Something's Wrong, And Getting Worse [IC]

[JNAProductions]

OOC Thread

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You find yourselves at The Prancing Pony-a rather rundown, shoddy, and skeevy tavern. You're not concerned about the other patrons-if they start a fight, you can handle yourself.

There are a few people here, though, that you don't often see. Under normal circumstances... You wouldn't care. Strangers come, strangers go. But given what just happened... Maybe you should investigate.

What will you do?

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

A woman wrapped in expensive indigo robes pushes open the tavern door with her shoulder and steps in from the light drizzle outside. With a practiced motion, she tucks her metal cane under her arm and pulls down her hood, revealing one long goat horn and her black hair brushed over the stump of the other.

Queria's life has always been a relatively sheltered one, but the big city is her element, and a skeevy tavern is a feature unique to big cities. They fill a niche where their hostile atmosphere becomes an asset, trading expensive hospitality for budget exclusivity. This in turn can revive the tight-knit atmosphere conducive to telling people about your weird prophetic dreams.

This in mind, she props her cane against the side of the bar, takes a stool and taps an electrum piece on the counter. "Something tall enough for a long conversation," she says. A soft-spoken soprano, slightly raspy from age and forge fumes. "Can I tell you something?"

[Khosan]

Grix wasn't a tavern regular by any means. His death and the unusual circumstances of his rebirth had seen the end of his appetite. Adding to that, it wasn't often that someone like him was even allowed in. The Prancing Pony fell in the perfect, narrow band of bars just seedy enough to not care about his condition, but not so seedy that a fight was particularly likely, and also cheap enough to accept his grubby money with minimal complaint. Though he didn't need to eat, there was still something comforting about the act, and it was this that sometimes drew him back to the Pony.

Comfort is high on his list today, after a long day of preaching to another crowd of hecklers. The little, discolored kobold sits quietly in his corner of the tavern, by all appearances a poor, blind beggar, his milky white eyes drifting back and forth, bundled up in greasy, mottled rags, cradling a walking stick as he enjoys a quiet meal. Behind that is a storm of nervous energy. His eyes, quite functional, dart from person to person in the tavern, never staying on each one long, his fungal support network has been acting up, warranting extra layers to keep it (literally) under wraps, and he could not bring himself to put his staff, his spellcasting focus, down, not even for the bread he came for, not even for a moment.

Queria's entrance draws Grix's attention. Rich blood, he sniffs, Trouble. Could be? Could be. Target or thrill-seeker, his reptilian nostrils flare the moment the electrum touches the counter, Target. Grix shifts uncomfortably, fighting the instinct to leave her to the mugging she was bound for and himself to his paranoid musing. After a moment, thinking better of it, he forces himself to his feet and makes his way over, tapping his staff to uphold some illusion about being blind. Maintaining a comfortable distance, he leans on his staff and looks off to the side, not directly at the tiefling, as he speaks in a voice not unlike a half-drowned frog, "Cost of an ear, not so high here. Will get far more than what you ask, showing that sort of coin. Silver, more than enough." Anticipating a question, he taps his staff against his head, pointing to a tiny hole between his dulled scales, then at his eyes, "Before the asking, know the sound. Have to."

[Spectre]

Upstairs?

Two bloodshot eyes suddenly flash open in fear, wide as saucers. "Holy sh*t!" curses a woman tangled up in sheets. She scrambles upright to hunch over the side of a bed that wasn't hers, or anybody else's that she knew. As she scans the room, Laverne reaches up to gingerly rub at her temple as she takes in every painful ray of light peering in from beyond busted blinds. "Nnrgh, where... the hell?" A beat. "Wait, was I dreaming? No, can't have... nrgh."

With a wince, Laverne shuts her eyes tight once more. "Damn head is killing me," she mutters through her teeth. Looking around, she didn't notice any discarded clothes. Had she simply barged her way into an empty room and crashed there? Unfortunately, Laverne couldn't quite recall. However, the three empty bottles of mead in the corner didn't paint a pretty picture. "Need a bath. And a drink. Hair of the dog, right?"

Fifteen minutes later, Laverne stumbles down to the bar. She looks something like a vagrant in her current state, as the bard's good looks can't quite make up for the trail of vomit that has dribbled down her corset, unbeknownst to the bleary-eyed patron. Was it hers? One could hope.

She leans up against the bar before barking for its keeper. "Oi, something for me damn head!"

"And be quick about it, 'fore I ruin the bar!"

"M'feeling queasy..."

[JNAProductions]

The barkeep's seen it before. He wordlessly slides glasses over-a tall ale, and a plain water.

