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Author Topic: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 17: I Guess This Counts As Taking Casualties  (Read 27325 times)

Yoink

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 9
« Reply #135 on: July 24, 2016, 07:32:54 pm »

Pyotr idly turned a helmet over in his hands, not looking overly enthused by it. Or its resemblance to guard uniform.
"I'll think on it a while," he tells the shopkeeper, "Most likely I'll buy ten sets for now. Seems like a fair price."

With that said, he turns towards the strange figure that approached him.
Pyotr watches the whole, bizarre display with an expression somewhere between bemused and wary, then raises an eyebrow  with some concern as the man manages to shoot himself.

Finally, Pyotr finds a chance to speak.
"An interesting offer, to be sure, but I am not buying this armour for me, but rather for my employees. Well, future employees. It seems to me that magic grafts and doctorings are a far more expensive option than simply buying a bunch of armour to be shared amongst the underlings, and with any luck re-used after they roast the cat*, unlike your, er, products, which I'm guessing would rot down along with the rest of 'em."

He shrugs.
"Perhaps you could interest some of my associates in your wares, though. Or I suppose I could refer said future employees your way once our business venture is properly underway, if they're keen for that sort of thing. Of course, if you happen to be considering a change of career, well.." he shrugged again, with a bit of a smile- or was it a smirk?- "...perhaps an adventuring company would offer a chance for some more impressive demonstrations than your little routine, there."

Leave the smith for a moment and chat to graft-guy.
Then take one more look at the armour on offer, and if it seems to me like a decent price, buy ten sets of helm and breastplate, arranging for delivery to the mansion.


*A peculiar idiom from Jalak's home region.

Spoiler: ooc (click to show/hide)
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Booze is Life for Yoink

To deprive him of Drink is to steal divinity from God.
you need to reconsider your life
If there's any cause worth dying for, it's memes.

ATHATH

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 9
« Reply #136 on: July 24, 2016, 10:12:04 pm »

((OOC: I assume that I'm not allowed to be a "proper" adventurer, as I have some quite good starting equipment))

"An adventuring party, you say? They tend to be good customers. May you bring me to them?"
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Seriously, ATHATH, we need to have an intervention about your death mug problem.
Quote
*slow clap* Well ATHATH congratulations. You managed to give the MC a mental breakdown before we even finished the first arc.
I didn't even read it first, I just saw it was ATHATH and noped it. Now that I read it x3 to noping

inaluct

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 9
« Reply #137 on: July 26, 2016, 07:59:20 pm »

"Yes. Have you seen any packs of wild dogs or some other moderately sized beasts on the outskirts of the town? I'll need to catch some to do some proper training later."
Regardless of that, Break the seal and read the letter anyway Head to the Guard HQ, and try not to get lost on the way there.
"The city has a very large feral dog population, and we offer a bounty at two copper a head. There are also gnolls living in the cactus forests on the outskirts, as well as immense arthropods and worse, stranger things out among the drifting sand dunes. Many beasts can also be found in the mountain caves a short journey away."

Drubjarred bids the guardsmen adieu and sets off across the city in search of the Guard HQ. [6] He not only finds it, it seems to find him. As he steps out onto Hecatonchires Street and sees the massive brutalistic sand colored building looming before him, he is shouldered by a poorly dressed vagabond wearing a domino mask who sprints past him, and then is almost trampled by the four guardsmen chasing desperately after the masked man.

"Stop him! He's a thief!" One of the guards yells. It's all very Keystone Kops.
Go back  to the well kinda home base and put all this stuff on a wall try and set  up some kind of planning room.
[6] Laura walks back to the home of departed Turaco, nudging open the door with her foot and stepping inside. Falvar is asleep in the corner, everybody else is gone. Laura quickly sets about rearranging the sitting room, transforming it from a tasteful room to dine and entertain guests into a model of administrative efficiency! Wow! But at what cost?!

The posters are quickly attached to the wall, including the hand drawn copy of the Wanted poster. This place no longer looks suitable for entertaining guests, but does look very businessy. If you had a few maps, it would be perfect!

