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Post by pringerbeam on Apr 25, 2015 1:44:22 GMT -8
As you emerge from the rotting hold of the barge, covered in spider guts and blood, you find your feet slipping on the slimy surface of the ancient pier. Once again, you find yourself in the murky depths of the Jeggare River (sans voracious sharks for the moment). Swimming back up to the shore, you emerge from the waters of the river to find your companions from earlier departed. The city is in chaos as the roar of riots echoes into the black night. Fires illuminate stinking clouds and give the dark sky a sickly orange glow. A sable company marine flies overhead making a line for the center of the city and his loyal hippogryph relieves itself in flight to douse your tired brow. A slurred voice manages to make itself heard among the docks: "Neffi! Neffi izzhat you? Ahy see you there by the water. Been swimming in the river ehy? Juss like Sandpoint issnt it? cept for the sharks and devil fizsh... and the rats... and the spiders... oh gahds I miss home." What looks like a city guard stumbles along out of an alleyway towards you. As he gets closer to you you see his uniform is filthy and unwashed and his face is showing several days of growth. A tankard hangs by a finger and a gulp of ale sloshes out as his arm swings back and forth. The drunk guard calls out, far too loud for how close he is now, "C'mon Neffi Ill buy you some drinks. Might as well gets ourselves sloshed like a pack of asses while the city burns." He gets an arm around you and pulls you up out of the sand.
What do you do?
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Post by Dorcas on Apr 26, 2015 18:40:50 GMT -8
Grateful that I'm breathing air instead of sand, I throw a companionable arm around the guard and thump the other fist lightly into his chest and mimic his slur.
"Firs' round's on me, ya lump!"
While shaking off the tiredness from the earlier fight and getting my bearings while leaning on the guard, I roll the following to see if the man poses any kind of threat, or if I know him or anything about him, notice anything peculiar, or if he's just looking for a drinking partner:
Hannelore:
rolling 1d20+4 Sense Motive
(16)+4
= 20
rolling 1d20+7 Perception
(10)+7
= 17
rolling 1d20+5 Knowledge (Local)
(17)+5
= 22
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Post by pringerbeam on Apr 26, 2015 19:54:20 GMT -8
Sense motive: beyond drunkenly mistaking you for another person, the guard seems to be honest in his intentions.
Perception: the guard does not altar to be carrying anything threatening beyond his long sword which sits in its sheath.
Knowledge (local): drunkard watch sergeants are practically a dime a dozen but something about the way this one carries himself reminds you of the famous local duelist Vencarlo Orisini.
"Well good to hear Neffi. I know this place nearby where we can get the cheapest rotgut this side of Varisia." He leads you down some streets paying no mind to the looters occasionally scurrying along. You come to a tavern called the orc's trough which happens to be doing good business despite the riots. The other patrons seeming to have a similar plan to the guard for riding out the chaos. The guard flags down the barkeep and secures a bottle of unknown grog and a pair of glasses. "Oh Neffi, I've done messed up big time since i got here. You know how i had to leave Sandpoint. Well, Korvosa ain't no much better it seems. I was living hand to mouth. Or i guess pocket to Pocket seeing as i was lifting coinpurses from the passerby. It got better though. Met some upright guy called Vencarlo when i tried to lift his purse. Maybe you heard of him? Kinda famous around the town as a master swordsman. Anyways guy is a real gentleman. Took me in and taught me the sword. But uh then i had to leave." His gaze darkens a bit. "I was a fool... i put a woman between me and the best thing that ever happened to me..."
The guard is looking pretty down now. What do you do?
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Post by Dorcas on Apr 26, 2015 20:22:36 GMT -8
I toss the bartender enough coin to cover the first five rounds of grog, hoping to keep the sergeant drunk enough to maintain the charade because he really seems to want to talk to Neffi right now. I pour the first round and hold it up to toast.
“Poor sod, tell me all about it! We got all night mai fren.”
