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  #16  
Old Jan 12th, 2023, 06:15 PM
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Bedtimes
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Tumble, Fee and Nell confirm they heard it. So has Raya, who will help you get the song right on the disk. Briony and Rist couldn’t hear it. Wellgar did. Melisse didn’t. It’s so ephemeral and distant and otherworldly, it requires something like faith, and even those who hear sometimes feel they are making it up. It’s not coming from a source that can be followed. It is on the wind, or seeping out of the earth, or winding like a sound-ribbon between the stones, or all of these.

Gand believes the stones were used for human sacrifice and are perhaps haunted. There are places for chains in the farthest stone, the one that faces out to sea. But they are so, so old! Older than the wards, maybe? Gand nearly went anemic, hiring Bloodflower to go with him. She heard it loud and clear and hummed it for him, then said, I look like a damnedy merwhat? Pah! Ask a girl with more tail. That is all they know.

Eda is delighted to see you, as are Thalia and Bok Mon Roken, who looks like Thalia, but when she sees it is you, she reverts to herself. She is wearing the Little Widow’s old dress because, she says, she is in mourning, veil thrown back to reveal her strange, pale face. Bok Mon Roken, you gather, doesn’t want to leave.

Nerves, says Eda. It will be good for both girls to see more than fey-soaked swampery--- We will come back, darling.

Bok Mon Roken kicks at the sofa leg, anxious, but nodding.

Thalia says she would give you the dolls, with her whole heart, for nothing---but earlier today, she came upon a talking rat in the garden. The one that was with Mags, when the lizards attacked. She was glad to see he had made it back to Saltmarsh. He said he was unhomed, and sad, and friendless with Mags gone. She set him up in her dollhouse in her room, and not an hour later, when she took him a tiny rat charcuterie, her window was wide open, and Elithoniel was gone-gone-gone. Guess what else was missing? And yet, how could a rat have toted off the dolls, each bigger than he was? He stole nothing else, and her purse, fat with travel gold, was right there.

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Skerrin has gone out, Peter tells you, but Anders hears your voice and comes running. He has put on a weight, his cheeks have color, but he is as big-eyed and damp-eared and sincere as ever, delighted to see Ax Tumble, hag killer. He isn’t sure where Skerrin went---out? Shrug. He will tell you with an edge of impatience that doesn't seem aimed at you that he and Skerrin have discussed the election. Skerrin is voting for Melisse, and pressed him, but he will vote for Pearl, who is his childhood friend, even if her political ideas are dumb. The kid is rebelling!

Also, who cares for elections, much, when the beloved is in the mansion next door!? He is vibrating with nerves and joy and wants you to help him pick a waistcoat for tomorrow, which is, of course, enthralling work and deeply relevant to your interests. Did you not leave the monastery specifically to help young men choose roses over ivy or paisley? No? You gather he has not seen her. Not even a glimpse. You go back to the Fury to find you have managed to miss the interview process---also surely enthralling. Poor Tmubel! Falco has gone to bed.

Fela, Shella is staying at the house right next door to the Solmar estate. It is well kept, royal-owned. A housekeeper opens the door, a local, you would guess, by her accent as her garb. She lives here and is in charge of keeping it up when it is empty, caring for guests when it is full.

She glances up the stairs behind her in the vaulted lobby and says that “the visiting lady” is not receiving. But even as she says it, there is a tread on the stairs, and oh, look, it’s Skerrin Waverunner.

He smiles his unctuous smile and says, Watcher. Welcome back. A moment, and then he clocks your sword. Springer. I mean. His mouth is thin. He tells you in quelling tones he was visiting with Shella’s chaperone, enquiring after her health and co-ordinating when the betrothed pair will meet tomorrow. The chaperone (this word is a little close to Nanny for your liking...) told him she is still feeling poorly. Sea sick. Not a fan of sloshing.

You can meet her at the feast, as will all the town. I am sure she will be delighted to find a paladin of her god is staying here. And I for one so look forward to your moon tales. He says "moon tales" like he means “root canal.” Not your fan, at all.

Back at the Snapping Line, there is a note left for you, shoved under Gand's door. Yes, thank you. I shall meet you here at two. ~Briony Saltwind. So! There is that!

Plenty of time, as you have promised to meet Bingle early and head to the dwarf hole...

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Bingle and Falco, currently you can order off Kreb's menu: curly friend potatoes, or chicken parts, or mushrooms, but they all come out of the old oil tasting like the fish sticks. There is red dip and white dip; special sauce is red and white dip mixed. Shameful, to a Hin. Proof of the Fury’s decadence, to gnomes of swamp and forest.

Ann arrives with a gift for over the bar. Oh, good.

I call 'im Ten Fang, but I did give extra teeth, for fiercity, and also laser eyes, as those're always good, she explains, and then she answers your questions: My favorite color is all of ‘em, but I admit to partiality to tiger color, here, particular, today. It’s real nice, being a wizard. I like it fine. Oh, Anabel’s just a girl. I imagine she’ll work lunch shift, ‘til she comes of age.

Mostly, you’re having me, and to me, the trick of running such a place as the Fury is knowing when’ter blink and when’ter see clear. A body has to see murderful shenanagins, like, and bud-nip that, but not see smugglers and smooching and such-all. It’s good to half-see spy trade, and pick up bits and bobs to pass along. Anyways. I’d be right fine at it. Fact.

Felice has let Ann answer first. Perhaps because she is nonplussed by the way Banx keeps popping up from under the big table and saying HMM! HMM! accusingly after every question levied at her.

My venn circles do not include the "shenanigans of murder," as Ann puts it, I assure you. The house must lose, strategically, at times. Enough to keep them playing. Or to pay off a man who knows a thing you see he has set invisible upon the table with his bet. In the end, the house will a profit, fear not. The worst thing I have ever done? But this is a question for a friend to ask, over better wine than Kreb sold here! To a potential employer who asks this---hmmm. She looks very serious, but her eyes are merry. I have the terrible flaws of being a perfectionist. I work too hard. I care too much! I can be over-conscientious?