Pyotr idly turned a helmet over in his hands, not looking overly enthused by it. Or its resemblance to guard uniform.
"I'll think on it a while," he tells the shopkeeper, "Most likely I'll buy ten sets for now. Seems like a fair price."

With that said, he turns towards the strange figure that approached him.
Pyotr watches the whole, bizarre display with an expression somewhere between bemused and wary, then raises an eyebrow  with some concern as the man manages to shoot himself.

Finally, Pyotr finds a chance to speak.
"An interesting offer, to be sure, but I am not buying this armour for me, but rather for my employees. Well, future employees. It seems to me that magic grafts and doctorings are a far more expensive option than simply buying a bunch of armour to be shared amongst the underlings, and with any luck re-used after they roast the cat*, unlike your, er, products, which I'm guessing would rot down along with the rest of 'em."

He shrugs.
"Perhaps you could interest some of my associates in your wares, though. Or I suppose I could refer said future employees your way once our business venture is properly underway, if they're keen for that sort of thing. Of course, if you happen to be considering a change of career, well.." he shrugged again, with a bit of a smile- or was it a smirk?- "...perhaps an adventuring company would offer a chance for some more impressive demonstrations than your little routine, there."

Leave the smith for a moment and chat to graft-guy.
Then take one more look at the armour on offer, and if it seems to me like a decent price, buy ten sets of helm and breastplate, arranging for delivery to the mansion.


*A peculiar idiom from Jalak's home region.

Spoiler: ooc (click to show/hide)
The price seems good to Jalak; his seeming indifference [3] almost sways the merchant to cut a few silver off, but he agrees to it and the deal is done. Jalak parts with 70 silver coins and the armor seller bundles up the gear in a crate and has two of his employees heft it and set off towards the manse with it.

Graft guy has a slightly crazed look about him, but it might just be enthusiasm.

((OOC: I assume that I'm not allowed to be a "proper" adventurer, as I have some quite good starting equipment))

"An adventuring party, you say? They tend to be good customers. May you bring me to them?"

I'm fine with you being a regular adventurer or a dude who stays in the rear with the gear. You obviously have advantages, but I don't see them forcing the rest of the party into obsolescence.
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Dustan Hache

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #138 on: July 26, 2016, 08:08:49 pm »

"Oi! Nobody shoves me around and gets away with it!"
I try to find a rock or something to throw and the thief using magical throw. Failing a rock, I'll just toss my letter at him and pray it comes out undamaged. He will suffer as it cuts into him with a well documented vengeance!
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I figure at some point, you're just gonna run outta fucks to give and just off yourself whenever you get hurt at all. It's not like there's any downsides to it. Hangover? Suicide will fix that. Stubbed your toe? Suicide. Headache? Suicide. Papercut? Suicide.

Yoink

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #139 on: July 27, 2016, 06:20:09 pm »

"Well, I still need to buy weapons- preferably at at least as good a price as that armour- but that's not urgent. Come on, then."

Take the mad enthusiastic doctor back to the mansion and introduce him to either Phineas or Laura.
He can be their problem.


Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)
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Booze is Life for Yoink

To deprive him of Drink is to steal divinity from God.
you need to reconsider your life
If there's any cause worth dying for, it's memes.

inaluct

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #140 on: July 27, 2016, 08:37:37 pm »

"Oi! Nobody shoves me around and gets away with it!"
I try to find a rock or something to throw and the thief using magical throw. Failing a rock, I'll just toss my letter at him and pray it comes out undamaged. He will suffer as it cuts into him with a well documented vengeance!
[4+2] Drubjarred reaches over and grabs a small metal statue of a weasel from a nearby stall and chucks it full force at the back of the thief's head. The tiny metal figurine bounces off with a loud metallic clunk and the thief faceplants into the dirt street, skidding along the ground for about ten feet, raising up a cloud of dust as his domino mask flutters limply to the ground beside him. Everybody goes silent and stops, staring at the prone figure.

"Y-you! YOU KILLED HIM! OH GOD!" Some idiot runs up to the thief and shakes his shoulders. Everybody gasps. Oh god.

