Stormreach Solutions IC

[Solophoenix]

OOC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=279243)

Sunrise and sunset in Stormreach are most regular things. With the city straddling the equator, there is barely any variance in when they occur. From Lharvion in the middle of summer, to right now, Zarantyr, when most of Khorvaire is shivering in the winter chill, the sun appears at seven in the morning, and vanishes at seven that night.

As the sun rises on Stormreach on this particular morning, it first lights the tips of the gigantic ruins that surround and permeate the city. The light slowly slides down the great stone columns, over intricate carvings and crumbling arches, until it touches the much younger city, the city built by man, elf, dwarf and gnome. The city is gradually illuminated, revealing a haphazard mix of architectures and aesthetics from all over the world.

It glints off the chainmail of those Stormreach Guards unlucky enough to have drawn a post with no shade, as they resolve themselves to another day of heat and discomfort. It sparkles in the beaded sweat of labourers wringing the last of the productivity out of the day before they are baked into submission. Soon it will warm the smooth armour plating of the Warforged day shift.

Later still, as it clears the tops of buildings and makes its way into the narrower streets and back alleyways, the sunlight contrives to pierce the many holes, gaps and curtainless windows of the old Whistling Pig tavern, and fall upon the sleeping faces of the brave adventurers resident there.

Soon they will awake, and begin the business of the day...waiting. Waiting for word from the Stormreach Commerce Guild on whether their application for membership has been successful. A membership that will secure their futures and bring in business. The arrangement that will see this run-down old drinking establishment turned into a respectable office and base of operations.

Or at least, that's the plan...



***


It is another typical day in Stormreach. Hot, sunny and just a little too humid to be comfortable. The Whistling Pig, in its back alley location, gets very little of the refreshing sea breeze that keeps the richer parts of town a tropical paradise, and that which it does get brings the sickly-sweet smell of fermenting kuryeva berries. Ever-present and all permeating, wafted from Molou's Distillery. Your senses are slowly becoming dulled to it, but the weaker scents now mingling in don't offer much improvement. Even in its heyday, the Whistling Pig was no high-class establishment, as the emerging odours of spoiled beer and rodent droppings will now attest.

Still, it's yours. A place of your own on the frontier of an exciting new world. With a little love, and a lot of scrubbing, maybe you can make something of it one day...if you can't afford anywhere nicer, that is.

It is from here that you and five others are operating Stormreach Solutions, trying to establish yourself as adventurers for hire, skilled at handling all situations, and fazed by none. So far, you have met with some little success. You've cleared the giant rat infestation from a sweet old lady's basement, and ventured a little ways into the jungle to find flowers needed by a local alchemist for a new experiment.

But you feel like you can do so much more, if only your big chance would come along...



***


The Whistling Pig is a run-down old tavern that was cheap enough for you to purchase as the base of operations for your little band. It's not much, but it's home. It consists of two floors and a cellar area. The ground floor contains a main room, with a bar, a few tables and chairs, and a fireplace that, unlike the rest of the building, shows very little sign of ever being used. There is also a back room, with a large, 8 person table. This is separated from the main room by a lockable door. The third and final room on the ground floor is the kitchen. This has benches for the preparation of food, a wood-fired oven, a large stone sink, and a back door to an alleyway.

The second floor consists of eight spartan single bedrooms, opening into a common hallway, accessed via a stairway behind a door from the main room on the ground floor.

The cellar is where the barrels of beer were kept. It has a hatch opening to the same alleyway as the kitchen door to allow for deliveries, and is accessed via a narrow set of stairs leading down from behind the bar on the ground floor. At present, the only beer in the cellar is that which stains the brickwork and is responsible for a yeasty smell throughout the building.

[Bartil]

Ux Oth blinks a few times as the light hits his eyes. He sits up onto the side of his bed and stretches all his limbs especially his wings since he had been sleeping on top of them the whole night. He glances at his armor sitting at the other end of the room, sighs and thinks to himshelf; You never know... After putting on his armor he heads downstairs for breakfast.

[appending_doom]

Rurroth, as usual, is up an hour before dawn, meditating on her magic - less flashy and offensive than many other druids' - and whatever it is druids meditate on.