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Post by pringerbeam on Apr 28, 2015 18:50:59 GMT -8
"Awww yer the best." The guard pours another glass of liquor and deftly downs the liquid. As he fills your glad once again he continues his story. "You see for a few years it was just me and Vencarlo. Those were good times. The man knows know about the art of the blade than anyone else in the city and he's not just skilled with the point stuff either. The man is a real gentleman that's got some big pull even among the noble houses. The common folk treat him like the hero he is and the nobles give him the respect he deserves." He refills the two empty glasses from one of the five bottles now arrayed on the table. "Vencarlo is practically a saint as far as most can tell. Only weakness he has is for the beauty of a woman. Which i guess is why I should have seen it all coming when Sabina first showed up as his second recruit. She was beautiful like the sunrise and just as fiery as the same heavenly orb. Stole my heart the minute she walked through the door. Should have guessed Vencarlo was just as entranced as i was." He sniffs to try and clear the tears starting to well in his eyes an pours another drink. Were there four empty bottles earlier? Also, when did this grog start tasting better than the fur of a drowning Wharf rat? "So we all trained together like a family. A real one, not like what my bastard of a father gave me back in Sandpoint. But it couldn't last. Sabina just seemed to grow more beautiful each day and i couldn't hold it in. I don't know what i was thinking. She was like a sibling to me and i saw how she looked at the serving wenches when we were in the taverns. I confessed anyways though and she just laughed, LAUGHED at me like it was just another joke like so many we shared! Took my heart and crushed it like it was made of glass." The empty bottle in his hands shatters with this last word and he looks at the shards sticking out of his leather gloves with mild disinterest. "The rage ate at me. We were an even match in skill so i could never get the upper hand. But i knew who could: the man that taught us everything. So i urged Vencarlo to make all the same mistakes i did until he too found his heart broken. That is when i suggested it: a duel to see if Sabina had finally learned all she could from Vencarlo. They both agreed but Vencarlo was so enraged he got sloppy. He slipped up and lost several fingers for losing his cool in a way i never once thought possible. In his rage and shame he cast Sabina out of his household and became overcome with melancholy. I did much the same and fled the home i never deserved to go find a bottle to curl up in and haven't left since." He takes a draw straight from the bottle to drain what's left of bottle number seven, eight? how many legs does a goat have? "Anyways, i joined up with the city guard because there isn't much else to do with a sword around here. I haven't heard from Vencarlo since... the man was a better father to me than i could have ever hoped for and i cost him his fingers..." The guard stares into the liquor remaining in his glass.
what do you do?
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Post by Dorcas on May 7, 2015 6:59:11 GMT -8
I rack my brains to see if I know a Sabina. (Do I roll knowledge..?)
Hannelore: rolling 1d20+5 Knowledge (Local)
(4)+5
= 9
I'm also thoroughly impressed by the man's ability to drink, because I had intended for him to drink himself to sleep and let me walk away with the story/information/rest of the booze, feeling like I'd done someone a favor. I try to push past the alcohol and put the sympathy I feel into my expression. Relying on his seemingly poor eyesight, I clap him on the shoulder with one hand, a bottle in the other.
"Mai fren, it feels shitty now so I drink with you; but th' past is th' past, an' you need to learn from it. A demon's worst nightmare is a history lesson, you know!"
Take another swig.
"Lookit you now though, sergeant in the guard! Yer doin the right thing by me and erryone else in th' city. I know ya did it because ya got nothin' else, but out of errything you -coulda- done, this counts as a step in the right direction, ya?"
Point out the window at the -- wait the city is burning, why is the city burning -- ah well, can deal with it later, alcohol now, deal with problems after.
"City's burnin' right now, but they gonna need ya in the mornin'. I dun wanna hear tomorrow that Vencarlo or Sabina got hurt by some fuckin' looters or something ya know? Duelists or not, they can't duel an entire mob at once!"
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Post by pringerbeam on May 7, 2015 17:14:53 GMT -8
Knowledge (Local): Sawhowhatinthewherenow? Sounds like a Mwangi delicacy.
Grau's face lights up. "Ya know what? You're right. I have done good and I can do better! Starting tonight I'm gonna be the man Vencarlo taught me to be. Barkeep!" He flags down the bartender. "I want two bottles of your finest spirits for me and my friend here and a tankard of ale for everyone else. Tonight we are gonna celebrate my vow to become a better man!" There is a minor cheer throughout the tavern as the drinks are passed around. Two bottles are placed on your table labeled with a print of a devil playing a lute. Floating near the bottom of the bottle, a barbed stinger drifts through the liquor. Grau pulls the cork out of his bottle with his teeth and spits the spongy wood into his glass before raising the bottle to the ceiling as he mounts his chair. He sways dangerously and you think you see two gnomes placing bets on whether he falls before the end of the toast sure to come. "Tonight I make this vow! No longer will I run and hide from my mistakes. Instead, I will make amends where due and become the man I was meant to be!" With this Grau upends the bottle and chugs a good couple mouthfuls of liquor before dismounting from his chair. Your hear squabbling between the gnomes as it looks like the short one won the bet. The night goes on and more drink is had. Grau begins to tell you a story about a would be smuggler, a priest impersonator, and TENTACLES EVERYWHERE. Your wonder about the adverse pharmacological effects of the stinger floating in the liquor... or not? Where did all that booze go? Were there always this many empty shot glasses stacked in a diorama of the Academae while a Sczarni cutpurse recounts how he swears he defeated the arcane wards during the last breaching festival and was cheated out of his glorious riches by a three headed demon that has been rigging the event to cover up the real winners every year because the diabolical scheming of the Cheliaxian magical industrial complex would never allow a full blooded Varisian to claim victory over their puppet summoners? Is that a pig you see? Fluffy fur pillows float around your head before forming together into a lumpy bed. Is that sunlight? Why is it so loud? It's like there's a riot or something.
