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  #121  
Old Nov 4th, 2022, 11:36 PM
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Promises, promises
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Falco smiled brightly and shrugged, "Seein' somethin' an' understandin' it ain't necessarily exclusive. I do try t' be open but some o' th' things I do be requirin' a bit o' obfuscation. Or maybe it's th' braggin' an' boastin' what muddies th' waters? At any rate, take Kasja, fer example, she ain't all that easy t' get close t' but, I do know she likes t' be around pretty things an' ain't one t' be satisfied by simply lookin'." He sighed an' continued, "I didn't know any details o' yer association but, she did leave town. I suspect it were over some recent trouble what came callin'. She'd never admit it, but I think she wanted t' protect us. There be a soft heart under all that ice. I hope she's fine, wherever she went."

"It's true I struck a deal with Shenker t' use 'is boat, real beauty too. I held up me end o' th' bargain, but me friend couldn't on account o' bein' dead so 'is dagger got her soul. He were only s'posed t' cut me, but he's a greedy one. That's where our beef started an' what we stole from 'im. Th' knife is gone now but he's got somethin' under the Net what disposes o' bodies fer 'im. If'n I can catch 'is pet monster, nobody'll be votin' fer Kreb."

Falco smiled as a red velvet pouch appeared in her hand. "O' course, there be other ways he may forfeit 'is candidacy. I'm loyal t' me friends but never called Shenker one. I do consider Gellan t' be a friend an' look forward t' helpin' you out too." He winked as he tucked away th' pouch. "Melisse, I'd do jus' about anythin' t' call that vessel me own. Ye've no doubt heard o' me exploits, I'm no stranger t' risk or moral flexibility. I'd say we've come t' an understandin'."

It felt good t' have a course plotted before 'im as he stood there at th' harbor stain' at th' boat what would be 'is own. One step closer t' findin' Garrick an' th' Dusk Maiden all he had t' do was help win an election. He stayed an' admired t' boat fer a bit before makin' 'is way back through th' market t' find 'is friends, Bingle may want t' help orchestrate th' downfall o' Kreb Shenker. As he wound 'is way through th' stalls an' crowd, he kept an Perception: 21ear open fer any election talk. He considered makin' a speech but now wouldn't be th' time. Maybe before or immediately after th' debate?

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  #122  
Old Nov 5th, 2022, 08:28 AM
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FELA! MARKWIG! WATCHER! fury.
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Frustrations with Gellan pile on top of each other like mattresses over the fairy-tale pea, but in reverse. Somewhere underneath it all there's a small hard kernel of admiration for the man. She has a general respect for authority figures. He clearly cares about Saltmarsh and his duty and is broadly competent. Not to mention Daddy Issues. But it's easy to lose touch with that when so many disconnects, misunderstandings and annoyances layer on top of each other.

The charter: How was any of this her fault! There did need to be someone who could make decisions -- what if the Sahuagins attacked now! It was unfortunate that the rules said Ticker was in charge, but. It. Was. The. Law. How could Fela have been expected to know Primewater was gingerly working around this, anyway?

Xendrose: Fela had been the one who was quiet about it, fearing other ears! Gellan was the one that brought it up! If he hadn't mentioned it, Fela wouldn't have replied, Manistrad wouldn't have overheard. And she's going to do exactly what he wants anyway! Yet somehow, again, it was her fault.

Domestic matters: It's no wonder she put her foot it in given her agitation with the others, but: come on now. Yes, it was passé to bring up his personal life like that, but pull it together, man. Your messy family drama is going to spill out and have repercussions for the whole town, putting an evil criminal on the town council because you can't set aside petty drama.

But Fela's just some minor noble, not a true princess, and that kernel of respect might as well not even be there, and her anger blazes out.

"Don't you dare frame your weakness as some form of principled respect for women! You're too scared of them to discuss difficult truths with them. Can't even speak to your daughter -- how could you serve on the council together! Even my selfish lazy brother has more sense of familial duty. Your natural diplomat will go speak to Pearl herself."

She's in the act of storming out dramatically when Ticker becomes tyrant. She stops in her tracks, grinding her teeth. He is legally in charge, no matter how revolting. She's seen his likes before, petty tyrants in court, seen icy coldness put them in there place where direct confrontation fails. She takes a deep breath, trying to control herself -- but this is Fela, and she's already het up. She hasn't a chance.

"'Sug' me again I'll slap your ill-mannered face so hard that floppy hair of yours lands back to Templetome. I am a Springer -- a Markwig! -- and you demean me, my family, and my order with that language, with your whole attitude. I am not some docklands whore to be bought for fifty gold a year. I will indeed speak to Pearl, but from my own initiative -- I serve Saliber, not you. You have shown no respect for your office or your duty, no understanding of the dire threats this town currently faces. I respect that you're legally in charge -- have your little party! Try the claw wine! -- but if you don't leave the actual running of the town to the sober adults in the room " pointing to Gellan and Manistrad "then I will be forced to call upon all of my considerable back influence in Templetome to end your pitiful little career."

Resume storming out, even more dramatically.




It takes her a few minutes of pacing the streets to cool down enough to even think. Her family was important, but also a bit on the down-and-out; Ticker, Ticker...he obviously had some pull to get this appointment, but was he so well connected he'd sneeze at her threat? Nothing she could do now, but the election was hurrying ahead, and she had a busy night ahead of her investigating Xendrose as well. Eventually she stomps around enough to get the steam out and starts asking around where in town Pearl might be staying, or found at the moment, and presents herself as graciously as she can manage. Low bows, "I know the election is pressing, but could her Mistress Pearl spare a few moments to discuss it with Fela Markwig, Springer? I have much sympathy for her drive toward order and modernisation, and have been in Saltmarsh nearly the last week -- it's changing since she's been here, and I'd counsel her on some recent developments ahead of the debates tomorrow morning."




Actions, etc.
Dice Intimidation -- step into line, Ticker:
d20+7 (3)+7 Total = 10

Dice History check -- any idea about Ticker's family, history?:
d20+3 (5)+3 Total = 8

Dice Persuasion to talk to Pearl:
d20+7 (2)+7 Total = 9

 
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  #123  
Old Nov 5th, 2022, 08:48 AM
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Bingle Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Ahh, Slatmrash, Slatmrash! Where people love to tell you not to do things and yet nothing prevents you from just doing them anyway! She remembers Mags' intelligent eyes searching her face, brows bent in a frown as she warned: don't make a deal with Kreb. And yet, who was to prevent her? No one. And who is to prevent her snootching around outside the wards in the creepy little ruin? Certainly not sweet Rowena, who thinks she hung the moon. Certainly not watery Aubrek, who literally said, "Of course you may." And not Banx, who is almost as brave as she is.

