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Author Topic: Security Checks  (Read 578 times)


Security Checks
« on: October 07, 2014, 07:35:33 pm »

After some time to get reacquainted with the Buckle staff, Tori asks for the tour. She takes a closer look at the additions to the inn, and marks silently the alternate means of egress she's informed of. She is plain faced and plain spoken, but does not need to be shown anything twice.

As the change in the heavens becomes more and more the topic of conversation, she glances to the gambling tables and asks to be kept apprised of any change in overall trends of luck, particularly of the professed Deliarites. She defers to Melody and Edward to treat with those getting out of hand with their opinions and pronouncements of doom, but notes those that affect the patrons and gain support rather than scorn.

Should the unlikely occur and her opinion is asked, she will shrug and remind that "some folk allays lookin' for reasons to drown, an' 'em what decidin' only trouble comin' get what they askin' for." She keeps to herself, but when prodded only says that the gods are always up to something or another, and people should take it as a favor that they've made any sign at all - and that the only disaster that is certain is the one that comes when people abandon their trades, fields, homes, families, because of the view that's changed while they're sleeping.

"Ain't nobody e'er payin' any mind to 'em folk beggin' coppers an' sleepin' off they drink 'til noon, 'til workin' sorts got somethin' to be afeared about. Try for copper charity an' folk kickin' you out the road. Start sellin' fear an' folk go linin' up to bury you in silver."

In the meantime, she requests a meeting in private with Miz Elly to discuss the specifics of the inn's wards.

((I will simply update this thread when Tori is working on something here, to avoid forum spam ;) )) 

The following users thanked this post: miltonyorkcastle, Anamnesis, Ravemore, RollinsCat


It is Oclar 23rd, and Tori
« Reply #1 on: October 22, 2014, 12:42:33 am »

It is Oclar 23rd, and Tori appears to those who've an eye for such things to be both extremely hungover and moving gingerly in her breastplate. While her face is beat up some, it's hard to tell if her nose was broken since it's already been a few times before... Though she was not previously known for drink, she does not curse, or moan, or stagger, but is particularly grim and tight-lipped. After returning through the back door without her crossbow, she mostly keeps out of sight to avoid interacting with any patrons, one or two of which may be bar-hoppers who might gossip about a fight that broke out at another tavern the night before.



Once the bard has been
« Reply #2 on: September 29, 2015, 01:37:31 pm »
Once the bard has been settled, Tori sums up the last few years from the security angle as "nothin' 'em boys couldn't handle," with more of the usual when Fastrot fears were highest. On the spooky side, some minor and at times baffling incidents, within staff capabilities but making one wonder what the purpose of doing something like a sock summoning would be.

If asked for specifics on anything mentioned from memory, she refers to a log in which she finds the incident in question with relative ease for persons involved, descriptions, dates. It is tightly filled with neat slashes in vertical columns, devoid entirely of letters.

She would like to know if fugitives for petty crimes should be turned in or left alone while in his place of business.

((Phone typing is the worst thing ever.))


"Fugitives? Well, petty
« Reply #3 on: October 13, 2015, 09:13:58 pm »

"Fugitives? Well, petty crimes are petty. I am inclined to let them be so long as they behave." The Red Bard stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankles. The water in his office fountain sings a melody of patient erosion, and his shoulders relax at the familiar sound. "I'm glad you're still here, Tori. Some of the others are not so understanding about my, errr, holiday. Can you give me a pulse on the Buckle's clientele these days? How is Mariner's holding up?"



"Crier I ain't." After a
« Reply #4 on: October 15, 2015, 02:10:16 pm »
"Crier I ain't." After a beat, she lifts her shoulders a bit, leaning against the wall to eye the doorway as if out of habit, and adds, "Dunno, anyhow... Mixed plate. Complicated. Folk got 'round to 'em lives 'n works reg'lar-like 'spite 'em gods pushin' 'round they shiny bits, but then folk're missin'. Oh, well. Then folk're toddlin' up and bleedin' meltin'. Then they ain't. Then they's giant scaley beasts wantin' tithes, claimin' grounds..."

She sucks in her cheeks thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Then 'em bits got settled again. People that go vanishin' stay vanished like they oughtta," this last said a bit sourly.

"Shiny bits spookin' dragons now ain't normal, but they's more'n a few tales. Some folk get to celebratin' that sorta thing, feelin' watched over, an' some folk... Get to feelin' tiny. Tinier, anyhow. Powerless. Either's good for the bar, I figger, but gettin' to be they's 'em what comin' in jus' to go havin' drinks someplace fancy to censored on fine things, beggin' y'pardon. Then they's 'em strife-peddlers can sell some lizard proof shiny bits special price... She glances to the opposite wall, her fingers tapping on thigh as though she considers whether or not to continue.

"I ain't got much's good for standin' on, but feels like they's plenny folk jus' waitin' for the other boot, like. Magickers' turnin' 'emselves inter fish o' summat inna forest, local sneaks gets a new leader again, some small guards scuffle, same ol' same ol', 'til it ain't."

The plain woman glances back to the bard, almost as an afterthought, and raises her eyebrows. "Then staff's divided on some proprietor gone missin' like, ain't real handy for easin' tension. Folk pick up on more'n most people thinkin', even if they don't know they knowin'." The corner of her mouth lifts just slightly as if in wry amusement, the first even indirect acknowledgement she has made about his absence.


It was mid-afternoon
« Reply #5 on: November 11, 2015, 02:59:22 am »
It was mid-afternoon Unionday, by dwarven reckoning. A runner had come for Tori, and the impatient boy would speak to no one else. The day had mostly been a mix of those celebrating the common new year, those recovering from celebrating, and a sort of apathy regarding the merits of celebrating at all. One guess which faction the head of security belonged to.

In fact, she seemed indifferent to celebrations of any kind. Where some rolled their eyes at spring rituals but went streaking through the streets the moment the sun sank for Carnival, Tori's only notice of holidays passing looked to be whether or not something spooky was likely - if something was going to make for a "bad day."

Over the last few years, Paddy and a few others had noticed what had to be the closest thing the plain woman had to an annual observance - if only because she could be counted on to break a year's streak of sobriety near Oclar's end. At the Buckle, a time or two, but mostly at some other establishment, from which she'd inevitably return with a Grade A hangover and at least a few bruises. These were usually from getting the worst of it in some scuffle or another (hardly confidence inspiring), but at least once (to her great embarrassment and the great amusement of the brothers) from a different sort of wrestling altogether.

So it was of some interest (if only minor - particularly compared to Andrew's return) that in Janra, shortly after flipping a bit of Truth the kid's way in thanks for some aged parchment, Tori informed the Buckle that she would be taking a leave of absence - a plan that seemed unchanged by rumors of a hot new bounty heading that way. In short order she was arranging supplies and ship passage. The massive crossbow Iri called her "thokker" remained behind, apparently in favor of a small, low power repeater.