The City of Thorns [D&D 3.5] (IC)

[Jukebox Hero]

"Kill 'im!"
"Straight, straight!"
"No! Throw a hook, get 'im in the jaw!"

The bloodthirsty cries of men pervade the air. Even though the fighting ring sits a floor beneath you, the thin floor isn't enough to keep the cheers and jeers away. And why shouldn't they scream with such enthusiasm? This was why they had come here, to the Two Flagons Inn, this and the cheap swill they pass as ale. After all, what other pleasures can one find in this cesspool? But here you sit, for reasons of your own, whether it be for blood-sport or for firewater is your own business.

This level, in stark contrast to the one below, has a staggering 12 people, including the bartender himself, who stands behind the counter, wiping the same filthy mug with an even dirtier rag. One man sits collapsed in front of him, the floor around him littered with broken glass, other empty glasses sitting in front of him, waiting to be broken. Two bugbears stand on opposing sides of the room, leaning against the walls, looking bored. Two orcs are avidly engaged in a conversation with a staggeringly beautiful woman, obviously fighting to win her affection. Only five individuals here are out of the ordinary, one is a small waif of a woman, a scarf around the lower half of her face, another, a man roughly 6 feet tall, maybe a bit shorter. He looks a bit...out of place, his trimmed goatee and relatively clean clothes are a rarity in the city's depths. Only a few feet behind him sits another individual, one known for his medical expertise. Doctor Chop? Doctor Hack? Whatever, he's probably under an alias anyways, as many others often are. The fourth man is an even stranger sight than the first three and it is clear that he doesn't belong. Fresh-faced and unbroken, he sits nearby, here for reasons of his own.
Lastly, there lies a strange man in the corner, his small wiry frame crumpled on the ground. A small puddle of drool is next to his face, and there are dark, rust-colored stains on his plain grey cloak. You can hear his ragged breathing, and occassionally a mutter, incomprehensible over the prospective lovebirds' chatter.

OOC:
It is about 10-11am, and late autumn. The climate here is temperate, perhaps on the sunnier side, similar to that of Southern Virginia or North Carolina (in the USA). Two Flagons Inn is located in the seedier parts of the city to be sure, but is nowhere near the worst, being located near the docks.

If you want more details, feel free to ask about anything.

[Ajadea]

The little woman surveys the room, eyes darting to each individual before her. The bartender. She had only a cursory acquaintance with the man, and had thus far deemed him to be of little threat, but even so, it would not do well to forget his presence. One overlooked detail would bring a man - or woman - down with ease. The drunkard, collapsed before the bartender. Unless he was a staggeringly good actor, the man would be little more than furniture until he was awakened. The man in the corner was in a similar state - not to be ignored, but nothing to be concerned about either. Bugbears, two of them in the corner. They would in all likelyhood be departing soon, either for the narrow streets or the crowd below. However, she would tread carefully until that time, for even one of them could end her with laughable ease.

The scarf was hot and damp against her nose and mouth, but she does not adjust it. At that table, there were two orcs, both smitten with the attractive woman. Orcs in general were dumb muscle, and these did not appear exceptions to the rule. However, it did not pay to forget that they had a lot of muscle. Yet another reason (two reasons) to watch her words and act with caution. Assuming the woman wasn't an idiot, she could be of use. Another contact was never something to turn one's nose up at, and sometimes beauty could divest a certain segment of the population of their wits.

A glass of cloudy alcohol sits by her hand, still full to the brim. She hasn't drunk even a drop yet, and doesn't intend to at the moment. The esteemed doctor is known well enough in this part of the city. She's done her best to avoid his services over the years, and so far has succeeded. A taller man, one who likely had a bit more coin than most. What was someone like him doing in the City of Thorns? The line between the spine-ridden tangle below and the decadent world above was blurred, but she couldn't help but think a man like that should be a bit higher up. Her eyes alight on the last one. A better question was what was someone like this boy doing here? He appeared little more than a child, a roseborn whelp no doubt, with no clue what this place held for him - or didn't hold, rather.

She shakes her head and appears to come to a conclusion of sorts. Slowly, she gets up, taking the full glass with her. The woman walks with the self-assured grace of someone who doesn't seem to think she has anything to run from. Without a word, she sits down at the tall man's table. Her eyes meet his, perhaps asking a question, or daring him to act. His reaction would speak louder than any prompted drivel.

[Mr. X]

As the lady approaches, she quickly notes the man is wounded, severely.

He's been patched up pretty well (You suspect Doc Hack's work is to thank or blame for that), but beneath the fold of his cloak, you can see were the blood soaked through his shirt and leather. A cane leans against his knee, and when he came in, you saw him leaning heavily on it.

As the lady approaches, he looks up from his glass of watery ale, and meets her gaze with a relaxed intensity.

He does not speak, but gestures politely to the chair across from him.

[Roc Ness]

Doctor Hack leans the back of his head against the wall, gazing at the ceiling, tuning out the sounds of combat from below. Another night, and, very likely, another death. Doesn't sit well with the doctor, but he can't stop it. Most he can do is sit in a dinghy tavern, stitch up whomsoever emerges to fight again.

The tavern itself held little interest to the doctor. To keep his wits, he keeps himself away from drink, such was the loss of the building in entertainment value. There wasn't much energy around the room, which meant no imminent danger of a barfight to be wary of. All bar one of the occupants of the room, too, held little interest to the doctor. People come and go in the City of Thorns, each one as shady, drunk, downtrodden or violent as those that preceded them. Given this state of affairs, it was always unusual to see a youth of supposed clean face and spirit.

Doctor Hack makes a mental note to check the state of the collapsed man and the drunk man once he can summon the effort to stand. For now, though, he settles to satisying a little curiosity. Besides, courtesy dictates that when someone appears to enter a sprawling hell-hole, you warn them the place is a hell-hole and try to turn them away, to greener (and safer) pastures.

Shifting his chair slightly, he tries to strike up a conversation with the young, out-of-place man near to him.

"So. Might not be too late to leave this cesspit behind, y'know. What'd make you come to these blasted shades?", he rasps.

[Lonely Tylenol]

Those damned Orcs. They won't settle for a "no". They never settle for a "no".