[+1 EXP!]

The guards circle around the collapsed criminal. Everyone watches solemnly as a guard leans in and roughly jabs the body with the butt of his pole-saw. The thief groans out, "Society made me this way..." The crowd lets out a collective sigh of relief and then bursts into applause, a guard slaps manacles on the incapacitated larcenoid, and the curtains fall on this brief and ephemeral spontaneous drama that unfolded over the course of only minutes on a busy street in a dusty desert town.

The guards hand a grateful merchant back his purse, and he hands Drubjarred five golden crowns from it with profuse thanks and a promise of favorable dealings if he ever finds himself in need of beasts of burden. He also passes Drubjarred a business card (Lacerda, Dealer in Pack Animals, Common, Rare, and Unique. 333 Hecatonchires Street.)

"It warms the cockles of my heart to see honest citizens standing up for one another against the criminal degenerates of the world," one of the guards begins, as if ready to launch into a spiel about something, but seems to catch himself. "I see you have a sealed message from one of our posts. What business do you have here?" You recognize the guard's insignia as that of a captain.

"Well, I still need to buy weapons- preferably at at least as good a price as that armour- but that's not urgent. Come on, then."

Take the mad enthusiastic doctor back to the mansion and introduce him to either Phineas or Laura.
He can be their problem.


Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)


Don't worry about the delay, it happens!

Pyotr leads the enthusiastic doctor back to the house and into the now transformed sitting room. What once was a somewhat old fashioned but hospitable room for taking an audience has metamorphosed into an organized orderly room with a wall of posters and advertisements.




Laura is bustling around in here, putting pens in a mug and putting the mug on a table/desk.

ATHATH: You're in. Feel free to post a turn at any time.
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Dustan Hache

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #141 on: July 27, 2016, 09:00:08 pm »

"I offered to do some training, and a couple of lads at one of the outposts tested me. They then sent me with this letter, and told me to take it to the Chief of the guard. after that.. Well, you saw what went down."
Go retrieve and return the statue I threw to the stall owner. Pay them recompense for damaged merchandise if I have to, then continue on my way to the chief.
« Last Edit: July 27, 2016, 09:02:42 pm by Dustan Hache »
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I figure at some point, you're just gonna run outta fucks to give and just off yourself whenever you get hurt at all. It's not like there's any downsides to it. Hangover? Suicide will fix that. Stubbed your toe? Suicide. Headache? Suicide. Papercut? Suicide.

ATHATH

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #142 on: July 28, 2016, 02:57:12 am »

May we establish what I start the game with by pm first, though?
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Seriously, ATHATH, we need to have an intervention about your death mug problem.
Quote
*slow clap* Well ATHATH congratulations. You managed to give the MC a mental breakdown before we even finished the first arc.
I didn't even read it first, I just saw it was ATHATH and noped it. Now that I read it x3 to noping

Yoink

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #143 on: July 29, 2016, 11:36:17 pm »

Pyotr takes one look at the state of the room, observes Laura's redecorating efforts for a brief moment, then shakes his head and turns to leave without a word.

Head back to the market. See if I can find any severely discounted weapons.
Also, stop in at that place with the weasels. Enquire, in as casual, disinterested a tone as I can muster, as to what they might cost.
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Booze is Life for Yoink

To deprive him of Drink is to steal divinity from God.
you need to reconsider your life
If there's any cause worth dying for, it's memes.

Dustan Hache

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #144 on: July 31, 2016, 07:01:06 pm »

Prod the GM impatiently for next turn.
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I figure at some point, you're just gonna run outta fucks to give and just off yourself whenever you get hurt at all. It's not like there's any downsides to it. Hangover? Suicide will fix that. Stubbed your toe? Suicide. Headache? Suicide. Papercut? Suicide.

inaluct

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #145 on: August 01, 2016, 06:15:27 pm »

"I offered to do some training, and a couple of lads at one of the outposts tested me. They then sent me with this letter, and told me to take it to the Chief of the guard. after that.. Well, you saw what went down."
Go retrieve and return the statue I threw to the stall owner. Pay them recompense for damaged merchandise if I have to, then continue on my way to the chief.
[5] Drubjarred generously flicks a silver coin over to the stall owner. The mustachioed man catches it and scoops up the very slightly dented weasel statue.

