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Age of Ascension IC: Shut up, your baby is dumb
lodwilk
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
For one reason or another each of you has found their way to the docks of Malien. You are bombarded with the sounds of merchants selling their wares from their stalls, or from the crews of ships trying to sell their onboard cargo. This dockside market does lack one thing that is very common with other such markets; it is by far the most organized market you’ve ever seen. The stalls are all in perfect rows with enough room beside each one for their proprietors to be able to come out with ease, and the walkway between the stalls are wide enough to allow two carts to head down side by side without any trouble. Somewhere on each stall is a piece of paper is displayed covered in writing and bearing several official looking stamps and seals. Occasionally a city guard will go up to a stall, inspect the paper and once satisfied head on their way.
The docks themselves are just as organized, with the majority of any heavy work being handled by the multitude of warforged seen working along the dock. Each of these warforged wears a black vest with red trim and a sigil of castle before a large golden disc on the back. The sigil is the symbol of Malien and though the golden disc is supposed to be the sun, many believe a golden coin is more fitting for the city.
Outside of one building is a large group of people, all of them either wearing armor and carrying weapons, or robes and carrying staves. A sign on the building bears a claims the building to be the "Adventurers Guild of Galemen", with a smaller sign beneath saying "Accepting new recruits."
Rhogar and Hohenvar
The docks themselves are just as organized, with the majority of any heavy work being handled by the multitude of warforged seen working along the dock. Each of these warforged wears a black vest with red trim and a sigil of castle before a large golden disc on the back. The sigil is the symbol of Malien and though the golden disc is supposed to be the sun, many believe a golden coin is more fitting for the city.
Outside of one building is a large group of people, all of them either wearing armor and carrying weapons, or robes and carrying staves. A sign on the building bears a claims the building to be the "Adventurers Guild of Galemen", with a smaller sign beneath saying "Accepting new recruits."
Rhogar and Hohenvar
Although those gathered outside are dressed like adventurers you notice that they are all rather young, and show no signs of ever having actually been in a fight. The ones in armor seem to be either uncomfortable in their armor, or don't have it put on properly, with most of the armor being far too pristine to have ever seen combat. You have a feeling that most if not all of these "adventures" are just the privileged youth of the city and have come to see the guild as a simple stylishtic fad.
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Regarding the building, she turned to look up at someone at random beside her and flashed a radiant smile, saying "Adventurer's guild, eh? That sounds absolutely perfect!! Are you joining up too?" The baby meanwhile sat down on the cobblestones with a plunk sound and began to investigate a fair sized rock, putting it into his mouth and gnawing on it with what seemed to be only a couple of teeth.
He turns back to the halfling, now at eye-level, and extends his armored gauntlet. "Sir Cognast, Hospitaler of Ioun," he says, tapping his temple with his middle, ring, and pinky fingers of his other hand in the salute of his Order. He notices a brilliantly scaled dragonborn milling around the edge of the small crowd who seems to be evaluating them, but tries to put it out of his mind.
I'm gonna throw out an Insight to see if I can tell anything from the scaled fella's [this being Rhogar] posture and attitude and to get a sense for the gathered peoples' attitude in general. I'll throw in an alternate Streetwise for the second one, if you prefer.
Insight: 1d20+4 22
Alternatively, Streetwise: 1d20+3 21
Lol. Whole game is critical failures from here on out, gang. Fair warning.
"I'm Cassandra, by the way. It's lovely to meet you!". Kneeling over, she took the remaining half of the rock out of the child's hands and tossed it aside, conjuring a blob of ...something....out of thin air and handing it to him. The blob made a gloop noise as the toddler turned it over in his hands, and he laughed contentedly, seemlingly absorbed for the moment.
"My father - he was a bard, you know, a talker / Used to say: lad, I feel ye gotta get the music in you / a'fore your dear ol' da's got need of a walker. / Said: da', you know I can get the strummin', pluckin' and tumblin' / but for the birds is this old-guard sense o' structure."