Daryl Hemlock sat pensively in his chair, eyeing the two well-muscled Orcs playing favor to the gorgeous young woman sitting across the tavern. Daryl could already see it now: the two brutes would bandy about, puffing their chests and extolling their virtues, and, if necessary (and perhaps even not), a display of strength--perhaps violent--would take place between the two. If she left with one of them--and for her own safety, she had better leave with one of them--the other would be sure to be waiting outside, eager to get the jump on his rival and steal his prize. If she decided to leave alone... The Orcs might actually settle their differences and team up on the poor lass.

Those damned Orcs.

Daryl threw back a swig of his piss-water and resumed his silent contemplation of the situation playing out before him. Of course, he couldn't blame her; Daryl hadn't been in Redwater for long, but he didn't need to in order to know that people around these parts bartered for protection with whatever they had, often to more... Unseemly ends. And to the dumbest and muscliest of the dumb muscle go the spoils.

But it doesn't have to be this way! Daryl thought to himself, a newfound fire in his veins. I can put an end to this right now. In fact, I oughtta--

"So. Might not be too late to leave this cesspit behind, y'know. What'd make you come to these blasted shades?"

Daryl froze in place, suddenly aware that he was being spoken to. He returned to his seat, not sure when he rose to his feet in the first place. He turned to his mug; his knuckles were white on the handle, contrasting greatly with the murky yellowish-brown of his brew. Daryl relaxed his grip on the mug's handle and brought it up before him, swinging it heartily. "Well, I happened to be in town, and I reckon I may's well see what the world-famous Two Flagon's signature special's really worth," Daryl said only half-sarcastically, bringing the mug to his lips before common sense prevailed, causing Daryl to pause for a moment before lowering the drink without a sip. "To be honest, it's not very good," Daryl continued. "Waste of a silver."

Those damned Orcs...

Daryl looked the man over from his chair; he appeared, at first glance, to be gaunt, underfed, poorly kept, and work-worn; a walking, talking specter of what the future held for Daryl if he didn't adjust to the city quickly. Yet Daryl could see two important things about this man: first, he appeared to have a pouch, as well as other implements on his person, which suggested that the man was a field medic; and second, and perhaps most importantly, the man was not in possession of a drink. "And you, sir, what brings you here? Come to relax after a long day's work?" Daryl paused to look him over again, very quickly, "Or is your work only beginning this day?"

[Ajadea]

She takes the seat he gestures to. It didn't look like the man would make the first move after all, so that seemed to fall on her, for now. She notes his wounds, his cane. He had entered in a fight he clearly could not handle, though the very fact he was alive meant that he wasn't a total incompetent in that regard. "Is it wise for a man in your state to be in this area?" she asks carefully. Her voice is soft, and slightly muffled by the scarf - it's not a voice that carries far, though one could imagine that she could make it do so. Why are you here, not farther above? Why are you here drinking watery ale instead of up in the roses with stew and featherbeds and whatever else they have there? Those were harder questions though, more intrusive. Best to start simple.

[Mr. X]

The man smiles, "Perhaps not." He replies, "But... There is an opportunity here that I do not intend to miss."

With a meaningful glance, he indicates the boy talking to the Doctor.

[Ajadea]

The woman follows the man's gaze. The crotchety old doctor was talking to the roseborn boy. Perhaps it was in the nature of the medically inclined to strive to help even seemingly lost causes. "If that is your concept of an opportunity, then it seems that you are more patient than I," she says. Patience was useful, but that was more patience than she had time for. Or perhaps he was merely resourceful, in which case he would make a valuable ally.

[Mr. X]

"Indeed, I suppose an 'Investment' is perhaps a more appropriate term." He sips his swill. "You know who he is, I presume."

[Ajadea]

The woman shrugs. "I've done my best to avoid the attentions to avoid the attentions of the flowers and the good doctor alike." The final words Unlike you don't need to be said. He seemed socially adept enough to notice little jabs like that. "I hope the payoff of your investments here is worth the taste of that sorry excuse for a drink."

[Roc Ness]

... "And you, sir, what brings you here? Come to relax after a long day's work? Or is your work only beginning this day?"

The doctor considers the question, and scowls. "Ay, the latter, boy. Although you'll have a lot of trouble tryin' to tell where my work days start an' finish."

Hack looks back at the stains on the ceiling. There was a constant state of fatigue and exasperation surrounding his line of work, something he was forced to grow accustomed too. Sometimes, that sort of pressure made stains on the ceiling seem relatively interesting, y'know?

Looking down past his nose, the room hadn't changed much. The orcs and the woman were still chatting, the bugbears still loitering. Only difference was one of the drinkers had started talking to the injured man. No energy tonight, see? All of that was downstairs, you could still hear it through the floorboard. It made for a more relaxing atmosphere than usual, but that was never saying very much. He turns his face back to the boy.

"Hrph. My advice is, don't drink 'till you've got something that's worth drinking. If you ain't going to leave here, you'll want your wits about you, and all the more stupid if you lose them to the most common pub swill."

[Mr. X]

The man smiles at the unspoken jibe.

"Certainly a good policy, but you've missed a small detail... The boy isn't a flower... He's a villager. His name is Daryl Hemlock. He came to the city just over a month ago, lone survivor of a lycanthrope attack on his village. If the stories are to be believed, he killed one of the beasts and wounded another, before carrying a wounded fellow for the two days foot travel it took him to get here." He pauses, sipping his ale.

"... Not a feat one might expect of the usuals you'd find here, above or below. Moreover to all appearances, while he is simple, he is completely honest... Another trait decidedly absent from either strata of our fair city... I expect him to be very significant in times to come, if handled correctly."

He leans back in his bench, exhaling.

But you, are clearly the sort more interested shorter term work... Which is good, for great schemes are built upon smaller achievements..."

He gives her a meaningful look...

"9 such small steps might prove sufficient..." he says, placing clear emphasis on the '9'.

[Jukebox Hero]

There is a momentary lull in the conversation nearby, as the orcs take pause to finish their drinks, the human furniture in the corner stops breathing, and for a moment, perhaps for only a few seconds, you hear...nothing. The bugbears begin to shift uneasily as an almost eerie silence settles over the room.
Crash
A glass falls from the counter and shatters, joining its brothers at the drunkard's feet. Welter emits an audible sigh, and the orcs begin to laugh raucously, and are soon joined by one of the bugbears, who stands by the door leading downstairs. The figure in the corner turns over and moans softly; you see now that he clutches a crumpled, bloodstained roll of paper - not parchment - in his hands, bound by a gold ribbon.

