Turn 1: Braggarts and eavesdroppers
Drink the mead, Passively listen to conversations around me.
(4)
Motion over a barmaid, still brooding and with a cold gleam in my eyes.
(6)
Enjoy my simple yet delicious meal of lentil soup and fresh bread while discussing my worry over Brother Eyrian being slightly late returning from his pilgrimage.
(5)
start reciting unbelievable but true tales of my adventures to others, whilst keeping an ear out for any interesting news.
(5)
Keep my men in line(in a gentlemanly manner), order tea, and discuss local goings-on with the bartender.
(4)
John 'Warhammer' Jones sat surrounded by a small crowd of locals, all of them listening intently to his every word. "Yeah, and then another one appeared, right behind me, dropped out of a cloud." A story he had told many times before, one of his best. "A lesser pilot would have tried to just get out of there, but I had a job to do, and I never leave something half done. I pulled hard to port, the ship could barely take the strain but I got it out of the line of fire just in time, and the second bogey missed me by a few inches, instead taking down his own comrade. Then it was a simple matter to swing around and blow him out of the sky."
The veteran pilot took a swig of his ale, "I managed to delay the enemy long enough for our fleet to get into position, we won the battle, we won the war." The audience cheered, their memories of when the Empire had tried to invade still fresh, and their memories of the decisive victory won still sweet.
"You're a hero!" a young, rather attractive, and slightly inebriated woman exclaimed.
"No," he pauses to take anoter swig from his mug before finishing, "I just did my job." The audience cheers for him again, and the woman swoons a bit. It seemed that he might not have to sleep alone tonight after all, swooning was always a good sign.
Even as he was telling the tale his focus wasn't entirely on his audience, or the bosom of the inebraited young lady, but instead he constantly scanned the room, keeping an ear and an eye out for anything of interest.
"I am simply a bit worried, that's all," Brother Torir explained to Brother Eindall, "Eyrian isn't usually one to be late, and he should have returned a full two days ago."
Eindall thoughtfully chewed on a piece of bread. "True, but I heard from some sailors that the weather up north has been a bit foul lately, and he was planning to return by airship. They probably just had to delay for a few days to wait out the worst of it."
"I hope you're right," Torir answered, unconvinced, and scooped up another spoonful of lentil soup from his bowl. "I would hate for anything to happen to Eyrian, he is a good man."
Eindall broke into a smile, "Ah, always the pessimist, my friend. Look there." He pointed at the door, through which an old man wearing dusty white robes had just entered. "I told you there was no reason for worry."
The two waved to their comrade, who came over and took a seat with them. "Torir, Eindall, it's so good to see you. And here I was fearing that I might have no one to speak to during supper!"
"Perish the thought," Torir replied with a smile.
"Oh, yes, and before I forget, I ran into a woman who asked me to give this to you," he handed over a small amulet to Torir, a simple dove made of copper, "She said her name was Camile and that she wanted you to have this for helping her daughter."
Torir examined the amulet, "I appreciate the thought, but I don't know if I can accept this. I should probably return it to her."
"Come now, that would be insulting to the poor lass. Besides, what harm could there be in accepting a small trinket from a grateful mother? You are far too serious for your own good."
"I suppose there would be no harm in keeping it," Torir replied and put it in his robes, "But now you must tell us of your pilgrimage, Eyrian."
The older priest started talking, and the other two listened with great interest.
Ironicus Owl was in a foul mood tonight, and was brooding quite menacingly in the darkest corner of the tavern. And as usual an intangible voice in the back of his mind urged him to murder everyone in sight, the same voice that had talked to him ever since he found the scythe.
He ignored the voice and motioned towards a barmaid, wanting another pint brought over. But as soon as the woman noticed him looking at her she looked deathly afraid and ran into the kitchen with great haste. A few seconds later she came back out, carrying a flagon of mead, quickly navigating to his table and putting it down before rushing back to the kitchen.
He didn't even like mead, and this did further foul his mood.
Sergeant Frelock kept a watchful eye on his men to make sure that they didn't bother the local women again and ordered in another cup of tea from the tavernkeeper Devlin.