Falco you hire them both for different purposes; both can start immediately. Ann will send for her niece ASAP. She is flatmouthed about the “special sauce,” in ways that bode well for your next meal here.

Good business, Falco! Participative management, benchmarking the cash cow with a cross-functional team! Banx hollers after you make your hiring sections and Bingle is hauling him off home. He is high on being-in-town stress and fried foods. Bed, for you, Hin.

Bingle, the books tell you nothing Phidira didn't already say. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Probably Banx is finding out a thousand things every minute. Why do you get only an ABSENCE! But then you realize the absence itself is the discovery. Where is the dwarfs? Where is the gnomes? There should be dwarves and gnomes here in Saltmarsh! They were here first, even before the human families! You go back through with this in mind, and you realize some of the references to the many deaths pre-wards are not allllll Hags and Red Caps. There was another danger, referred to so obliquely most readers would assume it was hags. But no. It was not even fey, and it was predatoring on the dwarves and gnomes, those earliest residents of Crabber's Cove. They were dying out, so they struck up some sort of deal to contain it. An evil deal! Some people disapproved! So there were fussings and debates. Do this bad thing, or just die out? Finally so many were dead and gone that they did the bad thing and it was contained ...and now Saltmarsh is mostly Humans and Hins. You stare at the ceiling. CONTAINED! BAD DEAL! SO MANY DEAD! You can't sleep.

Banx has dyed his long nightshirt black, and his cap, too. When Banx goes evil, he goes all in. Or perhaps he is in mourning because he is the one who is "better at research" and he found exactly zero useful in his books. He falls asleep first and has to be whanged with a pillow because he breathes too quiet, and it's easier for you to fall asleep while he makes yacky talkings about meeting Fela in the morning to go see whatever is....CONTAINED!!!!... and ask will your other friends go, and and and zzzz. His voice makes you stop thrashing. It makes you sleep. This has been true ever you spent 100 years trapped a hell dagger surrounded by despair and other dead people who had given entirely up and you had no other comfort in all of eternity but cnady and each other. Weird.

In the morning you open the coin and Pim has sent only a picture he drew and three words in black ink:

 
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Old Jan 13th, 2023, 04:14 PM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

"A gift, then," says Tumble, leaving the music box and poor, swampy, grubby Mikkelpig behind with the Owelands. "Something to remind Mimi that home waits for her at the end of her travels. It is something that is important to me, too." It occurs to Tumble that 'Bok Mon Roken' would be a fine name for a group of bards... "We are staying at the Ten Fang Fury for now, if you wish to send us a postcard."

She helps Anders with his waistcoat choices without complaint, without flatmouth, without prevarication. "I prefer the ivy. Roses are romantic because they are rare, and they are rare because they are difficult. They sulk, and are bare in winter except for vicious thorns. Ivy is strong and evergreen, bears fruit in winter, and does not expect the gardener to do all of the work. Roses are showy, temporary. Ivy is stalwart, permanent."

When Tumble leaves the Solmar Estate, all the flatmouths come back in a rush of compression. If Tumble had a Tlinster, she could have taken down an exact likeness of "Starbert", the rat bsatrad, then print that likeness on dozens of posters that she'd pin up all over Saltmarsh saying "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS RAT" and "REWARD" and "ALIVE OR AS CHARCUTERIE".

But she doesn't have a Tlinster, so she doesn't. Instead she goes into the Ten Fang Fury where everyone has gone to bed early, and she tries to read the Evil Hag Book, which she can't even enjoy because every three seconds she sees a rat scurrying past and has to check. It's a whole ten minutes before she gives up and stomps out and up to Keledek's tower. First she tries the front door - if the bridge construct won't let her in, she'll mooch around outside throwing stones at random windows until someone puts their head out or comes downstairs to make her stop. If nobody comes out, she'll sit down grumpily on House's porch for a bit and think vengeful thoughts.

If she does get to see someone (and she's hoping for Phidira, because gnomes know gnomes know secrets), she'll hand the book over, explaining its provenance. "I am a monk of Narngeldem - perhaps you are familiar with my order's purpose. We seek knowledge in the form of Experience, not unlike yourselves. I had hoped to study this book, but its magic is beyond my abilities." As is all magic, but she moves swiftly on. "The girl Thalia Oweland had some of the poppets that the Hag created, but they were stolen from her, and I no longer feel comfortable carrying the book knowing that it could be so easily taken and used. It will be safer here at the Undine Mouth."

---

Home to the Ten Fang Fury where she'll sleep wherever is free for sleeping, then get up very early in the morning to glare at local rats. If there's nobody working the breakfast shift, she'll make something herself out of whatever is available (including local rats, if any get close enough) and set up the breakfast table.

"Your rat has returned to type," she tells Falco drily when he wakes up. "It has befriended Thalia Oweland using the same tragic story with which it befriended you, and has subsequently robbed her and disappeared once more. Perhaps you should check your belongings for any items of yours that may also be missing."

Over breakfast, she'll tell the rest of the party what she got up to the previous evening, and what she thinks about it:

1. Standing Stones! Not the same music as the Destined Song (she puts the little scrap on the table, with the number in the hourglass visible), so this is probably nothing to do with the King Afloat, and the Emperor of the Waves is still the best lead on that. But she shows Gand's notes and tells everyone what she heard from the Saltwinds about the matter. Human sacrifice is a Big Magic, Tumble says. If it pre-dates the Wards, then maybe the sacrifice business is one of the things that led to the Wards being created? Bloodflower said something rude about merpeople, that suggests they'd know more, but Tumble doesn't know any mermaids. She knows some little frogpeople, though...

2. Solmar! He's still convinced the wedding is going ahead, poor boy. "The Lady Solmar was elderly when the boy was born," she reminds them. "She must have been rather old when she passed away, but she did not die of natural causes. I have seen her body and I know that she was poisoned. But why poison a woman who likely only has a few years left in the world? Anders Solmar cannot be capable of this. This and the connection to the Hags... it troubles me."