[Roc Ness]

The doctor nearly jumps out of his seat.

"Aaahhww #%!$@. Thought another fight broke out."

A flash of gold catches the doctor's eye. The wounded man's ribboned paper is exposed for all to see.

A very dangerous situation.

"Aaahhww hell no. Sorry kid, gotta see if I can make sure noone kills that man for a scrap of colour."

Careful not to be making sudden movements, Hack gets up slowly and moves to the wounded man.

[Lonely Tylenol]

Daryl Hemlock stares intently into his "pub swill" after the Doc's admonishment for a long, hard moment, stopping not even to exhale. Perhaps he's right, Daryl thought solemnly. This stuff tastes like cow's piss... And it's making me act crazy. It caused me to want to rush to my death against the two Orcs, and to hear strange voices make mention of my name... And now, I feel like the room is disappearing--the sounds are all but gone, and now the room seems to be so... So small--

Crash

Daryl is roused suddenly from his daze, and looks about wildly for the source of the noise. He notices a fresh pile of glass on the floor, its contents spilling out around it. Daryl checks for a brief moment to be sure it isn't his, then realizes he doesn't care, and shrugs it off.

"I'll join you, doctor," Daryl announced, shuffling across the bar behind Doc Hack. I guess if anyone is to stop people from spilling red for gold, it may as well be me, Daryl continued in thought. As he approaches, he sees for the first time what caught the doctor's eye--a rolled-up piece of paper bound in gold. Important, to be sure, and probably valuable. A promissory note? A message from the ruling class? In a place like this, it's probably neither, but in a place like this, what are the odds that you would see it at all?

[Ajadea]

"The boy named after a plant isn't a flower? I'm in shock," she replies, only somewhat sarcastically. She needed some more eyes outside the walls, even if the information was only wanted or needed once in a bloody moon. Because some nights, the moon went red, and it was best not to be blindsided then. A crash interrupts any further thought. She surveys the room again. The drunkard. Welter really should have thrown the man out already. She is almost about to return to her conversation, when she catches sight of the golden-ribboned paper.

Hack and Hemlock - the bitter doctor and the werebeast fighting villager - had risen already. Going for the paper as well would rouse suspicion. But she doesn't need to let them know she'd seen it. She glances at Doctor Hack, as if she had just noticed the man. "Finally found an apprentice worth more than a copper bit, doctor?" She lets a bit of carefully measured amusement flicker through her eyes, grins and lets the smile distort the scarf. They didn't need to know her goals. Her gaze switches to survey Daryl's form once more, eyes lingering on his face for a moment longer than the rest of him. "Looks a bit simple. Sure he'll be okay in the Thorns?"


[roll0]
Autohypnosis: Take 10, for 15. Memorizing Daryl's face.

[Lonely Tylenol]

"I'm right here, ma'am," Daryl said, ignoring the remark, "And I reckon I'll do right by myself. As for you..." Daryl himself did a brief survey of the woman; she was petit, wraithlike in stature, and although her bulky robes did little to reveal specifics, probably wafer-thin, not all too rare in these parts. Her hair was tied back modestly, and her face all but covered from the nose down by a thick scarf. If there was any beauty to be found in this woman, she kept it well-hidden. Fortunately for Daryl, that was revealing enough; as opposed to the woman leading the two Orcs on, Daryl suspected this woman survived these parts by scratching and clawing her way out of the dredges of defeat many a time. She already knew how to take care of herself better than the beau ever would, and probably more than he himself could imagine. A look into her eyes eliminated all doubt; there is no hiding the breadth and depth of experience in one's eyes. Daryl nodded, smiled, and tipped his cap quietly--a sign of respect--as he brushed past. "You'll keep."

As Daryl approached Doc and the injured man, he bent down, adjusting his shoulders to push his shield, normally slung over his back, but having fallen over the course of his kneeling, back into place. "So, what's ailing him?" Daryl asks, helping to reposition the man, keep his head elevated, and make sure he was comfortable and in position to be helped.

OOC (actions)
Taking 10 on the Heal check to aid another (DC 10), total 15.

OOC (miscellany)
I'm not exactly sure what the rules are for wearing armor in polite society. Since Daryl doesn't have a place to stay, and his armor is worth more than he's got, he probably just wears it over his clothes. Polite society dictates he probably doesn't have his weapon upon him, and he could not afford a shield sheath, so I may not have that. In any case, Daryl would absolutely never leave for anywhere without his shield strapped over his back. Beyond that, I guess I will let Jukebox Hero decide what to allow.

[Roc Ness]

((EDIT: Whoop I just got ninja'd. Hang on while I change this post a bit... done.))

"Finally found an apprentice worth more than a copper bit, doctor...? Looks a bit simple. Sure he'll be okay in the Thorns?" The doctor gives only a grunt in response to the remark of the woman. Hack had been considering an apprentice for a few years now, but resolved only to take on a young man or woman who was both talented, and smart enough not to get themselves killed. So far, he'd only seen one trait or the other, never both on the one poor sap. He glances back at the boy now following him.

"Watch if you want, but I'll want you to talk off anyone on my back, right? Don't want a fight already, don't want to be disturbed by one either."

He turns his full attention to the man in the corner.

"Now put that away, you daft fool," the doctor hissed. As Daryl props the man up, Hack quickly turns the man back over slightly so that the paper roll is obscured once again. "D'you want to be slain for a scrap of paper? Didn't think so. Now. What's happened to have you moanin' in the corner like this?"

The doctor sets down his kit and begins to assess his new patient, careful to hear whatever it is the person is muttering.

Going to be Taking 20 on a Heal Check to try and see what is ailing the man, for a result of 34 (+2 from the Medic Kit, +2 from Daryl's aid).
Likewise, taking 10 on a Listen check each round to try and catch what the person is saying, for a result of 17 each round.

[Ajadea]

The woman nods once and turns back to face her erstwhile companion. "I almost think I can see what you mean," she tells him with a grudging nod. Men like Hemlock were in short supply in all Redwater, as far as she knew, especially in the City of Thorns. "Far more reliable than those sorts, certainly." Her glance slips to the orcs for a moment before returning. "But," here a pause, drawn out for a moment longer than entirely necessary, "carrying out one's business in taverns rarely ends well. Though there are, admittedly, times when nothing can be done...."

