#StockPools

[forestduck]

Sep 21, 2024 - Interested in the concept of stock pools? We selected the best ideas so you can get inspired for your nex...

[mybookof-you]

Luke Stockpoole, Eileen Donna Castle

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #17

Characters:

Rysiel "Riceboy", half-elf druid (Circle of the Moon)

Zastu, dragonborn rogue (Thief)

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi bard

Kix, changeling rogue (Arcane Trickster)

Noteable NPCs...

Darathra Shendrel, human; Lord protector of Triboar

Narth Tezrin and Alaestra Ulgar, humans; Own and run the Lion's Share trading store

Darz Helgar, human; Groundskeeper for the two large caravan camps in Triboar; squirrelly

Urgala Meltimer, human; ex-adventurer and owner of the Northshield House (inn); her late wife died during an adventure

Ghelryn Foehammer, dwarf; master armorsmith, claim to fame is fashioning armor for the kind and queen

Othovir, human; runs a harness workshop, has impeccible work; apparently a mage

Urlam Stockpool, human; owner of the Triboar Travellers, a caravan escort company; dresses very well and sports a bright red eye patch with the Zhentarim winged serpent

Valken Naspeer, half-elf; Urlam's friend and body guard; dresses almost as suave as Urlam, his posture suggests that he's very dangerous.

Nemyth, tiefling; owner and proprieter of the Triboar Arms tavern

Jacoby and Persson Hysstryn, humans; two brothers who are looking for their long-lost brother, Mirak

Silvarren Loomshank, human; disgraced cleric of Helm

Kaelen Sarssir, human; owner of the Talking Troll tavern

Tolmara Hysstryn; Mirak's widow and owner of the Six Windows rooming house

This session kicks off immediately where we last left our adventurers...

It’s still late late evening, and Kix has returned to the Northshield House to fetch Mirri, hoping to use the fact that the tabaxi is a cleric (spoiler: theyr’e not actually) to win over Silvarren, the poor cleric at the Talking Troll (dive bar). ((They run into Darz on the way, who tells them about a wanted criminal and a reward, as way of thanks for fighting the giants’ party))

When Kix introduces Mirri to Silverren, it becomes apparent that the cleric takes offence to Mirri’s presumed comradery. Mirri fancies themself a cleric of Tempus (despite being a bard), the god of sky and war, who fights for fighting’s sake. Silvarren follows Helm, also a god of war, but mostly of justice and order. They do not get along. The poor cleric tries to explain this, and fails. Meanwhile Kix figures buying him drinks will help win him over, and it does to a degree, but doesn’t help clear up the misunderstanding. Silvarren must report to the temple in Red Larch, to the south, but he can’t leave because of his 5gp tab at the bar. His dedication to the god of order forbids it, even as he calls himself a poor cleric. Kix pays for the rest of the tab, and promises to meet up in the morning, also arranging funeral rights for those who died in the giant attack.

(note: they are now level six!)

The next day, they seem to forget about Silvarren (and the related quest with the two brothers’ dead brother), and start making preparations to head to the east, along the Evermoor Way. Urgala greets them in the morning, telling them that she can’t have them stay there on order of the Lord Protector (Darathra), and asks them not to be too hard on her. She also gives them a letter of introduction from Ghelryn to the King and Queen of Citadel Felbarr, in case they head out that way. The party arranges to travel with the caravan leaving town that day. Eventually they realize that this is the first time they will need food and supplies, and that the Lion’s Share Costor is an adventuring emporium, not a clothes shop. They stock up and buy a map, and Narth (the co-owner) pays them to take a delivery that’s on the way (they inherit a horse and cart), in Noanar’s Hold.

Eventually, the party leaves town, travelling about two and a half days to the fortified city of Yartar. The city sits on the other side of a river, with a walled citadel on the near end, connected to the main city by a wide stone bridge. The party undergoes a brief inspection, giving the guards no difficulty, though they give the side-eye to both Mirri (tabaxi) and Zastu (dragonborn).

Once inside, they find an inn to stay at, then set about looking for a place to drink. Mirri and Kix notice a rather extravagant boat at the docks, and take a closer look. It’s at the ‘rich’ end of the harbour, where the docks are behind gates and patrolled by guards. After watching for a while, Kix concludes that this is a boring city council//business style party, and no fun at all. Meanwhile, Zatsu breathes a sigh of relief at being in a proper city again. She looks around for signs of the local underground, and leads the party towards what she’s pretty sure is a secret bar or tavern.

They head down an alley and are stopped quickly by a couple of female human rogues... They speak in theive’s cant to Zastu, telling her she can come inside, but the others may not, because ‘The Hand of Yartar’ is women-only. Their plain speak to the rest of the party is gruff and spurning. They turn to leave, but Rysiel starts to cast a spell (to dump water on the rogue’s heads). Being overly cautious, and not well-versed in magic, they warn the druid not to try anything, and raise their crossbows. Rysiel appears to accept this, but he hides his hand motions and casts the small water spell on them anyway.

They were warned... Crossbows twang, and four bolts fly through the alley. The rogues have hidden backup! And a fight begins.

Most of the party run toward the entrance of the alley, but Rysiel stands his ground and starts casting attack magic. Zastu plays it safe and unhooks her shortbow. Mirri tries to be a peace-keeper, but the violent actions of the rest of the party undermine her attempts. Soon, three human rogues are dead (one having disappeared backward into a hidden window above them), and the last one is running.

Will the party take chase? She had quite a head start... But if they don’t, what are the repercussions?

[dotgstr-blog]

[BB#5] Charlie has an Idea

“You bought WHAT?” Louis asks, concern on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a risk, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling about it.” “Benny, I work at a pastry shop. A pastry shop run by an old dude with a taste for odd shit. And I’ve YET to see a single stoneberry consumed on-site.” “Well, yeah. I get that.” “You really sure this is something you wanna serve?” “If it ain’t, I’ll have both the contract and the stoneberries in the trash by tomorrow. How’s that.”

Charlie approaches his usual spot next to Louis, zipping up the fly of his jeans as if it’s something you do in front of other people, in a public place. “I’ll try’em,” he suggests, with little to no prior context to the conversation. “You don’t even know what you’re trying, Charlie,” replies the bartender, slouching on the counter. “Stoneberries, right? Yeah, I’ll give’em a shot.” Louis swivels himself counterclockwise, staring at his partner directly. “Hey, that’s right! Charlie’ll gobble up anything you throw at him. You’ve got yourself the perfect tester right here, Benny- the human trash compactor.” “Remember that time you tried making spiced nuts?” the left one continues, a smile quickly nesting in his expression. “And I thought that “spiced” meant spicy? Yeah, I remember,” he replies, closing his eyes in silent agony. “Didn’t you have to order a new toilet after that?” Charlie mocks.

