Bard and Breakfast, part 2
Log Info
- Title: Bard and Breakfast, Part 2
- Emitter: Faranmidahn
- Characters: Burai, Ashes, Sabina, Bannon, Lokir, Lysos
- Place: PRFive: The Flashing Blade Inn
- Time: Thursday, July 02, 2020, 8:37 PM
- Summary:
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Burai 6'10" 280 Lb Half-Orc Male Brawny half-orc, primal and uncivilized. Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Sabina 5'4" 130 Lb Human Female Tsuran woman of dark hair and green eyes Bannon 5'9" 195 Lb Human Male A shorter man of Tsuran heritage, with a thin moustace and goatee. Lokir 5'4" 140 Lb Wild Elf Male Dark eyes, dark hair, and dark stubble. Pointed ears. Lysos 5'6" 105 Lb Human/Tsuran Female Dark eyes, dark hair, olive skin, a jotun-sized chip on the shoulder. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Faranmidahn 3'3" 35 Lb Halfling Female Albino Lucht woman in black leather armor with a BIG spider -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Previously
After a fine, quiet day of easy money escorting a supply wagon to the town of Greenholme, the adventurers enjoyed a night untroubled by outside forces. The morning after seemed to be well on the way to be much the same when a a down-on-her-luck bard of some.... acquaintance to the group was made aware of their presence by the kind charity of Bannon, not recognizing the woman at first. Her ire flared quickly, drawing what circle of friends the dispossessed heiress had managed to attain since her Vampiric mother was destroyed.
Calming words and sympathetic entreaties managed to calm the Bard's ire, who allwed herself to be herded to the offer of needed breakfast, though tensions continued.
The offer to find those responsible for transforming Ellastra Vornhearst, the Bard, Liatris's mother, managed to gain the woman's interest, though further accusations and suspicions leave tensions high, particularly between the robed man presenting himself to some significance to Liatris, and Bannon and the others who suspect something less benign at play...
Now
Burai is pacing about next to the table on the side where the party is. He casts glances at the bard and her retinue, dubious and suspicious looks that he does a poor job of hiding. After a bit he says, "If we are going to investigate how your mother was turned into a vampire...do you have any idea where to start?"
Ashlee stands, picking up her plate and the empty one beside it. There's also her empty glass, and the mug with all the portentious signs in it. Some cutlery follows, clinking beside the cups. Holding the plates in both hands she drifts back from the table, around it leaving a wide space, and past her party and the bard's to return the dishes to the kitchen.
Sabina nods to Burai's question. "Yes. We need somewhere to start. Strangers coming and going from your home. Sudden strange things your mother did. Likely about the time she suddenly got better. Or better yet just before she got better." She picks up the cup with what's left of her mead and sips.
Bannon is still seated at the table, his eyes glancing back and forth between Sabina, Liatris, Burai, and the others gathered here. He nods his head to Burai and then looks towards Liatris for an answer to the question.
Lysos is leaning on her staff, having vacated the table to make room for the bard and her companions. Still near the window, she shifts her weight to put an elbow on its sill while Bannon and Sabina talk with them.
Lokir opens the door to the inn, dust trailing off his traveler's cloak. Flipping down his hood, sylvan features scan the room. A smile playing at his lips, Lokir deftly weaves his way towards the bar, chain mail quietly clinking as he avoids the threat of chairs, tables, and rumpled rugs. "A glass of Greenholme Gin and a potato, please." Carefully arranging his longbow and rapier to facilitate efficient breakfasting, Lokir finds himself standing well within earshot of the table. Smiling broadly, he begins to hum the well known ditty..."A Spud In the Mornin', Some Coin At Night"--a favorite ballad of wandering adventurers everywhere.
Among certain circles, "A Spud in the Mornin'" is a recognized calling card for "Adventurer--will work for food and coin" :)"
The Robe is giving Bannon a very hairy eyeball after his inferrence, "What are you implying?" he demands.
The bard, LIatris seems a little consternated, but she says, "Let me think... There were all sorts, mostly old men, a couple women... " Hmmm, "There was a reedy old guy, he.... I didn't like the way he looked at me, or Mom, but, she called him back a few times..."
The rest of her band, all clad in different leathers, though wo of them, a man and a woman, are probably brother and sister, all turn toward the sound of the Inn door allowing another person in, and they eye him curiously.