As Drubjarred turns to walk away, he feels a tug on his sleeve; it's the stall owner, who presents him with his silver coin back, the slightly dented weasel statue, and a small bronze lamp with a few sticks of incense. The lamp looks nothing like the one in Aladdin. It's radially symmetrical and has a small spot for a flame and several incense stick holders around the edges. He thanks Drubjarred again, and the dwarf walks with the guard into the headquarters.

It's a very large building; the floor is occupied by a large radial desk manned by several guards, huge cabinets of papers behind them and constantly being rifled through. The ceiling stretches high, high above, the space of the building forming an interior courtyard lined with walkways bustling with guards. Unnumbered doors stand along the outer wall. The captain ushers Drubjarred into a door on the first floor (with a large and resplendent bronze crest on it).

The room is the office of the chief of the Ronke City Guard; a very tall and gaunt man with a rueful face and a bushy white mustache. Without a word, he leans over and takes the letter, pops the seal, and sits down to read. After a moment, he looks up.

"My lieutenant writes highly of your skill." The chief stifles a cough and lifts a hand. A guard lifts a teapot from the stove in the corner and pours two cups of chamomile tea, setting one before the chief and one before Drubjarred, "Before we get down to business, tell me about yourself. From the cut of your armor, I'd wager that you were once a guard somewhere."

Pyotr takes one look at the state of the room, observes Laura's redecorating efforts for a brief moment, then shakes his head and turns to leave without a word.

Head back to the market. See if I can find any severely discounted weapons.
Also, stop in at that place with the weasels. Enquire, in as casual, disinterested a tone as I can muster, as to what they might cost.

[1] Pyotr shuffles up to the stall with the weasels. All of them stop what they're doing and stare at him, sniffing the air and bobbing their heads inquisitively, except for the golden weasel. It just stands there and regards him regally, beady eyes glinting with a certain je ne sais quoi.

His throat tightens. Pyotr feels the heavy beat of his own heart. The manager of the stall looks kind of concerned as the sweaty chamberlain stammers a raspy inquiry about "the... t-the weasels."

"We have many weasels." The man behind the cages gestures to their curious occupants. "They cost anywhere from one silver to fifty, from the lowliest to the finest of caged luxury mustelids."

Pyotr mumbles an incoherent thank you and shuffles away, his heart palpating beneath his incredibly ostentatious and gaudy attire. His mouth dry, he sets off down the street with weasels weighing heavy on his heart. Eventually, [4] he comes to a promising building!

A large stone structure with swinging double saloon doors. The painted sign hanging on the front reads "Grundig's Discount Weaponry and Bar," and an extremely rusted pole axe is mounted above the lettering. The sound of shouting and the occasional clashing blade can be heard from the street.

Meanwhile, back at base...

Laura is slumped over a desk, asleep, in a puddle of drool.
Falvar is lying on some chairs, either asleep or dead.

The crazed doctor is perusing the posters on the wall; the wanted poster honestly looks like it was drawn by a child. Suddenly, a door opens and a slightly built man who smells strongly of wine walks in holding a bottle of chianti.

"Phineas Cl-cladoc!" He hiccups, "Attorney at property law! This building belongs to my clients! Who might you be?" He reaches out to shake the street medic's hand.
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Dustan Hache

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #146 on: August 01, 2016, 06:57:03 pm »

"Yes, I was formerly a guard and Hammerer for the fortress of Routedmansions. I was always drawn to the idea of adventuring, though. I went through standard Dwarven militia training, which consisted of two years practicing, and then five years of living in a pit fighting off various animals until I came of age. I can't do that to your lads, but at the very least I can give them a decent facsimile to help them toughen up a bit."
Examine the incense lamp and the sticks of incense while I speak. What quality are they, and is there anything notable?
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I figure at some point, you're just gonna run outta fucks to give and just off yourself whenever you get hurt at all. It's not like there's any downsides to it. Hangover? Suicide will fix that. Stubbed your toe? Suicide. Headache? Suicide. Papercut? Suicide.

