conversations: human
conversations:  You're a motley crew, that's for certain.
  
  The Count of Zapata has a reputation - that of a ruthless skinflint, a mercenary merchant with a heart of stone and a mind - and mien - harder than diamond.  He gets what he wants, and though he often plays fast and sharp, he always keeps to the letter of his word; be sure you read carefully, of course, before you sign.
  
  You didn't, but then you're all desperate.
  
  None of you know each other ... yet.  You've all signed on because you've got singular skills - and now, the Count has need of them.  You've no right to refuse, and your promised reward - whatever it might be - would be enough to entice you even if you could.
  
  You've a date and an address:
  
  The 10th of February.  Saint Seleban avenue, silver quarters, before the second bell.
  
  It's a tall, brick front, with high rippled windows of mage-forged crystal.  There's no crest, just a faceplate with the address and a bell pull.
  
   
   Spoiler: Characters 
  Pick one.  You can write your particulars - what's below is a suggestion and mechanics.  All are relatively simple, iconic, and homebrewed.  Do whatever makes sense with it.
  
  First to post claiming a character OOC gets the sheet.  Post IC ASAP.
  
   
   Spoiler: ______________________, hulking, brain-dead orc barbarian! 
   SHEET 
  
  BAD KARMA IF YOU DON’T:
   Speak in rhyme. You’re not stupid, but your character is, and rhyming slows down your thoughts so you’ll think more his speed, not yours.
   Get into fights whenever they’re easy to get into!
  
  GOOD KARMA IF YOU:
   Kill somebody in one hit (RAAARGH!).
   Break something (doors, tables, etc.)
  
  YOU CAN MAKE STUFF UP IF:
   You succeed at a Survival roll to Track stuff (“two came this way, today; one ate cheese, the other had bad knees.”)
  
  YOU ROCK AT:
   Killing folks. Seriously, you’re good at that. It’s kinda’ your thing.
   Tracking enemies (you can literally sniff’em out like a dog)
   Anything involving being made of muscles (climbing, jumping, swimming, arm wrestling, being hit over the head with bar stools, etc.)
   
  
   
   Spoiler: ________________________________, vampy, sinister dark elven assassin! 
   SHEET 
  
  BAD KARMA IF YOU DON’T:
   Flip your hair, purse your lips, shake your hips, or otherwise vamp it
  up every time you talk. Think porn star, without the porn.
  
  GOOD KARMA IF YOU:
   Successfully use Bluff or Diplomacy to get someone to do what you want him to.
   Successfully kill somebody without having to fight them (from hiding, or by getting them off their guard, etc.).
  
  YOU CAN MAKE STUFF UP IF:
   You succeed at a Bluff or Diplomacy roll (“Yup! I’m really the lost princess of Atlantis! Yup!”).
  
  YOU ROCK AT:
   Lying to, seducing, and manipulating people with social skills
   Sneaking and hiding
   Stabbing people in the dark, or while they’re thinking you’re harmless, or as they come in for a kiss ... really just stabbing people.
   
  
   
   Spoiler: ___________________, know-it-all gnomish scholar-adventurer! 
   SHEET 
  
  BAD KARMA IF YOU DON’T:
   Become obsessively curious about anything you don’t understand
   Try to come up with a solution for every problem – even ones you can’t fix.
  
  GOOD KARMA IF YOU:
   Pull something off when nobody thought you could.
   Figure out or make up a plot point that helps the whole party (“I knew it!”).
  
  YOU CAN MAKE STUFF UP IF:
   You succeed at a Knowledge check (“these things have a soft spot at the back of their heads,” “this is clearly a statue of the cult of Hullabaloo, which worships smelly cheese”).
  
  YOU ROCK AT:
   Knowing stuff. All kinds of stuff. You can do dang near anything, in a pinch!
   Being a tactician – you tend to holler stuff out in combat that annoys everyone, but it’s generally pretty accurate.
   Locating and disarming traps.
   Sneaking about – you’re little, and that’s an advantage!
   
  
   
   Spoiler: _______________, holier-than-thou, pamphlet-waving, proselytizing priest! 
   SHEET 
  
  BAD KARMA IF YOU DON’T:
   Preach about how whatever is going on is probably related to, or in the service of, or against your God, ethics, religion, particular spiritual text, etc. (“praise Hieronious” and the like count).
   Judge people loudly and publicly for what you consider their moral lapses or ineptitudes whenever there’s an opportunity.
  
  GOOD KARMA IF YOU:
   Heal someone. It lets you feel superior, and you’re into that.
   Manage to get somebody to convert, or say “praise ____,” or in some way make somebody admit that you’re right and they’re wrong.
  