As the matronly serving woman turns around to return from the kitchen, she nearly runs into the ashen arvek and half starts, "Oh! Thank you, dear, but I could have gotten that, is there... something else you need?"
'A reedy old guy'? Burai's brow furrows, seizing on the most obvious clue. He glances at Lokir as he enters, then looks between Liatris's party and the newcomer a few times. When Lokir goes to the bar, Burai seems more confused, but turns back to Liatris. "And these people came to your house?" He pauses and then adds, "Or did you see them anywhere else?"
Ash moves towards the kitchen portion of the Inn, around other tables. She walks slowly, each step a quiet pace with the rest of her eerily coming along. She doesn't turn her head, make any sort of eye contact and the patrons she passes seem to like it that way. Each person looks away as she gets near.
Encountering the Matron at the kitchen door, she nods once, "Another Orange Juice please." Plates and order delivered, she turns and drifts back towards the groups along a route where she passes the recent, singing arrival.
"Pick a side." Her voice is a low, monotone whisper as she glides past Lokir. She doesn't look at him or acknowledge him beyond that. Social niceties are her weakness.
Lokir nods in gratitude as his potato and gin arrive. A sip of the slightly green liquid, and a bite of the raw starch, fortify the wood elf to muster up some words.
"Oh, I'm a rough lad, Full of dirt and quite bad, Never spoilin' away from a fray or, Two--to be had, Especially if mad, Tis' like tossin' a spud in the fryer..."
GAME: Ashes rolls stealth+3: (20)+10+3: 33 GAME: Ashes rolls will+2: (7)+8+2: 17 GAME: Ashes rolls knowledge/nature: (11)+8: 19
Seeing that Burai has this well in hand Sabina leans back into her chair and instead watches Liatris and the other members of her group. How they move about each other. Weapons and other habbits. Mostly on the robbed man named Lee.
Bannon is listening to Liatris as she lifts off their possible suspects, looking towards the Robe for the briefest of moments before he looks back to Liatris with curiousity.
"And that 'reedy old guy' was coming around before your mom started getting better? Around the same time?" Lysos frowns, no doubt thinking about how shaky that particular lead might be. Or maybe wondering how good an idea it is to be chasing someone down who makes monsters.
GAME: Sabina rolls sense motive: (14)+7: 21
A skeletal hand reaches around the arm of the robed man, fingers curling around his bicep and gently pushing. A skull hovers up behind his shoulder. It's Ash, arriving like the grim reaper, silently and unexpectedly. A reminder that death can come at any time. A happily decorated sugar skull on a face that never smiles. A momento mori in hobgoblin form.
"Excuse me," the girl in grey says, gliding past him without a sound, using her hand as a guide around. There's a palpable disquiet surrounding her, a chill reminescent of the grave. She moves for her seat with a second remark. No inflection, no volume to her words, "You don't have long."
Burai hesitates. Through his experience as an adventurer, he knows what do do when trying to gather clues. True, many have more skill than he, but his approach of blurting out any question that comes to mind and hoping someone can and will answer, still works from time to time. But Ashes may have some other more subtle method, and now the half-oruch stops and watches.
Bannon turns his attention back to The Robe, about to respond until Ashes arrives and makes her statement. He remains slackjawed for a moment, then seems to do the proverbial right turn and looks towards the Vardaman cleric, "Does he not have long because of illness, fate, or airman?"
"About then, yeah... he.... Ugh! What was his name...!" Liatris replies, bringing a hand to her face, "Ger... Gaer.... something...... Ger-something....! What was it...!"
The serving woman, probably the elder one's daughter, throws a sunny smile to the elf with a, "Sure thing, anything else?"
The Matron shivers some in the wake of the creepy girl, but goes back to work, fetching the Juice of Orange.
Most of the woman's group settle back into awkwardly keeping an eye on the others, but the sudden touch to the Robe startles him and he stumbles awkwardly, "AH! Don't touch me!" he screeches in a slightly phlegmy voice, then looks hastily to Bannon, "Are you threatening me?"
Lokir begins to really get into the swing of things. Another bite of potato and swig of gin. "FOR a spud in the morn' , And some coin at night, Tis' what an adventurer needs t'be happy and bright..." Lokir idly turns as the Robed Man stumbles into his back. "Aye...careful there chap...you're the one a'stumblin' into me..."
Bina bursts out into laughter. "Lee was it? Don't you worry. Bannon is like that with everyone. You know..air sailor banter? He can't seem to stop. Just.. take it all with a grain of salt, hmm?"
