bloodletters.bsky.social
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Β» Scout, Nightsong Enforcer
Β» Strongheart Halfling
D&D RP | MVRP
written by bardlockcafe | Current setting: Waterdeep
muse and mun are 30+, MDNI | Abilities based on 3.5e ruleset
240 posts
165 followers
156 following
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At least, that's what he's always told. Seems to him he could catch a fair coin for his buddies' gear.
"...Got a little somethin' on your, uh..."
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"What, talkin' down a few idiots [you] could take down that quickly? I wasn't too worried about 'em.
We walkin'?"
He does frown after the survivor, fleeing without the promised gold. He'll likely stay on the straight and narrow, but it'll be harder without resources...
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What Happens Next Will Warm Your Heart
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cause there's gonna be crowds, but it's a hike. Guessing a knight's not gonna be to bothered by that, but I'm not complainin' either way."
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He meets formality with a grunt.
"Alright. Didn't exactly come here for a job interview, but I guess you got the position, kid. You're still on thin ice, Ewok." He's gruff in his response, but there's no bite to it.
"I can have a wagon bring us in, or we can go on foot. We'll be quicker if we walk
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he just calls out, "That's enough, they were toothless t'start."
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A better man than Tarkith would intervene properly - a man who hadn't looked like Brash, hadn't known family living peacefully, slain on sight by humans like these calling them monsters. He doesn't draw his bow, doesn't move to.
Instead, with one left standing and unscathed,
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He looks from the arriving klutz to the poised "knight."
(He's still waiting to hear what a "jeteye" is.)
Even without the sketches, the family resemblance is obvious. He tips his head to Tirum and asks Cara,
"Should I wanna hit him for that one?"
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broken only by the wind through the trees. None of the group look so confident, suddenly, glancing between each other.
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You're in over your head. I've been there. Hell, I'll give you each 100 gold to head to Suzail and figure out a real line of work.
One that won't get ya killed by old men who've seen enough shit to clear five [kids] without sweatin'."
There's a lingering silence between them,
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He doesn't move forward far. The second he's alone, five ramshackle bandits jump out of the forest.
''Ey! No sudden moves, right? Let's get that coinpurse, nice'n easy...'
Tarkith just sigh. He doesn't even have his bow out yet.
"What you're not gonna wanna do is... this.
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"Hang on... Someone in the brush. Might be a traveler's camp, might be trouble."
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He won't poke at that bruise more than once. As they continue down the road, he'll offer the occasional break in the silence, but otherwise he's content to just walk together down the westward road.
He's about to suggest camp when the sun nears the horizon, but he pauses, holding up a hand.
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"Yeah... yeah."
He'd been on this road with her around a decade - not the one before Brash and Tarkith now, but the one that had brought them to the Children of Dwoemerheart and her current 'condition. It never made more sense.
"What about you? Got anyone in some corner of FaerΓ»n?"
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"Bothβ well..."
Not exactly true, is it? Their footing's more equal now, and more confusing than ever, especially with a newcomer in the mix.
"...Complicated."
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"Heh. Guess I am, but we were never known by name, just as those weird lil' goblins that fixed someone's paddock. Didn't even know what a paddock was.
My, uh, boss, I guess, was fighting on the side I defected to. She had bigger fish to fry, so I helped where I could until later."
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"You thinkin' of makin' the trip? Shaar's a little friendlier to our folk than it used to be. Some of us made a name for ourselves helping the smaller towns after the war."
Goblinoids, he means. The Silver Fox of those woods had lead them all down the better path - but first, Ril had lead him.
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"Nah, but I know the road. We passed that way on the Trade Road, first time we went to Waterdeep."
It's been a long time since he's done this much walking, but he'd been missing it, and though the halfling's of a sturdy build, his steps are light.
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"Not like I'm really hirin' anyway. Let's get goin' while we still got sunlight, I guess."
He hauls his pack back onto his shoulders and waits for Brash to be ready before continuing down the road.
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"They probably smile more, yeah."
He's, frankly, baffled, considering he's been complaining the whole time.
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and he knows he's not too approachable himself.
Which suited his line of work just fine.
"What about you?"
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"Waterdeep, by way of The Trade Road. Cuttin' through Suzail for a scouting job and a possible teleportation circle, which you could probably use, if you're headin' somewhere particular.""
The man before him doesn't seem to mind it too much. Solitude would suit him just fine,
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"Eh... some are gonna look at you funny, either as a threat who's lying about having targets, or competition. I guess it's your business, though."
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Just say centaur
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||
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Tarkith hits the apparent assassin with a deadpan stare.
"...And... they make it a habit to just... tell people they're assassins in this Antiva?"
Strategic compartmentalization is in shambles.
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This guy doesn't seem to care too much about delicacy, though, so he just asks, "Listen, you stickin' around here a while, or headed up the road? I've gotta keep movin', but if your stop's on the way I don't mind walkin'."
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"Hell if I know, maybe they're more worried about his Thieves' Guild. I steer clear of Xanathar, either way. Last thing I need is shovin' my foot in my mouth in an Anti-Magic Field."
At this point, he's not sure if he's sitting and talking or if they're headed on their separate ways.
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much less a goblin. Hells, there's a beholder everyone just... accepts. There's worse place for a man to end up.
Couldn't say about Neverwinter. Been to Baldur's Gate once, but never as far north as Neverwinter."
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And he doesn't even address it again, moving on like it never happened. The man might not have been born a goblin, but he'd fit in back at Tarkith's home - the one he'd walked away from.
"Yeah, it's a lot. Noisy, too." He'll cede that. "But no one bats an eye at a bugbear walkin' down the street,
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a keen understanding of death, if answers would help. Or, y'know, we can never bring it up again, it's not my favorite subject either."
Tarkith didn't go to one of the nice, sunny afterlifes when he died.
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Some sort of bad ending there, then, and he's not so sure about tugging on that thread. He lets it be; his thoughts linger more on 'I've tried,' giving it deep consideration.
"Well, Sword Coast's where I hang my hat these days, too. We're in Waterdeep - but I know a couple folks with
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β but there's a sense of powerful loyalty in his voice that belies his sarcastic grumbling. "You?"
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"Heh." He folded his arms and gave the man a sidelong glance, taking his measure. "...You'd get along with her. Most of her stuff's kinda hoity-toity, but the girl knows how to give a gift.
Mostly, I follow her around, questionin' my life choices."
He can't share the details with just anyone β
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Gods, more like.
...He's just gonna camp out outside for now. There's nothing immediately in need of his attention, and Ril will let him know if that changes. He finds a comfortable tree to sit beneath and closes his eyes, enjoying the warm coastal evening.
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It's honestly kind of impressive that the mortification alone didn't make the thing fall off on the way over. Good for him.
"I dunno. You gonna stick around and get a job?" He thinks for a second... then shrugs, and because Ril's the worst influence, answers, "I got plenty, don't worry about it."