Extinction Curse- The Show Must Go On!

[Gwynfrid]

Uncomfortable in the unfamiliar setting, Keshkaru notices Thwack's entrance with a typically understated pleasure. A smile on her reptilian face isn't a frequent event, and when it happens, it tends to scare people rather than prompt them to smile back. In this instance, she doesn't attempt it, but her nod towards the goblin clown is as warm as she knows to make. "Welcome, little one. We fare well... so far." Her noncommital tone could be interpreted any number of ways.

[stack]

Thwack gives a small smile to Kenkaru, "Then I shall hope for fortune continues." He shoots Giggles a sideways glance and frown. Clowning was an art, to be carefully performed to entertain and delight an audience, not to annoy tavern-goers in an egotistical display. He shakes his head and sighs, shrugging.

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 18 [B] FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. Tariq entered the establishment slowly, observing the antics of the troop already within, the gnome, Giggles, and the goblin, Thwack, were working the crowd, while Pip, their costumer, moved from the barman to a cluster of local hoodlums. He was not a tall man, though he stood just under six feet, but he was packed with wiry, corded muscle, barely hidden behind silks and cottons of beige and ochre, a large beaded necklace around his neck, bandgles of burnished copper and bronze on both wrists, a long, narrow face, hair shorn to the scalp, but a wide, bristling beard of dark brown hair, and a single red dot sat amidst his forehead, marking him a follower of Irori. "Tankard of your darkest ale, if you please." He placed a small stack of silver and copper on the counter, "and ensure it remains full for the evening?" He smiled as the barman began to pour, touched his forehead, then his heart, "My thanks, you are noble in both action and deed." With that he turned to his friends, moving towards where Mitts, their ropeman, was talking to dwarven woman, and her ... goat? Curious, he grabbed his tankard, and wandered towards the pair. "I hope my companion isn't bothering you miss." He shrugged, "We know not what to do with ourselves, normally, any given town we roll into, we're given a stern talk from the sherriff about grifting, thievery and extorsion, all things most small minded folk think of carnies and circus hands." His brow furrowed, he let a shadow of concern pass over his face, "as we've not received that talk, I can only assume that the people of Abberton are more ... enlightened?"

[JWallyR]

"Find out about the Sheriff! Your lady-friend is the lead of the Muggers, so hopefully she knows. Oh, and try not to get us thrown out!"

The smile resting uncomfortably on Vorgrok's face slips slightly into annoyance, and he turns to shoo away the annoyance... and then he seems to realize that it's his own companion, largely forgotten by the dwarf. This realization causes the annoyance to deepen... significantly.

As the gnome excuses himself, Vorgrok turns, an apologetic shrug in his shoulders and a sheepish smile on his face. "Well... 'Scuse the gnome. Excitable. But..." He grimaces, very sincerely. "Business before pleasure, right? So..."

"I hope my companion isn't bothering you miss." He shrugged, "We know not what to do with ourselves, normally, any given town we roll into, we're given a stern talk from the sherriff about grifting, thievery and extorsion, all things most small minded folk think of carnies and circus hands." His brow furrowed, he let a shadow of concern pass over his face, "as we've not received that talk, I can only assume that the people of Abberton are more ... enlightened?"

"'S I was saying," the dwarf bristles at the continued interruptions, "The sheriff's gone, or so's we're told. But you look a lass as know's goin's on. Heard anythin'?" The dwarf's pained expression clearly expresses his desire for an answer in the negative.

[Farmerbink]

The barkeep feigns astonishment, before almost forcibly wiping an easy smile from his face (this is more business than he's done in weeks). Consistent with Giggle's impromptu storytelling, the man falls into character easily, scowling about even while his eyes twinkle in the slowly darkening evening. A smooth nod punctuates the filling of Tariq's tankard. The hulking Half-Orc dutifully deposits a mug in front of Thwack, on his way to another table with more libations.

