3SC's Dungeon of the Mad Dragon IC

[3SecondCultist]

3SC's Dungeon of the Mad Dragon

https://i.ibb.co/t3sXr61/Stormreach.jpg

"New to the city, are ya? Ha! I have an eye fer fresh fish. Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Stormreach, friends! Mind the gangplank there; the piers ain't as sturdy as they used to be! Oh, him? Never ye mind, just step right over him. Passed out drunk most like... or dead. Whew! Ya smell that? Definitely dead. Not to worry, just step over here out of his stink so we can get better acquainted. Right this way - oops! Is it already Zor? Let's go the other way. The hobgoblins on them slave ships over yonder - they ain't too picky about telling passersby from cargo, if'n ye get my meaning.

There we are! Off the piers and in one piece too! You'll do fine here, I'm nearly certain of it. Dangerous? Well, I suppose any city can be. Ye've heard tales as tall as Sharn's towers I'm sure, but truth be told, Stormreach is a quiet town - watch yourself there, lad. Don't go that way; the Bilge Rats don't like people snooping around those warehouses, not one bit. Just between you and me, Old Larkom Snidd went lurking there last week. Found him bobbing in the harbor sewage with his own entrails wiggling about him like a big patch of pink 'n' red seaweed... think it was Larkom at least, hard to tell with his face chewed clean off and his body all bloated. Corpses is like sponges in the seawater, ya know. Anyhow, what were I saying? Oh yeah, don't believe those rumors about Stormreach. She's a mighty fine town, you'll see."

— Migra, goodwill ambassador of Stormreach and expert pickpocket


The Yawning Portal (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMxo_3oHULE&ab_channel=EpicMusicMix)

Whether by airship or storm galleon, fate and fortune have brought you to Xen'drik's wind-lashed coasts, to the continental port known as Stormreach. Here, the law is bought and paid for, and gold and blood flow in equal measures in the streets. Established by pirates and smugglers and ruled today by the five enigmatic Storm Lords descended from their bloodlines, it has become a vital resource for those who wish to explore or exploit the shattered land. It is the gateway to the Lost Continent, rising on the edge of the civilized world.

The stories of this city are as numerous and diverse as its inhabitants. In the arena known as the Red Ring, a Valaes Tairn warrior leaps out of the way of a giant's club. The elf came to Stormreach in search of his history - now he is forced to reenact it in this deadly contest. In Falconer's Spire, a Lyrandar lord studies maps and reports. He reaches out with his thoughts, feeling the paths of the storm and considering if he wants to hold back the tempest or welcome it in. In the slum of Dannel's Pride, a young man studies the scroll he's been given, marveling at the destructive power bound within its words. For an instant, he feels doubt. Then he hears the cries of a starving child and the curses of a crippled soldier, and he knows what he must do. In a harbor alley, a merchant spits blood and teeth onto the ground. As the half-giant ruffian draws back for another blow, the wounded man sees a guard standing in the mouth of the alley, and for an instant hope surges through him. But the guard just laughs, and the merchant realizes... the guard is waiting for his cut.

Your tale begins in the city's infamous Locksmith Square, the beating heart of the city. Though not quite as busy as the Bazaar - Stormreach's central marketplace, where locals and foreigners alike meet to exchange all manner of goods of varied legality - during the day, the square comes alive at night. Locksmith Square is home to many of the city's more colourful and popular attractions. Although other districts, such as Respite and the Temple district, also offer good food or an evening's entertainment, many sailors, laborers, and adventurers would rather spend their leisure time near the blood-soaked Red Ring, where the atmosphere is riotous and the prices are low.

Yet few locales are so well-trod in Locksmith Square as the Yawning Portal, your destination for the evening.

The shimmering ramparts of Silverwall reflect a thousand torches of myriad hues as the setting sun plunges down in the west. Passers by move around you on your way through the great doors of acacia and teak, the crowd's currents easy enough to navigate for anyone accustomed to any time in a city such as this. In the throng are members of the diverse races of the continent of Khorvaire and beyond: humans from all Five Nations, elves from Valenar and Aerenal alike, Khoravar, orcish broods with markings from the Shadow Marches, halfling outriders from the outlands of Talenda, weretouched shifters, warforged of all shapes and colours, and many more. There are even more 'exotic' specimens about, such as the hulking figures of half-giants, trolls, or drow from the inland jungle tribes. You see the hems of missionaries , glittering armor of soldiers from , robes of travelling monks from Adar. No face or fashion is barred here - all are welcome in the Portal's shadow.

Once through the open doors, you step into a world of bawdy song, festive dancing, and effusive cheer. The tavern has three levels, a series of stacked half-circular lounges nested one atop the other. Each storey boasts near a dozen tables, all of which are packed by raucous customers. Atop a raised stage stands burly orc playing what looks like some kind of harp or lute of gut and bone, behind whom stands an elf wearing the tattoos of Aerenal and carrying a delicate flute of chased silver and ivory. Finally, a hobgoblin in Dhakaani leather armour at the back blares out a few notes with what looks like a battered battle-horn. The piece works by the scarcest of margins - it would be charitable to call it a true performance, but there's a beat and enough of a chorus that the crowd jumps in at the various measures. The melody is recognizable to most of you instantly - it's 'Titan's Fall', the mythic tale of the destruction of the giants at the hands of the dragonflights of Argonnessen over forty thousand years ago.

Though the Portal is far from peaceful, your eyes are drawn right away to the circle in the center of the first floor that nobody seems quite willing to approach. The stones of the legendary well that gave the establishment its name are at least forty feet across, and affixed to one side is a winch and pulley system attached to a square wooden platform whose length and width you place at perhaps fifteen paces apiece. The closest tables to the well are all abuzz with conversation about the well, replete with glances and drunken dares to be 'the next one down into the Stormdepths'. They jest easily with a huge slab of a man, a half-giant at least nine feet tall who dances easily from one party to another, collecting gold and handing out drinks. If the stories are correct, then this is Durnan himself, the owner and proprietor of the Yawning Portal. His skin is craggy and the colour of ash, and he sports both a wild mane and a bushy beard. However, looking past those details, you see bright eyes and a warm smile.

Spotting all of you as part of the general influx of newly arrived clientele, Durnan beckons a server to take your drink orders - fresh in stock this evening are some Talentan brandies, a bevy of Rekkenmark pale ales, and the finest barrels of kuryeva from Molou's in the Marketplace - and get you all situated wherever's free to sit while he sees to other customers. Once seated, you will have time to get a lay of the land and prepare yourselves for the descent into perhaps the continent's most notorious dungeon.

Although it's hardly the oldest or even the most salacious of Stormreach's legends, the history of the Portal is known to practically everyone who's spent more than a day in the Gateway to Xen'drik. By all accounts, the site where the inn and tavern now stands was hardly more than a covered up well entrance to Stormreach's Undercity, the network of well-traversed passages and warrens that was not built by human hands. However, all that changed in 976 YK when a half-giant by the name of Durnan emerged from the earth, covered in gilt and gore. He was carrying coffers of precious gems and other valuable cargo and telling stories about a great dungeon that lay beneath the city's ancient sewer system. By the start of 978, he had not only bought the land around the cistern, but he had designed and completed initial construction on a tavern around the entrance.

Within days of its grand opening, the tavern had become one of the city's most popular watering holes. There are many reasons for this, but chief among them - aside from the wide selection of affordable drinks - is the 40-foot-diameter well that descends directly into the first level of the Stormdepths, the most popular name for the deadly dungeon. Needless to say, the details of Durnan's story had already spread far and wide, reaching not just every corner of Stormreach but traversing across the sea to the various guilds, dragonmarked houses, churches, and nations of Khorvaire.

Located in the center of the taproom is the well was once a part of the giant aqueduct system that permeated Stormreach, which was demolished long ago. Its sheer walls are made of old mortared stones. Next to this gaping orifice hangs a winch with a huge rope-and-pulley mechanism that Durnan uses to lower adventurers down the shaft and (occasionally) pull them up again. Durnan controls the winch himself and will transport up to five adventurers at a time. The trip takes 10 rounds, down and up. The rope is stained with old blood and long enough to reach all the way to the floor of the dark room at the bottom of the 140-foot shaft.

Durnan is a genial sort, always happy to see returning customers and well-liked by most of the city's underground factions. He charges adventurers 1 gp each to descend into the well, whether they opt to use the rope or not. The return trip also costs a piece of gold, sent up in a bucket in advance. He also readily accepts coin from patrons who want to place grisly bets on adventurers who dare explore the Stormdepths, and their odds of returning alive. "Five galifars says they’re back before a fortnight, minus the soldier, the mage, and the priest!" is the flavor of commentary often heard amid gales of drunken laughter.

[Farmerbink]

Kern pauses for more than a moment a few paces from the threshold. Blasted fool. Me too, if I'm being honest, just for agreeing to follow him. He spits irritably in the stone roadway, looking around for his "friends."

"Too many fools, never enough coin, and now I've gone and made myself one of 'em. Da** it all." Continuing to curse and grumble under his breath, the huge man steps through the doorway. If it hadn't been built by a Half-Giant most considered more likely three-quarters, he'd almost certainly have to stoop. A head taller than six feet, and broad enough to make most men consider him a wall sooner than door, his sandy brown hair falls just past his shoulders in an unusually loose wave. Glaring about with eyes that understand more than he lets on, he almost immediately finds a trio of seats close to the well.

"Room for more fools, Durnan?" He calls to the barkeep in what can only be described as an inexplicable friendship. When the Half-Giant approaches, they clasp hands in obvious fondness. Apparently, it's good business to have a skeptic hurling insults and jibes at half the adventurers delving on any given night. "Can't right believe it," Kern begins. "Those kids finally convinced me to pay you instead of betting on idiots. Probably all gonna die- of boredom!" He laughs perhaps just a little forced as the huge proprietor raises a questioning eyebrow. "There's at least two others coming. Can't get either of them to tell me anything useful," he grouches.