So!

They wind up the visit with the Drallions by skirting around specifics like "So, what is this ship that you have" and writing down specifics like the blue box and the heading information and all of that. She intends to spend a few obligatory moments exchanging pleasantries about the local politics of the moment and the weather and what fish are in the sea and other such uninteresting topics but when they learn that Kreb is running for council, Bingle has a pang of deep personal interest. She made the dagger deal and that's on her, but Kreb killed Banx. So Kreb must die. Kreb must certainly, certainly not be allowed to get onto the council.

Fortunately, she knows three intrepid heroes who will feel the same. Fela, Falco, and Tumble will never stand for such an outrage, and they will probably have a very good idea for how to prevent it. They worked together to take out a dragon. They can surely work together to take out a snake.

When they get outside the Drallions' house, Bingle winds the fluffy scarf around and tucks the Saliber amulet back under her evil cloak. She pulls Harlan out of her pocket and picks a bit of lint off him. He licks his eye.

"We need to go back to the market and find my friends as soon as possible," she says. The sea slaps flatly at the little dock. "Our friends," she amends generously. "But first we must just have a peek into these gnome houses. We are right here."

Stepping outside the wards is no more terrifying than getting in a boat and sailing out onto the boundless empty horizon. But really they could just sit inside the wards, back to back, casual, and warg into the familiars, sending the little fey critters on their own exploratory mission. They discuss doing this, and where they would sit to be safe, but both of them know it's wishful thinking. Both of them know that warging into the familiars they will not feel what Rowena says she feels -- haunted, or watched, or whatever -- because familiars dgaf about creepy stuff, they just boink along. If Bingle and Banx want to pick up a vibe, they're going to have to go themselves.

Bingle targets one of the houses that looks like it was built for a gnome, and snootches up to it. She puts Harlan on her shoulder, to use his frog tongue to eat up any lice that try to infect her. This place can't be too dangerous if Fee and Jasper are using it for a private behavior shack. So she quietly approaches the door. If it is empty, she slips inside. If there are people in there, she'll try to give a listen. Unless they are doing private behavior, in which case she will clamp her eyes shut tight and stagger back toward the Drallions' house with her arms out front, as quick as she can.


ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


ۜ\(ಠ_ಠ)/ۜ
 
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  #124  
Old Nov 5th, 2022, 09:12 AM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

Everything was going so well! Until it wasn't. Tumble extracts a clean handkerchief from her satchel while Fela and Gellan argue, and uses it to delicately blot her face, entirely because her face needs to be blotted, and not at all because it hides the laughter threatening to break out.

Eventually, Fela ends the show herself, and Tumble clears her throat. "Of course, Tick," she cuts in, nice and loud, but politely unemotional, a little pause where a person's title would usually be. "I am sure that we will all carry out your orders to the very best of our capability. Will you be paying in advance?" She holds out an expectant little hand.

If no money is forthcoming, she'll put her hand away, and continue. "Unless the stipend is for the Springer alone, in which case I will excuse myself. I have other business to attend to.

But I hope that I shall see you at the Empty Net this evening? Council business is thirsty work, and there is no better place to slake it than at the tavern of your potential future colleague, is there not?"


Tumble leaves Ticker to his cheese and liquor and talks quietly to the raging councilman instead. "Gellan Primewater, I will not apologise on ax Fela's behalf, and I will not excuse her behaviour. But I hope that you will not judge her too harshly. She is ruled by her impetuousity and has not yet learned to use her tongue as a fine implement."

Before she leaves, she pulls Kosj briefly aside and tells her about the Empty Net too. "Bad bar," she says. "Bad people." She explains about how the proprietor ended up in his own harbour, as best as she can. "Fun, maybetimes. You choose. But if Kosj or Darastrix or somelizard go, keep out eye for Fireborn man, help him drink too much, yes?"

---

Outside the Town Hall, Tumble thinks for a little bit, standing in the salt air, lips pursed, middle distance gaze. Lotta things going on. Bingle is at the wizard tower still, probably. Falco has vanished. Fela has stormed off. Eventually she settles on a direction - up the hill and over the bridge where the weird fey sickness thing happens. Could it be a ward? She goes to find Wellgar at the temple and asks him about it.



Action Block and Stat Block
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  #125  
Old Nov 5th, 2022, 09:19 PM
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Run and Find Out
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Bingle, dwarves and gnomes live a long time. The stone buildings down in Crabber’s Cove, houses and what must have been a store (Gnome!), what seems like a temple (Dwarfish), were built to last. But they are definitely ruins, unused for centuries, run down and dirty and very, very, very spooky.

This place is very, very, very spooky, says Banx. Who is not quite as brave as you. Oh hey! Look at that! He goes scootling across the sand right into the center of Spooky-Town, because he is almost as curious as you. You see what he sees---more gnome houses are built into the cliff’s side, very hard to spot if you are not a gnome.

The roofs have had it the worst. Some of the houses are fully open to the sky, but a few have holed and pitted slate roofs, and three or four have fully intact stone roofs. No windows have glass, but some still have heavy metal shutters and most houses have thick metal doors.

You close them when a sea storm comes, Banks explains.

You go toward the gnome houses. You do not hear the sounds of any personal behavior, or even the campfire behavior of kids hanging, which, this is the kind of place you and Jelbie might have come to look at wrongful novels, so---

Why aren’t kids here? Daring each other to taste claw wine? Banx asks.

You go in one gnome house and the floor has drifts of sand piled in the corner. Two windows have one shutter and the other is sealed. The big, thick door hangs by a single hinge. Wind whistles through. No furniture or even trash. Where would the ghosts even sit. Gnomes, even dead ones, like to be cozy. This is bad here. If there are gnome ghosts they are standing around getting sandy wind blown through them and being unhappy.

right-aligned image
You go back outside and that is when you notice a thing you would have to be pretty dern perceptive to see; only one house, a dwarf house, has all the shutters, closed and rusted shut, on every side. Its heavy door is also closed and rusted, and it is one with a stone roof. Of all the many, many little houses here, this is the only one that doesn’t have a easy hole to go right in.