3. "Elithoniel" and his life of petty crime. Didn't steal money, Thalia said. Probably couldn't carry it along with the other things he stole, because it wouldn't all fit in his tiny rat hands. Everyone should look out for little furry pickpockets!


Once she's given her news, she's ready to talk Dwarf Holes and Tieflings and whatever else the group wants to do before the big election party gets started.



Action Block and Stat Block
OOC: Sorry the post is so long, Balise Pacsal, gnome mathematicianI didn't have the energy to make it shorter. Here's Gand's notes and the Second Destiny which are on the table for everyone to see.

 

 

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  #18  
Old Jan 14th, 2023, 12:45 AM
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To start another full day
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Th' events o' th' day weighed heavy on Falco as he lay down in a dead man's bed. They started th' mornin' off killin' a dragon an' didn't much slow down after that. Needless t' say, he were tired. Sleep enveloped 'im like a thick blanket an' he dreamed o' waves an' a single star driftin' across th' sky in th' wake o' a great snail.

In th' mornin' he familiarized 'imself with th' Fury's kitchen. Falco made a pot o' tea black as the depths o' th' sea. He also made a mess o' eggs, buttery toast, an' a respectable amount o' potatoes to accompany th' breakfast. With tomatoes an' mushrooms fer them what might want 'em, o' course. Naturally, he took a large plate fer 'imself while he listened t' what Tumble an' th' others found out.

"Stole from th' Tahlia! That ol' Starbert's got 'imself more lost than I thought. I can't believe he'd play us all like that, d'ye think he were stealin' from Mags too? Maybe Kasja could've spotted it but he definitely had me with 'is hooks. It's sad, I would've taken care o' th' damp whelp." He shook 'is head in disappointment that th' rat would so easily lie t' 'im after ever'thing.

Th' satndin' stones smell Fey t' Falco an' big magic with human sacrifice fits there. Th' faerie do like blood. Maybe not exactly tied t' th' destinies, but interestin' none th' less. Maybe it were some safety measure before th' wards went up? Maybe they had somethin' t' do with Nexa Banishea? Once they got that ship, later tonight, they'd be able t' find out.

Now, th' Solmar situation be interestin' indeed. They knew fer fact that Ol' Shellycoat Bonelick were slowly killin' Anders. It'd be a short leap t' think she wanted t' off 'is Ma too. She were workin' her way through th' original families what fueled th' wards. Now there were one less, after they took out th' Shenker line. But, could there have been another Nanny involved in th' Solmar house? Somethin' t' consider goin' forward with this sad little weddin'.

An' th' weddin', it were likely no coincidence that Sanbalat were talkin' about a weddin'. Soon they'd be findin' out somethin' there too. Much would happen today. Melisse would join th' council, Anders' fiance would make an appearance, there were t' be a party, th' Owelands would leave, a red moon were risin', an' Falco would find 'imself th' owner o' a new ship. If'n ever'thin' went 'is way at least. Well, it had t'.

"I'd very much like t' see this smugglers house with it's secret door. It may well be some sort o' trap or somethin' meant t' keep nosey types away. Pirates an' smugglers normally be a superstitious lot." O' course, it very well could be th' prison o' some ancient evil from before Saltmarsh. Really only one way t' find out an' Falco were nothin' if'n not curious.

Mechanics
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Old Jan 14th, 2023, 08:52 AM
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Fela: the butler did it
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Fela wakes early and immediately makes her way through the downstairs at the Line. The homely comfort of it, smell of breakfast in progress or served to early rising fisherman, Briony upstairs someplace, Finn's love of it -- she didn't want to leave, certainly not to go to The Empty Net -- yes, yes, it was hers now, in part, no longer the Net but The Ten Fang Fury, hers and her friends. Friends who she was very excited to see, who she had the deep bond that only repeatedly facing down death could bring. But the dingy dirty space of it was a bridge too far for a noble, the shadiness too much for a paladin, and the stuff in the basement, well. It strikes her these could be Pearl's thoughts, shudders, but then she's there.

"That's new...is the tiger -- hypnotizing them? Oh...breakfast, Falco, you're one of Saliber's angels."

She takes a plate nearly as big as Falco's, minus the mushrooms, and joins the conversation. "I warned Finn about the hit out on him, asked him about the island, maybe he'll write back about it. " She shrugs, slightly uncurious, perhaps, but there was so much else pressing. Like Solmar. She shares the information of her trip to try to see Shela. "Skerrin! Skerrin could have done it. Anders would have been young and so he would have mostly been in charge, and then he could have gone to the hag to keep him poisoned and more easy to control. All very proper, I suppose, Skerrin being there to meet the chaperone -- but this wedding is to be part of this awful ceremony, and Skerrin seems the one making it happen -- they'd presumably need someone inside to control the timing and make it happen, and Skerrin's the obvious one; when we showed Anders the letter we found Skerrin was the one talking him down, saying the handwriting doesn't match. Terrible when a servant doesn't know their place. We just need to sit down and explain all this to Anders and he'd understand, right? He's never met Shela, he'll get over it.." she can feel the doubt in her own voice, but the Blunt Instrument goes to the direct solution. "...search Skerrin's stuff, he's got to have something from them. How else are we going to stop this wedding?"

Elithoniel she doesn't share Tumble's wrath toward, more confusion. "But he was such a nice serious little guy! Hard to see him doing something awful with those horrible little hag dolls, isn't it? Maybe he was just trying to get them away from those little girls -- and rightfully so!"

Fela pushes her plate to the center of the table, stands up. "Right, then. Should we look at this gate of Bingle's before the day gets going? Are we going to the debate or skipping it? It might be a good time to deal with the ship if most of the town is distracted...or it could be a time to talk to Anders away from Skerrin?"

