---

Moyrah's Perception [13] and Insight [14] checks on the mysterious man: It was very likely the bald man had been in the crowd. Now that she thought about it, she was sure of it. Other than that, the face was entirely unfamiliar to her — which was telling in and of itself.

Rhydds's Perception [20] and Insight [16] checks on the mysterious man: To Rhydd, the tall man looked familiar. He hadn't seen him recently, here in Targos, but long ago. Where could it have been? Easthaven? Caer Dineval? He had a complexion that hinted of a Reghed bloodline. Now that he thought of it, the man must have been in employ of Torg's as a bodyguard — a Dwarven trading caravan that went defunct some years ago. Their methods had been less than over the table, so to speak, and Rhydd was fairly certain they'd done their share of black market bounty hunting on the side.
This message was last updated by the GM at 14:45, Sun 03 Apr 2022.

"Hunh," Rhydd grunted when Mistress Mallory made a small gesture with her hand and two glimmering phantasms suddenly appeared.

The outdoorsman peered at the apparitions for a moment, then glanced at the female mage, to whom he nodded. "That is a good trick," he said, before turning his attention back to the phantasms.

"The taller one . . ." he said, his voice trailing off as he struggled to remember. After a short while he snapped his fingers and muttered, "Ah, yes -- I have it now."

Turning to face Mistress Mallory, he said "It took me a moment, for the memories go back a few years. But the tall apparition . . . I remember him as being a guard and enforcer in the employ of Torg's Trading Coster."

"They are no longer in business any more -- at least not openly. But back in the day, Torg's was an outfit run by Dwarves who favored the shadowy side of the lane. I never knew this fellow's . . ." here Rhydd nodded his head towards the taller apparition, "name, but remembering what I do about Torg's, I would put my money on his being the sort who is not squeamish about getting his hands dirty."

The archer took a sip of his ale, then added, "One more thing. It is not revealed by the apparitions, but I remember thinking that the fellow's coloring hinted at Reghed blood-lines, for what that is worth."

After a short pause he added for the benefit of the two mages, "The Reghedmen -- sometimes known as the 'Men of the Tundra' are several tribes of Human barbarians who live out in the frozen wastes. Hard conditions breed hardy men -- and women."

"That is probably another reason to think that this is a hard man, one who will not shy away from doing what needs doing, to his way of thinking."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:19, Fri 19 Feb 2021.

If Mallory's sudden shifts in behaivor weren't enough to startle Moyrah, the illusory projections succeeded in doing so. She didn't cross paths with many diviners in Targos, but how helpful her new compatriot's abilities are turning out to be, Moyrah was glad to have one on her side.

"Well I don't remember seeing either one of them around these parts. I am pretty sure they are not from Targos. He spent the whole night in this inn though. I am sure I bumped into him, accidentally, earlier in the night, during the fight" She was thankfully interrupted by Rhydd who greatly helped out by sharing his knowledge of the mysterious figures.
"...But why are you interested in this man all out of a sudden lassie? Why didn't you approach him while he was still here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Thu 18 Feb 2021.

"Merely a trick of the light and passive arcane manipulation, nothing more.  It's perfectly harmless." Mallory assured the wary owner as she passed her hand about through the illusory images harmlessly, where they gently swirled and regathered back into their assigned humanoid depiction like passing mists.

"That is a good trick." She was a bit surprised to hear a genuine acknowledgement from Rhydd, but it puffed Mallory's shoulders all the same with an accomplished air.  "Indeed; wonderfully useful in so many ways.  Admittedly I did cause a fair bit of mischief with it as a child, but who among us wasn't a troublemaker when we were small?"

The following descriptions of the men in question, one way or another, were put to memory as the noblewoman took it all in.  Her expression furrowed in thought as she tried to make sense of what she'd learned not only from the present moment, but from Astre's reports prior.  His spying back at the Luskan Arms had revealed some questionable intent by folk in town and to have this fellow lurking about in disguise just made it all the worse.  She had no clear accusations to levy against him, of course; his presence alone was merely suspicious and worthy of a cautious eye.