GAME: Sabina rolls perception: (9)+5: 14 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+8: (10)+8: 18
Ash turns her gaze towards Bannon and locks eyes with him. Her Orange Juice is going to arrive! Expresionless, she stares, eyes unblinking in their dark sockets. Then her head shifts, looking at the handsome and modestly robed man. "I'm sorry," she says.
Her head turns back. Now she's staring at Bannon again. She answers simply, "Perhaps all three. He has an illusion and is actually a withered old hunchback with long scraggly hair. His deformity slows him and his reactions. Liatris might not know. Fate is also often an illusion and that Adventurer wants to be hired."
GAME: Burai rolls will: (10)+7: 17 GAME: Lysos rolls will: (1)+5: 6 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Sabina rolls will: (7)+10: 17 GAME: Bannon rolls Will: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Lokir rolls will: (16)+4: 20
Bannon turns his eyes to Sabina, the edge of his lip tilting up before he looks back towards The Robe with an evil grin, "Pal, if I threaten you, you'll know it. I'll be standing, I'll be speaking louder, and you'll have a warm, wet feeling trickling down your leg. It will be if you like to wear your robe like I like to wear my robes, anyway." Damn it, the airman even winks menacingly. With a point towards Lokir, Bannon adds, "Do watch where you're stepping."
He looks towards Ashes, his eyebrows popping up, "Is that so! Well, I would say he has some explaining to do or that third option is getting a little more traction, right?"
Burai looks over at the robed man. "An illusion?" He squints and then peers more closely at him. Then Burai looks surprised. But only for a moment. He turns to face Liatris and her party, then turns just a bit more so that he's facing the robed man squarely. "What tricks are you playing at?" He looks at Liatris and then back at the robed man. "-Did- you know about this, Liatris?"
Bina's eyes narrow and then she sighs. "Liatris? Could you perhaps describe what this Ger-something fellow looked like? I'd be interested in hearing so that we could find him."
Lysos's hand tightens on her staff as she carefully pushes away from the window at Ashes words, her other hand curling... but when she looks at the robed man he looks.. not at all like she describes. So she looks at Ashes again, confused. "Did they serve you the spoiled orange juice?"
Lokir eyes the robed man. "Aye. Seems a bit younger than I...but definitely a distinguished and horizontally inclined human." A beat. "And yes, would be happy to take employment. Eminently reasonable rates, and the singing is free..."
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+4: (8)+4: 12 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+0: (14)+0: 14 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+0: (13)+0: 13 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+2: (6)+2: 8
Liatris seems baffled and looks up at the Arvek like she's insane, "Have you been licking wormwood? He's, like twenty four at -most-, look at him!" she replies with indicative waving at the Robe's youthfullness. She looks back toward Bina on her question and then, "Hair was... russet in places, thin patches, the rest of his hair was more ashen, washed out. Rhumey eyes, had a smile like a harvest pumpkin. Maybe a half handspan shorter than you." The 'you' in question she indicates with a nod toward Burai.
The Robe seems incensed, "How dare you, sir! What kind of no-account harridan raised you?" he snaps back at Bannon.
The rest of Liatris' group looks between the Robe, then the crazy people and back again, but don't seem sold on there being an old hunchback being amongst their number.
"It was squeezed fresh yesterday." Ash says, in the same sort of monotone she's said everything else, gazing at Lysos, blinking once. She sits down, across the table and away from Bannon and the accused, handsome, robed man. She puts her hand on the sleeping gobbo-shark beside her, ensures she won't fall out of her seat. A spot on the table appears to have the most interest for her, where her juice might arrive. Her attention moves to Liatris, the Robe and the airman again. She adds, "It's still good."
Sabina nods slowly as Liatris speaks about the man. "Did Ger-something have a funny way of walking? Just a bit off? Or.. can you tell me if you saw a hunchbacked individual hanging about with your mother or about the town?"
Bannon stands fast, the chair scooting out and away from him as he leans forward and sets a closed fist down on the table snarls back at The Robe, "The best kind of no-account harridan!" He then grits his teeth, leaning forward and resting more weight on the table, "Now tell me, because I do not suffers fools for too long, what is your business with this bard? You don't care about her. Only what she does. Tell me now." He then shrugs, tilting his head slightly, "Also tell me what a harridan is and what they have to be accountable for!"
