Pre-Game RP Thread: The Wightwatcher Inn

Pittance · August 19, 2023

The Wightwatcher Inn is a roadhouse and bar plucked out of its original time and place, like all things in Ravenloft. Situated deep within the choking, raking, clawing Mists, the Wightwatcher and its surrounding area is a rare sanctuary in an otherwise unforgiving realm. You're safe here... for now, anyway.

The ground floor boasts a sizeable parlor replete with all the (relatively) modern comforts of an upscale townhouse, and includes a fully stocked kitchen run by an ornery kobold named "Meat", and a study whose fireplace dances with a particularly enthusiastic flame.

The upstairs is where proper lodging can be found. Mortimer Pent, the usher who welcomed you inside, informs you that in order to qualify for a room you must first visit the bar downstairs. The first drink is free, he assures.

The basement is fashioned and furnished in the stylings of a speakeasy. The bar is run by an old bugbear named Kazzador.

Directions

Come on in out of the Mists and acquaint yourself with the Wightwatcher, its amenities, staff, and/or unusual patrons. This Pre-Game RP thread will provide me with a good look at how players like to interact with the world, its denizens, and one another! Feel free to add to the scene however you please. I'll add a small list of patrons should you so desire to have a contact already, or feel free to make one up!

Edited August 19, 2023 by Pittance (see edit history)

Pittance · August 19, 2023

Please Clone this Template and then alter it to fit your character

Spookybones the Rattlemaster

Reborn Noble, Inquisitive Rogue

AC: 14 (Leather) | HP: 14/14 (1d10+2+2) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 12, Insight 12, Investigation 10
Str: 9 (-1) | Dex: 14 (+2) | Con:Save: +2 13 (+1) | Int: 11 (+0) | Wis: 14 (+2) | Cha: 15 (+2)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Elvish, and Dwarfish

“My words,” Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Game says. | ‘My thoughts,’ Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Game thinks. | My actions . . .

Spookybones the Rattlemaster does some things. He says some things. He does some more things.

Please use the present tense (“Kazzador serves me an ale”) for your posts, rather than the past tense (“Kazzador served me an ale”).

If you’re chosen, you will further alter your posting template with your chosen class skills, as well as some other things I’ll have you do to it. For now, just use this.

Your character’s speech color should be a little on the dark side and contrast with the default parchment brown of the forum. Bright colors become illegible atop it, and light browns practically disappear.

OOC

Movement: —

Action: —

Bonus Action: —

Reaction: —

I don’t always have OOC content to post, but if I did, it would go here, below the Movement, Action, Bonus Action, and Reaction (which will always be there). Those need to contain the mechanical explanation of your otherwise natural language post.

CapKirk · August 21, 2023

Maria Fireheart

9 year old child wizard and sage, Fugitive red wizard in training

AC: 10 (Leather) | HP: 7/7 (1d6+1) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 15, Insight 15, Investigation 16
Str: 11 (+0) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con:Save: +2 12 (+1) | Int: 19 (+4) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 13 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, and Elvish

A small, lean figure who stood just a few inches short of 4 feet came out of the mists cautiously approaching the inn. The small person wore plain clothing consisted of a dark blue long sleeved shirt, brown pants, a pair of black boots and a hooded red cloak which partially concealed a backpack. There is a sheathed dagger on her belt. If one were more discerning, he or she would realize that this person was more likely a child, technically too tall to be a halfling and not having slightly large bare, hairy feet, and given her lean and lithe stature was not stocky enough to be a dwarf.

Maria almost knew immediately something was amiss. After hours of being adrift in a lifeboat on the ocean, to suddenly find herself on dry land in the middle of a forest was needless to say.....impossible. It made no sense. And then there was that strange mist beforehand. Where was she? Not willing to stay in the mists for long she headed for the roadhouse. Immediately she pulled her hood over her head, carefully tucking in her reddish brown hair inside it as much as possible before proceeding forward. Perhaps she might be mistaken for a halfling. She needed to get out of these mists. They made her uneasy and scared her very much. She politely nodded to the usher who greeted her and to her relief let her inside.

Keeping her head down she headed immediately to the basement, after hearing what Mortimer said. She heads to an isolated corner though instead of going straight to the bar and plops down on the sofa, taking off her backpack. She then pulls her knees to her chest, cradling her backpack in her lap protectively positioning herself into a somewhat fetal position. Soft sobbing could be heard from her as she buries her head between her legs and chest hugging her backpack tightly.

