Pothies on Parade
Market District, early evening.
The sun is falling. Fioderus Alvyn Oblestamp Schwarz, a gnome with entirely too many names, and his two assistants, Marvynus (who goes by Marv) and Hal (who goes by... Hal), have been desperately selling plush toys of Apotheosis, better known as Pothy, the white raven, to try and make up for lost revenue over the past holiday season. This particular shipment that Fioderus and friends have been trying to sell all day was late, something that really rankles Fioderus. The poor adventurers who have been contracted with keeping guard for Fioderus's operation have had to hear Fioderus's bellyaching all day.
"... First, possessed toys are running amok and scarin' the pants off of people. Secondly, the darn shipment was late!" Fioderus sighs and sighs and sighs dramatically as he looks around at the passerby. "Anyone want a giant plush toy of--what's his name again?"
"Pothy," Hal says. He's been holding a smaller Pothy plushie this entire time. "Although I've named mine Pothiculus."
"What kinda name is Pothiculus?" asks Marv.
"Are you, hah, Pothicular about names?" Hal fires back with a grin. "I'm going to buy a giant plush Pothy off of you if nobody comes for it, Fio! _With_ my employee discount!"
"No, no, no, no, _no_!" Fioderus protests, sighing. "You're going to put me underwater if I give you the discount! Even more underwater than I already am!" Then he cups his hands over his mouth and bellows, "GIANT CUDDLY WHITE RAVEN PLUSH! GET YOUR CUDDLY POTHY, FIFTY PERCENT OFF, TODAY ONLY!"
Then Fioderus mutters, "Or I'll throw the damn things in the Tornmawr."
Despite the snow, the post-Yule season isn't completely without cheer. And there's the prospect of work to be done in the new year as well. Perfectly normal work. No, really. That's Telamon's story and he's sticking to it.
Walking with Auranar and Verna, the elegant archmage is regaling them with a recent tale. "So the mimic pounces on him, but it didn't know the fellow was a sorcerer with a strong fire-elemental aspect. Palm... well, I wouldn't say he panicked, but he did instinctively catch on fire. Which the mimic did not like at -all-."
Tel chuckles. "Needless to say, the mimic let go of him and made for the exit faster than you can say 'I've made a terrible mistake.'"
When the assignment came up for offer at the Adventurer Guild, Skyler Skywalker, (ex)Sky Pirate and Adventurer Extraordinaire jumped at the chance. Partially because he's a sucker for stuffies, but also partially because his usual partner slash emotional support witchman slash babysitter Jarik is off doing witchy things in the woods.
Which is probably code for taking a much needed break from the city and the not-entirely-sane companion, but that's neither here nor there.
But to be fair, getting *paid* to hang out with toys? Well. That's something that Skyler would almost do for free. And so he's perched near the fire and near Telamon, listening to the archmage talk about mimics with wide eyes. He's in his usual work gear, armored great coat of studded leather with buckler on arm and sword across his back, but has added bifurcated mittens and a knit hat with ear flaps and a puff on top for warmth. He's currently holding a cup of hot tea. "Oh, wow! I've never faced a mimic. Is it true they have giant tongues?"
Auranar stands near to Verna - who happens to be her wife - and Telamon, who happens to be her brother if by marriage. He is thankfully making the time pass by more quickly by recounting tales that he's heard from the guild (she's not sure if they're from the Adventurer's Guild or from the Mages's Guild or perhaps the Shining Chalice. Telamon does like to keep himself occupied.
"I can't blame the poor fellow." She remarks dryly. "The mimic quite earned it." She laughs lightly at the story and shakes her head. Such stories are quite commonplace though entertaining amongst the various guilds of Alexandria really. "Did I tell you the one about the man who had a penchant for shooting doors? I'm not sure if it was because *he* thought they were mimics or not mind you..."
She trails off as Skyler interjects into the conversation and smiles at the gentleman. "Some do I imagine. They tend to be of the shape-shifting variety."
Eztli wasn't entirely certain how she ended up taking this job. Well, she didn't really have anything better to be doing, and perhaps she was at least a bit concerned about people selling plush animals in the city these days.