The would-be bouncers originally standing outside begin to mellow a bit, watching with dubious glances towards Pruana and the ugly Dwarf apparently courting her. Only the leader remains largely focused on Giggle's antics- until the Gnome stumbles into the evening for an apparent outhouse visit.

Meanwhile, Pruana actually smiles at Giggles, before Tariq's approach prompts a darker expression. She purses her lips, and holds up a hand to the cronies who just took a few steps closer. "'Sabout right," she grumbles, as her previously playful visage turns... disappointedly? towards Vorgrok. "Let's say perhaps I have heard some rumbling? I'd have to know what it's worth to ya, 'fore I can offer information that valuable. Or dangerous."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

At her current attitude, Pruana would sell what she knows for 10g. You're welcome to try to further... adjust her attitude, either way.

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 18 [B] FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. Tariq stared at the woman, juding her intentions, and her strength of character. "Listen, Pruana, is it?" As he spoke, a hand reached beneath his vestments, to draw a small leather pouch, which clinked heavily on the table. "Let's cut through the dung, we want the information," he laughed, "but let's make it interesting." He eyed the biggest, dumbest looking thug she had waved over, "There's ten gold in the pouch, that's my bet. Yours is the information. Your boy there, we step outside, he gets one punch, if he can punch my egg like head," he ran a hand over his shorn, shaved scalp. "You get my gold, and to keep the info. He doesn't? I get to keep my gold, and you give us the info for free, yeah?"

[DarkOne-Rob]

With a cry of excitement Giggles notes the challenge and announces for the entire bar to hear: "Oh boy, are all of you in for a treat! It's not often that the carnies perform outside the rings, but it looks like we have a challenge developing! the Great Tariq, Acolyte and Devotee of Irori, the Master of Masters, is an unusual member of our unusual circus. This focused and disciplined man stands out from the drunkards like me - HIC! - but in a good way! Now, who is confident enough in themselves and ready to go toe-to-toe for the honor of your mistress, the Dame Pruana?" The little gnome takes a moment dramatically scan the room before identifying a large, but hopefully completely drunk, man who looks like the type to overestimate their abilities. "You, sir! What is your name? Will you step up and represent the Mad Mug's finest in a friendly competition?"

Spoiler: Mechanics

Show

Hoping to apply Performance (+8) to all of this, since it is the sort of thing carnies would probably do all the time - dramatic challenges, spotting the members of the crowd who most easily fall for their tricks, etc... If not, though, Perception is at +6 and Society is at +5 to identify a good target. Then it's a matter of Deception/Diplomacy/Intimidate (all at +4) to convince the easy-target to step up and volunteer.

(1d20)[4] (unmodified) to find a good mark.
(1d20)[13] (unmodified) to convince the mark to take the bait.

[Farmerbink]

The Dwarf woman's expression wanes from dull to sour, as she's suddenly forced to consider her options. Her eyes begin to wander as she delays her answer. Finally, after surely longer than strictly necessary, she purses her lips and narrows her eyes, turning back to Tariq. She cracks her knuckles over the table, and nods. "Fine. Almost." She waves off one of the ruffians and rises from her seat. "But not him. Me." She raises an eyebrow, leaving unspoken the question of whether he accepts her terms.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Giggles takes a deep breath, walks over to the bartender, and asks for a stiff drink. "I wasn't really expecting that...she have a reputation for hitting hard?" he asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 18 [B] FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. Tariq looked at the woman, up and down, assessing her stature, the power and strength in her shoulders and hips. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded, and moved towards the door, holding it open for the woman. "I find the terms agreeable, however, you have a single punch, if it lands flush, you win and may keep my gold, as well as your information. However, if it misses the mark, I keep my coin, and you tell me the truth, as you know it."

[Gwynfrid]

As the curious spectators walk out to witness the exciting contest, Keshkaru turns to Thwack. "Ah, a wager. A very appropriate, human way to settle the dispute. Shall we?" She learns over towards the goblin's ear, to whisper conspiratorially: "I'll try to help, but still, chances are that this ends poorly... Can you keep a eye around? How many of them do you think would join a fight?"