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Old Jan 14th, 2023, 11:50 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
Evening
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Bingle loves the tiger painting a lot. It's upsetting but also nice, kind of like Mags was. She burns up invests some jade dust casting Magic Mouth on it, so that whenever the door swings open the tiger chants:
Ten Fang Fury, a helluva dive
Avoid the clams, you might survive
Down your beer, glad you're here
Mad as a hag, but still alive!
She does the very best growly sea shanty voice she can do. And it's not very growly. So it a little bit sounds like a squeaky doll trying to be a pirate. But she's pleased. Also, she's not going to be here very much so she doesn't worry about it getting annoying. And, just during the space of the interviews, she notices that some of the regulars have picked up singing along when the door opens. And it's good business to make people down beers. So!

She exercises her eyebrows aggressively during Felice's answers, both independently and together. But keeps her trap shut. During Ann's answers she gives soothing nods and squints with understanding eyes. She doesn't eat sauce or enjoy the curly fries. Falco does everything just perfect and then all the business is done.


MorningMost Important Things:

1. The most important thing of all is that they do not, at all, ever, under any circumstances, let out the hrorible evil that's in the dwarf hole. The wisest, best thing to do would be to shut up that chimney plaque, burn down the whole place with all the smuggled goods, and fill up the hole with beach sand. That's probably what they will do right after they talk to it and figure out what it is and just give it a chance to explain itself and maybe offer some kind of aid with the sahaugin threat. If it offers aid with the sahaugin threat, well, then, maybe they'll let it out just long enough to look at it and perhaps if it pormises to never again bother the dwarves and gnomes of Slatmrash, well, that's a pretty sweet offer?

2. Pim. Freaking WHAT?! Bingle has not spent much amount of time looking in mirrors because the village doesn't have too many mirrors, so it's just looking in ponds or windows (of which there are few also) or there is one cloudy hand mirror that exists among the curiosities that they have and treasure. But! Pim looks familiar. She does NOT fold the paper back up and she does NOT put it back in the coin.

Bingle bursts into the Ten Fang Fury, joins the party's table, eats a little bit of garnish off everyone's plate for breakfast, and shows the picture around.

"Look at this!?" she demands. Not to be persuading, or give them ideas, she doesn't reveal her suspicion. "Does this look familiar at all? Does it look like anyone you know? This is PIM or whatever Pim says he is, and we don't even know, because he is a lying liar. But -- but! Do you think he is my borther because this picture looks a lot like -- someone?"

She listens to Tumble's research on the standing stones and shares her (excellent, professional, sorry Banx, maybe find something else to be good at) research on the hrorible evil.

"Oh, my gosh," she says, almost falling backwards off the stool. She climbs back on it and stands on it, slipping into gnomish in her excitement. "WHAT IF THE BAD THING THEY DID TO COTNAIN THE HRORIBLE EVIL WAS TO DO A SARCIFICE AT THE SANTDING SOTNES!?"

Recovering herself, and glancing around the bar, she climbs up on the table and says in a quieter voice: "We should really make sure we do not release that thing in the dwarf hole. Let's go see it right away. I'll show you exactly where it is."

She leads them to the ruins, demonstrates the magic mouth effect on the lizard shield, and all the smuggled goods, shows them the chimney, the plaque, the hole, the HOLE. The hole and all that is down there in the drak.

"We need a rope," she says.



ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


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Old Jan 14th, 2023, 01:47 PM
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Driftings and Dwarf Holes
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Tumble, you save your flatmouths for “Starbert” and divest, giving away stuffed pigs, fashion advice, and finally an evil hag book to an interested and grateful Phidira (Friends are always welcome in the comfortable receiving chamber of the tower where you learned to knit.)

She says, A few days ago, you asked me to look into “The Drift.” Colloquially, in the Bright, a drift is a formal dance, the kind with partners in a line performing allemands and poussettes and promenades, often done at high-toned balls where a waltz is played as scandalous.

A fine person, Fey gentry, might ask, “Shall we go down the drift?” if they wished to reserve a space on someone else’s dance card. This can be flirtsome or simply polite.

But there are poems and stories where “The Drift” is a proper noun, sometimes called The Cold Drift or The White Drift. Context indicates a Fey place or ongoing event, perhaps a ball. It can be visited, but it is said to be easier to be invited than to leave. And if you say, “Shall we go down The Drift?” with the capital letters, it is a threat. Either an invitation to a fight to the death, or to engage in the kind of “dancing” Fey do best---an endless and bitter blood feud.

That is all she found. She hopes it helps.

At the Fury, Clovis has moved himself to Mag’s bed, but clouds of silken waistcoats (Roses! Tons of them!) and half packed bibelot boxes still choke his old one. You can sleep there beside the hidden hatch surrounded by his packing, or down in the Snake Hole where Sessnasenia will not begrudge you should you spread your bedroll on a coiling platform in the merc’s old room, or in Kreb’s room where Falco takes up maybe 15% of his huge bed.

Falco, Fela, Tumble, and Bingle (Banx in tow) all have a lot to report. You four catch each other up over the excellent breakfast you are able to craft because “immediately" means Ann has already got the pantry stocked a little better. Good hire!

Bingle shows everyone a picture, asking if you see the (striking, obvious) resemblance. Bingle says it is Pim the lying liar, but Banx says, Balck nik. Lies trun red. He realizes he is being rude and says in common, If you write lies with the coin ink, it turns red. If Pim says it is a picture of him, it is. But lying liars are tricky. Maybe he drew himself with a disguise on? But I don't think that would count as true, do you? A disguise is a lie. I think it has to be him.


Fela,
you are going to stop this wedding. Which wedding? Anders’ you mean. Of course! You are also glad to have the whole party going to Bingle’s dwarf hole so you can be sure to not let out any Horrible Evils, at all.

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In the house, you see the tons of crates, some open, some shut, 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 Red Feathers were selling arms to Sahuaguin AND lizardfolk, dipping out of both pots. Are they truly a Sahuaguin ally, then?

After the Magic Mouth demo, there is nothing for it but to look at the hole.