The owner places a mug in front of each chair, and moves on about his way for now, smirking at the self-proclaimed fool.

[(Un)Inspired]

Stepping off the gangplank, from the Dargunnian junk he'd called in a favor to book passage on, Jacques breathes in the tropical air. Wearing soft canvas shoes better fit for escaping a chase than mucking through the wilderness, the stovepipe denim pants of an urban worker, and a heavy sailor's black peacoat over a cable-knit sweater; the auburn-haired smuggler cuts the figure of an avowed city boy; infinitely more comfortable dodging gangsters than riding the dusty trail. He checks the movement of his prosthetic arm in the new climate, and with a wave of his hand, Prestidigitates away the almost oppressive humidity from his person. Back in the tropics, at last, Galantine. Time to talk to a man about a well.

The human sorcerer drifts his eyes over the labyrinthine sprawl of municipal riffraff and chuckles to himself. Not today Stormreach. He tightens the straps on the pack of his dungeoneering gear, and draws out his B-127 Sailfish Model Skystaff. Settling onto its seat, he revs the throttle a single time, before dropping it into gear and tears off into the city above the bric a brac of the port town.

Screeching to a stop in front of the Yawning Portal, Jacques dismounts, somewhat stiffly after his long sea voyage, stows his Skystaff, and pushes in through the door. As soon as he crosses the threshold, the Brelander runs his eyes over every one of the bar's patrons. With his biological hand, he combs his shortish hair back, only for it to immediately fall back over one of his eyes. Just adds to that mysterious charm of yours, Galantine.

Catching Durnan's eye, he flashes the man an ear to ear grin, built mostly from the ground up, of sincerity. Durnan, you old scoundrel! How long has it been since I've been in town? Do you really still have that wanted poster of me up on the wall? I told you that was just a misunderstanding between me and that Lhazzaran Princess. He comes in close to shake the gargantuan man's hand, and clasp his forearm. You heard I've come to map out that well of yours, right? Anyone else come in tonight looking to take a dip?

[n0ble]

Vyntriss rubbed an eye against the sun's assault, then pulled up the hood of her cowl as a further defence. She leaned on the staff, gasped a little bit at the squalid temperatures that battered at her skin, then palmed the door with a sweat soaked hand to open the door to the tavern. Open to where a whole new series of assaults began to lay siege to her senses. The temperature was the same as it was outside, she was drenched in sweat, it was perhaps brighter here absence the shade of the feeble architectures, things were perhaps even louder than outside for the concentration of music and conversation, and the ****ing temperature was the same as it was outside. Worse even, for the smells of vice that clung to the air. Mass-company seemed to be the price for no sunlight.

She gripped the quarterstaff a bit tighter. The weapon was a half head taller than she was, the onyx stone cross-hatched over on one side with small white scriptures. Her hands were wrapped in cloth, of a similar but slightly finer make then her robes. Fine stitching depicted tiny horses galloping across the handwraps, up the sleeves of her robe, where a pair of fierce destriers met at the only concession to vanity the monk wore: a single polished diamond looped around sturdy piece of chain and worn about the neck. Well. The only concession besides her pipe. But that was less a concession and more a keepsake. All the black made some contrast the pallid white of her face.

The monk scanned the deluded masses for the people of merit she'd come to know, stalking across vistas of revelry and ill-discipline with red eyes. She walked barefooted towards the others where two of their five sat, free fingers of her hand resisting the urge to twitch in anger at the fluting. Eyes flitting onto then off the half-giant proprietor, the elf threaded her way through the tables and people and smells. Bit back a remark about acquiring a second shadow in coming to meet the half-giant, then offered him a tight, forced smile behind her veil and a short bow. Vyntriss could just hear the creak of her spine over the tavern's noise, and picked up the pace, trying to pass the hulk. Harried by the sound. A few drops of sweat trickled onto the floor. The monk whispered when she spoke, half muttered a <"Thank you for hosting us."> in Elven to the man before twisting away past a human server and into her wake. She was headed where Vyntriss was. Everybody was, eventually.

She wore her smile all the way to the table, then promptly dropped it in time with lowering herself into a chair, then crossing one spindly leg over the other. Her quarterstaff rested on the table, tip pointing in the direction of one of the vacant seat like something of an accusation. Vyntriss withdrew a clinking sac from the backpack she had packed for this occasion and handed it to the woman who took their requests. "May we please have a sampling of everything vegetarian that there is for food? Oh." She sat the sac down on the table and a few chits of gold spilled onto the gnarled woodwork of the furnishing. They were at least a century out of circulation. A twisted inheritance from the crypt, claimed by an uncle from an old, old warlord. "And a pot of citrus tea with five cups, please. And whatever my companions buy to drink first. Whatever isnt paid for by this is...is....what is your word, <alms?> uh. Donative. Yours." She pushed the coinage away towards the server with skinny fingers, and a few more bits spilled out onto the table. One even rolled off of it and was pinched under the barmaid's foot and the floor. Adroit. At any quizzical looks from the those she'd travelled with for the past half-decade, Vyntriss shrugged. "What? You cannot take it with you."


First rounds? I'm buying-and the rest of my 1000 is for the house.

[BelGareth]

Rayse moved like he was part of the ocean, his body moved back and forth as it propelled him forward with immense strength, over the bottom of the harbor. Every now and then, large shadows would loom overhead as another ship would be leaving or coming from another successful trip, other large creatures lurked in the darker depths, and Rayse was happy that they decided to stay put. He passed what looked like a submersible, probably full of some Cannithites scurrying around, making sure the thing wouldn't break while underwater, and to his astonishment, it didn't.

He swam right up to the dock's, found one of the ramps that were not actively being used to haul some unlucky sea monster up to be gutted, filleted, and sold off in parcels, and promptly changed back, appearing as if out of nowhere, to walk up the ramp in dripping clothes, which promptly began to steam and smoke, exacerbated by the high heat and humidity of the city.

He patted himself to make sure he had everything, even though he knew he did, then moved on, holding his staff in one hand as a walking stick, he managed to make his way to the Yawning Portal, not nearly as fast as being a shark in the water, for he was quite literally, out of water, and his element.

Frowning, his hair a brightly colored red that seemed to be on fire, but obviously was not, his eyes glowed like lava, and all this was subdued outside while in the sun, he looked like a normal adventure...that was slowly smoking.

Nodding to those nearby, loitering outside the tavern, he ducked inside (proverbially), and scanned the first floor, it was a particularly large tavern, and he was never fond of large buildings as these, but they held their purpose, he found Kern scowling at a table, and moved over to join him, taking a seat, ignoring anyone else.

"Alright mate? It's been a minute, so who's the moron who managed to get you to go down eh? I know why I'm goin, but, Lords'to'lasses, never thought you would!" he exclaims as his greeting to his old friend.

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome stood out in front of the establishment, checking some notes w/in a small journal he carried with him. Peering up, he noted the sign, then gazed at the building itself and the patrons entering and exiting. Looking back down at his book, he pulled forth a small metallic stylus and clicked the back of it, pushing forward a small quill reservoir with ink and began to check off little boxes.

Let's see, wooden sign ... carved with 'The Yawning Portal' in common, check ... rectangular structure, architectural notes of Xen'drikan ... Xen'drikian? Xen'drikese? ... reminescent of Xen'drik architecture, check ... patron intake appears to be greater than outflow, barring large amounts of evacuation happening at other exits, it appears to be 'hopping,' check ... this appears to be the correct place!

Just as the shadows began to shift and move towards the small man, the gnome snapped his book shut and briskly walked towards the Yawning Portal, eyes bright with anticipation ... oblivious to the several curses and grunts of disappointment.

Draydor Tinkerto had been in Stormreach for almost a year, working out of the Citadel of the Twelve on several projects commissioned by Cannith South. Everyone was very aware of the 'Xen'drik Memo' from Merrix d'Cannith, most having memorized the directives listed. The focus was on rediscovery of resources and ancient technologies, with the standing emphasis on seeking breakthroughs via new or improved processes. However, it was only recently that Draydor had finally been given an opportunity to engage in 'field work.' While the lab could be exciting in its own way, the young gnome had been hoping for a chance to get out and seek new finds. Several agents before him had been allowed to work outside the headquarters; while none of them had returned, Draydor presumed it was because their investigations had provided new leads and opportunities! He had been given an assignment that had yet to provide much by way of success - the Yawning Portal.

Stepping inside, Draydor found himself pulled into the ebb and flow of the crowd, moving left, right, forward, and sometimes backward, before the crowds parted and he found himself in the main room. The place almost overloaded the young man's senses - so many smells, sounds, even the air had a taste to it. Salty ... sweet ... was that blood? ... and ... and ... something musty? Lost in thought, he started wandering forward, glancing around at the different people assembled, the band, even the decor.

Suddenly, Draydor found himself in an opening. Frowning, he glanced around and saw the namesake of the establishment - the yawning portal. Gasping, Draydor pulled forth his book and rushed forward, ignoring the absence of people and the sudden glances and comments from those nearby. He immediately began to sketch the well, taking several notes around the margins as he did. He began muttering aloud, lost in thought as he tried to capture as much as possible.

"Ohmygoodness!BytheHostthisisamazing!Lookatthesizeo fthosestones!Certainlytheworkofancientgiants,orisi tsomethingelse?Whoputtheplatformthere?Isthatbloodo ntherope?Didthisusetobepartofapagansacrificialritu alservice?Howfardowndoesitgo,Iwonder?Howdoyougetdo wn?Is ..."

Draydor paused for a moment as he glanced at the winch. His face fell somewhat, frowning as he stared at it. "Is that it? A simple winch? I ... that's ... how disappointing.

Hello? Um, excuse me?"

Clearing his throat, Draydor reached into a pouch pulling out a small cone and a strange circular item. With a tool that practically appeared out of nowhere, he attached the items together and pressed a button, creating a loud screech that echoed around the room. Wincing, he held the item to his lips and spoke, his voice amplified out through the other end.

