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| Chauncy's Level 2 character sheet. |
Recently the rustic town of Thistlemarch has had a bit of excitement in the form of a wild gambling tournament and an orgy of debauch proceeding it. As you may have heard I am flush with cash from the destruction of a vile cult of necromantic incompetents. My companions and I recovered a great deal of amber stone that the cultists were using to store the antiquarian relics of power. I have placed the relics in the hands of a local witch for examination and begun to build a business of the spell selling and magical investigation variety.
Thistlemarch is normally a dreary and unremarkable frontier town, dusty, fetid with livestock odors and inhabited by uncultured boors - though after this week I fear I prefer the company of the boorish and uncultured to that of fops and snobs.
The tournement was for the unimaginable sum of $10,000.00 in gold, enough for a man to retire on happily and two of our members entered the contest. As a group, and with hope of splitting the money my companions and I decided to, with light hearted pranks and psychological manipulation, do what we could to better our companions chances.
Mr. Early (a gunslinger and Hokum player) spread rumors that Ornibus the snake priest had a car playing tell involving the use of his special (and unspeakable pommade). He also tried to stir up speciesist ire against Mr. Muddypaws, a canine gambler.
Ornibus Jones (Priest of an unwholesome snake God) for his part tried to convince an insane player to wear mirrored glasses that would reveal his cards. He also seduced a elderly and (to my eyes) unpalatable witch with the, not unfounded, hope that she would be distracted an unable to play properly. Ornibus later attempted to intimidate the minotaur Argyle Mac Argyle by eating rare beefsteak in front of him.
James Iornwall (Kilted barbarian of quaint mores) found a companion spirit in the minotaur gamesmen Argyle Mac Argyle.
Abel Killijoy, whose name I can't remember, (A fellow man of the Western Kingdoms and writer of outlandish stories - look for his tales in the worst class of paper - as I may appear in them only slightly embellished). Interview a strange foreign prince with a prehensile mustache.
I (Warlock of Waxing Power), interview the The Magnificent Montranto and we got along famously, while the man is no gambler (and clearly has no need of gambling - beyond the lark of it) he did offer to exchange some sorcerous advice with me - Chauncy Woolstrike. I also found the Twittering Fop, Engleton Peacock in the local bar, and introduced myself in the spirit of our lodge. Well Peacock was no gentleman so I figured it was time to give him the Owl's Hoot and cajoled him into a drinking game. Now of late my tolerance for the local rotgut has increased out of necessity, but the fop could not hold his liquor. I tried to give him fresh air, but when Engleton collapsed from his weak constitution I had no choice but to steal his silly blonde wig, shave his head with my magical dagger and draw the Owl's mark on his forehead in indelible scroll ink. He performed poorly in the tournament...
After a day of drinking I stood on the porch of the house out band now occupies, after the rat related demise of its former owners, and handed out whiskey and business fliers to the revelers, when a shot range out.
It was followed by a woman's scream, and Mr. Iornwall felt the necessity of investigating. In the alley behind the saloon we discovered one Three Legs Hoolihan with a fellow contestant, Ms Pryce and a dead body. The body had a hoel through its chest and was that of an accountant for the tournement.
Hoolihan and the lady both agreed that they'd come outside and found the victim with a shadowy figure lurking above it. Hoolihan had shot, but missed the attacker. We took the pair back to our abode and confirmed their stories with the hypnotist's tricks.
After letting both Hollihan and price our band walked to the sign in and I use dmy growing skills to determine who might be using magic in the contest. Nothing special appeared to my sorcerously enhanced eyes, except for Lord Chuffington the snob goblin - who seemed to wear a magical monocle. I confronted the fiend, but he was unflappable and I could tell nothing could be done short of violence.
I also attempted through subterfuge to sway the wits of the foreigner with the prehensile mustache, but failed.
When we returned to the house, we found Ms. Pryce waiting for us, apparently finding our company favorable to that of Hoolihan. We let the lady sleep upstairs in response to her request for safety, but were not rewarded. In the dark of night a strange female figure attacked the Abel in his sleep.
Luckily he screamed and when I arrived in the kitchen, a monstrously transformed Ms. Pryce was attempting to impale Mr. Killijoy with elongating claws. I blasted her with magic from a scroll I had previously prepared, that nasty spell that Kentworth charmed off of Professor Choat - the one with the pearly beetles*. The spell, a cudgel blow, a blow with my pistol and the back breaking strength of Iornwall were not enough to end the mysterious creature. Finally Abel brained it with a frying pan, while Iornwall had it trapped in a bear hug.
Clearly a strange beast had assumed Ms. Pryce's form, as the former debutant melted into a gray puddle after the skillet blow.
Alas out plans bore no fruit and neither Mr. early or Ornibus Jones were able to advance past the first round. Sadly the cheating snobgoblin walked off with the pot, a victory for foul play that I can't abide.
I am well established here now and if a young Owl is in need of the kind of opportunity only the raw frontier can provide I would welcome an assistant. In another note - have any other Owls experienced unnatural aging due to the combination of whiskey consumption and increased thaumaturgic power? Please send a note if you're familiar with this effect.
*Per my random table of magic missiles Chauncy's magic missile spell causes opalescent beetles to hatch with the target and rapidly burrow out to fly off in an explosion of gore.
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