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Thread: The Mark

  1. #11
    Trephine is curious and looks closely. She points to the silver piece from what she considers to be a safe distance.

    "What is it, what does it do?"

    She's getting more excited.

    "It bites? Who will it bite? Will it bite me?"

    She gasps.

    "If it bites me I'll have to kill it."

    She pauses.

    "Maybe not. I might like that. Can it be tamed? Where did you get it? I want to know everything!"

  2. #12
    Fleetwood leans closer.

    "From what I was told, it's a tiny little mimic-like creature that makes itself look like money. A vengful wizard either created them, mutated them or summoned them to act as last ditch guardians of his hoard."

    Fleetwood glances around to make sure the serving wenches aren't within earshot.

    "This one is under an enchantment to stay sleeping until it hears the whistle. Only dogs and elves can hear the whistle, and even then they can't tell where the sound is coming from."

    Fleetwood palms the coin.

    "My plan was to give it or slip it into some yahoo's pocket or gambling pile, sit back, blow the whistle and watch them dance."

    "Shall we try it?"

  3. #13
    Her mouth forms an "O"

    "That's so pretty. Giving money away that isn't money."

    She looks both ways in overblown conspiratorial zeal and then says "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

  4. #14
    "Excellent. I knew I would have fun tonight."

    Fleetwood scans the crowd. He sees what appears to be a nobleman's son drinking with his friends. He notes the number (six) of expensive bottles of Dwarvish wine that litter the table. He sees the fop call to the barmaid for another bottle. She rolls her eyes and heads to the back room for the bottle.

    "Be right back." Fleetwood says as he slides over to the bar. He catches the barmaid coming out with the wine and orders an ale. She gives him the ale and Fleetwood pays her.

    "Miss me?" Fleetwood asks Trephine.

    "Now if I read those fellows correctly, they will demand their change for the wine instead of giving it to the hardworking barmaid as a tip."

    Fleetwood watches the barmaid pass over the silver piece he used to pay for the ale.

    Fleetwood holds up the whistle.

    "Care to give it a try?"

  5. #15
    Trephine is smiling as Fleetwood saunters back and greets her.

    "Missed you terribly. Don't know what I've ever done without you."

    She links her arm through his and blows on the whistle, leaning her head on his shoulder to watch.

    "Do you think there will be screaming? That would be perfect."

  6. #16
    There is a crash as the fop lands on the table, scattering empty bottles, chicken bones, playing cards, and coins everywhere. The table collapses and the stricken man rolls around on the floor like he is on fire.

    Which is what his companions must have thought because they start throwing their drinks on the poor fool.


    People nearby scramble out of the way, some making signs to ward off evil spirits.

    The hubbub of the crowd turns to raucous laughter as the fop strips off his pants and starts jumping up and down on them.

    The bouncers at this point grab the pantless fool and drag him screaming outside.

    "That will teach the boy two very important life lessons. Always tip generously and change your codpiece every day."

  7. #17
    Trephine takes out some opera glasses and watches the scene with an expert's love for something well done.

    "Look...right there, did you see that? Broken glass. That's so nice. I love this part, right there. Look, betrayal. Humiliation. It's so beautiful. I...I..."

    She puts the glasses away and she has tears in her eyes. "I always cry at these sorts of things. It's just...just...there are no words."

    She closes her eyes and tilts her head back with a completely replete smile.

    Then her head bolts forward and her eyes widen even more. She says
    "There's only one thing that could make this any better. Something on fire. Can we light something on fire? It's not art until something's burning!"

  8. #18
    "Ah well...the fire in your eyes is enough for me."

    Beads of sweat appear on Fletwood's brow.

    "How about some Gnomish firewater, or, or some Longbottom pipeweed..."

    "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"

  9. #19
    Trephine's fingers start to itch for setting fires and her eyes splash through with mischief.

    "Wait here."

    She slips through the crowd, demurely excusing herself from each excited patron that she encounters, looking all the world like a woman trying to escape all the crass and loud rabble.

    Hardly anyone pays the awkward child notice.

    Her hands slip and steady, ease and excuse, and she leans over the bar, asking to buy a bottle of gnomish firewater. Snagging a napkin she waits and pays graciously and pretends not to notice when she's shortchanged. Nothing but a clueless smile marks her brow.

    She steps away into an easy shadow and slips the cork from the brew, twists the napkin into a handy wick and slides it into the neck of the bottle.

    Lighting it deftly from a stolen flint and steel and tinder pouch she got along the way, she places it back on the shelf, right next to the other bottles. Lots of them. Then she grabs a twin with the other hand and heads back to the table.

    She greets Fleetwood and hands him a packet of Longbottom pipeweed and a bottle of Gnomish firewater.

    She sits back and grins, watching the bar intently.


  10. #20

    Fleetwood watches in horror as the flame wicks its way into the bottle.


    Fleetwood jumps behind Trephine just as the telltale green explosion from Gnomish firewater goes off.

    BANG! BANG! BANG! Secondary explosions rock the liquor display as patrons fall over themselves in a frenzy trying to find the door.

    One drunk elf is yelling at a human whose clothes are on fire to "Drop, stop, and roll"...or something like that.

    A half-orc near the front crashes through the window making an alternative exit.

    One unlucky halfling has become a doormat complete with footprints due to the crush of patrons fleeing.

    The bartender and two barmaids beat at the flames with aprons and brooms, cursing.

    Fleetwood, pale as a ghost, pops the cork on the unignited bottle of firewater, slams a drink, and puts some pipeweed into a unicorn-shaped pipe with shaking hands.

    "Got a light?"

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