She trails down to the main floor after that, preceded by the odor that lingers, given she can't be persuaded to bathe more than once a week. She digs around their stores for raw, easy-to-prepare food, as she has proven disastrous to allow in the kitchen, and is trusted only to successfully find and hunt food in the wild, rather than preparing it.

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Slag hears the others finally up and moving about. He puts away his tool kit and closes the book he was reading. Taking one final look around his room he begins to wonder if it's too late to get the deposit back on the place.

Slag tromps down the stairs and greets everyone "Morning." he says almost like it was a question. "If this adventuring thing doesn't work out, we could always re-open this place as a bar. I think I've been in worse places..." Slag offers as he looks around the place with an appraising eye. "Or we could burn it down for the insurance money.." A small lick of flames escapes from his mouth in anticipation.

[Bartil]

Save your breath for the field Slag. Ux Oth says as he takes anorher bite out of his bread. I don't like this waiting anymore than you, but we just need to be patient. Ux Oth says this, but he too has been extremely frustrated with all this waiting for a while now.

[appending_doom]

"In any case, despite my apparently lax views towards traditional druidic beliefs, I'm not a fan of starting uncontrolled fires this close to a thriving rainforest ecosystem," Rurroth says, almost distractedly. "That's more of a Child of Winter thing, anyway." She tilts her head for a moment, replaying the conversation in her head. "If it came down to it, I'm certain I could work out the process of beer-making."

[spoonodoom]

A grumbling comes from the corner of the room. Valuun, quill in hand, journal on table, mumbles as he wakes at a seat in the corner of the room. He glances at the journal, his writing getting sloppier as the pages go on. "Ugh...I've done it again, haven't I?" He scribbles a final note in his journal, "STOP FALLING ASLEEP WHEN WRITING YOUR JOURNAL.", and then closes the book and slips it into his pocket.

"What's this about opening a bar?"

[appending_doom]

"Well, given that nearly 80 percent of adventuring parties die or run into irreconcilable differences within their first three months of operations, we could face better chances of survival and wealth generation by operating a business, especially one so well situated to servicing the local economy."

Rurroth's easy reply suggests she's been thinking extensively on this issue. But it's never entirely clear when she's serious about things, and when she's just making jokes.

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith


"Or we could burn it down for the insurance money.." A small lick of flames escapes from his mouth in anticipation.

"We can afford to pay for insurance?" a groggy voice calls from the steps to the second floor. Following the groggy voice is a middle-aged man who looks the part: tired, sunken-eyed, and emaciated. The man's body was dying a little bit every day from whatever disease he carried, but his mind was sharper than it ever was.

Even if we paid annualized premiums to minimize our cost, we're still looking at an expenditure that far exceeds our current income. I projected figures to account for inflation and expansion, and we just can't afford it.

Huxley (or Hux as he prefers to be called) takes up a place at the bar and slumps down on a stool. It's just in time, too--a coughing spasm leaves him doubled over. He can't stop coughing, and his eyes begin to scan the room for a remedy. "Did the old owners leave any whiskey behind?," he asks between sputtering coughs. "I've got a tickle in my throat."

Finding none, he shakes his head and laughs. As the others talk about running a bar, Hux can't help but run more figures in his head. He had never been much good at math (usually Whizbang handled that part), but ever since that awful Day he found his brain constantly buzzing. Little flashes would come to him at the oddest times, and he often had to work to keep it all inside. "Just be patient," he says softly to the others, not wanting to risk another coughing fit. "We'll get a customer. We had Dr. Breckenridge and Ethel already...they were both perfectly nice, and I'm sure they'll tell their friends about us."

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

"Gee, I hope Ethel tells all her friends about our rat killing prowess. I look forward to killing so many more." Slag says with a mocking tone. " I finally got the smell of burning rats out of my clothes. Now I smell like a moldy brewery. It will be nice to smell like burnt rats again. You know, to mix it up" Slag said with a smile. He made a show of fluffing out his cape to air it out.

Slag turns to Hux " Well I didn't buy any insurance, I thought you were..." Slag sighes deeply "So much for that plan." Slag clearly looks disappointed that he wasn't going to be burning it all.

Slag took a few moments to go around and give his morning blessing to everyone.


Slag uses 'endure elements' on everyone so they will be immune to his breath attack - just in case some work does come in today.