“No, but I can’t imagine what it was like sleeping with you that night,” Benny retorts, jerking a thumb toward Louis. “Didn’t we have to buy new bedsheets?” the right one mocks. “I didn’t shit myself, Louis.” “We couldn’t get the fuckin’ stench out, though.” “Look guys,” the bartender interjects, preventing further conversation about the state of their previously smelly sheets. “Point here is that I’ve got myself a new ingredient, and I need a few ways to serve it to the ladies and gentlemen of Stockpool. I’ve already got a cocktail, but it needs some tweaking I can do by myself. Got any other ideas?”

A cerebral silence falls over the dive. The three, seemingly frozen in thought, don’t even exchange glances as they brainstorm applications of the usually disgusting fruit. As if it were a surprise to anyone present, Charlie speaks up first with,

“Stoneberry booze bombs,” surprising everyone present. The resulting further silence is said to have achieved legendary status for its unmatched mixture of sudden genius, shifting of impressions, and massively unexpected creativity. The bartender slams both hands on the countertop, exclaiming, “Holy shit, Charlie.” “Makes sense, right?” he replies, smiling both because he knew he had a good idea, but also because he knows he’d been underestimated in his ability to combine unlikely things.

“I’m gonna be right back, I’ve got booze bombs to make,” Benny says, slipping excitedly into the back room. “USE WHISKEY, BENNY! WHISKEY’S GOOD WITH FRUIT!” the right one yells, still on high on his prior idea. He turns to his partner, grinning like an idiot who’s just been told he’s right in the face of usually more intelligent adversary. The left one smiles back, leaning forward to place a hand on the smart boy’s cheek. “Aww, look! Charlie’s had a breakthrough! Isn’t that great.” “You’re just jealous I came up with it before you,” he laughs, mimicking Louis’s mock baby voice. “Should I call Khepri? I’m sure he’d love to hear your idea.” “I bet he would! That old fart loves his weird shit. He’d hear it, give me a promotion, and then demote you to washing dishes, ‘cause you didn’t have the idea first. That’s how it’d go.” “Mhm. I’m sure he wouldn’t tell you to go work for Benny.” “You’re a dick.” “But I’m your dick.” “Not yet you’re not,” he replies, propping himself up against the countertop with an elbow. “‘Cause you keep forgetting to clean yourself, you big-” Louis says, getting cut off by the slamming of a back room door against wood paneling.

A jar is slammed on the table, its lid is slammed open, then slammed on the table, along with the bartender’s hands, which create a slamming sound of their own. Said jar contains the candy-red fruit of the hour- stoneberries, along with the reddish brown indicative of a cheap, but average tasting, whiskey. “This’ll be a hit with the young kids. I know it,” Benny states, pointing toward the contents of the formerly happy jar. “The kids these days, they love getting blasted with weird shit. None of that straight drinking anymore. They’ve gotta have it in shots, in bombs, in gelatin, in their asses…” he continues, clearly excited about the discovery of this hit new item. “I’ve never heard of the ass method before,” Louis questions, half seriously. “I’m not telling you, ‘cause I’m afraid Charlie’ll try it. Either way, you don’t wanna know. It’s rancid.” The right one snorts, and taps the jar with a finger. “You gonna credit me for the idea?”

“Oh, of course. Every jar is gonna be labelled with “This was Charlie’s idea, suck his dick if you like it,” so that way EVERYONE knows. I got you covered, buddy” the bartender replies, stirring a storm of laughter out of the smart boy. “Any chance we’re gonna be able to try these things without the booze, Benny?” Louis asks, trying to hold back chuckles of his own. “Sure, I’ll be back in a sec.” He half-jogs into the back again, leaving the right one reeling in his chair, and the left one curious for a solid minute and a quarter. Upon his return, he drops a handful of freshly washed, shiny and slick stoneberries on the counter. “There. They’re the non-sewage variety.” Louis pops one into his mouth, and, upon producing the sound one makes when biting into an apple in season, raises his eyebrows in approval. “Glad to see you weren’t bluffing.” “They’re good, right?” “Not my thing, but it tastes like it could go good with other stuff,” the left one states, as if he has some sort of authority in the field of food pairings. Charlie, who had stopped laughing few moments ago, had also apparently eaten a few as well. “They smell a little like buttcrack, Benny.” “Did you wash your hands?” he replies, crossing his arms abreast. “Nope.” “There’s your issue.”

[moneyca1]

Abattis Partners with the CSE and Stockpools http://ift.tt/2vgB8YM 

Abattis Partners with the CSE and Stockpools http://ift.tt/2vgB8YM 

from Twitter Search / Canadian_Money https://twitter.com/Canadian_Money/status/885495934779629569

[moneyca2]

Abattis Partners with the CSE and Stockpools http://ift.tt/2vgB8YM  http://fb.me/1zFTRafpz 

Abattis Partners with the CSE and Stockpools http://ift.tt/2vgB8YM  http://fb.me/1zFTRafpz 

from Twitter Search / Money_Canada https://twitter.com/Money_Canada/status/885495989766942720

[forestduck]

Sep 21, 2024 - Interested in the concept of stock pools? We selected the best ideas so you can get inspired for your nex...

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #16

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi bard

Rysiel "Riceboy", half-elf druid (Circle of the Moon)

Zastu, dragonborn rogue (Thief)

Kix, changeling rogue (Arcane Trickster)

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; RIP

Darathra Shendrel, human; Lord protector of Triboar

Narth Tezrin and Alaestra Ulgar, humans; Own and run the Lion's Share trading store

Darz Helgar, human; Groundskeeper for the two large caravan camps in Triboar; squirrelly

Urgala Meltimer, human; ex-adventurer and owner of the Northshield House (inn); her late wife died during an adventure

Ghelryn Foehammer, dwarf; master armorsmith, claim to fame is fashioning armor for the king and queen

Othovir, human; runs a harness workshop, has impeccible work; apparently a mage

Urlam Stockpool, human; owner of the Triboar Travellers, a caravan escort company; dresses very well and sports a bright red eye patch with the Zhentarim winged serpent

Valken Naspeer, half-elf; Urlam's friend and body guard; dresses almost as suave as Urlam, his posture suggests that he's very dangerous.

Nemyth, tiefling; owner and proprieter of the Triboar Arms tavern

Jacoby and Persson Hysstryn, humans; two brothers who are looking for their long-lost brother, Mirak

Silvarren Loomshank, human; disgraced cleric of Helm

Kaelen Sarssir, human; owner of the Talking Troll tavern

Tolmara Hysstryn; Mirak's widow and owner of the Six Windows rooming house

I’m writing this one weeks and weeks after the fact, so my memory is definitely rusty...

The epic, multi-game battle concluded during this session! Yay! The party helps deal with the massive fires that the magmins started, and then get up to their usual shenanigans.