"Most excellent," he said when Devlin brought in a steaming cup of tea, "thank you."
Devlin took the coins he offered, thanking him, and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. "What brings the king's soldiers all the way down here, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Routine patrol," the sergeant replied, taking a sip from his cup, "we're mostly here to make sure that people know that we are ready to protect them at any time." He put the cup down before continuing, "This seems like a peaceful town, but if there is any trouble around here I would like to know so I could help."
Devlin scratched his chin, "Trouble? Well, not much goes on around here. I know Kirkwall, that farmer over there, had some trouble with rats on his farm, but some adventurous young fellow came by and dealt with it. So I guess we're mostly untroubled here."
"Mostly?"
"There are rumors of dark creatures moving in the woods to the south, vampires and trolls and such, but those are just old wives' tales," Devlin spoke as if he felt that anyone who believed these tales was a complete moron. "There's nothing dangerous out there other than the occasional highwayman, and we haven't seen one of them in nearly two years now."
The sergeant took another sip of tea, "It might still be worth investigating. We are here to make people feel safe after all."
Devlin looked like he might continue the conversation, but was distracted by one of the barmaids running into the kitchen, looking quite scared. So he excused himself and followed her, leaving the sergeant with his tea and his soldiers.
As Devlin headed for the kitchen several people nearby considered what he had said, having listened in on the conversation and now considering what had been said, either wondering if they might somehow help or if they could profit from it in some way.
Environment: The tavern is filled with people. Smoke hangs in the air, songs are sung and mugs slammed together with cheer. It is getting dark outside.
Locations:A small town near the southern tip of the kingdom. Little of note happens there.
The most popular tavern in town. There are almost always at least half a dozen people there.
Type: Small Airship
Owner: John 'Warhammer' Jones
Defense: Light armor: +1 against piercing, slashing and blunt damage; Extra maneuvering fins: +1 to dodge
Armaments: 2 simple cannons: +1 piercing damage.
Damage: None
Location: Dullhaven Air Harbor
Name: Unus Dermonster
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Health: Excellent
State: Standing
Location: Tavern
Equipment: Magical Sword (right hand); Clothes
Common clothes
Magical Sword: effects unknown, seems to interact with the mark on your arm.
Magic Mark on arm: effects unknown, sometimes lights up when you're angry.
Basic Swordsmanship: can handle a blade. +1 to hit with swords.
Name: Sergeant Frelock
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Health: Excellent
State: Gentlemanly
Location: Tavern
Equipment: Flintlock Pistol (left hand); Sabre (right hand); Army Uniform
Army Uniform
Flintlock Pistol: +1 piercing damage.
Sabre
Leadership: can inspire allies to give +1 to attack, damage and dodge for one turn.
Adept Swordsman: +1 to hit and damage with swords.
Gentlemanly: Has to roll an extra time to take dishonest action.
Name: John 'Warhammer' Jones
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Health: Excellent
State: Sitting
Location: Tavern
Equipment: Cutlass (right hand); Leather Coat
Cutlass
Leather Coat
Spyglass
Airship "Raven" (Owned)
Ace Pilot: +1 to maneuvering airships, +1 to hit with airship-mounted weapons.
Basic Swordsmanship: Can handle a blade. +1 to hit with swords
Charismatic: makes interactions with others more likely to succeed.
Name: Brother Torir
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Health: Excellent
State: Sitting
Location: Tavern
Equipment:Magical Staff (right hand); White Robes
Magical Staff
White Robes
Pouch of herbs
Copper amulet: shaped like a dove
White mage: can use white magic.
Adept healer: +1 to healing light and moderate wounds.
Herbalist: can create potions and salves from various ingredients.
Name: Ironicus Owl
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Health: Excellent
State: Brooding
Location: Tavern
Equipment:Magical Scythe (right hand); Black armor
Black armor: +1 against piercing and slashing damage.
Magical Scythe: +1 slashing damage. Feeds on the souls of the slain to heal and empower wielder.
Reaper: +1 to hit with scythes.
Here it is, tell me if you find any errors.
Author
Topic: Roll to Trope: Turn 7 (Read 9125 times)