The elderly lady has three spools of purple, navy blue, and gray. She is knitting a blanket or something similar.
The lady doesn't seem to look up when you speak, Sylvan.
The objects around the wagon are random and scattered. There is no theme or similarity between the whole lot. Some appear magical, some are not. These appear to be items the traders have either found or traded over the years.
The lady sighs and looks up at Briars questions. "That hourglass." She holds out her hand, asking to see it. "We found a recently deceased elderly gentleman. That is all I know." Next to her chair is a large, wide-mouthed glass jar. It is full of a strange milky liquid with random bits of herbs and other things floating in it. Is that an eyeball? She opens the jar, and a putrid smell wafts out. She dips the hourglass into the liquid, shakes off the excess, and quickly closes the lid afterwards. She hands the hourglass back out for Briar to take in exchange for the coins.
She goes back to her knitting...
The man listens and nods, a small smile not leaving his face. "Ahh. The people want us gone. It happens from time too time. We were planning on leaving in a few days, but we can pack up sooner if you are willing to do us a favor, that is." He grabs a bottle of wine by he chair and takes a drink of it. He holds its out gestating for Alyria to grab and take a drink.
He motions around the bonfire. " All the favor is... is for you to join us tonight for some music, wine, and a tale I wish to tell."
The other traders are gathering around the bonfire; there are about 15 all together. You see no children in their group. Only adults ages 20 and older. The woman is dressed similar to the other ladies you have met so far, while the men are dressed in simple pants and many layers of multicolored shirts, vests, and coats.
"That sounds reasonable. I love fireside tales, and I look forward to this. Now, if only all of our companions paid you the respect due to a guest. Please, allow us a moment to gather everyone."
OOC:
Ashtar will take leave to fetch the others in the company.
Handing over the hourglass to the woman and realizing the tabaxi spoke a language she knew but was not among the more common, Briar looked to him and beamed. Seeming to give actual consideration to the words spoken, she paused a moment, nodded her head, and shrugged before responding in like tongue. "Without shadow, light means nothing. A seed may begin to grow under one planter, but truly flourish in the hands of another." To emphasize her statement, she pulled a pinch of seeds from one of the pouches on her belt and held it aloft, encouraging the life within to flourish; a bouquet of wildflowers burst into petals in her palm.
She grinned again and turned back tot he woman, readying the coins in her unoccupied hand, but hesitated at the sight of the quick bath her new item just received. "Ummm, what was that? Why did you do that? That looks gross. That smells gross. I don’t want that on it." Her wrinkled nose portrayed a reluctance to touch the item after it had been washed in the unidentified mixture. Folding her fingers around the previously proffered coin, Briar’s large eyes showed a childlike sadness as she stared at the hourglass with her lips pursed together. "Will it hurt me?"
OOC:
Druidcraft to make the seeds bloom in her hand. She is clearly scared of the weird jar.
This old hag sure does little to avoid the accusation of witchcraft... Eye of the Storm thought glumly, as he leaned in the door with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. As for his fairy companion, he had hoped for a little more caution. But that was not in the nature of the fey, he supposed..
As much as she enjoyed revelry and merriment, a shiver worked up her spine. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly causing it, but something wasn’t right about this. They’d happily leave if we joined? And why were the women so determined to distract us?
Upon being offered the bottle, she took it and gave the mouth of it a sniff. Was this a foreign wine? Raising it, she asked, "And what do I have the pleasure of drinking?" Before hearing the answer, she turned up the bottle, taking two gulps before handing it back.
OOC:
Oh I hate that I chose a reckless character now… I’m screaming at my girl like don’t do that!!
And the difference is that a wench is a term usually for a female who sleeps around, especially for money. A rake is a term for a male who essentially sleeps around and never settles down or courts women.
Adding an investigation check in case sniffing it tells me something about what I just drank.
Couth still in his priestly mode drinks very little. He isn't much of a dancing and at best can be captured to chat with. He has to berate his mind constantly there to keeping himself from indulging. He seems a bit more alert.
The bottle smells like a cheap red wine. The label on the side of the wine bottle says it was made by a Wizard of the Wines. It does not taste funky at all. It has a vibrant ruby hue and unfolds on the palate with juicy grape flavors, making it an approachable and enjoyable choice for casual occasions. With notes of cherries and plums, it offers a smooth finish. Still knitting, the lady replies. "The cleansing fluid is safe. It removes any evil spirits or curses the item might hold." She takes the coins and plops them into small chest hidden by a blanket by her chair.
Ashtar walks into the shop, asking Briar and Eye of the Storm to join them at the fire.
OOC:
@Redamancy Do you plan on still trying to swipe the coin? If so, roll slight of hand.