"UM EXCUSE ME! Yes, pardon my interruption, but, ah, I was wondering is the proprietor around? Or owner? Perhaps a senior manager? Anyone who can speak to this ... this ... travisty?!"

He gestured emphatically toward the platform and winch, then looked back at the crown expectantly.
OOC - Joining the party :) .. and as previously mentioned, Draydor and Jacques are acquainted with each other. Perhaps others :smallsmile:
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[3SecondCultist]

"Always room for more, Cooke!" comes the booming reply from the half-giant when he wheels around to the ex-soldier's table after the first round of drinks have been served - the barmaid having eventually accepted the ancient coin after fetching a friend to determine its authenticity. Durnan gives the gathered trio - Kern, Vyntriss, and Rayse - an approving once over. "If you lot are going down the hole tonight, reckon that I can make quite a few galifars on your untimely deaths. But if you're going in with just three alone, the margins won't be as favourable. If you round out your roster some, I can get better odds on your survival and send more money to your loved ones."

It's less than a quarter hour later - though well after the three have been served - that Jacques Galantine enters the Yawning Portal. The swaggering human also catches the gaze of the proprietor. Durnan flashes the sorcerer his own wide grin, covering his hand completely in a boisterous shake. "Been a spell, Gallant. A few months, at least? What corner of the Dragon Between have you gone a'traipsing this time?" As Jacques explains his purpose at the Yawning Portal, the owner's eyes shoot up.

"Well isn't that a fine thing. I've got three going down tonight, already put the word out that they're looking for a few more. Should I introduce you?"

But the music crashes to a halt at the thunderous, magically fuelled bellow of a tiny gnome. Draydor's half-question, half-challenge is met with a sea of craned necks and a range of scowls at the interruption. The musicians on their small stage in particular seem to glare right at the artificer, who has thoroughly spoiled their rendition of 'The Flight of the Slaves' - one of the more well known instrumental sections at the end of their piece. Durnan himself turns to look, and after a moment's consideration gives a nod towards one of the tavern's smoke-filled corners. A few score pair of eyes follow the motion, as the unmistakeable sound of a single chair scraping back on the floor can be heard over the growing susurrus of murmurs.

"What'n the Six is your problem, hrm?" The voice cuts through the eddies of noise, stilling them instantly. As the speaker approaches, Draydor and anyone else watching sees a bald, thick-set dwarf with a coal-dark beard. His chest and shoulders are covered with a pitted breastplate and matching pauldrons, and he bears a pair of heavy axes at his belt as well as a massive bow slung behind his shoulders. Judging by the speed at which the standing crowd parts in advance of his path, there can be no question that this individual has some power here. That, or the hulking black canine that lopes easily right behind him, yellow eyes fixed right on the gnome. Both Kern and Jacques recognize the figure as Handlon the Brick, Durnan's bouncer and number two - a feature nearly as well known as the half giant to anyone who's spent an evening in the Portal. Even those among you who are new hear the name echoed on the lips of every savvy customer here tonight.

"Yer disturbing the peace, friend," growls the dwarf in a tone that is anything but. "The owner's busy serving payin' patrons. Now either you shut your mouth, or I kick your f*cking teeth down your throat and shut it for you. What's it gonna be?"

Those with sharper senses who are already seated at the tables catch the glances of a few members of the crowd whose observation seems to go beyond idle curiosity or sizing you up for the purposes of a wager.


The first is a chestnut-skinned woman seated up near the bar, who wears an elegant but clean-cut robe of viridian with the barest trim of gold at the hem and neckline. She is clutching what appears to be an open notebook or perhaps a spellbook in one hands, and with the other is writing at lightning speed onto the pages without even looking down.
The second is a whip-thin cloaked figure darting between the pillars that you realize is a warforged as they politely refuse a drink offered to them by holding out a spindly constructed hand, before going back to watching you surreptitiously.
Finally, you spot a third man sitting by himself at a table at one of the tavern's windows. His clothing is muted and more than a little travel stained, yet the blade at his belt has an elegantly styled scabbard and filigreed basket hilt to match.

By the looks of all three of them they are temporarily diverted by the growing commotion caused by Draydor.

[BelGareth]

Rayse watches the commotion, but with his keen perception, manages to see the trio of people watching them "All right then, looks like we've already got some admirers." he says nodding towards the three people watching them. He turns to Kern "You gonna save the damsel? or should I?"

[Farmerbink]

At first, Kern only stares flatly at Rayse, still equal parts amused and astonished by the druid's either willingness to ignore or ability to overlook things he didn't care to see. For a few moments, the veteran is lost in thought, remembering the promise he made, what seems like a lifetime ago. Yeah, I know how I play in. I'll bring him back to you in one piece. For perhaps the hundredth time, and certainly not the last, he wonders how much easier these last years might have gone if he'd just let Rayse die in the war.

Kern blinks away the thought before turning back to Rayse. "Really?" he groans. Rolling his eyes, the soldier rises from his seat, looking for the three mentioned. He just lays eyes on the woman, and his eyebrows rise appreciatively. Nice. Suddenly, his brief reverie is shattered by a... loud Gnome. "Oh, thrice-blasted cod snappers!" Before turning to the portal, he breaks the tension with a bark almost anyone would recognize as military. "Shortstack! Pull up a chair, and I'll fill you in!" he interrupts, in answer to the Brick's question. He turns to the hole and holds up a palm in a placating gesture to the Dwarf as he steps forward to grasp the Gnome's shoulder, locking eyes long enough to respectfully ensure that neither of them actually wants to draw blood... yet.

Standing closer to the portal than he's actually comfortable with (though he'd be damned seven times before he admitted it), he half-whispered harshly "If you don't want to experience precisely what that kind fellow just suggested, you aughta take a seat with me and kinder tone to the richest 9-foot tall barkeep I've ever met, eh?"

[(Un)Inspired]

Jacques received the giant’s warm welcome gladly, even if he did have to disentangle himself from the taller man’s grasp before he found himself down another arm. Oh, you know me, Durnan. Just been keeping my name out of the Dark Lanterns’ mouth, while trying to make an honest galifar.

Even as he speaks the words to his giant friend, gets caught in a sudden wave of pain. The feeling of the fluid in his bones undulating unnaturally sending a spasm through his body almost hard enough to throw him to the ground. Stop, whatever you are in there, stop! I know you can hear me. Whatever you want, it’s not gonna happen by making me pass out in the middle of this bar! Fortunately, Jacques’ grimace of pain is perfectly explained away by the sudden cacophony which erupts from the blonde gnome, reverberating through the tavern.

Shavarath, Durnan! Did you invite the whole circus here tonight?… wait, I think I know that man. The sorcerer watches as first the dwarven thug hammishly threatens Draydor, followed by a hulking, clean-cut human’s attempt to bustle him over to a table. Hang on to that introduction, Durnan. I already know at least one of them.

With that he strides across the barroom past Handlon towards Draydor, turning only for a moment. Are you still threatening people about their teeth, Handlon? I guess it’s better than last year when you couldn’t stop talking about customer’s feet. Either way, lay off my friend Draydor, here, or or I’ll make your aunt pay me back the money she owes me from that armwrestling match. And I don’t want to hear anything about cheating! If Millicent wanted there to be rules, then she should have said something before we began!

Upon reaching the diminutive artificer Jacques address him directly. Draydor Tinkertot, it’s good to see you again. What’s it been? A year and a half since I helped you get those Siberys shards through customs. Are you planning on hitting the pit tonight? I wouldn’t mind doing some spelunking if you looking for company.

[n0ble]

Fascinating... Vyntriss consumed one mug of tea, then another, looking past the growing conflict between Mr. Draydor and tavern security while she did. The monk spared a glance for the warforged leaning against the pillar, then returned to looking down at the table. Briefly entertained notions of fighting the combative dwarf-the one whom Jacques had reffered to as Hanlon. Individuals without courage of their own often had to mine it from other places than what was below them. In the time spent free Vyntriss had often come to find that others found it in striking down at those they thought below them. Strange that it should conflate with Mr. Draydor's stature. And volume. She gave her shoulders a good roll and grunted as they clicked. For a moment her eyes narrowed on the warforged. Then the glance passed raised a mug of tea in the gnome's direction. "Would you like some tea, Rayse?" Without waiting for an answer she went back to looking at the remnants of her food.

There were a particularly spiky duo of fruits she'd yet to get into, put off buy whatever mechanism within had set the food to smelling like manure. She let her nose twitch a moment and took in the scent, then exhaled and banished the smell for the feint it was. Vyntriss used both pointer fingers to prise the be-spiked carapace loose, revealing the slimy flesh underneath,yellowed over with juices. The smell of manure briefly increased, then a pungent sweetness settled onto the food, one near as sickening as the prior smell that had occupied her senses. The entire affair reminded her of a cave slug. The monk parted one of the segments with a fork and fished it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, allowing for a little bit of the jaundice fruit-liquid to slither out of her mouth. "Mm." Another set of flavours for the collection. Too sweet. Too sweet by far. Wiped the juice away with her pointer and middle finger, then daubed that onto the cloth that had been provided. Looked up again to re-confirm the warforged's placement in the tavern. Vyntriss let her fingers twitch. Her hands needed something more tactile for the senses, but setting them to the well's stone could wait a touch longer.

Vyntriss looked to the half giant, no more bothered by the gnome's entrance or the ensuing rancour it had produced than one might be by a light summer rain. "<What time do you schedule departures?>" She inclined her head the minimum amount needed to orient it in the direction of the well.

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome spun around as the dwarf's voice cut though the silence. But as the dwarf started to deliver his threat, Draydor responded immediately, inadvertently speaking over the bouncer. "My problem? No sir, I do not have a problem ... YOU have a problem!" Draydor blinked as he realized he had spoken through his personalized sonic amplification device and effectively shouted his answer to man standing mere feet away.