Lokir looks down at himself. "Her? I'm not a...oh...I guess you don't mean me." Lokir turns to the old man, and brandishes his potato. "Yes...tell him what he wants to know...especially the harridan part."
GAME: Lokir rolls intimidate: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Bannon rolls Intimidate: (12)+10: 22
Burai begins to move around the table now, approaching the robed man. He hesitates when Bannon shoots to his feet. Then he looks at Liatris and the rest of the party. He notices how dubious they seem, and deems it an honest reaction. "If it's a spell or a power, he can't keep it up forever," Burai notes, looking at the man. "An hour or two, perhaps..."
Lysos is holding her staff out in front of her now, her other hand down at her side. The robed man looks normal enough, but she has to weigh the options. Either her comrades are going batty, or she's missing something. Sadly... she seems to be having trouble making up her mind on which.
GAME: Lokir rolls perform/oratory: (11)+8: 19
Lokir tosses his potato in the air, singing loudly in a very distracting way.
GAME: Ashes rolls sense motive: (6)+7: 13
Of the other party, the burly woman and the largest man see to be the closest to seeing through it, followed by liatris heself, with the burly woman's brother hopelessly snowed.
Liatris scoots her chair back and tries to get to her feet as Bannon gives the Robe the business, "Hey, you leave Veriford alone, he's-!"
And then the smell hits, as the Robe is suddenly striped down to the floor with the yellow stain of fear and he shambles oddly back, "It's a weathered tramp!" he cries bringing his hands up wardingly. He looks to Liatris, stricken, then back to Bannon, "That's not true, I love her!" He looks desperately into Liatris's face, "You love me, don't you?"
The rest of the group as the fist hits the table, put hands on weapons, looking furtively about as they try to figure out how things are going to play out.
Then, of course, with the potato man's antics, the Robed figure's appearance shifts to that of a timeworn old hunchback and everyone of his companions stare agape, speechless.
All but one: "YOU DIRTY SON OF A BITCH!!" cries the bard, going flush with anger or... something else(?).
Ugh! BeAngerBeAngerBeAnger...
"Everyone needs to take a deep breath and then take a moment to calm down, please." Sabina says slowly and indeed calmly. She's still seated and watchful. A nuetral smile is on her lips and she holds her cup of mead very still. "This seems to be a shock for everyone. Veriford? Why did you hide? Because you disliked how you look?"
Lysos's eyes widen and she takes a step back, bumping back into the window sill. "GYeaaaah!" she exclaims in surprise, now actively brandishing her staf in front of her. "Stars above, what is it?" Yeah, she can be a poster child for speaking before taking even a few moments to look. "Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry. Soooooo sorry."
Lokir holds his potato out triumphantly. "The humble spud has many eyes with which to pierce deception and fraud." Nodding with satisfaction, he takes another sip of his gin. "Good potato. You've proven your worth time and time again."
The ashen arvec is examining each person to try and determine their thoughts and whether they believe her. She doesn't pick up on these cues well, some of her party are completly bamboozled and some of Liatris' seem to be as well...
Until Lokir's antics and potato song appear to snap most of them out of it. Well, Veriford hasn't changed for her. "A harridan is a strict, bossy and belligerent old woman."
Sometime soon, her Orange Juice will arrive. Until then, she watches.
Having essentially accomplished his mission, Bannon is almost calm as he stands up to his full height, lifting his hand off the table and hanging it by the thumb on his swordbelt as he smirks towards Lokir, "Thank you." He looks towards Sabina, nodding his head again, "Everyone should take a breath." He looks back towards The Robe, "And if your breath is used to utter any further excretion about my mother or this bard, it will be your last. Now... You have some explaining to do. I suggest you get on with it."
The group look awkwardly at the rosily glowing, visibly trembling bard, who has an expression distilled from indignation itself.
TThe robe, shaking some himself, glances between his would-be squeeze and the menacing Baannon with approximate levels of duly warranted fear. "I almost had it!" he moans, shambling back some from the lot, "She was the key! I-I could have been young agian, forever! You ruined everything!" The rest of the patrons are trying to figure out it this is a bonafide, if wierd, domestic squabble or a bizarre improv skit.
Putting a hand to her brow would be somewhat odd with the coyote mask she wears but she does pinch the bridge of her nose and pull the mask off to give the shaking man a withering glare. "Please don't tell me you were going to use this woman in some sort of attempt to become a vampire? Are you /stupid/ or just that desperate? You think that you could have become a vampire and no one would notice the trail of bodies?" She puts the mask back on and sighs. "But /do/ tell us your master plan for regaining your youth." She pauses. "Or perhaps it was someone else that wished you to bring her to them? Someone promise you that elusive youth?"
