carousing page for red-caps-and-the-library-portal
Identification and Un-cursing
Believing it to be the first order of business. Several of the party members accompany Rusty Buckles to the Church of Trianoma to have his oversize chainmail skirt looked at. Rusty keeps tripping hard on the stone stairway up to the temple and curses viciously. After making a small proper offering to the temple coffers, Rusty is dragged before one of the older clerics with a bald head and shortly cropped square beard.
"Hmm, yes. Quite devious manufacture." says the priest while he tugs and pulls on the sleeves and openings of the chainmail. Each pull tightens and constricts the armor around Rusty's various body parts much like a gnomish finger-trap seen around the holidays. The harder the armor is pried off Rusty, the more blue he becomes from constriction. The old priest lets go and color returns to the halfling's face.
"Yes, you would suppose that with his diminutive stature it wouldn't be such a problem because the mail is for a larger man, but it seems to cinch up in all the wrong places. No matter. I have seen just one such as this removed eleven years ago. If you would be so kind to cover the cost of our seven gold candle lighters, we could have it off of him shortly."
The old man whispers into the ear of an attending acolyte and the young tonsured man goes off into the chambers and returns with five other young acolytes, all bearing long curving candle lighting rods made of slightly organic patterns of gold. The senior cleric murmurs to the group of young Trianoma devotees while demonstrating thrusting motions with the long candle lighter in his hands. Rusty lies spread-eagled on a table as the clerics approach and circle him. The old man starts a steady count down from three.
All at once the candle lighters are thrusted into the sleeves and openings of the chain mail, jabbing and poking viciously at Rusty Buckles but gradually working the glinting armor into a cat's cradle arrangement, opening a wide hole in the neck. The young men begin to grunt under the strain of holding the six candle lighters steady and the bald cleric grabs Rusty by the head quickly and yanks him out of the suit. As soon as the halfling is clear, the chainmail trap collapses and crushes the gold candle lighting rods into itself, pulling them from the acolyte's hands.
The party must cover 400gp worth of candle lighters and tithe to the Church of Trianoma for Rusty's freedom from the cursed chainmail.
The party takes the partizan and the two pairs of sandals to the sage Millus the Enthused in the hopes of finding more information on the mysterious items. As soon as the party enters the door of his book covered storefront Millus points to them from behind the counter.
"Oh wow! That's a Glantrian Partizan! I haven't seen one of those in years!"
The robed sage vaults over his counter and comes up to the character holding the the elaborate pole arm and asks "May I?" as he points to the partizan.
He takes it up and gives it multiple clumsy windmill swings that knock over stacks of papers and slices the fronds off of the strange rainbow ferns that grow from planters along the ceiling.
"This is so cool!" He continues to haphazardly twirl the razor sharp weapon slowly above his head.
"So, anyway. This is a Glantrian Partizan. You have read the stories right? No? They're some of the best bawdy tales from Glantri's golden age! But they are, in fact, based on some type of historical fact." Millus stubs the butt of the polearm down on the floor boards and begins to speak rapidly.
"The Glantrian Partizans were a group of elite city guards that would frequently come to the rescue of the wise but un-worldly mage-princes of Glantri. They had all sorts of adventures and they were renown for their unrivaled skill with their pole arms. There are dozens and perhaps hundreds of daring tales sung about the Glantrian Partizans. They were said to be able to attack and defend better than any man with a sword and shield. Most of the stories revolve around their dual recognition as loyal servants to the magical nobility but also the defenders of the common people of the land. Brave and daring! Hmm. What's this one's name? Yakutz the Bloody hmm?
"Each of the Partizans gave a name to their pole arms, and would use no other weapon. The last one I saw in the shop was named Mother's Bad Teat so you can tell some of the bawdiness in the stories is a little true. There are several tales where someone else tries to used one of the Partizan's pole arm, not having their special training and embarrassing themselves in a duel against a real Partizan. I have a beautifully illustrated copy of 123 Partizans of Glantri by Flimmin Thinfoot that shows how they swung, parried and twirled properly, but I haven't had the chance to practice in a while. I will let you have the book for 150gp. A good deal and it will tell you exactly how to use that thing.
Yakutz The Bloody, Glantrian Partizan
This ebony staved partisan has a long dagger-like spear head with a catching hilt and a bright red tassel affixed. The filligree name Yakutz the Bloody is on the blade.
It is perfectly balanced and spins easily around the wielder in a flash of steel and bright red.
+1 to hit and damage, -1 to AC; the magical effects only work if the character uses no other weapon but the Partizan for a session of play.
