A flick of the wrist was all it took to get Sir Bartimus presentable again before the wand was promptly stowed away.  Only one use left for the day, so best she save it for a good reason... smudges left on the carpet and sofa would just have to fall to the manor staff to handle.  While they waited, she made idle small talk; mostly just sharing where their group had been up along the coast and the state of towns they'd passed through.

When the time came for their meeting, Moira followed close at the Dragonborn's heels with a deft hop up three steps of the staircase at a time just to keep pace.  She gave each of the passing portraits an equally passing look but, after the call to enter came, deferred to Sir Bartimus to take the lead.  It was his duty to report that was the priority, after all... and she didn't really want to put him in a bad spot by leaving him stood there awkwardly amid her own news to come.  Though she did at least push open the door ahead for him given the grim load he had to bear over his shoulder at the same time.

History on the various portraits and their Waterbarons, just because.
Moira Ruadh rolled 4 using 1d20
Pfft.  Yep, those are paintings alright.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:32, Wed 06 Oct 2021.

The door slides smoothly open, revealing a large ornate office bedecked from floor to ceiling with expensive furniture. Carpets, rugs, tapesties, statues, plush pillows, glass chandliers...the works. If one took the offices of three seperate, moderately wealthy nobles and crammed them together into a single room, this is how it would look like.

Behind an enormous wooden desk is a curvaceous woman in a deep blue dress, light makeup and heavy blond ringlets in her hair. In contrast to the expensive decor, her accesories are light, consisting of a small emerald brooch, a silver bracer, and three golden rings. What seems to be an ornately carved glass vase the same height as Moira squats nearby, a long pipe extending out from it into a delicate flute held in her left hand. Plumes of pinkish smoke fill the chamber with a sweet, heavy scent.

Seated before the desk are a pair of elderly nobles - one a squat fat dwavern man dressed in a plush blue vest with dark purple pants, at least three rings per finger, and an enormous powdered, frilled collar around his neck. Besides him is a middle-aged, greying woman with a long green and gold dress, heavy makeup, and a delicate ruby fan.

"Ah, Sir Bartimus," the woman behind the desk- the Waterbaron, takes a slow puff of the smoke as she smiles at the dragonborn, "how expeditious of you, to have dealt with the giant problem within a scant few hours."

"Waterbaron Ruthiol," Bartimus salutes the woman, "the Stone Giant at the windmill has been slain. I have brought her head, as proof."

"Wonderful," the Waterbaron sighs, gaze turning to Moira, "and who is this?"

It wasn't often any space intended for Tall Folk could ever make Moira feel claustrophobic, but the wealth-laden office certainly did the trick.  Plenty of glitz and glamor, but little in the way of common sense... not exactly a promising notion.  Still, she wasn't there to judge; she had a simple job to do and she intended to do it.

As Sir Bartimus didn't rise to introduce her at the Waterbaron's prompting, the diminutive Hin drew herself up primly in salute.  Namely, the common salute of Triboar's officers.  "Captain Ruadh of Triboar's Eighth Division.  Deliverin' word from Lord Protector Shendrel for y'concern, Waterbaron."  Best to get that particular cat out of the bag right away.  She continued briskly before a word could be set edgewise.  "M'fellow knights happened on Sir Bartimus' crew and helped 'em settle th'fight, though m'scholar's identified some dangerous magic th'Giant's left in place what needs handlin' still.  Both our teams are still keepin' watch on th'site, but further work there naturally falls t'your will."

Insight - Reading the room for reactions
Moira Ruadh rolled 7 using 1d20+4

Insight 7: The two nobles are a little tense, though whether its from your introduction or something else, its hard to tell. The Waterbaron, Lady Ruthiol, seems completely as ease and relaxed. Perhaps a little too relaxed.

A soft chuckle of amusement escapes the Waterbarons' lips as Moira introduces herself. The other two nobles, perhaps a little stunned by the Hins' introduction, swiftly follow suit;

"...hehe, I was wondering when dear Daratha would come around," Waterbaron Ruthiol slowly leans back on her plush chair, arms folded daintly below her chest, "how kind of you to lend aid. Speaking of which, how was the situation at the windmill, Sir Bartimus?"