The small makari was waiting near the stalls, tapping one foot into the snow and seeming completely unfazed by the cold. Ah, and something to break things up! She waves to some of the people coming by. "Surely if you can manage to sell a giant Pothy to anyone, it would be him!"
Carver sits astride Deathless, hood tossed up to keep the falling snowdrifts off her. She made a point to keep her bow with her this time, within the professional occupation of Ravenguard. With the assistance of her slightly more famous than she horse, she towers over Eztli.
SNIFF. The eternal snotty music of the season. Deathless's ears fold back at it, perturbed. "Hopefully this guy gets some business soon so we can go home. He's makin' me more anxious than a chicken who can't lay eggs."
There was little cheer in the snow covered red ribbons hanging from the horns; even with the knit caps on - with threads dangling between them - the sith-makari was mostly covered in snow by now. Endless snow. The (only relatively!) short draconian gives himself a 'nth shake and shiver, as he attempts to get rid off the off his leather cloak. That he always seems to quite refuse to close properly.
A loud rumbling sound leaves himself and he addresses the toymaker, "It perhaps is cuddly - but where would one even store such a giant toy?" He asks, clicking his teeth annoyedly. "And why would one want to cuddle with a raven, and not say, a person?" Like a Dragoon, perhaps? "At least, diversifying would be more attractive."
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (7)+33: 40 GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (12)+1: 13 GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (2)+5: 7 GAME: Skyler rolls perception: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Carver rolls perception: (3)+15: 18 GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (6)+5: 11
As the adventurers discuss things, or stand guard, or mutter to themselves (or all three), Hal seems to be frowning relentlessly at one particular little Pothy plushie close to one of Fioderus's wagons. But, he shrugs after a moment.
"Snacks," says the voice of a positively cherubic young boy, probably around five years old. It's coming from the little Pothy plushie.
Fioderus blinks, and he looks over at Marv. "Hey, these aren't the talky-enchanted plush toys, right? I don't recall ordering that from the workshop."
Marv looks thoughtful for a moment. "Oh. I did. The workshop said they were still working out some things, but that's fine, right--"
"SNACKS." This one comes from a large Pothy plushie.
Who then lifts himself up onto his talons, which makes Hal look at it with wide eyes of awe and joy while Fioderus and Marv look positively terrified. "SNACKS."
"Ummm, HELP," Fioderus screams as he runs. So does Marv (who drags Hal with him).
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d3: (2): 2 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (15)+34: 49 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (4)+34: 38 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (6)+13: 19 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (6)+13: 19 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+18: (8)+18: 26 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d3: (3): 3 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (14)+34: 48 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (9)+34: 43 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (1)+13: 14 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (1)+13: 14 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d2: (2): 2 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (2)+7: 9 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (3)+34: 37 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (3)+34: 37 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (5)+13: 18 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (6)+13: 19 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+18: (9)+18: 27
It's not just the one large Pothy. Two more stand up on their talons and yell, "SNACKS." One of them advances toward Verna and another advances toward Auranar. Their beaks are ceramic, which is supposed to mimic the texture of a real raven beak, but they _hurt_ as they jab into Auranar and Verna's skin. Oww! They also try to restrain, opening their beaks, but Auranar and Verna are protected by magic.
The last of the three large Pothies that is fighting advances toward Aelwyn and does similarly to his brethren. "SNACKS." He pecks down twice into Aelwyn, and while Aelwyn isn't protected by the same spell or that keeps Auranar and Verna safe, the bird fails to grab him anyway.
Skyler, meanwhile, sees one of the smaller Pothy plushies moving in to fight... him!? Yes, one tries to jab into his... Shin. It's not very effective. "I'm going to kill you!"
"Woah! That is _not_ a very Pothy-like thing to say!" Hal says behind the safety of a tree, still holding onto his own Pothy plushie (which isn't trying to murder him). "Out of character!"
"What the hell are you talking about, Hal?" Marv says with a glare. "You've never even met the real bird!"
GAME: Eztli casts Form of the Dragon II. Caster Level: 14 DC: 26 GAME: Verna casts Shield Other. Caster Level: 19 DC: 19 GAME: Verna casts Holy Aura. Caster Level: 19 DC: 25
"You feeling alright, Carver?" Eztli asked, raising one brow in concern up to the Ranger as she kept sniffling. "If you'd like, I could always buy the remaining stock, and we could go and warm up back at your place." She suggests, right before the plushes decide they weren't content just sitting there.