"I see... something I'll keep in mind, I think.  Thank you, Mister Maldhon, Miss Moyrah." she mulled over the matter with a narrowed gaze even as the phantom images she conjured faded away into nothingness.

"...But why are you interested in this man all out of a sudden lassie? Why didn't you approach him while he was still here?"

A moment's hesitation came of trying to figure out what was worth revealing before the noblewoman replied.  "I'm afraid the visions I gain doesn't always yield immediate context; I have to parse out the meaning myself.  I had no reason to bear interest prior." she explained cryptically.  "But those two men are one in the same.  The bald facade was merely a disguise he shed as soon as he left the tavern.  I don't know for what purpose yet, but I imagine that man was gathering information.  If he may be involved in shady dealings, as Mister Maldhon theorized, then I doubt he's up to any good."

Mallory held her tongue on the finer details; it wouldn't do to go spreading rumors of shapeshifters - be it spell or Monster - in a town already beset with so much strife.  That would just be spreading turmoil without purpose.  Though with that and the new information about the disguised mystery man, notions of inter-business sabotage rose quite readily to mind as a potential reason for the fishing boat's failures of late.  She looked about to the other sailors and fishermen who dotted the room and raised her voice in a manner that made it clear she was accustomed to some measure of public speaking.  "Well, so long as I have all of your attention; I'm certain you lot overheard what we were speaking of with Miss Moyrah here.  You're hard-working folk with a vested interest in thriving out here.  Surely you've experienced or witnessed the troubles on the waters of late and can offer some insight?  Anyone?  Don't be shy, now."

---

Persuasion w/Advantage from Help
Mallory Bonheur rolled 20 using 1d20+3
Mallory Bonheur rolled 21 using 1d20+3
This message was last edited by the player at 23:51, Thu 18 Feb 2021.

The atmosphere around Targos, harsh and unwelcoming as it is, hasn't been to Moyrah's liking already, but the presence of a shapeshifter, snooping around in their midst, took away any last remnants of safety that were left in Moyrah. ~What else could happen? Lake monster invading Targos? I should have just stayed home. Something isn't right.~

"But what he was looking for here... in the Three flags sailing tavern, why would he be here? What would he be looking for from drunken sailors singing shanties whole night. I suspect that he may be interested in the same thing that you are investigating." Moyrah was at loss of ideas what could have piqued the mysterious figure's interest here out of all places, wouldn't he be in Luskan arms, where more detrimental information could be overheard. All she knew was that masses were not safe anymore, this person could be anywhere.

"It's difficult to say without knowing more about him.  For the moment there's no clear indication he's anything more than a nosy sort who likes to wear a mask, but it's worth keeping him in mind as a suspicious character." Mallory offered with a shrug.  She already had theories that whirled about in her head as to what the man might've been up to.  The notion that he'd been present at the would-be execution earlier meant that he was likely keeping an eye on events around town, or perhaps the activities of the townsfolk themselves.  That she and Farwalker had interrupted the "sacrifice", such as it was, might've raised more an issue than she first realized if that somehow factored in...

"It's best not to think to hard about things we don't know." Especially without any of the facts to go along with suppositions. As Mallory turned to address the crowd, Farwalker placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and muttered under her breath as she made to stand up. It was a little awkward reaching over and standing, but it wasn't like she wasn't tall enough to deal with the situation. "Seek the true tone to form our will." It was just a little bit of help, bet every little bit helped. Usually.

"The more we know, the easier it will be to assist you." Farwalker added her own voice to Mallory's suggestion of the fisherpeople giving them any information they had. "We have no desire to see anyone hanged, and hopefully we can find a way to keep that from happening again."