He wails briefly on the twelve high strings and slaps his way through an arpeggio in the mid range before dropping back from the chaos into a more ordered song, popping up to his feet and walking around the gathered audience, slipping handily into a popular medley he'd heard in a taproom or two in Melian: 'Cut the Purse, Spare the Stranger,' prompting the gathered lot to sing along at the chorus.
Can't wait till the guards cite me for "unlicensed minstrelization," or a merchant complains that I'm being too loud and disruptive near a booth.
His attempt to get the crowd to join in on his signing was in vain, although he did notice a few nodding their heads to his music, any attempts to join the singing were hushed up by what appeared the leader of the group, an eladrin carrying a spear that was clearly more decorative than practical for combat.
While performing his song, Cognast remembered a discussion he had with the city guards when he entered arrived in the city. Upon seeing his musical instrument, they tried to sell him a permit to be able to perform in public locations, otherwise he would not be able to accept any money or gifts when performing in public.
He slings the instrument with some difficulty and glances around at the assembled lot. No tabards are recognizable. Colors are often garish for the sigils he sees on display, and he wonders, idly, if any of this fine silk has seen the open road. He eyes the eladrin warily, and lets a note of disdain slip into his voice. "Well, like I said, my father's the bard. Sometimes the fingers work. Sometimes they don't."
C'mon folks, sing along: 1d20+10 11
I wasn't kidding. An 11 maybe means that I didn't sound flippin' terrible? That, like, maybe I got as far as noticing no one gave a sh!t and stopped? He hoped?
Cassandra looked briefly concerned as she quickly swept up the blob, which seemed to be glowing an unhealthy shade of purple and pulsing ominously since it had been dropped. Holding the blob up between her hands and forcing them together, the blob disappeared with a loud POP.
Rubbing her hands together, she looked back up at Cognast. "I think it was excellent, sir! And Frankie liked it too, which is the most important thing as far as I'm concerned."
Unfortunately the pleasant tune stops and Hohenvar notices a glance at a more-than-perturbed Eladrin. Already feeling slightly uneasy around him and his cadre, the Barbarian can't help but move slightly closer to see if he can notice anything about the spear-toting adventurer.
An uneasy figure or one hiding something?: 1d20+1 10
Uhhhh...he appears to be an Eladrin folks!
Rhogar clutched his spear, hoping he didn't stand out too much. A dragonborn in ceremonial skin with an ornate spear, covered in Eladrin runes...none of which he understood, mind you. If anything, he was worried he was too plain to stand out, and thus would be the target of animosity. He was half right, of course.
"Watch it, lizard." a rude young human snapped as he nearly bumped into him.
"My apologies. I was simply..."
The human rolled his eyes, already not listening. Rhogar grumbled to himself "Off to a fantastic stark, Rho."
With a deft eye, he looked around at the group that had gathered. Two (or rather, two and a half) people stood out. If nothing else, they didn't seem to be children playing adventurer. He puffed up his chest and approached.
"Good afternoon, my name is Rhogar..." he bit his tongue. In his tribe, he was assigned the name Ill-Omen. It seemed less fitting as a follower of the Druidic arts. "Rhogar...Rootshaper." He smiled, quite proud of his new name.
Idly patting the cudgel tucked beneath her sash, the barefoot halfling looks around, studying the crowd. It's hard to miss the other halfling woman, if only because of her magic and her strange child – she can't possibly be here to join or work for the guild, kid and all, can she? That would be ridiculous. Of course, glancing at the overly smartly dressed adolescents gathered around, all of whom look like they haven't done a day of actual, honest work in their entire lives, Brinna concludes that the sorceress really is no more out of place here than they are – talkers not doers these, with plenty of gold in their purses yet not a shred of sense between them. The other halfling she can't be sure about just yet, but it's clear to her that these fops at least are not worth her time, nor indeed the guild's time, she'd guess.
There's the musically inclined half-elf too, Brinna notices. She's not a huge music lover – listening to it really is as far as her interest goes –, but he seems to be doing a decent enough job as far as she can tell, and briefly the halfling even finds herself nodding along. Soon, though, he cuts short his performance, no doubt on account of that eladrin, perhaps the chief swaggerer of the lot with his fancy but impractical spear; in addition to possessing more money than wits, though, he also seems to have an attitude, and that is enough to make the halfling wary of him – in her experience, adolescents aren't usually much trouble unless they have a particularly cocky leader to stir up said trouble, and she's aware that she is very much an outsider in this city, a stranger in simple clothes who is, to boot, a good deal shorter than most everyone else here.