Yoink

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #147 on: August 06, 2016, 08:55:06 pm »

Cautiously peek over the doors. How badly-lit is it inside?
Keep an eye out for anyone trying to sneak up on me, too. Don't let thoughts of magnificent mustelids distract me.


"I would rather have my discount weaponry delivered in a crate to my doorstep, not in a thrust to my gut," Pyotr muses under his breath as he squints into the gloomy building with some trepidation, one hand lightly fidgeting with the hilt of his 'borrowed' dagger all the while.

Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)
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Booze is Life for Yoink

To deprive him of Drink is to steal divinity from God.
you need to reconsider your life
If there's any cause worth dying for, it's memes.

inaluct

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #148 on: August 11, 2016, 03:41:27 pm »

"Yes, I was formerly a guard and Hammerer for the fortress of Routedmansions. I was always drawn to the idea of adventuring, though. I went through standard Dwarven militia training, which consisted of two years practicing, and then five years of living in a pit fighting off various animals until I came of age. I can't do that to your lads, but at the very least I can give them a decent facsimile to help them toughen up a bit."
Examine the incense lamp and the sticks of incense while I speak. What quality are they, and is there anything notable?
"HAH! Excellent! This is exactly what I've been trying to tell the mayor that we need. Some honest goddamn grit," the chief sputters, suddenly pretty animated. "This new generation is so soft and coddled, with all their whining about injuries this and too dangerous that. It won't be like the old days, when the ogres were a problem and would bust up through a storm drain and carry off a screaming family, or when the desert gnolls still made buildings and merchants disappear from the city outskirts, or that time a tornado dropped giant scorpions all over the city, but by god at least these men won't be such limp wristed fucking fruits." He slams a gauntleted fist down on his desk calendar, making the various bottles of ink and doodads on the desk top bounce slightly. "Let's get right to business. What'll you need for this training, and how much do you expect to be paid?"

Thankfully, the chief was too busy shouting about scorpions and fruits to pay much attention to how Drubjarred was fucking around with a lamp and not looking him in the eye. [4] The lamp is thick bronze, small enough to fit in two cupped hands but nonetheless heavy for its size. The metal is dull but intricately engraved. The upper tier of the lamp features an engraved view of a skyline of very distinctive looking mountains. One of them is The Spire, an unusually tall and steep mountain not far to the west of the city. The others are similarly unique, but without seeing them in person Drubjarred cannot place them individually and is uncertain of whether or not they are in the same range as The Spire. The lower tier is a mural of geometric patterns surrounding intricate symbols of a provenance that is unknown to Drubjarred. The incense appears to be of good but not exceptional quality. The sticks are dyed a vibrant red, and there are ten of them, with five holes in the edge of the lamp to hold them.

Cautiously peek over the doors. How badly-lit is it inside?
Keep an eye out for anyone trying to sneak up on me, too. Don't let thoughts of magnificent mustelids distract me.


"I would rather have my discount weaponry delivered in a crate to my doorstep, not in a thrust to my gut," Pyotr muses under his breath as he squints into the gloomy building with some trepidation, one hand lightly fidgeting with the hilt of his 'borrowed' dagger all the while.

Spoiler: OOC (click to show/hide)

[2] You peek inside. It's a little bit dimly lit, but not too bad. Many stone slabs lie across the floor for use as tables, wooden benches and stools circled around them. The tavern is crowded, and the crowd is rowdy. Armored warriors have discussions at shouting volume across tables while spilling beer on themselves. The occasional incredibly drunk person vomits copiously onto the floor. Someone is having an arm wrestling contest and someone is yelling about it. At a table near the wall, a small group of unrecognizable humanoids that definitely aren't human are playing some sort of complicated game with a board and strange pieces. Near the center of the room, two armored men are standing on a table-slab and drunkenly sparring with battered and notched short swords. Don't worry. Nobody is sneaking up on you. Think of the mustelids.