Lowering it quickly, he blushed with a small smile. "Oh, sorry about that. I forgot it was using the PSAD. As I was saying, the problem is yours. And you are correct, by the six indeed! The six simple machines, you mean, of course? Of course. I presume you are the manager? As I recall, the proprietor is a large fellow, part giant if I recall correctly. That gentleman over there looks like the proprietor ... I think he was winking at you. So I guess that means you are authorized to discuss issues pertaining to engineering specifications and possible changes? Excellent, so if I may continue, my primary concern is your rudimentary transport system you have in place."

As he started to get revved up, completely missing the danger looming in front of him, a large human came over and attempted to guide him away from the well. Draydor resisted initially, smiling hesitantly at the man. "Oh, hello there, are you here to discuss this issue as well? Oh, are you the proprietor? No, you are tall, true, and very wide ... my, those are extremely large biceps, and triceps, and ... well, all the ceps, I suppose ... and you are not nearly as gray as that gentleman over there. Obviously you're human but you probably knew that already, and if you didn't perhaps you are not qualified to discuss anything engineering related so what exactly did you wish to discuss? Did you say a drink? No thank you, I am not currently thirsty although the more I talk, the more parched I am getting, perhaps a small glass of water OH, are you a waiter or server? Probably a bouncer as well! Well no worries, the good dwarven manager and I are fine, and if you notice he seems quite capable of taking care of himself, so we probably do not require security and he even has a dog, what a nice dog, yellow eyes, black as midnight, looks hungry, wonder what they feed him? so thank you but I think I'm fine. On second thought, I think a water would be nice."

As the torrent of words poured out of the gnome, almost as if he couldn't quite control it, a NEW newcomer arrived and started talking to the dwarf. Blinking, his smile faltered a little as the situation continued to become stranger and stranger. But at least he recognized this person. But even as the man was defending the oblivious gnome, all Draydor could do was flounder.

"Good evening, Jacques, was it? Yes, Jacques Galantine, I remember you! What ... ah ... wait ... Handlon? Who's Handlon ... threatening? Aunt? Millicent? I don't under ... oh yes, Siberys shards, there is an interesting point to those. Have you ever seen what happens when you pass an electrical current through a shard, while maintaining an arcane-dampening field, when Daanvi, Kythri, Mabar and Irian are in quadruple ascendance? Unfortunately, neither do I ... not sure the senior analyst needed to declare an EPISILON breech for the test ... it was well within the security protocols previously established for shard experimentation ... Anyway, what are you doing here? Going down? You mean into the Yawning Portal? I would very much like to do so ... but ..."

Draydor blinked and nearly squeaked. "Oh yes! That's what I wanted to discuss with the proprietor. Or the very least a manager authorized to make engineering changes. I guess that's Handlon. Is that you, Handlon? Pleased to meet you, Draydor Tinkertot. Anyway, what I wanted to address was your system. You seem to be relying on a fairly simplistic pulley system. It appears to be what a two, perhaps three pulley system? While I too am a fan of the classics, this is one of the original six, as you clearly identified earlier in our conversation. While the pulley is as important to the foundation of modern engineering as the lever, inclined plane, screw, wheel & axle and wedge, they are a building block, and I'm certain we can do better. For example ..."
Draydor will continue to speak and expand on opportunities to improve the winch system to deliver folks into the pit. However, I'm sure something will eventually occur before he gets much further. Thanks for everyone's patience with this so far, cuz it is certainly a hoot!

If allowed to continue, presume he would LOVE to be commissioned to improve the device.
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[Farmerbink]

As it immediately becomes apparent the Gnome is utterly beyond the sensibilities, Kern blinks a few extra times- and ultimately decides that this person is either a lunatic or has a death wish. "Don't say I didn't warn ya," he grunts, turning away. "Besides, I haven't got time nor inclination to have that kinda dance just now. I've got to see a woman about a... thing." He turns back towards the bar and the woman (previously) seated nearby. He strides purposefully forward, genuinely eager to have a little chat.

Assuming she's still there and doesn't evade him, Kern will take an empty spot next to her, or vacate one (by intimidation, preferably) and then take it. Then he will buy her a drink, and point-blank ask why she's watching them and what she expects to gain from observation that she wouldn't by conversation?

[3SecondCultist]

Draydor & Jacques

"Ye've got some nerve on you, boy - " But even as he's pointing a sausage finger squarely at Jacques' chest, Handlon's voice trails off while Draydor continues to ramble on... and on... and on... and the rage in the dwarf's face fades into a kind of disgruntled apathy. The crowd that was watching the display seems to have largely moved on now, and the band has struck up a new tune. What's more, Kern's arrival seems to have defused some of the tension. Handlon looks about surreptitiously to make sure not too many folks are watching before shrugging his shoulders in forced nonchalance.

"Bah, damned artificers. Not worth my time. Talk to Durnan if ye've got suggestions for the machine," the Brick grumbles as he trudges away, but not before shooting both of you a venomous look over his shoulder. The black dog does not follow him right away, bounding up beside the gnome; it is clear that she's taller on four legs than Draydor is on two. This allows her to give his face a series of vigorous sniffs and licks - tail wagging all the while - before chasing after her master.


Vyntriss

Durnan manages to watch the whole scene unfold out of the corner of his eye, even as he leans down to hear your question. "No schedule for departures," says the Portal's owner. "I just ask groups going down to give me bout a quarter hour's notice, that way I can finalize bets and you can see the Skint-Faith Man before I help yous take the plunge." He points right to a table on the far side of the well, where a small circle has gathered around a figure cloaked in snow-white cloth. Though their back is towards you, by the sounds of the low chants the group appears to be in the midst of a prayer.


Kern

Leaving the confrontation behind, you take a sharp detour and finds yourself seated at the bar next to the woman that Rayse pointed out. She is striking up close if not exactly a beauty; her cheekbones are too sharp, and her irises are a startling pure gold, with ink dark scelera around the edges. The hand on the quill pauses as she realizes she's been approached, but never stops entirely. When she glances at you, you sense the cool, appraising gaze of someone who knows what they are looking for - and she accepts a beer when you make the offer.

"I wanted to be sure that you were serious about entering the well before introducing myself," she says, leaning back on her stool and taking a long sip of her drink, "but you've absolved me of any doubt. I am sure that once the others see us they will find you in turn, but I am honored to be the first. My name is Aanna Helmsworth, of House Cannith. I was hoping that your group and I could come to an arrangement of mutual benefit, as you traverse the lengths of the Stormdepths."

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome frowned as the dwarf turned and left, murmuring, "I thought that's who I originally asked for ... not sure if I used in the incorrect title, or nomenclature ... if the man is serving customers, perhaps I just need to purchase a drink in order to gain an audience and offer my suggestions? I suppose the organizational hierarchy of such an establishment is not exactly the same as that of the Houses. Or the Guilds. Or the Churches. Or the Universities. Or ... Oh my, that is a large canine, how are you, er, boy?"

As the enormous (at least to Draydor) dog licked the gnome, he stood nonplussed for several moments. After a moment, he shook his head, turning with a grin towards Jacques. "Ha, did you see that Mr. Galantine? Quite the clever animal, and he (she? it?) obviously has good taste. Or perhaps I do!" He chuckled to himself, clearly amused as he turned to go seek a table where he could attract the attention of the proprietor. After two steps, he paused and turned back. "Oh, you had asked me a question, about journeying into the Portal this evening. Is that something you were planning? I presumed I should investigate and observe the Portal itself, but given what I am seeing regarding the transport system, I would recommend you wait until I can ascertain the long-term safety of the device before you find yourself stranded below. I have heard it is several hundred feet down, is that true? Do you have a table? I think a table is the best way to engage in conversation with Master Durnan, unless you know of a better way. How are you doing? Is your business still going strong? What did you call it "Supply and Demand?" You said one drove the other, I remember that clearly. Anyway, perhaps I could use a water after all."

He continues to ramble, hopefully while on the way to a table, chatting amicably with his old acquaintance.
Nothing else just yet.
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[Farmerbink]

Kern barks out a short laugh- apparently genuine, but an ugly-sounding thing, nonetheless. "I'm glad you don't have any doubts! Heh heh. I'm still not at all sure about it- except that going down that hole is a damned stupid thing to do. Unfortunately, at least for me, a promise is a blasted promise, and I guess that makes me damned stupid, doesn't it?!" He chuckles a few more seconds before offering an open hand to the woman in more formal greeting.

When she takes it, he brings her hand up to meet in the middle for a kiss- apparently unaware or unconcerned that the gesture went out of vogue at least 30 years before he was born. "Well, Miss Helmsworth- it is Miss, I hope?- I can't honestly say I care overmuch for the benefit of the group, but if you've a mind, I'm quite interested in some mutual benefit to be found right here- preferably before we traverse those lengths," he adds, with a nod towards the pulley and winch system.

Yep, sure am being that guy! PERSUASION! [roll0]

[(Un)Inspired]

A goodnatured grin trickles its way across Jacques' face as he listens to Draydor talk. He found it hard to dislike the loquacious gnome who had a seemingly inexhaustible capacity to keep conversations fresh. Don't mind Handlon, being unhelpful just means he likes you. You know what they say, Dwarvish is just Common spoken with a bad attitude. His smile widens even further at the gnome's "taste" joke. Heh, I knew this was gonna be fun.

Don't worry, I've got a ride that can get us to the bottom of the well, without having to rely on that pre-war-looking winch. I just think we should recruit a little muscle first. A tough or two who can stand between us and whatever has sharp teeth down there. Maybe someone with a connection to the divine too, just to make sure luck is on our side. What do you think?

Jacques scans the room as he walks to a table with Draydor, openly evaluating the Yawning Portal's patrons for their potential in a well-heist. How'd that meaty guy who talked to you earlier seem? Let's call him over when he's finished... putting his mouth on people?