Fela, words hurt most when they are true. As you tear into Gellan, his eyebrows go quizzical, and then his gaze softens. He speaks with quiet dismissal: I apologize for bringing you into the room, Springer. You are so effective in the roles where you excel, I continue to forget you are a child.

By then, you have wheeled on Ticker. He sits up straight and grins, blows breath out.

Wooo! Spicy! I like it. He doesn’t bother to respond to your threats. Only one thing you say claims his full attention, and as you storm off, he calls after you, quite earnestly, My dear, you’re paying who the what for where now? No, no, stay off the docks! I can set you up with a quite nice courtesan for fifty per annum---if you also buy her an apartment, of course.

You know Eliander was an effective officer of noble birth, but nothing special. With your father’s military connections, you probably could make life difficult for a Fireborne. But since this is his last name, Ticker's father must be Eliander’s brother. Gellan kept mentioning his mother as the power player. You have no idea who that might be.

You stomp around until you feel better, and you see Jasker. He will tell you that Gellan Primewater bought Pearl an estate at the south end of town. #4 on the updated Saltmarsh mapHe gives you directions. but all the shutters are closed and no one answers your knock. The small carriage house beside it, however, has been converted into a cottage with a smoking chimney. Its windows all thrown open.

A young woman with tidy, dark hair and a prim mouth answers the door in a puff of bleach and lemon water. She is cleaning, apparently, though the single room house behind her looks spotless already. She wears a simple but immaculately pressed day dress protected by a snowy, starched apron. You see a gleaming kitchenette, a narrow bed made tight enough to bounce a plat, a small square table and four chairs, all straight backed, cushionless and armless.

left-aligned image
I am Pearl Primewater, she says, brisk, her hands folded in front of her, her eyebrows up. You have my attention.

Tumble, Ticker pays you the 50G without a thought or a blink, just a Sure, thanks, pet. He seems to assume you are some sort of retainer for the Springer. Fine by you. Jingle jingle.

He also seems to take your advice about taverns to heart. Capper of an idea, there. I’ve met M’lisse, of course. Maybe by then your boss will have gotten the daughter to ditch on the election anyway, and I won’t have to waste the time on her. No offense to Gelly over there, but she sounds near as tiresome as your mistress. Templetome! He snorts, derisive. Went once. Pretty skyline, decent kip, but they allllll seem to grow great big Saliberian butt-sticks in the womb.

Gellan nods at you, in full agreement, when you speak kindly of Fela. It truly was my error. I was blinded by her success with the lizardfolk, but of course she had her team with her, to temper her. She doesn’t ask questions, that girl.

She issues orders, often based on faulty assumptions. The first will serve her well should she ever come to lead her Order, by which time she will surely have grown out of the second.

Manistrad chuckles, If she wasn’t so tall, I’d think there was some dwarf in that one.
Anders, who had gone stiff and big-eyed at all the conflict, relaxes. He looks very well. Still too thin, his eyes too big for his gaunt face, but he is sitting up in a chair, walking about, and his color is fine.

You head up to the temple, where you find Wellgar staring with some longing out to sea. You remember he was once a sailor. You join him, unmoved by heights. Way below you, you see two small gnomes in evil robes and colorful striped scarves clambering about the ruins.

Wellgar smiles at the question, The bridge? Keledek and I believe, based on oral history and our research. that is the very spot where they did the spell that set the Wards and banished the Fey. The casters stood the center of the running water. It seems this was thought to be safer somehow? Huge magic echoes, ax Tumble.

right-aligned image
Falco, you have Melisse’s attention when you speak of obfuscation and monsters under the Net. She listens bright-eyed, but when you say, "If'n I can catch 'is pet monster, nobody'll be votin' fer Kreb." it is Felice who answers, And if you feed him to his pet monster, there will be no Kreb to vote for...”

Melisse releases a light laugh, a practiced and pleasing sound. Ah, there’s that Savoien humor! Felice is joking, of course. Her eyelids shutter down demurely, and as she picks a bit of non-existent lint off her silk skirt as she murmurs, But she’s also not wrong.

If I win, find Felice and give her the ten thousand. She'll have the details. I must be off. Enjoy the market. I suggest you stop by the booth of the famed sculptor, Ketterman Barley. His factotum, Creativity, doesn’t stop here often...
With that, she takes her leave.

As you put the jingling pouch away, you become cognizant of a missing weight in another velvet pouch. Starbert has abandoned his nest. Recently. It still feels warm. You don’t see Bingle about. Perhaps she is still at the tower, or has gone ahead to see Aubreck. Both these things seem likely.

Whether you go to the market, or toward Aubreck’s, or hunt the rat, or do another thing, you will hear plenty. People are talking of little but the elections; you hear the time-table has been moved up. You also hear the merits debated. Kreb does have support. He is old Saltmarsh, and won’t interfere with the Fae trade, so people do seem willing to hold their nose and vote for him over a royalist and a non-native.


OOCcheerio, roll a wisdom save, DC 17. This is a magical effect, so you can have gnome-advantage.

GOONIE, some options: If you go to the Sculptor’s booth, roll a perception. If you want to join Bingle, you can have him decide to see if she went to see Aubreck’s and see her and Banx poodling around crabber’s cove. Starbert/Narlikar/Elithoniel tried to sneak off, and he matched your passive perception, so I let him succeed, but I let you notice his absence right away. If you choose this option, roll survival to try to track that rat.
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  #126  
Old Nov 7th, 2022, 06:31 PM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

"Many will die, Wellgar Brinehanded," Tumble says, at the cliffside. "Their families will need your help navigating the seas of their own grief. It is a waste." Narngeldem monks, on general principle, stay out of war. War invariably reduces options, whether you're directly involved or not, and the monastery, small, remote, and on hard unproductive land, goes largely unnoticed by invading armies and conquering generals.

She gets intel about the bridge, and tells Wellgar in turn of the Sahuagin threat and the lizards and the scenes in the town hall, but it's not the real reason she's here.

"You recall the boy, yes?" Of course he does. Fiz loved the temple. Why, he's probably at home right now telling his whole family about it and reciting some of Wellgar's moon poetry! "We have returned him to his family, but the Red Feathers were involved in his abduction, and that of the young dryad taken with him. Both children are important, to the swamps, at least, if not Saltmarsh. The children spoke of a wedding, but I cannot grasp the Red Feather's intention. Perhaps there is something in your oral history or research to explain it."

Tumble talks over the jumbled pieces; the shields, the trades, the Eye. How do they fit together?