"Get behind me, Carver, please." The small makari growls as she steps forward, glowing with heat for a moment, as the brown scales they were mottled with overtook their body, wings, limbs and tail elongating and growing, until there was a massive brass dragon where she was standing a moment earlier. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to limit any damage to the surrounding buildings, within reason."
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (20)+7: 27 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d2+2: (1)+2: 3 GAME: Eztli rolls will: (14)+13: 27
One little Pothy is filled with the audacity of monarchs. He looks up at Eztli with embroidered blue eyes. For a moment, it seems nothing will happen.
And then it pecks Eztli on the shin.
Despite being wounded by it, it's such a little baby wound that ever-briefly, just looking at the Pothy inspires a brief sense of... pity... Nope, nevermind, the feeling's gone.
GAME: Telamon casts Haste/Quicken. Caster Level: 20 DC: 28 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+sorcerer+11: (11)+20+11: 42 GAME: Telamon casts Greater Shadow Conjuration. Caster Level: 20 DC: 29 GAME: Telamon rolls 3d8+7: (19)+7: 26
Verna was quietly listening to Telamon's recounting of events, frowning notably concerning the mimic. Then there are the flocked corvid facsimiles, and discussion of which draw her eye. She considers the merits of acquiring one... yet the debate is quite brief; mostly likely due to the fact that they begin to rise up. It is not unusual that they would seek snacks, but it IS unusual that they would seek PEOPLE as snacks.
She is momentarily shocked by Auranar suddenly being nommed upon that she finds herself accosted by a different big bird beak. Oh, Halls no!
An enchanted rod appears in one gloved hand, quickening the motions of her other. "We are together in all things. Always. Your pain is as mine own." The hand touches Auranar as she speaks, but does not linger, instead raised high. "You are NOT what you appear to be! The Harpist's Eye is upon us all!" A beam of silver light momentarily penetrates the falling snow, illuminating many in her vicinity, and limning them in the light of Her gaze.
GAME: Skyler rolls cmb+1+2: (7)+3+1+2: 13 GAME: Skyler rolls cmb+1+2: (6)+3+1+2: 12 GAME: Skyler rolls cmb+1+2: (19)+3+1+2: 25
Telamon's expression is one of anger mixed with disbelief. Again? AGAIN?
But then things are moving, and he is called to action. The giant Pothy using his sister as a punching bag makes his hands curl into fists, but there are others to consider -- and he's pretty sure levelling part of the city would not win him any friends. And so, deliberately, his eyes fill with starlight as he gestures, "Lukas, sa-i'iz!" A pulse of silvery light limns him, before jumping to Skyler, Carver, Eztli, and Auranar. Even Deathless gets a dose of magical quickness, speeding the horse's movements.
But that's just the warm up. Telamon weaves away from the menacing giant stuffed Pothy, fingers moving again. "Anungal, silig gissu, namsimug gesse," he chants. Black smoke pours from his hands, pooling, swirling behind him and condensing into a lithe female form. A winged, elflike creature with the lower body of a black-scaled serpent and a curiously familiar face, who begins to strum a lyre as her tail uncoils... touching Auranar and mending her wounds. The tune lifts spirits further, encourages them to be more than what they are.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6: (4): 4
"Honestly, I had a life sized stuffed griffin when I was a lad." Skyler says absently, regarding what someone would do with a gigantic stuffed raven plushie, "I hollowed it out and use to hide from my tutors in it." He scratches his jaw, "Worked the first time, but then I got the giggles and my da beat me black and blu... DANA'S TITS!"
That's about when the plushies come to life and attack, you see, interrupting the story. When the small plushie attacks him, he flinches, staring with wide eyes down at it. "The fuck?!" He squeaks, and after one frantic look around as if to ask if this is seriously happening he reaches down, grabs the Pothy, and attempts to throw it into the fire pit beside him. Unfortunately, there's quite a bit of fumbling... He nearly drops it, catches it by a wing...
"Quit squirming!"