[n0ble]

"Mm. <Thank you again.> Barring any further..." More elven "...<eccentricities> from my companions I believe a quarter hour should prove sufficient." Vyntriss turned herself to where other faithful were gathering, letting her eyes slide over the warforged as she did. Absent signs from them, the elf drummed the fingers of her right hand across the table, the rhythm slow and even while she watched those that had gathered for prayer. A nervous energy had taken to her frame, an eagerness like a horse before competing in a charge. Still. Some perfunctory display might prove useful in the eyes of those watching. Another moment to stay at rest before they really committed to the endeavour before them, and perhaps one last chance to really appeal to the ancestors beyond whatever fate waited below. Folly, but that was belief in the divine for you. Vyntriss sighed and ran a thin hand down the length of her quarterstaff, the part that leaned out over the table, then gave the midsection of the haft's stone a good pat before leaving for the mass that had coagulated around the Skint-Faith man, deftly winding through the press of patrons while trying to ignore the music. She kept her hands jammed in the robe's pockets the entire time.

[3SecondCultist]

Draydor, Jacques & Rayse

The table that both Draydor and Jacques find themselves at is most recently emptied, as both the large man and an elf have recently departed, leaving behind a quizzical looking half-giant looming over a man who is quite literally smouldering. The ashen skin and lambent locks of Rayse are greeting enough, as the trio meets under Durnan's watchful - and openly amused - gaze.

"So is that two groups for the well then, or perhaps one? Gallant, this young genasi here is an associate of Kern Cooke, another regular. If you go down together, better to do it as a group of five. Five is the traditional number, of course." The owner of the Portal clears his throat thunderously before humming in basso profundo. "Depart as five, return alive. Set off as four, knock on death's door. Farewell as three - "

" - risk casualty," finishes another speaker as they step into the circle of your company. Rayse recognizes the newcomer as the fellow in the well-worn clothes with the finely styled sword, who takes a seat opposite the druid without invitation. He waves a hand to the others, the implied gesture to join him as he asks Durnan for a round of whatever you all desire - on him - and a bit of privacy. Durnan nods and disappears, leaving you alone with the man, who takes his time examining each of you in turn.

"I'm not one for small talk, so I will keep this matter to the point. My name is Lukar ir'Rosznar - from Rekkenmark, I wouldn't expect you to have heard of my family - and I'm here looking for my little brother, Kressan. He entered the Stormdepths near on three weeks ago, and has not returned. I am not a brave or hardy sort, but a group of seasoned adventurers might be able to track him down." Lukar runs fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, the motion betraying a faint tremor that he's otherwise been able to control. "If he's... perished down there, I would ask you to bring back evidence. He bears the same signet ring that I do, marked by our house." The nobleman places his left hand straight down on the table between you, where the flickering gleam of the everburning torches reveals a platinum band with the engraved symbol of a falcon mid-dive.

"It would mean the world to me if you would do me this favour. Though we are strangers, I would be in your debt - and the Rosznars reward those who have been of service."


Kern

There are as many smiles as there are women in the wide world of Eberron, but you've been around long enough to spot the more common variations. The one that Aanna's face settles into after you press your lips to her hand and speak quite brazenly of other benefits is not the 'enthusiastic acceptance' you were hoping for or even the 'amused tolerance' you might have been able to work with, but rather the dreaded 'vicarious embarrassment'. It might as well be a shield held up to your face. With a light laugh, she pulls back her arm out of your reach.

"You do not lack for boldness, sir, but my purpose here ought to keep me free from those sorts of entanglements. Oh come, don't make such faces; I haven't even gotten to my pitch." Another careful sample of her drink. "I have been dispatched to this continent with the sole purpose of acquiring knowledge and items of power, both of which I believe can be found beneath our feet. Simply put, I am keen to acquire treasure of the magical variety, and am prepared to pay a competitive price for whatever you bring me. I will pay in platinum dragons, in secure transfers guaranteed by the Banking Guild. My rates are not negotiable, but I believe you will find them to be ample - my research indicates that most willing to risk their lives in dungeons consider their work to merit 'hazard pay', which I have included in my estimations."

From a small sash on her waist, the Cannith agent produces a scroll, which she unfolds between you. On the crisp parchment, you can see the figures among the legal provisos, yet thankfully there appear to be no large blocks of arcane writing that might signify some kind of clever wordplay trap or tricky clauses. The offer seems genuine to your mind.

"No other party has descended into the Stormdepths since my arrival, which would make your group the first experiment. And of course, by no means would this agreement force you into handing over every valuable item or artifact you came across; I would accept as much as you would be willing to give. If you care to introduce yourself and your companions, you would all be able to sign the document. I prefer transparency in my dealings."

Aanna is willing to pay certain fixed rates (in platinum pieces) for magic items and spellbooks that your party brings back up to the surface, on an ongoing basis. For a Common magic item, she will pay 10 platinum dragons. For Uncommon, the rate goes up to 50 platinum, and goes up by a multiple of 10 for each tier beyond that, to a cap of 5000 platinum for all Very Rare items brought to her.

She will also purchase any spellbooks that you find, with the pricing based on the highest level spell within it: 5 pp for 1st level, 25 pp for 2nd or 3rd level, 100 pp for 4th or 5th level, 250 pp for 6th or 7th level, and 500 pp for 8th or 9th level.

Vyntriss

Your journey is winding, but not long. The various comers and goers of the Yawning Portal offer no resistance in your way, but your steps are circuitous by necessity to stand out of the immediate vicinity of the service. To your inner delight, it would appear as though the gathering stand in mourning: having made a study of death, you know well its comings and goings, its flat whispers and quiet announcements. Though you see no physical body, there can be no mistaking the group of perhaps a dozen as adventurers standing vigil for a comrade. The bowed heads and array of candles would be a clue, but the two women in tears at the front of the congregation give you all the context you need.

Your attention is drawn to the practicing priest, the so-called 'Skint Faith Man'. His robes are virginal, an argent chasuble framing broad tanned shoulders and a heroic jawline. Under his hood, you espy sandy blonde hair and glittering rakish sea-green eyes. His voice carries, full of warm sincerity. "Now in death, may your spirit see the light, may your spirit hear the voice, and may your spirit be purified by and joined with the strength of the flame." The holy man waves his hand over the collection of lights, and suddenly their glow changes to match the pale embroidery of his robe, bathing the corner of the Portal in silver.

As he bows his head, your sharp elven hearing picks up the distinct sound of rattling, and you discern several shapes beneath his robes. However, that's not all you perceive. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that the thin warforged from earlier has taken up a position not far behind you, its back to the wall. Though it says nothing, you can feel the weight of its presence between your shoulder blades.

[(Un)Inspired]

Jacques nods his head in acknowledgment to Durnan for the introduction and sits down with the smoldering genasi. I’m Jacques Galantine, this is my expedition partner, Draydor Tinkertot. Durnan says you and your strongman are looking for spellcasting and tech support for your trip down the well. That’s us. We want an even split of all lucre, with first selection of any academically relevant pieces going to Draydor, and any headlines that go out about our expedition to have our names published in alphabetical order.

Anything else you can think of Draydor? Durnan’s right though. We could use a fifth. Any suggestions? he looks to both Rayse and Draydor for responses.

After listening to Rayse’s response, he turns to hear the Karnathi noble’s request.

Listen, your Lordship, I’m sure the honor of an IOU goes a long way back in Karrnath but out here we’re all just honest fools trying to make our way in this world. So if you want our help it’s gonna be 5000gp for hard evidence about your brother, and 20,000gp if we bring him back alive.

[BelGareth]

Rayse is sipping on the tea that was offered him while everything seems to go off at once, such was the way of things, especially in war, which is what made this all the more amusing to him.

That and watching Kern get all 'old-timey' I'll handle this situation.

Chuckling to himself, he listened to Durnan introduce them to the other group, he nods in satisfaction "Now, I can't speak for ol' Kern hisself, but I figure Durnan is correct, if'n there is a poem about somfin, then you'd best follow that particular adage, as they say, right?" he says, smiling with mirth, and taking another sip "Ah reckon we'd have a better chance puttin our heads together on this one, so by all means, saddle up, and bring a chair over!"

He listens as the nobleman introduces himself, and then almost spurts out his tea to Jacques' suggestion.

[n0ble]

Vyntriss waited for the sermon to end, patient as a glacier. She stood still throughout the entire process, repositioning her arms as things were concluded so that each hand was stuffed into it's opposite sleeve. It gave her time to observe those in mourning. Watching the accumulated grief made it hard to keep a smile from her lips. Such a waste. The urge to condescend won out over empathy, and as those who had sought solace made to leave the holy man Vyntriss' cheekbones turned upwards, her face approximating into something like a caustic jubilance at the scene unfolding before her. One might have even thought she was bemused, were the veil torn away from her face. The monk sighed, making sure not to interrupt any lingering verbalizations that might occur with her impatience, and gripped the forearms of each limb all the tighter with her hands.

The quarterstaff remained strapped to her back by a thin belt of leather looped through a ring at each end. Vyntriss approached the holy-man. <"The proprietor deemed you a man absent finance. One cannot make a meal of faith alone."> She withdrew a spindly arm from one of the sleeves and offered the man the limb to grasp in greeting. Her grip was limp and possessed of a clammy quality in the heat. For a moment her eyes flitted to the well, then settled on the youth's features. Vyntriss' face was placid as stillwater underneath the security of her veil, her monotone devoid of colour but possessed of a strange inflection, like a woman who'd forgotten how to speak her native tongue in the presence of real, living people. Her free hand twitched reflexively as she felt the warforged make another pass over her with its vision, and as the hand tensed to a reactionary fist all the knuckles in her fingers audibly popped. Elven then, for what was to come next was a holy matter. <"Yet here you stand ensconced within the security of this hovel. The inkeep did not strike me as one motivated by matters of faith. Other eclisiarchs charge a fee for the miracles they proffer. Do you?>" A polite smile returned to her face, perhaps a bit more sincere for the nature of the topic at hand.