Edited September 12, 2023 by SerakHawk
Image Removed (see edit history)

jrsey · August 21, 2023

Tysh Mountainheart

Hill Dwarf Acolyte Twilight Cleric

AC: 18 (Heavy Armor & Shield) | HP: 12/12 (1d8+3+1) | Speed: 25 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 13, Insight 15, Investigation 11
Str: 12 (+1) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 12 (+1) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 12 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, and Celestial

Tysh Mountainheart sits on the rightmost seat at the bar, a frothy stout in hand, breathing in the rich scent of wood and watching dust motes dance on the sunbeams streaming in from the large windows. It’s not often that the Mists part and allow passage to the Wightwatcher Inn, but she’s always glad to pop in when they do. Her stay here tends to be long; the Mists often block passage for days – sometimes even weeks. And sure enough, the Mists closed up behind her shortly after she arrived.

‘There are worse things than a little R&R.' Tysh muses. She takes a sip from her stout. The dark, roasted flavor is offset by just a little too much bitterness. It’s not bad, definitely an improvement from Kazzador’s last batch.

"This is good, Kazzador. A little bitter still, but I think it adds a certain something to its personality," she notes. “That reminds me, I wanted to run a new recipe by you. Let me know what you think. I’m considering a new mash recipe that—”

The rapid pattering of feet down the stairs sounds behind her. Tysh turns around, hand instinctively reaching for her warhammer. A slip of a girl emerges from the doorway, head down, and bee-lines for one of the couches. As she passes by the sunlight, Tysh catches a glimmer of tears on the girl’s face. Moments pass; no one else comes down the stairs. The soft sounds of crying drift over from the couch.

“Can you please whip up a hot tea with sugar and milk, Kazz?” Tysh requests softly.

As he prepares the tea, she pulls a few napkins from the dispenser to her right. Kazzador slides the tea across the bar. She nods her thanks and tosses a few coins on the bar. She approaches the girl slowly, knowing that the faint clink-clink-clink of her armor as she walks will announce her presence. This girl is obviously upset; Tysh doesn’t want to upset her further by surprising her.

“Hi,” she says gently, taking a seat on the other end of the couch from the girl. She sets the tea on the low table in front of the couch and places a few napkins beside the girl. “I brought you some tea. Sometimes that helps me calm down when I’m upset. My name is Tysh. Are you all right, my dear?”

Edited August 25, 2023 by jrsey (see edit history)

Kail_Traeganni · August 21, 2023

Ardir Hálilúëa

Humble Farrier, Shadar-Kai Barbarian

AC: 15 (AC Bonus) | HP: 15/15 (1d12+3) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 13, Insight 13, Investigation 10
Str: 18 (+4) | Dex: 14 (+2) | Con:Save: +2 16 (+3) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 14 (+2) | Cha: 10 (+0)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common and Elvish

Aldir chuckles, looking over his cup at the patrons around him. Grinning like a loon, he says "Six threes."

He'd joined a patrol, the zombies had come... it'd all gone red, and the Mists had taken him. But now, now he's here, winning this lovely little dice game. He was six drinks in, drunk as skunks. He rolls his shoulders and starts, looking over for a scraping sensation. A splinter of rotten bone pierced his sleeve, remnant of some kill from the fight that led him here.

Well, that explains the glances. I must smell as bad as the shamblers. Drunk as skunks, and about as offensive to smell.

The man to his left was a fool. Aldir knew he was a fool, too, as were all fools who gambled and drank their nights away, but a fool who knows his foolishness is half as foolish as fool unknowing.

"Six fours!"

The fool could've called him a liar... but had tried a bigger lie instead. Well, either that, or the fool was too scared to call him a liar... as if he'd take insult and knock his teeth out, like a teenage orc.

As the tiefling across the table mouthed numbers to himself, Aldir leaned back and looked around. His ears caught some muffled crying, high, a child's... and his eyes found the face too young for these circumstances. But then he noticed a kindly dwarfmarm heading over, and nodded to himself.

Finally, the tiefling said "Seven fours!"

"Liar."

Cups raised, Aldir guffawed to himself- he'd had a two, three threes, and a four. The man had three fours, and a five. The tiefling... had two wild ones, a two, and a four. He'd been lying, but with a devil's own luck, he hadn't been wrong.