She steps out with the rest, and stands a little out of the way, at the far edge of the crowd. When the two opponents face off, she tries to keep her voice low as she invokes the spirits:

"Les âmes de mes ancêtres
Savent guider ma main
Qu'elles te fassent connaître
De vaincre, le moyen..."

Spoiler

Show

Kehskaru tries to time this casting of Guidance over Tariq to just before the contest begins. The range is 30ft. That's a +1 to a roll of Tariq's choice before Keshkaru's next turn.

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 18 FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. Tariq moved towards the centre of the street, he planted the staff, an open hand with fingers splayed, prominently displayed, beside him. He then balanced gracefully on a single foot, bringing his leg, knee bent above waist height, it then flicked out, and still maintaining his balance flicked out, toes arched. He brought the extended leg down, and drew a half circle in the road dust and mud. A furrow appeared between his brow, as his dark eyes glared, not at, but through, the dwarven woman, he intoned a loud invocation, "If you practise sitting as Irori," he paused, a breath, filling his stomach, and exhaled slowly, as he felt the breath leave his body, he continued, "You must kill Irori." And with that stated, he flipped his palm over, and gestured for his opponent to strike.

Spoiler: Out of Character Actions

Show

OOC: Round 1: (Action 1): Demoralize, includes +1 bonus from Guidance, (1d20+7)[23] vs Will
(Action 2&3): Cast Sanctuary, Will save DC 18

Guess we'll see how this plays out.

[stack]

Thwack whispers back to Kenkaru, "Hard to say. I am unclear as to what is going on and what he is trying to accomplish. If we are in for a donnybrook, I will do my part."

[Farmerbink]

"I wasn't really expecting that...she have a reputation for hitting hard?" he asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

The barkeep snorts, loudly. "They call her 'two-punch'. I suppose it could be worse for your friend, they don't call her 'one'." He chuckles again, pouring a steady stream of amber-colored ale into a small glass. "You probably won't want more than this," he mutters, handing it over.

The barkeep doesn't go outside, though most of his patrons do. One way or another, this will be simultaneously the most controlled and entertaining thing they've seen in a while. The "Muggers" line the rail on the raised entry stoop, jeering and guffawing at the skinny monk. Most of the patrons give them plenty of clearance, they're clearly used to letting them have the run of the place.

Pruana, for her part, wastes no time on banter. She saunters into the street, far enough behind Tariq to let him square up, but close enough to keep him just a bit unsure of her plans. Will she lunge quickly, or take her time about lining up the strike? She stares into Tariq's eyes, blinks a little awkwardly at his jibe, and lunges almost before he has invited the strike.

One thing is certain, whatever Tariq expected of the squat Dwarf woman who leads this gang, it probably wasn't what he got. The first thrust is a feint, which he easily perceives. Instead of lunging away, he simply rolls away from where her next punch will come. However, despite the ineffective feint, Pruana proves more than able to adjust on the fly. Without losing a beat, she rolls herself, and delivers a brutal jab right into Tariq's cheek.

Once more, she surprises the monk, and perhaps everyone except her own underlings. Tariq never even sees the next fist coming. A vicious haymaker to the jaw lays him out in the street, too dazed to think. ((Tariq takes 16 damage, 8 of which is nonlethal. He is stunned 2))

When he shakes the cobwebs loose, Tariq joins the rest of the crowd in listening to the woman's coarse but apparently genuine laughter. "Hell on wheels!" she chortles, more than a little surprised. "You took that on the jaw and you're still awake?!" A few seconds later, she puts out an open palm, wide and gentle, to help lift Tariq from the dusty street.

[JWallyR]

"Fine. Almost." She waves off one of the ruffians and rises from her seat. "But not him. Me." She raises an eyebrow, leaving unspoken the question of whether he accepts her terms.

