For the 4th "homework assignment", I had the group each write an answer to the question in their character's voice what they would want to do with their share of the treasure found and the reward money for returning the Prism Crown. Had to name a personal item, a real pie in the sky sort of item, and 2 other miscellaneous items they might want to spend their money on. Also, they had to pick one item that another party member should get. After receiving it, I wove it into a story format and we presented it to the group every couple of days or so. This is the second one, Wyn D'Endee, the Elf.
Follows:
Wyn and Reward Money!
“Monsieur Offop,” Wyn said with a chuckle, “You ‘ave a too much of…I-Maj-Innay-Shun in you.”
“Says you, Leatherfoot,” the Magic User retorted, face flushed, “I have great ideas, and PRACTICAL ideas, on what I can and will do with my reward money.”
“We have to find it first,” Lyra said, spreading the contents of her backpack out and checking each item from breakage.
“What, a feed bag?” Lannis replied, “Make sure we get one large enough to go over your snout.”
“Lay off, Lannis,” Brendon growled from the shadows. “Have you looked in the mirror? Lyra is fine, you aren’t winning any trophies in the look departments, mate.”
“Oui, Lannis. I t’ink you throw out zeez nasty comments trumplike to account an’ corr’ct for ya own feelin’s o’ bein’ a jerk.”
Abraxas laughed, holding his sword up to check the edge before returning to oiling his weapon. “Si! I would say that you are being a grande pollo and a jerk.”
Lannis stomped his foot, ripping his pointed hat off his hat and tossing it to the corner. “So much bull and unneeded and uncalled for belittling of me for my decisions on what to do with my share of the money when I notice that none of you so much has come up with a bent copper on what they would like to do with the reward money besides I’m sure buy a beer, a meal, and a hot bath – and it shouldn’t be in that order.”
“We all ‘ave our plans I am sure, Monsieur Offop. But not everyone is as short sighted and sosh-ally retarded as you tend to go.”
“Hey!” Lannis held out a finger, “never go full retard.”
“Wot are you talkin’ ‘boot?”
The Magic User shrugged, sitting down on the side of the bed and unfixing the clasp of his cloak, draping it across his legs. “Don’t worry, you wouldn’t get it.” He snapped his finger, “Okay, Gatorman, how about you?”
“’Ow ‘boot me, wot?” Wyn asked, taking his quiver off and idly spinning one of the arrow shafts within.
“You. You’re so often in command of everything, taking in all our discord and picking the best parts like a fair haired Mynah Bird to digest and spit up when you need. What about it? When all this is over, what will you do with your share of the treasure we've found as well as the reward the Academy is paying us for the return of the Prism Crown?”
“S’riously?” Wyn scoffed.
“Thrill us,” Lannis replied.
“Hmm. Well, I won’t deny tha’ I hadn’t thought o’ this many times afore we even left Specularum.” The rest of the group grew still, silently watching the elf as he seemed to relax and compose his thoughts. Getting comfortable, he crossed one leg over the other and idly picked at the edge of his boot sole. “Me? Well, Wyn will be takin' de money back to de rest of my clan. Dat be de secondary reason I be out 'ere... makin' coin fer new buildin's or repairs or ta keep our people 'appy en thrivin'.”
“What?” Lannis asked, “The first thing you do is bring your money back to the ‘clan’? Are you Mafioso?”
“An’ why not? No ever’one is as selfish as ye be, Monsieur. Iffin' I 'as me choice, I be puttin' me coin towards a new altar en one ov our temples: de Cathédrale à l'ordre Sacré de la Sainte Mère du DaVingt Destin.”
Lyra frowned. “The Order of what?”
Wyn smiled, “De Cathédrale à l'ordre Sacré de la Sainte Mère du DaVingt Destin.”
She shrugged a moment later. “Yeah, still don’t have anything. Go on.”
The elf nodded, “I be 'opin' dat, wit dere blessin' mayhaps future quests I take will bless Wyn with anytin’ from better hunts, clear listening, some extra 'idden rooms... or just some more putain de flèches.”
Abraxas chuckled. “Language, Senor Wendy.”
“Seriously? No fleches? We ‘ave found stone tools and javelins and armor from a gras goblin, but th’ single most used item next to une epee, an’ it’s not ‘ere? I bet we find a Bec du Corbin ‘afore we find some putain de flèches.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Brendon said softly.
Gathering his thoughts together, Wyn continued, “Fer myself, dough, Wyn might commission de Wood Elves ov 'Untington to craft 'im a mastawork bow... dependin' on 'ow dis all goes, mayhaps I cen 'ave dem carve some special runes into it ta commemorate dis adventure wit dis group, mes amis.”
“Leave lots of room to account for Lyra’s face,” Lannis chuckled.
“Leave no room to account for Lannis’ personality, likability, or dick size,” the Cleric fired back
“Ouch, Senor! ¡Quema!” the Fighter laughed
Continuing, Wyn added, “Oh... mayhaps... all dat cen suck on de rottin' left teet of Hel en I will just buy a damned Everful Quiver™.”
“How’d you do that?” Kovid asked.
“Wot?”
“The little letters after Quiver?”
“Wot letters, Monsieur? There be no letters after Everful Quiver™.” He looked around. “I t’ink the dungeon is getting’ to Monsieur Dwarffriend a bit.”
Lyra shrugged, leaning over to whisper, “I think it’s an elf thing. So they don’t get sued, maybe?”
“Lawyers,” Abraxas snarled, “I rather face a monstruo cubierto de mierda than a blood sucking lawyer.”
Wyn smiled. “As fer the Quiver™, I know dey may be more coin den we get fer dat crown, but we already 'ave more coin in loot den de crown reward beden dat in just de loot alone.”
“Well,” Lannis drawled, “That all sounds so nice and helpful to and for everyone. Like all the elves sit around together and share lists so they all get a little piece of everyone’s pie. It’s like an Ashram but without the stink of patchouli oil or homespun wearing college dropout girls.” He sank back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “I have also done some thinking on what you should be buying.”
“Oh?” Wyn asked, voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. “Please, tell me, Monsieur. Wot dew ya t’ink?”
“For example, did you know the academy actually offers speaking classes? To improve one’s diction, and erase any unwanted accents,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable with methodical care. “Should you master such a course I do believe you could then patronize yourself to join the academy as a student.”
“Wow, I t’ank ya SO very much, Monsieur,” Wyn replied exaggeratedly.
“Say what you will, Bayou Billy, I've been watching your spell work and I do believe you have real talent.” He smiled a bit condescendingly. “Time spent at the academy could be what you need to truly rise up as a Magister.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Think about it, I’m here for you."
“So we’ve noticed,” Kovid grunted. “So we’ve noticed.
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