[DnD 5e] Playthings in an Interplanar Dollhouse- A Path of the Planebreaker Adventure

[RandomWombat]

Prince Doredan Human Martial Bard 5 AC: 14 HP: 25/33 PP: 9 PIv: 11 PIs: 9 Conditions: --- Standing Reaction: Dodge Roll if critically hit (1/encounter) Squid Games "Everything?" with a playful expression, he draws the fencing blade at his side. Silver-coated steel glints gold in the light of the sun, and elaborate decorations dance upon the guard and pommel. "For the wedding? Oh, no, I live here," the well-dressed man responds with a good-natured laugh. He sweeps his fine, gold-threaded red sleeve to present his person dramatically - with the arm not presently showing off his sword. "Prince Doredan Reydalise, of Wissimvale," Doredan announces, letting that arm fall back to his side where it hangs casually. "Many an instructor has told me that every sword will tell you much about her wielder. And no blade is truly yours' 'till she has a name," he muses, carefully stowing the weapon back in its sheath. "She is called La Ilumineuse. And what might yours' be called?" the prince inclines his head to the rapier at his diminutive new acquaintance's side. The Monster Hunter Answering the shift in gesture in kind, Doredan chuckles in mild embarrassment at the familiar epithet. "So my reputation does precede me. Is the dwarven ambassador still telling that story?" Dwarves have long memories. And so the aftermath has been long of a night in which a dwarven bodyguard was mid-accusation upon Doredan of poisoning a goblet of wine only to be stunned speechless in the same breath as Doredan downed the entire poisoned goblet in hand. The drinking contest that followed was forever burned into the memory of the back of Doredan's throat, by some very potent dwarven whiskey. But the other details of that night were foggy at best, for everyone involved. Still, dwarves do have long memories. When the huntress moves to lean upon her catch's cage, Doredan steps up to the wall of the building behind her display, leaning back against it as well to aid the casual air. He sizes up her sword a little more closely as she talks, trying to figure the origin of its make. There is little doubt the blade has as storied a history as the scars upon its wielder. "My brother is many things, but careful is not something I would wager upon," he half-jests at her concern. "Fortunately, he has exemplary royal retainers." Spoiler: Rolls Show (1d20+6)[13] History to identify the make of her scimitar When asked in brief aside about rhinoceroses, Prince Doredan dips his head from side to side in a 'somewhat' gesture. He'd heard stories of the creatures, of course, even seen a few illustrations. If the drawings are to be believed, they are much like the offspring of a horse and a stone golem. He grins at the tale of her sister and the tamed pygmy wyvern. "Siblings," he responds simply, quickly reaching up to snatch the tossed vial out of the air. Inspecting it, Doredan grins even wider in giddy anticipation and tucks it away in his bag. "Many thanks!" Not one to leave a good turn unanswered, he waits for the other inquirer to move on before passing by and drawing a vial of bright purple liquid of his own. Inspecting the stylistically embossed glass, he sets it on a (not moving) box of hunt memorabilia, "Des Chemins Oubliés," he introduces the concoction of perfume from his own personal collection. "Warning on the bottle says do not wear near displacer beasts during mating season," with a devilish grin he adds, "I try not to think too hard about what they put in these... whether you like it, or find a more practical use for it in your hunting, I hope it serves you well." With a polite bow on his way, Doredan leaves the huntress to members of the crowd circling in again like vultures. Happy Mask Salesman Gauging the mask again, Doredan decides it's cheap enough to be worth his curiosity. "Then here you are," he deposits a pouch of fifty gold pieces into the reptilian saleman's outstretched claw - it is a common enough amount that having pouches of it on hand is, well, handy. Dawn of the Third Day Just as he is following the trail of a centauress looking suspiciously like one of his brother's royal retainers, and a drunken elf looking suspiciously like is quarry, and a familiar looking gnome lady, Doredan is brought to pause. For the sky is torn asunder in a display that leaves him gaping in awe. As the chunks of stone begin to fall, Doredan begins to sprint for cover in one of the terrace ramparts, the guard rooms beneath being the most secure place he can think of in the event of spontaneous meteor shower. "Dame Felicity!" he shouts in a panic, hoping it is indeed her. "To the wall!" Spoiler: Saves Show Strength 2 Dexterity 23 Wisdom 12