---

She doesn't stay long with Wellgar; she's been given an important job by the acting head of the council, after all! She goes back to the market to look for the flower fae that Ticker mentioned, and shows her the 50GP when she finds her. "Orders from the King's representative," she says, using The Voice, but acting like it's only for Buddleja.

"You are to use your flowers to secure the borders of Saltmarsh. A Vallos wartime tactic, I suppose. I trust that you will see to the arrangements immediately - Rodterick Fireborne will not wait." She blandly bats off any bystanders that tell her the flowers aren't that magical, and blandly bats off anyone that tells her that the magic --and the flowers for that matter-- have a short shelf life. This is what the Crown has requested, this is what the Crown will get. She's very careful to stress the Crownliness of the order. You wouldn't flout the orders of the Crown, would you?

left-aligned image
Etsy: CloudborneMercantile
Tumble goes back through the Market to look at the Tlinster again. It's a very interesting device, with it's eye. Spread across the Feywild, Creativity says. There's another eye Tumble knows that's connected to the Feywild; it opens a door. And another one that... opens rifts? Maybe? Even important election business can't keep her mind off the Brineweave. On the way to Creativity's statuary stall, she spots Falco in the marketplace and updates him on everything she's learned, including an over-detailed description, with supporting oil crayon sketches, of Creativity's precious Tlinster.

"One more thing, ax Falco - take this. A souvenir from our dragon friend." She shows Falco how the little arming mechanism works, and how throwing the vial will shatter it. "It is safe to carry, so long as it is not armed."



Action Block and Stat Block
OOC: I'm giving Falco x1 Make a ranged attack against the target. On a hit, the target takes 3d8 poison damage and must make a DC14 Constitution saving throw.
On a failed save, it is also poisoned. It can repeat the save at the end of each of its turns.
Dragon gas bomb

 

 

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  #127  
Old Nov 7th, 2022, 11:41 PM
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Bingle Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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"So weird, so weird!" she says quietly, as they snootch through the gnome houses. It's weird how there's no broken furniture or any kind of trash and stuff. It's so odd how these houses have been abandoned -- why? The only reason a home would ever get abandoned in the village is if a tree got struck by lightning or an embankment caved in, or high water in the spring washed it away. Why let a perfectly okay house sit and rot like this, get filled up with sand?

“Do you think they decided that it was too exposed here, and went inland for cover?” she asks Banx. “Or maybe something else … enticed them away?”

Something enticed them away? Stupid! Bingle can’t even stand the sound of her own words out loud. Clearly, obviously, certainly something killed them all, and other people came and took away all their things, but nobody wanted to live in a death house or even — murder house? She peeks over at Banx to see if he is having the same thought. She looks around for clues, checking for scratches around the windows and door, looking for any secret doors or crevices that someone could snootch away into, deeper into the cliff face.

“Harlan!” she calls to the little frog, who is getting sandy and unhappy in this dreary empty house. “Come on and perk up! Help me look and see if there are any little doors, even a small one, especially a small one! Banx, I know you don’t know about things like this but if this were in a limestone bank in my forest at home, every one of these houses would have a little something in the back. Ya know, egress. Exit. Or cellar.” She prestidigitates the sand away from his little frog body, and Sassafras too if he needs it, but then gets everything sandy again by kicking up the piles and searching through them. “Maybe there’s no furniture left, no books or memories, but there might be a secret — left for us by these cliff gnomes. One that only we could see!”

When they’ve tossed the gnome houses they turn to the dwarf house, rusted shut and severe. “We have to take a peek in there,” she says to Banx, “Just one peek and then we’ll go straight back to town and never look in any more houses.”

First she’ll go around the outside of the house, picking and poking at the shut doors and windows. If everything is truly locked and resists her prying little fingers, then she’ll ask Banx to boost her up onto the roof, if he can, and she’ll scrabble on up there, looking for holes in the roof. Door shut tight? Window barred? She’ll go down the chimney! In the excitement of the mysterious house, she forgets to wonder if she feels watched.


ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


ۜ\(ಠ_ಠ)/ۜ
 
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Last edited by lostcheerio; Nov 7th, 2022 at 11:44 PM.
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  #128  
Old Nov 7th, 2022, 11:44 PM
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Exactly one rat lighter
right-aligned image

Finally, a way back out t' sea were within 'is grasp! Falco were really startin' t' like Melisse an' her cool Savoien lady in waitin'. All he had t' do were spoil Kreb's plans, he woulda done that anyway! It looked like 'is stars were truly beginnin' t' align. So why did it feel like he were missin' somethin'?

Straight away, Falco noticed th' absence o' Starbert. Th' rat pocket were empty but, why would he slip off on 'is own? Were th' little guy too scared t' go back int' th' Net after losin' two handlers? Did he see somethin' interestin' or maybe tasty? It did seem odd fer th' normally skittish rodent t' take off in a crowd like this, an' jus' a bit concernin'. Th' wrong person might not care if'n a rat could talk or not.

Falco began lookin' around fer th' tiny tracks an' tail lines when Tumble found 'im. "Oh hey! Seen a talkin' rat run by recently?" He smiled an' listened t' all she told 'im about th' eyeslate, election, an' even Tickler. "Ye know, yer th' second person told me about th' statuary stall t'day. Melisse recommended I go see it fer meself an' maybe I will. Jus' as soon as I find out where that Starbert run off. Th' market is hard enough t' maneuver at our size; he's just a wee thing." He told her about th' boat deal with Melisse an' reminded her o' th' Nervous Drops he got from Granny Hag.

He were properly amazed by th' poison bomb an' thanked her fer trustin' 'im with one. "Oh, this may come in handy if'n I'm t' turn out th' Net!" His eyes shone with excitement as he tucked it away. Next, he bent down t' see if'n he Survival: 15might pick up Starbert's trail amongst th' dust an' dirt o' market day.

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  #129  
Old Nov 8th, 2022, 08:08 AM
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Fela can totally control herself if it helps show that too big for his britches GELLAN that she's not just some punk 'child'
left-aligned image

There's a lot of muttering to go along with the stomping about town,

"Child, am I? Like being old is that great. Is that how he got to be on the council? Everyone else just died off? What's he accomplished anyway, besides driving his daughter away? You have to earn being a Springer. Like to see Mr. Primewater face off against a dragon and his evil lizardfolk priest. And what I excel at? I'm not just a fighter! I brought the diplomats back! I uncovered Nanny-Warlock! Bad as Ticker he is; one just sees my arms, the other just sees the rest of my body..."