If the character uses any other weapon in a session, the benefits are lost and they must "practice" with the partizan for a whole session, by using it alone, before the benefits return. All characters start unpracticed with the partizan.
Millus sells the book to the party and takes a look at the two fine pairs of sandals. "Hmm, for foot-wear you should probably go to Siffi the Cobbler."
Upon entering Siffi the Cobbler's large boot-shaped store in the fine shopping district, you are immediately shushed by a thin bespectacled man as he holds six inch cobbling nails to a pink high-healed women's boot that could easily contain a full-grown man.
"I am at a delicate phase right now, if you leave your items with my assistant I can get back to you in two days."
Siffi wipes the sweat from his high forehead. "If I don't get this right, she will be so furious with me."
After two days the characters return to find their sandals carefully placed in fine paper boxes, a neatly penned memo, and a bill of services.
The header of the memo states:
Very rare and very fine. Beautifully made. Divinely blessed in some way.
Sandals of The Traveler
These simple but finely crafted sandals are extremely comfortable for long walking and give the sensation that every day of travel is at a fine pace.
Daily overland travel is multiplied by 1.5 the standard rate if the character is walking in the sandals.
William of Silence
Not keen on sticking around Glantri City until the worthless street runners of the ward pinch him for his Red Cap-raffling offenses, William submits, bemused, to laying low in hayseed Malinbois for a time. At least it is quieter there, even if it is populated by a bunch of shitheel cowfuckers.
He resolves to find a good place to sit down with a boot up, bouncing a fine-feeling lady on his knee and drinking any manner of grain alcohols. He already has a girl back in the city that is sweet on him, so any girl will do with a buxom rack, two rose-apple cheeks, who can stir up for a man a thing or two in a pot.
William of Silence conducts a basic carouse in Malinbois. Make some friends, let things lay loose a little while. He has a Charisma bonus, if that is to be counted.
William goes about setting up a proper type of manse in Malinbois to lay-low for a while. He encounters a busty and bright farmer's daughter, Gissie Lerease, at the Crooked Corn tavern on his first night there. She is a ripe little peach who loves to get harassed by the locals while she works the bar. She takes quite an interest in the handsome and dark William and believes she has found a princely catch when he starts slinging around hard dungeon-coin.
William rents an old shack at the outskirts of town and takes Gissie away to clean up the place and cook it up for him while he sleeps all day and they drink and shout all night. The few evenings of alcohol-fueled mock domesticity are curtailed when the five Lerese Brothers return from their trip of selling grain in the city and find out their young sister has made a disgrace of the family. William high-tails it back to Glantri City when Gissie busts into their shack in tears and sobs words about brothers, cousins, and sharpened scythes. William gains 500xp from learning to stealthily stalk through the countryside and back into Glantri CIty without notice.
William of Silence, Carousing in Malinbois = 1d6x100
Rolled 5 x 100 = 500gps spent and 500xp earned (to maximum of gp)
d20 saving throw = 8
Consequences = William cannot carouse or buy goods in Malinbois until the Lerese Brothers are dealt with.
Hephaestus the Acolyte
The Builder frowns upon carousing. Pleasure abides next to Indolence, and catty-corner to Iniquity. Gold should be be invested at a stable ROI, preferably in municipal bonds.
Snickwick was highly intrigued by Pritchard's visit to the sweets & moonshine shop, and would love to pay a visit himself (but is a bit nervous, it sounds like rough company, if they are half as scary as Pritchard). For support, Snickwick will invite his two roomates, Grittlesby and Frognettle along with him for security in Gnomish gnumbers (Snickwick has implied to the other folks from the adventrure that he would welcome their company, feel free to tag your carouse on here - joint carouse for fun and profit!).
This is and "old school" carouse. Spend money - get xp, no problem!
Snickwick rolled a 5, spending 750 gp (and barely covering it). His save is a 12, which I believe to be a success! (link). Snickwick has reached level 3, and is now a Roaming Gnome
The door of Rathwood's Confectionary and Spirits House opens with the dull jangle of copper chimes at the door and three pointy little hats enter and pass the glass counter under the watch of the deeply cowled server. "Right this way gentlemen." intones his low and rasping voice and he leads the trio of brightly adorned gnomes to the back area that Pritchard described from last week.
Many eyes of noble-but-tainted patrons stare over their pulsating blue drinks and mewling puddings to gaze at the highly irregular visitors. Snickwick, Grittlesby, and Frognettle are lead to the back corner where fine half-size chairs and a table are produced on a slightly raised dais. The server seats them and presents them with a menu but clasps his long nailed hands before his chest.