Leaving the paper seemed unwise. Keeping the man waiting was no doubt equally so. If nothing else, it would be far wiser to keep the man as a friend than an enemy....

[Mr. X]

"Indeed, but one must play the cards they are dealt to their greatest advantage, occasionally at some risk..."

As the doctor and Daryl deal with the drunken man, Phius sits back, and watches the events unfold about him...

[Jukebox Hero]

@Dr. Hack:
You take a brief scan of the man curled up in front of you. He is unresponsive to your words of advice, only twitching as you turn him back over. As you do so, his cloak shifts, revealing his neck, which is criss-crossed by almost black, veinous lines, which extend from a central spot on the side of his neck, a dark bruise. He moans, revealing a swollen, purple tongue.
OOC: He's been poisoned, with a deadly injury-poison, most likely through some sort of dart. As for the exact name of the poison, it's something you haven't seen personally, but instead, have heard of, called Blueroot.

@Daryl:
As the doctor next to you turns the sad figure back over, you see that his neck is criss-crossed with dark, veinous lines, and seem to converge upon a central spot on the side of his neck.

@Phius & Catrin:
You see the good doctor turn him back over, hiding the paper and ribbon once again, and hear the poor individual emit a soft moan, before he continues his quiet rant.

[Lonely Tylenol]

Daryl narrows his eyes as the doctor turns the man over, squinting against the dreary lighting of the bar. The man's neck appears to be spiderwebbed with black veins, running from a single black spot on his neck. This was certainly nothing Daryl had seen before, at least not on any living human. He thought back to Gregor Topps, his compatriot and fellow guardsmen, and the way that his wound had deteriorated as the lycanthropy took hold; it didn't look anything like this, either. Daryl did know one thing, however: this was some kind of infection, or disease, or... Something.

"Are you seeing this, Doc?" Daryl inquired to the doctor, pointing an outstretched finger at the black spot. "Have a look over here. What's this?"

[Roc Ness]

Hack wheezes out a long, low list of miscellaneous profanities.

"Yes, I'm seein' that, boy. It's bloody poison is what it is. Most likely deliberate. Dart to the neck. Someone's already gotten to 'im, that's why he's moanin' in the corner, rich lookin' papers be damned."

The doctor grunts, and heaves the man again, turning him so that he's now lying on his right side (if he isn't already, anyway). "Boy, clear some space so I can open him out fully. An' if that bloody page gets visible again I want you to shove it under the fat lug. At this stage there ain't much left I can do, and on the neck too, bloody hell."

"Should have checked him earlier," he adds bitterly. Hack drags the man's legs out so that he's no longer curled up. Then, with one hand, he starts to apply pressure to the area around the neck, but not enough to impair the man's breathing, which the doctor is keenly listening for. With the other hand, he keeps a tab on the man's pulse."You can stop moanin' already, you daft fool, I'm hearin' you already. Just keep your bloody breathin' slow and regular, all I ask."

"Welter!" Hack barks to the barman, "This man is poisoned, grievously, not by chance, and likely not long ago. D'you know who he is, or who'd have a reason to try an' do him in? Also, if you have any antitoxin on hand? Payment will be up front."

Turning back to the boy, "Help me keep the pressure around the blackened veins. Don't strangle him, he needs to breathe an' breathe easy."

Heal check to substitute for a Fortitude save, assuming this man has any left to make. Taking 10 for a 22

@Jukebox Hero
Knowledge (local) [roll0], to try and see if Doc knows anything about Blueroot or Palurin.

...I feel so daft right now. I had considered purchasing a vial of Antitoxin and putting ranks in Knowledge (nature), but I figured that I should save the cash for whatever becomes necessary... didn't think it would get necessary this soon. :smallsigh:

[Lonely Tylenol]

As the doctor turned the man around, Daryl took great care to keep the man's head level all the while. As the man's face came into view, Daryl took a long look; the man was still moaning incoherently, and Daryl couldn't make out what he was saying, but he could at least take this fleeting moment to see if he could recognize him from... Somewhere. Anywhere.

"Boy, clear some space so I can open him out fully. An' if that bloody page gets visible again I want you to shove it under the fat lug. At this stage there ain't much left I can do, and on the neck too, bloody hell."

Moment's up.

"Yessir," Daryl replied shortly, rising to his feet. He surveyed the situation about him; aside from a couple stools, the doctor had plenty of room to work... Save for one of the bugbears, standing nearby. Daryl took a step before the bugbear. "Ah, beg pardon, sir," Daryl started, "We've got ourselves an odd sort of situation, and we need the space to take care of this man, so I've gotta ask you to clear out for us, if you could."

As Daryl negotiated with the bugbear, he could hear over his shoulder, "Help me keep the pressure around the blackened veins. Don't strangle him, he needs to breathe an' breathe easy."

"Give me a minute," Daryl called out over his shoulder. Daryl finished talking with the bugbear, then nodded to the bugbear and tipped his cap before returning to the man's side. Daryl gingerly pressed the man's neck, trying to keep the webs from spreading out as much as possible.

OOC (actions):
Taking 10 on Knowledge (nobility & royalty) to identify the man (if noble or of similar repute), for a total of 16.
Diplomacy check to influence the bugbear: [roll0]
Taking 20 on the Heal check to administer first aid, for a total of 21.

OOC (miscellany):
I expect the bugbear has some response that can be measured in ways other than "as Daryl negotiated with the bugbear", and if so, that can be roleplayed out in that span of time, per the DM's response. (EDIT: With a Diplomacy check result of 1, I now definitely expect some response.)

Also, my original Heal check result was incorrect--I said 15 when it should have been 11--but either way, I passed the DC10 check.

[Jukebox Hero]

Perhaps an antitoxin will not be necessary; despite that he shows no physical signs of getting better, he quiets down significantly, leaving you in an eerie silence. His breaths come slower now, although they're still interrupted by the occassional cough.
The bugbear turns to Daryl, as if noticing him for the first time. There's lotsa room over there, he says, gesturing towards the rest of the room, Why dont ya ask one of 'em to move? he asks, prodding his hand at the other individuals around the room.