Zastu helps split the party >:( by becoming suspicious of newcomer "Kix", and sends him/them on an errand to see why two brothers wanted to talk to the Lord Protector, Darathra. The stealthy changeling rogue follows the pair through the busy market square and to a dive bar not far away. He arrives inside only a few minutes after them, but they are already deep in their cups. The place is sparsely populated, but the few patrons are the kind of rowdy drunks you wouldn’t want elsewhere. Despite this, the two brothers can be heard complaining that the ‘Lord Protector’ will not help them find their brother, who has been missing for ten years. During an amusing conversation, it comes out that they’re convinced he hasn’t left town, due to the words of this here cleric... They gesture to a man in robes who is passed-out at their table. Kix agrees to help them out, for which they tell say they will reward the rogue ‘definitely’ (they have an heirloom or something, it’s vague because they are drunk). Eventually the cleric wakes up and heads to the loo, where he has a very awkward conversation with Kix while trying to pee. They talk a bit more inside (Kix changes faces at some point, but it’s unclear when), but it becomes clear that the cleric doesn’t know that they want, and Kix isn’t sure how to get it out of him. He leaves to get Mirri, hoping another cleric will have more insight.

Meanwhile, the remaining three go talk to Darathra about the giant attack. She's grateful for the help defending the town, but admits that she's in a difficult position in light of the news that they're all theives. She basically threatens to put them in jail if they don’t take this silver boar medallion to her compatriot in Everlund--several weeks’ dangerous journey along the Evermoor way. She’s a member of the Harpers, a secret network of goodly spies and magic-users who have helped keep the peace on the Sword Coast for centuries. She’s worried about how giants could have come this far into the Dessarin Valley without any word. She notices the stink-eye that Zastu is giving her. “Just so you know... If I go missing... You will be hunted down, so don’t think about it.” “So you’re accusing us of being murderers now?” Zastu asks, incredulous. Darathra shrugs and sighs. “I don’t know what you’re capable of, or what you’re willing to do. If I knew you were thieves, I wouldn’t have let you stay here. I specifically told you to stay out of trouble. (this is the frontier, and keeping order is paramount) I have put in people behind bars for less... The only reason you’re not in jail now is that you saved this town, and my life specifically.” ...it’s an intense encounter. When they leave, they nearly leave the silver boar icon behind, but something tells them they’re going to need it later.

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #13

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi "cleric" (of Tempus); rapier, lute, robes

Rysiel "Riceboy", half-elf druid (Circle of the Moon); acid burns, simple clothing (vest w/bare chest) and leather armor, scimitar

Zastu, dragonborn rogue (Thief); white scales almost completely covered in a hooded cape and mask, leather armor, short bow and shortsword + dagger

Introducing...

Kix, ?race? rogue (Arcane Trickster); nice clothes, leather armor, rapier, shortbow

Saying goodbye to...

Teir, tiefling warlock;

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; brunette, chain shirt, dagger, shortbow, wooden club

Darathra Shendrel, human; Lord protector of Triboar

Narth Tezrin and Alaestra Ulgar, humans; Own and run the Lion's Share trading store

Darz Helgar, human; Groundskeeper for the two large caravan camps in Triboar; squirrelly

Urgala Meltimer, human; ex-adventurer and owner of the Northshield House (inn); her late wife died during an adventure

Ghelryn Foehammer, dwarf; master armorsmith, claim to fame is fashioning armor for the kind and queen

Urlam Stockpool, human; owner of the Triboar Travellers, a caravan escort company; dresses very well and sports a bright red eye patch with the Zhentarim winged serpent

Valken Naspeer, half-elf; Urlam's friend and body guard; dresses almost as suave as Urlam, his posture suggests that he's very dangerous.

Nemyth, tiefling; owner and proprieter of the Triboar Arms tavern

I'm a little late writing this, but notes from Rysiel's player really helped! :D

The adventurers wake up at the Northshield house, in a small two-bed room they decided to share, despite having more than enough gold to get separate rooms. Sydiri paid for her own room. Teir's brain has been spinning all night regarding the issue with upsetting some members of the Lord's Alliance. He decides to buy a horse from one of the stables and travel back to Waterdeep--alone--in order to petition the nobles there for forgiveness on their behalf. (Reminder: Rysiel attacked dwarves loyal to queen Dagnabbet of Mithril hall, at Zephyros' tower without provocation) He tells the others his plan, but doesn't invite them along.

Without her employer, Zastu has a momentary crisis about what to do. Luckily, Rysiel suggests they pay back those snooty guys at the Everwyvern Inn for being so rude. (Sydiri stays behind at the inn to hang out with Urgala, the innkeeper) They decide to break into the wine cellar, but first they head over to the Lion's Share to get servant costumes. Once there, Narth tells them that they don't sell such things. The Everwyvern Inn is an upscale establishment that provides its workers with uniforms. Besides, the Lion's Share isn't that kind of store... But whyever would they want to dress like servants anyway? The three of them visit the Triboar Arms to find something for breakfast, and to talk to Nemyth (the tiefling owner) about the Everwyvern House. The party is mostly upfront about their goal-robbing his 'competitor'. Nemyth balks at the idea, but maintains his suave composure. The Everwyvern Inn has very different clientelle, plus they have rooms, while he does not. "I can't be seen with their wine! I would go out of business. What did you think I would say?" He subtly guides them out back for a more frank conversation. He doesn't like the people who own the place, but if anyone asked him about a robbery there... He would have to pretend like he knew nothing. And no, he's not going to help! Here's what I know, he says... Half the people there are actors, paid to make the place look busy and exclusive. Second, the owner, Draven is a mage, so be careful of any magic, though you probably could tell that just by looking at all the glowing lights and floating plants. Third, he hires thugs to keep the riffraff out (the party had a run-in with them as they were considered riffraff themselves). The party presses him for information, such as how to get into the cellar, but Nemyth frowns at them. He knows nothing. It's uncertain if he's telling the truth or not. They give him a big tip of 100 coppers (1 gold/10 silver) for their meal, and head off to the Triboar Traveller caravan escort service to ask the same questions.

They approach the man wearing a red eyepatch with the Zhentarim serpant emblazoned in black, Urlam. They seem surprised when the immaculately-dressed human (and his suave half-elf bodyguard, Valken) recognizes them. Rysiel asks Valken if he's up for some mischief but doesn't offer context. Valken says he's on the clock, so Rysiel asks "Later?" Valken asks if he's hitting on him, and Rysiel asks in Valken wants him to be. Then they become more upfront about what they're after: "Hey, we want to rob the Everwyvern Inn's wine cellar. Do you want any?" Urlam purses his lips and shares a glance with Valken. He gives them a shit-eating grin. "Their wine is quite good, but I can't be seen with contraband bottles. Wouldn't want to have Darathra on my back." They try to get some information out of them, but all they find out is that the two of them like to eat there occasionally, and are on good terms with the owner, Draven. (I check Urlam's alignment, and roll a d100 to determine whether or not he tips off Draven, with 51-100 being a yes... I roll a 91)

The three adventurers stake out the inn from the trees, for about 40 minutes. They're waiting for a servant to come out of the inn, but grow impatient. They joke that they turn to crime as soon as Teir leaves. Riceboy turns into a cat to go in through a window at the back of the inn and unlock the door for the other two. Rysiel easily finds his way downstairs, but he also finds burly guards in waiting for them in the cellar. They're talking openly about Draven being tipped off, and the dubiousness of the warning. He reports back and they decide to try to steal from the other fancy restaurant instead. Despite the fact that this restaurant wasn't the one that was so rude to them, now they just want some pretentious wine, and to cause some mischief. They move to the trees on the perimeter of the Pleasing Platter, and Rysiel changes into a cat again to scope out the place. it's very busy in the kitchen, as lunch is approaching, but Rysiel is stealthy enough to sneak in. He finds someone (Kix) drinking behind a makeshift wall of barrels, who is happy to see him and offers cat-Rysiel some wine. Rysiel lets out a confused maow and then darts off to report back to his companions.