"You fine and distinguished gentlemen may of course order anything from the menu. However the master Rathwood has told all of his staff to inform him of any patrons of the gnomish race so that he may personally cater a delight for their enjoyment. The course has a very high material cost but I am assured it is quite worth the slight time and expenditure involved. With your permission gentlemen?"
And with that, the black robed server floats into the back kitchen and there is heard a rasping commotion and a dull gong is rung and many pots and pans are crashed together. Shortly thereafter another server cowled in blood red comes from the back and produces flute glasses of Whitelight Root-Wine, a very rare gnomish vintage that gives a warm sensation to the belly, an aged woody smell that lasts for hours, and pleasant geometrical streamers that flash in the imbiber's vision at each sip. This is followed by pressurized lighter-than-air blond beers brought in small wood casks tethered to a lead weight shaped like a laughing gnome.
The exotic drinks and snacks continue until at last the first server in black with long spindly fingers rolls out a cart with three trays. He places them on the table and uncovers the three to reveal what appear to be a small chimney made from a dark pastry substance, chocolate cylinders filled with cream, a series of gears made from cast toffee, a small and delicate white egg on the top of the sugary structure, and what appears to be a minuscule fire elemental dancing around the lip of each plate. "Gentlemen, I present the Clockwork Cocoa Cake."
And with that the server cracks each of the eggs into the mouth of the tiny chimneys in turn. The cylinders of cream empty their contents into the base of the cocoa structure as well. The toffee wheels begin to crank away for several minutes as the three gnomes watch in rapt silence and the server leaves. Slowly the teeth of the gears of the toffee strip away and the cogs spin off the main structure, chasing the small fire elemental into the base of the pastry furnace. The whole plate begins to slowly heat with the fine scent of baking sugar and cocoa and continues for some minutes until the hard-cookie oven splits under the heat to reveal a perfectly square serving of cake before each gnome.
Snickwick spends 750gp on the exotic servings of cake and drinks and gains 750xp from the sugar-fueled discussion of the food-engineering involved in their preparation with Frognettle and Grittlesby.
Royce la Royale
Royce la Royale returns to the shoddy, working ghettos of Glantri. The streets teem and hiss. Up from the sewage grates, the steam of Gutter Dwarf forges can be seen noodling in the air.
Royce returns to the familiar and dark alley known as "37" and its unpaved steep slope down to the lower city. He slips off his red leather boots* and heads toward the smithy and stable called the Bashful Furnace. Handsigns are thrown to the burly human in a skirt working bellows as the nominal front. He pads to the familiar stall and sets the clockwork mechanism into play, upwardly collapsing the construct horse and revealing the stairs to the lair below.
In an attempt to make things good with Hoghammich the Pinch, Royce proposes the following:
"On my recent travails with good company of talented men, I've again attempted to reconnoiter the depths of that Library. I've made an unusual discovery. Over the past few days, I've had chance to read this rare tome** and i believe there's an opportunity here for us."
Hoghammich grumbles and crosses himself twice as he consents to hearing out Royce's newest plan…
1. Hire a handful of troubadours to sing at popular taverns inserting a handful of key words and phrases into popular ballads.
2. Hire a few of the under-populations runners to paint some Dark God symbols*** in public areas and near upscale centers of art and intrigue.
3. Concurrently, the wax tablets will be copied verbatim in an edition of 50 deluxe editions. And a dumbed-down version, heavily illustrated will be constructed for the masses, exact number produced decided upon feedback of the campaign above.
4. 2nd wave of troubadours with songs that have specific references to the old gods and the hell-on-earth that is coming.
5. The tabloid will be released first to the masses, discreetly. The deluxe editions will be released to high-end magic shops and book sellers.
Hoghammich and Royce will share the costs. All the production will go through Hoghammich's dark network.
The original book will be given to Pritchard once the copies have been made.
.* In Dwarven society it is impolite to wear shoes in the company of other dwarves.
.** "History of the Dark Gods"
.*** Particularly the infamous dot within a circle (o) or "eye within" symbol that appears over and over again in the "History of the Dark Gods". These symbols will be painted in the blood and urine of Lawful creatures. The pheromones in the Lawful urine will incite the city-goblins and add to the air of unease around these markings as well as aid the Dwarven agenda of bringing the goblin scourge to its knees.
