Tales from Tabletop

Session 2.4: Voyage to Syndramire

Might need to make more coin before Syndramire.

Selene cringed at the thought. She hoped to rely on adventuring for funds in the future, but the thought of entering Syndramire broke was enough for her to reconsider.

As conventional shops were closing, the festivities for the night were just starting. All kinds of distractions would be around town soon. Stalls that sold local delicacies or novelty treats, performers that retold the events that spawned the founding of the festival through song and dance, and a massive crowd to use for cover.

Festivals always have a bunch of easy marks. I could make up what I'm missing easy. Selene tried to fight the temptation, but old habits were hard to break.

I'll get just enough to make up what I spent today. Not gonna let us starve when I can make ends meet. Selene rationalized as she headed toward the festivities.

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This is almost too easy. Selene thought as she slipped through the crowd. Everyone here was so distracted, it might be more difficult to swipe the sweets from children.

She knew she grabbed more than she needed, but the rush of such easy marks was intoxicating. There was no fear of reprisal here, only the thrill of the take.

While taking a breath, she searched for the next mark, when she noticed a hooded figure speaking with a vendor. She could not hear the conversation, but she could tell they were both distracted. And the figure placed his coin purse on the counter. Neither seemed to be watching it.

Arveene's words played quietly at the back of her mind, unheeded. Selene could not help herself.

Blending into the crowd, she approached. Neither vendor nor customer paid the counter any mind. She glided over to the stall, assured. The purse was practically begging to be taken, and Selene was happy to oblige. Casually, she grabbed it off the counter.

A gloved hand slammed over her cupped fist, trapping it against the counter. The hooded figure spoke softly, "That is not yours, young one."

His voice was stern, like a parent lecturing their child.

Selene looked up to see glowing eyes looking down on her. They glowed with a similar incandescence to the full moon hanging above them.

"O-oh." Selene stammered, "You're right. My mistake. I'll-uh. I'll be going, if you don't mind." Letting go of the bag with exaggerated flair, she then tried to pull her hand away. He did not let go.

Caught like a rat in the trap, Selene knew she screwed up.

"Are you okay, sir?" The owner of the stall asked, concerned, "Should I call for the guard?"

"No need," he said, never taking his eyes off Selene as he returned his purse to his side, "I'll handle this myself."

The longer she met his gaze, the more uncomfortable she felt. If eyes were windows to the soul, his soul was ancient. Practically timeless. She never stared down an elf before, but there was no other race that could evoke such a feeling.

He also had pointed ears. That helped, too.

He dragged her off to the side, out of the way of the stall and other festival goers. Selene went along, but had no desire to follow his rhythm. She knew she needed a plan. When they reached the entrance of the alleyway, the elf pushed her against the wall. His hand, still holding hers, pushed her fist against the wall above her head.