Lewascan2

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hugh Caphazath Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3 HP: 24/24 Armor Class: 17 Conditions: NA Location: Darenby, The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Hugh suppressed a sigh of unrestrained relief, as the portal to the room admitted Victoria. He then sighed in truth and turned about face at the sight of her casually stripping, affording the Bard what privacy he could in these circumstances, as she stowed her little “friend” and slipped beneath the covers.

Clearly, he’d been right to take initiative on this matter. While he was somewhat wary of laying his head to rest in the same room as a Bard -or necromancer, for that matter- out of sheer caution, it was shamefully all too preferable to dealing with the tiefling. As things were, he’d not have been able to sleep a wink.

That said, it seemed that social landmine had been defused for the time being. He’d not seen hide or hair of Naivara, but… In hindsight, she was a Druid, and a not so well socialized one at that. Honestly, if she’d decided to make her lodgings for the night elsewhere, even outside in the cold, he’d not be able to find it in himself to blame her one bit. He just hoped she didn’t turn up dead or traitorous overnight; that would be rather unfortunate. With that in mind, one spellcaster charge was good enough for the time being, and Hugh allowed himself to drift into the land of dreams for a while, where he was visited by some rather bizarre dreams involving a national dance-off and a pig that looked suspiciously familiar.

(/._./)

Hugh, as was his habit, woke with the dawn, grimacing beneath the sheets at the notably more biting autumn chill seeping into his bones. He blinked lazily, quietly rubbing the morning crust from his eyes, before deciding to stay right where he was.

After all, his charges were still sleeping, if the sight of a slumbering Victoria was any clue. Rolling his jaw, Hugh grumbled under his breath at the realization that he’d likely have no time to train seriously for the foreseeable future, as he contemplated where exactly he’d misstepped in life. Eyeing the letter at his bedside table, he sighed quietly.

Probably the second he’d subconsciously promised to take up this blasted mission.

Gripes aside, at present, he had a job to do. Training would have to be postponed in large part due to the still non-zero chance of his charges suffering an “accident” were he not present. He’d wait until at least one of them had already greeted the day before making his own way down.

Speaking of which…

Victoria stirred, and Hugh shot her a dry two-fingered salute in greeting. He rolled over to face away, as she began to -with some notable haste in the sound of her movements- pull on her clothes and freshen herself up for the day. Once the sound of rustling clothes had come to an overall halt, Hugh sighed and relinquished his own fluffy shield from the chill, grimacing, as he hopped a bit in place to start warming up his muscles somewhat.

As he wasn’t much of a sweater when sleeping -and the chill being omnipresent as it was, he hadn’t bothered to change out of his normal wear for the night, aside from shedding his cloak, which he promptly re-donned from where he’d slung it over the edge of his bed. He set about combing his short, shaggy brown hair, so that it at least didn’t come across as bed hair and ran a hand across his jawline, mulling over the presence of a light amount of stubble. It was nothing long enough for him to bother shaving so early, certainly not anywhere close enough to make his neck itch, so he decided to leave the ever so faint shadow be for now.

His quarterstaff appeared to have remained undisturbed in the night, which was a relief, and he gladly removed it from where it was propped precariously against the window, giving it a small comforting thump against the blue carpet spread across the majority of the room’s center.

Briefly, he glanced over to the stirring form of Naivara, recalling the Druid’s rather conspicuously late arrival in the night. If he hadn’t already consigned himself to taking watch for a portion of the night, he honestly might not have heard her enter. But between his own nerves and the sound of the door opening, her arrival four hours into the group’s collective rest had managed to be both relieving and further nerve inducing, considering the circumstances.

There was no use making a mountain out of a mole hill at this juncture, however. He had already resolved himself to approach potential suspicions with as objective an eye as he could manage. While a disappearance at this juncture was potentially extraordinarily suspicious, he didn’t yet feel as if he’d misjudged the quality of her character and experience. It was quite unlikely that she had the will or capacity to be an insurgent.

Well, nothing for it now.

Hugh slung his pack over his left shoulder and entered a somewhat warmer hallway, the heat from downstairs having managed to linger somewhat longer without many windows about to help it vacate the premises. Plodding lightly downstairs, he smiled lightly at the far more toasty dining area.

His own personal prep being far more meager in substance and length, Hugh arrived to the distant sight of Victoria just now reaching the reserved table once more, the place rather surprisingly -if pleasantly- populated by the entirety of the other room that had been allowed to their “adventuring” party. It did also appear that the rather… underdressed Guido was currently present

As he approached, Hugh couldn’t help the gradually rising brow at the sight of the rather exorbitant amount of food laid out on the table. It was visibly far more than the party could hope to consume in one sitting unless several of their number happened to have a Bag of Holding for a stomach. Additionally, he was starting to get a bit unnerved by how accommodating their patron was, especially given that there were twice the expected number of hires present. He couldn’t help but feel a small pit begin to grow in his stomach, as he wordlessly sat down -once more as far from Kosara and now Marita as he could manage- and claimed a loaf of bread, some cheese and a couple sausages for himself.

He eyed the large platter of sausage and bacon with an amused upturn of the lips, eyes flicking briefly over to Morty. Coincidence or snark? Who could say, but it was certainly amusing all the same.

The smile died in its infancy at the news of their patron’s absence. Could nothing in this job go right? First, a compromised mission. Then, unreasonable associates. And now, their client was oh-so-conveniently absent at a most critical time? Surely, whatever business called for his absence wasn’t more critical than personally assuring the security of this quest from the get-go?

Also, who was he meant to present his revised reward request to: the Sheriff’s subordinate? Would such a person even have the authority to speak on behalf of what he might or might not be able to request?

He only just barely managed to bite back a sardonic response to Victoria’s either optimistic or naive assertion. “Fate” was a fiction, a farcity that only the weak-minded clung to in order to justify their own shortcomings and misfortunes. To any with the will, such a fantasy as “Fate” was merely an inconvenience, nothing more, and inconveniences were all quite overcomable… and far more easily so than any might imagine. He would take “going according to plan” any day over a so-called “adventure”.

That said, he’d hold his tongue on the matter for now. No reason to potentially breed animosity between himself and the third member of their troupe. So long as such thinking didn’t directly impact the party’s performance and results, he’d not be bothered. Besides, her optimism carried a certain world-weariness to it. Perhaps, she was merely trying to keep the group’s spirits up. Personally, he’d rather have frank reality than a hopeful fantasy, but he could hardly begrudge whatever let the others function properly.

His appetite was already waning, but Hugh forced himself to eat regardless, frowning pensively. He managed to smooth over his expression enough to politely receive the strong warm tea being delivered by May. He shook his head in amusement at her acidic attitude and responded, “This is all quite more than sufficient. Nothing further for myself.”

Kathryn’s bevy of rather… interesting suggestions (especially the last one) for proceeding gave him a fresh appreciation for her inexperience in this sort of job. She even explicitly mentioned such. For her sake, at least, Hugh did feel some need to clarify things. “The disappearances aren’t significantly numerous in Darenby’s area to provoke even an offhand mention, so I can think of little reason to stay here beyond investigating the mailing system and hopefully presenting Naivara’s and my own revised reward requests to a qualified associate of our client. I can, however, say for near certain that openly interrogating the people of this sleepy town will not go well, unless we are rather lucky. Unless anyone has pressing business beyond that, the Avonshire Township proper is where we are best bound as soon as possible.” He ensured his tone was merely clinical and not correctional throughout, presenting the facts as he knew them and leaving off with a rather open-ending… opening for others to present their own cases. Personally, he was quite partial to the idea of performing initial investigations in Darenby, but with a mere week to bring back initial results, they couldn’t afford to stay away from the epicenter of trouble for even a single day unless absolutely necessary.