The disheartened (and increasingly irritable) expression on Vorgrok's face freezes, before bursting into a broad, wolfish grin. "S'pose we'll have some fun today, aftr'all." The dwarf ambles out toward the street, where his circus companion and Pruana are squaring up. He looks from one to another quizzically before leaning (gingerly, due to his bulk, despite his height) against a fencepost near the street.

---

The "fight" is over almost as quickly as it began. Vorgrok looks down at the stunned form of his companion appraisingly for a moment. Satisfied, he joins the sidelined Muggers by clapping his broad hands appreciatively at Pruana's efforts. "Now that's a woman!" he chortles loudly.

[Zero Prime]

[/TR][/TD]

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 2 FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. Before Tariq can get his prayer out, the dwarven woman is upon, a clumsy feint, a jab, and a devastating haymaker. Stunned, he dropped to one knee, a hand on the ground supporting him from collapsing entirely. He coughed, spat a fat gob of phelgm and blood into the street, then accepted the offered hand as the broad shouldered woman pulled him back to his feet. A ragged chuckle, "Every bruise a step on the path, every defeat a lesson, eh Irori? You cruel bastard." The comment was not for Pruana's ears, but for his patron, the source of his faith, and, as tonight, the cause of his misery. "In the temple," he spoke to the victor now, "students would allow one another to square, and prepare for a demonstration. Seems things are done different in the streets and alleys of Abberton, still, a wager, is a wager," he pulled his staff from the ground, leaning heavily upon it, as he returned to the bar, "you've won my gold, taken a measure of my dignity, allow a man a drink, and perhaps share the information you know? We need to understand what happened to your sheriff, if we are to find our own who have disappeared." He sighed, "You would do no less for your brethren," he looked to the gang that she clearly led, "if such happened to one of them, no?"

[Farmerbink]

Perhaps surprisingly, Pruana responds well to Tariq's mutterings and criticism. She easily helps him to his feet and turns to stroll back into the tavern. Her cronies seem to have gotten exactly what they hoped for all along, and any lingering tension from the previous encounter on the stoop evaporates as a whooping and cheering crowd files through the doorway. Calls of "Didja see that!?" and "I knew ol' Two-Punch wouldn't let us down!" fill the air as the Muggers place orders of their own, an odd but celebratory affair.

The Dwarf woman beckons Tariq to follow her, and leads him (assuming he does) back to her table, where she scoops the forgotten pouch into her own pocket. "I was always taught," she begins with a smirk, "that fightin' fair is fightin' to lose. Might be more honorable, but ain't no sense in it." She shrugs, apparently that's the only explanation she intends to offer. "Still, I understand what ya came for, and to be honest ya impressed me- more with yer toughness than dodging, mind ya, but still."

Once more, she beckons Tariq closer, so she can lower her voice. "In earnest, we don't know what happened ta Ralhain, either. She's been givin' me grief fer months, but she just up and stopped 'bout at week ago. What I do know is 'bout the same time, the Lindell brothers stopped coming into town. Been one or both of 'em at market every day fer years, 'till the same day Ralhain goes missin'?" She raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. "Somethin' went down on their farm, but I ain't gonna risk myself and my boys ta find out what."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Ralhain is the last name of the sheriff. For whatever reason, Pruana would rather use her name than title.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Giggles downs the proffered amber liquid smoothly, handling the strong liquor well for someone of his stature. He nods and looks at the small glass with an appreciative look. "Thanks - that was good!" he says cheerfully as he turns to follow the crowd outside.

The little gnome visibly winces at the powerful blows from the dwarf woman, mouthing "OW!" as he looks away for a moment as if in sympathetic pain. When he turns back to see her offering a hand he grins widely and cheers, laughing and joking with the Muggers as if they were old friends. Giggles follows close behind Tariq and Pruana, listening to their discussion and noting how the woman refers to the sheriff.