And nearly drops it again, before sort of just hacky-sacking it into the fire pit. "If I die to stuffies, Jarik is gunna *kill* me again." He groans, reaching up to grab his sword from above his shoulder as it catches fire, prepared to poke at it in case it attempts to fly out. Which speaking of... "Oh shit. Can they fly?!"
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16
Another little Pothy plushie tries to kill Eztli, but this one is nowhere near as successful in drawing a wound on the sith-makar. "BLOOD! MURDER! I WILL BECOME AS CARACOROTH AND DEVOUR THE MOON!"
"Out! Of! Character!" Hal is stomping mad by now behind his tree. "Whoever did this has _no_ appreciation for the sweetness and silliness that is the whole joy of Pothy's character! Why, I oughta..."
GAME: Carver rolls 1d20+13: (5)+13: 18 GAME: Carver rolls 1d20+11: (18)+11: 29 GAME: Carver rolls 1d20+11: (8)+11: 19 GAME: Carver rolls 1d20+11: (12)+11: 23 GAME: Carver rolls 3d6+9: (13)+9: 22 GAME: Carver rolls weapon7+3-4: (14)+18+3+-4: 31 GAME: Carver rolls weapon7+3-4: (10)+18+3+-4: 27 GAME: Carver rolls weapon7+3-4: (2)+18+3+-4: 19 GAME: Carver rolls weapon7+3-9: (6)+18+3+-9: 18 GAME: Carver rolls 2d8+14: (16)+14: 30 GAME: Carver rolls 1d8+7: (1)+7: 8 GAME: Carver rolls 1d8+7: (7)+7: 14
Carver never got to chance to answer the hypothetical buyout of this poor merchant's supply, cause they demanded to be return to their base components. Violently. She does nod as Eztli asks her to stay back, gap-toothed grin flashing when the woman swells and shifts into something grander and shinier still.
Then everything kicks into action, magic spells sparking through the night in silver lancing arcs or gracing upon Verna from the very heavens itself. Deathless is quicker on the draw, knocking over the brazier with the burning Pothy. It does not get to rise this day again, because the great chestnut red horse stomps it. Stomps it. STOMPS IT.
Carver's raccoon face could not read more proud. A rending owl's warcry is followed by her barrage of arrows, ripping another of the small doll's to pieces near her dragon paramour.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon19-4+2+1: (6)+19+-4+2+1: 24 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon19-4+2+1: (17)+19+-4+2+1: 35 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon19-4+2+1-5: (16)+19+-4+2+1+-5: 29 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon19-4+2+1-10: (8)+19+-4+2+1+-10: 16 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage19+12+2: aliased to 1d10+5+12+2: (6)+5+12+2: 25 GAME: Aelwyn rolls 1d6: (4): 4 GAME: Auranar casts Flame Strike. Caster Level: 11 DC: 20 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (4)+15: 19 GAME: Auranar rolls 11d6: (48): 48
Aelwyn was considering how much he could bend the rules and offer his coin for the Eztli's get out of snow free card, before the pothies begin to move. And move they do - one of the large ones pecking crimson across the ruddy scaled sith-makar's flesh. "Tch-! A snack, a snack?!" He rumbles low, and then swings his blade down diagonally, leaning down. "A dance of the snacks, then, for this one shall demonstrate how sweet and crisp taste like!"
The Dragoon raises his glaive - and in an excessive amount of spinning, twirling, and an ankle breaking twist, his glaive rains down towards the large plushy. It misses. It misses. It misses. It barely hits, leaving the toy scorched. "Do not take this for a snack, lest wine be involved." He says with a low tone, orange eyes glowing in the fire light.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (11)+34: 45 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (19)+34: 53 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (17)+7: 24 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (6)+7: 13 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+11: (5)+11: 16 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+11: (4)+11: 15 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (1)+34: 35 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (12)+34: 46 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (8)+7: 15
Auranar doesn't expect the Pothies to go rouge.
That sentence describes the chaos and the fact that the Pothy manages to badger her into submission with two hard strikes before she manages to stagger backwards one hand reaching out for Verna and finding her wife. "I wouldn't see you hurt either."