Buttering up a slice of bread and humming thoughtfully to himself, Hugh mentioned somewhat offhand before returning to his meal, “As an aside, considering their worth as potential leads, I did take the liberty of ensuring our letters were not lost in the ruckus last night, since the rest of you seemingly abandoned them. I’ve already returned Naivara’s to her, but if the rest of you would like your own, merely say the word. I’ve no attachment to them beyond ensuring we keep hold of them.”

(/._./)

AN: So I don’t have to waste time in my own posts for it down the line, simply assume that if anyone asks for their letter back, Hugh will retrieve the neatly folded stack from his bag and wordlessly hand over the correct one, having kept track of which was which by his particular investigative/obsessive means.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hugh Caphazath Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3 HP: 24/24 Armor Class: 17 Conditions: Zone of Truth Location: Darenby, The Infamous Pear -> North-East Inn Room Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The best deceptions are those that carry within them a large kernel, a core even, of truth.

Misdirections were Hugh’s lifeblood. Control was his drug. Nothing was more satisfying than having one over on everyone around him, especially when doing so was in the course of achieving absolute mission success.

Mission accomplished.

Which is why he found his face smoothing over into a placid expression of pure satisfaction that he hid somewhat behind a long sip from his new mug of warm tea, as the truth spell came to an end, the vast majority of its duration almost entirely wasted at his behest, and both his greatest annoyances finally lost their cool… if to different degrees. Exactly as planned.

Certainly, his rage at the mental intrusion was genuine. Certainly, he’d nearly fully lost control in the initial moments of the spell’s casting, but beyond that? He’d never have survived this long if he allowed his emotions to control him so easily. There was no logical reason to emotionally continue “ranting”.... unless it was in the course of doing his job.

And he never lost sight of the job.

The mission was compromised. This was an established fact. There was no way to constructively reveal that one of the party’s number was a traitor at this juncture. Also fact. Therefore, the Cleric’s recklessness had put everything at risk in a single moment of unthinking bullheadedness. When you had a traitor or insurgent, most of the time, in a situation this delicate, you typically didn’t want to make them feel rushed or cornered. After all, with a spell as limited as she claimed her’s was, the best they could hope for is evasiveness and then the insurgent disappearing into the night, never to be a convenient info source again.

For one thing, if they thought anyone was on to them, they could clam up and play things infinitely more cautiously. For another, a cornered individual was always more dangerous, desperate. If there was a traitor, the last thing one should ever do is put them in a compromising position this early. Instead, you played it safe, gathered evidence, paid careful attention to where your mission went wrong, where it went right, and who was involved. You conducted a proper investigation and ensured that your insurgent couldn’t simply commit suicide. After all, they were a valuable information source and a potential lead to a greater threat.

Thus, it behooved him, even though it was undesirable, to redirect any suspicions upon himself for the time being to give any traitor breathing room. With this, he would be able to act somewhat more freely, given that the traitor was also more likely to attempt to ally themselves with or manipulate him. After all, what competent insurgent wouldn’t make use of such a delicious opportunity?

Sure, it wasn’t the most convenient position to be in, but he had played double-agent a time or dozen. He could work with this.

Crossing his arms, Hugh sighed wryly and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes at the attempted admonishments of the Cleric and the Pest. He already had what he needed, and he was now quite finished with them and wouldn’t be rising to any further bait. That said, it was nice to get a better grip on their characters. You never really knew what someone was like, knew how far you could push, until you’d seen them at their worst. With this conversation and his rant, he had not only established a somewhat exaggerated version of his own “worst” to the others, but simultaneously got a glimpse into those he was most concerned with presently.

Which could be broadly summed up as: the Cleric was exceptionally and ironically self-righteous for someone throwing around mind-control so casually, and the Pest was rather petty and apparently easily provoked by utterly trivial things, not that this was much of a surprise, given what he’d seen of her thus far.

He allowed the malice of their words to wash off him like water on a duck’s back, fully content in his success.

He wasn’t about to be preached to by a Cleric that couldn’t respect basic sentient decency. So what if her spell couldn’t be canceled? It shouldn’t have been cast to begin with. So what if he was a murderer so many times over he genuinely couldn’t keep count? She could only speculate on the accuracy of such an accusation, and that was absolutely hilarious coming from a former devil worshipper, especially one that was long-time enough to fluently speak the language (if the Pest’s reaction was any clue) and, yet, clearly didn’t learn from her mistakes… unlike him. Further, did it ever occur to her that actions like stripping away others’ free will on a whim was exactly the sort of thing that Devils did? He could definitely see a couple applauding her direct, tyrannical approach.

Honestly, it was the lack of self-awareness and hypocrisy that was most galling. Sure, Hugh wasn’t a great person, but at least he was honest about it… if nothing else. The stark difference between them was that she continuously attempted to somehow justify her actions, where he had no need. After all, why argue for your own morality when your actions should speak loud enough by themselves?

Besides… He chuffed lightly, genuinely amused at her ire. “I’m a Bounty Hunter; I kill monsters, people and monsters shaped like people for pay, so I’m hardly sure what you were expecting.” He had no need to justify himself to her, and it was absolutely pathetic to try and equate killing to the removal of freedom. Everyone had a choice, the ability to determine their own fate… within the boundaries of reason, foresight and basic common sense. In fact, he had seen far too many choose freely to commit to stupidity that got them killed. Did a traitor to the country have their self-determination taken away when they were executed? Does one stop and wonder of the self-determination of a bandit when they are slain for their crimes? Hardly. That was merely the consequences of their actions catching up to them.

He snorted. And really, what did it matter when someone died? He didn’t judge them, not really; they did that well enough for themselves. If they were good, they went to a better place. If they were evil… they got what they deserved. He wasn’t a saint. He knew it better than anyone, but he still had standards. That’s why it was so insulting to see someone who came from a better place somehow be worse than him where it actually mattered. His expression turned wry.

As for threatening her? A threat was really too weak to describe it… as was an oath or malediction. No, that was not so much a promise as a… statement of inevitability, and it would absolutely be hot-blooded... if premeditated. He smirked. After all, he was no saint, but oddly enough, tampering with minds remained a hard line in the sand, what few of them he had. And because he had so few, it was only right that he cling to them all the tighter and more feverishly.

As for arrogance? She was clearly misdiagnosing experience, earned through time and far too many close calls. He’d seen all too many people reap what their foolishness sowed, and they had an unfortunate tendency to drag others down with them. More than once, he’d only barely avoided being collateral. Hugh found himself rubbing his all too recently previously broken arm and exhaled slowly. It was the furthest thing from arrogance to speak of common sense and caution.

Granted, he’d yet to prove that experience thus-far in a meaningful manner, but that was unfortunately thoroughly the Cleric’s fault. If it weren’t for her sabotage of peaceful talks, then this could have gone far more smoothly. That said, he wouldn’t be crying over spilled milk, and he intended to let his future actions speak for him. As he had said already, words were ultimately worth less than nothing. So long as lies and free will existed, the only reliable thing was action, and that was, frankly, just how he liked it. It was always so convenient to be surrounded by people that put so much value on something that could be twisted so easily.

As for the Pest…

Quite frankly, for an opportunistic comment that he’d mostly thrown out offhand, he couldn’t possibly be more pleased with her reaction. Petty, vain, airheaded, and now, thank every god above, she was finally irked enough to take the hint and leave him the hells alone. Her “moral high ground” was nonexistent, and she could be as critical of his capacity as a leader as she liked. After all, he didn’t want that position. Why the hell else would he be operating alone the rest of the time? Managing other people was a pain in the ass.