"...the battle was hard fought, but the Stone Giant was eliminated with minimal casualities," Bartimus salutes, looking straight ahead as he speaks, "I believe that without the aid of Captain Ruadh and her knights, we would not have had nearly the same degree of success. If you require proof-" he holds up the sack;

"Oh nonono, no need to show that ghastly thing here," the Waterbaron tuts, dismissing the motion from Bartimus, "I'm sure everyone here is aware that a man of honor like yourself would never lie to a lady. Is the windmill intact?"

"...mostly, yes. The earth around is churned and there is the matter of the leftover magic but-"

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful," the Waterbaron claps, "are you not assured, Lord Crespin?"

The bulbuous dwavern man sweats a little and nods;

"-y-yes your Ladyship. My sincerest thanks to Sir Bartimus and uh, Captain Moira for their help," the man turns and gives the dragonborn a clumsy nod, "I retract my previous objections. Yartar was right to hire your crew, Sir Bartimus."

"Indeed!" the Waterbaron smiles again, though there is something...predatory about the look in her eyes, "which brings us the next point of business-" her gaze moves over to Moira, "you may proceed with Daratha's message now, Captain. Unless its contents are...what do they say...'for my ears only'?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:09, Sat 09 Oct 2021.

Though the Waterbaron saw fit to flounce past the matter of the windmill, Moira remained stoutly on topic.  As soon as the motion to speak returned to her, she offered a curt smile and set right back to it.  "Th'windmill's damaged and in need of repairs 'fore it'll be operational again.  More pressin' is th'monolith th'Stone Giant built from its pieces.  It needs t'be deactivated properly and immediately; 'til it is, th'threat th'Giant posed ain't gone." she gestured up to Sir Bartimus at her side.  "Our folk are spearheadin' th'task, but require aid of tools and stonemasons t'handle it proper.  As it's a matter of public safety, I'm certain y'would care t'handle recrutin' necessary skilled hands, Waterbaron?  Th'sooner we have proper aid, th'sooner we can resolve this matter for ya'."

There was no mention of haggling for a fee or partitioning out whatever payment Sir Bartimus' team had set for them, as Moira had no interest in muddying the situation with finances.  When coin was involved, people compromised on things they often should not have.  Thus her approach and tone remained expectant; not that she was asking the Waterbaron for such coverage or trying to wheedle a deal, but rather that she was stating a common-sense expectation to be fulfilled.

"As for th'Lord Protector's message; I've no explicit orders t'secrecy and this'll be a matter of public knowledge sooner than later." the Hin clarified.  She waited a moment to see if either of the presumed nobility or Sir Bartimus would want to leave just in case, then continued.  "This is in regards t'th'recent Giant activity throughout th'region.  Giant attacks and resultin' Uthgardt activity in response have been escalatin' as far south as Nightstone, leadin' t'increased danger and casualties among th'citizenry.  M'knights have personally addressed Giant and Lycanthropic Uthgardt threats in Amphail, Red Larch, and outside both Waterdeep and Westbridge.  Triboar itself was attacked by a pair of Fire Giants in lead of an army of Orcs, who've moved northeast over th'past days and bein' pursued by Triboar's forces.  I've personally seen th'Fire Giant's trail near this territory; we've reason t'believe they may be headed towards th'Evermoors, but Yartar may be in danger by proximity."  There was much to cover but Moira felt the need to reduce things down as succinctly as possible, both for the sake of clarity and the Waterbaron's attention span.  "M'knights have carried word t'major cities and towns up th'coast, and will continue t'do so after Yartar.  Th'Lords of Waterdeep have been alerted and Lord Protector Shendrel has already called for action from th'Lords' Alliance.  Consider this y'official notice t'join th'rally."

What's the Waterbaron smoking?
Moira Ruadh rolled 5 using 1d20

Not sure what that would really be to recognize a substance.  Perception, Medicine, Nature...?
If Perception: 9
If Medicine: 6
If Nature: 5

Just gonna keep getting all these low rolls out of the way, hopefully...
This message was last edited by the player at 05:18, Sat 09 Oct 2021.

"A Lordsmoot? Really?" Moira's message gets a raised eyebrow from the Waterbaron, and soft tittering from the pair of nobles, "how...exciting. Yartar has been doing quite well despite recent intrusions, it is surprising to hear that the rest of the Coast is doing...less so. Giants and barbarians, oh my~" Lady Ruthiol's gaze lingers on Ethgar for a few seconds, then turns back to the two knights;

"Well! Consider your message received then, Captain Moira," with a lazy wave of her hand, the Waterbaron turns back to the dragonborn, "Sir Bartimus, perhaps we might have another job for your crew after this. Why don't you speak with me sometime tomorrow, after breakfast?"

