conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Bulwer: Spoiler 
  Since it's just the two of us, I don't think we need more than one thread. Put all your dice rolls, OOC questions, and any crunch stuff in a spoiler.
   
  
  
  Delem and his wife sold rugs. Most were rag rugs, made from the discards of the poor. They were made by rag collectors and their wives, and then sold for two pennies apiece. They had to charge that, they said to Delem, who then confided it to Wolfgang, because it cost one penny to buy a bundle of rags on the streets. Delem sold them for five pennies apiece, and, on occasion, three for a silver. When he got to that part in his conversation (he only had the one), he'd toss in a little bit of a whisper and a knowing wink-- "or," he'd say, and pause. "Three... for a  silver. " Wink.
  
  Wolfgang, like Delem, his wife (Arlen), their three daughters (Milani, Sivanah, and Lissala, aged 6, 7, and 13, all named for goddesses), slept on rugs. Not the nice ones, of course. Rag rugs. There were two wagons full of them, each pulled by two mules. There was a third wagon that housed the food, a locked chest, Delem's crossbow, and two front-facing seats. That one was pulled by Mara, their horse, and it was usually in the lead.
  
  They had been on the road for two weeks at this point. In each town they passed through, the pile of rugs had shrunk somewhat, but the bulk of the cargo was bound for Arrenford, a small but growing city about a week upriver from the valley of Wolfgang's youth. Arrenford was the home of several good markets for the merchant to sell his more artistic and expensive wares.
  
  Arrenford was still a few days away when Arlen, who was riding up front with Wolfgang, noticed something. "That bush just moved. I think I saw a pheasant." In her voice was the subtle suggestion that perhaps someone might want to eat some fresh poultry for supper instead of porridge.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Volos: The Elven Magus, while glad for the work, was starting to find Delem's personality grating. Spending night after night on ragged rag rugs didn't help much either. Atleast Wolfgang had the comfort of his own bedroll to help minimize the annoyance. He had spent the last day in a bit of a trance, thinking more on magic and new applications for it rather than the possibility of easy poultry. Even so, Arlen had been a welcome change when compared to her uncharismatic husband. He gave her a knowing nod while drawing his longbow and notching an arrow to the bowstring. " Silence. " Wolfgang peered into the brush; watching, listening, and waiting for a sign that there was a creature there. If it was indeed a bird, he'd take it. If it was something else... well he would just have to wait and see.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  Perception  (1d20+2)[ 18 ] 
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Bulwer: As the cart moves closer to the bush, something shifts again, backing away from the road. Not a bird, clearly-- a person, most likely.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Volos: The Magus focuses his aim upon the retreating figure, ready to fire his longbow at any given moment. " Halt! Surrender or be known a threat. " His words, loud enough to alert Delem, carried a heavy and serious tone. If the figure did not answer or made any quick movements then Wolfgang would let his arrow fly.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  Longbow Attack  (1d20+6)[ 3 ](9) 
  Longbow Damage  (1d8)[ 1 ] 
  Critical Confirm  (1d20+6)[ 19 ](25) 
  Critical Damage  (2d8)[ 12 ] 
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Bulwer: The person says nothing, seeking only to remain unseen. Wolfgang's arrow strikes the ground a few feet to the left of him, and the hiding figure bursts into a run. It's a dark-haired man, about the size of a human or elf. He has an unmarked round wooden shield on his back, and carries a hand crossbow.
  
  Before Wolfgang can aim another arrow, he is out of sight.
  
  Arlen clings to Wolfgang's arm and whispers at him hoarsely. "What was that? Are there bandits?"
  
  She lets go as Delem approaches from his resting place on one of the rear wagons. "What happened?" he asks.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Volos: The magus slings his bow over his shoulder, unsheathing his ornate scimitar while his eyes continue to scan the immediate area and his ears remain alert for any curious sounds. " There is one man, perhaps more, hiding in the bushes. The one I shot at fled that way. " Wolfgaing points out where he saw the man run. " He was armed with a small crossbow. We should take care, he may not be alone. "
  
   
   Spoiler 
  Perception  (1d20+2)[ 6 ] 
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Bulwer: No one speaks for a moment, as the three of you scan the woods. No further movement is apparent, and Delem shrugs, heading back to get the mules moving again.
  
  Arlen whispers to you, "Do you think it might have been an owlbear? I hear they're dangerous."
  
   
   Spoiler 
   (1d20)[ 10 ]  (1d20)[ 1 ] 
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Volos: Wolfgang feels the urge to give Arlen a long hard look, as to ask if she is seriously asking him such a query. He resists, knowing that dropping his guard right now could be a foolish mistake. " It was not an owlbear, it was a man. My eyes are attuned to pierce the shadows, I know what I saw. " Wolfgang sits, but also draws his scimitar. He inspects the edge, oiling the blade and maintaining its masterfully crafted form. There is not a single moment when he isn't listening or watching the sides of the road. The training he recieved as a magus made such maintaince second nature to him. If nothing else occured he would be content with being on alert till they needed to stop to rest the mules and themselves.