Kathryn’s own commentary on the matter of leadership, prompted a small chuckle. “Honestly, I’d much rather merely do my part. To be clear, I don’t want the position, nor is there necessarily any need for someone to take the reins, but… I would be irresponsible if I stood by if a potentially poor leader decided to lead the charge.”

The Pest’s ignorant attempt to redirect attention away from the letters was, however… odd. Especially reckless, additionally, was her claim that they should effectively “take things as they come”, which was one of the absolute worst things to do in this situation. Waiting for clues to come to you instead of seeking them out?! Absurd! Honestly, it was such a horrible idea that he could only assume she was attempting to sabotage the investigation, which was… honestly somewhat surprising, especially given how blatant it would look to a discerning eye.

Perhaps it was because he always did his best to divorce himself of personal bias when it came to hard facts, but he hadn’t really thought that one of his personal annoyances would be the first to make a highly suspicious act. Granted, the Cleric was hardly much better. That spell was one of the most unwise things to do for any investigator at this stage, so that was something… But then, there was the Bard, Victoria, and her potential possession of enchantment magic, despite her apparent claim to necromancy specialization, and she was a Bard to boot; he should absolutely expect a game of words to be a losing proposition. So, there was the Cleric doing something that only a traitor could possibly think was wise… The Pest advocating for a destructive course of action… The Bard being apparently ahead of the game with the Sheriff…

The only ones currently off the hook in full, at least until proven otherwise, were the huge woman and the painfully green young elf. Of course, naturally, this all required that one -or hells, even more- of their number actually be a traitor, and there still wasn’t any guarantee that was even the case. That said, he would keep a lookout for further behavior that was actively destructive to the team’s cohesion and success, but he would fight to keep his observations objective, no matter how difficult the suspects made it.

The Cleric and Kathryn’s commentary regarding the letters and the reasons for their specific recipients drew a thoughtful hum from Hugh into his tea, before he lightly cleared some of the lingering moisture from his throat. “Considering we’ve barely known each-other half an hour, I can’t say how accurate the claim to ‘experience’ is for most of us, but I can say that it seems unlikely -as to potentially be impossible- any saboteur would specifically -if that is, indeed, the case- target all of us, spread out far and wide, for our experience. Wouldn't they instead like those with no chance at all, the ones that would fumble around in the dark and make a mess of things…?”

Like Kite… Like a Druid with crippled social skills, a bullheaded Cleric with little subtlety, a loud tiefling who was reckless enough to throw away their soul, a necromancer Bard who was all but loud and proud of her art to anyone with two halves of a brain to rub together and would attract looks wherever they went, a massive hulk of a Fighter woman who might somehow attract more looks than the necromancer, or the gnome from before that was clearly a charlatan… In fact, now that he thought about it, the vast majority of this party was wildly unsuited for a low-key investigation. The fact that they had Hugh now was both pure coincidence and twisted luck.

“After all, for all that I’m sure you all have your specialities, how much experience do you actually have in subtle investigation? Which, need I remind you, is what our client was asking for to begin with, considering he only intended to hire three investigators. If we were, in fact, picked specifically for our lack of experience in this area, then it makes plenty of sense why my own letter was…” Well, the truth spell was down now, so it was no longer necessarily a matter of principle that he spitefully remain silent. “I got my own letter from a dying man, killed by his own recklessness and refusal to adhere to a plan in a critical situation. Against my better judgement, I agreed to take up this mission in his place.”

Rolling his jaw, Hugh shrugged and sipped his tea, ignoring the curdling in his gut. “In the short time I knew him, to say the least, he was wildly unsuited by every possible metric for this mission: loud, visible, willing to stubbornly go through with an incorrect course of action out of literal childish fantasy about ‘heroes’. Quite frankly, he was exactly the sort to take every possible negative trait of this group and -perhaps unintentionally, granted- amplify them through his goading and ignorance. A saboteur would have -and likely did- attempt to avoid choosing me specifically. It is merely a twisted mix of misfortune and luck that I’m here instead.”

Exhaling finally, he crossed his arms. “As for the legitimacy of the letters… Putting my personal feelings aside, I’m inclined to believe that both Marita and Kathryn’s are legitimate, except for, as Marita said, the fact that we’ve no way to know that the number of fakes is limited to three… or six if we include the departed’s. Indeed, we’ll need to approach Ser Arbalest directly about this matter, bluntly and without room for error. This is too important as a potential lead to discard carelessly.”

It was around this time that the halfling waiter returned with more refreshments, stalling conversation briefly, as the diminutive man rather lamely advertised the inn’s lack of preparation for a party this size. That said, Hugh could appreciate the attempt was being made at all, as he eyed his fellow tablemates. Three to a room? Quite frankly, he hated to look petty and/or to further distance himself from the party at this juncture besides, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly if he had to stay with either the Cleric or the Pest. Hell, even the necromancer would be preferable. Ideally, he would find himself with both Kathryn and Naivara, but he could stand to swap either for Victoria.

Hugh’s left brow rose briefly, as the Cleric beckoned Victoria away for a hushed conversation at the bar of the steadily livening tavern. Watching them from the corner of his eye, he could see that whatever they might be discussing, the circumstances appeared non confrontational. While that was… potentially concerning for his own prospects when it came to stripping the Cleric of influence within the party, it was also likely good for overall team cohesion. Honestly, he was practical enough to choose overall cohesion and a lack of internal conflict over spite, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Soon enough, the Bard returned, and Victoria seemed to take a surprisingly firm role in her dual performance with the Pest. Hugh could admit to genuine surprise, when magical notes sounded out clearly in conjunction with an absolutely riveting violin performance. He wasn’t the sort to applaud loudly or enthusiastically, but the fact that she earned his quiet applause at all said something of her magnificence at her craft. He found, however, that his interest waned the moment tielfing’s borderline salacious “dance” motions became center stage… for a given value of such with the mobility on display, and he chose to turn away and close his eyes, blocking out the imagery with Victoria’s encore supporting performance.

As the performance drew to a close, Hugh took a deep pull and chugged the majority of the rest of his tea, clearing his throat afterwords. As the rest of the group stood to offer their congratulations and disperse, he reached down and hefted his pack straps over one shoulder, returning Naivara’s smile with a specifically toothless one of his own, ambling along beside her over to the performers.

As the others heaped praises upon the two, he offered his own measure accolades towards Victoria. “Bravo. I’ll admit, it’s hard to rate music simply because of how subjective it so often is, but yours was definitely one of the best performances I’ve ever heard, especially the first song. Perhaps more impressive was the spontaneity of it and resulting quality, I think, but then again, I suppose I should expect nothing less from a Bard.” He raised his mug in a small toasting salute, before slugging back the final dregs and moving to place it back at the table. He blinked in surprise at the presence of the Letters, considering the absence of their owners, before shrugging and sweeping all six of them up, folding them neatly and tucking them into his pack.

As he passed by again on his way towards the stairs, he caught Naivara’s parting words and shot some of his own towards her with a nod, “I’ll save you a bed wherever I settle.” Towards Victoria, he said, “As appreciative as one might be for the lightening of the situation, I think it’s fair to say that it would be better for everyone involved if I roomed with neither Marita or…” He glanced at Kosara. “Her… Feel free to snag the remaining lodgings with us. If it comes down to the room with the cot, I don’t mind taking it. I’m used to doing with less quality at the drop of a hat. If I were picky about comfort, I’d not get far in my line of work.”