"...certainly, your Ladyship."

"Wonderful. And is that all?"

That sort of carelessness was about what Moira expected.  The Waterbaron left a remarkably weak impression on her sensibilities and she was once more glad to have managed the meeting alone; she had the distinct feeling Thente or U'lin would've leaped to scolding by that point.  But it wasn't their, or her, place to do it.  No, best leave the Waterbaron to be shown where she stood by the other Lords when their meeting came to call...



"Y'orders regardin' th'necessary stonemasons, Waterbaron?" Moira curtly prompted.  "Surely there's a local guild or public workforce what could be set t'th'task?  We'll be returning t'th'windmill site ourselves, so we could handle deliverin' a written missive from y'desk and escortin' 'em."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:24, Wed 13 Oct 2021.

With a lazy sigh, the Waterbaron simply turns to look at the dwarvern man seated in front of her.

"...?" he blinks, "o-oh! Yes. My men will get down to it-"

"Immediately," drawls the Waterbaron.

"-immediately, your Ladyship," echoes Lord Crespin. As he does so, the lady turns her attention back to Moira;

"My apologies, one forgets that military folk need everything spelled out," Lady Ruthiol sighs languidly, relaxing into her chair, "so now that seems to be settled, I'll ask again- is that all?"

"Seems t'be.  Thank y'for y'time, y'Ladyship.  M'knights and I'll be keepin' in Yartar for a bit yet on our own affairs, but we'd be happy t'make time for y'if there's a matter of need for th'public good."  Though Moira doubted they'd be hearing any such request sent their way.  Not when the Waterbaron had mercenary teams on hand to dole out tasks to.

With that, the Hin gave another brief Triboar salute and turned to leave alongside Sir Bartimus and Ethgar.

With a lazy wave and a sniff, the Waterbaron turns her attention away from Moira. Both Ethgar and after a moments hesitation, Bartimus as well follow the Hin out.

"Well. That settles that. The Crespin House mainly deals with the import of earth and stone, pretty convenient that they happened to be there," the dragonborn comments lightly as a maidservant leads the three of you out, "something you may want to keep in mind though - Yartar doesn't really have Guilds the same way they have back in Waterdeep or Neverwinter. Theres' adventuring parties, the big ones form mercenary companies of sorts, but businesses are largely split between the noble families."

The three of you are briskly led to the backdoor, where the gatekeeper nonchantly opens and shuts the egress with barely a second glance.

"Well! Best head back then. Perform this burial...handle the monolith...do you folks want to bring your wagons into town first? From what the wizards were saying before we left, dismantling could take a while," Sir Bartimus sighs.

"No guild presence... feh.  Honestly, I leave Yartar for fourty years and everythin' goes upended by th'time I get back."  Moira had quite a few strong opinions when it came to matters of economics but thankfully didn't subject the Dragonborn to her rambles.  But a lack of proper guild representation always led to monopolies and undercutting; great for shuffling wealth into specific coffers and bad for everyone stuck paying the bill.

Once back outside proper, the Hin could only shrug helplessly on the prospect of further plans.  "Best ask 'em and see how far they've gotten so far.  Knowin' m'lot, half of 'em ain't gonna so much as blink 'til their duty's done whereas th'other half's gonna want t'hit th'marketplace first thing.  Our Firbolg loves bargain shoppin' for scraps t'fiddle with... y'know he got himself hit by lightnin' once repairin' some busted enchanted hammer he bought?  On purpose, even!" she gave an off-handed glance around the streets just to scope out the area, seemingly on reflex.  "Gonna have t'come in sooner or later though.  Normally I'm cookin' for th'lot and I'd offer y'group a proper meal as well, 'cept we're full outta supplies after our last stop.  But if y'can suggest a good inn what'll house and feed us, I'd be much obliged.

...and, well, I'm sorry for droppin' th'whole military rank on y'by surprise back there.  Didn't mean t'keep y'in th'dark, but we got reason t'keep our titles quiet, y'know?"