"Wait... wait..." Lysos looks at the robed hunchbacked fellow.. then looks at Liatris. Then back at the robed man. Then she swallows, hard. "Oh." When Sabina levels her not-quite accusation, Lysos finds herself nodding. "Didn't the mourner say they need a vampire to make one of those?"
Ash taps at the satchel she carries at her side, keeping her hand close to it. Something wiggles out and then under her sleeve, leaving ripples of cloth as it travels up to her neck and emerges again. It's a very large house centipede, and it wraps around her neck like a choker with the head staring out, watching the same things the arvec nar is. "They do."
Bannon narrows his eyes as he listens intently at the reasoning given by the robed man. He glances towards Sabina, his eyebrows raising and then nods his head to Lysos, "The Mourner did, indeed, say that." He then looks back towards The Robe, his face inscrutible.
Lokir idly draws an arrow from his quiver, and spears his potato clean through. "Aye, youthful appearance...it is of value. But not more than wisdom. It is nice to have a body that does not sag with the years...but the soul is not immune to time. It feels its age." Lokir takes a bite of his potato from its spit and shakes his head sadly. "To steal the vigor of another to fuel one's own vanity--to live so long but be so impovrished in wisdom--what a waste. You could use some of this poor spud's vision."
"Liatris," Burai begins. "Maybe you should move away from him." His gaze pans across all the others in the little troupe. "Maybe you should all move away from him."
The old man starts to bring up a palsied hand to jab an accusing finger at Liatris, "She knows Ellastra's secrets, I know she does!" he cries, "They were mine! Mine! MINE!" He shuffles back a little more, glancing around as his friends list depopulates quickly and, as something shifts along the shoulder of his robe, he reaches for something in one of his pockets.
The Bard's eyes widen as she gets accused of things, again, and she, in turn, brings a hand up in an arcane gesture.
The rest, smelling a bad scene (amongst other things) move their hands away from their weapons.
GAME: Ashes casts Ill Omen. Caster Level: 1 DC: 14
The ashen arvec watches breakfast get further disrupted. Her orange juice overconsumption has left her jumpy and quick to react. Instantly, her hand is stretched out as she points a single finger at Veriford. Her skull face, the stylized bone markings on her hand, look especially vibrant. Her centipede choker quivers. Her voice is louder than usual, but still monotone. Her words are meant to unsettle him, or perhaps distract, and serve as a warning to others, "Remember, you chose this."
GAME: Lysos casts Hydraulic Push. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16 GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+4+5: (16)+4+5: 25
"Ohnoyoudon't!" Lysos squeaks out, holding her staff aside momentarily as her other hand, palm up, but fingers curled in such a way that they're pointing at Veriford, extends. "Soakus mostus!" she incants, briefly summoning a blue orb next to him which promptly ejects a powerful blast of water, nearly lifting the hunchbacked man off of his feet as it propells him away from her. And, incidentally, towards Bannon.
GAME: Bannon rolls weapon1+1-2: (7)+10+1+-2: 16 GAME: Bannon rolls 1d6+Dex+PS+PA_Dmg: aliased to 1d6+Dexterity+3+2: (4)+4+3+2: 13 GAME: Bannon rolls Intimidate: (4)+10: 14
As all hell breaks loose, one is not surprised at all to find Bannon in the middle of it with an almost peaceful look on his face. Like he's doing math in his head. He reaches down, grasping the hilt of his rapier and pulling it free of his sheath. He seems about to leap onto the table, where he's historically at the peak of his power, but the fortuitous blast of water sends the hunchback his way. With a grin that can only be characterized as detrimental to the health and wellbeing of The Robe, Bannon calls out, "I want 'em alive!" Contrary to that desire, at least as it seems on the surface, Bannon sinks the rapier into his exposed side.
GAME: Sabina casts Hold Person. Caster Level: 3 DC: 15 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+2: (10)+2: 12 GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+2: (13)+2: 15
Sabina pulls out her holy symbol where she sits and speaks a quick prayer to Tarien, "Oh lord of laughter, stop this man who steals happiness." There is a silvery flash about the robed man and his movements seem to cease all together except oozing blood.
"He is frozen. We can take him alive if you wish."