You awaken to find yourself surrounded by maybe two score racoons sleeping on and around you. It looks like you might be in a pigsty but there are no pigs to be seen. Grau appears to be asleep and snoring with his face rested on the wall of a shack as he continues to lean against the wall with his trousers around one leg as if he was in the middle of relieving himself but just couldn't stay awake for it. An especially pudgy racoon hangs from the hood of his cloak also sleeping.
What do you do?
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Post by Dorcas on May 8, 2015 4:34:47 GMT -8
((do I have to roll to resist hangover or vomiting or something? if I have to and fort or con is applicable, the rolls are:))
Hannelore: rolling 1d20+5 Fortitude
(7)+5
= 12
rolling 1d20+3 Constitution
(14)+3
= 17
((regardless of what happens:))
Groggily, check that all my weapons are still on the harness loosely fastened/tangled around me, scratch the nearest raccoon behind the ear and try really hard to remember whether or not raccoons are breakfast food or friends.
I sit up, feel cold. Realize that I was sleeping under my armored coat like some kind of cocoon. Put on the coat. Put on the harness. Tighten the straps back up. Brush my hair.
If Grau sees me now, I probably won't pass for Neffi anymore. But that's okay, he seems like a decent sort of fellow when you get down to it. I poke him awake while drinking out of my waterskin, intending to offer him some when he comes to.
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Post by pringerbeam on May 8, 2015 22:59:42 GMT -8
Fortitude Save: The bile wells up in your throat but you manage to keep down the puke.
"Huh, what?" Grau sputters before falling backwards into the mud of the sty. The racoon hanging off of him bounces and hisses in confusion. "UUUUUUUUUUUUGH my head." Grau groans as he looks bleary eyed up into the sky before staggering up out of the muck. He accepts your offered water and takes a drink before dousing his face with what is left of the water. "Thanks Neffi... wait, you aren't Neffi? Oh gods I'm sorry I mistook you for someone else last night. I guess I owe you though, you made me think about my sorry state." Grau looks up the sky and notices the sun's position and the presence of riot fires. "Oh no! I need to get to my post! The guard needs every man at his post right now! Where are my pants?" He looks around for the trousers around his right ankle. "Mind if I ask your full name good madame? I truly do owe you for helping me out last night. You could have just robbed me or even left me to die in a ditch but you didn't. That's good people by Vencarlo's standards. Nice armor by the way. Are you some kinda mercenary or adventurer? Never seen that crest in my time in Korvosa."
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Post by Dorcas on May 9, 2015 7:25:20 GMT -8
I grin broadly.
"Hannelore Windvale-Lancaster, at your service!" Playful bow. "Crest is from the ol' family business, but I'm just an adventurer nowadays. I'm glad I could help you out! We'll have to catch up again later on -- you shouldn't slack off on that vow, y'know."
Drink more water.
"Let's get goin' though, you're already late!"
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Post by pringerbeam on May 10, 2015 23:59:10 GMT -8
"You're right! It's time to get back to work. Where the seven hells are my pants?" Grau continues to spin around looking for the pants still around his ankles as the racoon that fell from his shoulder climbs back up to its rightful throne. He finally looks down and as he is about to draw up his trousers a loud banging sound rings through the sty as a nearby door slams open. The peacefully sleeping racoons leap to attention and turn to look at the open portal. A wrinkly old Varisian woman covered in warts and moles gives the two of you the stink-eye. "Yew baestaerds! Wheere are mine peegs?" It suddenly becomes apparent that the pigsty you find yourself is lacking in any hogs. Grau, flustered, looks in shock for any pigs but to no avail. "Um sorry madame but I have no idea where any pigs might be at this time?" The old Varisian woman spits into the muck. "Yeew baestaerds! I carse yew! I carse yew weeth a mytee veengeence!" The old crone makes some kind of arcane sign with her hands and shrieks. The galloping of dozens of hooves rumbles forth from inside the house and a dozen goats come charging out of the doorway to line up in the alleyway before the old woman. Grau looks at you with worry. "Umm... As much as I would like to hang around and try to right this wrong... I think it might be best if we... RUN AWAY!" With that Grau turns tail and runs down the alleyway opposite the pigsty, the racoon holding onto his tunic for dear life. The remaining racoons take his queue and flee after him in a furry horde. The goats bleat with sound and fury and lower their horns to charge.
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