Perception - head on swivel, keeping an eye out just in case
Moira Ruadh rolled 13 using 1d20+4

"I figured as much," the dragonborn chuckles, "not the entire group- but that Claire girl and you have clearly been in the soldiery. Wasn't expecting Triboar though- everyone says the Lord Protector loathes to employ adventurers."

As you walk, Sir Bartimus seems to be taking a bit of a detour, pointing out buildings as you go, perhaps in response to Moira's question about lodging;

"So this here's West River Street, it's one of the main roads for foot traffic. You can hit the market district that way, and if you're looking for cheap inns you can't really go wrong with Pilgrims Corner. Lots of old small inns and houses there. If someplace fanciers in your budget, say two silver a night, there's the Great Hall. It's a big two story building two streets down from the Temple to Tymora.Sponsored by them too, according to the rumors. Mostly caters to adventurers, so it can be a bit noisy. Rooms are small. But the meads good and the floors clean."

"Takes after her father, rest his soul." Mention of Claire brought a fond smile and a quick gesture of reverence to Kelemvor for her late father.  "As for Triboar... well, we gave th'Lord Protector quite a few good reasons t'make exception.  Helps we ain't adventurers.  Not like y'band; wasn't lyin' when I said we're a mixed bag before."  Though it was something she said often, there was a trace in Moira's tone that made it seems like she was telling herself that more than Sir Bartimus.

The shift to give a bit of a tour was appreciated and Moira took keen recollection of whatever they went by, already intent on building a mental map along the way.  "Honestly a bit more worried 'bout security than anythin' right now.  Plenty used t'sleepin' in m'wagon with one eye open for guardin' wares, but I'd rather be able t'park where I won't have t'worry 'bout folk pokin' in where they ain't wanted." she clarified.  "Heard there were some temples planted here as well in recent years?  We've rather pious folk in m'company, so d'ya know where th'prayer district's set?"

"Ah, it -used- to be Pilgrims Corner!" Bartimus nods, empathetically nodding at Moira's own stories of traveling on the road, "many of the inns there are actually shrines to various gods that opened their beds to the general public. Now though, the prayer districts reformed around the Happy Hall - the Temple of Tymora - over on Fountain Road. There is a small shrine to Umberlee that the local fishermen visit, and a larger one to Chauntea that sprung up recently."

As the three of you wander through the streets, you eventually pass back through the gates. One of the guards there nods as you pass, recognizing Bartimus, though they continue to give Ethgar the side-eye.

OOC: If Moira has no further questions, feel free to merge back into the main IC thread. Or ask them anyway as you do.

[From On the Road]

Once in the city itself, navigation is straightforward. The streets are helpfully labeled with signs in both Common and Dwarvish script at major intersections, and despite the late hour there are plenty of lights and activity throughout Yartar. Dancing performers caurouse with red-faced dock-workers and cheering craftsmen, the music of the festival filling the streets. Numerous stands and wagons are stacked along all the major streets, some open, others still half-setting up. The atmosphere within the port city is festive despite the dangers outside, its people fat and content - so long as you don't look too close into the alleyways.

There, beggars and urchins gaze hungrily at the scenes along the main streets. A few beg for coins, while bolder ones attempt to flinch food from a cart or coin from a passing noble. The juxtaposition is stark in some places - cheerful bright celebrations right next to the glum darkness of the alleyways, rich merchant houses flanked by abandoned residential buildings.

From the smokey aromas of the festival stalls to the putrid stench of its hidden sewers; from opulent mansions to run-down taverns - through all these different things the cool winds from River Dessarin blow, bringing life to the city and its people.

Welcome to Yartar.

Is the party headed straight to the Happy Hall to rest? Or does anyone want to ask around/participate in some of the late night festivities along the way? There's not much right now since its still warming up, but theres plenty of food and gossip to be had - so long as you have the coin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:20, Wed 10 Nov 2021.

The long, trundling road up through the main thoroughfare gave Moira a chance to take in the sights from a different perspective.  She'd been keeping a sharper eye on things with Sir Bartimus for the sake of memorizing the routes and noteworthy locations so, without the Dragonborn to guide them, it fell on her to point things out for her group instead.  She gestured here and there to let them know where to find given locations for their shopping needs, indicated where the Waterbaron's manor laid, and the like.