That said, he made his way upstairs, humming in a pleased manner at the ever so subtle rise of heat from the downstairs fireplace. Reaching the top, he glanced briefly into both rooms and then turned quite definitively towards the one that did not yet already host two. As it turned out, he would apparently not have to be taking the cot… Interesting.

Glancing around the room, Hugh found himself idly noting points of entry, namely the door and the window. Keeping in mind that the mission was already compromised, it would be prudent to keep a wary eye out for assassination attempts. After all, there was no time a warrior would be more vulnerable than when their armor was doffed for slumber, no better time to catch an already vulnerable caster unawares.

Dividing the rooming up in this manner not only served his grudge, but practicality as well. Of them all, he was the most likely to always be at his best in any situation and was effectively worth both of the unarmored warriors together. It made sense that he should be the one guarding two spell-casters, while they took the other, especially since the Cleric could presumably compensate for her own vulnerability with magic.

Considering the positioning of the beds and the window…

Hugh glanced out through the glass barrier, eyeballing potential sniper points. Glass, after all, especially civilian quality, was not exactly any protection from a well placed and/or firmly-tipped arrow. That in mind, he would take the bed with the red sheets, keeping himself both out of sight and close enough to readily respond to anyone dumb enough to actually physically enter the premises. Drawing the letters from his bag, he sifted through them until he found the one that practically reeked of the outdoors and then placed it on the pillow of the green-sheeted bed, reserving the other sniper-resistant position for the guileless Druid. He returned the rest of the letters to his bag, save for his own bloodstained one, which he placed upon the writing desk beside his own bed’s headrest.

Straightening up, he observed the room, before sighing. Circumstances being what they were, he’d be unable to safely train tonight. Instead, he’d use the time he wasn’t sleeping to keep watch and sleep in increments of 30 minutes past the initial 4 hours, effectively sleeping 6 hours and keeping watch in 2 spread out over the rest of the time. The later hours would be the prime time for someone to strike, given that it would be the only time that an assassin could be near absolutely certain of their location.

Setting his bag on the bed against the wall and effectively placing himself between it and the rest of the room, he leaned his quarterstaff against the window latch, ensuring a loud tumble against the room’s floorboards if it opened. His bare-bones preparations done, he settled down atop his bed for a couple minutes of quiet meditations, crossing his legs and placing his hands upon his knees. He would not allow sleep to claim him until both his roommates were safely absconded within.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hugh Caphazath Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3 HP: 24/24 Armor Class: 17 Conditions: Zone of Truth Location: Darenby, The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Hugh felt a note of tension leave him, as the largest among them stopped visibly considering her weapons. It made plenty of sense for a self-proclaimed knight and/or soldier to be twitchy, but he also found himself disappointed by her at least somewhat reluctant acquiescence to the Cleric’s demands. Kathryn’s claims were neat and all, in line with his assumptions, and fairly exonerating if true, but… how in the hell was he supposed to be sure that she was telling the truth? After all, it was the Cleric’s spell, and they only had her word to go off of.

Victoria’s far chillier response, cloaked within a thin veneer of civility, was far more satisfying to behold. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if many at the table had picked up on the undertones of her deceptively pleasant statements, which was a shame, because the poisoned social well that was the offered food was glorious to behold, like seasoning atop the overall message. Her overall response was satisfactorily devoid of any new information. Whether that was because she had been truthful before or because she had managed to resist the magic was a mystery however. And one of her last statements...

“‘Everyone has to be at their best’, huh?” Hugh eyed the behemoth of a woman, who appeared to keep eyeing her empty mug somewhat forlornly. “Oi, soldier, Kathryn was it? You’re slurring a bit. Far be it from me to tell you what to do with yourself, but… Might want to slow down, so you don’t have to put up with a hangover tomorrow.” He shrugged, sipping his tea. “Never fancied the poison myself, so I can’t empathize. But mind your limits, eh? We’ve got a job to do.”

At Kosara’s interjection, Hugh snorted derisively into his tea and casually flipped her off with his free hand. “Tell you what, Pest. Out of courtesy, I’ll leave it up to your own imagination where you can take your platitudes and shove them. You don’t have any room to patronize me, when the Cleric is the one out of line here.” He rolled his eyes at her calls for more beer and scoffed, “And I rephrase: don’t encourage her. The last thing we need is hangovers being a bother in front of the client… Tch’, I don’t even want to think about how much alcohol it would take to get someone that large fully drunk.” He sighed, as Kathryn enthusiastically responded to Kosara’s thoughtless goading.

His left eye twitched at the tale of how the pale tiefling supposedly obtained her letter. If true, it was about in line with what he’d come to expect from her, whimsical and flighty absurdity. Assuming the veracity of the claim, it almost quite literally lined up with his first thought upon obtaining his own letter: that these absurd messages might as well have been tossed freely into the wind at random.

Naivara’s response was measured, almost like she was tasting each word before she spoke it. The elvish lilt to many of her words was expected; the fact that they were colored by almost overly formal -High even- elvish was a bit more surprising. He hadn’t even slightly taken her for someone with potentially noble heritage before, but then, appearances could be deceiving… The fact that she had a specific name to give, much like Kathryn, was encouraging, but equally baffling in combination with her own specific method of letter acquisition. If true, then he could still fairly safely assume her letter was a fake. She was, after all, pardon the pun, apparently incredibly green to investigative work, not the sort that the Sheriff would have reached out to actively… unless the letter was meant for the individual that foisted it off onto her?

It was a similar tale to Kathryn’s… even his own to some degree, he decided, as he polished off the rest of his pie and took a sip of his tea. To this day, he’d yet to discern how that utter fool had obtained the letter to begin with. Much like Kosara, the likes of him would only be hailed for this task by a fool, so Hugh could only assume that the foolish young noble’s father had been responsible. Perhaps it had been an attempt to teach him a lesson, to give the naive idiot some perspective on the real world? Whatever the case, it was unfortunately Hugh’s problem now. Though he’d not said it in so many words, he’d chosen to accept the lad’s last wish, to accept a dying man’s contract.

And Hugh Caphazath did not fail contracts. It was a matter of professional pride, a standard, a line in the sand. It kept him grounded, kept him focused, gave him a goal, a direction in life. If he abandoned a job at the first sign of trouble, then what kind of Bounty Hunter -person, even- would he be? If he allowed personal feelings to affect his job performance, then how could he have pride in his work?

More than that, if he chose to abandon this job, he would be making his first exception, except… Would it end there? After throwing away his oaths so easily simply because several of this number were the most odious individuals he’d ever had the displeasure to speak to, would he stop there, or would he throw away his pride on every future job the moment they became inconvenient for him?

No, he was better than that, better than them, but he apparently couldn’t say the same for the Cleric.

In fact, her response to his perfectly reasonable grievances made his blood boil.

Leave the table? Was she actually serious right now? And further, she implied that anyone who had the temerity to be rightfully incensed at her offense was implicitly lying or untrustworthy! “You must be joking. That is entirely beside the point. The one in the wrong here is you, and the fact that you didn’t drop your spell immediately tells me all I need to know about you.” He scoffed at her placations. “The one in control of the spell is you. The only middle-man is you. We have nothing but trust in you to go on when it comes to determining the veracity of each-other’s claims, and your actions let me know just how much your word is worth.”