GAME: Burai rolls weapon3+2: (1)+8+2: 11 (EPIC FAIL)
Burai draws the oversize sword from where he wears it on his back. "Alive," he nods. "Of course." He moves up behind the apparently helpless trickster. He rotates the sword a few times in his hand, trying to angle it so that he can strike the robed man with the flat of his blade. But instead the blade misses the target completely and buries itself into the floorboards of the inn, a few inches from Burai's toes.
GAME: Lokir casts Sleep. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14 GAME: Veriford rolls 1d20+2: (17)+2: 19 (Saves)
Lokir draws his composite bow, notching his potato-impaled arrow in the string. "Old man, are you sure you wish to taste steel and iron so late in the twilight of your thread? Wouldn't you prefer...to have...a nice, peaceful nap instead?" Lokir's words smell like rain and a warm glass of milk--but the lecherous old codger proves immune to their appeal.
GAME: Liatris rolls 1d20+2: (8)+2: 10 (Bard Performance) GAME: Veriford rolls 1d20+2: (20)+2: 22 (Saves)
The old man is hexed, plowed into his newest nemesis, skewered, intimidated, then paralyzed and bombarded with spells that seem to slide off his will, but he is too frozen to be smug, and stands there in a poorly balanced warding pose, with a deep red stain spreading along to join the broad yellow stain as a lizard emerges from his collar to hiss at the men threatening his master. Fierce!
Slender fingers entwined, curl sharply as the bard, a glittering bead rolling down her cheek, starts to sing in a mournful tone:
"Your love is a vine,'
it grew through my heart,
An intractable swine,
You tore me apart...!"
Perhaps Liatris's distress has something to do with it, or maybe it's the array of magic already unloaded on the old man, but the magic of the bard's invocation, a tingle in the air, fails to sieze the man.
<OOC> Ash: Evil Eye Hex, targeting saves GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+2: (6)+2: 8 GAME: Ashes rolls diplomacy: (16)+0: 16
Ash does nothing obvious. She sits there, and stares. A grey woman who fades into the background, with a bright, sugar-skull face. And eyes, piercing, intense eyes that burn within black sockets. Unblinking, she stares at Veriford. Death comes for all, and the man is slipping closer and closer.
"Liatris, we need answers before you have your revenge."
GAME: Ashes rolls spellcraft: (6)+7: 13 GAME: Lysos rolls spellcraft: (18)+7: 25 GAME: Sabina rolls spellcraft: (10)+10: 20 GAME: Lokir rolls spellcraft: (13)+4: 17 GAME: Burai rolls spellcraft: (3)+6: 9
Lysos's eyes move from Veriford once Sabina's magic has immobilized him to regard the enraged Liatris. While Ashes does her best to reason with the lady bard, Lysos raises her hand to repeat her last use of power should the mourner's words not sway the woman.
GAME: Bannon rolls weapon1+1: (7)+10+1: 18 GAME: Bannon rolls 1d6+Dex: aliased to 1d6+Dexterity: (1)+4: 5
Bannon seems about ready to lunge into the man once again, but Sabina's words stop him. He turns to look towards the Luckbringer with a quick smile, "Well done." Looking back towards The Robe, Bannon reaches back with his rapier, but instead of stabbing, punches out with the guard that keeps his fingers safe from sharp blades, catching the disillusioned man right on the chin.
To the ground he goes, like a sack of so many of Lokir's potatos.
GAME: Sabina rolls diplomacy +2: (17)+15+2: 34
Bina stands up and approaches Liatris, even going so far as to block her line of sight with the downed man. "Liatris. Stop and think, please. You know the truth now and he can no longer harm you. We can take him to the authorities and be done with him and your soul will still be clean. And you can go on with these people here who care for you." She says gesturing to the others who walked into the inn with her.
Liatris, red faced and tear streaked, does seem about ready to open the old man up, though she gives a grim look back over her shoulder at Ashes' remark. It's as she nears him, as Sabina cuts her off in the wake of Veriford facetanking the floorboards, that she draws up, asniffle, and takes the Tarrienite's words on, stacking them atop the promising things the Mourner previous offered. Ashamed. Aghast. Betrayed. Heartbroken. The four corners of her expression are easy to read, and she turns away, at first without a word before she shuffles toward her band, where the burly woman's brother moves to take her in his arms.
"I'll.... tell you whatever you want...!" she croaks weakly, her voice tightening to an anguished rasp, "...just get him away from meeeee...!" before the sobbing starts.