It is clear to you all that Dwarves made this door and carved the runes and face. Behind that door is the hole. With a ladder. Like a chimney behind the chimney, only going down instead of up. So quiet. So still. It’s dark, and so deep even those with darkvision can barely make out the floor. After about ten feet, it changes from stone blocks that match the chimney into a mined out tunnel, burrowed in the dwarven way.

Bingle, you and Banx have seen exactly what is down there, via your familiars. A square place, dug out of the rock. Walls. Ceiling. Very finite, but with a door with a silver symbol of Moradin on it.

The door looked thick and strong. Too short for humans, too tall for gnomes. There was a fat keyhole, and in your vision from Lily Market, there was a key in it, and it was the Dwarf faced key from the dragon’s treasure, now in your pocket. Behind the door is a velvet big man voice that calls you YOUNG LADY and says it wants to be FRIENDS. Mmmmmm hmmm.

It is being quiet now. Does it even know that you are here?


OOCPtwids can you roll me 2 D100s for the birds to Dad and Finn. There is a 5% chance Paper Birds do not make it---they have to fly overland. If they have made it they will arrive today. The soonest you coudl expect an answer is tomorrow, but the birds come to where ever you are.

bothers, will Tumble also share drift stuff Phidira gave her at the CATCH UP BREAKFAST.

cheerio, please take DM inspiration for your continued and delightful use of MAGIC MOUTH, the one of the most mechanically useless spells in all the game. Love it so much.

ALSO, Harlan needs to make a dc 17 wisdom saving throw.

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Old Jan 16th, 2023, 05:44 PM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

She tells them about what Phidira found out about the Drift, where Nanny wants to wear Fela's skin to a party, and listens to what Fela has to say about Skerrin. "One thing that I still cannot understand is why poison the mother also. She must have already been very old, and must have had trust in her staff to carry out her wishes, and I believe that we have heard that the Lady Solmar arranged the wedding herself. Assuming she was not part of the plot, it ought to have been a simple matter to manipulate her into handing all the arrangements to Skerrin Waverunner - simpler, certainly, than murder of a noble matriarch.

Wellgar Brinehanded at least is aware of the plot, which requires a good aligned cleric to perform the wedding ceremony. He will not be taken unawares... though he cannot put off the wedding forever, and if he refuses, a more cooperative cleric may be found."


Bingle's picture of Pim looks like Bingle. It does. Tumble says it. "This picture of your friend Pim looks like you, ax Bingle. Not completely. In Narngeldem, a game is played among the younger novitiates, where two monks sit on either side of a screen, and a third monk describes the features of the first monk to the second, who draws what she hears described. It reminds me a little of this." She turns her big grey eyes on Banx when he says lies turn red. "How certain are you that this itself is the truth?"

Tumble declines to remind Fela that the "little girls" are in fact around Fela's own age, and listens with interest to Bingle's and Falco's theories about the Standing Stones. A big magic, to keep something out... or something in. Nexa Banishae? Or this other Horrible Evil?

"I have noticed that nobody in town seems to have been able to tell us about the gnome or dwarf families who helped to found Saltmarsh," she says. Just nameless "gnomes" and "dwarfs", and now all the homes are ruined, abandoned. This is an uncomfortable notion. "Perhaps there was not a human sacrifice, precisely." Might as well say it. In Glotten, gnomes and elves are burned as they sleep. In Saltmarsh, gnomes and dwarfs get strapped to some sacrifical dolmen because, hey, this is their problem anyway, isn't it? This stuff happens, out in the backwoods.

But... well, this kind of thing is why Tumble is here, after all. There's a reason she chooses the backwoods - it's where the weird and creepy and secret stuff happens. Time to dig in.

At Crabber's Cove, Tumble looks at the shields and ponders. Why were the Red Feathers destroying some at the alchemist's house when they have a huge cache of them right here? She runs a finger along a crate for dust, to try to work out how long the goods have been there. Months? Weeks? Days?

And if there's a Hrorible Veil in here, specifically, why have the Red Feathers chosen this house to store all their carp in?

"I have two ropes, ax Bingle." She hands over all 100 combined feet of them.



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OOC:

 

 

Inventory, Herbalism, and Poisoning
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Old Jan 16th, 2023, 10:30 PM
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Th' Dwarven Door down below
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It were already shapin' up t' be another full 'n' busy day. Falco were thankful fer Ann an' her understandin' o' how a kitchen's s'posed t' look. A day like t'day ye need t' start off with a proper breakfast. It were certainly easier t' think with a full belly but his mind kept clingin' t' th' ship. Still, th' others did their best t' keep 'im in th' here 'n' now.

"We've learned that one constant throughout th' wealthier houses o' Saltmarsh is that their help ain't exactly th' ordinary type. Skerrin fer sure ain't no mere mild manservant. He's more seasoned'n one o' Ann's skillets. He'd definitely be capable o' somethin' like that. As fer the why? Why do anyone do anything?" Falco shrugged an' continued, "Maybe he were in with th' hags? Maybe he be in with th' Red Feathers an' is orchestratin' th' weddin'? He could've handled all o' Lady Solmar's business same as he does with Anders."

"Besides, with her outta th' way, that's one step closer t' takin' down th' wards." Is that what it all were about? It didn't seem like th' weddin' an' th' coven daughter plot were connected, but could they have th' same end goals? Somethin' else jumped in 'is mind, "A good cleric ye say, ain't Shella Viser a cleric?" Somethin' else t' think about, that.

Somethin' else that didn't take much ponderin' were Bingle's portrait o' th' one called Pim. "Looks like someone were tryin' t' draw ye as a boy, or maybe yer Da when he were young." Strange how a mysterious coin message could know so much. "Ye say he knew yer name, could he be watchin' through th' coin? There be magic t' do that, I'm sure ye know. Do this Pim ever mention any o' us or Banx?"

"Also, Tumble's right. Anyone can lie, easy as that." Falco snapped 'is fingers t' demonstrate. "I could tell ye I'd turn int' a lizard if'n I lied an' then say me name's Falco an' wildshape so it'd look like that weren't even me name. Or, if'n Pim is a changelin' like Bok Mon Rokken, then that could be what he looks like sometimes."

