There were a number of carousing rolls at the table after the session, with cursory interpretations about the results. Use this page to elaborate on what might have happened.
Janus Stradivarian
The streets are swept, the flags snap in the wind, and the village-folk of Hommlet put on their finest attire in preparation for the yearly feast of the Founders. This year the feast is especially lavish due to the munificence of one Janus Stradivarian, who in return for his daring rescue has dedicated the feast to the Company of the Crossed Swords.
At the start of the feast he takes the auspices in the Thyatian fashion and declares imminent victory for the Company's ongoing forays into the cultists' moathouse.
The wine then flows freely for the rest of the night as the villagers feast on succulent boar and pheasant - all but Janus who slinks out food untouched and spends the night scouring his skin with heated sand to remove the lingering taint of his gnollish captors.
400gp spent, rolled a 20 on the saving throw. The auspices were favorable…
Here is a reminder for those who caroused post-session last week to begin posting their results here. I believe everyone made their saving throws, except CaptainContrary. We should keep a record of how everyone did, what was spent, etc., and some story about what happened.
Meanwhile, we might contribute to what awful thing has happened to Roland.
The streets are swept, the flags snap in the wind, and the village-folk of Hommlet put on their finest attire in preparation for the yearly feast of the Founders. This year the feast is especially lavish due to the munificence of one Janus Stradivarian, who in return for his daring rescue has dedicated the feast to the Company of the Crossed Swords.
At the start of the feast he takes the auspices in the Thyatian fashion and declares imminent victory for the Company's ongoing forays into the cultists' moathouse.
The wine then flows freely for the rest of the night as the villagers feast on succulent boar and pheasant - all but Janus who slinks out food untouched and spends the night scouring his skin with heated sand to remove the lingering taint of his gnollish captors.
400gp spent, rolled a 20 on the saving throw. The auspices were favorable…
I don't want to get away with carousing for 500xp, rolling a 1 on the save, then getting away scott free! Here's my late attempt at a little humiliation for Roland (since it seems no one else is willing to humiliate me).
Sweet Trianoma! First Zanzibar, and now the elf, Flash Glitterblade?? It seemed that Roland had stumbled into truly dangerous company. Whether it be on the flat side of an ogrish club, the sharp end of a kobold javelin, or possibly on the bad end of that creepy and nigh-unbalanced magic-user Pritchard Hood's inevitable descent into stark, raving mad-itude, it seemed those of the Company of Crossed Swords lived short, brutal, and glorious lives. Roland had never felt more alive.
To the hells with it! To the hells with propriety! To the hells with thoughts of the future! What future was there for a fighting man of the Company? The future was now. Roland was a young, handsome "nobleman", who among the hoi polloi of Omlette would turn away his coin at the tavern? Who among the blooming lasses would reject his advances (other than that, er…one young engaged lady from earlier in the month)? To the Wench, friends! Omlette was his oyster alone!
The next day, the townspeople whispered and pointed, giggling, as Roland strode by with a cold steak on his swollen eye, a bald spot on his right temple where a hank of hair had been pulled loose, and a tablecloth wrapped around his waist where his trousers should have been.
While these details were certainly embarrassing, and wholly deserving of scorn, the most ominous evidence of the young lords poor decision making was a trio of angry carbunkles nestled in the corner of the bravo's mouth. Any experienced gentleman will instantly recognize these as the Dockman's Bane, a painful, unsightly and contagious condition common to those who make their company with damsels of ill repute. There is currently no known cure.
He was not making a very favorable impression in this town. Roland was fairly sure the bugbears liked him more (although they likely wouldn't drink from the same jug).