"Y'lot be sure t'keep y'belongings and y'purses close at hand, yea?  There's plenty of pickpockets in any festival, but here especially.  Mind any ladies y'see gettin' too near, youngin's in particular.  There's a criminal group in these parts what employs only ladies for its work." the Hin warned as they drew nearer into the crowds.  Losing money and valuables to thievery was something to be avoided, but lightening one's coffers for better causes wasn't something Moira shied away from.  She handed the reigns over to Ethgar and urged him to steer so that she could shift over in the driver's basket, half-leaned out when a beggar or two inevitably saw fit to wander near in hopes of alms.

Sure enough, outstretched hands in search of charity found it given without hesitation from a Waukeenar.  Just like the urchins she'd favored before, Moira pressed silver coins into needy palms or sharply flicked them through the air to distant unfortunates who couldn't get out to the middle of the road quickly enough.  Along with the kindness came words of blessing; "Thanks t'Our Ladies of Gold and Luck", "Spin y'coin wisely, that ten come back for every one y'spend", "Spare a copper at th'temple of Luck tomorrow, that y'earn Tymora's favor", and the like.  Though she gave without hesitation to any who came honestly in search of succor, the sharp-eyed Hin was quick to whistle and ward away any who tried to get shifty toward the wagons, or those who already got a coin trying to come back around for a second helping.

Perception - Keeping an eye out for sneaks and thieves
Moira Ruadh rolled 5 using 1d20+4 - Halfling Luck Re-roll triggers
Moira Ruadh rolled 23 using 1d20+4

Moira's intention is to get the party settled in at the Happy Hall first; we can get food and do some exploring once the wagons are safely stowed and we have lodgings for the night.

Astride Glory, Claire moved at a steady pace through the crowd, just behind the wagon. "Excuse me, coming through. Pardon me!" It wasn't quite as dense as Waterdeep, but the festival had certainly brought the crowds out. The liveliness of the stalls and aroma of the street food left her optimistic that the planting season had gone reasonably enough so far, but she kept an eye out for signs that anything was amiss with the local economy - the size and quantity of produce, beggars who looked newly destitute, exceptionally scrawny children, the state of repair of the houses they could see.

Perception: 18
00:46, Today: Claire Larkspur rolled 18 using 1d20.

Thente road along on the wagon into the city subdued by the experiences of the day.

His eyes pierced the shadows of the alleyways as they started to pass along and his shoulders sagged as he saw the beggars and urchins tucked back in there with hungry eyes. Without thinking too much, he untied his coin purse and handed it to Moira as she drove the cart slowly through the people.

With a spoken word, ten berries appeared in his palm and he hopped off the wagon and headed over to the nearest urchin he could find. "Happy Hall, I'll see you all there."

When he reached the alley he held out a berry to an urchin until he'd found and handed out all ten of the berries. He made sure each child ate a berry before he left them so that someone didn't steal them out of their small hands, and if any older beggars came near, Thente growled at them and reached for his javelin, lightning playing along its edge as he reached for it.

After he'd handed out all ten berries, Thente turned and passed into the throng of festival goers and asked after the Happy Hall location until he'd found it and caught up to the group. He gathered his coin purse back from Moira when he got there and started to help unload the carts as appropriate.

OOC: Give coin purse to Moira so he doesn't have to deal with pick pockets as he does this, then...
Cast Goodberry and hand them out to ten hungry looking kids, youngest first.

U'lin patted his friend's shoulder at the gesture of kindness to the hungry little folk.  The firbolg's eyes were troubled, and his brow showing tension.  Each example of opulence indifferent to starving folk appeared to bother the firbolg's eyes and heart as much as the smells rankled his nose.

"This place.... " U'lin sighed heavily, but mustered a smile.  He spread his hands wide, half helplessly. "It weighs upon me.

"Going to the fair was so pleasant before when we arrived at Amphail, but this.. I could not enjoy it such, even were there the finest finds and ores.  I will help unload, but.. I think I would like to do some smithing, help, and work out some vexations - oh, but should we take your friend Stoor to where we need to go first?"

The firbolg had scribbled much along their journey, and had many design plans to test, but they required ores from a merchant, and time to craft.  A little mindless helping at a smithy might help his spirits at the sight of the city, however.

U'lin's discomfort with the nature of the city was one of the few times Moira felt she was actually on the same wavelength with him.  Her travels had made her more accustomed to such sights and not so readily disheartened, but it was clear from her efforts that she was by no means jaded to such situations.