Aldin set one of his dice over to the side, as the stunned tiefling raked in his winnings.

Edited August 21, 2023 by Kail_Traeganni (see edit history)

Harding · August 22, 2023

Rak'i'th

Githyanki Soldier, Hexblade Warlock

AC: 16 (Scalemail) | HP: 10/10 (1d8+2) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 11, Insight 11, Investigation 11
Str: 10 (+0) | Dex: 14 (+2) | Con: 14 (+2) | Int: 13 (+1) | Wis: 13 (+1) | Cha: 16 (+3)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common and Undercommon

Through the thick shroud of the Mists, Rak'i'th stepped into the Wightwatcher Inn, his heart heavy with the weight of his journey's burdens. This place, a temporal anomaly plucked from another time, seemed an island of solace in a sea of unforgiving darkness that was Ravenloft. The air itself whispered tales of forgotten eras, and as he took his first steps inside, the ethereal ambiance wove an elegy of melancholic nostalgia.

The ground floor unfolded before him, a fusion of the past and the comforts of an era long gone. His gaze swept over the parlor, a haven that stood as both a refuge and a reminder of the passage of ages. The kitchen, presided over by the unexpected figure of the ornery kobold named "Meat," seemed a touch surreal yet oddly comforting, a paradox he couldn't help but appreciate. The study's dancing flames held secrets known only to time, casting a spectral glow that seemed to beckon him to partake in its whispered wisdom.

Ascending the stairs, a mixture of trepidation and anticipation stirred within him. Mortimer Pent's words echoed in his mind—the elusive promise of lodging, the price paid in the form of a visit to the bar below. A promise and a bargain woven into the fabric of this enigmatic refuge, much like the stories that painted the tapestry of the inn's history.

The descent into the basement was a descent into a realm of bygone days, where the echoes of conversations and laughter still lingered. The speakeasy's aura enveloped him, a bittersweet symphony of voices from eras long past. As he approached the bar tended by the venerable bugbear Kazzador, a sense of camaraderie formed—an understanding that transcended words, forged in the shared experience of navigating these elusive realms.

Seated at the bar, a swirl of emotions enveloped him, the weight of his mission heavy in his heart. The anticipation of the drink, a gesture symbolic of entry into this unique haven, felt like a fragile tether to the world he knew. As he raised the glass to his lips, the drink's taste carried with it a mix of sorrow and resolve—a melancholic libation to unity and the bittersweet journey that lay ahead.

"An unusual traveler, you are," rumbled Kazzador, his voice a gravelly testament to years etched in the passages of time. The bugbear's eyes held a depth that matched the inn's mysterious history. "You seek solace in the Wightwatcher, yet your heart carries burdens as heavy as the Mists themselves."

Rak'i'th met Kazzador's gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them, unspoken words connecting their souls. In this haven where stories converged, their roles as wanderers held a deeper resonance—one that bound them across the boundaries of time and place.

"Yes," Rak'i'th responded, his voice carrying the weight of his journey and the determination that propelled him forward. "The world outside may be shrouded in shadows, but within these walls, there is a chance to mend the fractures that time and fate have wrought."

Kazzador's nod held a blend of understanding and respect. "Unity in the face of adversity, a noble quest indeed," he murmured, pouring a drink with practiced ease. The liquid danced within the glass, catching the dim light like memories suspended in time.

As Rak'i'th raised the glass to his lips, an unspoken bond seemed to weave between them—an ode to the tales spun by chance, compassion, and the stubborn flicker of hope that dared to defy even the darkest of realms. But with every passing glimpse of this infernal domain called Falkovia, his convictions crumbled, eroded by the relentless onslaught of tyranny and the harrowing horrors that marked his path. "Unity..." he ruminated, his inner voice a whisper amidst the din of shadows, "seems to have fled this cursed plane, and I find myself bereft of it too." Sipping the alcoholic concoction, his expression remained dissatisfied, akin to a man savoring bitter ashes in contrast to the exquisite wines of Stardock.