Welter remains unperturbed by the sight of a man dying in his tavern; he shrugs, "'e just came in this morning, asking for a room. But he just collapsed there, right in front of me, before I could give 'im an answer. So I just dragged him over to that corner and cleaned up 'is mess. I don't know 'oo 'e is, where 'e came from, or 'oos after 'im. I just know I 'ave a good 'eart, and I couldn't throw out a man in need." Welter speaks with clarity and confidence, signs of a man at least slightly educated. Some know that he came here from the north with a large sum of cash about ten years ago. He set up the Twin Flagons Inn and never left (although you can't imagine why). "As for antitoxin, well for you good doctor," he pauses, eyes pointed towards the ceiling, "I'll let it go for a discount price of...fifty gold pieces, if you agree to patch up my next guy for free." He grins toothily, showing off his badly yellowed teeth.

The price is extremely reasonable, and you wouldn't be able to find high-quality (if he is selling you high-quality) antitoxin anywhere else for fifty gold.
Poison info:Blueroot: It hit the market only a few months ago, and became an instant favorite of higher-end assassins. The only seller of it is Laila, the Witch, an old hag rumored to possess arcane powers. More commonly, there is a drug with the same name, which is sold for slightly less. However, both poison and drug are extremely difficult to find and in fact, very few dealers even sell the drug, not to mention its how many can make it. A lesser known fact: The manufacturing process of Blueroot (the drug) is a closely guarded secret by the Masks, and the Dockworker's Guild would pay through the teeth to get their hands on it.
OOC:Also, 22 from a 10? That is...amazing...but not quite high enough. :smallfrown: But the DC is definitely possible (at least for you)

[Ajadea]

Dart to the neck - good aim, hidden weapons. Poisoned, which was interesting. And recent, which was far more so. He entered this morning, looking no doubt for the nearby clinic, or anyone who would grant him the aid he needed, with all the typical naivete of any flower. Of course, a dart to the neck is hardly visible... and the hours that had gone by since already served to mask the perpetrator. Obviously, someone wanted this man dead... and had very nearly succeeded, for that matter. Probably for the information he held. Hmm. This was more than she had bargained for, when she came to the Twin Flagons today.

She nods at her prospective employer. "Excuse me for a moment." Though her tones contained nothing but respect, it was clear her statement was no request. She crosses over to the corner where the minor drama was taking place. "Please hand me the papers, doctor. They are the best chance you have of finding this man's identity."

[Lonely Tylenol]

Also, 22 from a 10? That is...amazing...but not quite high enough. :smallfrown: But the DC is definitely possible (at least for you)

OOC
What about with a +2 from Aid another? (With the result of my Heal check.)

EDIT:

"There's lotsa room over there. Why dont ya ask one of 'em to move?"

Daryl frowns at the bugbear, lifting his cap and scratching at his head nervously. "Well, see, the man's, um, he's in a sort of bad way, and, ah, moving him's not going to be good for his health," Daryl looked up at the bugbear, meeting his gaze for a moment, before looking down at his feet. "It would be a darned shame if we got this man's blood on your feet moving him on past."

OOC (miscellany)
I'm regarding this conversation as the goings-on of "as Daryl negotiates with the bugbear", but if it occupies a different window of time, that's okay too.

[Mr. X]

The man nods his acquiescence as the small lady takes her leave, and continues to relax and observe.

[Jukebox Hero]

The bugbear thinks momentarily, staring at Daryl, his small beady eyes moving from his armor to his shield, and then to the sword slung on his belt. He apparently decides that the issue isn't worth a fight and moves away as asked, towards the bar.

[Lonely Tylenol]

"Help me keep the pressure around the blackened veins. Don't strangle him, he needs to breathe an' breathe easy."

"Give me a minute," Daryl called out over his shoulder, breaking the moment of awkward tension between himself and the bugbear. When he turned back around to face the bugbear, he had already turned away and was ambling off to the bar. Daryl let out a long sigh, the tension escaping his body through his lungs in a rush of air. Daryl was not looking forward to a fight, and wasn't certain he could win in a one-on-one fight--and if his friend joined in? "Hey, thanks," Daryl called out to the bugbear, tipping his cap and spinning on his heel to resume tending to the wounded man.

As he kneels before the wounded man, tending to his wounds, he can see that the man's breathing is becoming slower and more regular: the first tangible sign of progress yet. He is not yet out of the woods, but there is hope for him yet. As he looked up to the doctor to confirm, he saw the shadow of a woman standing above them.

"Please hand me the papers, doctor. They are the best chance you have of finding this man's identity."

Daryl froze in place, looking to the doctor, then back to the woman, and twice again, jaw slightly agape. Did I let it slip? Daryl checked the man; the paper was still out of sight. Nope. Did she see it when we did? Daryl bowed his head and resumed his care, hoping that he was simply too unimportant to get involved in the exchange.

[Roc Ness]

Hack observes as the boy leans over to assist. "Good lad," he mutters. Then he gives his response to Welter's offer.

"Right, I'll get you your payment, Welter, you jus' hand me that antitoxin." Taking his fingers off of the man's pulse momentarily, Hack quickly gropes his small sack of coins from inside his medical bag. Mentally counting, he draws a number of coins, hidden from view, from his sack and leaves it in his bag; he draws the rest of the sack out, ready for exchange with Welter.

---

"Please hand me the papers, doctor. They are the best chance you have of finding this man's identity."

Interrupted, Doctor Hack squints up at the new arrival to the corner. A woman, one of the idlers making conversation earlier. With a scarf obscuring much of her face, she immediatly falls into the Hack's category of "suspicious"; and the Doctor affixes her with a hefty, discerning stare.

"Li'l miss, don't take it person'ly when I say I ain't surrenderin' any of my patient's possessions' to a mystery-woman in a pub. If your really offerin' your services gatherin' information, I got other leads for you, with less chance of a stranger muckin' off with a dyin' man's stuff."

[Ajadea]

Never let it be said that Doctor Hack was an idiot. "I was not planning to 'muck off' with any of his possessions. I will remain here, read the papers, and return them immediately thereafter," she informs him. She considers his other statement. "If you want me to follow any of the leads you have, tell me. But I do not work for free." No one did, here in the Thorns, but it was best to have that out in the open.

[Mr. X]

"Doctor, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid the lady may be correct. Should the man fail to survive, the completion of his final effort would be the least that might be done for him... His paper, I expect, holds the only clue to that end that we are like to find."