  YOU CAN MAKE STUFF UP IF:
   You succeed at a Heal check. “This man’s leg will never recover!” might mean he ends up lame for life. Ow.
   You roll a successful Knowledge (religion) check.
  
  YOU ROCK AT:
   Magic. You deity gives you spells. If you got it, flaunt it.
   Healing. Making people healthier and feel better is a great way to convince them that yes, you really are better than them and therefore they should probably worship your god, because he can really take care of business. Remember, this is back when there were lots of gods running around, so proving yours is effective is kind of a priest’s job.
   
  
  
  If you really wanna, make your own - 3rd level, 36 point buy, keep in "magical renaissance" in feel.  Tweak any way you like.
  
  GO!
   
conversations: JanusJones:
conversations: human
conversations:  Borscht strides up the steps and stands before the glass, taking a moment to check his reflection to make sure his hair remains submissive to this morning's regimen of five different cantrips and half a tin of wax obtained at great risk of life and limb from a candle golem (because, as he reminds himself daily, he's worth it). Satisfied, he turns, strikes an intimidating pose, and thunders,  "Sinners!"  A couple of heads turn, across the street, and he adds impatiently,  "No, not you. We'll get to you later. I have lackeys for that."  Addressing himself once more, in a slightly more modulated pitch, to the other mercenaries, he declares,  "I see before me a trio of lost souls—yea, lost, I tell you!—as piteous and forlorn as ever I did see. Yet I counsel you, do not give up hope, my brothers in arms! Do not, for there is still the chance for redemption, as long as you abide by the three great virtues of Kvass: Compassion, the murder of other sentient beings for personal gain, and good fashion sense! For Kvass!" 
conversations: Plerumque:
conversations: human
conversations:  Nodding fervently, Benzordian Tentacostles pushes his horn-rimmed spectacles back into place. He mumbles something quickly, quietly, under his breath, and his nose twitches as his eyes flit left to right, left to right, left to right, as if reading an invisible script in mid-air.
  " Jolly good! If there's one thing the faithful of Kvass know, it's how to dress to aggress! "
  The red-haired gnome sizes up the building before which they stand. He judges the angles of the window lintels and the height of the parapet poignards, uses his thumb to scale the door frame to the wall thickness, and finally settles on nodding at the bellstring.
  " Friend of mine, please do forgive me- but could you toll the ringer before second bell? I am prepared to admit I am slightly height impaired in this circumstance. Also, I adore what you've done with your hair. " He smiles at the priest, though the smile never truly touches his eyes.
conversations: cameronpants:
conversations: human
conversations:  The door opens as the assembled bunch to reveal a rather squat, homely woman in a starch-stiff uniform of black and white.  The apron is frilly and spotless, but her hands are thick and calloused.  She eyes them as though at a market, appraising fish that has clearly gone off.
  
    "The maahstah wilt see thee now.  Wipe thy feet at the doah, an' no touching ... anything."    She sniffs at the hulking, wet, stinking orc that shoulders in first, huffing and snuffling about.  He reminds you, if nothing else, of some sort of mastiff - one of those obscenely huge dogs that's all elbows and muscle and heavy, matted fur.
  
  The library has walls that reach a good twenty feet, all of it - every inch - a shelf with books.  There are ladders - two, actually - that reach the full distance, wheeled to allow them to be moved about.  The roof is of the same crystal as the windows, and the heavy grey sky begins to thicken with impending rain as you make your way in.
  
  The man behind the desk is little more than a nearly horizontal, bald pate.  He's carefully inspecting a document on his desk - a vast expanse of dark, polished wood - as a quill, apparently obeying some unspoken command, hovers above the parchment, scribbling the occasional note or dipping itself in a nearby inkwell.
  
  He doesn't look up.  It's not clear he even knows you're there.
conversations: JanusJones:
conversations: human
conversations:  The woman in the lurid dress walks towards Borscht and places a long-nailed finger on his chest.  "Baby, that's no way to speak to a lady. And that's a real shame, because I want you to treat me like one."  Scarlett Skye coos.
  
  Then the aproned woman opens the door and Scarlett shrugs - ambles into the building, stands in front of the desk, and raps it smartly with her knuckles.  "Excuse me,"  she scathes,  "But I've just got an  aching  need for a bit of service in this establishment." 
conversations: Eonas:
conversations: human
conversations:  The man holds up a finger, nose and spectacles still pressed to parchment.  He finishes an embellishment with the quill in his hand, and the animated quill adds an underscore.
  
  When he looks up, he looks down his gnose at you (gnome joke!).
  