Rysiel and Mirri start performing out front of the restaurant to distract the workers, so Zastu can sneak in through the kitchen. (Keep in mind that this is a fancy restaurant in the country, not a bar in downtown Waterdeep) Zastu goes around back to the open kitchen door, and tries to convince the cooks to go see the performers, but they're suspicious and uninterested. "Why would we care that our bosses hired musicians out front? That happens all the time, and besides, it's almost lunch." She then tells them she has to go to the cellar and talk to someone who went down there. Somehow she's convincing enough that they go with that. "New Girl" takes Zastu downstairs, but there's no one in sight. The girl notices that the barrels are stacked oddly, and the two of them discover that there's a youngish-looking person in nice clothes wasted and drinking wine. New Girl leaves to get her supervisor. Zastu immediately tries stuffing bottles into this rando's bag, but quickly discovers that the weight and clinking of the bottles is inhibiting. She only has a moment, so she empties the bag again and just grabs one bottle. She also grabs the rando's arm and hauls him out of the cellar. They run into New Girl and Supervisor on the stairs, and somehow Zastu bluffs her way past them.

They collect Mirri and Rysiel--who are playing out front for no audience--and they go to the nearby abandoned house, which has obviously been grafitti'd and carved up by the local teens. New person/Kix is already pretty drunk, so the other three split the sole bottle of nice wine that Zastu stole. I guess they chat or something?

Their short rest is interrupted by a boulder crashing loudly into the building in front of them--the splinters and shrapnel flying everywhere while people start screaming. More boulders fly overhead and more crashes are heard. The field before them dips down to another level, hiding the approaching enemies. Only two heads on two broad sets of shoulders are visible at first, then several large flightless birds with axe-shaped beaks appear from behind the ridge with orcs riding them! They enter the town quickly and start harassing and chasing down townsfolk. They don't seem to be trying to kill anyone, but they aren't pulling their strikes as they ride past either. Lagging behind the axebeak birds are two groups of six goblinoid-shaped creatures, with skin like molten lava, all glowing and sinister. Everything they touch catches on fire, and they like to touch a lot of things! Seconds later, three larger orcs march up wearing heavy platmail, and behind those three another orc on an axebeak, but this one has a single ominously glowing eye...

Roll for initiative! Some of the townsfolk get ready for battle... I hand out character sheets for Darathra the Lord Protector, Ghelryn the orc/giantslayer, Darz the ex-rogue, Narth the wannabe adventurer, and Urgala the retired adventurer. ((Riceboy takes Darathra, Zastu takes Darz, Mirri takes Urgala, and Kix takes Ghelryn; I take control of Narth and Sydiri)) Mirri casts Vicious Mockery at the enemies as they advance. One of the Orogs (large orcs in platemail) is hit with psychic damage and has disadvantage on its next attack. Narth dashes from his store to see what's going on, and to see if he can help. The magmin (goblin-looking things) have fun lighting trees and fences on fire. Darz follows Narth to see what's going on. Urgala leaves her inn and takes out her shortbow. She sticks two arrows in the closest magmin, killing it. Kix takes out his shortbow as well, and sticks another magmin with an arrow, then uses their bonus action to hide around the corner. Sydiri shoots her own shortbow, sticking an orc with an arrow. One of the orogs jumps the fence of the abandoned house's yard, and attacks Zastu. Fortuntely, it misses with both swipes of its axe. Darathra sees Narth and Darz, as well as the advancing enemies. She dashes toward them, but isn't fast enough to engage just yet. The orcs on axebeaks advance. -one goes towards Urgala and Sydiri at the inn -one leeps the fence to attack Zastu, but misses -others continue to harass the townsfolk -three see the dwarf, Ghelryn, and attack their mortal enemy, injuring him greatly The two fire giants move forward, stepping over the fence, seemingly approaching Zastu. Zastu, intimidated, backs up to where Mirri and Rysiel stand. Rysiel casts the Tidal Wave spell, and manages to knock an Orog and one of the Fire Giants to the ground. The second giant is hit, but stays standing. Oddly, that giant only checks on their partner before continuing past the adventurers. The one-eyed orc is Norgra! He sees his sworn foe: Sydiri, and rides toward her on his axebeak, casting Spiritual Weapon as he approaches. The spectral spear attacks Sydiri, but misses. The dwarf Ghelryn manages to escape the three orcs by falling back into his house and barring the door. He dashes through to the other side to get away. --end of round one--

[a-d-n-d-journal]

Game Session #12

Characters:

Mirri in the wind, tabaxi "cleric" (of Tempus); rapier, lute, robes

Rysiel, half-elf druid (Circle of the Moon); acid burns, simple clothing (vest w/bare chest) and leather armor, scimitar

Teir, tiefling warlock (Pact of the Tome); acid burns, vibrant gold skin and black hair w/silver highlights, horns, hooves, expensive-looking clothes and leather armor, carries a dagger as his only (physical) weapon

Zastu, dragonborn rogue (Thief); white scales almost completely covered in a hooded cape and mask, leather armor, short bow and shortsword + dagger

Noteable NPCs...

Sydiri Haunlar, human (Chondathan) fighter; brunette, chain shirt, dagger, shortbow, wooden club

Darathra Shendrel, human; Lord protector of Triboar

Narth Tezrin and Alaestra Ulgar, humans; Own and run the Lion's Share trading store

Draven Millovyr, human; stuck-up owner of the Everwyvern House - an upscale inn and restaurant

Nemyth, tiefling; owner and proprieter of the Triboar Arms tavern

Darz Helgar, human; Groundskeeper for the two large caravan camps in Triboar; squirrelly

Urgala Meltimer, human; ex-adventurer and owner of the Northshield House (inn); her late wife died during an adventure

Ghelryn Foehammer, dwarf; master armorsmith, claim to fame is fashioning armor for the kind and queen

Urlam Stockpool, human; owner of the Triboar Travellers, a caravan escort company; dresses very well and sports a bright red eye patch with the Zhentarim winged serpent

Valen Naspeer, half-elf; Urlam's friend and body guard; dresses almost as suave as Urlam, his posture suggests that he's very dangerous.

