Posted Thursday, December 15, 2022
3yIntroduce your character to me...
... but in D&D style. (Actions in asterisks and describing) I'll set the scene... You enter the nearest tavern/inn called "Barge Inn" and notice my character, a female changeling at the bar after a very long day. The Barkeep looks up as you walk in, alone and nods in your direction as a Welcome. He has a long black beard, thick bushy eyebrows and seems to be Half-orc. He doesn't look menacing, but isn't overly friendly either. The tavern is dark and a bit crowded with adventurers who have returned from a recent quest, a group of about 12 elven characters talking quietly amongst themselves at a nearby table and other random patrons, all unrecognizable to you. The local drunk burps loudly and interrupts my character from speaking to the Barkeep. "Another pint, put it on my tab" he declares just a little too loudly. He's sloppy looking and reeks of ale and stale bread. What's your response? (I do not own this art, this is just for visual purposes of what my character looks close to in her changed human form)
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Looks over to you and says "interesting that you would allow such a weakling to bypass you in your conversation with Atrause"... I look over at the barkeep as he smiles "now now Dionric.... Don't instigate my customers ... " laughing I bypass the buffoon and I ask about my shipments of rum aged ale is in as my eyes mischievously look into yours.
As soon as the stench begins to make its rounds on the patrons' noses, a bronze helmet with several small holes comes rushing by to the barkeep's bar top. The bronze helmet jumps up to the nearest barstool and a small figure appears with flowing brown locks of hair from the face. "Oi! I'll have whatever tha man ova there's havin'!" The small figure shouts no later than as the hand hits the table with the sound of metal and wood, when the hand moves away, coin appears.
Blatantly ignoring the same drunk rabble as would be found in any seedy tavern across the realm, he slowly scans the dark surroundings with his Tabaxi eyes... nestled under the shadow of his hood, taking in the layout and clientele. Before a soft almost inaudible snarl escapes the cowl across his maw. Without another sound and nary a noise made from his movements. He stealthily moves around the outside of the room, his cloak keeping to his feline form while moving gracefully through the darkness, and positions himself in a corner. Never once losing eye contact with the other beings in the tavern. Many moments he stays still and observes, his only movement being the occasional swish of a tail hidden under the fabric of a long cape. Before finally motioning with a single finger for the bar maiden to assist him in rations.
The drunk burps and stumble out into the alley to relieve himself. As he finishes an almost imperceptible gasp leaves his mouth followed by a thin trickle of blood. A blade so fine and sharp is pulled out of the spine and skull and a careful arm lowers the drunk gently to the ground. An important document is lifted from his clothes along with a sizable money pouch. In the darkness a shape moves quietly like a cat and then is gone., lost to the shadows. The work of Tarquin Fern is as sublime as it is terrifying. An assassin with no face, just a name and a reputation..
"hello there" says a robed figure in a gentle tone. The man casts prestidigitation to clear the air and tidy the man as best a cantrip can. The robed man's bag clanks as he sets it down next to his walking stick. He offers to buy him a fatty bar appetizer to sober him up a little. He eats with the man. Afterwards he strokes his beard as he looks to the elves or anyone else in the room who has room for one more in an adventuring party.
"Pardon my reach," a soft voice calls out in the back of your mind. The voice was calm and soothing. Almost familiar. You notice a small tear in the fabric of reality on your right beside the bar. "Kind Sir, we'd appreciate another round if you would." A hand pierces through the small tear in reality followed by the broad shoulders and wings of a tall winged tiefling. His hair was as dark as the night and his eyes were a piercing blue. Soft and as gentle as the voice that proceeded it. Almost too kind for the horned figure standing before you. The tear continued to widen, revealing another small rabble sitting at a table in the middle of a meadow. "Hurry it up, Quinn!" Called out an old half-orc in a gruff voice. The tiefling turned, his eyes flared, and his demeanor seemed much larger than it had before. The half orc stammered and looked away. "... or take your time I guess..." He chuckled and just like that the looming figure had vanished and the kind eyes had returned. The bar tender returned with a large tray filled with pints of ale. "Thank you my friend," the tiefling offered up with a cunning smile as coins floated out of the coin purse in his hand and the tray floated into the table in the meadow behind him. "Sorry to intrude on your thoughts, love. But I couldn't help but notice you and your newly acquired Dwarven companion were hunting a dragon. Well, if that's true, I'd be happy to help. Just Let Scrawler know." A Raven hopped out of the meadow and onto the bar. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." The Raven muttered. "You go and have fun Quinn. I'll just wait here." The Ravens voice was high pitched with a sense of desperation. "Until we meet again, Saskiya," Quinn offered with a confident bow. The tear in reality blurred into obscurity, leaving the Raven perched atop the bar, head cocked to one side, staring at you expectantly. (edited)
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