Ryvauld game (Melody)

[Lord Foul]

Melody considers the accommodation options.

"That's quite pricey, if I have to pay double for my maid to stay with me... and you say we'll only have the room at night, not during the day? That's far from ideal, but I guess we could work around the obvious problems."

"How about a rate for a whole week then? Two of us, and the curtain. I have a bedroll so that won't be an issue, but some light to work by will be essential, so the curtain will stop us keeping any other... guests awake all night."

If the woman is prepared to offer a reasonable deal Melody will accept it, if only to ensure she has the space and lack of interruption necessary for scroll-writing. It sounds like she'll need to do this at night, but they can pitch her tent during the day for her to catch up on reverie, with Goldthorn guarding.

[Arbuthnott]

She lets out a breath as she considers you. “Enjoy your food; I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She apparently resumes her work serving the other tables, but you don’t miss her spending several minutes at the bar talking to Wilf.

As you eat, Goldthorn sits silently throughout your monologue with a thoughtful expression. After eating in silence, she attracts your attention by tapping the table, and then mimes holding something with two hands up to her eye and twitching her index finger.

After sitting back from your empty plates for several minutes, the woman returns to your table with a tight smile. “Alright, lets try this out. A flat fourteen gold pieces for ten nights, for the both of you plus one of the curtains. In return, you make sure to eat at least one meal a day here, and you make sure to tell people that you’re staying here and that you’re impressed with both the food and accommodation. How does that sound?”

[Lord Foul]

Melody takes her time considering the offer... for effect.

"Very well. Fourteen gold for the week, and we get a decent thick curtain, some candles and one of the tables and a chair can remain for my use during the night. We will certainly dine here each day if the food is always this good, and I will be sure to spread the word of your excellent hospitality... so long as it remains excellent, of course."

"I suppose I should have asked how much the meal costs," she adds, before reaching for her money pouch.

Melody pays up and they continue their meal. At Goldthorn's mimicry Melody looks quizzical for a moment and then says: "Ah, you want a crossbow! Of course; an excellent choice. I think we can easily stretch to that."

Once finished dining, Melody asks the woman how long they have until they get the room, and if she knows of any good reliable vendors of maps, quills, inks and parchment, clothing and weapons, particularly bows and crossbows.

If there is ample time left to kill we will go out and have another look around the area closest around the 'inn', to get a feel for the various stalls and wares on offer in the vicinity, and find a decent place to set up our tent for a reverie break. If any of the vendors recommended by the woman happen to be nearby, we'll take a look at those as well.

[Arbuthnott]

The meal ends up costing you 6 silver for both. At your query, the woman shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t bother counting the time. Second raining lasts an hour, and your room’ll be ready an hour again, so keep an eye on the sky and add a bit.”

“Not sure if he does quills and inks, but Cornwauld came back into town half a week ago; the number of books he lugs around with him, he’s bound to have a map or two. I get most of my clothes from Marisse, but that’s only because she’s next door; don’t think she’s left once in nine years for fear of losing her spot. And if you want weapons I promised I’d mention Vandrin. He’s got one of the permanent spots, built a forge and everything. You’ll probably get better craft from one of the temporaries, though; Vadrin does more repairs than quality products, if you know what I mean.”

Leaving the inn, there are three stalls immediately outside: one with racks and racks of different colourful clothes, presumably run by Marisse; one with a thick cloth ceiling casting dark shadows over large cages, the nearest one containing a prowling cat; and one with a scowling older man shouting loudly into the crowd about his ripe bananas.

(I’ll pause there just in case you’re interested in stopping at any of these, otherwise I’ll expound upon your exploration while you enjoy your holiday)

[Lord Foul]

Melody asks for directions to Cornwauld's pitch, and also Vandrin's forge.

She takes a brief look at Marisse's clothes stall, but she is not interested in bright colours. She wants to get Goldthorn a more practical adventurer's outfit, in muted shades that will blend in well.

Not interested in fruit or wild animals, they continue to look around. Melody isn't desperate to buy anything immediately, as she intends to use much of the first night to detect magic, try to identify her potions, and mend the hole in her armour. If that doesn't take the whole night she can use the rest for reverie.

(I'm assuming writing a scroll will take pretty much the whole night, so that can wait until the next night, giving us another day to find inks, quills and parchment.)

[Arbuthnott]

She happily gives you directions to both, Cornwauld’s being the nearer of the two and both being in a similar direction.

As you wander through the streets towards your destination, you pass by a wide variety of stalls selling different merchandise. The choice is simply staggering, far more than you would be used to even from your privileged upbringing. It is while your attention is on the available produce, easily parting the crowd before you, that you come upon an older man standing resolutely in your path, dressed in worn linen and apparently unarmed. You smell something unpleasantly sour on his breath, and he sways slightly as he stands, although his feet are firmly planted and his wrinkled face is set in a scowl.

“Hey now, what’s that creature doing with you, elf? Them wizards rid us of their like years ago,” he spits out. “You think you can just waltz your way here bringing whatever scum you like and that’s gonna be okay?”

[Lord Foul]

Melody reaches into her pouch as she appraises the man before her, her hand grasping the smooth round pebble.

"Actually, yes, I was rather thinking it would be just fine. After all, it wouldn't do to waltz on one's own, would it?"

She mutters the syllables of a spell in a low sound like the grinding of rocks, and her right hand is briefly wreathed in mystic vapours, turning grey and hardening into a thing of stone.

"We wizards, as you so eloquently put it, rid you of their like so that they might serve us. Now either stand aside and slither back into whatever sewer you came from, or come and find out what else we can do."

"Make your mind up; I don't have all day."

(I believe I now have a magic weapon so should be considered armed for purposes of AoO; +6 to hit, 1d6 +7 damage)

[Arbuthnott]

The man’s eyes narrow at your confrontational tone. “You think you’re fooling anyone with that sword? I bet you’re too small to even use it. And no armour!? Pah!” He makes a show of looking you up and down with an expression more vile than simple hostility before spitting at your feet.

“Think your time’s too good for me, eh? We’ll just see about that,” and with a small sway, he lurches forward with his fist leading.

(Should you wish, you get an AoO)

[Lord Foul]

Oh yes, this fellow needs to be taught a lesson, and anyone else watching too. Melody is in no doubt about her vulnerability (almost) alone in a strange city, and still carrying a wound. She wants to let these people know that she is not one to be messed with, whether or not she draws her sword.

Taking a nimble sidestep to avoid his clumsy blow, she unleashes her fist of stone into his face.

[Arbuthnott]

The drunken man stumbles as he falls past where you once stood, his fist swiping at the empty air. He continues to stumble forward as you quickly lash out with your fist, the sickening crack of stone on bone ringing through the air (13 dmg*).

Coming to an unsteady stop, the man reaches up to touch his head with a hand that comes away bloody. “What the…” he makes out before the side of his face begins to droop and his left eye starts to flutter uncontrollably as his legs give out, dropping his seizing body face first into the dusty rock.

A woman in the crowd screams at the display, backing away as she shields her daughter from you. Three people rush to the drunken man’s convulsing body, while another two run towards you before backing away from Goldthorn’s toothy grin and polished dagger. One of them, a taller bald man with a well-built frame and a mace at his hip, holds his hands up in a soothing motion, while the scowling woman besides him moves a hand to her sword hilt and eyes you both warily.

The bald man takes a step forward, still holding both empty hands in front of him. “Peace. What happened here? None of us saw the initial altercation.”