The goateed man leans forward to speak, and the doctor recognizes him as a recent patient himself... As like to die as not three days ago, but looking as though he's come through fairly well since. You think he called himself Josef, or Josen or something...

The man continues,
"It is certainly early to discuss such things, however. You brought me through alright, and I expect under your care, he shall fare no worse."

[Jukebox Hero]

Welter looks at around the room, and then directs his attention towards the docotr, "Watch the bar," he says, before heading off towards the storage room. A jingle seems to echo through the room as he takes out his keys. An echo...

@Catrin & Dr. Hack:
...When did the shouts and jeers from the room below stop?

[Roc Ness]

"The man's not bloody dead yet," states Doctor Hack bluntly. "Nor is he irretrievably comatose, braindead, or utterly insane, and rest assured I will declare to the both of you when he is. Right now, your overt keeness in this matter don't particularly help your case." He throws the other newcomer, the goatee'd man, a look. Patched him up a day or two, maybe three, ago. Ridiculous chest wound. "Wonder where you'd be if'n I just figured you were dead already when you were handed to me. Understand? This man's papers are 'is alone 'till he's drawn 'is bloody last breath, or 'till he's started gibberin' backwards o'er the damn moon."

The doctor turns back to his patient, but continues to address the scarf wearing young lady. "Now missy. With that clear, how much do you propose for your services, if you're as reliable as you should wish me believe? There's more for you to work off than this man's papers, believe me, and I'll tell you what I know once we've cut the deal."

"Incidently, sounds like the downstairs've finished up brawlin', or at least they've finished one brawl o' many. I may have to attend to a few more idiots in a few moments."

[Ajadea]

The downstairs was almost too quiet. The setup, the bets won and lost, the sheer mass of people... it should not have been able to fall as silent as an empty room. "It depends on the type of case, and the lengths I must go to in order to obtain whatever it is that you seek," the woman replies, ignoring the sharp barbs about the man's papers. "Two gold a day is my base price, plus expenses. More if your case involves a significant risk of bodily harm on my part."

[Mr. X]

The goateed man appears somewhat taken aback by the doctor's retort, but then dips his head, ashamed...

"Doctor, you are absolutely correct, and you have my deepest apologies. Indeed, his condition hardly worse than my own when you took me in, and my recovery is a debt to you that I shall likely never be able to properly repay..."

He pauses seriously before continuing,

"If there is anything I might do to aid you here, you need but say the word."

As the deafening silence below pervades, he adds,

"To whit, I might add, it may be advisable to get him clear of the main floor... I suspect the exodus from below shall begin shortly. "

[Jukebox Hero]

The four of you sit in a brief moment of quiet, before a harsh cacophony of footsteps breaks the terse silence. There are no windows, but the thin wooden walls do little to hide the all-too-familiar thuds of guardsmen's boots. They stop right outside, and you hear their obnoxiously loud voices. Welter tenses, as do the other patrons. The bugbear closer to the exit shuffles into a corner, trying unsuccessfully to make his large frame less conspicuous.

[Lonely Tylenol]

"Well, if it is all the same to you three, I'd like to get out of here while the getting's good," Daryl remarks, looking up from his patient, pausing only to let the moment's silence hang uncomfortably in the air above them as he reflected on their situation. "This man looks like he's in good enough shape to be moved out of here. It sounds like things have calmed down on the floor; I reckon now would be a perfect time to get this man to somewhere safe, where we can--"

Daryl was interrupted, mid-sentence, by the loud thump of a guardsman's metal boot, a sound he was all too familiar with; while he never was adorned with full regalia, as his superiors were, his brief tenure with the guards in the outlying region had equipped him with a few adornments typical of guardship, himself. Daryl looked to his own greaves, then to the door leading down the stairs, then back to the wounded man for a brief moment before looking to the trio who were discussing wages and arrangements. Daryl knew more than most that the guards didn't have the time to go traipsing about breaking up barroom scuffles in backwater inns. This has to be something bigger than me. Daryl let out a long sigh before saying to the others, "All right, if there's anything y'all want me to hear that you wouldn't want those guardsmen out there to, you'd better get it out now. I wouldn't give us much time to figure this all out now, unless you figure we have some other option here."

[Mr. X]

At the sound of the guardsmen, The goateed man stands, and hurries to the victim's side.

'The boy is right about getting him out if here, and I believe things just got a great deal more complicated... Those guards are not here for the pit below..."

Trailing off, and leaving the implication that the guards are here for the man unspoken, he withdraws a leather case from the folds of his cloak, and stoops over the man.

From the case, he withdraws a false mustache, a handkerchief, an eyepatch, a cup of skin-tone cream, and a small, clouded, concave piece of glass.

Working quickly, he applies the mustache to the victim, and then covers the poisoned mark with the cream, then knots the handkerchief around his neck covering the mark further.

He then slips the bit of glass into one of the man's eyes, causing it to appear clouded with cataracts, and then covers it further with the eyepatch.

As he works, he whispers sharply to the Doctor,

"Don't let them find that paper!"

Finally, he upends his drink down the front of the mans shirt, and quickly takes a seat at the bar, pulling Daryl down with him, before the guards come in, trusting the rest of the locals to dislike the guard enough to not rat the effort out.

Disguise: [roll0]

[Roc Ness]

Hack grunts in response to the commotion. It happens often enough around these parts, although this man was another matter.

"Missy," he rasps quickly. "Your services, startin' now. Scarf or similar to conceal the man's neck wounds. Conceal the man's papers as well you can, on his body, an' if necessary help me diffuse any situations. Payment conditional on quality of work."

"Popular consensus is that they're more likely here for this man than the brawlers, so try an' identify how much they know already o' the man's condition. I could pass it for a seizure, but that don't work if they know he's poisoned."

[Ajadea]

She can take a hint, and this is a pretty big one. It takes but a moment to retrieve her drink and sit back down at the wounded man's table like she'd always been there. She pulls her scarf down to her neck, exposing thin, pale, slightly pinched features, and wraps it around the man's neck, neatly removing the handkerchief as she does so. She tucks the paper under the unconscious man's clothes, hidden by folds of cloth and the good doctor himself, if he didn't move too much, toying with the idea of stealing them but ultimately deciding it was too much hassle. Her hand drops away to the Doctor's knee. A little inappropriate, but perhaps useful in this situation. He was closer to the man - and the man's papers. If he needed too, he could probably slip them to her and then... well, it was a little easier to defend a mobile person than a dying one. The handkerchief, still in her hand, would make the task of hiding the papers ever so slightly easier... And she could destroy them as well, if need be, and remember every word.