Even as she speaks her dark eyes glitter as they turn on the Pothy that stands near Telamon. She pulls her bow free and unleashes her arcane energy at the Pothy, bringing a huge bolt of flame and holy light upon the thing from the very heavens themselves. "BURN!"
Protecting something that is the graven image of her sister's familiar is one thing, protecting something that is an unholy abomination... quite another.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+11: (6)+11: 17 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (8)+34: 42 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+34: (7)+34: 41 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (4)+13: 17 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+13: (5)+13: 18 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+18: (11)+18: 29 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (19)+7: 26
The three large Pothy plushies that remain are less murderous in dialogue compared to the small brethren. The one that's on Aelwyn continues its assault senselessly. "SNACK--"
And then, when he draws blood, the Pothy's eyes... explode in flames. Thread and sewing thread are immolated. It shrieks in pain. (Which is not a pleasant sound for Telamon, Auranar, and Verna, because it sounds just like _their_ Pothy shrieking in pain.)
So, too, do the Pothies that attack Telamon and Verna, screaming in agony as their eyes are immolated by Verna's magic.
GAME: Eztli rolls 19d6: (71): 71 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (12)+15: 27 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (16)+15: 31 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (5)+15: 20 GAME: Verna casts Heal. Caster Level: 19 DC: 23
One of the plushies pecked her hard, but before Eztli could retaliate, it was promptly dispatched. "Thank you, you two!" The large dragon growls, sounding a bit unsettling in how similar it was to normal. She rears back, and the dragon expels a gout of searing flames, that leaves two of the plushes promptly roasted, and the nearby carts thankfully unscathed.
GAME: Telamon casts Disintegrate. Caster Level: 20 DC: 27 GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+15: (8)+15: 23 GAME: Telamon rolls ranged+1+2: (12)+17+1+2: 32 GAME: Telamon rolls 40d6: (119): 119 GAME: Skyler rolls ranged-4+1+2: (2)+6+-4+1+2: 7
"She has judged you unworthy," Verna notes as the button eyes are burnt away by the Harpist's Judgement. The words are less forceful by their end, as the screaming is ... very unsettling, even if she knows full well that they are twisted imitations. With most fallen, she turns her attention to the living in pain. One hand reaches towards Aelwyn. "It is not your time to be judged..." Despite the distance between them, soothing light of her Mistress' mercy stretches out to encompass the wounded Dragoon.
The screaming is the worst. It sounds -too much- like Pothy. Too much like his wife's closest friend, his 'little brother'. Telamon can't help but flinch at the noise, gritting his teeth. "Good work!" he calls out to Eztli, as he sidesteps, bringing himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Skyler.
"Sorry, I... don't have any good words for this." Telamon draws a rod of ivory, graven with images of ravens, and he points it at the remaining giant stuffed, scorched Pothy. "Just that the real thing is a lot less bloodthirsty." With that, an incantation falls from his lips, and a beam of coruscating blue energy strikes out, hitting the vicious stuffed doll dead center. There's a shimmer of light washing over it, before it fades, and for a moment it looks like the large doll has turned to stone.
And then it crumbles to dust in a heartbeat, leaving nothing but a bad memory.
"Holy shit."
There's a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the gigantic plushies screams as holy light rends their eyes.
"No, literally, that's some *holy* shit." Skyler's grey-green eyes are wide as saucers as he witnesses pure chaos go down. Reckless and, well, as not bright as the man usually is, when the creature back off he doesn't mindlessly charge forward. He made a promise, dang it, and he's gunna keep it! Which is just as well as he cringes back as the brass dragon suddenly lets out a roar and toasts the creatures in front of him. He glances around wildly, trying to figure out what to do next, when he spots the last of the small guys at the foot of the sudden brass dragon.
"Hey! You... um... just *you*." He says lamely, as he turns, uses his sword to skewer the remains of the flaming Pothy he hacky-sacked for the horse to trample, and attempts to fling it at the remaining smol guy. "Eat this!"
Unfortunately? It falls short. Somewhere in a distant tavern, there's the sound of a trombone in a moment of brief silence as Telamon disintegrates his target.
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (12)+7: 19
The fact that flame is thrown at the last remaining little plush combatant doesn't deter it. It still tries to go for the kill. "BLOOD! I WISH TO SNACK ON--"
Ceramic beak, meet scale. Tink.