"Gotta imagine th'state of th'Coast has made matters a shake more intense than they'd usually be... but this sorta thing's more common than it should be.  Y'woulda seen it in Waterdeep too iff'n we'd spent more time there." she sighed over the pitiful state of affairs.  It was the sort of thing her faith and church sought to resolve, but it was an exponentially growing task...  "Still, don't need t'go frettin' over it durin' th'festivities.  Ain't like it's a celebration only moneyed folk can attend; Highharvestide's for all.  If nothin' else, th'Chaunteans would go bustin' skulls if they caught wind of anyone tryin' t'keep food outta folk's bowls."

A moment of consideration passed her expression as she glanced back into the wagon where Stoor's casket rested.  "'Sides... y'shouldn't miss th'opportunity t'search for wares and supplies.  There'll be more merchants here than we're like t'see for years t'come, and we've got a big mess ahead of us what's gonna need all we can manage t'bring against it." Moira's gaze lifted once more to U'lin, more purposefully in manner then.  "Got a feelin' we're gonna be well-served by y'tinkerin', love, so best stock up.  'Specially when it comes t'ways t'protect ourselves from fire..."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:36, Sun 14 Nov 2021.

It seems word on the street has spread - both Moira and Claire notice a few of the children eyeing the party, some even going closer before being pulled away by their peers. Of course, this doesn't deter the beggars, who see the halfling's outpouring of coin as all the more reason to to approach - grinning with yellowed teeth as they take the silver and flee (some with surprising speed for an apparent 'cripple').

"Blessing's be upon ye traveler!" one elderly woman croaks as she takes the silver from Moira, "and take care to avoid the shadows at night. Some stray dogs wandered in recently, and the local cats are anything but silent. Ain't nothing to bother good honest merchants in the day though."

[Language unknown: "Ri Ma. Toma man, mo m forerskor."]

Having said that, she winks and heads back into the alleys.

Moira, deduct anywhere between 1-10gp from your pouch, depending on how much you want to give the beggars (about half a dozen would approach over intervals).

---

Meanwhile, Thente - having left the majority of his valuables with Moira - finds himself approached by more and more urchins as he gives out the berries. One older man tries to approach, only to turn away quickly at the sight of Thente's lightning. As the number of berries dwindles and the urchins increase - the remaining few begin to fight for the food; subtly at first, but more brazenly as the berries go down to three, then two.

Five hungry urchins glare at Thente, then at each other. The rest seem to have quietly vanished after getting their berry. (Thente can attempt Perception/Survival + Investigation to get a sense of where they went/how so many of these children keep popping up)

Either way, the sorcerer reunites with the group with little additional trouble.

OOC: Also, Thente can tell he was frisked at least four times throughout. Nothing was actually stolen though, beyond maybe some lint.

---

The Happy Hall certainly lives up to its name - brightly lit even late at night, sounds of laughter and merriment drifting from its two floors. In contrast to the more opulent shops and mansions that have sprung up around it, the Hall itself is a surprisingly modest affair - stone, brick and wood fitted together in a haphazard manner that makes little architectural sense yet somehow does not fall apart.

Even though the festival has not fully started, a few stalls have already been setup next to the temple itself. A rotund half-orc man dispenses massive kegs of beer next to a colorfully painted roulette wheel, while nearby a trio of bards perform an improv skit based on whatever it is the audience calls. Two smaller stalls serve smoked fish, bread and fruit to any who ask, the scent of the fire lending a smokey, salty tinge to the air. From inside the temple itself one can hear the sounds of chatter and music, the creak of strained wood, clanking metal and the occasional crash of something fragile being broken.

Oddly enough, nobody seems to care or look up.

The groups' arrival with the wagon is met with some fanfare - one of the bards (a young gnome woman in purple tights) takes the opportunity to pirouette off the Dream's roof and walls in some sort of imaginary swordfight with her fellow performers. The few young aristocrats and servants browsing the area clap and cheer, more focused on her movements than the eclectic composition of the party driving the wagon.

A young girl - no, a Hin dressed like a young girl complete with blond pigtails and a small yellow smock approaches the lead driver with a springy step, then sighs as she sees Moira driving it;

"...aw. Way to spoil the fun cousin," she groans, crossing her arms and blowing a ridiculously ribboned pigtail out of the way, "do you want the proper welcome speech or the 'proper' welcome speech?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:30, Mon 15 Nov 2021.