Eventually she blows off enough steam to ask for directions, and she has the trudge south across town, nearly to Keledek's tower, to come up with a plan. "What I'm good at. Snort. His wife isn't the only 'fully grown adult who understands compromise, tact, and nuance'. She can't be much older than Pearl." Ok, maybe planning than continued stomping and venting. Why did she want to impress this guy so much anyway?

"Compromise. Tact. Nuance. Compromise. Tact. Nuance." It's a little mantra she repeats under breath as she knocks first on the door of the boarded up mansion, and then the cosy-looking coach-house in back.

It looks a lot less cosy after Pearl opens the door. Still, lawful Soldier Fela doesn't feel too out of place, here -- it could be a bunkroom ready for inspection. It could also use an overstuffed armchair or two over there in between the fireplace and the window...

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Primewater." Breathe. Compromise. Tact. Nuance. "I can see you're busy" With what? Sweeping the floor with a single strand of hay? " so I'll be brief. I haven't met you, but I've been around Saltmarsh enough to think you're the candidate I would support, could I vote. Law. Order. Your poster put it well -- even having just met, you are the Primewater I can most trust." Take that, Gellan.. "And I'm not alone in this assessment -- many citizens, the blacksmith Jasker, for instance -- have spoken about the need to modernise, the benefits that a more orderly direction would bring the town. As a paladin of Saliber I can't but help to agree, and would love to hear more about your plans for the town, and help you figure out how to achieve them -- if not now, then I look forward to hearing them at the debate."

What was "diplomatic" if not "obsequious".

"But."

Compromise. Tact. Nuance.

"I came mainly to warn you of the grave danger Saltmarsh currently faces. Dangers, plural. Many from outside -- my companions and I have recently slain two hags, and exposed Nanny as a shapechanger, working for some dark Fey power to try to bring down Saltmarshes wards. It was these forces that killed Primewater, and I most applaud your bravery for returning -- as a follower of one of the original families, your blood is part of the magic that keeps the wards up, and these forces will no doubt be after your life, should you stay here. It is a testament to your devotion to Saltmarsh that you returned. Another threat -- I've just returned from the swamps, where my companions and I smote the evil dragon that had turned the lizardfolk there into his pawns. The true threat is not the lizardfolk, but an apparent Sahuagin army, gathering to attack -- I have seen magical apparatus allowing them to breath above water for longer periods than normal. Not to mention the agents of the Red Feathers we drove out of the abandoned house North of town."

"However, even given all those threats, I fear the deepest most immediate threat might come from within. I am referring to your opponent in this election, Mr. Krebs. The man is evil. Not just the ordinary evils of drink, gambling and prostitution that happen under his watcher. No, I fear he's involved with much worse. He has ties with the snake-folk; he had a magical artifact, a dagger of an evil goddess, that could steal souls, before my companions and I took it from him. Not only is the man obviously unfit to be a steward of Saltmarsh in these trying times, if he won he would undoubtedly use his power to perpetrate more evil."

Breathe. Tact? Didn't even mention the step mother. Nuance? Ummm, ok, The title of a scholarly sociology paper!F$%£ Nuance Krebs is evil. Can't nuance evil. Compromise? Too early for the ask. Shut up and let her talk. Listen to her. You can Diplomat, Fela. Then figure out how to get her to compromise...

"We share a vision for Saltmarsh, I believe, Pearl, and I'd like to work with you to help achieve that vision. But the first step in that is making sure Krebs doesn't win, and I'm here to see how we can work together to stop that from happening..."


Actions, etc.
Trying to get Pearl to drop out of the election just cold is too much -- Fela's sounding her out, trying to get the feel for her, figure out a possible angle to make that happen.
Dice Persuasion -- just, talk, what's she after:
d20+7 (17)+7 Total = 24

Dice Insight -- get a read on her response, what she really wants:
d20-1 (18)-1 Total = 17

 
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  #130  
Old Nov 8th, 2022, 06:11 PM
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In Which Everyone Runs Around Saltmarsh Learning Tons of Crap!
left-aligned image
Tumble, Wellgar’s eyebrows knit. There are vile magical traditions rooted in necromancy that consume life-affirming rites as spell components. I am glad you returned the children, but I would guess they were the flower girl and ring bearer, meant as power boosters. The centerpiece would be a fertile pair of innocents of marriageable age and a good-aligned cleric. The more witnesses and guests the better. If they all die mid-rite as the caster works, the power of the evil spell unleashed cannot be underestimated.

He cannot see how the Red Feathers staging a wedding to power a terrible spell dovetails with the their trades. But the salty flammable material they sold Valagnat is definitely necromantic---so he agrees these things are related. He asks you to keep him apprised.

At the flower stall, you put in a solid performance, and Buddleja gleefully, and with a sparkly malice, picks up what you are laying down.

In the meeting, Ticker called Buddleja a “Rude little biscuit,” and apparently her opinion of him is equally low. Shepulls fifty bunches of red Savoien roses out of a velvet bag that could perhaps hold a dozen. You and she call over any passing militia and even a few royal navy boys, and she joins you in exhorting them to, by order of Rodterick Fireborne, make sure red roses are placed all along the wards.

Uhhhh, stems up. To, uh, protect Saltmarsh. From fishmen.

She doesn’t give one crap about elections, so she doesn't notice or care about your larger game, but you are able to tie this nonsensical “protection” to royalist views, and you have the pleasure of hearing people wondering if Pearl, who spent much of her childhood years in boarding school and has now been living in Vallos, is this idiotic and out of touch.

right-aligned image
Falco, you try to see where the little rat has gotten off to, but you see neither hair nor whisker, and a nearby cookie salesperson shushes you and squawks and apron flaps every time you try to ask about rats near her stall. You ascribe to him the best possible motivations---poor little booger is just likely lost, and he is a small thing.

Here is Tumble, unconcerned about rat safety. She passes over a dragon bomb, and the two of you agree to head back to the famous sculptor’s booth, where beautiful Creativity is making good headway, talking some noble tourist into commissioning a bust. Tumble is interested in the Tlinster, which he is demonstrating for this potential client. The noble seems hesitant about the unfamiliar magic, and Creativity assures him, We do not eschew the old ways. I am happy to take a plaster of your face, so he can feel the angles with his gifted hands...