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome was blessedly quiet for a few moments as Jacques led them to find a table. He appeared to be drafting something in one of his journals, almost oblivious to his surroundings. However, as he noticed their approach to the owner of the establishment, Draydor's excitement slowly started to grow in inverse proportion to their distance. By the time Jacques was addressing the half-giant, the gnome was practically buzzing with pent energy. After some lighthearted banter between various people, Draydor jumped in the air and began spewing words, ignoring the man beseeching for help in finding out about his brother.

"OHMYGOODNESSITISAPLEASURETOMEETYOUSIR!IAMDRAYDORTI NKERTOT,ENGINEERINGSPECIALISTSECONDCLASSANDASPIRIN GSENIORTECHNICALADVISORTOHOUSECANNATHITISWONDERFUL TOMAKEYOURACQUAINTANCE!I'VEBEENWANTINGTOMEETYOUFOR AWHILE,BUTESPECIALLYAFTERSEEINGYOURWINCHANDPULLEYS YSTEM,WHICHTOBEHONEST,ISNOTWHATONEWOULDEXPECTFROMS UCHANESTABLISHMENT,NOOFFENSETOYOUORANYONEWHOWORKED ONIT.IT'SJUSTTHATITHINKWECANDOMUCHBETTERANDENSUREB OTHASMOOTHERANDQUICKERTRANSPORTATIONTOANDFROMTHEPO RTAL!"

Draydor paused for a moment, taking a huge breath in, then holding it as he noticed the looks of those around. He started to turn red for a bit, but after a count of twenty, he slowly let the breath expel, closing his eyes for a moment and cracking his neck to the left and right. Once he was done, he nodded to himself, opened his yes and spoke again, this time a little slower.

"I apologize sir (it is Master Durnan, yes?), let me elaborate. Your system is vary basic, and while the simple solutions serve a purpose, your establishment - the YAWNING PORTAL! - is legendary. As such, it deserves a transportation mechanism worthy of the grandeur and history of this place ... as well as your own tale. A fixed pulley system is fine, if you were gathering water from a well, or transporting simple items up and down a building. For your needs, I believe we must advance beyond even a compound pulley, and likely a complex system would serve you best. It may require more rope, but it will certainly make the coming and going much easier. With a little additional effort, I have more than a few ideas on automation.

In summary, I believe with a fairly minor investment, I could provide you a system that would both accelerate the outgoing and incoming (or is it incoming and outgoing? Entry and Exit? Ingress and Egress? Downgoing and Upcoming?), as well as providing a smoother and safer ride to the occupants. Additionally, the faster journey would mean increased trips for aspiring explorers, which given what I've observed of your economic strategy equates to more better with quicker payoffs.

In return, I ... well, um, I, uh, only ask for three things. First ... well, food. And drink. Free of charge. For me. I, ahem, often ... misplace my coin pouch, so that would be one less thing to worry about. Second, um ... free trips to and from the Portal. It goes without saying why, so I ... will not say it. But it's obvious, I'm sure. Yes? Yes. So finally, I would like to ... well, annotate the design with a sigil of my choosing. That is to say, carving a rune I have cultivated to associate my concepts with the device, for future generations to note. What I mean is ... I, uh, want to sign the work. My work. Ahem.

Anyway, I think that's a fair ask for an improved transportation system. Don't you think? Sir?"

Draydor peered up at the giant man with hope (and more than a little trepidation) in his eyes.
In true fashion, Draydor misses all the important conversations :smallsmile:
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[Farmerbink]

Kern finds himself suddenly without the pleasant grasp of a woman and instead with yet another contract offer. In the wake of her clear denial, he picks up a few of the words she says, but more of what's written on the page. Unconcerned (or unaware) that he might reasonably be embarrassed to be rebuffed so lightly, he instead simply diverts his attention to the task at hand. He reads slowly, poring over the details.
I'm assuming, for the sake of pace and continuity, that this offer is a reasonable one, and Kern with his 14 int able to discern so. If either of those are not the case, I'd like the offer to edit-away the following.

After a time, his sullen pout long-since replaced by a thoughtful scowl, Kern nods. "Can't say it bears much resemblance to what I hoped you were after, but these terms seem reasonable. I'm not gonna speak for my companion, Ray-" he glances back at the table, where several more have gathered in the last few moments. "what the hell," he gripes. "Ah... my companions, I suppose. Knew it would be too easy if nobody showed..." He shakes his head with a decidedly sour expression.

"Come on, I suppose," he barks, before cutting a path back to the same table where the Gnome now stands. Glaring pointedly at Rayse, he explains in snippets. "She wants to buy the extras. Good terms. -Assuming we find any such thing, and also survive, that is."

"New friends?" he asks, with a sharply raised eyebrow.

[3SecondCultist]

Two - well, three - conversations collide in full force as Kern leads Aanna Helmsworth from her place by the bar to the table near the promised pit. The Cannith agent does not resist the invitation, slinking right behind the predictably grizzled veteran and standing at the periphery of your group. She does her best to hide her mirth at the more... passionate displays put on by certain members of your growing group, but isn't quite fast enough to conceal the upward slant at the corner of her lips. The planetouched woman bows her head twice; first to the towering Durnan, and then again when she recognizes Lukar's profile among you. "Forgive the intrusion, my Lord ir'Rosznar. I did not see you had already engaged this particular crew."

For his part, the nobleman's gaze has not left Jacques since the sorcerer has made his rather ambitious counter-offer. In the minute or so since, he has remained perfectly still and silent. He finally snaps his eyes away as a point of courtesy, inching his neck forward in a ghost of the same gesture towards Helmsworth. "That's quite alright Lady d'Cannith, there is no conflict. One does not engage with highwaymen when they attempt to rob you, no matter how polite or well-dressed they appear." Rising from his seat, he turns to acknowledge both Rayse and Kern in the wake of their stilted exchange. Holding the two of them in his sights, both soldier and druid see the man from Rekkenmark smile weakly.

"To those of you who possess a shred of conscience or good reason, I ask this: please find my brother Kressan, or what is left of him. If it is in the power of my house, I will return the favour." Then he is gone, stepping out into the crowd without turning back.

Durnan, all the while, has stood listening to Draydor babble endlessly on the other side of the table. The gnome's words carry over the others, but their intended target resorts to nodding furiously just to keep up with the barrage of suggestions and demands from the tiny inventor. That the half giant is well over three times the height of Draydor adds to the absurdity of the image as Durnan all-but flinches visibly with each consecutive minute of listening that passes. Eventually he is forced to hold up a hand in a completely futile attempt to stem the flood.

"Enough." He lets out a laugh that sounds more than a little strained. Reaching down, he envelops Draydor's hand in a gentle shake. "I am always pleased to meet a fan, Day Inktot. But for now, my customers enjoy the tradition of the pulley and winch. Some of them forgo flight for the express purpose of being lowered by my hand into the dungeon, you know. Besides, I built that myself, I did! There's history there that aught'n't be torn down just on your word."

The Portal's owner strokes his bare chin for a moment. "I'll tell you what, Inktot. If you make it through... say, the fifth floor of the Stormdepths and return alive, I will take your advice and update the pulley system. That way, it can be part of your story! What'dya say?"


Vyntriss

The ceremony is not overly long - Flamites don't tend to linger overmuch on the rites and rituals, as a general rule - and it's perhaps three or four minutes before the rest of the special words are incanted and the crowd disperses. You stand in silent observance, yet you do not go unnoticed. Other than the warforged who hasn't moved from his spot behind you, the priest himself meets your eye as he winds down the prayer. His scrutiny does not remain on you, but there can be no doubt that he's aware of your waiting there.

As though to confirm your supposition, the Skint Faith Man wastes no time gliding in your direction the moment the others have peeled off. Together the two of you split the distance. As he moves, the crisp hues of his garments begin to dim. The snowfall white pigments disappear before your eyes, as do the lustrous accents. Even the style of the vestments is transmuted: gone are any hints of grand design, replaced by a plain robe of worn grey. By the hem on his left sleeve, you spot a small icon: four crossed bones, forming an irregular eight pointed star. The final thing to morph are his features, as the human mask he wore is pulled back to reveal the expressionless changeling beneath.

"<You speak of hunger as if it were an old friend,>" replies the deacon in flawless Elven. "<Yet there are as many faiths as there are people. I only do my best to provide succour to the damned, before they cast away their years below. Perhaps I might help you as well. What is it you are seeking, may I ask?>"

[Farmerbink]

Kern's expression of bland business falters briefly at the nobleman's departing comment. Having missed the entirety of the exchange before, he's left only mouthing "Kressan? What?" He turns back to the document he's placed on the table, scowling in confusion. "Whatever that's about, we can discuss it in a minute. Rayse. Are these the people you said we'd meet here? Gods alive I wish you'd have warned me about that fellow," he grumbles, hooking a thumb at the Gnome. He pinches his nose in genuine annoyance. "I'd probably be here anyway," he adds, irritably.

"If they are, I think it behooves us all to accept Lady d'Cannith's little proposal. Doesn't seem especially restrictive, and it's as fair a price as we're likely to find."

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome realized he might have offended the giant, and wondered if it were better to simply accept the offer the large man made, or continue to list the number of safety issues and likely future maintenance concerns the existing system would likely experience. After a few moments, he decided to err on the side of civility and nodded rapidly, reaching up as far as he could.

"Well I certainly meant no disrespect, Master Durnan. It is a fine system, for a start, and likely the best one for an individual without credentials, or perhaps with limited resources. I suspect that you have substantially more resources at hand now, and I certainly possess the technical acumen to update the system as soon as you are ready. The fifth level, you say? That sounds rather ominous. Perhaps the fourth or third level would be more appropriate. Unless you are hoping that any journey to the fifth level will likely end in my demise and free you from ... any ... obli ... gation ... but I'm sure ... you didn't ... mean that? Right?" The gnome chuckled awkwardly, but slowly returned to join Jacques as his face turned to a frown of concern.

