[Being a chef is about one step removed from being a bartender, really, so when Bonnie asks for an extra hand behind the counter, Izzy is right there to help. Doesn't really matter that a) dragonborn aren't that common in Phlan and b) Izzy only barely matches the natural conception of a dragonborn to begin with; she's doing her best to keep the patrons of the Laughing Goblin tipsy and entertained. Because drunk townspeople are the best source of rumors and information. "Oh yeah, you guys are doing fine", to the Dandy Warhalls. Bards; bards never change. "I hear that", to Bonnie and Mar, at different times, on the breaking of the lighthouse. "Wish I could help, but I'm a chef, not an engineer," she'll say.
She's also more than happy to serve sub-par ale to her fellow Reclaimers. Because why not, right? Their whole wing of the Bureau is here for the assignment and it'll help to establish a rapport.]
[2-B]
Y'know, I've been in Phlan for all of a few days, and I've gotta say. Absolutely, literally nothing I've heard about these "Black Fists" have been anything but positive. Like, come on. Even the name is super ominous and weird. What kind of authority force calls themselves the Black Fist and expects not to draw some mmph hmphm rhgmrhgm?
[Aaaaand that's Izzy being grabbed by the mouth backwards out from the frame of an armorer's shop by one of said Black Fist enforcers. She, uh. Might need a little bit of assistance here.]
[3-X]
[It's probably Izzy's expertise in chemistry and alchemy that gets her and whoever's following behind on the scent of the adulterated idols to Tyr. Literally. She's spent a good chunk of time sniffing the air, muttering about how familiar yet out of place the weird smell is.]
So, we have enchanted ink coming from Neverwinter, which is on the wrong fucking side of the continent with no good water routes for it to come by here, being held up in storage by a mysterious lighthouse malfunction, hiding in suspiciously pristine religious iconography.
I smell a smuggling ring! And also a lot of dust. [All sense of stealth has gone far out the window for her theatrics... which is probably attracting some guards. Shit.]
[WILDCARD] [Open to any other listed scenario, or anything else you can come up with!]
Isabella "Izzy" d'Oro | OC | Chemist
[Being a chef is about one step removed from being a bartender, really, so when Bonnie asks for an extra hand behind the counter, Izzy is right there to help. Doesn't really matter that a) dragonborn aren't that common in Phlan and b) Izzy only barely matches the natural conception of a dragonborn to begin with; she's doing her best to keep the patrons of the Laughing Goblin tipsy and entertained. Because drunk townspeople are the best source of rumors and information. "Oh yeah, you guys are doing fine", to the Dandy Warhalls. Bards; bards never change. "I hear that", to Bonnie and Mar, at different times, on the breaking of the lighthouse. "Wish I could help, but I'm a chef, not an engineer," she'll say.
She's also more than happy to serve sub-par ale to her fellow Reclaimers. Because why not, right? Their whole wing of the Bureau is here for the assignment and it'll help to establish a rapport.]
[2-B]
Y'know, I've been in Phlan for all of a few days, and I've gotta say. Absolutely, literally nothing I've heard about these "Black Fists" have been anything but positive. Like, come on. Even the name is super ominous and weird. What kind of authority force calls themselves the Black Fist and expects not to draw some mmph hmphm rhgmrhgm?
[Aaaaand that's Izzy being grabbed by the mouth backwards out from the frame of an armorer's shop by one of said Black Fist enforcers. She, uh. Might need a little bit of assistance here.]
[3-X]
[It's probably Izzy's expertise in chemistry and alchemy that gets her and whoever's following behind on the scent of the adulterated idols to Tyr. Literally. She's spent a good chunk of time sniffing the air, muttering about how familiar yet out of place the weird smell is.]
So, we have enchanted ink coming from Neverwinter, which is on the wrong fucking side of the continent with no good water routes for it to come by here, being held up in storage by a mysterious lighthouse malfunction, hiding in suspiciously pristine religious iconography.
I smell a smuggling ring! And also a lot of dust. [All sense of stealth has gone far out the window for her theatrics... which is probably attracting some guards. Shit.]
[WILDCARD]
[Open to any other listed scenario, or anything else you can come up with!]