Returning to the barkeep he asks "So, the Lindell farm is nearby? Does anyone know what's wrong there? We had a rough couple of days ourselves - lost a good friend several nights ago - and several of us have been trying to help out. What's gotten everyone so...cautious?"

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 2 FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. "I was always taught," she begins with a smirk, "that fightin' fair is fightin' to lose. Might be more honorable, but ain't no sense in it." Tariq grinned, his lips still split, he ran the tip of his tongue against a tooth, absently rubbing his jaw as he did so. "Truth be told, Pruana," he took a sip of the dark rich ale, he had paid the barkeep for earlier, "I would relish doing the same to my stodgy masters, he mimicked the imperious tones of his masters as they called his name, "Tariq ib-Al-Quer---," he interrupted himself by slamming a fist into his palm. "Wipe the self-aggrandizing looks off of their faces!" From his seated position he bowed from the head again, lifting his tankard to slam off of the dwarven woman's. "Thank you, again, for this lesson." His wager, having earned the woman's respect, was a stroke of luck, and as she spoke, it seemed to be one that would pay off. He nodded as he listened, sipping as his beer, swishing it around his loosened molars. "These Lindell brothers have reason to hold a grudge against Ralhain? You think they are responsible, or merely got caught up in the same thing that caused her to vacate her duties?"

[Farmerbink]

The barkeep smirks at Giggles' question. "I mean, it's Abberton," he snorts. "Nothin's more than 20 minutes on foot, if you're not leaving town proper." As you watch, he wipes the little glass in a way that doesn't encourage you about its cleanliness, and returns it to a stack of similar vessels. "That said, they do live kinda in the sticks. It'd be about that 20 from here."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Noteworthy: we've been running this kind of loosey-goosey on timing. I figure you've been at the bar for at least approaching an hour, and the day is winding down. Pursuing this lead today will likely turn into pursuing this lead tonight.

Pruana snorts, the image clearly amusing to her. "No tellin," she admits to his more relevant query. "They're usually upstandin' folks, as I can tell. So is she. I'd be.... surprised if everything's all right out there. That's all I'm comfortable sayin."

[Gwynfrid]

Keshkaru is rather startled by the outcome of the contest of wills and strength, not just by the apparent ease of the dwarf's win, but also by everybody's reactions. She takes several seconds longer than anyone in attendance before she joins in the general cheer. Walking back inside, she shakes her head - clearly, these warm-blooded people's emotional workings still elude her.

Most surprisingly, as she listens to the conversation, it sounds likes a positive outcome is obtained. She sips her drink quietly, waiting for her friends to sort out what to do next.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Giggles doesn't appear to be bothered by the grime on the shot glasses, instead nodding in a manner he thinks is 'sagely' as the bartender speaks. "We've got a show again tonight, so I doubt we will head that way now. Which way should we head tomorrow?" he asks as he gets ready to head back towards the circus tent with the others.

[JWallyR]

Vorgrok stands up from his lean against the post as Pruana walks by... and scowls briefly at Tariq, who seems to have captured her focus for the moment. Stumping grumpily inside (and elbowing just a hair roughly past one of the celebrating Muggers), he pulls up a barstool next to his fellow dwarf, where she's filling Tariq in on the details.

After a few seconds, her story seems to distract him from his sudden preoccupation, and he strokes his fiery beard thoughtfully.

"We've got a show again tonight, so I doubt we will head that way now. Which way should we head tomorrow?" he asks as he gets ready to head back towards the circus tent with the others.

Vorgrok clears his throat. "Ya c'n find the way without me, yeh?" He turns to Pruana, smiling congenially. "They serve dinner fare here, right? Worth the coin?"

[Farmerbink]

The bartender nods, and dutifully describes the location and path (addresses aren't really a thing in Abberton) to the Lindell estate.

Perhaps unfortunately, Pruana's interest in Vorgrok appears to have waned dramatically. She's lukewarm at best to the brawny Dwarf's resumed overtures. "I eat here most nights. Beat's cookin' and cleanin' in yer own home," she mutters, eyebrow raised perhaps disapprovingly.