I actually forgot to write out this game session, so I'm going to have to come back to it. This is a placeholder for now.

Point form! Events may not be exactly in this order... Zephyros lets the adventurers down south of Triboar. He 'kicks' Mirri out, but the tabaxi is tired of being cooped up in the flying tower anyway. The flying tower is seen from Triboar, and the five of them (Mirri, Rysiel, Sydiri, Teir, Zastu, plus Bobble the horse) are greeted by a group of about a dozen fighters on horseback. A human woman in her thirties leads them and introduces herself as Darathra, the "Lord Protector" of Triboar, and demands to know who they are, and what they have to do with that flying giant's tower. The party manages to convince Darathra that the giant's tower isn't a scout or attacking force, and they too come in peace. Darathra is not entirely certain, but she leads them into town to interrogate them further at the tower in the market square. As many of her entorage cram in there as possible. She grills them about their involvement with giants, and asks their purpose in town. They mention delivering the sad news of Darthag Ulgar's death to his ex-wife at the Lion's Share trading post, and tell the story of what happened to Nightstone. Darathra believes them and gives them directions to the trading post. She also tells them she'll be watching them and to stay out of trouble. Also also... Don't attack the gargoyles. They belong to the rich and eccentric mage in the mansion to the north, and they sometimes swoop overhead to startle people and alleviate boredom, but they don't hurt anyone.

Teir really really wants a bath, so the party heads to the very fancy hotel (the Everwyvern Inn) they saw on their way in. Unfortunately, the owner mistakes Teir's companions for "servants", and takes a strong dislike to their attitude. They are forcefully escorted out of the hotel.

The party visits the Lion's Share trading post, which is a large store on the edge of the market square. Narth and Alaestra greet them and help them with shopping. Some of the party is interested in clothing, and buy what nice vestments the store carries (which isn't much) (they may have also bought some adventuring equipment, I don't remember) They make conversation and Narth tells them about which inns and taverns to go to. On their way out, Teir quickly and quietly tells Alaestra about her ex-husband dying (he leaves out the part where he was eaten by giant rats, and then subsequently pulverized by Teir's spell). She's visibly shaken, but mostly keeps her composure.

They head over to the Northshield House, which is the inn Narth recommended. Urgala greets them and eyes them suspiciously. She doesn't tolerate any funny business, and dislikes adventurers in general. However, she does rent them a single room. The party is unsure of the prices (2 silver, compared to the 25 gold at the Everwyvern), so they only rent a single two-bed room. Mirri sleeps on the floor, and Sydiri gets her own room. Teir immediately sets about getting a bath while the others go find something to eat at the Triboar Arms.

This tavern is pretty clean, and the tiefling proprieter is charismatic. The party asks about giants, and he directs them to talk to one of the guides, who is a regular. They do, and find out that giants have been seen in the outlying area, but haven't come close yet.

(Not sure what happened in what order here...)

- Teir visits Darathra to ask about the Lord's Alliance, but Triboar isn't a member. She appears very distracted for some reason, but tells him that there's something else she can look into if given a couple days. - Zastu, Mirri, and Rysiel visit the apothecary and Zastu buys some herbalism-based healing kits - At some point the party reunites with Teir, and they visit the caravan escort/guard company and quickly realize that the owner is Zhentarim (his eyepatch has a winged serpent), and try to hire on has guards(?) They're uninterested, but mention that if they want to join a caravan, there's one going to Waterdeep and one to Everlund if they want to try to ask those people. (They don't) - They visit the weaponsmith and blacksmith forges to the north and buy some 'mastercraft' weapons - Zastu talks to the groundskeeper of the caravan campgrounds, and he appears a little squirrelly, but harmless.

[dotgstr-blog]

[BB#4] Magic is the News #1

“We interrupt your programming for some breaking news,” the television says, startling the bartender to attention. “A fire has broken out on Brick Street’s apartment complex for the third time this month, and according to the owner of the complex, it came from the same apartment as well.”

A sweaty, balding man appears on the screen, thick moustache singed at the edges. “I tell’ya, that (tone)-” he starts, before someone behind the camera intervenes. “You can’t curse on television, sir.” “(tone), sorry. I don’t mean it.” “Keep going though, it’s fine.” “You sure you don’t wanna redo this?” The screen cuts back to the news anchor for a brief second, who simply restates what was said earlier in a bout of expert wordsmithing. “I tell’ya, my building’s friggin’ cursed. It can’t be coincidence at this point, right? Curses don’t exist. It’s magic, and it’s really startin’ to pis- get on my nerves,” he finishes, before the screen cuts away. 

“Officials have investigated the scene thoroughly, and the forensics team has come up with oddly similar results to the last incidents. Senior Officer Flanksteak reports in.” “Do we think it’s magic? I do. I definitely do. The forensics team isn’t completely convinced yet, though. I’m guessing it’ll take two more to get them on my side with this issue.” “Mister Flanksteak-” “Call me Jerry.” “Er, Jerry, we’re asking about whether there’s any proof to the theory it’s magic,” asks the same voice behind the camera. “It’s happened in the same apartment three times already. On the same day of the week. At the same time of day. And ignited using the same method. From what we’ve dealt with, Magic always happens accidentally, but under a really, really specific set of conditions. That’s pretty (tone) good proof to me.”

The camera cuts to the complex owner again. “Am I worried it’ll happen again? Listen, if this was your livelihood, wouldn’t YOU be worried? Of course I’m worried! I’m afraid I’ll burn down the neighborhood because the world’s just decided to (tone) with me!” “What do we do? I think we should lock down the complex, and get in a team to research this. Get them to live there in fireproof suits for all I care. We need people INSIDE the building when this happens to figure out HOW it happens. A scorched room can only tell us so much,” senior officer Flanksteak suggests.

“And what about casualties?” the cameraman muses. “What?” “The people inside, are they okay?” The officer pauses, widening his eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he yells to one of the firemen, “DID WE GET THEM OUT?” An answer is shouted back at him, and he turns about to deliver it down the grapevine. “Yeah, they’re fine.” “We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.” The screen flicks back to “Wizards: The Mysteries of Magic,” and the bartender rests his head on the bar once more.

[dotgstr-blog]

[BB#3] Trunkful of Colors

“Hoooooo-ly shit. Look who it is, back from the freakin’ dead.” An imposing figure, large to the point where it’d be wise to take up two seats as opposed to one, sits down at the stool in front of Benny. “It’s only been a month. You miss me that bad?” the figure says, a dozen decibels higher than the bartender. “Months, years, it’s all made up anyway.” “Yeah?” “Yup. But I know you didn’t come back here to argue with me about time, right?” he says, eagerly rising from the traditional position of a bartender known as the “counter slouch”. “How’s it been, Norm?”