Deciding not to dwell overmuch on it however, the diminutive monk continues to scan the crowd until she lays eyes on the wilden. This one intrigues her: Brinna has not met any of this fey people yet, but what she has heard about them strikes her as favourable – what the lofty-minded call uncultured when speaking of wilden, she takes to mean down to earth; what they deem discourteous, she interprets as forthrightness and honesty, all of which are traits she finds readily endearing –, and so she quietly walks up to what she fairly randomly guesses must be 'him', closer to the disagreeable eladrin though this takes her, until Brinna stands casually beside the wilden.
"Colourful crowd," she remarks just as casually with a glance up at the fey. It's not much of a thing to say, but then the halfling rarely is one to start a conversation; she simply finds herself hoping that the wilden won't fail to note her ever so slightly disapproving tone – and that, if he does, he actually happens to share the sentiment.
Cassandra didn't move to stop him, but did look a tiny bit surprised at the child's choice as he greeted the stranger. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she curtsied to the massive druid and addressed him with a winsome smile:"Well met good sir. I'm Cassandra, and the child who is wrapped around your leg is Frankie. We're very pleased to meet you, it seems!"
"A little too colourful, for my liking," he responds. Despite his even, some would call neutral or even monotone, pace in his speech, enough of a hint resembling sarcasm and dismissal emphasises his feelings. "Frankly I feel this has almost become a circus of sorts."
Although nothing suspicious at all leaps out at him, Hohenvar stands by his sentiment. Not even is he annoyed by the attitude or disparity in the surrounding amateurs. A small but resounding part of him feels like the witnessed foolhardiness could really land innocent do-gooders or cocky youths into proper trouble.
When he spots the second halfling, he reasons a guess as to why Cassandra might have moved to greet them, but notes their builds are very different and they don't have much of a family resemblance. It's difficult to tell with the friendly folk, so he opts not to bring it up. What he did notice was the power in this new halfling - it was in her stance, in the set of her jaw, and the calluses lining her knuckles, feet, and even elbows, not to mention more than one scar. Something about the posture made him take a guess, wrack his brain for the proper greeting, and throw caution to the wind as he moves within earshot.
"Well, I'm only one trouper's son. Not much of a circus, I'm afraid." He flashes a half smile and runs fingers back through his hair. With a glance up and down at the halfling, he nods curtly and extends his fist - his least favorite part of the ritual - toward the halfling as if it were an avil for her to strike. "Struggles soon and many, Walker of the Path. Hopefully I haven't coc-- messed that up too much." He grimaces, remembering Frankie flopping about at their feet. "It's rare to come across one of Those Who Walk, these day. The last Walker I met was more than seven years ago, at my Order's barracks." He nods congenially to the dragonborn, offering a half-bow, and says, in somewhat stilted draconic, "And finest hunt, to you, master dragonborn. In service to Valde Bellum, it is my order and my honor to welcome you to Galeman."
Lastly, and, possibly somewhat deliberately, he turns to the fey creature. He can only guess it's fey, at any rate. It would have to be, whatever it is. "Last, but not least, hello to you as well, sir. Madam." He coughs, a little confused at his own ineptitude. Ousaniel would have knocked him upside the head for that. "My apologies. I have to admit some embarrassment, gentlebeing. I don't know your kind well enough to not be rude. In any case..."
He salutes again, standing much straighter this time and making sure his order's tabard is visible on his chest. "I am Sir Cognast re'Iouni, Knight Hospitalier of the Bellum-Ioun. And he..." he jerks his head back at the eladrin adolescent, who he is quite sure is staring daggers at him. "Is my least biggest fan. Also he hates fun and I presume children. And he's got the rest of the moronic sheep convinced that the adventurers in the stories hated fun and children and candy and survived by the hems of their frilly designer robes."
This last part he says quite loudly, turning to smile balefully at the eladrin.
