Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 1, 2013 11:52:51 GMT -5
"Well, you were certainly valuable to us," the caravan master says as he hands you a pouch of 10 silvers. "We depart in a week, if you are interested in accompanying us again. Now that I know you are a man to be counted upon, I will double your wages for our journey to Ships End. Should you wish, be here at dawn in a seven-day." With that he leaves you.
You are in the Square, where most caravans dissemble and form. Your patron is barking orders to his men, and you find yourself in the midst of a lot of activity. The evening is hot and stuffy here. Moving away a bit, you see, in addition to merchants trying to get your attention, a play being performed for a crowd on a makeshift podium, a wrestling contest of some sort with a racous throng cheering the combatants on, and a minor slave auction on the south side of the Square.
You are a bit weary, and you see a tavern and an inn both close by.
[You may investigate any of these, or strike out in a different direction.]
Weynon’s head was spinning. He had spent the last year utterly alone and much of his time with the caravan working or hunting. Overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and odors of the people pressing in on him, he quickly moved away from the hawkers and their wares.
Steering clear of the slavers, he headed for the inn to inquire about a room. Perhaps he could secure room and board for the week in exchange for his services. “There is always work to be done; some improvement to be made”, he mused to himself.
But first, a moment’s distraction to observe the skill of these combatants.
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 2, 2013 10:40:12 GMT -5
"Oi, that ain't how it's done, ya donkey." A dwarf steps between the two men, easily separating them, to the boos of the crowd. He leans close to one of the combatants, a dark-skinned youth, delivering instructions in a low voice, as the other one poses for the crowd. Then the dwarf steps back and shouts, "Go!" and the two come together again, as the crowd hoots and cheers and jeers.
As best you can tell, the dwarf is the instructor of one wrestler, but whether this is impromptu or a scheduled bout, it is difficult to ascertain. You do see some money changing hands in the crowd.
One of the watchers, a slender man with a droopy mustache in a green cloak, sees you observing, and says, "Say, friend. A friendly wager. I put up five silvers that the dwarf will interrupt the fight two more times to give his clumsy student instructions, before he calls the whole thing off in frustration. Any other result and you win." He smiles rather unpleasantly. "Well?"
Post by rockprairie on Feb 2, 2013 14:29:10 GMT -5
"I'll meet your wager." Nub hastily replied. He quickly resigned himself to being 5 silver pieces poorer, but "nothing ventured..." he uttered under his breath.
He kept shifting his attention from the match, to the crowd, and then to the stranger. The stranger who would soon have his money judging from the way the dark skinned fellow was fairing at the moment.
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 4, 2013 14:44:10 GMT -5
The dwarf interrupts the fight again, and you begin to feel that you will lose the silvers. But then the dark-skinned man gets leverage, and slams his opponent to the ground. The crowd cheers, the dwarf complains more, and the man who wagered with you laughs.
"Easy come, easy go, eh, friend?" he counts five silvers into your palm.
"Now what say you give me a chance to win these back? How about our own contest? I see that you are an archer. We can mark off a section of dirt here fairly easily, and have our bout."
Again he smiles unpleasantly, leaning close. "My name is Joste, by the way. What say you, friend?"
Post by rockprairie on Feb 5, 2013 12:34:09 GMT -5
"That sounds like a fine idea! What do you propose? Shall it be 5 silver pieces for the best of three arrows?"
Weynon believed it was best to allow a man an opportunity to regain his losses, and direct competition was always more sporting. Now whether he was capable of retaining his newly won silver would be based on his skill and that of his new acquaintance. If perhaps he was fortunate enough to best this man he would offer to purchase them both a meal at the nearby tavern. If he lost, then he would be no worse off than when he started.
"I am Weynon Talcot. It is good to meet you Joste. Let us see if we can find the mark."
Post by rockprairie on Feb 8, 2013 14:03:30 GMT -5
Weynon steadied himself and let fly the first arrow, striking the second ring. He nocked his second, drew and made a slight adjustment. As the string left his finger tips he knew his aim was true striking the center! He nocked his third, drew and stole a quick glance at his opponent. As he released his final arrow he instantly regretted his shift in focus. The arrow struck the pallet with a heavy "thwock" wide of the ring.
"Your turn friend. I seem to have left you some room in the center!"
Die roll for Weynon Rolled on: Feb. 8, 2013, 10:06 a.m. 3d6-1; 3d6-1; 3d6-1 → [5,2,3,-1] = (9) 3d6-1; 3d6-1; 3d6-1 → [2,2,3,-1] = (6) 3d6-1; 3d6-1; 3d6-1 → [5,2,6,-1] = (12) invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3913529/
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 8, 2013 14:34:28 GMT -5
A crowd gathers around as the orc sets up the target and you draw your first arrow. There is scatterred clapping on your first arrow, and a loud cheer as your second strikes true. A few "Ahh"s meet your final shot.