CapKirk · August 22, 2023

Maria Fireheart

9 year old child wizard and sage, Fugitive red wizard in training

AC: 10 (No armor) | HP: 7/7 (1d6+1) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 15, Insight 15, Investigation 16
Str: 11 (+0) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con:Save: +2 12 (+1) | Int: 19 (+4) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 13 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, and Elvish

Maria looked in the direction of the Shadar-Kai and wrinkled her nose. But there was a sense of recognition in her eyes. She then turns her attention to the dwarf that approached her. Immediately one could tell that she was indeed a child. She still had a babyish face though starting to mature somewhat. By estimates from that she seemed to be close to early preteen, maybe between the age of 8-10 years of age. Maria seemed very hesitant and somewhat evasive when the dwarf approached. Sniffing a bit she gingerly took the tea and drank it a little mouthing the words 'thank you' to the dwarf. She is able to calm down somewhat.

"I don't want to talk about it.", she whispers politely if not evasively, and then mentions, "Are there zombies close to here?"

Edited September 12, 2023 by SerakHawk
Image Removed (see edit history)

jrsey · August 22, 2023

Tysh Mountainheart

Hill Dwarf Acolyte Twilight Cleric

AC: 18 (Heavy Armor & Shield) | HP: 12/12 (1d8+3+1) | Speed: 25 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 13, Insight 15, Investigation 11
Str: 12 (+1) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 12 (+1) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 12 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, and Celestial

"We don't have to talk about it," Tysh says.

She places her hands on her knees and considers how to answer the girl's second question. There is something in the girl's eyes that makes her look much older than 8-10 years. She has seen dark things, but she's no shrinking violet: Tysh didn't miss the glance the girl cast towards the Shadar-Kai. Still, this girl doesn't have the same nervous energy and grim countenance of most children born here. This is all new to her. No matter how many times Tysh experiences this with a recent arrival to Ravenloft, her heart still sinks. She would love to tell the girl that everything is fine, that she'd be okay; all children deserve a sense of safety. But feel-good white lies get people killed here, especially the young.

"When the mists are around, the undead are always nearby," she says gently. "For now, we're safe." She watches, gauging the girl's reaction.

As she waits, she hears Kazzador say to the Githyanki, "Unity in the face of adversity, a noble quest indeed."

A weak smile touches her lips. She catches Kazzador's attention and motions for a round of drinks for everyone.

Edited August 25, 2023 by jrsey (see edit history)

CapKirk · August 22, 2023

Maria Fireheart

9 year old child wizard and sage, Fugitive red wizard in training

AC: 10 (No armor) | HP: 7/7 (1d6+1) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 15, Insight 15, Investigation 16
Str: 11 (+0) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con:Save: +2 12 (+1) | Int: 19 (+4) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 13 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, and Elvish

"Mists? Before I ended up here in whatever this place is my lifeboat was surrounded......", Maria said, understanding starting to show in her face. She mentally searches her memory for anything she might have researched before regarding magical teleportation, mists and the like. It became obvious to her that she had been transported magically somewhere, "What land is this? I am assuming this isn't Sembia."

Edited September 12, 2023 by SerakHawk
Image Removed (see edit history)

Harding · August 22, 2023

Rak'i'th

Githyanki Soldier, Hexblade Warlock

AC: 16 (Scalemail) | HP: 10/10 (1d8+2) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 11, Insight 11, Investigation 11
Str: 10 (+0) | Dex: 14 (+2) | Con: 14 (+2) | Int: 13 (+1) | Wis: 13 (+1) | Cha: 16 (+3)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common and Undercommon

Rak'i'th's attention wavered from his melancholic musings as a young voice, as fragile as a wisp of wind, rose beside him. His silver eyes turned toward the source—a girl, no older than nine, her innocence a stark contrast to the somber tapestry of the inn's ambiance. As her words drifted to his ears, he couldn't help but marvel at the audacity of fate—how it had juxtaposed his own hardened past with the tender presence of this child.

The mention of the Mists, the arcane tendrils that wove the fabric of this enigmatic realm, resonated within Rak'i'th. He had come to understand the Mists as both a cloak and a prison—a force that had brought him to this place of refuge yet had also cast him into the darkness of Falkovia. The girl's curiosity mirrored his own, her yearning for answers an echo of his quest for unity.

He listened to her words, her voice tinged with uncertainty, and for a fleeting moment, his mind drifted back to his own youth among the Githyanki. A life painted in shades of harshness and ruthlessness, a reflection of the society that had raised him. But the memory was washed away by another, more recent—a memory of human kindness, of hands extended in compassion that had mended his wounds and reshaped his destiny.