Realizing that draconic would be way better, I'm ret-conning my sheet for that. So when we run into a dwarf, I'm screwed, but since there's a whole nation of dragonborn, it makes a lot more sense that a Knight would know draconic rather than anything else.
Raw Charisma check to see if my joke worked on the crowd: 1d20 + 3 = 19 + 3 = 22 (i'm pretty funny)
Intimidate in case you'd rather that: 1d20 + 3 = 20 + 3 = 23 (I'm scary as hell.)
And a diplomacy for the fun of it: 1d20 + 10 = 12 + 10 = 22 (But in a friendly way)
Alternatively:
Cha/Intimidate: 2#1d20+3 15 22
Diplomacy: 1d20+10 18
A finely tuned voice grabs the Wilden's attention suddenly, and he recognises its owner as the singer from before. An eyebrow of a branch is raised at the title of "madam", but Hohenvar lets it slide. He understands the confusion his race creates, and though like anything else it can be a nuisance, for now it barely phases him at all. The slight at the eladrin does earn a stiff snort from him, the sound resembling long grass being trodden upon. It's enough to make the usually no-nonsense figure of foliage appreciate some wit and good nature, that of people instead of arboreal, around him for once. Figuring he is among good company, Hohenvar reaches out with a gnarled but sinewy arm, giving the Knight a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Hohenvar," is his curt greeting, accompanied by an equally crisp nod. "Known as the Rook on most vessels. Hohen on others."
A twisted, scar of a grin cracks open at the Eladrin from the Wilden.
"You've got quite the eye when it comes to strangers."
Taking a furtive look around, Hohenvar immediately turns his head and cracks his jaw, twigs cracking the only sign of this act. He wasn't used to that sort of facial expression just yet.
The door that leads into the adventurers guild opens up, and a very well dressed dwarf with several scars across his arms comes out and attempts to light a pipe. He gives a quick look of annoyance at the youth around him when his eyes fall upon the odd group, eyes wide he gives up on the pipe and walks over to the group of you.
"Do my eyes deceive me? You look all look like your actually capable and somewhat competent." He gives a quick disdainfull look at the group of youths and add, "Which means our probably not from around here."
Turning back to the group of you he finally notices Frankie who is still clutched to Rhogars leg. He gives the small dragonborn a confused look before continuing, "You folks wouldn't happen to be looking for work would you?"
Franky made a "mmph" noise at her mother, and pointed all around.
And of course we are looking to explore the world. Thank you Frankie." she amended, looking fondly at the child, who seemed to enjoy holding onto the dragonborn's leg.
As the dwarf approaches them and Frankie toddles about at his mother's enthusiasm, Cognast, can't help but smile at the lad. The child appeared to be incredibly perceptive for his age, so the Knight makes a mental note to be even more cautious of what he says in the boy's presence, lest he absorb some poor manners.
To the dwarf, he nods his head. "Looking for work by a manner of speaking, yes. If you've need of any skilled assistance, I'd be honored to aid you. A Knight of the Bellum-Ioun must do what he can." He smiles, looking to the group. "Of course, my Master often said wisdom always welcomes company." He shakes hands with the dwarf. Ousaniel insisted he be very proper with everyone he meet, but Cognast's elbow and brain were tiring for all the courteous introductions of the day. "Sir Cognat of the Bellum-Ioun. I wasn't aware that institutions like this still operated with success. Judging from your tone about the other..." he glances sideways at the befuddled and embarrassed eladrin, "...interested parties, I can't imagine you get a lot of actual 'adventurers.' That said, how can I - and, I presume, my colleagues here, if I may be so bold - be of assistance?"
When the dwarf arrives she turns to face him, greeting him by way of a curt nod. "Brinna Coastwell," she introduces herself simply, idly popping her knuckles. "I'm looking for something to do." She thinks little of adventuring as an occupation, yet at the same time the halfling doesn't consider it work either – she needs obstacles to overcome, to prove herself and work on her abilities, but actually saying that out loud would make her look foolish, Brinna believes, so she doesn't.