He smirked wryly, glancing at the Bard. “Quite frankly, the blatant necromancer among us is looking more trustworthy than the Cleric, and I can’t even begin to start with how ridiculous that concept is… No offense,” he dryly shot Victoria’s way, before turning back to Marita. “All I’m hearing are excuses and justifications. Having a supposed partner for a job cast hostile magic on me without provocation or warning? I’ve never been so insulted! You’re so fucking lucky I made a promise, or I’d have gouged your eye out! And myself aside, I can only begin to describe how badly that could have gone. What were you even thinking, doing that to a group of other adventurers, who you don’t even know? The reaction from nearly any other group would have been, to say the least, volatile. You got so lucky that it’s unreal, and I can’t even begin to fathom what convinced you it was a good idea in the first place.”

Slugging back a swig of his waning tea supply, Hugh shot Marita a look of pure derision. “I don’t give a shit who your precious god is, nor should I need to. As for your little backstory, I couldn’t possibly care less. Those aren’t excuses for a lack of even the most basic courtesy, and that’s coming from someone who had a most likely objectively worse upbringing. Quite frankly, I was a borderline sociopath before I left my old life behind and became a bounty hunter some… six(?) years ago, and unlike you, I didn’t do it just because there was no other option. I made that choice of my own free will, had an attack of conscience if you will. I accept my mistakes. I acknowledge my faults, and I don’t pretend like they give me carte blanche to act as I please and fuck with other people’s minds.”

His glare was acerbic. “At the end of the day, talk is cheap; only actions have any bearing on how I perceive anyone’s true worth or character. And your calls for unity ring hollow in the face of your own actions.” He pointed at her, eyes narrowed. “Make no mistake, on a technical level, I can function in a team with you. I can fight beside you and do my part to resolve this contract in as equitable a manner as possible, but…” He scowled. “I despise arrogant people, who refuse to learn from their folly, and I hate more than anything else those that think they have the authority -the right- to strip the basic fundamental right of self-determination from others… no matter in what form or for what reason. I won’t forgive you, but I’ll tolerate your attack this once in light of your ignorance. However…” His expression closed off, as his body gave a final shudder of revulsion and rage. “Understand explicitly, that if you ever cast anything that isn’t healing magic on me again without my permission… Then you better pray to your god that you never make the mistake of sleeping near me, because you most certainly won’t be waking up again.”

He rolled his jaw and sipped the dregs of his tea, smiling coldly. “I rather hope that our positions are now transparently clear, Miss Barbel, because I normally wouldn’t even bother with a first warning. You’re really quite lucky that I honor my contracts so strictly. That said, I’ve no intention of allowing someone with your demeanor to slander our reputation by proxy; for all our sakes, I do hope you plan to do better with your position going forward. Despite perhaps initial appearances, I absolutely despise taking up troublesome leadership roles, but if needs must… I am greatly experienced at exactly that.” He shrugged. “Just don’t prove me right, hmm?”

As he polished off the last of his drink, Hugh couldn’t help a small upturn of his lips, as he slowly reconstructed his composure, steadily adapting his mask to the pressure of the magic. The vile spell had done a number on his mind, to his center. Certainly, he’d said more than he’d have ever preferred in any other circumstances, but then again, he’d never had to put up with someone as abjectly horrible as this Cleric. Honestly, what kind of supposedly “good” person ever needed to have such grievances explicitly spelled out for them? It was like dealing with a child with too much power and too few morals, which was somewhat ironic considering the presence of Kosara… and himself. It was abjectly baffling that someone like him, a murderous bounty hunter of all people, had to be the one preaching about basic morality to a Cleric, but these were strange times.

He glanced at his prospective compatriots thoughtfully.

The Mind-Rapist and the Pest were annoyances, but they were objectively manageable ones. He could tolerate them for this mission, if barely, but that would have to do.

Naivara, Kathryn and Victoria were all far more palatable to their own degrees, and no-one was more surprised about the last one than Hugh. Honestly, despite his words to the Cleric and their implications, he had every intention of laying the social groundwork for a potential coup from day one. He would not allow an arrogant fool to ruin them so early. Quite frankly, there was nothing worse than a bad leader, and these greenhorns didn’t deserve to be led to their dooms by such.

It was a genuinely baffling thing, he considered, to find that he cared.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hugh Caphazath Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3 HP: 24/24 Armor Class: 17 Conditions: N/A Location: Darenby, The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Hugh nodded and smiled mildly at the Sheriff’s response to Marita’s inquiries, glad to have her cover such an angle. Personally, he might have overlooked those particular possibilities otherwise. After all, his preferred targets for bounty hunting rarely required anything close to such an investigation. He was clearly going to have to brush the cobwebs off a couple old and unused lines of thought if he was to keep ahead of the game here.

Regardless, the fact that they would actually have a list of names and commonalities to work with as a result was most certainly internally applauded. That said, the Sheriff indeed confirmed his suspicions that the Township proper was not the sole victim of these disappearances; unfortunately, the Sheriff rather noticeably also had no further commentary to provide regarding the lack of contact with outlying farmlands… or their potential relevance to the issue at hand.

It was worrying and frustrating in equal measure, especially since that lack of an answer potentially massively broadened their investigation area.

He idly noted the Township Constable’s name, one Mr. Cavendish, and committed it to memory. The Sheriff didn’t seem overly concerned regarding the Constable’s inclusion one way or another, so Hugh found himself at something of an impasse on how to proceed. Clearly, this venture was meant to be discreet, and more individuals being involved could only lead to their potential culprit being tipped off early… On the other hand, making clear their intentions and client from the start with one of the highest authorities in the city could very well serve to smooth over any feathers they may ruffle in the course of their investigations.

Meanwhile, the timeframe for completion seemed rather more intimidatingly narrow than Hugh was expecting for an investigation of such seemingly broad scale. Given carte blanche to act as he pleased, he would have much preferred a month, so that affairs could be conducted carefully and subtly.

Infiltrating a new location and sussing out all the most viable and reliable sources of information in a manner that didn’t draw unnecessary attention was most certainly not the work of a single measly week. Honestly, he didn’t know what the Sheriff was thinking, expecting results in the positive with that kind of lacking room to breathe. Then again…

Hugh panned his gaze over the table’s occupants.

Then again, his estimations were based on his personal experience operating solo. With this many eyes and ears, infiltration would surely be far more efficient, assuming these people could manage to resist overtly blowing their cover.

In other news, the word that Goblins were indeed present in these lands came as something of a relief. Certainly, they had been told to tell those who asked that they were out and about to slay Goblins, but till now, he’d yet to learn just how valid an excuse that was. That the greenskins were most liable to raid now with the coming cold for supplies also gave him some idea that perhaps the lost contact with farming villages was related. Unfortunately, he could hardly confirm or deny at this stage.

Hugh restrained a grimace and schooled his expression into a wry upturning of the lips, as his negotiations were wildly undercut by the rest of the assembled adventurers’ far more frugal requests… barring Kathryn’s admirably practical desire for fresh armor and weaponry. Honestly, he was genuinely shocked at the sheer… lack of vision the others had displayed.

Certainly, he had aimed high, but that was only natural in negotiations. Pitch something potentially unreasonable and then allow yourself to be talked down to what you actually want. Unfortunately, his lack of exact knowledge regarding what was available to the likes of Sheriff Gregory -and his new “companions’” own unexpectedly underwhelming requests- only managed to make his own look greedy by comparison.

In that case, now that he had a better understanding of where the limits lay, he could tailor his request to the client. Unfortunately, Sheriff Gregory’s hasty departure meant his own properly revised request would have to wait for judgement on the morrow… as would the Druid, Naivara’s, and perhaps Marita’s as well, should she come to her senses.