As Maria's question hung in the air, his gaze softened. It was a question he himself had wrestled with—the unending enigma of this forsaken land. The contrast between his past and the child's innocence was striking, a reminder of the bridges he had sought to build, even within himself.

Steeling himself, he turned toward the young girl, the juxtaposition of his nature in this unfamiliar realm a poignant reminder of the intricacies that defined his being. With a voice that carried a trace of both the Githyanki warrior and the compassionate soul that had emerged, he replied, "No, this isn't Sembia. We find ourselves in a place that defies the laws of reality, a realm known as Falkovia. A land steeped in shadows and stories, where time and space dance to their own tune - a very terrifying one none less."

He hesitates, a moment of contemplation passing over his features, before he extends a hand in a gesture that held both resolve and a rare show of vulnerability. "My name is Rak'i'th, and though my past may be rooted in harshness, I've learned that unity and kindness hold power even in the darkest of times. If you seek answers or protection, know that you need not tread this path alone. I'm also stuck in this plane, and I seek to get out as soon as I can, but I need to find a very dear friend of mine first. Until then, I can travel with you if you want. I can protect both of us.''

The journey that had brought him here had been one of transformation, and as he offered his assistance to this young girl, he found himself embracing the very essence of his journey—an unyielding determination to bridge the gaps between past and present, Githyanki and other races, and the unity that could still bloom amidst the most unforgiving of realms. Inside of him, he felt the pride of his patron, who was pleased by his kind initiative.

"But there is no urgency to accept the aid of a stranger," he offered gently, his voice a soothing current amidst the currents of uncertainty. "You've come to a crossroads, and the choice is yours to make. Take tonight to rest and regain your strength. Tomorrow, when the light touches this realm once more, you can share your answer."

Edited August 22, 2023 by Harding (see edit history)

jrsey · August 23, 2023

Tysh Mountainheart

Hill Dwarf Acolyte Twilight Cleric

AC: 18 (Heavy Armor & Shield) | HP: 12/12 (1d8+3+1) | Speed: 25 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 13, Insight 15, Investigation 11
Str: 12 (+1) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 12 (+1) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 12 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, and Celestial

Tysh listens to Rak'i'th, nodding when appropriate, and watches the girl closely.

"Yes, there's no need to make a decision tonight. This is a lot to process. I've been here for two years and arrived the same way you did: through the Mists. I'd caution you not to enter them here, though. They may not bring you home. Not to scare you, but it's worth repeating that the undead come from the Mists. Take heart, though: as Rak'i'th said, there is strength and protection in unity. While you are here with us, you are protected. We look after each other."

She scans the room and takes note of the other patrons. Her eyes linger on the Shadar-Kai for a few moments longer than the others, noting his demeanor and strength. She turns to Rak'i'th and considers him for a moment. His offer was kind and seemed genuine, but she remains skeptical. Although they just met, Tysh feels protective towards this girl. Her doubt doesn't show as she smiles at him warmly.

"Thank you for your kindness. That's one of the things that makes this place bearable. My name is Tysh." She extends her hand. "It is very nice to meet you, Rak'i'th."

She looks to the girl. "What is your name?"

Edited August 25, 2023 by jrsey (see edit history)

Rejakor · August 23, 2023

Marleybone Drisk

A diminutive figure ducks in from the drizzle, dripping. It takes a moment to loiter in the entryway, waiting for the worst of the moisture to wick off a large brown coat. A lantern clanks, attached to a leather traveling pack that has seen better days and looking huge on the small form of the traveller. Eventually, it feels brave enough to venture further into the building that at least seems clean and has firelight showing. A burly kobold is the first obstacle encountered. He looks down his bespectacled nose from the tall front counter where he's polishing silverware but doesn't comment. Frozen in place for a few moments the traveller eventually just keeps.. going.. ? Checking periodically to make sure the kobold isn't going to suddenly hurl silverware at it or something.

Upstairs, there is no-one. Nothing, even. Just echoing hallways. Definitely not meant to be here. Turning around, the traveller begins tip-toeing down the stairs and runs into a spare man in black holding his own lantern. He exclaims - what are they doing here? The traveller panics, on the verge of fleeing immediately and hiding in the attic. The man explains that in order to rent a room, it is required to have a drink in the basement first. This is incredibly suspicious. So it is with extreme caution that the traveller ventures, nose-first, into the basement room. It's full of people. Hm. Strange people.

