A 2D20 Interlude: Sword and Coin, A day in the life of Septimus

I would like to thank Will, for his submission of his interlude!

Sword and Coin

‘What a shame to have to put cold steel through such pretty flesh’, muses Septimus. But that is what you get when you awaken a Gunderman from a drunken slumber with a foul dripping blade in your hand. However, once seeing what their apparent leader did to that poor bastard Ranauldo, he can only imagine they will all be dining in the nine hells together for their deeds. His trusty short sword certainly dealt that fate for more than one of those devious devils.

‘So now we have become….Tavern Keepers?’, he thinks to himself, spitting on the ground. If Septimus had wanted that life, he would have stayed in Gunderland and put up his steel. But having a base of operations in Messantia does have it’s advantages. He certainly hopes Alric and Gaius don’t expect him to do anything more than enjoy the wine. A business man, he is not.

The day following the night attack, Septimus leaves the tavern to let the more learned members of his group to deal with the watch...and the cleanup. Having failed to protect Ranauldo secretly grates on Septimus’ pride. What if he had been quicker? What if he hadn’t been so deep in his cups? Could he have saved his patron? Regardless, Septimus realizes that the group will need another benefactor connected locally. He decides to spend the next several days trying to track down someone that could benefit from their particular set of skills, but also provide then with the backing, connections and local knowledge that is most lacking.

As this requires a good deal of coin, Septimus also decides to try to enhance his already substantial purse in the gambling dens. Many of the proprietors recognize him and ask about his absence of late. But seeing that his purse is bulging, they are more than happy to affix false smiles and offer honeyed greetings to get him to spend at their tables. After all is said and done, Septimus is certain he comes out just a little worse than when he went in.

Oddly, while at one such establishment, some fellow stumbles up to Septimus and embraces him like a long lost friend. Clearly the man must have been mistaken, as he has never seen this man before.

‘But Inago, don’ you recognith me?’ the man asks with a slight slur to his words.

‘You have me confused with someone else, friend. Move along.’ Septimus replies. Making a point to double check his purse to make sure this is not some form of con, and simultaneously placing his free hand on the pommel of his short sword to get his point across.

The fool, seeing this with widened eyes, sobers a bit and moves away mumbling some form of apology and his not seen for the rest of the night.

Tiring of losing at the dice tables, secretly sure the house has them rigged, and weary of hunting for a new patron, Septimus decides to spend a few days with that comely Brythunian on the street of silks. Certainly she would like to hear of the exciting events of the night of daggers.

‘At least she should pretend to like it, since that is what she is paid for after all’, laughs Septimus to himself…

Conan 2D20 Interlude: The Orchid Of the East!

Our next interlude comes from @WastelanderMary (Twitter), and here is her character's interlude.

Regan’s shoulder hurt. Her whole body was a bit sore, but her shoulder felt like it was on fire. That bitch! she thought angrily when a particularly sharp pain lanced through the stab wound when she moved her shoulder in just the wrong way. She sighed. Yet another thing that was going to cost her money. She came into town without much and it seemed she probably wasn’t going to leave with much.

The healer’s house wasn’t too difficult to find. Aside from some jostling as she made her way through the streets, she had made it unscathed and in relatively little pain. The woman poked her head out of the door suspiciously at Regan’s sharp knock. She only relaxed when Regan bounced her coin purse lightly, the slight jingling of money declaring she had coin. The door opened and Regan stepped through.

Following her treatment, Regan left the healer with strict instructions not to do too much with her shoulder over the next few days or risk popping some of the stitches. The bandages wound around her torso compressed a leafy concoction that wouldn’t gain her many friends due to the smell, but was at least keeping the pain at bay for the time being.

God, I need a drink, she mused, turning into the first tavern that crossed her path. She entered and let her eyes adjust to the dim, smoky interior. The bar had a few open seats and she chose one in a corner away from the other patrons while still being able to keep an eye on the door. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
The bartender walked over, glass in hand, cloth thrown over his shoulder, and asked, “What’ll it be?” His nose crinkled when he caught a whiff of the poultice on her wound.

“Just give me an ale.” He slid the flagon over to her when he’d filled it.

“What does this slant-eyed broad think she’s doin’ ‘ere?” The drunken, slurred voice belonged to a man tipsily rising from his table followed by two other men, both looking uncomfortable and clearly trying to drag their friend back to his chair. He shook them off. “Hey! I’m talkin’ t’ you!” He gestured emphatically at Regan. For the second time that day she sighed. Every damn time, she thought.

She turned fully and looked at the man. He stumbled over to her and placed his hands to either side of her on the bar, presumably to keep her in place. She sighed for a third time. This was going to cost her even more money.

Before the man could do anything, she brought her knee up sharply into his groin. His face turned a bright shade of purple and his hands flew from the bar to his most precious parts as he doubled over and let out a small squeal. When in range, she drove her knee into his face and felt his nose separate as a red spurt of blood landed on her pants. His hands went from cupping his bruised balls to cradling his broken nose. Using the bar as a prop against her back, Regan doubled both her legs up to her chest and kicked out with both feet, her heels slamming into his chest, which sent him sprawling across the table he’d just vacated. There was a loud cracking sound and the tabletop fell to cover the man now moaning on the floor. His friends looked unsurely between him and the woman that had just put him there in seconds. They thought better of trying anything and instead grabbed their friend under the arms and dragged him from the establishment.

Regan let out an explosive breath. She’d only won because she’d caught him by surprise. If the other two had decided to attack, she’d have been in big trouble with her shoulder in the state it was in. She turned back to her ale and instead saw a very unhappy barkeep tapping the bar with a finger. She sighed for the fourth time and dropped another gold, took a long swig of her ale, and left the building.

She took a winding course back to the inn. Along the way she dabbled in some gambling, figuring if she was going to lose any coin, she might as well lose it at something she had a chance at winning it back on. A few games here and there and she came away down one coin. Not too bad, considering. As it started to get later, she greased a couple of palms with more coins and learned some interesting rumors that may more may not result in more coin. She was desperately hoping for the former as she returned to the inn.