They cared very little as Mallory spoke and were mostly content with continuing their chatter. Oh, they'd heard her alright, judging by their dismissive side glances. They just chose not to care. But when the Goliath stood, lumbering tall and eerily, they quieted. The only sound was an awkward scrape from a shuffled chair. Whether or not Farwalker intended to be intimidating, she had that effect. While most Goliaths had the reputation of savage brutes, there was something else about Farwalker. An aura of off-putting otherworldliness that could shake one's spirit more than a simple display of muscle.

"Ahem . . ." one man cleared his throat. "If you're talkin' of the lake monster, there was this boat Wirt dragged in that must'a hit a flake or sumthin'. . ." he scratched the back of his head, clearly somewhat unsure of what to think of this particular matter.

"It did not hit a flake, I tell ya!" the pipsqueaked fisherman who had spoken earlier said. "Somethin' had taken a bite of it! Teeth marks. Completely unusable. Lucky it didn't sink, I was."

Beside him, a third fisherman scoffed and rolled his eyes. Arkemos could see that it was the one who had taunted him back in the town square. A boisterous type. "Load o' bull-crap! Ain't no sea beast!" He smacked the smaller man on the head. "Quit seein' things that ain't there! You hit some ice! Same with Boots and Stognur!"

There were clearly dissenting opinions among them, and more sprung forth as they continued arguing among themselves. Many leaned toward there being no water aberration, but what could they do if it was true? None of these men were fighters — well, of course, none besides Thorben who sat silently in the corner, padding his bruises with a piece of wet cloth. But for the rest of them, the moment they'd let themselves start to believe the legend — let it prevent them from venturing out to the lake — they'd lose their livelihood. Better to live in denial for as long as possible, until the evidence became truly insurmountable.

~~The boats that sank hit icebergs, or they didn't. There is a great lake monster out there biting chunks out of boats, or there isn't,~~ Rhydd thought to himself as he listened to the fishermen give voice to their opinions.

~~ No one knows . . . well, unless there are bandits who are behind all the mischief, and then I suppose *they* would know . . . but the only way anyone in *this* room is going to find out is to go out on the lake and see what there is to be seen.~~

The outdoorsman cleared his throat. "Well, it seems to me that we aren't going to solve that mystery here, tonight. Should we give it a rest until tomorrow morning?"

Lowering his voice so that only his companions could hear, Rhydd added "Unless Heilar might be in danger,  due to what he knows. It has been said that dead men tell no tales. Nor do ones who have simply disappeared."

The archer glanced at Arkemos and Mallory. "Can your magicks give us any guidance on this point -- whether there is an immediate threat to the man that needs to be addressed this eve?"

"I am pretty exhausted and bruised up myself, It was most definitely an eventful night... Not sure if I will be able to sleep tonight in peace after hearing all of this, but rest is something I desperately need." Moyrah stood up, clinging tightly the coat with one hand, in a way, which would stop any warmth from escaping the layers of her garments, readying mentally to face the elements beyond the walls of the tavern. With the other hand she grasped her harpoon, leaning on it almost as it was a walking stick, before firing a grateful glance to the barkeep.

She didn't feel at ease, trying to piece all of the things which happened tonight, together. The new arrivals, shapeshifters, foreign apparitions, lake monster... bite marks?... Standing dangerously at the edge of her ability to process her surroundings, Moyrah felt the need to rest, before the very nature of the events overwhelm her. But with the means of securing her livelyhood potentially threatened, what would her net step be like~I am just a fisher, is this what fate has in store for me? But what if these bite marks are real? Will I be able to fish at all?~

"So... Luskan Arms it is? Tommorow morning? Or if you prefer, we can go around Targos to visit the sailors and compare the bitemarks, to search for any resemblance between the marks? " Leaning in towards the group, mid-sentence she lowered her voice. Putting out plans out in the open, didn't seem like a safe option.