   "You are the service."   He says this matter of factly.  The documents are your terms of service.   "I have been given power of attorney to arrange this affair for your employer.  A year ago he came into possession of a singluar property in an estate auction; the assessors sent to itemize his purchase disappeared.  The estate is in a removed location, and travel is inconvenient; you will go and investigate the assessors' disappearance and make a cursory evaluation of the worth of the holdings."   Here he nods at the other gnome.
  
   "My employer will expect regular correspondence.  You will use these."   He slides across a stack of envelopes bound in twine.   "Your whereabouts, any discoveries, etc."   He slides across a map, as well.   "You should be able to achieve the journey within a week, which is when the first envelope is dated.  Simply sign, seal, and it will deliver itself." 
  
  He looks over the party.   "You may speak with the butler about your supplies and any other needs."   At this, a rangy elf appears at the door.  It's clear the audience is at an end.
conversations: JanusJones:
conversations: human
conversations:  Benzordian picks up the bundle of envelopes, hefts them for a moment in his hand, then tucks them into his vest.  Remember to check those out later , he thinks to himself. Next he picks up the map and tucks it under his arm.
  
  " Thank you, sir. " He says graciously to the arbiter before turning to the manservant elf. He moves a few paces to the door and removes a note from his pocket. He hands it to the elf. " I have come prepared with a list of plausible necessities to our journey. Ignore everything notated with a crescent or diamond, as those were for the potential of having our work here in the city. As for the pack animals, anything Devonian will be acceptable, as will anything of the local Cataran stock. Please, nothing from east of Hecceles as I am quite allergic. " At this, he smiles at the man, then leaves to wait by the front door for the others.
conversations: cameronpants:
conversations: human
conversations:  A few steps behind Benzordian, Borscht reaches out to the elf, grips him firmly by the shoulders, and stares into his eyes.  "Do not concern yourself with such trifles,"  he cautions sagely.  "Kvass will provide. Concern yourself only with your sinner's soul. Buy yourself a nice plume, that you may be redeemed."  He gives the elf a final fatherly shake, not letting his several hundred years' comparative youth impair his paternal air, and joins Benzordian by the door.
conversations: Plerumque:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler: Karma for Scene and Aside: 
  2 Karma for Borscht, for being horridly obnoxious!
  
  1 for Scarlett, for being vampy (and campy, for that matter).
  
  1 point of Bad Mojo for Benzordian, for failing to profess knowledge of the estate, the locale, or even investigate the map.  😉
  
  I think I'm dropping the big ape.  Y'all are in this as a trio.  Interact!
   
  
  
  The journey is long and swampy.  These are oft-ignored lands, and the road is ill-kept.  There's not much out this way - only peat farmers and some scattered tribes have the means and desire to live in this muck.  Why anyone would build an estate out this direction becomes a topic of discussion for your long, saddle-weary days.
  
  The insects are so thick you find yourselves wrapping scarves around your mouths and, on occasion, even your eyes.  The nights are oppressive, the heat so thick you could almost cut it.  You feel like your drinking the air, and it's no colder than your moist, humid innards.
  
  In short, it's wretched.
  
  Those in heavier armor find themselves worn out (Fort save or fatigued for those wearing medium or heavier armor).  Those without are merely sick and exhausted.
  
  You're resting the third night out.  You should be there in the morning.
  
  Camp.
conversations: JanusJones:
conversations: human
conversations:  Spoiler: Fort Save 
  [roll]d20+5[roll]
   
  
  Borscht pulls out a monogrammed pillow from his pack and plumps it a few times with his hands.  "What?"  he asks.  "Beauty sleep and all. You know, Kvass' paladins can actually fall if they go into battle with bed hair. From those to whom much is given, much is expected."  Borscht strips off his armor, then settles in on his bedroll. He flaps a hand languorously at his comrades.  "Oh, and I'll take care of your pain in the morning. See if any of you can scare up a conversion during the night—it'll be more effective." 
conversations: Plerumque:
conversations: human
conversations:  It's hard to unstirrup languorously but Scarlett manages it.  "Oh, you boys must be so  stiff  from your long, hard ride. Don't you want a woman's touch - to help you relax?"  she says, flattening her bedroll on the ground beside Borcht's.
conversations: Eonas:
conversations: human
conversations:  Borscht rises irritatingly early the next morning, vaulting to his feet as if he's about to burst into a song-and-dance routine. Instead he runs a hand through his hair, beams a lighthouse grin at the rest of the world, and conjures a half-bucket of icy water above the heads of his layabout companions.  "Up!"  he proclaims in a tone characteristic of one used to having the universe bend over backwards to do their bidding.  "Time to go get mysteriously disappeared!" 
conversations: Plerumque: