tooled purse

#8- The Trickster’s Coin Purse

Wondrous Item, Rare

A devious item made by arcane tricksters and very popular amongst thieves and peddlers. The purse is imbued with illusion magic. The purse must be loaded with copper coins to function. When the holder announces a price and reaches into the purse, an illusion activates over the copper coins, making them look like any other valued coin of any specified currency. The illusion lasts 1 hour, after which the coins turn back into plain copper. Any person receiving the coins must make a Wisdom check agains a DC of 10 + your charism modifier. On a fail, the illusion goes unnoticed. On a success, the other person becomes aware of the illusion.

You can draw out as many coins as you have put in initially and the purse can hold no more than 100 coins. You can refill the coin purse during a long or short rest.

So I posted the unsewn pieces of this a while ago, but here is the finished sea turtle pouch!

It’s being hand delivered to its new home today, and I’m so excited to have been able to do this little commission piece!

RPG Ideas:The Fellow Scoundrel

A difficult thing for many, is how a person can play a scoundrel, a thief and rogue, a trickster of great guile, and not do so by just robbing your compatriots blind.

I’ve seen characters aplenty with “kleptomaniac” on their sheets and I’ve seen them receive an axe to the face repeatedly.

Few adventurers have the mirth or the time to play a game of whodunnit and if you look like a duck, quack like a duck, and the breadcrumbs all go missing, the concerned party may just end up having Foie Gras instead.

But, of course there are much cleverer, more true-to-word ways of being such a scoundrelous low-life.

I’ll do all I can to show them down below, as a person who loves playing a bit of a cad, take these not as merely suggestions from a GM, but from a player who truly has tried these and has found they work amazingly.

Keep in mind, these are my suggestions, specifically for the cad/scoundrel/dashing rogue, and not necessarily for a more brutal bandit (though they can be cribbed for them as well!)


Ask yourself this. There are two men, of equal build. The first is a hunched over thing, wearing dark clothing and leather apparently taken from the fetish section of a pirate supply closet. the second is standing upright, smiling respectfully, a tunic and vest of muted, but common color, maybe a cap with a garish, but not uncommon, feather in it.

Which will the city guard question when the crown jewels go missing?

A vest has many pockets to hide many tools, a purse reinforced with maille and iron wire is an excellent protection against your own ilk, and makes a damn good garotte in a pinch. A fiddle may sound a bit odd when a hidden compartment is added to it, but it also means that you can pick it up and play for a few coins, and schmooze your way into some courts with a wink and a smile. A cap can have razors, lockpicks, invisible ink with feather quill; the possibilities are endless as they are open for your creative trickery. One personal favorite is to hide a full wig inside a character’s loose, but somewhat garish cap. One rounded corner, and a toss of the cap onto a roof (maybe paired with a reversible cloak or vest) and the character has “vanished” right before the eyes of everyone.

Essentially, when things go belly up, you should be the one nobody suspects, and your opponents should know you are armed right around the third or fourth time you’ve stabbed them.

Not to say there isn’t time for pageantry or dark robes; you should have an assortment of garb for each occasion; feel free to “salvage” the clothes of fallen enemies, especially ones you’ve successfully garotted or sapped (no blood to clean off; a reminder, bring soap, washing soda and if you can afford it, some perfume or cologne).

Always have a backup knife. When you are strip-searched, they should need to take an inordinate amount of time and care to check you, and always miss at least one lock-pick and small razor. Where you hide them is up to you (depending on healing magicks, the solution may be to just make a very small bone case and pop them into your abdominal cavity with help of the cleric).

Don’t be afraid of unconventional or unusual weapons. It may seem odd for some for a gentleman scoundrel to be hefting a longbow, but you tell me which you’d prefer, the enemy far away and full of holes or near you, angry, armed, and facing your knife? Equally, just because a character is a scoundrel doesn’t mean they will only have small knives or dastardly weapons at their hands, and a sap, truncheon, rapier, smallsword, or really, REALLY big knife are all good ways to make quick work of a foe, and interrogate the ones left behind.

Interactions with PC’s/NPC’s

When you meet a new character, be it PC or NPC, you should be doing all you can to size them up. What are they good at, what are they bad at, what are they afraid of. You, as the scoundrel, should know the name of a character’s pet dog before they know your name, and they shouldn’t suspect a thing from you. They shouldn’t know what your skillset is, beyond the vague (examples include “I’m good enough at staying out of trouble, and keeping others out of it as well.”) and anything about you should be on a strictly need to know basis. Not that you should appear cagey; make it clear you have nothing to hide as you lie through your teeth about the scars on your wrists (”A bad accident with ropes as a dock hand. Heaven forbid I nearly drowned when that crate went under!” despite them being from failed attempts at escaping manacles) or other ancillaries. If they catch you in a lie, press them on why it matters; especially if they’ve got their own skeletons to hide.

Trust should be earned. Keep a ledger of who has helped you and by how much. Anyone who you trust, you don’t steal from, you steal for.

If that trust is broken, it isn’t a reset to square one, it’s a cliff they jumped off of. From then on, it’s lie, cheat, lie, steal.

If you are a greedy lout, it only makes sense that the things you like the most are the things which take care of you, and in turn are the things you take care of. Treat your allies like prized possessions, your terms of endearment may sound callous to outsiders (and new players) but party veterans will see the twisted sense in it.

Never steal from someone, or cheat them, unless you are sure you can kill them with your offhand, or that you will never see them again. It’s bad business sense to go nicking silver from the meat-shield, especially if it’s your meatshield.

If you do any sneaky skullduggery with your allies, it shouldn’t be -stealing- from them, but instead -sneaking items onto their person-. Caltrops are heavy. The cleric will never notice them, compared to the weight of their plate armor and holy symbol and whatever else they may lug, but will be damn thankful when you rummage into her pack mid-cart chase to ruin the hooves of the encroaching assailants. Same goes for phials of antivenom, chalk, pitons, rope, other things. They -might- notice, but what will they do, complain that you “gave them some useful items?” I think not. Meanwhile you are able to skate by without much weight on your shoulders save for what you need in the moment.

Interactions With The Environ

Any rogue/thief/person of questionable means will work hard to have a place to rest that is secure.

That often means seeking out people in the local townsfolk “in the know” and possibly paying them off for a secure place for their party. Do so quietly. Slip away and let your GM know what’s up, what you’re up to, and pop back in with maybe provisions and the place to rest secured.

Your second step, in any large town or city, is to find a fence (to sell stolen goods), find a cleaner (to take care of any bodies), and find at least three to seven contacts who can feed you information on the city’s politics and happenings. You are the webmaster, laid in the center and these people are your strings, to manipulate and listen to. The party should never know about the extent of your connections; only to have a vague sense of them and that, if a problem arises, you will begrudgingly “pull a few strings”. The extent of your network should always be a surprise to everyone but yourself and the GM.

Bring twine and bells, preferably ones you can somehow muffle when in a pack, along with door and window jams (bits of either pipe or wood will do, jam windows from opening and quietly brace the door). Secure the place your allies(posessions) rest so that you don’t risk someone hurting them, or worse, you.

If they press you on your knowledge of such, offhandedly make a joke about always needing more time in the brothel than what coin can buy.

Check for tracks on the road, especially those that veer from the road itself. These can be ambushes in wait, marks of others who have been ambushed and run off the road, or better yet, fools who went off the trail and may pay handsomely for rescue.

Keep a handful of ball bearings, or a marbles, on hand. They’re almost a pointless thing in combat, to be sure, but they are useful for seeing if a hallway has an…unusual slope to it, among other tricky uses (slingshotting windows to distract guards, tossing them at allies from above to signal you’ve stolen the goods and are on your way out, etc). Equally, a hand crossbow is mostly a backup in combat, but adding a bit of twine lets you safely check an entire room for tripwires with one carefully placed shot, all from the safety of an adjacent room. The twine and bolt are rarely heavy enough on their own to trigger a tripwire (say so aloud before you fire, to make sure the GM understands the logic) but they will hang over a tripwire, showing it’s location much more clearly. (This is a great reason to have vibrantly colored twine, separate from any twine used for tripwires of your own).


Money, fame, fortune, sex, redemption from past deeds; all these make good motivations, as much as more noble callings. Perhaps a the hero seeks absolution from crimes they’ve done for another client, perhaps they were betrayed and want revenge, perhaps these fool adventurers are just a stepping stone on the way to sliding a knife into the king and…other things into the queen. Keep those goals in mind, and remember always to keep them close to the vest, save for those you can trust. Or, flip the script and joke about them all day until nobody knows if you’re serious or not, until they realize how serious you are.

Equally, it may be that the scoundrel is just -bored-; insufferably so. They’ve tasted all they can of their home, maybe of many towns, and nothing interests them, so why not try a bit of the old daring-do? Their aversion to boredom may come off as practically suicidal for more level-headed or honor-bound characters, but you bet your bacon the barbarians, berzerkers, and maybe even some of the more fanatical clerics will lean alongside and raise their mugs in agreement.

Either way, the motivation will flavor everything you do, from how you shake someone’s hand, to which side of the road you walk on. Don’t be afraid to be particular with your mannerisms; but also don’t be obtuse in mentioning them repeatedly, unless they are relevant. A useful thing is to send the GM a “Habits” list; things that your character does on the regular so they know and so you won’t have to deal with a game of “nu-uh-uh-huh” when the nitty becomes gritty.


All of this, again, are just mere suggestions, from a fellow cad, scoundrel, and bit of a cheat. Being a sneaky scalawag doesn’t mean stealing everything at every opportunity; it means knowing which things to steal, and how to make others give them to you, be that by force, deceit, or a quietly worked lock and too much free ale for the guards the night before.

val-rius  asked:

Hate Me, Love Me, Miss Me.

Will sets down his tools, lips pursed purposely. In the presence of Val, the man had better confidence in his voice and in his words. It is love for the Apprentice that he speaks so plainly.

“I hate tha’ ya bend a knee t’her. She doesn’… doesn’ deserve yer loyalty, yer respect. Yer better than her… an’ I hate tha’ ya don’ see tha’.”

With his frustration aside, he lifts his glasses from a slim nose and a smile follows the motion. “….Love the way ya look on people, y’make this place like a family. Y…yer my family now. Yer very good at gatherin’ others in- like a mother hen.”

The last question makes the man smirk, pushing hair from his eyes to peer back up towards Val, “…..yer cookin’. I haven’ eaten like this in years…”

give me more about sam wilson

talk to me about how he spent three years unlearning hypervigilance only for it all to come roaring back in one afternoon

tell me about the dreams he has with riley falling, with nat falling, with steve falling, and he swoops to catch him but then steve turns into the winter soldier ripping his wings to shreds, rumlow down below beating the shit out of riley’s body, dead and riddled with bullet holes and still begging for mercy, God, please, Sam, please make him stop, tell me about the times he wakes up with the lurch of freefall in his gut

tell me about the nights he can’t sleep because he’s too busy checking the locks in his apartment over and over again, mechanically running through the same motions, because every time he’s just about to drift off there’s a jolt and the needle skips in his head and he has make another circuit of the room he just has to just one more and he’ll be safe, so he gives up and slumps down on his couch and texts natasha because she’s probably off somewhere halfway around the world and she won’t make anything of it like steve would

they chat for a while until she says im coming over and lo & behold, ten minutes later she’s climbing through his window, she’s pulling some fucking??? power tools ?? out of her purse, it’s three-thirty in the morning and she installs brand-new locks on all the points of entry and his bedroom door, and then she sits with him on the couch and runs her fingers over his head and murmurs pretty things to him in Russian until he dozes off

i thought you were in thailand, sam mumbles, mostly asleep. or norway or, like, mars, you didn’t have to,

yeah, nat smiles, i got back a couple hours ago. the jet lag from mars is a bitch, i’m not even tired, don’t worry

after a particularly successful ladies’ night out, pepper and natasha awoke (still somewhat hung over) to discover that they now owned three decommissioned cruise ships and a small eastern european nation. also, the strap on pepper’s favorite purse was broken.

sallie gardner at a gallop;

Giving Robb the peace of his sleep was about all Clara could do. Once again the two bit at each other and give each other cold glares across the from a distance that was safe enough to know that she wouldn’t get smart enough to close it again. There was a contemptuous little bow of her head and a hiss of a ‘Good night, your grace’ that stung about as harsh as anything else they breathed and she hurried herself to the bed. She pulled the fur that fell front he bed in her strange attempt to keep the king warm, and threw the few bits into  the bed before she sat down. When she did, a heavy sigh fell from her mouth and her fingers pressed against her temple before she covered her face up with her hands. It wasn’t until a wet nose pressed against the front of her hands and she dropped them to be face to face with the wolf. Of course she had heard stories of the wolf as much as she heard stories about Robb, but her lips curled upward as she looked into the beast’s eyes. If only the king was so attentive, she mused and secretly she wished Robb would have demanded even more from her. And the bed was big enough for the two to share without even an attempt of touching. But to be that bold was a crime, and she pressed her head against the crown of the animal, letting the fur press against her skin. She wasn’t hungry, not even a bit, so the idea of even staying up to eat didn’t really entertain her. So she unzipped her boots and pulled off her tights like she had done the night before and rested them beside the bed. Grey Wind found his spot beside the bed as well and she fell back against the lesser of furs and looked up. Her hands folded perfectly over her stomach, in her dress that would be deemed too risqué to be perched next to a king and thought.

How she got here seemed hard to piece together. She knew this place was important, but why it was important didn’t make sense. It wasn’t Earth, and she was nowhere near London where her own bed was with her own sheets and her own set of rules where she could wear whatever she wished. But somehow she got into the bed of a king, and was advising him on matters of great importance when she herself wasn’t really that important at all. She was so small without the Doctor, and smaller still next to Robb. She wondered how deep the stories lie. How just two days in a time traveling box could create folklore that ran deep with the superstitions nature of these people. Clara was in a war, stuck in the middle of a march down to a place she wasn’t even sure she could properly find on a map with a boy who she found more interesting to pick fights with then win wars. She hoped the Doctor was okay. It was just like him to get trapped away like that, behind walls she couldn’t get to. And though the motivation might be to get him safe, it was become more and more saving the North. How many times as she’d promise that to Robb just tonight? Even if she did fight with him, Robb was nothing but kind to her. By all accounts she should be dead, and the image of Robb falling to his knee next to her was hard to shake. Now she had to think more like Northern from this strange place. She had to think more like a queen. And though her and Robb might never actually get along like how she imaged a king and a queen getting along, they could work. She was willing to, and the thoughts of him started to fall into her mind so quickly it was suffocating. Robb made her breathing hick and her body clench up and her palms sweat, and that must be loathing. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t…

Thoughts were gladly interrupted by a call outside the tent. Clara’s head turned toward the entrance and she sighed. She wasn’t hungry, and Robb seemed to already fallen into sleep. So whatever her and Robb did after a certain hour of the night, she mused, must be off limits. Even if it was sleeping apart from each other. Her body twisted toward a few candles close enough to her to illuminate the area where she rested and with one large breath she blew them out. It didn’t take long for Clara to fall back on the bed and curled her back away from the tent entrance. Sleep surely followed, quickly and swiftly. She needed rest, if she was to ride the next morning. Even just the idea of riding again made her both frustrated and horribly bored and while Robb’s dreams might have given him light, Clara’s dreams dwindled her down. Mostly dreams of falling. From horses and tall bright red trees and uncharted seas and even once into a lion’s den. Most dreams seemed to disappear as quickly as she hit the ground, falling and tumbling into a series of unwelcome nightmares. The only thing  she constantly heard as the Doctor, the Doctor cooing for her not unlike the other times she slept. She wondered if it was her mind or actually the Doctor anymore. But whatever it was, it wasn’t calming and she kept falling from place to place, tripping over rocks or being pushed by faceless giants in silver armor. All falls, drifting down hard and hard again until one particular strange fall from layers upon layers of clouds where she rather literally was being blown off by winter winds and ice that nipped at her clothes. But, she  was caught with a large huff. It wasn’t the ground like she was expecting and she was pressed against frozen metal and the snow was too thick to see but she knew without even having to look up who she was pressed against. 

That was when the dream stopped and Clara woke up in a near panic. Her breathing got too heavy and her gasping air heaved her body. She was sweating, even in the cold air, and she kicked off the fur from her body and touched her forehead. Whatever her mind was doing, she was not very fond of it. Her knees bent, closing in on her chest as she caught herself. Not even her dreams were safe, it seemed, and Clara was more frustrated than anything. Her head tilted to hot breathing and she looked next to her to see Grey Wind, still staring at her. Her body once more twisted toward the animal and she wrapped her arm around his neck and pressed her face against the fur. She knew he knew everything about her, from the time of the box to the dreams she was having. Magic wasn’t real, and she knew better, but there was something that was so in tuned with the world around them, and the direwolf was apart of that magic. So she held him for as long as she could before slipping away. It wasn’t time to sulk, she reminded herself. And if she wanted to forget about the world that she fashioned herself in, now was not the time. Clara slipped on just her shoes stood. As soon as she stood up, she toppled backward back to the bed. Damn that ride. She thought she was finally getting over it, but it seems like her legs were just in the same twisted mess they were in yesterday. But she didn’t dare let Robb see. Never. For some reason that would make her weak if he noticed and she wanted to look strong. Frankly, she wanted to impress him, like the ride was nothing and she was just as strong as of his solders. Deeply, she breathed and pushed her weight up on the bed and got used to the trembling of her knees underneath her. Nothing she couldn’t ignore, she reminded herself. And once the legs got used to her weight, she walked to the candle and pulled it back to her bed, propping it right next to her. The flash of her red satchel underneath the table caught her eye. How these people knew what to do was still so confusing to her. Similar to how people knew how to put up tents so quickly. She’d like to see Robb put up a tent, she allowed herself to think. Picking up the satchel, she threw it back into the bed and crawled back in.

At least the fur was warm, and she kicked off her boots and opened up the bag and picked out two make up bags and dropped them on the bed. Stretching out, she unzipped one and opened up a compact to look over her face. She still, annoyingly, wanted to look good. She slipped down on her stomach and made sure her eyeliner wasn’t completely ruined and she smoothed her fingers over her hair. To keep herself busy she started on her hair. She rather have it up, seeing her hair length was far too short for her to be considered feminine. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She told herself a lot of stories when it came to this place and until Robb proved her differently than she would make up her own fantasy on the warpath. She spun pieces of her hair away from her face, using the small collection of bobby pins to tuck the pieces back. Then she started curling them behind her head, above her neck in twists and turns of dark chocolate colored strains. For Robb, she even added a few tiny little braids that she knew full well he wouldn’t notice. She needed to stop caring about what he thought of her. Her fingers worked the twists and the pulls until the intricate bun rested against the back of her head. It was a start. And as soon as that challenge was done, she packed up her tools and dropped the purse back down by the bed. Though the small time spent primping herself was completely bored again. Robb should get his rest, she insisted on his rested, but she grew ever more bored with each passing moment. Clara rolled on her back, looking back at the ceiling. Oh, to have a good book with her.

The temptation got too much, and Clara stretched her body out long enough to be awake. She wanted to see a new day. She wanted to see her dress and prayed the poor woman finished. She wanted to find new ways to impress Robb, and figure out one way to make him smile. That smile that he usually never showed. That was the one she held most dear. So she promised herself she’d be less of a burden and she pushed her weight back off the bed. Clara’s fingers went to the fur and wrapped it around her head and shoulders like a cloak and decides to chance to time and shake him awake. Breathing in, she teetered on her legs and her feet slipped back into her boots before walking forward. She walked with the same exact fear that she did in her dreams as she walked to Robb, bending over as each of her light steps made a slight jingled sound due to her straps of her boots. “Robb?” she whispered into the air, barely letting it hit the crispness of the morning. “Robb?…Hey… hey…” she whispered as she edged closer and closer. Her eyes flickered with that unmistaken curiosity as she tilted her head to see the sleeping boy. He looked less aggressive, when she slept, she noted. Like he was actually in a state of peace. She’d never seen that before. He was always such a stick lipped and combative.  Traits she’d learned to secretly like, but there was something so tranquil that she couldn’t help but smile as she tilted her head. She tightened the fur around her head with one hand while the other reached out. She wanted to touch him softly, and for a moment she allowed her hand to twist around and run against his cheekbone with the back of her hand that was uncovered from bandages. It was so quick, and she knew that she wasn’t allowed to be soft with him. That if she was soft then the urges to kiss him would come back like they had last night. That was one thing she couldn’t do. She couldn’t care for him. But it was too early to love so she bent her body closer and closer to look over the dirt that had found its way against the creases of his skin or the curls of his hair that she knew would look redder if he would wash it. “Robb Stark..?” she whispered again before her hand reached out and pressed against his cheek. This was the sort of touch she could pass off as simply just waking him up. “You promised me… Robb…?”

Her brow arched and for a moment she wondered if he was actually dead. Wouldn’t that be a story. She would certainly be ripped into a million pieces of Robb Stark was found dead with only a woman who was her height could take out a king. So in her panic she twisted her hand in front of his nose and mouth and felt the cold breath against her fingers and a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “At least you’re not dead… alright…” she breathed underneath her breath before she brought her fingers up  to the back of his neck and pressed hard where his skin was exposed before tumbling softly down to his shoulder and grasped it hard before giving it a firm shake. She hoped it was hard enough to awake him, and she frowned. Quickly she snapped her body away from Robb, as if he was breathing fire exactly when she woke up. So her brows lifted and her body bent down and she watched Robb’s face carefully underneath the protection of the furs.