Could you find the spot?” Kara’s voice was soft and hoarse, after the long day of travel, and her gaze was fixed on the young man from beneath a frown, shaggy hair loose around her head. “Where they disappeared.” Her voice went quiet again, then, and she swallowed, and held her silence once more.
Kara had no need for tea, or drinks, or even stew (and there was no stew so poor she would not eat it and be glad). She shifted her grip on the sheathed glaive taller than she was, and one gauntleted hand tightened slightly on the handle, fingers glinting in the dim lighting. There was, she thought, no reason to waste time or linger; there was every reason to go to the spot of the disappearance, before any traces remaining could be further wiped away.
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Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
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Post by Jarovbees on Dec 9, 2019 17:22:38 GMT
Umbrae's brow furrows as she absorbs the information, fingers curling around the hem of her cloak as she settled in her seat. A missing patrol and multiple reasons as to why they might not have returned; no wonder everyone in town was on edge. Her eyes met Kieran's and as he waited for their response, and she cleared her throat. "Well...that's troubling. They may not be career guards, but if they do this all the time, they still know what they're doing, right? Anything preventing them from returning can't be a trivial problem...." "It's the damn orcs, I tell you!" An older man with a bristly beard and heavy eyebrows stood up and slammed his hand on the table, prompting shouts of agreement from those nearest him even as others shook their heads. "The Rotten Husks finally made the first move, and now it's up to us to strike back in defense--" "Dale, shut up." Berniss returned, setting down the tea and wine and whatever else was ordered before stomping over to Dale, hands on her hips. "This is a town gathering; not a riot and not a damn lynch mob. If you don't like it, there's the door. Go on." She gestured angrily, prompting Dale and a couple of others to leave alongside him, muttering darkly to each other. Turning back to the newcomers, she sighed. "Sorry about that. Tempers are high, as you see. Look, I know we're asking a lot but it's not without compensation. I'm willing to offer a hundred gold to each person on the rescue team, on behalf of the village. It's my life savings, but I don't care; I just want our people - my son- back. So whatever you need in the way of room and board, you have it. But please...if you're doing this, don't wait too long. We don't know what sort of trouble they're in or how much time they have left." moralhazard 3personal5me sojourn |
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Post by 3personal5me on Dec 10, 2019 8:04:52 GMT
(Forgot that Anthony also has Shield and Thunderwave prepared, thanks to his subclass)
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Post by enchilada on Dec 20, 2019 20:32:47 GMT
"My darling," They began, a lazy hand drifting through the air like it was thicker than butter, "Your money is of no worth to me, to compensate me for my time is-- well, either impossible because I am clearly a priceless specimen, or not worth it, given I have so much more of it to give than most. For these reasons, I shall refuse any repayment you try to offer me in this way, frankly, it repulses me to think that I should handle money better placed in business." They reached into an inside pocket, retrieving some packet of tea from a pouch from a bag -- watching it steep in the hot water they had asked for.
Dhaunmyr smiled, then seemed to think through what they said, slowly, and shook their head -- "Which is to say, fine lady, that I shall be on the rescue team for the love of doing something good, and important! Not that I am refusing to partake!" Their breathless manner seemed exhausting to keep up, from one moment lax and more or less bored, and now suddenly sprung into an animated state, far more than would ever be required. "And if Kara were to want for money, she can have it of my purse. Your situation, my darling, is simply awful."
They seemed to have calmed again, fiddling with the rings on their fingers, waiting for their tea to steep and for Kara to respond, and, most hopefully, for the others to take their stance on payment. Regardless of whether or not it was true that this lady had no more money but that to offer to the group, they didn't feel like someone should have to pay for the safety of their child. At least not in a place like this. Dhaunmyr also hoped that there were no such orcs, just a roaming clan of particularly big humans or some goliaths or something -- humans always blamed orcs, goblins and Drow. It was never their own. How were they supposed to look trustworthy? Then again, if they heard of a caravan of Drow near their home, would they allow even a slight chance for a problem to occur? Where would they turn first to find the brains behind a trafficking scheme? Was that hypocritical? Did they just want Kara to be wrong, because they knew she would immediately accept it as orcs? Too much to think about at that moment, and their tea wasn't even ready. It made a change from going on and on verbally, but they probably missed something important in conversation. Maybe nobody was even there anymore and they'd just -- it was like, thirty seconds, chill.
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Post by sojourn on Jan 20, 2020 4:13:19 GMT
K ieran smirked at the accusation of orcs from one of the patrons, shaking his head,
"I jus' don't think it's normal orc behavior, t' be honest." He added quietly, more to the table than to at all continue any sort of argument with a crowd of locals who were entitled to their own opinions. He knew what it felt like to be misunderstood, to be suspect, and while he had no love for the creatures in question, sometimes the most obvious answer simply wasn't.