 Flapping his ears, the elephant grins behind his trunk. “Fantastic. Went to this place called Tannin. You heard of it?” “Nope. Hey, keep talkin’. I’ll get us drinks.” “On you?” The bartender squints, pursing his lips at his giant of a friend. “Yeah. Why, you thinkin’ I was gonna scam you?” “Yeah? Buddy, I’ve gotten thrown for a loop using that exact phrase more times than the fingers you’ve got on your hands. I thought I told you this.” “You don’t trust me?” “Gotta keep myself sharp as a tack, Benny,” the elephant states, setting a travel case on the countertop with a THUNK. “Alright, alright. The usual?” “The usual.” “Alright, so Tannin. It’s basically due west of Quarry, up in the mountains.” “Oh no. You went to Origin? For fun?” “Listen. It ain’t as bad as we say it is. Everyone in Stockpool’s got two fingers up their nose and another up their ass when it comes to other places.” “I mean, a lot of the times we’re right though.” “We’re right about one place.” “Primary,” they both say at once. The elephant snorts and crosses his arms. “Been there. Seen it all, and as much as I don’t like to admit it, it’s a town full of losers.” “Stockpool’s where it’s at, baby.” “Wouldn’t say that, but Stockpool’s nice.” “What beats it?” A sigh comes from the bar guest.

“I’m gonna keep talking about Tannin, ‘cause if I don’t, I’ll get sucked into another dumb conversation with you about how Stockpool’s one of the dirtiest cities around.” “Go ahead, Norm. These’ll take a while,” Benny’s voice says from somewhere in the back room. “Okay.” “So, Tannin. It’s an artisan town, just due west of Quarry. Of course, you can’t get there by goin’ straight west, you’ve gotta take a whole bunch of mountain roads that make you shit your pants whenever the wind blows.” “Once you’re there, though, you see why they chose the spot. Originals have some sort of weird tendency to pick out stupidly beautiful spots for their stuff.” “Trees and buildings of every color, set on the side of a hill that gets bathed in orange sun everytime it goes down. It’s incredible, you’d love it.” “But, the stuff they do there is pretty incredible too.” “You know what they do there, Benny?” “Tell me what they do there, Norm,” the bartender replies, followed by the clanking of metallic instruments against a tile floor.

“They specialize in dyes there. Can you believe that?” “I mean, you were in Origin.” “Cut that shit out, for real. This isn’t something you get to hear about every day, Benny.” “I’m just sayin’, man. It’s one of those things you hear and go, “Yup, that sounds like Origin,” right?” “Sure. Unless you’ve been anywhere outside of Stockpool, sure.” “Keep goin’ though.” “Fine,” says the elephant, huffing through his mammalian proboscis again.

“They’re a town of dye specialists. Every building, every shop you walk in specializes in the stuff. And the thing is, too, everyone’s got their own hues and colors. Nobody’s got the money fever yet, so you’re always gonna be finding new colors no matter where you go.” “And lemme tell you, they had some insane colors. Stuff that if you patterned’em right, you could blind everyone who happened to look your way on the street. I’ve got no idea how they get their colors to be fluorescent in that fashion. No idea.”

“That’s only half their gig, though. People go there for the colors, but they also go there to get the colors on their CLOTHES. As in, there are a whole bunch of shops that specialize in dying your clothes on the spot, Benny.” “Really? Like, with waiting rooms and shit?” “Imagine it like this. You walk in with a white shirt, and the dye you’ve bought. You give’em both to them, they take it, and within 4 hours, it’s done. You pick it up, and you get the hell out of town.” “4 hours? Shit, I could go to lunch, take a nap, and refuel my car in that span.” “What do you think I did? I wasn’t gonna sit there on my ass while they dyed my stuff.” “Anywhere good there?” “Lots. Lots of places where they go out and forage their ingredients, just like the dye they make.” “Sounds like a picky eater’s nightmare.” “You know me, I’ll eat anything. But that stuff was pretty nice, not gonna lie.” “Anyway, I packed around three dozen-ish individual pieces of white clothing for this trip. And I got it all dyed. Right there.” “But one of them stood out the most to me. One place in particular was the single weirdest experience I’ve ever had in one of these little towns.” “You know what they had me do?” “They had me put on the clothes I wanted dyed. Then, they brought me into this huge, HUGE vat of the dye I wanted that they’d prepared.” “They made me swim around in the vat for those four house to dye my clothes.” Instant laughter is heard from the back room. “And you AGREED to that shit?!” the bartender larks. “Hey, when you’ve got the opportunity to do something unique, you take it. I took it.” “If I told you to jump off the highest building in Stockpool-” “...Benny.” “Sorry. Keep going.” “Okay. To summarize this shit, my briefcase is filled with the rainbow after that trip. It was great, I had a good time, you probably would’ve too, the place was beautiful, yadda yadda are the drinks done yet?” “Funny you say that,” the bartender says, slipping out of the back room with two glasses filled to near spilling. The liquid is bright red, slightly bubbling, and reeking of strong liquor. Norm eyes it suspiciously. “This isn’t the usual.” “Yeah, but I thought I’d surprise you.” “What is it, then?” “Stoneberry Surprise.”

[dotgstr-blog]

[BB#2] Stoneberries for Benny, Business for Barber

“And what’d you say your name was?” the bartender asks, clinking a full draft of  richly golden, heavily frothing beer in front of the questionee. “Samuel Barber, sir. Senior Community Outreach Member of the Stoneberry Corporation,” the man answers, eyeing the alcohol like it was liquid cyanide. “Okay, Sam. Can I ask you a question?” “Oh, of course. I understand-” “Can you drop the businessman BS for a sec’? Talk to me like you’d talk to your buddies, it’s hard to understand you when you’ve got a foot in your mouth,” Benny interrogates, asserting control of the conversation for his own purposes.

The change in his tone is, though subtle and held back, one that suggests he’s at the end of his rope. His first physical feature to hint at annoyance was his mouth, after being asked “who the manager of this establishment” was. Second, and most non verbally intimidating, were his eyebrows. They crinkle and furrow his forehead as a result of the businessman’s surprise. And surprised he continues to be-- as the suspicious bartender stares him down, he begins showing signs of the almost textbook, “I’m not from here but I’ve heard it’s bad and I think I might get stabbed by inner city thugs on the way out oh my god,” expression.

Suffice to say, Benny has had enough of the posturing. “I… erhm… I’m here to…” Sam stutters, completely taken aback by the lightest form of city conflict possible. “Make you… you a partnership deal.” Without thinking, the small business owner rebukes, “No thanks, I’m fine.” “Are… no, wait-” “Unless you’ve got something that’d make me cream the inside of my boxers with pure fuckin’ ectasy, buddy, you’d better haul your two-piece outta here before I have to ask you politely.” Something audibly snaps in Sam’s head. The analogy of a switch being flicked doesn’t quite cover this sort of emotional collapse. It’s as if everything he had learned in metaphorical business school has either finally made sense to him, or it’s all been broken down in a few questions by a mildly intimidating dive bar owner.