Against one wall is a long counter. Behind it are unnumbered wall hooks hanging all manner of weaponry in every state of disrepair. They have swords, axes, maces, spears, bows, whips, voulges, guisarmes, glaive-guisarmes, Bohemian ear-spoons, mancatchers, hunga mungae, kpinga, zuwuru, shuriken, blow guns, shuko, giant ass clubs with huge spikes on them, dog sticks, nunchucks, meteor hammers, monk's spades, halberds, morningstars, eveningstars, and all manner of other weapons, some of which you don't even know the names of. To the side is an array of not so gently used pieces of armor, most of which look like someone died in them. Behind the counter is a skinny guy with a shaved head and dark circles under his eyes. He's wearing a gray tunic.

Against the opposite wall is a long counter, behind which large wooden shelves support numerous kegs of what mostly looks like all the same ale. There are a few glass bottles of thick, dark liquor. One of them is very large and has an enormous dead scorpion floating in it. The bartender is a bored looking woman with greasy hair and a bitchy resting face. She has a long nose and a really weak jaw. She looks kind of like a weasel.

Maybe I should have had you buy one or steal one, but I feel like that would be a step too far in dictating your actions. I might have strongly encouraged you to buy one and left you at the stall if you didn't already specifically say that you were doing something after looking.
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Dustan Hache

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Re: Turaco's Sellswords RTD: Turn 10
« Reply #149 on: August 11, 2016, 04:00:46 pm »

"Yes, I was formerly a guard and Hammerer for the fortress of Routedmansions. I was always drawn to the idea of adventuring, though. I went through standard Dwarven militia training, which consisted of two years practicing, and then five years of living in a pit fighting off various animals until I came of age. I can't do that to your lads, but at the very least I can give them a decent facsimile to help them toughen up a bit."
Examine the incense lamp and the sticks of incense while I speak. What quality are they, and is there anything notable?
"HAH! Excellent! This is exactly what I've been trying to tell the mayor that we need. Some honest goddamn grit," the chief sputters, suddenly pretty animated. "This new generation is so soft and coddled, with all their whining about injuries this and too dangerous that. It won't be like the old days, when the ogres were a problem and would bust up through a storm drain and carry off a screaming family, or when the desert gnolls still made buildings and merchants disappear from the city outskirts, or that time a tornado dropped giant scorpions all over the city, but by god at least these men won't be such limp wristed fucking fruits." He slams a gauntleted fist down on his desk calendar, making the various bottles of ink and doodads on the desk top bounce slightly. "Let's get right to business. What'll you need for this training, and how much do you expect to be paid?"

Thankfully, the chief was too busy shouting about scorpions and fruits to pay much attention to how Drubjarred was fucking around with a lamp and not looking him in the eye. [4] The lamp is thick bronze, small enough to fit in two cupped hands but nonetheless heavy for its size. The metal is dull but intricately engraved. The upper tier of the lamp features an engraved view of a skyline of very distinctive looking mountains. One of them is The Spire, an unusually tall and steep mountain not far to the west of the city. The others are similarly unique, but without seeing them in person Drubjarred cannot place them individually and is uncertain of whether or not they are in the same range as The Spire. The lower tier is a mural of geometric patterns surrounding intricate symbols of a provenance that is unknown to Drubjarred. The incense appears to be of good but not exceptional quality. The sticks are dyed a vibrant red, and there are ten of them, with five holes in the edge of the lamp to hold them.
"Now that's the real question. How much are you willing to spare? I'll supply the training materials, creatures included, but I'm not going to just work for a couple of silver per soldier. Give me a starting offer, and I'll train up a handful of your lads, then we will talk again after you see how well It worked out."
See just how much he is willing to give initially per soldier trained. Also ask if he has a deadline of some sort for them to be trained in.
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I figure at some point, you're just gonna run outta fucks to give and just off yourself whenever you get hurt at all. It's not like there's any downsides to it. Hangover? Suicide will fix that. Stubbed your toe? Suicide. Headache? Suicide. Papercut? Suicide.
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