Royce's carefully planned agenda to spread chaotic fear in Glantri City and drive book sales starts boldly enough. There is an intense night of discussion in Hoghammich's fencing stall. Miraculously, Royce convinces the old gutter dwarf to go along with the scheme to sow a little unease and make some profit on the side. Royce can see the the shrewd look on Hoghammich's face as the fence is considering a new way of doing things after all these years of scraping by. Royce finally leaves the Bashfull Furnace the next morning with Hoghammich's "Nest-Nugget", the totality of the old dwarf's savings, to fund this venture.
Royce begins to outlay his costs quickly to all the required parties involved. With a big chunk of coin he hires an elven troubadour by the name of Skinny Jones to get him and his bardic friends to compose and play dark songs across the city and to subtlety alter the popular songbook to emphasis elements that the yet-to-be published penny-dreadful of black spirituality would cater to.
Next he seeks out the professional graffti writers who make it their job to "get up" for paid causes. Inky Mike, head of the Curly Shoe Krew, says he can start in the shopping district tomorrow night and spread through most of the main traffic areas by the end of the week. When Royce explains about lawful-creature urine Inky Mike nods his head and says "Aye, a piss-jobber. Thats going to cost a little extra."
By mid-afternoon Royce heads to the penny-scriptoriums to source out the costs of having both deluxe and peasant-market editions of his tome copied. And puts down the deposit for services. They can have it turned over and boxed for sale in two weeks. Royce then crashes to sleep in the early evening with dreams of profit and joy at the unnamed fear he will cause.
He is rudely awakened the next morning by burly shouts for his name down in the cobbled streets below.
"ROYCE LA ROYALE IS WANTED BY THE CITY GUARD FOR AIDING AND ABETTING DEFACEMENT OF GLANTRI CITY PROPERTY AND UNWHOLESOME DIVINE ADVOCATION. HE IS TO PRESENT HIMSELF TO THE GUARDHALL IMMEDIATELY!"
The crier and troop of guards march through the winding streets below his flop house and once they are out of ear-shot, Royce dashes away down the street with a cowl over his head lest his peers point him out to the guard. There are catcalls and guffaws that follow him down the alleys as his acquaintances spot him and laugh at his misfortune.
So far, the plan all comes to ruin. Inky Mike and his crew have been busted late last night in the bazaar and they fingered Royce to the guard. The guard also were able to track his movements over to book row and to the scriptoriums where they confiscated his waxen book on dark gods. Even Skinny Jones the troubadour has taken his money advance to go on extended tour of the provinces with his mates on a quest to be Glantri's next lute idol. It could not have gone worse.
Royce is wanted for trial by the Glantrian authorities, his book on the dark gods has been locked up in the seditious goods chamber of the guard's keep, and he looses all his money up to 1200gp. Any amount that he cannot personally cover of the 1200, must be paid back to Hoghammich lest he be shunned by the entire gutter dwarf community. He also earns XP equivalent to his money that he lost. The bitter experience of of his failed plan is a hard lesson.
Rusty Buckles has no money for fun and games but is quite relived to be free of that cursed armor. He occupies himself by trying to return the blond-haired corpse to it's rightful place, that is, not in the depths of a lead-plated nook of the library stack.
He achieves this deed and receives 100xp. Not for doing a good deed, which is an odd task for Rusty, but for satisfying his halfling curiosity.
However he is mulling over what he has learned and bidding his time to tell his comrades what has happened to the dried corpse that they were keeping under the porch of Chateau Hazart. What he has learned should be revealed soon.
I just have to write it up later. I ran out of time.
While contemplating a library trip to find more information on the Broken Lands, Pritchard sinks down into the corner of his room and opens a magnum of red wine of miscelaneaous vintage that he lifted from the Hazart Wine Cellar. It is readily apparent that the Hazarts believe in quantity over quality as he saw some bottle sizes that must be sold on the giant and ogre market, or at least as apparent ceremonial bottles.
Pritchard gazes into the floridly designed label with prancing black cats and the red wine has distinctive stomach acid notes with old pipe-ash after-tones. It's truely wretched stuff bu so, so drinkable. He is soon sloshing down on the floorboards, his overly full belly of wine pointed at the ceiling and the room begins to spin. Black cats begin to dance out from the shadows and sing in the voice of children:"We need daggers Pritchard! Daggers! We smell like Chaos Magic, Meow!"
Pritchard spends the whole next day, horribly hungover, paying local street urchins 1200gp to chase all the cats out of the neighborhood and make sure all loud traffic is diverted to other streets while he nurses his pounding head. He gains 1200xp from piece of mind that no cats are within a mile of him.