Briar collected her new trinket but instead of immediately tucking it into a pouch for safekeeping, she held it out at arms length, still displeased with the "cleansing fluid" situation. Following the lead of Ashtar and Eye of the Storm, Briar made her way out of the wagon, though not without making an impulsive swipe at the coin.
Briar walks out with the coin sneakily in her hand. Eye of the Storm, Briar, and Ashtar all head over to the bonfire.
The traders are all getting comfortable on multicolored blankets on the grass. They hand a few over to Couth and Aylria to relax with as well.
A few of the trades have old and well-used instruments nearby; once settled, they begin to play a slower song filled with sadness.
Stanimir
Once the rest of the party is settled, the old man fills his mouth with wine, then spits into the fire. The flames turn from orange to green. As they dance and sway, a dark shape appears in the bonfire's core.
"We come from an ancient land whose name is long forgotten—a land of kings. Our enemies forced us from our homes, and now we wander the lost roads."
The dark shape in the fire takes the form of a man being knocked from his horse, a spear piercing his side.
He continues. "One night, a wounded soldier staggered into our camp and collapsed. We nursed his terrible injury and quenched his thirst with wine. He survived. When we asked him who he was, he wouldn't say. All he wanted was to return home, but we were deep in the land of his enemies. We took him as one of our own and followed him back toward his homeland. His enemies hunted him. They said he was a prince, yet we didn't give him up, even when their assassins fell upon us like wolves."
Deep in the bonfire, you see the dark figure standing with sword drawn, fighting off a host of shadowy shapes. "This man of royal blood fought to protect us, as we protected him. We bore him safely to his home, and he thanked us. He said, 'I owe you my life. Stay as long as you wish, leave when you choose, and know that you will always be safe here.'"
The figure in the dancing fire vanquishes its final foe, then disperses in a cloud of smoke and embers.
The music stops, and his face becomes a somber mask. "A curse has befallen our noble prince, turning him into a tyrant. We alone have the power to leave his domain. We've traveled far and wide to find heroes such as yourselves to end our dread lord's curse and put his troubled soul to rest. "We ask for your help to save our ruined Lord. Our sage, Madam Eva, knows all. Will you return to our home with us and speak with her?"
The tale was tragic, but one that ended with hope, Ashtar’s favorite type of story, but… Return home? It’s fortunate that the favor was merely to listen to the story.
Ashtar’s face softened. "That was a wonderful yarn, well woven by a master of the weave, I thank you for sharing it with us. Where is home, exactly? How far from here?"
Pocketing her prizes gleefully, Briar punctuated her steps away from the old woman’s wagon with a series of bouncing prances. Arriving just in time for the old man’s tale, she parked herself near enough the bonfire to watch the crackling tapestry with awe. Enraptured by what she thought was going to be a story of adventure, the fairy’s wondrous enthrallment collapsed into confusion as the tale ended with a request for aid.
"Wait, what?" Glancing towards Ashtar and Couth, Briar tilted her head to the side and mused, "I can see why the town wants them gone. The woman doing sales is rude and this one doesn’t know how to finish a story." She stood and looked to the rest of the group she arrived with to gauge their responses.
He takes another swig of wine and passes it towards Briar. "This could be a story for you to finish, my dear fey. If you are interested in helping, Readjusting in his seat, he turns to Couth and Ashtar. We come from a land called Barovia; it is less than a day's ride from here. The other Barovians would be pleased to have another follower of the Morninglord around. If the rest of you are willing, we could leave tonight."
Ashtar shot Briar a glare. "Heed not the words of critics, sir. It was an excellent tale."
He gave the prospect some consideration. Less than a day's ride to listen to some old lady, then back home for full payment. That didn't sound so bad at all. "Sound fair to me. I cannot promise anything more than to listen to this Madam Eva, but I shall accompany you tonight."
Never one to shy away from a proffered beverage, the tiny fairy accepted the win from the elder, poured a hearty gulp down her throat, and held it back in return.
"I didn’t mean to suggest the story was bad. It just wasn’t complete." She shrugged and fell momentarily silent as a thought occurred; this man was offering a chance for her to truly carve her own path through this life, to live an adventure and to have an identity all her own. Then she beamed wider than before, the leaves across her skin kicked up into an excited swirl, and she blurted out, "Let’s finish the story! Then we can be legends!"
Eye of the Storm, surrounded by the customary blanket of pipe-smoke that had settled as he listened to the tale, was far less enthusiastic. "Really? Just usurp a tyrant? Generally such men have the means to stay in power. What do you take us for, some mercenaries? Assassins? Where are the heroes among your own people hmm? Tell these bright-eyed youths what became of them!"