[Jukebox Hero]

The door bangs open and reveals a full set of guards. No less than six fully armed guards stride confidently into the room, heads held high, roses emblazoned upon their chests. They brush past the orcs, each taking a quick, admiring look at their female companion in turn. The apparent leader steps forward and takes a look at the five individuals in front of him. His eyebrows furrow as he looks at the apparently unconscious man in front of him. Thankfully, his mumbling has stopped, and his breathing has regulated, giving him the appearance and demeanor of a sleeping man. His gaze then turns to the rest of you, skimming past the doctor, and only stopping briefly on the de-scarved woman. His eyes linger on Phius, and sit for even longer on the young man and his sword. You, he points at Daryl, you're that kid that took down those werebears, aren't you.

[Lonely Tylenol]

"That's not what I meant," Daryl protested weakly as Catrin and Phius immediately went to work on the man, the area becoming a hurricane of rearrangements. Before he knew what was going on, Daryl found himself being pulled aside by the sharp-dressed man, and before he could raise a proper objection, the doors swung violently open. Daryl put his head down, doing his best to look like any other somber tavern-goer, an effort which he put a great deal of pride in.

You. You're that kid that took down those werebears, aren't you.

Daryl sighed. Guess I shouldn't be too proud.

"Me?" Daryl turned around, leaning back against the bar with one arm, putting on his best smile in spite of the situation. "Actually, sir, they were wereboars. Funny, that; they read and sound similar, but they're actually completely different... Creatures..." Daryl trailed off, meeting the leader's gaze for a single awkward moment before bringing his head down to cough. "Anyways, that's me. What can I do for you? You didn't come 'round these parts for a signin', did you?"

[Jukebox Hero]

No. I did not. I don't supposed you have any interest in guardsmanship? Without waiting for an answer, he continues, So, who among you will be stupid enough to lie to me today? How about...you, he raises a finger towards Catrin, staring at her wispy frame, Why don't you tell me where he went? He tilts his head to one side mockingly.

EDIT: I used a word that starts with "co" and ends with "cks" in place of "tilts," and it was censored...

[Ajadea]

Hemlock had done well enough, but now it was her turn. "Most of 'em that come 'ere are men of some persuasion," the woman replies, dropping her smooth tones for the rougher accent of the lower city. She gestures around the room, pointing out each of the men in turn, giving each one the exact same amount of inattention. "If you're lookin' for a lady, there's only one proper one here, but since you're not, I'm gonna need a bit more than that to help ya out, officer."

[Jukebox Hero]

We both know why I'm marching around in this...sewer. Trust me, I don't want me to be here just as much as you don't want me here. And the more cooperative you are, the sooner we both get what we want. So whaddaya say? Why don't you tell me where that rich boy is, huh? I didn't think that your type of people would be too fond of him anyways. His tone softens, as if he was a father finishing up a lecture.Look, we don't care if you've already taken his gold. We just want to know where he is. He looks around at the rest of the tavern's patrons, hoping to glean an answer.

[Mr. X]

The man with the goatee looks up at the guard.

"Rich boy?"He queries, "Unless you are referring to me, and I hardly qualify for the title, I'm afraid there is little anyone here might do to help you. Certainly, no one of any notable wealth has passed through here in the last few hours. Though perhaps you'd like to question our inebriated compatriots...

He gestures to the two drunkards, passed out in puddles of their own liquor,

"They've both been on watch here a fair bit longer than I, I wager."

He speaks with a degree of haughtiness, as might be expected of a Roseborn noble, but also not without a degree of respect in his tone. (As of someone testing the waters to see what they can get away with, without actually causing an offense.)

[Jukebox Hero]

We have it from a trustworthy source that there was indeed an injured man in this area, specifically, in this building. Roughly 3 hours ago, he stumbled in here and collapsed in a corner, which I believe is that one, he points to the bloodstained space nearby, and he has not left since. But, if you refuse to give me what I want, I suppose I'll just have to find him myself. He walks briskly towards the rear door, brushing past the bugbear on the way. He pulls the door open, Thom, Baris, Ferret, stay here and keep an eye on these folk, he directs his eyes once more to Cat's thin frame before heading down the stairs, Derrick, Bones, come with me.

[Mr. X]

"Ahh... Then you are looking for me." The goateed man lifts the fold of his cloak, revealing his blood stained side.

"I'm afraid your trusted informant had their time off by a bit though... It was three days ago, not three hours. Still, he was right, I came here, all but dead... Ran afoul of a few fellows who felt I didn't require the gold I possessed. The good Doctor took me in and sewed me up, and as such, I am but little the worse for wear."

He bows slightly to Doc Hack,

"I admit, I did not expect a search party, else I'd have returned sooner. Why are you looking for me?"

This one, I expect, needs a roll.

Bluff/Persuasion:[roll0]

Diplomacy:[roll1]

[Jukebox Hero]

The guardsman's eyes narrow, moving from your wounded side up towards your neck. His boots clank softly on the floor as he walks around you (Phius).
Where is it then?

@Phius: it seems the dice gods have granted you their favor...

[Mr. X]

Phius gives an arched eyebrow

"Where is... what...?" He asks innocently.

[Ajadea]

"Pompous... what does 'e think I am, a mind reader?" the woman mutters at the officer's retreating backside, just loud enough to be heard but quiet enough that one might think she didn't mean it to be. Her glaring eyes catch sight of the paper. Oh, this one's a smart goblin. She memorizes his face as well - without his name, it might be the only way to track the bugbear down. "Injured, huh? Haven't seen anyone like that recently, 'cepting him o'er there looks like. Is that him or did yer rich boy leave?" she asks one of the remaining officers, "Though 'e must've been in some sort of state to think comin' down here was a good idea in the first place. What, the Roses not good enough for the nobs now?"


[roll0]
[roll1]

[Jukebox Hero]

He growls at Phius and opens his mouth to reply- "Pompous...not good enough for the nobs now?"
"You will wait your turn, wench, speak only when spoken to. And no, this place is not good enough for us guardsmen, as if it would be good enough for anyone," One of the other guardsmen shifts uneasily, the one addressed as Bones. He turns back to the injured man in front of him, "You know what you've stolen, what you've done. Now give it."