Creativity waves toward a back wall of the booth where several rows of example plasters hang as a sales tool. Falco, your canny eye catches on one. A small face. Hin-sized. You know those wide-set eyes, that naturally down-turned mouth, though the plaster has robbed this most hated face of its expression of dark mischief.

Falco—this is Captain Cinderrabbit.

left-aligned image
Fela, you are invited in for astringent, boiling hot tea devoid of cream or sugar, and you continue make headway while your butt goes to sleep from suffering her merciless chairs. Pearl perches across from you, ramrod straight spine not resting on the chair back for even a moment.

The more you talk, the more her firm little mouth takes on an up-curl. She likes words like LAW, ORDER, PALADIN, TEMPLETOME, MODERNISE. She likes your gear and your insignia. She wishes earnestly someone would collect evidence of Kreb’s perfidy and then ship him off to Vallos to be tried, convicted, and hung.

You cannot help but notice the oil portrait of an impeccable dressed, elegant woman in her forties hung over the fireplace. Her spine is straighter than Pearl’s (HOW?!?!?!) and her gaze is colder than Ice Island. This painting, with its heavy ebon frame, eats all the space in between mantle and ceiling, dominating the room.

My mother, Pearl says, following your gaze. May Saliber keep her. She knew what was right, and proper. She raised me to be the same---mostly in Vallos, to be sure, as my father was then, as he is now, a profligate whoremonger---I had to come and stay with him a month each summer, and at Winterfest. You know my mother was still living when he moved that ....person... here. Into that large house, actually. Next door. Which is now mine. I may burn it.

Fela, for absolutely no fathomable reason, you understand this girl. She is a rigid set of core values layered over father issues. She forthrightly tells you her hopes for Saltmarsh to partner with Templetome as twin trade hubs, and to use the wards to keep out all Fey. She hasn’t yet heard Lily Market burned, but if you tell her, she is joyful. She has heard of the new winter market, and once Dral is settled, she wants to train a real militia here and partner with Vallos to land on the island, kill Slurry Bird (or at least drive her drive back to the Feywild,) and then establish a military garrison there to kill anything that pokes a nose through that rift.

Unfortunately, the threat of a Kreb Victory will not make her back out of the election—not as long as Melisse is running. You see all the way to the bottom of her heart, and what you see is a crisp, implacable rage at the current Lady Primewater layered over an older, crisper, more implacable rage at her father.

You also see that she is deeply, deeply lonely, but she would scoff at this. She has no idea.

right-aligned image
Bingle, Banx thinks you are exactly right; they built here because it is sheltered by the cliffs on one side and the sea on the other, with only one land route in, so they could set guards against fey things, and survive. Barely. This rocky bit of coast is constantly at the mercy of sea. They chose to set the wards over the much more sheltered, lovely, fertile land where the town sits now, and moved inside them.

The little gnomish cliff houses are just as they appear. No secret doors beyond things you can find without hardly looking, typical gnomish back ways out. You head toward the shut-up dwarf house, and all at once, every little hair on your arms and your neck stands up like sea grass. You are being watched. You know it. Banx, however, says he doesn’t feel a thing...well, boys.

The shutters and door are salt-warped and rusted shut. You scramble up Banx, barely stepping on his face at all as you muscle up to the roof. There is a chimney. Down you go. Bingle, no one else could! It is SO narrow and broken and cracked, only the smallest of gnomes could squoozle down with their little frog sticky-toeing close behind.

As you approach the fireplace, it widens and you almost fall. Right before you drop, you see a carving, high enough to be be completely hidden if you stood in the room. A Dwarf Face, made right into the stone. All kinds of runes, too, what!

Once in, you see two things. First, someone has been using this place for STORAGE!

Tons of crates, some open, some shut, are piled against the side walls. In the back, you see a hundred or so cheap tridents. On the left, shields painted red with those familiar gold lizards. On the right, the shields are constructed just as cheaply, but they are painted black with a shark on them.

The front door, from this side, is completely workable. The salt-rust on the front is theatre. It is actually barred from this side---probably some kind of device or mechanism can trigger the bar, or from this side, you can just manually lift the bar and swing it open.


OOC
left-aligned image
OKAY messy typing as I have a dinner thing with Mr Jonk , but want to get this up for you to ruminate AS I DID NOT PROOF READ REAL GOOD OR AT ALL.

I ran out of room so HERE, a shark shield in the OOC! You had some lucky rolls that backed up some bold, cool moves. LOVE IT ALL. Everyone! GREAT ROUND!

An especially NICE play from bothers. TAKE DM INSPIRATION for your flower fairy move. I have adjusted the election formula, imposing -2 to election rolls made by Pearl (or any Royalist candidate).

Goonie and bothers, You can both assume that Creativity will finish up shortly if you wish to interact.
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  #131  
Old Nov 10th, 2022, 12:04 AM
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A face both familiar an' foul
right-aligned image

Th' Tlinster thing were ever' bit as wondrous as Tumble made it out t' be. Falco watched, mouth agape, as th' eye somehow captured an image an' reproduced it on th' slate. He momentarily forgot about th' lost, an' likely terrified, Starbert. But when th' magical device was put aside for some dumb noble, Falco's eyes drifted t' th' wall o' plaster faces.

They were eerily lifelike yet completely lifeless with th' eyes all closed. Suddenly Falco's breath caught an' hot swell o' adrenaline washed over 'im as 'is body responded t' what 'e saw. There, off t' th' side, was a face he'd never forget.

Falco never in a billion years expected t' hate another Hin yet right there, under th' sun an' on that wall, were the face o' a Hin who'd more'n earned that hatred. It were th' face o' a Hin who'd killed 'is captain an' ran 'is life up on th' rocks. Th' loathsome face o' Captain Cinderrabbit. A simmerin' rage were threatenin' t' boil over any second. He wanted t' take that face, dash it on th' ground, an' crumble it t' dust beneath 'is heel. Only, that wouldn't help nothin'. Instead, he took a deep breath (or several) an' whispered t' Tumble, "That's Cinderrabbit," with a nod before he turned t' th' beautiful Tiefling.

"Friend," Falco said with a strained smile. "D'ye make all these casts yerself? Th' details be th' finest I've ever seen. Truly ye've a skilled hand an' deft touch." Does this mean that Cinderrabbit were here, in Saltmarsh, before? "D'ye remember all these faces? Each one looks like it has a wealth o' stories t' tell!" He looked back at th' villainous visage, "Oh! I think I know this one, we sailed t'gether once before. D'ye remember when this were taken? I've been lookin' fer 'im so I can pay 'im back what I owe. Simply amazin' work, it's almost like he's standin' here with us."