Tip-toeing into the room, the traveller tries to avoid notice, pulling their already-up hood even further up. Pulling themselves onto a stool (with an effortless and graceless half-jump that labels them as definitely not an old person) a pair of wide eyes peer out of the hood at the barman. "Hello." Generally, there would be more said after that. Instead the eyes (nearly all that's visible) just stare at the bartender. It's odd, and he is drawn into the moment a little, staring back.

CapKirk · August 23, 2023

Maria Fireheart

9 year old child wizard and sage, Fugitive red wizard in training

AC: 10 (No armor) | HP: 7/7 (1d6+1) | Speed: 30 ft.
Senses: passive Perception 15, Insight 15, Investigation 16
Str: 11 (+0) | Dex: 11 (+0) | Con:Save: +2 12 (+1) | Int: 19 (+4) | Wis: 16 (+3) | Cha: 13 (+1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, and Elvish

The little girl continues to be hesitant at first. All this charity and concern for her well being was sudden and unexpected. Yet somehow for the first time in a long time she felt safe. She began to relax and remove her hood revealing a full head of wavy, shoulder length reddish brown hair.

"I guess I don't have many choices so I will accept your offer.", Maria responds, "My name is Maria Fireheart."

Maria decides to open her backpack and starts rummaging through it. In reality she was checking to make sure she still has all her stuff. While doing so she pulls out medium sized book with the engraving of a teddy bear on it. After rearranging everything inside and placing her book inside her backpack, she closes her backpack tightly and notices the new arrival.

Edited September 12, 2023 by SerakHawk
Image Removed (see edit history)

Neopopulas · August 23, 2023

Name: Ameila Grey \| Class: Fighter \| Level: 1 \| AC: 16 \| HP: 12 \| Prof: +2 Saves: Str +4, Dex +4, Con +4, Int -1, Wis +2, Cha -2 Fighting StyleArchery: +2 ranged attacks, Second WindBonus Action: 1d10+level per long rest	Attacks: PistolsAttack +6 Damage 1d10+3 , RapierAttacks +6 Damage: 1d8+4 Passive: Perception - 14 \| Investigation - 10 \| Insight - 14 Languages• Common • Undercommon • Elvish • Sylvan • Abyssal • Deep Speech, DarkvisionDarkvision out to 60ft, Fey Ancestry

"Falkovia..?" She had just entered in time to hear that drop "Not home, then.." She gives a long-suffering sigh and actually looks at the assorted partrons for the first time. A mixed group, but she had seen worse in the Mists. Dropping her bag to the flood next to her there is a jangle is gear. She resettles her clothes - well worn but of high quality, adorned with trinkets and little gems - and sets her hands on her gunbelt. "So whats the deal with Falkovia?"

Rejakor · August 23, 2023

Marleybone Drisk

"Yes?" Eventually, the barkeep replies back. It's either that or get into an endless staring contest. The pair of eyes in the hood blink. A small head peeks out of the flap of the backpack, keeping almost completely under cover. "I was told. I had to have a drink.. here?" The voice does not seem certain about this. It's a small, high pitched voice speaking barely above a whisper. The bugbear behind the bar grins widely. And toothily. And that's pretty wide and a lot of tooths. "Yes, that's a custom of our establishment. What will you have? We have a fine selection of beers, ales and wines, but I warn you, the brandy will cost you extra." The barkeeper's tone is a bit dry, as if he expects that his compact customer is likely not the type to go in for any of those things.

However, to his surprise the reply is simple: "Ale." He fires something back, sounding almost annoyed. "What kind? We have Kreptscourt, Vilgerfast, ..." but is cut off by a reply that likewise catches him off guard, delivered quickly and without fanfare. "Any is fine."

Shortly thereafter, with the edge of a mutter a tall glass stein of ale is served. The glass is a little lumpy and misshapen but it's a far cry from the wooden tankards you'll find at many establishments. The small figure doesn't drink, just staring at the tall pint glass and occasionally sneaking glances at the strange assortment of individuals filling the rest of the room.

Text_1	Text_2	Text_3	Bold_1	Accent_1	Mood_1
Warm_1	Warm_2	Warm_3	Bold_2	Accent_2	Mood_2
Cool_1	Cool_2	Cool_3	Bold_3	Accent_3	Mood_3
Bright_1	Bright_2	Bright_3	Bold_4	Accent_4	Mood_4

Pre-Game RP Thread: The Wightwatcher Inn

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