The plushie's eyes look up at the dragon. It's just a plushie... But surely, choices are being reconsidered.
GAME: Carver casts Hunter's Eye. Caster Level: 9 DC: 15 GAME: Carver rolls perception+20: (14)+15+20: 49
Why isn't Carver charging the little annoying prat pecking at her compatriots? Why is she hooking her bow to her saddlehorn. Why is she digging at her baldric beneath the layers of fur? Itchy? No. She draws out a small golden vial, and as she begins to unstopper, she's mumbling. An incantation.
'It's the eye of the tiger, the thrill of the hunt...' 'Tryin' to find the trouble right beside us...' 'The source of the evil to stalk in the night.' 'A stupid black cat with some golden eyes.'
She drip, drip, drips this golden liquid into her eyes. Honey turn to gold then slit.
So enchanted, and with target so named and so clear in her mind, she turns her head rapidly to try to find them. Not even ethereal creature can avoid the hunter's gaze!
She is also being useless.
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+9+1+1+2+1: (15)+9+1+1+2+1: 29 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+9+1+1+2+1: (16)+9+1+1+2+1: 30 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+1: (6)+1: 7 GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+1: (8)+1: 9
Despite all his efforts and poise, Aelwyn gets even more bloody cuts over him, now dripping crimson over the snow. He doesn't seem to mind it, instead flashing his teeth in a wide, macabre grin and spreading his hands. "Is that-"
Then a beam of fire torches the large Pothy in front of him into cinders. The Dragoon blinks for a moment then turns to look left at the actual dragon. "This one was still in the middle of something!" He calls out, annoyed and with a huff picking up his glaive.
Auranar lines up her arrows at the last remaining Pothies. "Time to put an end to this." One arrow, and with her movements magically quickened a second one quickly follows suit. They both land dead center, pinning the poor plush to the cobblestone. It no longer moves. She lets out a breath as she'd been taught to do in the aftermath of her shot and relaxes looking around to be certain that all of the Pothy plushies are down. "I think we should inquire as to whom exactly made these particular toys..."
Fioderus pokes his head out from behind the tree, shivering. "Is it safe?" he asks.
And then Hal... bursts into tears. "I know that they were shitty Pothy plushies who were acting extraordinarily against character, but they were still Pothy plushies. This is so sad."
Marv sighs heavily, just patting Hal on the shoulder. "Look, I know you're a big Pothy fanboy. Tell you what. There's more in the wagons, I'll get you a nice, big Pothy plush. How's about that."
At Auranar's statement, Fioderus harumphs. "They're from our workshop," he says. "Fioderus Alvyn Oblestamp Schwarz's Workshop. Nestled in the heart of Stormgarde! Our toys are made in the frozen north--"
"Because the boss has cheap labor up there." Hal murmurs.
"Shush, you! Alexandria's our biggest market. I live here, though. Happy Valley, born and raised!" Fioderus is a proud man, thumping his chest. "I'll investigate to find out what happened here!"
Meanwhile... Carver sees something out of the corner of her eyes. A black cat. It must be! Except it's not there when she blinks next.
"Sunny beaches," Carver 'curses'. She KNEW it. Definitely not a trick of the mind.
If he were a more thoughtful man, Skyler would probably be considering the lift choices that lead to him getting into this situation. Was it because his mother didn't hug him enough? Or his father's disapproval? Is this because of the (brief!) years he spent as a sky pirate pillaging his heart out?
For a brief moment, his eyes darken and there's a little furrow between his brows before he makes a pained expression at the unfamiliar act of thinking back on his actions and he shakes his head, dismissing that as he stomps forward and kicks the remains of the Pothy he tried to fling to both put it out and relieve some of his frustrations. "Well, hells. That happened." He says in disgust, shaking his head and pulling off his woolen hat. Auburn hair sticks up every which way, but he ignores it, keeping his sword at the ready. "Easy job my ass. Those damned jackals at the Adventurer's Guild were *liars*." And the pirate sounds offended. He raises his free hand to point a finger at Marv with a stern expression. "I demand a large plush in compensation for your *clear* and *negligent* misrepresentation of the job you hired us for!"
-End