He does roll his eyes at Grix, though-the act is fooling absolutely no one.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

"To be fair, I was expecting some drinks, too," says Queria to the strange kobold, half-facetiously. "Besides, you don't know what I wanted to talk about."

Queria picks up the ale glass in her right hand while her left remains conspicuously absent. She was never going to ask about the coin thing. Still, Grix successfully stole her attention before she could ask the barkeep any questions. At this point she may as well let him in on what she's up to.

"You are a sort of druidic priest, right?" Q wouldn't normally assume that about someone based on their appearance, but this one proselytizing mushroom-kobold is pretty famous around here. "How are you at interpreting strange dreams? I was wondering whether anyone else was having them, particularly with themes of dimming light and dark fire..."

She takes a small sip of her drink and swallows to get it out of her mouth as soon as possible. Ale was never her favorite, but that's what she gets for not specifying her order beyond the size.

[Khosan]

Grix recoils at the mere mention of the word 'priest.' "Eugh! No priest, no priest," he shudders, pulling his rags tighter and glancing over his shoulder to confirm no stray member of the clergy was looming behind him. He then turns back, and resumes looking down and off to the side of the tiefling, as if he hadn't just very obviously had a look around, "No, no, no. No church, No others. Just Grix. Druidic...Fine. Acceptable description, but imperfect."

When Queria first mentions dreams, Grix looks uninterested and is on the verge of telling her that dreams are just dreams, until she mentions the dimming light. He immediately abandons any notion of appearing blind and looks her dead in the eye, drawing closer the tiefling girl, "Darkness. Silence. Wrongness. Not dreams, not," he waves a hand to dispel the notion, exposing a bit of mycelial fungus in the process, "Real. Or vision granted," he extends a finger with each option then, point made, he places that same hand on his chest, "Attacked, recently. Middle of the city, late at night. Unnatural silence fell, every sound but mine, gone. Saw a figure, a knife. Came at me and...nothing. Woke up. No injuries, nothing lost. But know it was real. Cannot be dream. Cannot dream."

The kobold finally calms down, having climbed to stand on a stool next to Queria and gotten uncomfortably close in his fervor to share his story with someone who might understand. He takes a deep breath and slumps into his seat, "Hoped to find others, spread warning if none. Something wrong, something coming, but not sure what."

[JNAProductions]

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Insight, Investigation, or Perception check.

Pick one, and roll it or declare passive.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

Queria instinctively crosses her legs and holds out her beer glass as though it would somehow protect her from an impending kobold tackle, but as the little guy goes on she figures out his harmless intentions and relaxes.

"That could certainly be real," she says, her eyes meeting Grix's as she sets down her drink. "An opportunist could have found you walking alone. A silence spell requires some skill to cast but is reasonably accessible. The gap in your memory is only natural if you were knocked unconscious..."

And they probably didn't find anything on you worth stealing, she almost says, but she decides to leave that part out. There's no need to be rude, here.

"I'd suggest you go to a guard with this, but with nothing stolen and no evidence of harm, there would be nothing they could do. This figure, could you describe them? What was so, 'wrong,' about them?"

Spoiler: Edit for Investigation

Show

Passive Investigation: 18

[Khosan]

"Not my point," Grix shakes his head, "Besides, fights not necessarily...logical. Very dumb, often. Where I live, often about sending message, marking territory, sometimes just anger. Never beat someone without witness, or without letting know who's giving it." The kobold cackles at Queria's suggestion of going to the guards, a laugh best described as a kind of damp wheeze. He ends his little laughing fit plainly, as if stating a fact, "Guards don't care."

"Thought you wanted to talk about a dream. But fine, fine. Know my talking not clearest, will try." Grix steeples his fingers and looks down at the floor, contemplative. After a brief pause, he starts again, "Was retuning home. Long day had gotten away from me. It was late, dark. Took a shortcut, into an alley and...silence. No wind, no tavern chatter, no footsteps but mine. But even those sounds were...wrong. Muffled. Then heard another. Not my steps but another's. Loud, and coming closer. Saw them at the end of the alley. Couldn't...see them, though. Indistinct. Unclear. Except the knife. They charged, tried to run but...black." His shoulders relax as he finishes his retelling, releasing the tension that had been building up within him, "The wrongness is...it sits in the chest. Feel it, but can't give it form."

"Told mine. Now tell yours. My attack for your dream."

Spoiler

Show

Passive Perception - 17

Grix is a little focused on his conversation at the moment.