As the snapping and shouting grew steadier over the varied replies, Mallory had the distinct feeling that a gaggle of old sailing buddies probably ended up in such an argument every chance they got.  Still, it was useful in its own sense.  It confirmed that nobody really had much of an idea what was the cause and there were conflicting accusations; the uncertainty in blame was telling in and of itself.  Still, she offered a sidelong look over to the others and helplessly shrugged.  Odds were the fishermen would continue their bickering even after the group left...

Rhydd's question of Heilar's safety was met with a shake of Mallory's hooded head.  "In times like these, relying on your own gut feelings and common sense tends to be more useful.  If you truly worry this Heilar fellow might be in danger somehow, then we should seek him out posthaste.  Otherwise, it would indeed be better to wait until morning to not bother his rest and to be able to examine the damaged boats by daylight." she leaned in to speak close with the group more for the sake of ensuring they could hear her over all the din rather than any real desire for secrecy.

Either way, they'd be leaving the tavern and returning out into the frigid elements beyond.  Mallory had to brace herself for that literal cold hard fact, though she caught Moyrah's uncomfortable shifting in preparation as well.  The young noblewoman offered a hand out, palm upturned, where the air within her grasp steadily swirled and shimmered with the influence of magic at her fingertips.  "I can help reinforce your clothing from the cold a bit.  It's not much help against this bitter night, but still..." she knew better than to cast magic on people without permission.  Though if the offer was accepted, Moyrah would get to enjoy the odd sensation of her coat suddenly growing perpetually toasty and warm to a comfortable temperature that would endure for a solid hour.

---

Prestidigitation for the win!

"You are welcome to escort me then. If you would like to visit Heilar, I would gladly show you where he lives, but alienating one of the few eyewitnesses we know off, wouldn't be the best thing to do. Most of you are new here... Fishermen aren't the most welcoming bunch, there is no guarantee you will have a second chance to gather information if you anger him. If you are that worried about him, you can send one of your familiars to keep a watch on him, just in case." Even though Moyrah hasn't been officially been a part of the group of newly minted investigators, seeing the good that they have managed to achieve, not so long after arriving to town, helped instil Moyrah's investment into their cause, and she decided to make sure that their mission will reach the most positive epilogue, one way or another.



"Sure lass, your help is more than welcome... didn't know you had even more tricks in your arsenal."

Rhydd shrugged when Mallory suggested that his own common sense would be of more use than her magicks when deciding if Heilar was in any immediate danger.

"I got no idea. Maybe, maybe not. I don't know how our Mystery Man thinks, an' I don't know what orders he may be operatin' under."

He smiled a thin smile and nodded towards the Goliath. "An' like Farwalker, here, said back yonder at the inn about overthinkin' things, 'No information, no point.' I'd have better odds gettin' it right if I just flipped a coin."

"An' given Moyrah's concern about pissin' off Heilar by poundin' on his door in the middle of the night, I'm inclined to head back to the inn for a good night's rest."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:41, Sat 20 Feb 2021.

Farwalker hummed thoughtfully and considered the fishermen's words. After thanking them, of course. Once she was settled back down on her stool, with only a minor amount of creaking, she drummed her fingers idly on the bar, staring at nothing in particular. Or at someone. It was really hard to tell with her eyes the way they were. "Do not forget, Mallory, that at best you will have nothing but twilight to see by." She eventually added. She'd let them have their theories and worries. Farwalker would get where she needed to be.

"But that means little, when I am near. If you wish to see the night in all it's beauty, all you need do is ask." She stood back up then, finished with her mulling. "So, shall we head back to the inn, or elsewhere?"

The departure of Moyrah's new acquaintances coincided with Vegord's closing hours. Not long after, he let the rest of his patronage know that he'd be shutting his doors and that it was time they finished up their tankards and grabbed their coats. Thorben unsteadily rose to his feet, cloth pressed to his chin, and went to the rack of scarves with his head bowed. Vegord whispered something to him, and the large man briefly glanced back at Moyrah, then returned a nod to Vegord. The toothless man did not have the wits to lay low like Thorben, and sneered at Moyrah on his way out. While usually the loudest voice in the Three Flags, for the remainder of the evening he had sat in his corner and sulked without saying a single word. Out of the two who had challenged her, he was the more defeated man.

