Gameplay Thread

After a few hours of primping and preening including several trips down to the bar to encourage
The other guests to excessive drinking. Figuring that extra drunk at the party will help create distractions.
Then at the party i might mix in the minced goblin mushrooms just to make it even more chaotic.

Petrev makes his way down to the common room, dressed in his new clothes without a hair out of place. In a pouch on his belt is the now minced mushrooms. While affecting a drunker demeaner than he really is, he gathers the other guest for several more toasts, ensuring the alcohol fueled mayhem he has created is at its peak as they wait for Mantra.
Quietly he speaks to Momo "With these drunk guests and those goblin mushrooms, we can guarantee that there will be plenty of distractions for us to do our job.

The party make their way along the winding path to Othorion's house. A throng of guests accompany them, some singing arm-in-arm, others laughing drunkenly as walk.

The forest gives way to a large clearing. Ahead of you, you can see a villa lit by several torches. The wind carries sounds of laughter and merriment, the party sounds like it is full of revelers. A slow moving line of well-dressed people has formed near the entrance.

Unobtrusively Petrev pats the dagger nestled between his shoulders, figuring that the guards will take his rapier until he offers to do display bouts of fencing against any takers as a light hearted gentlemanly display.
While waiting in line Petrev starts telling stories of his dashing adventures at sea.

'Aw, stow it, Peshtrev!' slurs an old, richly-dressed elf near Petrev. 'That's what you shailors shay, ishn't it? Stow it? Shounds like a shmall furry animal... a-haha. Anywaysh, we've heard all your damned shtories too many timesh already. And if you were such a great shailor, how come you're here sho bloody far from the shea?' Several others chorus the question.

Petrev chuckles in reply.
That is a story of love, love taken and revenge, and i dont want to spoil our hosts party with such a sad tale. But if people wish to question my stories, perhaps some of you would like to try a few friendly exchanges to the first touch with the rapier? Pick a master and stay true to their style,
And let us enjoy some friendly sport?

'Ha! I'll take you on!' says the elderly elf. 'I'll have you know I was the best fensher in the Varenth in my youth – you don't shtand a chansh!' After several attempts he succeeds in drawing a rapier and holds it up en garde, then lunges at Petrev.

Smiling and calling out encouragement, Petrev goes to counter the lunge.

The crowd 'ooohs' appreciatively at Petrev's display of skill. A guard arrives and says firmly 'Please, gentlemen, if you'll just follow me, I'll escort you to the cloak room where you can check these weapons.'

As you approach the house, you are directed to a coat check window on your right. A guard with deep circles under his eyes sits behind the window. 'Tickets, please' he says with an outstretched hand. 'Are there any items that you would like to check?'

Petrev produces his ticket and proffers his belted rapier.
My good fellow, later this evening i was hoping to offer your master displays of fencing by the masters, but in the mean time please feel free to hold this for me. And if you could put a coat of wax on the leathers and a spot of oil on the blade i would be very happy.

After a whispered conference with Petrev's escort, the coat check guard takes the rapier and hands you a ticket for it. 'Certainly sir, just send for it and it'll be brought for you.' The guard waves you onward.

The nicely tiled floor of the coat check leads to a large room that is the hub of the house. There is a small pool in the center of the room, presumably used for collecting rainwater. Four large torches near the corners of the pool cast a dull light over room. There are doors in all directions, although none are open. Guards direct guests toward a large hallway to the west that doubtlessly leads to the party.

Momo notices that the rooms close to the front entrance have large windows, that might serve as exits in a pinch. While approaching the house he also got a glimpse of the gardens, further back on the south side of the house. These are surrounded by a wrought-iron fence that is tall, but possibly climbable.

The atrium is spotless. Several glass cases line the walls, displaying Lord Othorion’s collection of treasures. Well-dressed party goers converse, dance, and drink. Some break away to marvel at the Lord Othorion's prized artefacts. In the center of the room, a case holding a floating, irridescent orb is guarded by a mean-looking, well-armed guard.

Liveried servants scurry back and forth carrying trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres for the guests. Lord Othorion himself, garishly overdressed – nearly to the point of caricature – is moving between the nobles, engaging them in small talk.

Petrev, spends sometime wandering with the guests from the Inn, encouraging more drinking from the already drunk guests. While no one is near the tables bearing the food, he spinkles the ground goblin mushrooms.
With a chuckle, Petrev says to himself quietly, thus should be interesting.

Petrev wanders past his companions and whispers dont eat the foods, and watch out for the distraction.

The guard is wearing plate mail emblazoned with the Othorion sigil, and is armed with a greatsword. He looks like he knows how to handle it, and has several scars attesting to his experience. Mantra notices that his eyes occasionally drift toward the large trays of wine that servants are carrying back and forth, licking his lips. 'I am blessed to serve milord Othorion. Milord is a great man,' he says as if by rote. 'and I am honoured by the trust he places in me. I hope you are enjoying the party, sir or madam.' He coughs, covering his mouth. 'I mean, I hope you are enjoying the party, sir!

'Well-said, Cirn, one thinks that perhaps you are worthy of the great honour I do you, after all. Lord Othorion says, joining Mantra and the guard. 'A fine piece, is it not?' he asks, pointing out the orb. 'A piece of pure elemental chaos, notice the ever-changing shape and colour – no combination is ever repeated, not in a million years. But!' his voice grows louder, now obviously addressing the whole gathering, 'Believe it or not, this is ranks but second among my treasures. Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests, allow me to present the woman who makes me the happiest man in the multiverse, my darling fiance!'

He gestures to the hallway, where, making her entrance bedecked in glittering jewellery and wearing a stunning golden gown, is Petrev's lost love.

Petrev freezes in mid sentence, his concentration broken. Slowly he turns and looks up from under his fringe, as his lost love walks regally down the stairs. Her youthful face still fresh in his memory, the ruddy brown hair, full of odd curls, the whispy down on her cheeks and chin, her thick black eyebrow running coarsely above her brown eyes. Her prominent teeth splitting her thin lips in a scintillating smile. Looks nothing like this stunning beauty. This can't be right. This isnt Buttercup, this is her irritating younger sister Margery. How could this be? He was there when the Lord announced his marriage, he watched Buttercup get into the carriage. What had he missed, he had not been there at the beginning of the announcement. Had Margery already been in the carriage by that time.
Come to think of it Buttercup wasnt as pretty as he remembered, was his memory playing tricks on him, the light had been dim up in the hayloft that night, when she had slowly removed her clothes and taken him to bed in the hay. He had been pretty drunk and had tripped and smashed his head on the ladder, adding concussion to his drunken state. Had the last part of his life been dedicated to the hazy drunken memory of the first lass who had let him between her thighs, the years at sea, the life and death battles, the horrible torture he had committed. All for the memory of a lass who could be quarter orc.
I should be buying the Lord a drink not stealing from him, but a job is a job and i really want to stab Cyrus in the face when this is over.
Well it is time for a stiff drink.