[Spectre]

Laverne snatches the glass up and sets it to her lips as soon as it slides her way. She then loudly and messily downs the entire glass before slamming it back down on the table and reaching for the ale. As with the glass of water, the bard downs the entire tankard in one go, refusing to pause even as the ale trickles down her chin. With a gasp, she wipes her face with her sleeve and tosses the tankard down upon the bar with a clamorous thud and a loud, raucous hoot. "Ha! By the sea god's briny balls, I needed that!"

She then lets out a roar, much to the chagrin of nearby patrons, before pounding her fist down into the wood. "Another one, keeper! Hells, sink me why don't you!" In her rush to secure some relief from her pounding headache, Laverne hardly noticed the strangers at the far end of the bar. Now saturated with ale, she clambers up onto a stool. As she does, she's careful to lift one leg up on a higher rung, revealing several small knives strapped to one of her tall, cuffed boots.

She was heavily armed, and she wanted everyone to know it - for better or worse (but preferably worse).

While waiting for her second tankard, she subtly scans the room.

---

OOC: Perception (11)

Laverne isn't entirely sure she's seeing straight yet.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

Queria wishes she could be more surprised about the derisive laughter. _{"Note to self: Complain to father about a lack of law enforcement oversight."}

"Yes, I feel that, too," she says as Grix gets to the part about the wrongness in his chest. His story has a more dreamlike quality when he explains it at length, and it rules out the silence spell theory, but it seems the exact details aren't going to be as important as that shared feeling.

She nods and takes a breath to start explaining her story when a roar further down the bar nearly startles her off of her stool. After a couple seconds staring at the big lady who really wants everyone to think she's a pirate for some reason, she collects herself and starts over.

"I should probably start from the beginning, since I'm not sure exactly when my studies ended and the dream began. I was in the library, trying to fill in a table of differently-scaled kinetic singularities for a diagram I was making, when suddenly I needed a very specific passage. I forget what exactly I was looking for, but just when I thought I'd found it, the candles in the room suddenly went out. After a moment of utter darkness, too dim to read by, one candle flickered back to life on its own. Suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, I slowly drew closer to it. As I approached the flame became dark and cold, and began to consume the world at the edge of my vision as I entered in..."

She blinks, snapping out of a trance she hadn't realized she'd entered. "...and suddenly I woke up, sitting at the writing desk, the book I'd thought I found was gone and forgotten. It had been a long night, so I retired to bed after that, but even after a night's sleep I couldn't shake the sense that something was very wrong."

[JNAProductions]

Laverne notices nothing much.

Grix and Queria, though, can tell the rest of the crowd is listening in-not every last person, but you're drawing interest. People are paying attention to you-and that might not be a good thing.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

Queria's fingers twitch as she counts something. "Interesting," she says, amused. "I count at least five people tellingly avoiding eye contact with us right now." In truth, she didn't expect so many to actually care about this. Physical danger notwithstanding, this is going to be way easier than she thought.

She picks up her drink and uses it to gesture to someone at the closest table. They're the closest person who's still staring. "What do you think? Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

[JNAProductions]

"What?" the man Queria gestures to says, at first. "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about."

Spoiler: Insight DC 14, Roll/Passive With Advantage

Show

The man is clearly not being fully dishonest, but he ain't being wholly honest either. He legitimately doesn't know for sure what you're talking about-but the implication, that he wasn't listening and that's why, is a lie.

Advantage is because you caught him off-guard.

The barkeep is currently located at the far end of the counter. His intuition is telling him that there's trouble afoot, and he hasn't made it this long at the The Prancing Pony by getting involved where he doesn't belong.

The man you're speaking to is at a table with three other folk-two dwarves, one of which you spoke to, a human, and an elf. They're scarred and tattooed, looking the part of the thugs typical to the Pony.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

"No, I'm serious," Queria drops from her stool and approaches the table. "Unexpected nightmares, visions, lights and sounds mysteriously going out. Have any of you heard of things like that lately?"

She gets the feeling that the answer will still be no, but at the very least this should drain their motivation to eavesdrop.

Spoiler: Persuasion to get them to be more forthcoming

Show

(1d20+8)[24]

[Khosan]

Grix nods along to Queria's telling of her version. It's clear he doesn't really grasp the idea of 'kinetic singularities' or why one might want to diagram one, much less multiple, but he keeps up with the rest. He opens his mouth to respond, but before a word escapes his lips, he notices the eyes on them. Immediately, all the anxieties and paranoia he'd momentarily forgotten come right back. He once more tightens his grip on his staff.