He sighed, impatient in his chair, and looked from Berniss to Dale and those in agreement with him who were surprisingly obedient in leaving. Nodding along with her words, he wasn't the first to refuse payment,
"I'm not here for someone else's coin, either. Not for findin' folks who're lost, anyway." Refusing such a hefty reward on the behalf of people in need, the bounty hunter had little interest in operating under the same financial contracts for these people as he often did in the city. There was far more going on and he didn't feel comfortable being compensated when it was hardly the same kind of hunt,
"Since you 've already shared some routes with me, I think 't best we start there. I haven't had a chance t' do any trackin' 'n th' area an' see what the real foot traffic's like, so it'd be m' suggestion we get goin'—th' longer we stick around, th' more opinions we'll have t' hear an' trust me, I've already heard 'em all here."
Most of them weren't at all useful. He'd already sifted through rumors and hearsay long before the various other interested parties arrived, and found plenty of them lacking other than a few decent leads. Whether everyone wanted to finish their orders or not, Kieran waited for everyone to seem sorted enough before offering to get them on what he'd gleaned to be some kind of trail: the general area where last night's patrol disappeared.
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Post by moralhazard on Jan 20, 2020 5:06:01 GMT
Kara had sat, at some point, thinking it polite. Once, she had known such places as this; on the road, she had had no choice but to stay in them, with the other caravan guards she had never quite managed to call her fellows. These days, she had her own home, with Dhaunmyr; else, she preferred to sleep outside. Even muddy or snow ground was better than this.
The small woman rose, abruptly, in a loud clatter of armor. The motion was rough, and abrupt, and shoved the wooden chair she had sat in back, creaking noisily against the floor. She glanced around, picking her helmet up, and nodded once to Dhaunmyr.
“Then we waste time,” Kara said, firmly – not loudly, quite, but her low, rough voice pitched to carry over the dim. She glanced at the half-drow who had spoken – who Dhaunmyr seemed to know – and nodded once to him. She glanced around, her gaze sweeping over the rest, fixing once on the woman who had asked about the patrol, and anyone else who met her eye.
Once she had the location from the half-drow, Kara would turn and go; she would not, particularly, wait for anyone other than Dhaunmyr, although she would linger outside until they had caught up with her. Then, unhesitatingly, unless any stranger events made way to intervene, Kara would set out at a rough, quick pace towards the place that the half-drow had indicated.
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Jarovbees
Approved
Playing: Solstice (Paladin 6)/Umbrae (Sorcerer 1/Warlock 4)/Avren Wands (Rogue 2/Sorcerer 1)
Posts: 706
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Post by Jarovbees on Jan 20, 2020 19:26:22 GMT
Berniss looked from Dhaunmyr to Kieran in surprise, far more used to mercenaries who demand payment up front. (Which she sensibly refused, not trusting those types.) To refuse it at all was unheard of, and she didn't quite know how to respond. Some of the patrons murmured their appreciation and raised a mug to them, though, and after clearing her throat she found her voice. "You're doing us a great favor, one we won't forget. Please, just find our people. I won't see you go unrewarded, but you can argue with me about that when you return." Well, there seemed to be no lack of volunteers. That in itself wasn't a bad thing; there was safety in numbers, after all, and Umbrae enjoyed surviving. However, Dhaunmyr's and Kieran's forgoing all reward saw Umbrae's lips form a thin line of quiet disapproval. She didn't want to look greedy by comparison, but she was far from burdened with coin and ritual ink and paper were expensive. But perhaps this wasn't the time to haggle, not when every moment counted and some people were already eager to get going. Her gaze slipping away from the others, she nodded to Berniss as Kara headed for the door. She was silent upon exiting, drawing her cloak close and already silently debating the merits of her various spells and abilities. Tracking wasn't her forte, but fortunately that didn't seem to be a problem for Kara or Kieran. Good, maybe this would go somewhat smoothly. Much like the village beside it, a constant fog rolled through the swamp. The ground was sodden,occasionally broken up by pools of stagnant water, but a wooden walkway on the swamp’s edge provided some measure of stability along the tree line. The sound of insects buzzing and frogs croaking broke up the otherwise still landscape. The muddy water occasionally bubbled, filling the air with foul gas. It reeked of decay. Umbrae coughed and tried to shield her nose as best she could, but knew that would soon go out the window the moment she needed to fight. "I don't envy anyone with an acute sense of smell right now, ugh...."[Anyone looking for clues, give me an Investigation roll.] Umbrae: LMdZXarJ1d20+2moralhazard sojourn 3personal5me enchilada1d20+2 |
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Post by moralhazard on Jan 20, 2020 19:35:55 GMT
Kara: 6N2eUPtv1d201d20
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