When the big man who had come over to ask him about drinks arrived, Draydor brightened up and smiled.
"Oh, hello sir! I completely forgot about my order! Did you bring my water? No? Oh, well that's alright. Anyhoo, it's probably for the best, Jacques, did you wish something to drink? Tea? Dragon ale? Dreaming Draught? Elemental Garbleblasker?"

He trailed off after a moment, glancing at the big man's attire, glancing around the tavern, then back again ... and it suddenly hit. This was NOT the waiter. He smiled weakly and took a step back as the man spoke gruffly, even going so much as to indicate some amount of displeasure with Draydor's presence. Gulping, the gnome looked around for someplace else to be when a word caught his ear.

Turning back, his discomfort forgotten, Draydor stepped out to look at the lady accompanying the large man, thinking Did she just say d'Cannith?

Any rolls to recognize this gal? [roll0]
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[BelGareth]

Rayse looks at everything going on, and then turns to Kern, shrugging his shoulders "No idea mate, I wasn't expectin no one, but if they're along for the ride, makes sense don't it?" He looks a little overwhelmed, and beginning to get frazzled, he enjoyed the humor of it all, but Kern could tell, he was beginning to withdraw behind his eyes, all the people, inside a building, it wouldn't be long before he exploded, or something else.

He frowned, and then sat down, taking some more tea.

"It's all a bit too much ain't it?" he says to no one in particular. "Maybe we should just go down now, but ole Durnan said to give him the heads up first."

[(Un)Inspired]

Scanning the room for a prospective fifth, for their merry band, a shiver comes over him and he covers his mouth just in time for a tremendous sneeze. Looking around the table, only after excusing himself, he catches just the tail-end of the nobleman's glare, and the last few words of his cutting remarks. He looks around at his new companions with a perplexed expression, You don't think he was talking about me, do you?

As the Kern joins the crew at the table, the sorcerer nods his head. Like Durnan said, we just need one more. Draydor, do you think you could use your voice-machine again to get the bar's attention? Then we could have prospective expedition members line up for us.

[n0ble]

Vyntriss' stomach groaned involuntarily. "<Aye, fasting and I are well acquainted.>" Vyntriss gripped their forearm, with all the joints popping as the rickety arm locked into formalities. She was wholly ignorant of the symbol on the changeling's forearm. Vyntriss let go, dropped the arm, then inhaled and slowly exhaled. Any causticity dropped from her features. Matters of faith were no easy thing to digest these days. "<Succour. Hm.>"

<"I have come to...share a moment I think. Perhaps the last between...between an old woman and her ancestors. May, I?"> Without waiting for a reply Vyntriss locked both of her hands over the opposite wrist, letting the black of her robe flow over the limbs before dropping her chin down, closed red eyes angled at the floor. She spared a single, curt thought for the dead in her family-all of them-then opened her eyes and righted her head.

"<That should prove sufficient. Mm. Here.>" She took a moment to withdraw a chip of onyx from the pockets of her monk's robe, no bigger than a thumb's fingernail. <"Stone. From the Blade Desert. In return for use of your space...here."> She slowly turned an appraising glance about the place, her eyes narrowing slightly as they took in the warforged as part of the turn. A new race... By all accounts constructed. Most...interesting. The monk quietly offered the fleck of rock to the changeling, her mouth settled into a serious line. She inclined her head, intoned a whispered <"Gratitude."> to the changeling, then pivoted so that a shoulder was pointed at the priest and the other aimed at the warforged, along with her eyes. <"My personal matter is concluded. I fear I'm keeping others from their affairs.">

[3SecondCultist]

"Hrm," Durnan's grumble is cousin to a rockslide. "I can't say I much remember the fifth floor being dangerous, but then it's been over a ten-year since I've stepped down there. Fourth it is!" Nodding amiably and chuckling to himself, the half-giant recedes from your table to deal with new customers but not before reassuring the group that he will be ready to guide your descent when you're ready.

In the same span of time, Vyntriss returns to the table. The elf ascetic is draped in shade and - despite being bare of visible steel - carries a certain weight with her strides. Rayse spots the same lanky warforged following her progress. However, the lurker darts towards the stairs that lead up to the second floor of the Yawning Portal rather than be engaged in conversation, its stride supernally quick. It's probably nothing.

"Lovely," intones Helmsworth as she regards the now-five adventurers. "I must assume you're all going down together, then? If you would all sign and witness the agreement, I will make copies for all of you to keep on your person. I assure you, this is a profitable deal that will see us all much richer." To your gathering, she hands the very same parchment that she showed to Kern only a few minutes ago, which contains the full legal documentation of the exchange: platinum for unwanted magical items and spellbooks, an imminently fair - bordering on handsome - reward. There seem to be no loopholes or hidden provisos in the text, even to those with apt minds for such things.

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

The gnome thought for a moment, then reached to offer his hand to the giant once they had reached an accord. He was giddy at the prospect of future work, so much that he almost failed to hear Jacques request. Eyes brightening, he pulled out his small PSAD and raised it to his lips.

"PARDON ME! OH, I'M SORRY, I DON'T MEAN TO SHOUT. Um, my friend here, Master Galantine wishes to address you, although technically, I'M addressing you, but at his request, so by proxy ... Um, so yes, uh, if you wish to go down into the Yawning Abyss, come forward. I believe Master Galantine wish to hire you, What was that? You're NOT paying anyone? Well then why in the name of razzleberry jam are we trying to hire someone without paying them? What's that? Not hiring?
Then what ... um, yes? Uh hunh ... Sure ... I guess ... Ah, okay, I see. Nevermind. Yes, yes, scratch that, we DON'T want to hire anyone, but would love for someone with no connections, no family and no prospects who won't be missed What? Sorry, I thought that was part of the sales pitch. Yes ... yes, I can see why that would be counterproductive. But ... um, okay. I think I get it. No, no, I'm okay. I'm good ..."

So ... to be clear. We'd like someone to come with us, so we're not cursed. Who wants to come?"

Once the group was engaged with each other, Draydor watched the woman hand out sheets, his eyes narrowing. He reviewed it thoroughly, likely knowing more of the standard contracting loop holes than most would. After perusing it, he stood up as tall as he could and smiled coldly. "I am sorry, Lady d'Cannith did you say? I would love a moment to discuss the tenets of this agreement and identify some potential language concerns we might have, given certain focus areas each of us goes in with. Do you mind terribly? No, good, thank you. Pardon us."

He didn't pause to give her a moment to respond, but he waited for her to give the group space. To the others, he covered his mouth in his hands and murmured, "My apologies, new and old companions. My name is Draydor Tinkertot and I am an engineer, scientist and inventor. I currently work in direct support to House Cannith. I have been here for almost a year, and have been especially interested in any projects regarding the Yawning Portal. That being said, I look forward to journeying down with you all, and hope the trip is fortuitous, enriching, and illuminating for all assembled. That being said, I have one little concern with your pending mercantile arrangement with this woman.

I have never seen that woman before. She does not work for Cannith South, and likely is associated with a family I believe works for the House in Korth. I simply warn you that any agreements you maintain with this woman may place you at risk of entering Cannith South's displeasure. The local chapter lead, Merrix d'Cannith, could take umbrage at arrangements associated with the acquisition of artifacts within the area, and you may find yourself embroiled in the politics of the Houses. "

Whee!
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[Farmerbink]

Kern snorts. "Any house that judges adventurers for seeking fair payment offers graces I don't care to endure. Let 'em have their pissing match. I'll take the coin, should the opportunity arise." He glances slowly around the table, taking in the bizarre spread of faces that seem to have gathered of their own accord- or perhaps that of the gods. After a long moment he sighs.

"You all know this is an impressively ill-advised campaign, yes?" He shrugs, apparently resigned to an early retirement from the mortal coil. "Just wanted to make sure."

That issue satisfied, Kern leans down and places pen to paper. "As much as I'd prefer other agreements, I suppose this one will have to do."

[(Un)Inspired]

Jacques leaned an elbow on the table, his face resting on his hand, to hide the mischievous smile he was unable to completely stifle, as Draydor once again bombarded the room with a sonic assault. Going out with a bang, indeed. I really did make a good choice coming back.

He casts a slantwise look at the papers the Cannith woman was pushing on them so insistently. Hey, Rayse, you wouldn't mind popping an "X" on that for me, would you? My writing hand doesn't work great in this climate. He holds up his prosthetic left hand, demonstrating by making several clumsy motions, in explanation.

Looking around pleased with his assembled compatriots, the Brelish smuggler can't help but feel a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Looks like the dream team is all assembled. Everyone make sure to use the bathroom. Pay your bar tabs, finalize your wills, and get in any last-minute jabs at Handlon; cause otherwise, Durnan, we're ready to get down in the hole.

[BelGareth]

Rayse leans forward and nods, "Eye, might as well, If Kern thinks it's a good contract, thats good enuff fer me." He places two, very squiggly X's, somewhere near where someone pointed, to the keen observer, it would seem he doesn't know how to read or write.

Turning to the others, he smiles "I be ready. Arg." suddenly taking on a piraty accent for no seemingly no reason at all.

[n0ble]

"Mm." Vyntriss signed the papers with a halting cursive style, pausing only to mumble about certain words that were beyond the scope of her language. Disassembling common legalese was still arduous. But not impossible. Just boring. "Seems...<fair.>" Vyntriss offered a short-lasting smile to the woman, then dropped the expression to a placid neutral as she handed back the paper & quill.

Business concluded, the monk turned to the others and hooked a finger into her mouth, somewhat pondering at any meanings in the exchange just happened. Finding none, she released the finger. Something sour from the food she had ordered loosed itself from in between her teeth. An awful citrus taste settled into her mouth, banishing the pensive look from her features. The monk's face squirmed with a sour expression and Vyntriss rubbed away the streak of ink on her chin before scanning the others with red eyes. She unslung her staff, free hand jammed into a pocket. "Ready to begin."