When it was Moyrah's turn to leave, Vegord stopped her before she reached the door. "Tonight changed nothing, Moyrah. You know this. It ain't going to get any easier. They ain't going to back down," he said in a low voice. Then he paused, sighing heavily. "It pains me to say it, but perhaps it's for the best if you don't return. . . ."

"Was there ever a chance for me to change anything?" Moyrah replied to Vegord, already knowing the answer. "If you lost the last living person dear to you, as I did, and live to hear others drag their name through the dirt, I wonder what you would do?" This time, she expected an answer in return. "Perhaps, it's best for me not to return to Targos once I leave it..." Moyrah's throat stiffened the moment that the thought, which has been hiding within the depths of her mind for so long, left her mouth. "...But either way, no matter what the fates have in store for me, just know... that you will forever stay in my mind, as one of the few people who treated me with respect around here, and for that I am thankful." She tapped Vegord on his shoulder, hoping that others won't see it, as she headed out of the Tavern.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:57, Tue 23 Feb 2021.

Moyrah did not need to worry about being seen tapping Vegord's shoulder, she realized — the two of them were the only ones left. Vegord took her hand, holding it still for a moment. The innkeeper was a head or so shorter than Moyrah, so he looked up to meet her eyes, but when he did, there was genuine compassion in them. Even if he did only have profit at the forefront of his mind. "The folks here respected your father. Orvar had a good heart. I'm glad he managed to pass it on. I do wish the others wouldn't be so stubborn and knuckleheaded . . . they might have seen it. Take care, Moyrah. These be harsh times."

Feeling at ease due to the absence of her agitators, Moyrah in safety said her final farewell to Vegord... "I will Vegord, Take care of yourself too." ... before hitting the road towards her home. In all honesty, she couldn't wait to get back to the comfort and warmth of her bed, and fish stew, if it didn't rot away already in the pot.

On her way home, Moyrah realized how trully exhausted she was, from tonight, from Targos, from trying to change the whole town's opinion of her, it has dawned on her finally, that even she isn't strong enough to fix all of the problems she was facing. Now, as her own declaration of independence has become official, and blurted out in sudden whirlwind of sadness, it seems as if there wasn't much left to do but to act on it. The silver-lining has finally presented itself though. The group of newcomers, which fates had sent her way, have shown so far that they have well-intentions, and more importantly that they don't intend on staying in Targos much longer. Perhaps they could be the way out of this cursed town, and judging by first impression, they don't seem to mind Moyrah's presence.

After the suspicious murmuring in the tavern, right before she left, Moyrah made sure to be increasingly careful on her way home. Damned people don't react well to losses, and she will not allow her to be victim of another one, anymore.

---

15:16, Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 16 using 1d20+3.  Perception on the way home.

The night was as quiet as they come. Once away from the tavern and the shuffling of the dispersing fishermen's boots only the soft whistle of the cold wind persisted. While at times it was hard to see, the half-orc was certain there weren't any shadows lingering nearby, stalking her. If anyone had any gripes with the results of today's match they weren't acting on it. Yet.

Moyrah walked southward along the dockside. There wasn't much of note in this part of town — racks on racks of salted fish hanging out to dry in the winds. Except they were far from as saturated as they used to be. While most of the fishermen refused to accept it as fact, the rumor of the sea beast had brought the yield even further down, and Targos had just barely enough food to get by to begin with.