Throughout this entire event Hohenvar's words have been weighed down by the few coins in his pouch. Deep down unless the job involved mass murder and corruption, he would accept anything at this moment. He didn't want to admit it, but he was growing accustomed to having some spare coin for any situation. That and his reservations about Malien and its guard were creeping to the surface again. No matter where he was or what he did staying in one place for too long never settled right with the barbarian's nature. Movement was needed, the quicker the better.
"Frankly it seems we're your best shot," he quips, his voice followed by a creaking not unlike that of a swaying oak. "As long as the pay is right and the job is for something good, I'm all for it."
"I guess I'm with the rest of these...err...fellows? If the pay is right, and you don't ask the impossible, I would be more than willing to hone my art on the road." He knelt down with his free knee, just enough to give the child a reassuring pat, as if he needed more incentive to hold on, and glanced up with a smile. Colleague. He was finally more than an ill omen, or tellings of a dark time. He was part of a group. And, from the looks of his companions, it did not seem like they were the type to go about ending worlds. At least, not innocent worlds.
The wilden, however, confused him. He was literally a walking example of all Rhogar had attempted to commune with and become one with. His master would call it a sign, "When that which you seek becomes that which you follow," he used to say. Of course, the young dragon never assumed he meant LITERALLY.
Roll for bluff/intimidate/diplomacy on the dwarf. All the same check, and using a bit of each (1d20+9=20)
From what he knew of Millhaven -- and again, his lax attitude in history and cultural studies haunted him, as his Master promised they would -- he couldn't imagine that the people there would be able to afford heaping generous rewards for any kindness rendered. But proof of competence might be just the sort of thing this crew needed in order to progress. They seemed like skilled, fated people that deserved his help, and he was certainly honor bound to investigate a haunting - undeath and proper destiny rarely if ever go hand in hand, so as a charge of Ioun, he knew it fell under his charter.
"A haunting, you say." He considers this briefly, or at least makes sure he appears to be considering it. He turns to the crew around him. "I've little choice, friends. I'm duty bound to investigate such an event. If the people of Millhaven requested assistance -" under his breath he adds, "from Malien, of all places - their need must be considerable. I don't know what the town could offer any of you as far as reward, but as a Hospitalier, should the mayor's house still stand, I should be able to find us lodging there." He turns back to the dwarf. "And, obviously, making a name for themselves might give them an edge to join your stalwart company, eh, master dwarf?"
Remember Millhaven? History!: 1d20+0 10
Or not. Also, the thing I said about Hospitaliers is mentioned in their theme description - can request lodging from just about any official servant of the state. If you're not down, that's fine.
Eventually, with a slight shrug, Brinna nods. "Sure, count me in."
"So this is a trial job- we succeed at this little errand, we keep the money they may or may not have to give us, and you'll give us something more... substantial next time, assuming we like working together and don't have anything better to do once we're done in Millhaven? Yeah, okay. I can live with that."
An idea sprang forth within the barbarian's mind, however. If they had to take a less-than-adequate job then there might as well be some form of compensation. Maybe even a perk or two. He decided it was worth the risk.
"However a week is quite a while, especially for a town in need," his even tone began to grow with a hint of a malice. "If you could lend us a cart or something I'm sure we could make it there in record time. A faster job means more work for you to give us."
The same scar of a grin twisted itself upon Hohenvar's visage.
"And if we didn't make it there in time, I'm sure that wouldn't do good for your business or health."
We'll need some wheels: 1d20+3=18
Returning to the group of you the dwarf smiles, "I sent that warforged to get you a cart and some horses we have in the back. Now the cart might be a bit gaudy, it was taken as salvage from a previous job, and it used to belong to a traveling group of warforged thespians. It should suit your needs though...Ah there it is!"
The dwarf points down the alley where the city worker was just leaving a cart pulled by two horses. To say the cart was gaudy was an understatement, the sides were painted a turquoise blue, with a large green splash back effect on it, and it large orange letters were the words "Mystery Machines!" The dwarf turns to Hohenvar and grins "I hope that is to your liking because it is all I can give you."
"Very well," he finally said through clenched incisors. "It won't help us blend in but it will at least prove to the townsfolk we're not threatening. At all. Not even in the slightest."