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

Draydor watched the others sign, trying to assess what concerns the members of Cannith South would raise should he sign an agreement with a different focus area of the House. Technically, he might not even be authorized compensation, as an employee of the House. Realistically, however, even if he were legally fine to sign the paperwork, there was something about doing so that didn't feel right. Call it loyalty, or covering one's asinine posterior, he just didn't feel comfortable with the idea. Instead, he walked over to stare the woman in the face, smiling broadly.

"Good evening ma'am, I just wanted to introduce myself. I am Draydor Tinkertot, Engineering Specialist, second class. Which are of House Cannith do you support? I have worked extensively with the local chapter and would love to discuss any projects or efforts you're assigned to in order to better support House equities across all continents. Do you have your signet ring? I'm sure you have a signet or paperwork detailing your association and roles within House Cannith proper, as well as contracting paperwork defining authorities, budgeting, scope of effort, etc ... Where are you staying? Perhaps after our return, we could schedule a meeting to discuss professional collaborative opportunities. If you are particularly busy, we could establish a date now. Well, not a date date, moreseo a date upon which to meet. I suppose that is a date ... and you are certainly attractive, as the taller races go, but I wasn't propositioning you, unless that is something you ... I mean ... Yes, yes, we should meet. And discuss. Later. Thank you. Wait, that signet?"

Once the group was ready, Draydor stood with the group. "So it seems that Master ... Kern was it? Yes, Master Kern, you seem to be the resident lead for the expedition. If I may offer my services as an engineer and inventor. I can provide several references, most of whom would probably recommend me, although it would be silly to provide ones that did not, most relevant of which, perhaps, would be Mr Galantine. To put it bluntly, I am asking to join your adventuring party. Are there any forms to fill out, or arrangements to be made for insurance purposes or notifications of next of kin and the like?"

Draydor pulled out a small pen and notebook, ready to take notes.
More of all ... this
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)

[Farmerbink]

Kern blinks in surprise when the Gnome addresses him directly. "I- I'm the what?" He's genuinely dumbstruck for a few moments as he looks around at the bizarre crowd forming. "Look, I'm only going down that blasted hole because I promised that guy's mom that I wouldn't let anything happen to him. Didn't really figure it would come to this after the war, but I've taken something of a liking to his family, so I figured I'd keep at it. They're good people, even if he's too big a fool to stay clear of this sort of mess."

He glances around the party once more, looking for some kind of help. Finding none, he sighs. "Dammit. Sure. Fine. I'm the leader. You can come. Good freaking grief. Just don't blow anything up. Actually, on second thought, feel free to blow anything that isn't one of the five of us up, yeah?"

[3SecondCultist]

The artificer from Korth watches as each of you signs the parchment in your own time and manner. "Well then, that's everything settled. I'll await your return from the depths richer, or perhaps not at all. Though I hope for all of our sakes that you're successful! I will take my leave now, the better to allow you to prepare yourselves. May the Host and whatever gods you cleave to watch over you, friends." Bowing her head, she winks at Draydor without actually answering his question and starts to sashay away through the congregation of observers. And there is quite a crowd growing now - word of your attempt on the dungeon below has spread through the Yawning Portal. Every other patron seems to be watching the five of you with naked interest, and in the periphery of your vision you can see gold already being handed off.

The betting has taken off in full force; given the stories of the most infamous dungeon in Stormreach, it's not much of a guess what the odds of your survival are.

A minute after Jacques summons him back, the towering form of Durnan clears a space around the worn stones of the well. You can hear him shouting off people getting too close to the ledge, but there's a glint in his eye the whole time. Every once in a while, he confers with a member of the mob, murmuring a few words and sending them back into the throng. Even if you hadn't already heard the stories, there would be no question who the orchestrator of the wagering is here.

"Well then," booms the son of Xen'drik, waving with one palm towards the contraption behind him, "if it's time, then make your approach, brave heroes! If you have any gods you wish to implore, now is your chance. The Skint-Faith Man stands ready to serve as a deacon, to bless your descent." As though to confirm his words, a single figure emerges behind Durnan's left shoulder: the gaunt, bloodless face of a changeling in grey robes whose hands are steepled together. With every movement, you hear clattering from underneath his frock.

[BelGareth]

After signing the contract, Rayse chuckles as Kern is thrust into command once again, though he raises an eyebrow when his mother is bought up, but he leaves it alone, he was sure it wasn't something that needed to be sorted in front of everyone, or...even at all, Kern had always looked out for him, and now...well, that made more sense.

Furring his brow at the rattling Draydor, he tried his best to squeeze past them, he was headed to the betting station, he fished out a large pouch and placed it on the table, setting up a bet, and then returning to the group, ready, giving a knowing nod to Kern. He speaks to everyone as a whole before Durnan presents them "If'n any oh you need some light, you let ole Rayse know eh? I got you."

He stands ready, and doesn't move at the offer of being blessed, he was already blessed by his own gods, and needed no others.


200 gp on us surviving (or however it works)
I have continual flame I can provide for anyone who needs it

[Farmerbink]

Kern only grunts in response to all the talk of Gods and blessings. He watches with equal parts intrigue and disappointment as she leaves, making no particular effort to hide his staring. With a bit of a sigh, he turns back to the Half-Giant who runs the tavern. He steps towards the man, cutting through the throng by sheer force of will (and perhaps the thin strands of friendship built over the years).

"I figure that ship sailed a long time ago, old friend," Kern half-complains/half-grunts. He glares briefly at the changeling, but keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself. "You know my thoughts on the betting, but if I don't come back, I won't have any use for this anyway, eh? " He hands Durnan a heavy pouch, full of most of the man's life savings. "Maybe I get rich, maybe you just put it to good use. Anything else you need from us, big guy?"

Kern will bet 1,500 on their survival, assuming he's allowed.

[(Un)Inspired]

I’ll get in on that action. Jacques saunters up to Durnan after watching Kern place his bet. 1900gp down on Kern coming back alive. If I’m not back to collect I trust you’ll spend my winning on a parade in my honor. He gives Kern a conspiratorial wink as he strides back to the group atop the winch system.

He draws out his Skystaff and sets it hovering at chest height, leaning back on it with both arms and casts a dubious eye at the Skint-Faith man. Hokey religions and ancient prayers are no match for a good Fireball at your fingertips.

He waits for the rest of the group to say their goodbyes. Let’s crack the whip and get this wagon train rolling. I’ve got a date with destiny and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss.

[BelGareth]

Rayse perks up at the mention of fire.

Smiling like a moron "Eh, good chap, fireballs are my kind of language! We going down or wat?" he asks the rest of the group

[Farmerbink]

Kern blinks in surprise as Jacques loudly bets on the middle-aged veteran instead of himself. "I-" He stammers for a moment, genuinely dumbstruck. "I suppose that's likelier than not to come out the same either way, but still. I appreciate it." For the first time, an unusual gleam comes into the man's eye. He glances around the odd troupe with a newly appraising expression, and nods somberly.

"By the seventh harpy's tit, this might just work."

[BelGareth]

"Alirght" he exclaims loudly, "Who we waitin on? lets kick this pig!"

And moves towards the winch, frowning at it, and tempted to just either jump down

[n0ble]

"Indeed, let us commence." Vyntriss stuffed an arm into each opposite sleeve and stiffly walked towards the lip of the well, with perhaps a little bit of anticipation to her step.

[Starbin]

Draydor Tinkertot (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2115318)

Draydor frowned as the woman departed without answer any of his questions. It was disappointing, and just a little bit rude if he were being honest! Of course, it wouldn't be the first person to leave his presence quickly, without responding. And likely wouldn't be the last. Instead of worrying, he turned to Kern with an open notebook and offered his services to the expedition. As the man responded, Draydor jotted in his book furiously, murmuring to himself as he did.

"Only participating in the exploration of the Underdark as an obligation to fulfill an oath to the mother of Double Ex, the pirate ... seemingly, after the war he became a caretaker for their family (perhaps a guardian or custodian), perhaps as payment for whatever debt he incurred? He advises his companion to seek opportunities elsewhere, but is concerned about his intellectual capacity. Apparently there is one rule regarding my addition to the company - ensure any explosions do not impair or injure my companions. A silly request given my own safety standards, but there it is ... "

Nodding to himself, he smiled. "I think that requirement is reasonable and sufficient. I am Draydor. Draydor Tinkertot, and I am an artificer with an interest in exploring the depths of the Portal. It should be quite enlightening, given the sheer number of recountings, stories and legends."

Noticing the others were making bets or gather about, Draydor frowned, then also placed a large sum on the group returning with minimal losses. Then he joined the others and started going through his pack and pockets, making sure he had everything he might need, reviewing various tools and implements. When it was their turn to step out onto the platform, he gave a little squeal of excitement and he rushed forward, book at the ready to take notes.
Not sure I have anything else to add just yet.
AC 14 HP 38 Init +2 Move 25’ Prof +3
Saves: Str +0 Dex +2 Con +5 Int +7 Wis +1 Cha +0
Skills: Arcana +7, History +7, Investigation +7, Persuasion +3
Tools: Thieves, tinkers, smithy, woodworking, alchemy
Weapons:
Prepare 6+1+1 spells, DC 15, Spell attack +7, 3-C / 4-1st / 2-2nd
0: Mending, Message, Thaumaturgy (B)
1st (x4): arms of hadar cure light wounds, catapult, detect magic
2nd (x2): misty step enhance ability, see invisibility, spider climb

Breakthrough classes: Cleric, Warlock
Artificer's Lore: Add x2 prof for Int (History) checks vs magical/alchemical/technological items
Tinker: Up to three items; cost 1hr and 10gp materials; lasts 24 hrs (longer if 1 hr to repair)
Magical Tinkering: Maintain up to x items
Right tool: W/1 hr, can create one set of artisan's tools
Infusions: Four known, maintain two
Cantrip: Change known Cantrips during short rests; +1 att rolls/DCs
Effects: 60’ darkvision; Gnome cunning (adv on Int/Wis/Cha vs magic)