With or without Vorgrok in tow, the motley assortment begins making their way back to the circus grounds. It remains largely as they left it, an odd blend of the usual excitement before a performance and the dismay of having recently lost a friend. For better or worse, the prevailing attitude is clearly one of "the show must go on."

[DarkOne-Rob]

To the casual observer, Giggles looks pretty drunk as he swaggers and sways out the barroom door and into the late afternoon air again. His colleagues and friends know, however, that he is probably only a little tipsy. The little gnome has never skipped out on the chance to enjoy a tasty drink and holds his alcohol better than some dwarves, though he would never be so rude as to say so to their faces. "Well, that was...different! I like different, but I don't think getting punched is my idea of a good time. Still, maybe that's a thing I should try...is there a word for people who like getting hurt? Hmmm..." he says in a sing-song voice as he trips along towards the circus grounds.

"Tariq, was that your plan all along? I don't remember Irori really being all about pain...isn't that the weird one...Zon-Kuth-something? He's not a nice one, but you've always been pretty nice to me...I don't get it, but that's alright! Let's go!" With a sudden burst of energy the little blue gnome dashes ahead faster, just for the thrill of it, stopping only when he sees no one else is running with him. Then he shrugs and walks back to the others. "Sssss, why don't you ever run with me, hmmm? Hah! That's funny and gives me an idea!" he laughs to his little blue snake familiar conspiratorially...

[Gwynfrid]

When Keshkaru sees Giggles dart off, it is with incomprehension. It just doesn't occur to her that the gnome might want to start a race... However, this is right up Ozkrak's alley. The raptor's hunter instinct kicks in instantly, and she leaps forward with an amazing burst of speed, catching up with her would-be prey in instants. A low hiss from her mistress, fortunately, is enough to let the dinosaur understand that this isn't a meal for her. As the poor Ozkrak walks back behind the gnome, visibly disappointed, the iruxi beastmaster hastens to reward her obedience with a good-sized scrap of dried meat from a special leather case attached to her belt.

[Zero Prime]

Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 13 FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8 SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 2/3 | 1st: 3/3 FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1 ACTIVE EFFECTS: None. CONDITIONS: None. "Tariq, was that your plan all along? I don't remember Irori really being all about pain...isn't that the weird one...Zon-Kuth-something? He's not a nice one, but you've always been pretty nice to me...I don't get it, but that's alright! Let's go!" Tariq chuckled, and once far enough from the alehouse, he paused beside his diminuitive companion, "Irori teaches us to strive for perfection, once cannot achieve that goal without failure along the path." He intoned a small prayer to the Master of Masters in his native Osiriani, moving his hands in an intricate pattern of supplication. He felt Irori's wisdom flow through him, knitting together the flesh and cartilidge of his nose. "Failure, often brings pain, if not death. So we tread carefully, and learn our lessons where we may." However, the incident did provide them with the required information, and despite the seeming failure of the confrontation itself, the overall outcome was advantageous, as the troupe did discover the information they sought. "So after this evening's performance, a good night's rest, and then the Lindell Farm on the morrow?"

Spoiler: Out of Character Actions

Show

OOC: Using two actions to cast Heal, and with Healing Hands, that is 1d10+8, for (1d10+8)[11]. Seriously? Heh. Oh well. It doesn't bring me to full, assuming nothing else damaging happens to us tonight, I will top off before sleeping and preparing spells for the next day.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Giggles doesn't seem to notice when he is chased, or perhaps just doesn't mind enough to comment. When Tariq responds he nods with a serious expression. "So, it isn't that Irori likes the pain...it's just that it is 'no pain, no gain.' With the other guy, he actually likes hurting? Or does he like hurting other people too?"

[stack]

Thwack follows, curious what the others have gotten themselves into. He asks quietly, "So...what is this all about?"