Let's make like a tree and leaf: 1d20+3=12
Well...I travelled by river mostly so I guess I wouldn't have the best knowledge of specific forests.
He groaned, rubbing his temple gingerly with his clawed fingers, "Rho, boy..." he grumbled (probably poorly phrased) to himself, "What have you gotten yourself into..."
He strolls over to the cart, taking the reins of the horses gingerly and clambering into the driver's seat. He rakes his blonde hair away from his eyes so he can see a little more clearly. "Well, gang? I promise not to sing even once on the way there. Not even if asked."
As Brinna moves over to inspect the cart, he leans over to offer a hand to help any of the shorter folks up. "The Walker I mentioned didn't have a name. I can only tell you that he was a dwarf. His name, apparently, was one of his obstacles? He'd forsaken it, for whatever reason."
Also...blonde guy in the driver's seat. Sorry. Couldn't help it.
"Sturdy pine, lightweight but surprisingly tough," he gave the cart one more knock, "Solid and reliable. The wagon will really have to do. We can always re-paint it ourselves if we need to."
Satisfied, for the time being, the Wilden sat down and crossed his arms. A new journey awaited and travelling suited him better than bargaining.
"Let's just hurry up and get on the road. Sooner we leave, sooner we get there and ditch this thing in a lake or something." He growled under his breath.
"I take it the child will be traveling back here with his Uncle Rhogy?" He smirked, having grown to like the thing.
Pulling a small linen package from her pocket and unwrapping it to produce a severely shortened breadstick, the monk half turns to regard those of the group she hasn't spoken to yet. "I'm Brinna," she puts forth truthfully and pops the remainder of the breadstick into her mouth.
"The child does as he likes... I wouldn't count on him doing what you expect, if I were you. "
Despite that, the child toddles over to Rhogar with a shriek of glee and starts smacking his snout, putting her fingers into his nose and generally abusing him, all the while smiling toothily and letting out random happy noises.
Rolling her eyes, the halfling turns to her breatheren, and says "I'm Cassandra, and Frankie is the happy child over there. Pleased to make your acquaintance!".
Just then, a bluebird landed on Cassandra's head, opened its beak to sing, and let out a long MOOOOOOOOOO. Most people never get to see a bird looking baffled, but this one surely does as it flies off... Cassandra smiles at the bird, looking for all the world as though she didn't find this the least bit odd.
The first day of travel was rather uneventful with the most interesting thing being when Frankie climbed Rhogar and tried to get him to charge Hohenvar. On the second day of travel you eventually come upon a crossroads with a small pond in the centre of the intersection. As Cassandra checks the map to see which path you’re all to take, the rest of you notice a small, dog sized reptile hiding in the bushes watching the group of you. Hohenvar notices deeper into the woods a hobgoblin with a bow aimed at the party, meanwhile Rhogar notices not only the same hobgoblin but a goblin to the right of the cart sneaking up on all of you.
The dragonborn and wilden manage to yell ambush before the goblonoids manage to attack the gaudy cart.
Actions
The trees are considered difficult terrain and concealment
The pond is about 5 feet deep and is difficult terrain.
@D9 Status: Normal
Hohenvar HP: 27/27 AC: 16 Fort: 16 Reflex: 14 Will: 11 AP 1
@C8 Status: Normal
Rhogar HP:30/30 AC: 17 Fort: 14 Reflex: 12 Will: 14 AP: 1
@C10 Status: Normal
Cognast HP:26/26 AC: 19 Fort: 13 Reflex: 10 Will: 15 AP:1
@D10 Status: Normal
Cassandra HP: 25/25 AC: 14 Fort: 11 Reflex: 14 Will: 16 AP:1
@C9 Status: Normal
Goblin Warrior HP: 29/29 AC:17 FORT:13 REF:15 WILL:12
@B5 Status: Normal
Guard Drake HP: 48/48 AC:15 FORT:15 REF:13 WILL:12
@J10 Status: Normal
Hobgoblin Archer HP: 39/39 AC:17 FORT: 13 REF:15 WILL: 13
@L11 Status: Normal