The houses here were no more than sheds and cottages. Typically, no-one came to this part of town. Moyrah passed Heilar's, a small, beaten down repurposed boathouse that could hardly hold the heat. After losing his hand he'd made due with what he could, and in addition to gutting and hanging up the fish he'd pivoted to acquiring hooks, nets and fishing rods to sell to the townsfolk, but even that scarcely hung about on the exterior and the quality of the wares was shabby at best. Compared to Triglio's, the town's general store, it wasn't worth sparing the first glance. Naerth kept a close watch on trade now, and there was essentially no chance for someone like Heilar to succeed.

And just beyond, banished to the very edge of Targos, laid the small shack Moyrah and her father had called their home.

The gentle hum of cold wind, flying past her face, might be what Moyrah needed after such a rumbustious night. Thankfully for her, her solitude was finally, seemingly, guaranteed, and a short walk towards her home will finally help her gather her thoughts and relax for a bit. She can feel her body aching from the fight, but the benefits of standing up to her oppressors finally, more than made up for it.

The very position of her shack, compared to rest of the town, mirrored the relationship she had with the locals in a perfect manner. In a perverse way, she even enjoyed the privacy and isolation the position granted her, as who knows what kind of person she would have developed into, if Moyrah and her father spent their life in Targos having to share their backyard with someone, if it can even be called that way. ~Would Orvar even be proud of me after tonight~ Moyrah wondered to herself, approaching her home steadily.

Her father has, for most of the time, preferred a more diplomatic approach while dealing with the locals, and has thus drawn less negative attention to himself. Most of the interaction the two had with rest of the townsfolk, went no further than an occasional wave during fishing, and handing over the fish at the end of a working day. If it wasn't for the occasional travelers, which would stop by their shack from time to time to get their tattoos painted on by Orvar, Moyrah would have, most certainly, grow up without any perspective on interpersonal relationships and communication. Her father's more friendly demeanour towards their surroundings, hasn't however carried much weight when the time came for his execution on the town square, if anything, the sacrifice even brought out a smile, or few.

Now with Orvar dead and gone, it seems as if Moyrah's system of controlling and conforming has went to the grave too. Is it the lack of Orvar's guidance or the rawness of her emotional state, only time will tell, but if tonight was any indication of her state, not much was necessary to provoke a reaction out of her. Shame it costed her, her relationship with Vegord, but if she went back in time, she wouldn't change anything.

In front of Moyrah's shack was a small makeshift wooden smoker, which in happier times, when Icewind Dale wasn't at Auril's mercy, would usually have a fish or two inside of it, skewered, getting smoked slowly at low temperature. The smell of trout fat, evaporating instantaneously upon contact with the embers bellow, is a smell which transported Moyrah vividly to the innocence and happy-go-lucky period of her childhood. Nowadays, with the way living in Targos has been like, a half full pot of unseasoned fish stew on the table, would be a cause for celebration, and thankfully, Moyrah should be having some frozen above the extinguished hearth inside of her house....
This message was last edited by the player at 22:49, Wed 24 Feb 2021.

The interior of the house can best be described as, a claustrophobic's worst nightmare, as if it wasn't obvious by looking at it from the outside. The space is dominated by two beds, at the sides of a rock lined, large hearth, used for both cooking and warmth, which occupied the central position inside of the room. As Moyrah has spent most of the night outside of her home, only few extinguished coals remained on the bottom of the hearth, and relighting the fire will take quite some time, but then again it's much better than trying to fall asleep in an icy room. Thankfully the effects of miss Mallory's spell will make the wait more pleasant at least. ~Even though she builds this prim and proper facade, which can be cold and off-putting at times, a warm and kind soul is hiding underneath~ Moyrah thought to herself.