“It’s a deal with a local business, okay! You know the village like, uh, maybe a couple miles north of your lake, right? Well, I work there for a place called-” “So what?” the bartender cuts him off, preventing total conversation domination on the now feverish industrialist’s part. “I…” he starts, struggling to get past that line of reasoning. “Er, we’ve been trying to get into contact with local restaurants in surrounding areas. There’s always a huge surplus of stoneberries around-” “What, you want me to serve’em to my customers? Like some sort of shitty h’orderve? Get outta here, those things taste like dirty toilet water.” “Not if you get them from us! Really!” Sam begins, revving his enthusiasm like a lawnmower engine. “Sure,” Benny replies, ripping the cord and bringing the senior community outreach member to life. “No, really! I’ve had bad ones before, and I know exactly what you’re talking about! Ours don’t taste like those, promise!”

The bartender brings a hand up to his chin, unsure about whether or not this guy is simply hyping up the product thanks to corporate pressure, or if he genuinely believes in what he’s selling. Though the latter is rarer, it’s certainly possible, as he’s from one of Stockpool’s surrounding villages. And, as they always say, the smaller the town, the more honest they are. Or, was it “the dumber they are”? Benny stays silent while he contemplates, effectively startling the young entrepreneur into spilling more information. “We… we process them differently, see? We don’t let them float for days on that stinking river! Ours are never, ever waterlogged, because we take them from further upstream, up near the source!” “What do they taste like, then?” “Erhm… a little like a cross between a blueberry, a raspberry, and a cranberry. With the snap you get when you bite into a ripe apple. You know how-” “Yeah, I know what apples are like. I get it.”

“I’ve still got a pretty important question, Mister Barber.” “Go right ahead! I’ll answer whatever-” “You’re doing it again.” “Sorry.” “It’s fine. Now, I’ve gotta ask. Why do you want me, a goddamn bartender in the middle of working class Stockpool, to partner with you? Do you want me to make drinks with these things? Pal, I don’t serve people who drink stuff like that here. I serve booze that people drink after working a twelve hour construction shift here.” A short, devastating silence follows Benny’s question. Like a quarter on the tracks of his train of thought, Samuel stands there with his mouth ajar. “Well? You gonna answer, or am I gonna throw you out.” “No… no, yeah. Listen… these things are already cheap, okay?” the businessman starts, after a good shake of the head and a light slap to the cheek. “If you partner with us… they’ll come even cheaper than some of your name-brand drafts.” “Prove it,” challenges the bartender. A few clicks of a suitcase later, a paper is slid in front of him containing innumerable, but easily comprehensible statistics about Stoneberry Co.’s stoneberry sale/pricing policies. While he stands there, leaning on the bar with one arm on his chin and one on the back of his head, the businessman continues, “Look there. How much is your cheapest beer, huh?” “Okay, okay. You fuckin’ got me. This stuff is cheap as shit. What now, though. What do you expect me to do with it, huh?”

“That’s up to you to decide! We won’t force you to make anything in particular, so long as you’re making it with our product and offering it to your guests.” Benny pushes the paper back toward Sam, standing up from his reading slouch. “Do you schmucks even have any idea what that berry is good for, though?” Closing the briefcase, he replies, “Oh, of course! I… well, considering that this is just a bar… I’d say it’d make a decent ingredient in some sort of homebrew…? You don’t serve food here, right?” “I’ve got food, buddy. Look at the damn menu, it’s right above you.” “Erhm, right. Uh… I have a feeling you…” the businessman starts, hints of a smile beginning to form around the edges of his lips. “Could make a mean sundae, drizzled with berry syrup, if you wanted…” Benny frowns. Though it’s a good joke, it’s still one made in the current context, where he’s not in the mood to retort with something witty and laugh it off. “No. I’m not serving a sundae.” “Why not! If I had been on my feet, pounding nails and operating construction equipment, nothing’d taste better than a sundae!” “Yeah, but you’d be too busy getting your teeth punched to eat it, buddy,” the bartender replies, with an air of knowing from experience.

“...fair point. But… but this partnership, it could be good for both parties. It could be really, really good for both of us.” “Seems like it’s skewed toward you, but I see what you mean.” “We’d get advertising, you’d get a new drink, or maybe even a new menu item-” “I’m not serving a sundae, Sam. Get it out of your head.” “You know what I mean, yes?” The briefcase is clicked open again, but this time there’s a set of different documents inside, alongside an expensive looking pen. It’s pushed toward Benny lightly, and the businessman quietly requests, “Just… sign here, and your shipment will come in three days-” “Don’t pull that “sign here please” bullshit on me now that you’ve held my interest, buddy. Let me think for a second.” “Oh, sorry.” Another short silence ensues. The bartender picks up his pen, and reads all of the documents in their entirety while sporadically shooting Sam questioning, suspicious looks. With a heaving sigh, the quiet is broken by the scratching of a sharp writing utensil against crisp, freshly printed paper. The businessman looks up and over the briefcase’s top like a kid at a booth-seated restaurant. Upon seeing that he was not, indeed, scratching the words “up yours” into all of the sections labelled “sign here,” his eyes light up with excitement, again, only seen in children. The briefcase is closed. “I’ll try it. If I don’t like it, you’d better bet your ass I’m gonna be off your contract within a month.” Benny’s hand is suddenly grasped, shaken vigorously, and dropped on the hardwood of the bar’s surface. “Thank you so, so much! I’m glad we were able to come to a compromise, this was my first ever assignment in Stockpool!” the giddy businessman expresses. He stands up from his barstool, grabs his suitcase, corrects his tie, and, to the bartender’s surprise, grabs the no longer foaming pint of beer. “To our newfound partnership!” In one breath, nothing remains in the glass as it’s politely clinked back down on the countertop.

[dotgstr-blog]

[BB#1] French Fries and Foreign Cultures

Two baskets of fries glide across the bar’s surface toward a duo of hungry, hunched over fellows on barstools. The bartender follows his deep-fried, starchy strips of delight with a squeeze bottle of ketchup in one hand, and what appears to be a flagon with a spigot at its base in the other. They’re set down before the men with a “clank” and a “thump,” and the eating commences. The one on the left doesn’t reach for the ketchup, and the one on the right doesn’t reach for the flagon, which so happens to be filled with malt vinegar. An orchestra of crunches, and a minute and a half later, the bartender, who had stuck around thanks to a lack of other customers at this time of day, speaks up.

“You boys heard about how they found that new native species down south?” The one on the left doesn’t stop chewing as he replies, “Nope. What about’em,” nearly sending bits of smashed potato shooting across the freshly shined tabletop.

“I heard about it. They’re the clean freaks, right?” pipes up the one on the right, a bit more courteous, even if they are in a dive.