Honestly, some part of him was driven to feel a smidgeon of pity for the clearly out of touch young elf. If the Sheriff’s answer to him was any clue, then there would most certainly be no items that “belong to the forest” in these parts. Perhaps, if time permitted, he would see about advising her on the subject of requests. It was almost painful to watch such blatant lack of compensation occur before his eyes, but at the end of the day, he acknowledged that he could hardly do anything for her if she had no true desire within her. Also, quite frankly, they might all be best served if someone considered getting her proper measure as a socializer.

After all, upon reflection, he realised that he might actually have to worry more about Naivara than Kosara when it came to subtley. It was genuinely disturbing to consider, but he could hardly deny that Naivara’s flowery speech was also painfully direct and devoid of nuance or deception to those that could parse it. Kosara, at least, seemed as though she possessed the capacity for subterfuge… if not the willingness to use it.

As the noise from the kitchen began to reach a crescendo, Hugh watched the Sheriff’s retreating back, as the venerable man held a rather… heated and hushed discussion with the bartender. It was quite clear that Ser Gregory was displeased with his co-conspirator, but the distance and noise prevented anything of note from being heard. Considering that this contract was intended to be performed quietly, he could only imagine that the bartender’s gregarious attitude and lack of operational security had earned the elder man’s ire.

Hugh huffed out a long frustrated exhale, before schooling his expression back into placidity, as May and Guido approached once more, toting a somewhat less precarious amount of food than before, which they doled out with a notable clatter.

Accepting his pork pie and potatoes with a nod and small smile, Hugh took a sip of the warm sweet tea and hummed thoughtfully. As expected, it wasn’t quite as good as the Yawning Dog’s brews, but it was rich and somewhat thick without being cloying. Certainly, it was enough to wash out the rest of the shitty cider’s aftertaste and wet his appetite for the meal proper, but it was also almost too sweet, like the brewer had dumped a handful of sugar into it.

Shaking his head, Hugh set his complaints aside and did his best to ignore the reignitement of conversation by Kosara, reluctantly listening with half an ear, as he dug out his set of eating utensils from his personal mess kit. Likes? He liked being able to eat his meals in peace and quiet without worrying about his food going cold from being distracted by meaningless small talk. About himself? He’d said all he was willing to at this juncture, and he really had no interest in the personal affairs of his temporary compatriots. They were here to do a job, not make friends.

Digging into the meat pie, Hugh nodded in appreciation at the, as advertised, incredibly buttery crust, stabbing a couple potato slices with his fork and replacing his prior mouthful. While one ear was on the table, he still found his gaze drifting back towards the bar, where the Sheriff’s seeming chastisement of the innkeeper was coming to a close. Hugh’s brow furrowed at the look of naked concern upon the client’s face, as Sheriff Gregory shot the table a final glance before leaving.

Shaking his head, Hugh was rather prepared to put that exchange behind him, when he heard the halfling squeak out rather astonishingly loudly, “He only sent three letters! What does that even mean?”

Ah.

A deep pit dropped down into Hugh’s stomach, as his appetite made its best attempt to flee him.

That… answered several questions, and most certainly not in the way he wished they might be. Several inconsistencies that had stumped him now were cleared up most unpleasantly.

The Sheriff’s confusion at their numbers was because there were only meant to be three of them.

The letters presenting the contract as a covert operation hadn’t been in error. Had there been merely three of them, such a mission would be far more viable.

The original three letters most likely weren’t delivered in error. Or, at least, two of them must have been, while the third was intercepted. Additionally, having each letter go unaddressed also made some sense if the Sheriff’s attempts at operational security were truly so deep.

It was more than clear that this entire mission was horrifically compromised from the get-go.

Glancing over the table’s occupants, he seriously considered which letters were most likely legitimate. In terms of reliability, he could only assume Marita and Kathryn’s numbered among them… potentially Victoria’s as well, but he was sceptical to accept the idea of the Sheriff willingly reaching out to a necromancer, especially given the man’s clear misgivings regarding her.

Hugh considered his own bloodstained letter. Given the circumstances, he honestly couldn’t say for sure whether his was one of the originals, but he was almost certain Kosara’s wasn’t, considering her general demeanor. No one in their right mind would directly invite someone like her to participate in this sort of mission. Oddly enough, another potential candidate for a legitimate letter was Naivara… though unlikely. After all, there was her lack of social skills, generally conspicuous appearance, and further the way she hinted at genuine surprise at being contacted, like she’d never even seen a letter before. All these things told him that she wasn’t carrying an original. On the other hand, the fact that the letter was implied to be specifically mailed to her…

Why would the culprit specifically…? Actually, now that he considered who he’d gotten it from, odds were high that the fake letters amongst them were most likely Naivara and Kosara’s, with the last being either his own or Victoria’s.

Then again, that all depended on the likes of the three adventurers, who had all made their leave before, not also potentially possessing one of the originals, which meant there was a non-zero chance that every last letter at this table was fake... Just… how many fakes were out there in the wind? How great was the incoming chaos?

Hugh swallowed apprehensively, bringing his thoughts back to the present and considering his options.

There was no way to tell for sure if one of the party’s number was a traitor, not yet, but the odds were mildly high that one was. However, if he wanted to catch them, the best way to do so would be to redirect the party’s suspicions outward, ensuring that any potential traitor felt far more secure in their position… and make them far more likely to slip up.

To that end, despite the convenience of it, he would refrain from suggesting the Cleric utilize her truth magic at this time. After all, while the chances were low that she was involved, he didn’t yet know her well enough to say for certain. He’d have to get closer to her, to several of them, confirm and deny his suspicions. The priority was obviously Marita. With her magic in play and the caster trustworthy, they could almost trivialize the reveal of any traitors.

That said, if she chose to suggest the usage of such magic at this juncture, he wouldn’t oppose her. After all, though he was a private individual, he had nothing incriminating to hide that was relevant to the situation at hand. In fact, most telling would be any that either opposed the usage of said magic… or chose to resist it, instead of allowing the spell to run its course. In such a case, he was inclined to actively support her; after all, it could only make him look more trustworthy in the long run.

Shoveling more of his potatoes into his mouth and setting in again on the pork pie, Hugh considered his “compatriots”, the people he would have to independently investigate to ensure counterintelligence was not leveled against everyone involved.

If anyone was most suspicious at this moment, he would have to say it was Kosara and Victoria. The former he could admit was mostly his personal distaste talking, but her attitude was so over-the-top that it might be reasonable to assume it was all an act, a performance she put on for outsiders in order to worm her way into their good graces… like she already had for the majority present. And it was also to be noted that she seemed to have a particular camaraderie with the Bard.

Victoria, on the other hand, as much as part of him wanted to give her the benefit of a doubt, was a Bard. Enchantment magic was generally their forte, and he could see it being reasonable that her utilization of such was a perfect way to both manipulate the local law enforcement into tolerating her necromancy and setting her free… and also potentially into letting her get close enough to the Sheriff to manipulate him into writing more letters than intended. Granted, she had supposedly arrived in town yesterday morning, but it was easy to see how she might have left town to spread fake letters far and wide before her return.

But Hugh restrained his thoughts, his paranoia all but frothing at the metaphorical mouth. At the end of the day, this was all speculation at present. As much as his pride pushed for him to confirm his own bias, he knew well enough that everyone involved was innocent until proven guilty. Naturally, it was up to him to do the proving.

Of course, that was when Marita stood and started chanting.

Hugh was out his chair before he could really think about it, pure reflex finding a bladed dart in his hand and ready to hurl straight into the enemy's ey- The abrupt impact of the back of his chair slamming into the floorboards and the vague comprehension of the chant’s meaning stayed his hand long enough for brilliant magic to ripple over the area.