They kept findin' more questions before they had enough answers.

Like all these shields piled up in th' ruins o' ancient Gnomes an' Dwarfs. "Could it be that th' Red Feathers don't want either faction t' win? Big magic requires big sacrifice, right? Like a war. Lots o' power in blood." Th' magic mouth alarm what Bingle set were pretty great though, almost as good as th' talkin' tiger. "Maybe they was only burnin' th' ones in th' cliffside house on account o' us? Like they didn't want us t' find 'em." But why start a war between th' lizards an' fish? T' trap Saltmarsh in th' middle most likely.

Th' door were so deep down in th' dark. It made Falco uneasy bein' that far from th' sky, but he were also a curious Hin. So, he made th' climb down an' lit a torch. Whatever's on th' other side, someone went t' an awful lot o' trouble t' hide it. That ain't always a bad thing, folks hide treasure. But, do treasure ever ask ye t' let it out?

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Old Jan 17th, 2023, 02:19 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Her friends' observations confirm her own suspicions. Some kind of borther, or tiwn, or changeling hag demon. He said the eldest child of the cleric. Elder even than Bongle? Bongle, who had the other coin? Pimbal, PIMBAL!? Never heard of. Maybe. I am where you found me. In the village, but moving? Who stuck this coin into her bag of carppy coins that the folk had gathered from their wretched hoards?

Bingle looks at the picture for a long time, the whole time everyone else is finishing up with eggs and meat, before she puts it into the coin. She needs to think what she will say. Think hard. She doesn't understand too much about the wedding and the wards and Shella Visir and all of that, so she can use that time to think about what she will say. How could her father have a son, that she had never heard of? Her father and mother were the most boring people in the entire world. That they would have a secret? Absolutely plausible. That it would be more interesting than "Where is the village?" Not possible.

Bingle feels unhappy and worried about Tumble's speculations regarding the sacrifice and the evil. The gnome houses in ruins, the hidden dwarf plaque sealing up the horrible evil at great cost. The standing stones.

"Maybe we should pretend not to be gnomes," she whispers to Tumble as they tie themselves to ropes. "Maybe this thing really hates gnomes and will think we ought to be sacrificed to contain it." She pulls her hat down over her ears. "Fela, when we get down there, I'll help you find where the keyhole is in the dark, so when Falco lights the torch, you can look through it right away, before the horrible evil has a chance to shapeshift or anything like that."

Not that they're going to fight this thing, but she says an incantation and surrounds herself in magical armor, just like she was taught by Griselda Erevyn, who might be spring for her, or winter for Othokent, or some other thing entirely for Keledek. She pats Halran, little froggy bulge, in one pocket, and the dwarf hole key in the other, and goes down the ladder to help Fela.



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Old Jan 17th, 2023, 06:16 AM
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Fela, grasping for the true form from the shadow on the wall
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Fela shrugs when Bingle asks why they poisoned the mother, keeps chewing down potatoes, finally responds when everything is good and swallowed. It may be just a fry-up in the shady dive bar, but she's still a Markwig. "If they're all dead it would help the hag but not necessarily Skerrin. Maybe he was more interested in them being sick and easily controlled? Maybe he's not even sure who he's working for, what he's working toward, just that the money and power is good." She stops talking long enough to masticate and ingurgitate some eggs, pondering all the while. "Can we just grab him and stick him in the Zone of Truth? We'd make some enemies if we're wrong, but he already doesn't like us, and I'm tired of this tip-toeing around being delicate and polite. This is serious stuff, not some petty squabble over a misplaced heirloom or a fight over who gets invited to the ball."

The drawing is eerily like Bingle. "Finn and his friends would play games like that sometimes, but it'd never come out as close as this. That's clearly a relative, or...something related to you, showing some other aspect of you ... " she's not quite sure what she's graasping for, it's too early, the tea is only just kicking in, she's worried about her speech this afternoon, thoughts about the moon just reflecting the sun's light, Saliber and Lunimar being aspects of the same thing colliding with this slightly off image of Bingle. She grabs a spoon from a table. "... like when your reflection is all stretched or upside down in a spoon."

Fela instinctively jumps in defensively when Falco brings up Shella. "A cleric of Saliber wouldn't..." Crines. And they hadn't met her, and she was a Visir... "We haven't met her, but if she wrote that letter we found she sounds ok. And anyway, I don't think you can marry yourself. I mean, of course you can't be your own spouse but you need someone else to do the ceremony. I think." She clams up, flustered.

Fela was relieved when they headed out. Having a peep through an ancient door at presumably an unspeakable evil feels much more achievable and reasonable than trying to comb out these suspicions and conspiracies and vague threats. When a knot gets that tangled sometimes the only thing for it was slicing through it. And anyway anything feels doable after a good breakfast.

"O...okay?" She doesn't like this stumbling through the dark plan. "I'll try to be quiet?" She gets the infiltrator's key where she can find, and as soon as she's off the rope she takes it out, slowly following Bingle through the pitch black as quietly as she can manage. If they make it to the knob without incident she'll position herself as best she can in the dark and then reach up to her amulet and call on Saliber's help to detect evil -- if nothing pings, she'll call out "Hello? Anybody there?" and try again a moment after.



Actions, etc.
Dice Stealth check, key canceling out armor:
d20 14

Will use one or two uses of Divine Sense if we make it to doorknob.
Dice Perception, to look through doorknob, listen if necessary. Rolled twice in case there's a disadvantage situation:
d20-1 (2)-1 Total = 1
d20-1 (11)-1 Total = 10


 
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Old Jan 17th, 2023, 02:28 PM
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In teh Veil Dawfr Hole
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Bingle, here are some true truths you know for sure. Your mild, nice father is not a lying liar. Your soft-eyed, dumpling of a mother is not a lying liar. And Bongle? Bongle says, straight up, Don't ask about that, don't touch that, look away, that is not your business, go over there!