As his tiefling companion goes to engage them in conversation, Grix follows, but maintains a distance behind, eyes darting back and forth as he assesses both targets and exits. Something else strange happens, though the effect is subtle. The earthy scent of mushrooms, a phenomenon which follows the little kobold wherever he goes, fades ever so slightly for everyone but Queria, for whom it intensifies. A voice, a chorus of voices wholly unlike Grix's ragged croaks, sings within the girl's head, <Should it come to blows, rally behind our Lord Grix. We shall protect.> Groaning and clearly annoyed, Grix rubs his throat and mutters under his breath, "Not a 'lord,' just Grix."

[JNAProductions]

"No, I'm serious," Queria drops from her stool and approaches the table. "Unexpected nightmares, visions, lights and sounds mysteriously going out. Have any of you heard of things like that lately?"

She gets the feeling that the answer will still be no, but at the very least this should drain their motivation to eavesdrop.

Spoiler: Persuasion to get them to be more forthcoming

Show

[roll0]

"No... No, not at all," the man replies. "Er, any of you guys know anything like that?"

The direct confrontation has seemed to... Not exactly cow them, so to say, but it's certainly dampened their enthusiasm. They respond with a small chorus of "No", and looking at the other tables, there's a lot of head-shaking and nothing in the way of affirmatives.

Spoiler: Perception DC 10

Show

There is, however, a single person looking to make a quick escape. They're covered up in a heavy cloak-not that unusual for this time and place-so you can't see their face or make out much of a body type. They're moving behind the crowd, clearly trying to avoid notice, but unfortunately for them, in their haste, they knock a glass down, drawing attention their way.

With the glass clattering on the ground, they seem to decide "to hell with it" and make a rush for the exit.

[Khosan]

Though a bit preoccupied trying to persuade his fungal friends about his worthiness (or in this case unworthiness) of certain titles, Grix does catch wise to the individual lurking behind the crowd. Not wasting a moment, Grix leaps into action, rushing toward the same exit in hopes of preventing their escape.

[Khosan]

Grix darts through the crowd, weaving through the forest of legs (both biological and chair) to block the door before the mysterious runner could escape. Not that he's much of an obstacle, not even two and a half feet tall, but that's what friends are for. Grix grunts, "Little help?" And his fungal friends answer so gracious a call. Two enormous, yellow-green pseudopods erupt from the back of his neck, so large that smaller pseudopods shoot out to stabilize themselves against the doorframe. "Cease!" Grix shouts, holding up a hand which is soon mimicked by one of his new appendages, <Pray, obey our Lord's command!>

Spoiler: Actions

Show

Action: Dash
Move: Grix moves to block the door
Bonus Action: Spending 1 Ki, Grix uses Arms of the Astral Self

And an Intimidation - (1d20-1)[18] check

[JNAProductions]

The fleeing target stops suddenly, almost knocking themselves over with the suddenness. They glance back, and see the rest of the patrons don't seem inclined to help. "I-" they start to say, but stop.

They drop to their knees, dry heaving. Some of you might step a little closer, to see fully what's going on, but you're wise enough to not get too close. The dry heaving turns into vomiting-but instead of the usual brown slurry, you see whites and yellows, and it clinks and clatters on the stone floor of the Pony. It keeps coming, and looking at the growing pile, you can tell its teeth.

Spoiler: OOC

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Nice check! I'll also give advantage for those arms, not that it's really needed right now-but in the future, if you think something is worthy of (dis)advantage, just add an extra roll. I'll ignore it if it wasn't QUITE worthy of the extra die, but it'll help just in case.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

It all unfolds too quickly for Queria to really react. While Grix and his spore army are dashing to the door, she's still setting her glass down on the eavesdroppers' table. "Thank you. Excuse me."

She picks up her cane from the side of the bar and proceeds to meet Grix by the door. When she finally processes what's happening, she looks at the goo-arm-wielding kobold suspiciously. She can't say she's ever heard of a tooth-vomit spell, but if there exists a druid who casts one, it would probably be Grix.

"If this this is your doing, you can stop it now..."

It doesn't take more than a second to establish that it isn't. "I see. That's worrying." She tucks her cane under her arm and goes to lift the cloaked figure's shoulder to help them stand and walk. "Come on, let's get outside, shall we?"

[JNAProductions]

Queria grabs the cloaked humanoid, but they don't respond. It doesn't seem like they'll be stopping the teeth without some kind of help.

Spoiler: Medicine DC 13

Show

They'll be dead soon, if nothing is done.

[Khosan]

Grix looks at his hand, the surprise clear on his face that he didn't expect it to work. Even his pseudopods seem surprised, sharing a 'look' at one another (though lacking anything like eyes or a face) and shrugging in unison. The 'threat' passed, his bulbous, amorphous appendages shrink down to a less ungainly size, from about a foot in diameter to less than an inch, though just as long.