Mechanics
 

 

 

 

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  #132  
Old Nov 10th, 2022, 12:28 AM
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Bingle Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
right-aligned image
Wow! She considers bursting through the door and announcing her finds, but she stops herself, "I'm okay!" she calls quietly up the chimney. "Harlan, go tell Banx that I'm okay."

Harlan goes up the chimney, hops down the roof, and onto Banx's face. In a way that implies: she's okay. Bingle was raised right and knows if there's somebody waiting on you, worried, you have to at least send a frog to jump into their eye, to put their mind at ease.

Check! And now! About those smugglers! Hiding their bounty right under the noses of the good people of Slatmrash! Bingle spends a moment poking around in the goods, making sure she doesn't disturb too much. Cheap tridents, lizard shields, shrak shields. Is someone staging a playground version of the conflict between the lizrads and the sahaugins? These shields and weapons are crap! Colorful, thin, like you would give to a baby to whack another baby.

Bingle plucks a shark shield and a lizard shield from a place where the absence won't much show, and straps them to her back. Then she pulls out her spellbook and reads out a ritual spell to enchant one of the sharks on the shields at the front of the pile so that its mouth moves and it sings the following song:

Bok Mon Rocken was here -- surprise!
To cut off your hands, put out your eyes.
Sink your ship, shred your net
You're disappointing Sanbalet!


Twenty-five words, flat. Heck yes! She puts one of her precious, precious Sanbalet wizard hats onto the shield with the tip dangling rakishly over the shark, and looks upon her work. Good. Bingle sets the trigger to anyone approaching the shield, scoops up the examples, and scampers halfway up the chimney before she remembers. She scrambles back down, yanks out her spellbook and tears out a page, and does her very best, stuffed in the chimney, to make a rubbing of the carving on the wall. With the rubbing perhaps a little dim and messy, she gets a quill to copy down exactly the runes she finds there, and a credible drawing of the dwarf face. The whole thing. Then she rescrambles up the chimney on the rope, skitters over the roof, back to Banx.

She will gather Banx and head to the market as fast as they can. They must find Falco and Tumble and Fela, share the evidence, figure out what the dwarf runes say. For a moment, when she sees Banx wearing his wizard hat, she has a pang for the loss of hers. But. Worth it. Whatever they are doing with the shields and the war and all that, Bingle doesn't know. But they stole Fiz and scared him, and the little dryad too. And for that they must die.


ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


ۜ\(ಠ_ಠ)/ۜ
 
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Enter the panopticon at the RPGX Book Club

Last edited by lostcheerio; Nov 10th, 2022 at 12:41 AM.
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  #133  
Old Nov 10th, 2022, 07:14 AM
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Fela, starting a political action group
left-aligned image

Compromise didn't really seem to be Pearl's sort of thing. Not with the Fey -- the light in her eye when Fela shares the news of the burnt market -- and certainly not with Melisse. As she speaks, Fela grows curious about why she's even back in Saltmarsh -- she seemed to hold no fond memories of her time with her father -- and starts to think it might all be spite, until she talks about her mother, and then Fela wonders if Pearl has anyone else, at all, anywhere. Clinging to the father she can't stand and was raised to hate just because there was no else there.

What to do then. Fela needs Pearl to lose, her dreams for Saltmarsh seem more about triumphing over Melisse and her father than positive thoughts of building, and collected as she is she doesn't seem practical enough, experienced enough, to handle what Saltmarsh was up against at the moment. Maybe next election she'd be ready, but not now. Fela feels herself gaining her confidence, can imagine others (Kasja?) cultivating this, using this to find something to shatter her chances, the skeleton in the closet, the monster in the cellar. But not only is that not very paladin-ly, Fela feels too much compassion for this damaged, stubborn woman.

"Your mother..." Fela trails off (again), rallies herself. "I'm sorry for your loss. I lost my own, not long ago, so I know...I know what..." Fela has to stop or she might make herself cry, and doing that in front of Pearl, in this comfortless nun's cell, was unthinkable. She didn't talk about her mother, she tried not to even think of her, not when it felt like her fault that she was dead, that she'd been poorly and invalid after Fela's difficult birth. Pearl's loneliness had made her want to try, though, even if she had to abandon it immediateley.

After that, she wanted to get away. A brief comment on the estate "Burn it! It'd be such a waste -- surely you could do something useful with it. Start a school? Perhaps you could show me around, after the election, it's got to be good for something... but I've taken up too much of your time. Thank you for your generous hospitality" what Fela wouldn't do for a piece of chocolate at the moment "and I hope I can call again after the election."




If she couldn't compromise with Pearl, who then? Maybe the people who would vote for her would compromise. And who would vote for her, anyway?

Fela makes a beeline back to Jasker's Blacksmith shop.

"It just struck me -- decorations, records of my deeds -- I've slain a dragon, surely that has to be the first! Do you do engraving, or know a good one? Maybe you could hammer out part of the outline of it, the larger parts, then do the detail work yourself or hire someone you trust to do it? Would an extra 100 gold cover it?"

After that, she starts laying it on thick about Krebs, as she had with Pearl, his evilness, that he had to be stopped, that the vote was split, that Pearl wasn't the answer for the modernizing front anyway, not now. He seemed upstanding, charismatic, important -- who was in charge of the block of locals, actual locals, who wanted to modernise. What did they want? If they banded together, figured out what was most important, negotiated something with Melisse, maybe they could get some of what they wanted. "But if Krebs wins...there might not be much Saltmarsh left to modernize."


Actions, etc.
Pay Jasker an extra 100gp, (or more if he asks, but she won't pay less)
Dice Persuasion for Jasker to form a lobbying group:
d20+7 (10)+7 Total = 17


 
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  #134  
Old Nov 10th, 2022, 09:55 AM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

Tumble fully doesn't care about the missing rat --why would anyone care about a missing rat, this is a market by the dockside, there are a hundred thousand rats to choose from if you'd like one, look at that goblin over there running that stall, he's got rats-on-a-stick, why not buy one of those and keep it in your pouch instead-- but she's very interested in what Falco has to say about the plaster figures. Where would a pirate keep a bust of himself? On his ship? A weird place for it! And even weirder to publicly commit your likeness to art in this way, unless you were very very confident that nobody would ever catch you and have you account for your crimes?