Whenever you skated the conversation close to the question of why you were left in a meadow being stone 100 years, no one lied! Your mother would droop and dampen, your father would hrm and not be able to swallow, and Bongle would forthrightly skate the conversation right away. That is too sad to discuss! We would have if we could have, of course! May I please have my sweater that you borrowed back? If you were to right now ask Bongle, Do we have a sceret borther named Pimbal Wildwander? She would say either, No, that question is ridiculous! Or, We don't talk about that, hush! But not lie lies at you!

PS that sweater was stone 100 years, and it returned as you did, just the same, so it no longer fit her rounder softer older body, so, no. And anyway. It is your important sweaters. She gave it to you, not loaned. You are pretty sure.

Tumble, dwarves don't have a fey origin like gnomes and elves. They are of the Prime. There were none in Glotten, but you saw dwarves in the surrounding towns, and they and their decidedly round ears were comfortable and welcome. The gnome and dwarf families being gone or died out has little to do with Fey prejudice---but it is strange!

You examine the dust. The crates were here for a few months you think, and common sense tells you the Red Feathers chose the ruins for storage because they were close to their hideout, isolated and unguarded, easily accessible by sea. They chose this house in particular because it was one of the few that had both an intact roof and a door that could be locked. The Red Feathers had no idea there was a hroribel veil here! The secret Dwarf Door was never found, until Bingle came.

Falco, you theorize with Tumble. You have done your share of privateering, and you know for a fact that burning the goods is standard operating smuggler procedure if you are about to get caught.

You feel confident that this place was just auxiliary storage. Maybe they flooded the market? They stashed these here as overflow, and then you killed them all and the King's Navy chased the ship away when it came back. They know their cover is blown, and they have not tried to retrieve this stuff. Why would they---it is trash! Poor quality, cheap. Not worth the risk of coming back, since their cover was so thoroughly blown.

Fela, Skerrin is a servant! Perhaps Skerrin feels himself above his station because he acted as Proxy for so long. But Anders is well now, and can make his own votes and decisions. That Major Domo shoudl learn his place.

Speaking of the council, in Saltmarsh, right now, Melisse is likely handing poor Pearl her rhetorical arse. It is better to be here, investigating evil, than watching that fiasco. This is Paladin business, you can feel it.

right-aligned image
Party, you go quietly down the hole. Bingle first, to lead the way with darkvision. Then Fela. Then Banx to Lead Falco, who has his torch at the ready. Tumble, roped, also has dark vision.

You make your way, some blind, some led, across the little room to the thick door. No one says, in a creepy velvet voice, My Dear Young Ladies. No says, Good Hin, if I might trouble you? No one calls out, Madame---if you would---. Dark and quiet, you go in a little line, all roped and safe, to that thick door here in the under-room.

Fela kneels, and Bingle guides her head to the keyhole. It is the only thing easy to find in blackness, as there seems to be very dim light on the other side of this door. With a click and a flare, Falco's flint lights his torch, and the room springs into warm gold clarity for Hin and Human.

Fela, you send out a questing, orderly magic the moment you can see, and immediately, you have an answer, no need to repeat the pulse. Undead! Undead! This thing is undead. This thing kneeling on the other side of the keyhole, already looking through. Sometimes, when you look into an abyss, it looks back.

It speaks in such a deep warm voice then, it's eye so calm and kind and human. Fela, it's me, Xolec. Will you not let your old friend out? Tell your companions, of course I have no animus toward gnomes. I should very much like us all to be good friends. Open the door, no harm will come to any that you, my good, good friend holds dear. I have much that I could share with Falco, especially, as he is interested in the Red Feathers, eh?

Fela, paladins don't befriend Undead abominations, they "retire" them. But this guy is your friend! You feel a wave of goodwill washing through you. You trust him, and really only want what is best for him, with all your heart---or do you?



OOCFela needs to make a DC 17 Wis Save or be very powerfully charmed. If you fail, you regard Xolec as a trusted friend to be heeded and protected. You are not under his control, but you will take his requests or actions in the most favorable way you can. If you pass, you do not know he attempted to charm you. (If you fail, then when it is over, you will know you were charmed, just as Charm works for you)

bothers, please let me know where tumble is---in OOC is fine---is she up with the shields or down in the hole with the party.)
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Old Jan 18th, 2023, 06:37 AM
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Fela and her new best friend
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Fela jolts a little as torch and Saliber aid her vision. So close, so strong, "Undead! There's something undea--" she's trying to rise up and back away for the door, see the others, when the cold fear is washed away as fast as it appeared, replaced so quickly by a warm comfort she can't help but laugh. "--Ah, of course it's undead. It's just Xolec guys -- we've got to get him out of there."

Fela turns to face the others, enthusiastic smile plastered all over her face. "You'll love Xolec -- we go way back. Who's got that dwarf key from the hoard? The undead thing -- you don't have to worry about that at all. Some people are Fey, some people are soldiers, some people are privateers -- Xolec's undead. No big deal. Falco, he's going to help you with the Red Feathers just as soon as we -- Ah, silly me, I can do it myself!" She holds the key up as if she'd never realized it could open doors as well as keep her quiet, and turned back to the door, preparing to try to work it open with the magic key.

"Have you out in a moment, Xolec -- never used this thing before but it's magic, how hard can it be, eh? Great timing, you can join us at the Cherry Moon Festival tonight -- we're supposed to tell stories and I'm a bit anxious about it, you can help me work mine up a bit, maybe?"

Actions, etc.
Failed her save and so is charmed. Going to try to open the door with the Infiltrator's Key (advantage, proficient) if nobody (tries to?) stops her -- I'm generally all for the anti-PvP thing but being charmed like this feels like an exception...
Dice Lockpick attempt:
2d20+3kh1 (18, 14 (keeping 18) )+3 Total = 21


 

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Old Jan 18th, 2023, 11:54 PM
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A hole new problem
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Th' way Fela recoiled in revulsion briefly when she called out undead were th' expected reaction o' th' paladin he'd come t' know. The calm chuckle an' easy smile what came after were certainly out o' place in a deep dark hole underneath th' ruins o' long-abandoned homes. Th' sudden change in attitude were concernin' at best. She weren't even comfortable in Th' Fury but suddenly some forgotten undead somethin' or other named Xolec is her dear friend?