Hoping to get the fire going before the spell warns off, Moyrah looked at one of the blank parchments laying around on one of the beds, and started crumpling it and soaking it in oil in order to begin working on the fire. Once the first indication of a flame started flickering, the darkness that slowly retreated from the interior, gave away much more information about Moyrah's life than one might be able to observe at first glance. Out of the two beds, one on the left was filled with various parchments, some blank some half filled with various symbols... There was also a small bowl filled, with what was now frozen, red pigment, with a long thin needle trapped inside of it. And as the flames grew brighter and brighter, the runic inscriptions, etched into the wall, seemingly in a hurry, became more and more apparent. They matched both, the symbols inscribed on some of the parchments, and the tattoos on Moyrah's arms which end abruptly at the forearm. The process of copying them is still apparently in progress, and whats important to note, ones which were on the parchment were much much fresher and almost close to be done. Having a more mobile back up will serve Moyrah well, since skipping the town was the definite decision. Once the flames became sufficently strong, Moyrah placed the pot of frozen fish stew on top, anxiously waiting for the meal's arrival.

Morning rose and the fishermen got about with their business. The rumors of the sea monster had many stay in bed, but some still took their chances out in the lake, and if they were to get out there in before noon they had to wake up early to drag their boats out across the ice. Some had them stored away here in the old, run-down boathouses. If the buildings were good for nothing else, most of them had still had a roof and were able to protect the boats from potential snowfall. Many opted to just tie a cover on top instead and leave them outside.

Heilar himself was one of the early risers, though he had no intention of dragging his boat out. Instead he talked with a couple of the fishermen, providing them with some new ropes after they'd apparently torn their last ones.

Loud bangs sounded on Moyrah's door. "Open up! I don't give a single shit if I'm wakin' ya!" Moyrah recognized the voice. It was the toothless man, Gam, who had been responsible for the ruckus at the inn the prior evening.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:44, Fri 05 Mar 2021.

Mallory's illusion of warmth has done just what was needed to help tuck Moyrah away into what felt an eternal slumber. Shame her tranquility had to be interrupted by loud banging and hollering. And as if the interruption wasn't enough, it was coming from the toothless sack of shit, who wagered against her during the last night's fight, among other things. No matter who the party on the other side of the door was, Moyrah would have instinctively grabbed the spear laying next to her bed just in case, but now she had even more reason to do so.

The hand which gripped the harpoon tightly, leaned on the doorframe, so as to stay hidden from the prying eyes beyond the walls of Moyrah's shack. Creaky sound of the old mold scabbed wooden doors sliding followed as Moyrah opened the door just enough so that only one of her eye and cheek are visible, still unsure about what Gam was even looking for here. "What do you want?"

Gam was incessant, and continued his knocking as Moyrah got up and walked to the entrance. BANG! BANG! BANG! "Open the blasted door!" When it finally opened he peered in through the narrow crack. It was enough for Moyrah to see his red, tired eyes. He had stayed up the entire night, perhaps drinking — that much was obvious to any fool.

Instead of saying anything he tossed in a pouch of coins that clattered onto the floor. "That's what I have. Take it." He turned around to some of the fishermen who was preparing their boat by the dock. They were staring up at Moyrah's front entrance. "What in the hells are you lookin' at?" he barked at them and waved for them to turn around. "Mind your own blasted business!"

---

I forgot to mention, but I want you to make an . . . Insight check?  Related to the etchings on the wall.

Immediately after Gam tossed the coinpouch beneath her, Moyrah kneeled down, confused, to inspect it. Upon realizing that it was filled with savings which he wagered the night beore, the last crumbs of compassion she had for this town, urged her to toss the pouch back, but after remembering Gam's words, filled with hate and anger, about her and her father, the remnants of the empathy, lingering desperately at the bottom of her soul, evaporated almost instantaneously. She slammed the door quickly behind her and hid the pouch underneath the mattress of the bed she slept on, Moyrah then grabbed her coat and boots, and headed for a meeting she arranged with Rhydd the night before at the Luskan Arms.

---

Today: Moyrah the Mutt rolled 13 using 1d20+1.  Insight check for etchings.

Should I adjust my character sheet to add more money. Also can I switch to the other thread as Moyrah headed there?

This message was last updated by the player at 19:04, Sat 06 Mar 2021.