While Falco presses Creativity for information, Tumble stands off quietly to one side and sketches a likeness of the head Falco says belongs to the pirate into her book. It's not a Tlinster (if only!), just the old, familiar skill of recording what you see, in the way you see it. Scratch scratch scratch. Is it easier to get to the Feywild, or is it easier to get to Stygia? Can either of them be visited in the five years Tumble has left? Who can say!

But when she's done, she's got a mugshot of the child-stealing, boat-thieving miscreant recorded in her journal, so now they can show it to people and be like, "you ever seen a fella looks like this?" in a gravelly voice, and make a whole load of ridiculous similes and metaphors, like a middle-aged writer of detective stories who never studied at a fancy university but learned his craft on the hardboiled streets of Kivalia among the snitches, wretches, and monsters. A claw wine, on the rocks, in a darked office, and in the top drawer of the desk--

"Hello, ax Bingle," she says, in a normal and not at all gravelly voice. "Ax Falco has found a likeness of our friend, Captain Cinderrabbit." She pauses her sketching to point one of Annabel's oil crayons at the face hanging on the stall's board. "Your scarf is agreeable. I talked with Wellgar earlier, and looked down the cliff at the ruins of old Saltmarsh - was it you and your friend Banx that I saw down there?"

Bingle gets a bomb too, as it's a pity to have a dynamite to carry around for so long but then just nothing dangerously interesting at all. The little brass arming mechanism goes "snap! snap!" as she shows the other gnome how it works.



Action Block and Stat Block
OOC: I'm giving Bingle x1 Make a ranged attack against the target. On a hit, the target takes 3d8 poison damage and must make a DC14 Constitution saving throw.
On a failed save, it is also poisoned. It can repeat the save at the end of each of its turns.
Dragon gas bomb

 

 

Inventory, Herbalism, and Poisoning
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  #135  
Old Nov 10th, 2022, 10:02 PM
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Around Town
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Fela, when you tell Pearl about your mother, she unbends. Well, perhaps this is an overstatement. But there is a microcosmic softening of her rigid posture.

I’m so sorry, she says. My mother was my best friend. That sounds...healthy.

Pearl seems to take your advice about the house under serious consideration, and when you ask to return, she brightens in the same microscopic way she softened. Yes. You may call again, she says, and she gives you a blinding, snowy, formal calling card with razor sharp corners, even though she has no parlor and no servants. Then she walks you all three steps to the door.

Jasker is excited about the idea of engraving.

Fee! he says. Have you seen her fine work? On jewelry? She does metal etching--- He shows you some examples, and she has a good eye and a fine light hand. The commission puts him a good, receptive mood, and he listens to your concerns with grave attention.

I’m not a huge fan of Melisse Primewater, to be honest, but you are right. We have to do everything we can to block Kreb. And if we can win concessions from Lady Primewater---or, more importantly her husband, it would be the smart play.

Not bad work at all, for a hammer, Gellan.

right-aligned image
Falco, Creativity likes the compliment.

Yes, I do make the plaster molds myself, and the initial casting, which is what you see here. The master recasts, again, himself, when I dock at Templetome. I do not disembark there, of course.

He swallows. It’s not good to be a Tiefling in a lot of places, but especially Templetome.

Would you like to commission a bust? I can take the plaster in the back, and it is painless.

When you ask about where he met Cinderrabbit, however, it is a no go. He looks alarmed, in fact, and says, Oh no! The privacy of the master’s clients is inviolate. I can say nothing about this or that face, and should you become a clientt, never shall I breathe a word about you either.

Falco, he almost pearl clutches, so theatrically horrified is he by the very suggestion.

Yeah. Sure, bud. You smell bull****. Under the right circumstances? He would absolutely say more.

Tumble, common wisdom says it is a breeze to get to Stygia. The trick is getting back out. (Rimshot!)

You try to capture the face, but you are looking at a dead-white mold of a plaster cast with no Tlinster pic back-ups to catch nuance of expression or coloring. Falco, who has seen the Hin, can tell you that your likeness is not very like.

You can tell Falco that this tiefling will absolutely dish about Cinderrabbit under different circumstances, but you exchange a glance and clearly see he already knows that. But as it happens, you know the circumstances under which Creativity might speak, because last time you were at the booth, you had the distinct feeling you were being watched. By one of the busts.

Is Creativity perhaps aware that he is monitored? If so, if you had a little time with him away from this booth full of stone eyes, you might indeed get more information.

If you asked right.

left-aligned image
Bingle, the soldiers blew it at the Haunted House, but now, you have found a cache of their goods! They will NEEEEEEVER go back to that house. But they might well come here.

HA HA HA! Not much is worth the loss of a wizard hat. This is!

You set up the welcoming mouth and then scramble back up a little bit into the chimney and make a rubbing of the runes and the carved face. DONE!

Up you go. Down was easy. Up is sweaty. And hard. You pull. Your evil robes catch on corners and juttings. Not even a third of the way, you slip and come thumpetting down down down, almost to the bottom, but you catch yourself before you are hurt. It sounds like this:

Crish Crash Blomp Rubble-rumble *click*

Your foot is on that dwarf's nose. You try again and scramble up, only to find Banx on the roof , in the process fo throwing a leg over the chimney lip. Apparently, in the swamps, frog-leaping-onto-your-eye means COME AT ONCE, I AM IN GRAVE PERIL.

Swamp gnomes signals are dumb. He looks at your page, and you both notice a thing that is obvious from the rubbing, but that you could not see when you were looking at the stone. A dark line down the center? Your pencil went into a groove that runs straight up and down. And then when your foot caught on it and flailed...that click you heard...

Bingle, that face is a door.


OOC Ptwiddle, SMART play backed by a rawther decent roll with Jasker. Another -2 to Pearl on Election day.

Oh dear GAWD cheerio, I snorted coffee out my nose. Please have DM inspiration for that SPELL POEM.

You said she went to saltmarsh and tumble affirmed, so you can begin your next scene there with Tumble and Falco if you like, but I will offer you the option of staying in crabber’s cove, since you had no way to know she would learn this. Both choices are great to make and fine!
__________________
Your book club attendance is not mandatory; all absences will be observed and noted by the ministry
✨🌟1984 by George Orwell🌟✨
Come learn what to think of this book and how to think it.

Last edited by Fillyjonk; Nov 10th, 2022 at 10:03 PM.
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