[Ajadea]

You knew where you stood, with a pissed off guard. Even if he'd clearly misheard and misinterpreted everything she'd said. But even that was useful. He wasn't a proper Thorns guard - this was someone from above, looking for someone else from above - the dying man, actually - who had stolen a paper, which was related to the paper the bugbear now held. She hadn't missed his actions though - he was looking for a neck wound. And how would he know that... well, the list was short, and none of the options were good for this sorry fellow. He was shaping up to be quite a bit more important than furniture, anyways.


[roll0] at the uneasy guard. Why is he uneasy?

[Mr. X]

Phius draws himself up to his full hight, offended by the suggestion.

"I know no such thing."

He inhales sharply, his face reddening with anger, "You are accusing me of a crime and suggesting another, without base or degree of proof! This is nothig less than a high offense. You've come here, on the word of some lowlife snitch, who'd clearly jump at the chance to bring any highborn low, and who could blame him..."

His eyes darken, and he speaks venomously to the guard,

"... But you, sir, have come here without warrant, and behaved beneath your station, while following a false trail..."

He spreads his arms wide,

"Come search me for whatever it is you seek. I invite it!"

He lowers his arms, and looks narrowly at the guard...

"But know this... If you don't find what you seek, you will be subject to the full weight of the Law... Your activities shall be investigated, your 'questionable' contacts brought out and tried, your friends queried against you, and even if, in the end, you are found innocent of any wrongdoing, your name will have been dragged so far through the mud that any hope you might once have had of living a valid and worthwhile life will be as so much dust blowing out the door."

He spreads his arms again,

"Search me."

He speaks with the force and confidence of one accustomed to the city forums, and clearly has the knowledge to back up his threats. Likewise, with out a doubt, if there was ever a man you did not want to be on the wrong side of, this was that man.

Intimidation: [roll0]

[Jukebox Hero]

The guard, who had been so full of arrogant fury, seems to shrink back into the room as you speak, your words resonating deep within his ears. At one point during your speech, he gathers the courage to open his mouth and even raises a finger, only to fall silent, and allow his mouth to shut dejectedly.
Quietly, facing slightly downwards, he says softly "I'm sorry sir, for any misunderstanding I might have had. But we have a-"

"Uh, sir?" Bones speaks up for the first time, daring to interrupt his superior.

"Quiet, not now!" He hisses, "but we have a warrant, and are out looking for a dangerous criminal, a rogue mage," he whispers the final word, as if sharing a secret, "It would be in every citizen's best interest if we captured him. If you wish to see the warrant, I have it right-," he reaches at an empty spot at his belt, "Huh? I swear, it was right-" He looks up, around the room, his eyes roving the room, searching for the perpetrator of the crime.

@Phius: The dice gods are indeed behind your every move...whereas they seem to have cursed my own hand with 3's.

@Catrin: Bones is just uncomfortable with the way he's talking to you, and about the lower districts of the city. Maybe he was born in the Thorns?

[Ajadea]

A mage! Fascinating. A highborn mage, no doubt a shame on the family he was born from, but nevertheless... magic. Well. Let it never be said that the Thorns were boring. "If you ain't got a warrant, don't go mummer an' try to make it look like you do," she tells the guard, adding a little more worry to her tone, the worry of someone who'd seen it before and knew it ended in messes. That bugbear owed her now, and the trader Nine always collected her dues. "It don't work, it don't help, and it looks bad on the guard. The guy doesn't even look like a mage. What self-respectin' mage'd let a buncha roughnecks put 'im through the wringer? More like blast 'em to bits, that's what he'd do. There's another inn, mile away in the docker's territory. Twin Flags, I think. Sure your guy didn't get 'em mixed up?"


[roll0]
[roll1] Inspiration!

Please leave please leave...

[Jukebox Hero]

"Twin Flags? I don't think there's a such place...and our informant has proved to be highly reliable in the past..." He pauses, at a loss as to what to do, "But I suppose there's a first time for everything," He shrugs and turns to leave the inn.
"Sir!" Bones speaks up again, louder and more assertively than before, "Look!" He raises a finger at the "drunkard," as his mumbling crescendoes into a near shout,
"Palurin i' mori, Palurin i' mori, Castor i' mori!"
"What in the hells?!" A strangely high-pitched voice emits from the man called Ferret.
"He's casting! Someone do something!" Derrick draws his sword, but his panicked expression suggests that he knows not what to do.
"Grab that man!" The leader spins around and rushes towards Phius...

Darkness. The world falls black, guardsmen charging blindly at the group in front of them.

@Phius: The leader's bulky frame crashes against your own, and you feel the strain on your side as the two of you crash against the ground.

@Dr. Hack: The figure next to you rises, bumping clumsily against you. Immediately, his hand seizes your tunic; where does he summon such strength? you note his wiry arms are impossibly strong, particularly for a sick man, as pushes you roughly against the table behind you.

@Ajadea: You hear a loud crash to your right, probably Phius and the captain. Gotcha! You hear Ferret's nasal, weasely voice as his odorous breath wafts into your nostrils, reminding you distinctly of spoiled milk. His hands fumble around your shoulders, and you quickly find yourself wrapped in his arms, trapped in a sort of weak bear hug.

@Daryl: Chaos all around you. The previously incapacitated man rises from the table...scuffling. Someone falls to the ground. Grunts. "Rahhh!" You feel something brush the side of your tunic, a fist? a sword?

Map will be posted asap
EDIT: Also, roll initiative...we'll see how this goes.

[Mr. X]

Phius Initiative:
Initiative: [roll0]

Also, for the record, that's the first time I've ever rolled over a 4 on an Intimidation roll. I wrote that whole speach fully expecting to be brought down laughing by a 2 or 3. Indeed, the dice gods have smiled upon me. :-D

[Ajadea]

Blinded by the unnatural darkness, she fights back instinctively, seeking a moment of weakness, of hesitation, that would let her get free. She remembers which way it was to the door - sooner or later, they would have to leave that way, after all. The situation could always be salvaged but she was no trained warrior and behaving like one would be a fool's action. If she gets free, she turns and runs, stopping once she gets to the door or at the very least escapes from the dark.


Escaping from the grapple.
[roll0]