“Sayin’ that wouldn’t do’em justice, Louis. They’re nuts.” “How nuts are we talkin’? Like, we talkin’ really nuts, or are we talkin’ “We won’t ever understand it so we might as well consider ourselves superior” nuts?” says the one on the left, a greasy grin on his face.

“I don’t fuckin hate’em, Charlie. I don’t hate anybody but the kids who keep pickin’ at the leather in the booths,” rebukes the bartender, with the swing of amused sass in his voice.

“So then what’s the deal, Benny. All I heard was that they wouldn’t let those researchers close until they stripped and washed until they got wrinkled,” Louis inquires.

“I’ll tell you the deal if you’d two’d let me speak,” playfully scolds Benny. “Go for it,” the left guy says, proceeding to stuff as many fries as it’d take to hinder one’s speech into his mouth. The right guy doesn’t do that, rather seeming to begin paying better attention.

“Alright. Alright, so apparently, these folks got a thing for fingers an’ hands.” “How much they pay the research squad for a taste?” Charlie says, not shutting up in the slightest.

“Hundred bucks a pop. Anyway, they’d like, greet each other by pressing a finger to each others’ noses.” “Imagine that, huh? Imagine if that were us, an’ you had just got done wiping your ass or somethin’,” the storytelling bartender continues, shifting his attention from Charlie to Louis. “You said they were clean freaks though, right. The skin’d just peel away, even if they’d got shit on it,” he questions, half-joking. “I’d get thrown outta there so quick. Probably hang me for my underuse of soap,” the left one comments, reaching for more vinegar. Benny raises his eyebrows at that prompt, indicating that that stupid remark actually made him remember something. He excitedly says,

“Charlie, you haven’t seen what they look like though. If you knew, you’d be hard pressed not to wash yourself stupid, alright.” “They’re eight fuckin feet tall, got skin as white as snow, an’ hair that hangs down in braids like inch-and-a-half thick rope.” “One of them is more ripped than all three of us schmucks combined, an’ their faces look like they’ve been chiseled out of friggin’ granite.” “An’ the scariest part is their eyes, boys. Red as fresh blood. When I saw that picture of’em, it gave me the worst case of recurrin’ goosebumps I’d ever had,” he finishes.

During that whole description, he was performing an impromptu shadow puppet concert, gesturing emotively with his hands to paint an even more vivid picture of these squeaky clean snow giants to the customers.

“Sounds like a tribe of wusses to me,” Charlie declares, having warped his voice to poorly mimic that of someone twice his muscle mass and thrice his ego.

“Right? I bet they cry real hard when you don’t wash your hands after pissin’. Whole buncha pants-shitters, all of’em,” the bartender comments, keeping the joke going. “That’s what I was gettin’ too. You think they live in Primary?” the right one comments over the sputtering of a ketchup bottle. Dropping his fistful of fries, the left one succumbing to a series of belly laughs with the phrase “OH SHIT,” interspersed between breaths.

“Cold as ice, Louis. Cold as ice.” “Thanks, I’ve been working on that one for years,” he replies.

“Anyway though, yeah. They’re scary as shit to look at, so I can’t imagine what it’d be like to just stand next to one,” continues the bartender. After nearly falling off his stool, Charlie recovers from his fit and asks, “What about their hygiene, you mentioned that but didn’t take it anywhere.” “I’m gettin’ there, I’m gettin’ there.” “So. They’ve got a thing for hands and fingers, right. But it’s not like they think they’re sacred or somethin’. What’s so important about’em, you might ask? What’s so important if they don’t worship’em?” “What’s so important-” starts Charlie, before getting cut off by the bartender. “They tell social status by the smell of your hands,” Benny states, emphasizing the last part of the sentence to represent a massive full stop.

The two customers turn to face one another. Charlie’s on the verge of another conniption, and Louis is having a difficult time keeping the floodgates closed as well. A short silence follows, but is broken by Benny remarking, “Weird, huh?” Charlie falls off his barstool, laughing and wheezing like an asthmatic in a springtime botany class. “Benny, we just got done makin’ fun of how weird it is,” Louis snorts, having to cover his mouth with a free hand. “Of course it’s weird.” “Listen, okay. I haven’t had my coffee this morning, an’ I just woke up a few hours ago…” the bartender starts, half-heartedly trying to cover up his tracks. “I can’t fuckin… holy shit… Benny…” the previously left one says, having a difficult time articulating full sentences.

“Fuck you guys. I’m gonna keep talkin’, make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get vomit on my floor, Louis.” “Can do, boss,” Louis agrees, kneeling down to help his friend off the floor. “ANYWAY, where the hell was I?” “Hand stench,” replies the right one, not acknowledging the rhetorical question properly.

“Yeah, that. They like, respect certain fields of work more than others, and the way they can tell which guy does what is through the smell of their hands,” Benny continues. “Like, apparently bein’ someone who prepares the food is the highest status you can get, next to bein’ the Chief.” “It’s one of those things where like, it takes loads of trust for one man to prepare another man’s food, an’ they acknowledge how much skill/training it takes people like us to do what we do,” he says, adding that little bit on at the end in an attempt to save face from the previous fiasco.

“Oh stuff it, Benny. I could make a club sandwich at home if I really wanted,” Louis comments, sitting Charlie up on the stool again. “Yeah, but you’re not getting the experience, Louis. You just don’t get it, do you,” the returning left one adds, once again exaggerating his voice past stereotypical norms to serve his purpose. “I’m gonna kick you two out, I swear on my goddamn life. You’ve been too on point for this early in the mornin’.” “Don’t worry, Benny. You won’t be hearin’ another word from him,” Louis says reassuringly. And just like that, the one on the left is on the one on the right’s lap. It seems like a highly uncomfortable position for both of them, as there’s no back to the seat, and the stool’s cushion is already quite compressed as it is. But, Louis’s hand goes right over Charlie’s mouth, and Charlie is shut right up. Benny crosses his arms, and raises an eyebrow. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’,” the human highchair grunts. “For chrissake, you’ve gotta stop givin’ him sugar.” “He’s a grown man, and I’m too lazy to set mouse traps ‘round the cookie jar like that,” Louis replies, patting his friend’s stomach lightly. “I wanna hear this though, keep goin’.” Benny sighs, holds the bridge of his nose, and crinkles his brow in thought. “Okay.” “So yeah, they’ve got this weird social status thing goin’ on. I just found it weird that cookin’d be the highest on their list.” “What, ‘cause havin’ onions an’ garlic on your fingers all day is kinda like the opposite of feelin’ clean?” the right one muses. “Exactly. Doesn’t make much sense, but I guess they’ve disconnected smells and cleanliness. You can smell like garbage but so long as you’ve washed, you’re fine.” The hand is torn from Charlie’s mouth, and he cheekily adds, “Ain’t that how kitchens work regardless?” “Out.”