BingTheWing

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

@chukklehed, I PMed guilty that. It's a seeeecret seeeecret seeeecret until you buy it and attempt to burn it. And remember, only the purple hood gnarled staff scholarly alchemist dudes know how to use it properly.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Fiiiind out yourself. Oh, and you can't turn it into mulch for ~mysterious reasons~.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Anyone up for Mystra time? Wilson? Your character looks the curious type.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

@chukklehed - perfection.

@GuiltySpark - Did you use a program to make the map or something?

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

chukklehed said
Did somebody call for a spitting mad Artemis? Cause if not you're in for a surprise! SURPRISE, ARTEMIS IS PISSED!

Bor hears and he walks over and he's all like

"Hey hey bitches calm yo tits Ah got an axe"

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Well, I think there were purse-snatchers back then as we do now, but correct me if I'm wrong.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

A snatcher-of-rich-dudes'-new-handbags maybe.

When the Flames Die

The Guildmaster's hard-boiled leather breastplate had saved him from an almost certain grisly demise, but one stray bolt had slipped through his shoulder guard and into his limb. He let out a savage howl of pain. Immediately, a cloak holding a satchel smelling of herbs and strange concoctions ran over to his side, but the Guildmaster forcibly pushed him away. "I AM NOT TO BE CODDLED!" bellowed he in an almost savage fashion, as he quickly pulled out the bolt from his shoulder. "Put that fire out!" Two more cloaks grabbed a bucket each as they quickly ended the flame. Suddenly, the Guildmaster saw four cloaks with crossbows attempt to pursue the girl, but he raised a hasty hand. "Don't catch her. Just... observe her." He turned to Adrian, who was already on his feet. "As punishment for your misdeeds, you will -DISCREETLY- monitor the girl's actions for a full twelve hours. Six hour rest. Then again. Repeat until the next moon. Take some of these buffoons with you."
Adrian subtly nodded and led several cloaks out of the warehouse, into the dark night.

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

@raven - go find a random bag of gold dropped by an escaping bandit with the owner nowhere in sight - it wouldn't hurt to get a gold coin or two...

Well, charcoal would be efficient but it depends how far tech has advanced. Methinks they started using charcoal in the cities just before the end of the Middle Ages.

Fun Fact: Mystra is the name of the DnD Forgotten Realms goddess of magic whose death caused the Spellplague - possibly the most influential magic event ever in Toril. The arcane refused to work and acted weird. *HINT HINT*

The Relics (No Plot/Fantasy/Character Driven/Worthy of Skepticism)

Borgrund and Morris felt an equal surge of relief as the man refused the Mystra and asked for firewood. Bor wrapped the firewood in a plain white cloth to hand to the man. Then, he took the silver coins and smiled sincerely - a good, honest, deal. "Thank you sir, and take care."
Bor noticed the man rapping at the wood of his cart. "Something to eat?" he grunted. "Ye can find Derrick's stall over there. All the city folk love him for his pork tarts or something." He pointed a tattooed finger towards the fat, mustached man proudly chatting up a large crowd from behind his stall. He spoke in a loud, clear voice as more people descended towards his story about finding the secret ingredient of his newest creation in the forests of Othea - for the second time. Bor wished he could go and enjoy one of Derry's tarts and listen to one of his outlandish yet charismatic tales, but he had a business to run. He went back to counting his silver coins.