The orc laughs. "He is better than you, master."
"Fah. Our friend Weynon is good, no doubt. That is five points - most excellent. But there are good archers...and then there is me."
[DX 11, +1 skill]
His first arrow stikes the outer circle (11). A few polite claps, a jeer or two.
"One point," the orc says.
"Just finding the range." His second arrow strikes the next circle (7). "Ha! On track for the bullseye with my next arrow!"
"That is three points," the orc says. The crowd goes silent as Joste fires his third arrow...which strikes the second circle as well.
Post by rockprairie on Feb 8, 2013 15:00:59 GMT -5
"Well done! I shall try to keep this interesting." Weynon clears his mind of questions and focuses on the task at hand. He steadies himself, draws, exhales and releases smoothly. A broad smile crosses his face as he lowers his bow.
"Your skill with the bow is worthy, but this round is mine!"
He chides himself for his boasting and quickly adds, "Perhaps another round or shall we retire this competition for another day? Might I suggest a meal and drink at yonder tavern?"
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 14, 2013 11:16:04 GMT -5
Joste frowns as your arrow finds the mark. "A most excellent shot, master Weynon. Perhaps you were toying with me, eh?" Then his smile returns as he counts out five silvers to you.
"A meal and a drink? Some other time, my good man, some other time. I have dallied too long this afternoon. Bodomm! Attend me!" The orc approaches with their packs, and they head south through the crowd.
You see other events and crowds at the Square, though you are getting a bit hungry, now that you think about it. You see the dwarf and the dark-skinned wrestler going into a run-down tavern, the Wayward Falcon. there is a more upscale affair, the Wagon Wheel, near you as well.
[You might engage in another activity or enter one of the taverns.]
Post by rockprairie on Feb 14, 2013 12:24:05 GMT -5
"Farewell then friend!" Weynon said in parting. He briefly considered whether he had just made a friend or perhaps embarrassed a person of some influence. Regardless, he returned his focus to securing lodging for the week.
Seeing the dwarf and dark-skinned wrestler entering the Wayward Falcon, he chose to follow them. If an opportunity arose, he would introduce himself, offering to buy them both a drink to reward their part in his good fortune.
As he placed a hand upon the door to enter, he reminded himself to keep his wits about him.
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 15, 2013 12:26:55 GMT -5
You enter the Falcon and almost wish you hadn't. This is a seedy dive with a strong stench of unwashed bodies. Most of the people you see here seem to be ill-favored, and regard you with interest.
There are long tables in the center of the room, with benches on either side. You locate the dwarf and the wrestler, just sitting on one of the benches.
You approach them and intruduce yourself. They are wary at first, but the offer of drink allays this somewhat. You get the sleazy serving maid to bring you a pitcher of ale for 1 silver.
"I am Borgrun," the dwarf tells you. "My student is Osk. We are trying to gain a bit o'notoriety here in the Square before the public wrestling matches in the Coliseum next week." He and Osk take long pulls from the ale mugs.
Osk toasts your health, then asks, "I saw a bit of your skill with the bow earlier. Impressive."
Borgrun says, "What brings you to Redpoint, Weynon?"
Post by rockprairie on Feb 15, 2013 15:21:01 GMT -5
"A caravan traveling here found my services useful. I repaired their wagons, placed fresh game on the spit, and kept a weather eye out for trouble. I await the caravan master's return, but I'm a free man and if other work or the city hold my interest, then so be it."
"As I have just arrived, please tell me of the coliseum competition."
"Are there archery competitions or some venue for my skills?"
"Perhaps you know of work needing to be done?"
[If Borgrun comments about the axe or hatchet, Nub will acknowledge his affinity for the tool and desire to learn more about its use as a weapon.]
Post by mister frau blucher on Feb 21, 2013 15:09:53 GMT -5
Borgrun says, "There are always a variety of competitions taking place over there, from plays to gladiator fights. Archery - sure, but I do not know what day. You should trot by the colisseum itself and ask around.
"The wrestling competition is heavily watched, and inspires many wagers - much more than the sum you won betting on us outside." He shoots you a quick wink.
"Work to be done? Always - and always people looking for work. What kind of skills do you possess?"
At one point he eyes your axe, and the conversation drifts to that. "You seek to become more familiar with it in a martial sense? I could teach ye a thing or two...for a small sum."
Osk snorts at this. "A small sum to a dwarf," he tells you, "is not always what it seems."