Falco weren't buyin' it. He'd seen similar effects before an' this one Nat 20 insightweren't exactly subtle. "some people be fey, some soldiers, an' some privateers... Xolec be undead, no big deal?" Those was th' most improbable string o' words t' come outta Fela's mouth. This Xolec character, whatever it be, had put some magic on their Springer. An' jus' how'd it know he were out fer th' Red Feathers? Th' Xolec knew what Bingle looked like an' her name, it'd probably been watchin' an' hearin' all of 'em! Maybe some questions would be in order here but there weren't gonna be time fer much talkin', not with Fela producin' th' Infiltrator's key.

He let 'is torch fall t' th' stone floor all casual like as Fela were assurin' th' Xolec that they'd have 'im out an' partyin' in no time. Falco made direct eye contact with Banx an' then Bingle. He raised an eyebrow strategically 'n' said, "Oh right, right. Ol' Xolec jus' be a friendly undead what wants t' see the blood moon an' help us out. O' course, let's give Fela a hand Bingle." He tilted an' jerked 'is head t'ward th' paladin an' made a quick horizontal cuttin' motion with 'is hand.

"I'll jus' help ye out with that key there," an' then he lunged forward lightnin' fast, like a ridin' lizard's tail, an' Sleight of hand: 13 or Athletics: 19tried t' swipe th' magic key from Fela while Bingle came from th' other side t' distract her. "An' we'll all be outta here in no time."

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Old Jan 19th, 2023, 01:13 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Undead. It's undead. Oh siht! They should have stuffed their ears with cotton, they should have wrapped their faces in gauze, should have engaged some shielding magic, or played loud music! Her with her dwarf key all tucked up smug in the pocket, and forgot that Fela has the dang magic key that will open anything! Siht siht! She can see Falco taking his measure of the situation. No animals toward gnomes? Ha! Wants to be good friends? Ha!

"Banx, I think she's charmed," she hisses at him unnecessarily. "It is a big deal! And Fela hates undead!"

Bingle watches Falco, making urgent eye contact with him, and when he's ready to go for it, she's ready too. She gets her best pinching fingers out and when Falco goes for the key, she digs them into Fela's thigh relentlessly. Like Bongle who finds you napping. Like her mother who sees you sleeping during the prayer. Like Glasya on the mouth parts of a yapping bone devil. The Wildwander women have a powerful pinch, as Bingle has experienced in the meaty part of her arm 1000 times. PINCH.

And as the pinch does its dirty work, Bingle says, very loudly, and very supportively because it isn't Fela's fault: "By the bright boosb of the dark princess, I'm going to just curse you a little little bit, and transfer just some of your strength, for just a few minutes, into her boiling vat of evil where the stolen virtues go to seethe and suffer." Then BLAM her mouth and eyes blast open and dark smoke and fire pour out of her head and wrap around Fela in a roaring whirlwind, sapping her strength.

Meanwhile Harlan peeps his bobble eyes out of her vest pocket and leaps for the keyhole. Can he jam himself inside? Can he crawl inside? Can he reach his froggy arm through the hole and poke the undead monster in the eye?


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Old Jan 19th, 2023, 08:33 AM
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Tumble
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Artist credit: Aurore Folny (© Black Book Editions)

Left at the top of the hole to mind the ropes, on the basis that if anything goes wrong, people might need to be pulled up, Tumble looks sceptically at the rope ends. Her raw strength is roughly approximate to that of a large housecat or a small dog. Nobody's getting pulled up by her. She looks around for something to tie the ends to, then strips the edges off a couple of the Red Feather's carpy shields with her axe to make a kind of winch.

Once she's done, she settles down at the mouth of the hole, where she hears Fela saying that Bingle's Horirble Veil is an undead, oh no! But also he's a very cool guy who doesn't deserve to be locked up in a hole just for being a Horirble Evil potentially connected to Terirble Humna Sacirfiec.

Tumble takes out her journal and opens it at the cover page, writes inside with fat dark strokes, "if recovered, please send to Narngeldem Monastery, Bulwark Mountains", and tucks a shiny plat piece into the pocket of the front cover. She pulls the Bag of Holding close and opens it, ready to shove the journal in if anything goes horribly wrong - the Bag of Holding is waterproof, and will hopefully survive aeons, if it has to, until someone finds it and discovers what's inside.

When Falco shrugged his shoulders and dismissed Tumble's thoughts about why Lady Solmar was done in, what Tumble heard was, "the reasons for murdering (mostly) harmless old ladies, like you, Tumble, is not interesting or important, so nobody needs to care about that". When Fela said she's tired of tip-toeing around being delicate and polite, Tumble knows she's not talking about Fela's tip-toeing around and being delicate and polite, because Fela is about as delicate and polite as an Umber Hulk in a porcelain stall. What Tumble heard instead was, "I'm tired of you, Tumble, tip-toeing around being delicate and polite, because it, and you, are boring".

It occurs to Tumble that now would be a great time to accept these worldviews as her own! "I am certain that we get along very well with ax Xolec," she calls down, gaily. "If he has been imprisoned here for some time then perhaps he will enjoy a blanket, or some rations?" She turns her journal to a new page and with more fat dark strokes writes the date clearly at the top. All of it must be recorded! Decisive action! What does it matter why people (including old ladies!) die horribly at the hands of Horirble Veils! She waits with keen-eyed and keen-eared enthusiasm.



Action Block and Stat Block
OOC:

 

 

Inventory, Herbalism, and Poisoning
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GMing: Shadowrun 2050
Playing: Tumble
Timezone: GMT/BST (UTC +0)
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