The kobold balks at the accusation that he was behind the teeth, "What! Rude! No touching, no magicking." Grix folds his arms across his chest indignantly, a stance soon mimicked by his symbiotic buddies. He narrows his eyes at them as they enter the top of his field of vision and snorts, "Fine, some magic. But none to hurt. Unless needed." The left pseudopod flexes, while the right rolls its 'eyes' (really just its own tip) at the other's showing off.

Grix walks over to their new sick friend, "Not a doctor, but teeth can be sharp. If bleeding in throat, or clogged, could die." Not waiting for a response from someone expelling an alarming amount of enamel, he immediately begins manhandling them, pulling their head forward and their jaw open to take a look inside and see what's going on, "Need to look. Sorry."

Spoiler: Checks

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Medicine - (1d20+4)[10], to see how exactly they're physically dealing with the amount of teeth coming out. Looking for blockages and bleeding mostly.

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

Queria watches Grix do their thing and gets the gist of what's going on. She's not a professional healer by any stretch either, but she's generally aware of the concept of internal bleeding.

She pulls a leather-bound notebook from the folds of her robe, its cover elaborately stitched with red and indigo patterns evoking her family shield. It flips open in her hand and its pages seem fan out on their own, opening to the infusion she needs. "We need to find the cause, but for now I can at least buy some time. Cure Light Wounds!"

With that command word and a flick of her thumb, a paragraph of glowing runes lift off the notebook page and stamp themselves on the clasp of the patient's cloak to do their work.

[Khosan]

Grix has no idea what he's looking at. Aside from teeth. A lot of teeth. Teeth that kept pelting him in the face. Grix swats some molars out of his eyes and pulls himself away from the dental disaster, "Right. It's teeth. Can't see anything else, so...ehm..." He puts a hand on his neck, tapping his mysterious fungus, "Need...fixing, reversion, restoration. Quick, please," the fungus, in response, shifts and shudders, spreading its mycelial tendrils on to his waiting hand. The new fungus begins to glow, a subtle but noticeable blue even in the light of the tavern. Grix pulls his hands away, thin, luminescent blue strands trailing from his fingers back towards his throat, and he smears the substance across their neck. This magical mycelium pulsates, much like the stuff it came from, and spreads around the point of contact as Grix once again directs his spores, "Dig deep. Fix, repair, restore. Do not linger after." Soon after, the glowing blue patches vanish beneath the surface of the skin.

Spoiler: Actions

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Grix casts Lesser Restoration on our poor, toothy friend.

[JNAProductions]

The flow of teeth slows, then stops. The cloaked figure is, by now, thoroughly unconscious. The other patrons look at the pile of teeth, not saying anything-in shock, it seems.

What will you do?

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Right. The cloak dude is no longer dying! Feel free to kidnap them. :P

[Khosan]

The last of Grix's restorative fungus creeps away up his arm and returning to the main colony, "Thank you," he says with a sigh. Weird day. He looks around at all the stunned faces in the crowd, frowning and narrowing his eyes. Attention. Too much. Need to distract, get distance.

His eyes dart back to the barman, to whom he scuttles over, "Sorry for trouble." He digs through his pockets and drops four gold pieces on the counter, "Enough for round of drinks for everyone? And room upstairs. Need to talk with the...ehm," Grix glances back at the unconscious victim, wondering what to call them, before he settles on the name "tooth fairy? Just need a word. They can have room after."

[Dr.Gunsforhands]

Queria was ready to just take the injured cloak-owner outside for this, but if the street shaman thinks a room is in order, she'll defer to his judgement and take them upstairs. Rather than adding to the situation's indignity dragging them up the stairs, she flips her book to another scroll-page. "Levitate."

The unconscious urchin floats lazily into the air. Queria hooks her cane on their hood and pulls them behind her to wait for Grix and the room key.

"Ah, but where are my manners, I haven't introduced myself yet!" she says when the kobold catches up and unlocks the door. "I am Queria Taadhe. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Grix."

[JNAProductions]

You take the floating body up to the room the barkeep gives you the key for. You have a feeling you're going to be talked about-and perhaps followed, when you decide to leave. But that is a bridge to cross when it comes, not for now.

When you're in the room, you plunk the body on a chair. Removing the cloak, you see a sickly, gaunt man-pale as the midnight moon, and barely any thicker than a skeleton. His mouth, open slightly, is now missing all its teeth-it might not've been before, but whatever caused him to start disgorging molars has left him free of teeth entirely.

You can awaken him now, or let him rouse on his own.