Decide when you think the work is too much trouble.You are desperate for work and in need of money, but not every job is one you want to take. Each item that follows adds a new fact about a job your character is offered.
Decide when you think the work is too much trouble.
You are approached by a stranger.
He wears a hood to hide his face.
He speaks in cool, oily sentences, which drip with easy charisma.
He speaks in a rasping voice.
He has a tattoo with unfamiliar symbols just barely visible at the edge of his sleeve.
He warns you it could be a dangerous job.
The work he describes seems almost too simple.
Your skills and experience are uniquely suited to the task.
You know of only one other sellsword who took work like this.
The reward is three times what you expect for this sort of work.
The job involves travel away from civilization for a few days.
More than one adventuring party has gone missing in this region.
You have heard rumors of a death cult called the Crimson Dawn operating in the woods not far from here.
The robe the stranger wears is a shade of red.
The bartender has been glancing nervously toward your table throughout the night.
The sellsword you know who took a job like this has been bragging about her good fortune for weeks.
The stranger tends to chuckle to himself while he speaks.
The chuckle turns into a full laugh.
Occasionally, the laugh slips into a maniacal shriek.
It could be the light, but you thought you saw the stranger’s eyes glow red.
Inside the bottom of the wooden mug you just emptied, the word run has been scratched.
At the first sign of your confidence fading, the stranger offers to double his payment.
Laughing nervously, the sellsword you met approaches the table and loudly declares, “I’m so jealous of how rich you are about to be. I wish I was a wise and talented negotiator like you.”
The stranger adds, “We’re looking forward to paying you your reward.”
The sellsword elbows him in the side.
Two watchmen enter the bar and peer around the room. Without warning, the stranger and the sellsword drop beneath the table.
The watchmen leave, and the stranger and the sellsword get up.
They look at you guiltily.
“Sorry about that. We were just—” the sellsword starts before being interrupted by the stranger, who says hastily, “We were kissing.”
The sellsword shoots a pointed look at the stranger, who continues, “With our human mouths.”
You hear a heavy boot stomp under the table as the stranger yelps. The sellsword laughs and growls, “You know humans, always kissing with their mouths.”
“We lack the sexual enlightenment to reproduce through a spawning pool, so we kiss under tables,” the stranger adds helpfully.
The sellsword rubs her temples.
The stranger winks.
The stranger’s eyes are definitely glowing.
The watchmen reenter the tavern, and one of them announces to the room, “Hey, everyone, we’re looking for two members of the Crimson Dawn death cult rumored to be in the area. They dupe foolish adventurers into entering the forest, using promises of wealth. Their victims suffer horrible fates. Worse than death. If you think you have seen one of them, let us know.” The watchmen exit, seemingly in a hurry.
The stranger and the sellsword once again emerge from under the table.
“Kissing sure is a pleasant way to use a human mouth,” the stranger says. He extends his hand to a bard sitting at an adjacent table for a high five before the sellsword violently pulls him back to the table.