"Best leave 'em t'sort themselves; ain't keen on gettin' scratched up.  Keep safe y'self." Moira gave the wizened woman's hand a fond pat as she passed over a bit of coin, then let her on her way.

Might as well go all out since Moira is intentionally being generous; she'll spread out 10 GP in silver pieces, both to the beggars and out to urchins who didn't approach on their own.  She also would've given the elderly woman  a larger share of coins.

---

The sight of the Happy Hall being so lively was a reassuring one, especially given the ride they'd been on up the main road.  Celebration did a Hin's heart well.  It was just a shame Moira knew they weren't truly able to relax just yet though.

"Whichever y'feel's more fun, cousin.  Just know th'lot I'm towin' are tired, fresh off a wake, and very much Human in their sensibilities.  Temper it with that in mind, yea?" she offered a wan but knowing grin down down at the huffy actress.

Something about the night and the sights he saw in the city sharpened his senses. Maybe it was a blessing of some god or other as they saw his deed of generosity to those in need, but his eyes seemed to pierce the shadows and see keener than ever before. He tracked the movements of the children and how many of them showed themselves.

"Please don't fight," he said to the children. "There will be more in coming days..."

OOC: Perception/Survival 25, Investigation 19; two nat 20's... kind of wish this was combat! :D

03:01, Today: Thente rolled 25,19 using 1d20+5,1d20-1.  Perception/Survival, Investigation.

---

When he'd caught up to the others at the Happy Hall, he helped to make the wagons fast and unloaded with U'lin and Claire what needed to be unloaded.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:51, Mon 15 Nov 2021.

"Ah. Proper response then, summarized," the Hin nods, then turns to the nearest member of the party with a grin;

"Welcome to the Happy Hall of Happy Happenstance! Our meeting is most fortuitous, and as they say - everything's a coincidence, nothing happens without chance!"

Between the young acolyte's fingers is a silver coin. A quick flick of the wrist, and that coin becomes three, then five, then eight.

"Seeking fortune or a change of fortune? Seeking chances or something to chance? Such matters are all within the domain of our Lady of Luck," as she speaks, the young Hin begins to juggle the coins, spinning them along her arm from the tips of her knuckles to the joints of her elbow.

"You could donate! You could pray. You could cry or beg or just go your own way. The Lady cares not for what you do- only that you try."

The eight coins run up and down her sleeves in unison, then vanish between her fingers once more.

"Aaaaand this is the point where I'll offer palm readings and recommend facilities and try to figure which one of yous' a suc- generous gentlepersons who wishes to donate their personal fortunes to luck. Ahem. But out of consideration for m'cuz here I'll just skip all that and ask what brings y'all to the Temple at this late hour. We do have lodgings, but none for a full wagon 'n horses - you want the Great Hall for that. Lodgings cost three silver a head by the way," her eyes drift back to Moira - specifically on the symbol around her neck, "though pilgrims of the Coinmaiden get a free spin."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:55, Mon 15 Nov 2021.

At Thente's words, the five children freeze up. A sort of invisible communication seems to pass between them - some mix of body language and gestures that Thente can't quite decipher.

Finally, the three youngest and more frail looking ones go up to the sorcerer and take the berries. The five nod at each other again, then scatter into the alleys.

Watching them leave, Thente can hear the faint scraping of metal against pavement. The man's keen eyes also notice more than one urchin trailing damp footsteps when they approach, or smelling strongly of some sort of moss or soil. A set of underground passageways, ones that might be connected to the sewer system that runs through all of Yartar.

Another thing that Thente notices is an odd smell - a damp musk that seems to follow the urchins to whom he gave out food , that seems to linger and fill the alleyways long after they are gone. Just as the ranger makes to exit the alleyway a faint wind blows, causing the torches on the main street to flicker. The shadows shift, and in the dim light of the dancing flames Thente sees what has been hidden in them all this while:

The gleaming yellow eyes of a dozen mangy rats.

The creatures stare back, frozen, at the woodsman - a strange intelligence in their eyes. The damp musk and odd gestures by urchins suddenly fit - the smell that of wet rat, the urchins body language being oddly rat-like in hindsight. Then the breeze passes and the shadows calm - and the swarm vanishes into the night.