Explosive rage at the unexpected recklessness of the act stole his breath away and nearly drove him to reject the magic out of pure spite, but his comprehension of the rationale -if flawed- behind it managed to waver his concentration. He felt it take hold, and… Hugh honestly couldn’t remember that last time he was so angry. Suddenly, he was well aware of what they meant by “seeing red”. Was this what Barbarians dealt with on a day-to-day basis?

“Are you fucking mad?!” the words practically strangled themselves in his throat, such was his utter fury. Abruptly, he inhaled long and hard and went disturbingly still, stowing his dart away all too calmly, as his expression twisted into one of pure disdain. “No. Fuck you. You don’t get to act so recklessly in this sort of situation and expect to be rewarded, not from me. You say you know who your spell works on? Well then, you should be well aware it’s working on me.”

Leaning down, he stood his chair back up roughly, before turning a glare of naked hatred at the Cleric. “It would be one thing if you’d asked, hell, if you’d given any manner of warning at all. In fact, I’d even have supported you then, and it would have been all too telling to see who was opposed to you casting the spell. But you didn’t ask… so you damn well better not expect any answers from me.” Turning his attention to the rest of the table, he continued. “I recommend the same to all of you. Tell her nothing. If she wants to foster trust, this is the last way to do it, casting surprise spells on her own supposed allies, especially since we can’t say she’s trustworthy either. Are we really supposed to take her word for it, when she’s the one in control of the spell?” Sending a strangely pitying look down his nose at Marita, he snorted, “Honestly, I was expecting better from a woman of the faith. Clearly, I misjudged you. How utterly disappointing.”

He turned away from Marita dismissively, adding her to the slowly growing list of individuals he’d rather keep out of his direct line of sight… and never have behind him. Biting his tongue to prevent further verbal bile from spilling forth at present, his eyes alighted on the far end of the table, as he took a deep, steadying breath and restored some measure of his composure.

Jaw set, Hugh strode around to the opposite end of the table and swept up the opened letters, returning to his seat a moment later. Sliding his food to the side into the unoccupied eating space previously owned by Mona, Hugh began unfolding each letter in turn, squinting at them intently under the candlelight of the tavern. His ancestral darkvision served him well, taking the insufficient lighting and blowing up the surfaces of his objects of study as though they were illuminated by stark daylight... Not that it managed to do all that much good.

After several long moments of intense study, taking occasional bites of his pork pie and sips from tea and mostly ignoring the going-ons of the table in the meantime beyond the highlights, Hugh sighed in resignation and addressed the table at large, his voice still somewhat shaky with repressed fury.

“So, there were only meant to be three letters... Suddenly, my misgivings about this entire venture bear fruit beyond even my expectations.” Folding each letter back up, he frowned. “From what I can tell, each letter is handwritten, and all are apparently penned by the same hand. I couldn’t say anything particular about the ink, since the smell of food in here is overpowering any observations I might make. The parchment and wax seals also appear to be of the same make, and the seals themselves all appear to be equally legitimate. Then again,” he shrugged in an unconcerned manner, “calligraphy isn’t exactly my specialty. Feel free to take my observations with a grain of salt and make your own.” That said, he slid the pile of letters towards the table’s center.

Taking another bite of his waning supply of potatoes, Hugh downed another swig of tea, as he watched the table’s occupants digest his words. Running his tongue across the front of his upper teeth, he scowled openly now. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. Our mission is already compromised. Way I see it, there’s no good reason for anyone to have interfered in the Sheriff’s affairs if they weren’t overmuch concerned with him poking around the matter of the disappearances.” He stabbed a finger down at the table and eyed the other adventurers seriously, studiously avoiding focusing overmuch on the Cleric. “This is a mission meant for three, intended to be conducted with care and subtlety. Personally, I can think of few better ways to stir up chaos and force an abandonment of discrete tactics than to put six adventurers on the same case.”

Leaning back in his chair, he ran one hand through his shaggy brown hair in a clearly stressed manner, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Quite frankly, all that tells me for sure is that it is more important than ever that we do exactly what they clearly don’t want us to… and keep a low profile going forward… if at all possible. Further, were we not expected to bring results in a week’s time, I would far prefer that we first thoroughly investigate the breach of security in the local mailing system. It’s a blatantly obvious lead. If nothing else, it might serve us well to be upfront with the Sheriff on the morrow in this matter and inquire of him about the functions of the local mail… and about who runs it.”

Honestly, there were two main ways to take the existence of extra letters, ways he chose to voice aloud, as he cleared his throat from another sip of rich, warm, calming tea. As the warm beverage slipped down his throat, he found his naked rage slowly dying down to a simmering grudge. “Personally, I see only two legitimate reasons for there to be extra letters. Either there is a criminal of some skill out and about, who can mimic handwriting to such an excellent degree, or, worse…” His expression turned grim. “Taking what we know of this quest into account, I would say it is not unfair to posit that our client may also be a victim, potentially manipulated into making more letters than intended. The latter is honestly the worst case scenario, but in light of what we know, it has become viable.”

Rapping his fingers against the tabletop in a steady rhythm, Hugh considered things with a somewhat clearer head. Refusing to answer… sabotaging the Cleric’s frankly most useful tool in this situation… Objectively, he should be inclined to set his pride aside and answer her inquiries. Objectively, it would do the most the fastest to clear him of suspicion. Objectively, it could do well to mend any bridges he might currently be burning. Objectively...

Objectivity, just this once, could go fuck itself with a rusty fork.

His mind was sacred. His will and his freedom to act as he pleased were priceless. And anyone who infringed upon that to any degree, no matter how minor, without his permission was without question or exception his enemy.

Hugh shot Marita a last seething glare, before closing his eyes and returning to silently sipping his tea.

(/._./)

TLDR: Marita manages to specifically push what might just be Hugh’s biggest button. I was really NOT expecting to have this part of his character come to the forefront any time soon, but she managed to neatly -if unintentionally- sidestep even the most basic courtesy that would have kept it for another day. XD

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Hugh Caphazath Half-Elf, Monk (Way of Shadow), Level 3 HP: 24/24 Armor Class: 17 Conditions: N/A Location: Darenby, The Infamous Pear Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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Hugh found another thread of tension leaving his shoulders, as the Sheriff collected all the letters without comment, intently scrutinizing the contents before splaying them across the table, broken seals upwards. Hugh found himself raising an inquisitive -and perhaps relieved- brow at the departure of two of the shadier members of this entourage, reducing the gathered adventurers’ numbers to a far more comfortable… and manageable six. Honestly, he was most particularly relieved at the departure of the Sprite. One less shadow of the past to deal with.

The ruckus from the kitchen provided a perhaps… charming ambiance to the otherwise quiet establishment, as their prospective employer gathered his thoughts.

The Sheriff was a deceptively sharp one, Hugh mused idly, as he briefly locked his brown eyes with the aged man’s own searching pair. It wasn’t often he got to meet someone of similar temperament, but here he was. In a way, that made things both more reassuring… and increasingly baffling, especially in regards to the caution being displayed by Gregory now in contrast to the otherwise lackluster operational security. The strange look of confusion Mr. Arbalest had shot them upon his entrance had not gone unseen by the Ki cultivator’s watchful gaze. However, the reasoning behind it would likely continue to elude him so long as he refrained from verbally approaching it.

While that lack of knowing irked him, he found himself able to put it aside for the time being, as the Sheriff dispensed quite easily with the pleasantries and launched into his contract pitch proper. Hugh chose to ignore the jab at “adventuring” types. Perhaps, on a technical level, this instance might include him, but he was hardly the type to look for or start trouble… unlike what could well be most of his companions.

Hugh absorbed the Sheriff’s words with closed eyes, leaning back in his chair, as he committed them to memory. Broadly simplified, the town of Avonshire within this region... also of Avonshire, was currently experiencing disappearances. Some returned. Some did not. And those that did return, were supposedly changed in sinisterly subtle ways while also now possessing what the Sheriff claimed was unusual hesitation in interacting with him.

Hugh could buy that. Sheriff Gregory certainly seemed the reliable type, and the attitudes of the Infamous Pear’s current patrons spoke for themselves. However, he would withhold from making any particular assumptions for the time being. The entire basis of this contract’s creation was a lack of information; it wouldn’t do to make assumptions and accidentally lock himself into an unproductive line of thought.

The Sheriff’s mention of prior personal interaction with Victoria did, however, manage to assuage some of his concerns regarding the probable necromancer. Not all of them, certainly. After all, she was a Bard. It was entirely possible that she had worked some manner of Enchantment magic on the Sheriff’s mind. The fact that she’d obviously managed to get herself jailed for trespassing in the graveyard was mildly amusing though.

Honestly, the more he saw, however, the more he was inclined to consider the quality of Victoria’s hidden depths. She was a Bard, and, yet, in conversation, she was remarkably reserved. In fact, she was probably the least talkative Bard Hugh had ever encountered, which was honestly a relief, but he could have done without the looming potential danger that came with it.

Her earlier mention of Amenteph and Alhazred had piqued his memory. Though the great war was thirty years gone, the aftershocks could still be felt in the present day. Having been rather directly involved in a number of those aftershocks early on in life, he knew well of the old grudges and bad blood that flowed between the north and south. Even today, the undead that had been raised in seething hoards in those times had yet to be fully disposed of, and much land had been forever tainted and rendered foul and dead by necromancy. The scars of that war were still worn upon the land and its people.

Keeping such in mind, it was rather understandable that Victoria might worry about a… substantial -perhaps disproportionate- response to her practices. Certainly though, Hugh wasn’t one to particularly begrudge her them. When it came to survival, one used what they had and did what they must. Further, the idea that she was raised into such practices was hardly out of consideration. Were he to act against someone on such a basis, he’d be nothing less than a hypocrite. For now, she had a chance, one chance. In time, he might expand that to more, but at present, she had demonstrated no real ill will. Against his better judgement, he would abide her presence.

In the meantime, he listened with half an ear, as Marita asked her questions, all of them good ones. Once more rather grateful to have her establish a pattern to follow, he began to compose a set of his own inquiries, as he considered the Sheriff’s offer of additional compensation. Without knowing what the Bard had requested, it was hard to say what was reasonable, but perhaps it was best if he aimed optimistically, instead of lowballing things. After all, though the region wasn’t particularly wealthy, the Sheriff managed an objectively large amount of land as what amounted to the top authority in law enforcement. With that in mind, surely he had a fair amount of confiscated contraband or otherwise useful items that were simply gathering dust due to their lacking a place in standard military use.

He could understand -objectively, though certainly not empathetically- a Cleric might feel the need to reject additional compensation at first glance, but he wouldn’t dare throw away such an opportunity.

Opening his eyes, Hugh hummed and rapped his fingernails across the table top, as he spoke in turn, nodding. "The terms of this contract appear quite sufficient as presented." Twenty gold coins was hardly anything to scoff at. That was nearly a full month of decent living, more if one were to be frugal.

Lacing his fingers together again, he leaned forward, forearms flat against the table. "Although, if personalized requests are on the table... within reason -as per your offer, then I cannot deny that I am in search of a couple magical items, not especially common, but hardly rare. As the Sheriff of a sizable region, it stands to reason that you may have confiscated or unused items to spare. I'm looking for a bag with a smiling face and an extraordinary carrying capacity or a decanter of water that never runs dry. I'd far prefer the former, but if you possess a spare of either, I'd be hard-pressed to reject it."

He shrugged and nodded briefly Marita's way. "That aside, before we begin our quest, I too have a number of preliminary questions, assuming you are at liberty to provide answers." As the Cleric had already obviously surmised, it was only reasonable to reach for any scrap of information they could at this early juncture. When the Sheriff did not deny him, Hugh began to list his own inquiries off.

Unlacing his fingers, he raised his right pointer finger. "Firstly, what is the name of the Constable of Avonshire? Should we feel free to approach him about this matter, or is it preferable to keep the investigation below his notice?"

His middle finger came up to join the pointer. "Secondly, regarding the Goblins, is that mere rumor and an excuse, or should we be expected to encounter them during the course of our mission?"

The ring finger joined in. "Thirdly, are the disappearances limited to the Township itself, or is the surrounding area also suspect? I ask because I arrived several days early to perform some preliminary investigations, and I have heard tell of a conspicuous loss of contact with outlying farmlands. I hoped you could provide some insight into whether this is a red herring or a viable avenue of investigation."

His right hand fingers now splayed upwards, aside from the tucked-in thumb, Hugh continued. "And lastly, should we be expected to provide results within any particular timeframe? The circumstances indeed appear suspect, but what shall be done in the instance that we uncover sufficient evidence to disprove any true foul play beyond coincidence?" The last question was of particular importance. After all, the very basis of this contract’s creation was a lack of information regarding its own credibility. It would be fairly illogical to proceed without asking for an alternative “win condition”. “Open ended” in these sorts of cases could result in them not being compensated simply due to the Sheriff’s paranoia turning out to be nothing more. Naturally, out of pure professionalism, Hugh would do his best to investigate the Sheriff’s claims and see his concerns dealt with, but the other possibility could hardly be dismissed given the circumstances. Better to be safe than sorry.

His piece said, Hugh rested his elbows on the table and his chin atop once more laced fingers.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Martian Dang. Looked like you had something really good worked out for your character. Good luck with things.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Archangel89 Heyo, looks pretty sweet!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Sigil Ah, gotchya, I missed the "no gold" bit. I'll edit my reply to reflect that and limit confusion.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Archangel89 Nice. Yeah, sorry about that. Also, Sigil has green-lit the Studded Leather armor above, so you should be able to edit your AC to 14 instead and remove any unnecessary bold-ing of words related to it.

Also, here's the approved PCs thus-far, so you can see which text colors are already taken.

Approved Characters:

>list]
[*] Victoria Belmont (Half-Elf Bard)
[*] Marita Bärbel (Human Cleric)
[*] Kosara (Tiefling Warlock)
[*] Naivara Gray (Wood Elf Druid)
[*] Kathryn Pyke (Human Fighter)
[*] Jorlton Forpara (Forest Gnome Rogue)
[*] Hugh Caphazath (Half-Elf Monk)
[*] Mona Holcombe (this player is temporarily away from the RP, but this is their color, so a dark yellow could work if desired)

As for image size: You'll need to download/have the image and then find a way to edit it (possibly by right click). Try to find a custom "resize" option and then switch the height to 250 exactly (the width should auto-adjust as a result). Then re-add it, and you're golden.
I use windows and had to open the image first, then right click to find resizing, so I don't know if that'll be helpful to you.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Sigil Oh, whoopsie there. I was helping him out with figuring out the point buy, and there must have been a miscommunication.

@Archangel89 The totals of what I showed you were the total AFTER the racial bonus had already been added, as I spelled out my process. The STR and END should both be 16 in total, as both should have been 14 BEFORE the racial bonus.