It may take a couple attempts as he has 35% spell failure.

[Postmodernist]

Gatecrasher opens the door gingerly, the excessive care indicating that he is more accustomed to making entrances in a fashion that befits his moniker."Greetings, comrades! Apologies for my tardiness, but it has been a most intriguing evening. I spent the entire night at the Circle of Visions, hoping to see one of the famous images materialize above the stones. Alas, after waiting for seven hours, nothing appeared." Gatecrasher seems blissfully unaware that standing in the middle of Stormreach's fabled ruins for hours during the humid night might be interpreted as odd. "I then stopped by the Red Ring to discuss their recruitment policies. I was going to suggest that we enlist as gladiators, though I have seem to have overheard that there is a new business plan. Are we are going to convert this place into a functional tavern and then destroy it for fraudulent financial gain? I am afraid I do not understand how this would be economically viable. Could one of you explain the process to me?" Gatecrasher looks toward Huxley, with what one might observe to be earnestness in his expressionless eyes.

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith


Slag turns to Hux " Well I didn't buy any insurance, I thought you were..." Slag sighes deeply "So much for that plan." Slag clearly looks disappointed that he wasn't going to be burning it all.

"The cost:benefit ratio was far too high," Hux says with a shrug, "not to mention the fact that we don't have the scratch for a single premium."


"I then stopped by the Red Ring to discuss their recruitment policies. I was going to suggest that we enlist as gladiators, though I have seem to have overheard that there is a new business plan. Are we are going to convert this place into a functional tavern and then destroy it for fraudulent financial gain? I am afraid I do not understand how this would be economically viable. Could one of you explain the process to me?" Gatecrasher looks toward Huxley, with what one might observe to be earnestness in his expressionless eyes.

"Messing with crime isn't a path worth pursuing," Hux admonishes the mechanical man, "for much the same reason as purchasing insurance. Nor is entering as gladiators, for the reason of death--" The older man pauses, realizing that the concept is lost on the warforged. "er--termination would lead to ceased revenue streams...not to mention sensory inputs. A customer will come."

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Slag






"The cost:benefit ratio was far too high," ....

A customer will come."

Slag turns towards Hux and nods. "You are right of course. On both counts. I think being a gladiator is just like being an adventurer - but with out all the loot. " Slags mind drifts off and he shudders at the thought of being destroyed for sport.




Slag blesses Gatecrasher as well with endure elements.

[spoonodoom]

Valuun sighs. Are we actually entertaining this idea? I'd like to point out that I came here to study the mysteries of the Traveler's Curse. You are hardly going to be able to assist me in my goals from behind a bar, nor from the inside of an arena.

[Bartil]

Valuun sighs. Are we actually entertaining this idea? I'd like to point out that I came here to study the mysteries of the Traveler's Curse. You are hardly going to be able to assist me in my goals from behind a bar, nor from the inside of an arena.

I agree. My place is not behind a bar serving drunks. I joined this group so I could find better jobs, not to run a pub. Ux Oth says this as he finishes the last pieces of his breakfast.

[appending_doom]

Rurroth gives an exaggerated sigh. It's again not clear whether the druid is actually disappointed or not. "It was only an idle thought," she says. "I've reasons to be down here adventuring, anyway. She scratches at her eye with her left hand, gloved in perhaps the oddest display of a sense of fashion she ever makes.

"I don't suppose any of you found work, though," she said. "I ran out of berries last week, so if I'm going to keep us fed cheaply, I'd need to go out and hunt some down."

[Solophoenix]

Just then, there is a knock on the door. A young half elf lets himself in and speaks.

"You are Stormreach Solutions? Councillor Bridgeworth requires your presence at his lodgings in one hour."

He hands a small card to Gatecrasher, bearing the councillor's address.

"Do not be late."

He turns to leave.

Everyone
Councillor Bridgeworth is one of the members of the council who handle the day to day running of the Stormreach Commerce Guild.

[spoonodoom]

Valuun does not look impressed. And he didn't even say please! Well, at least it sounds like work. What's on that card he gave you, Gatecrasher?

[Postmodernist]

Gatecrasher reads the card aloud to the group.

"Does anyone know who Councillor Bridgeworth is?"

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith

As the emissary leaves just as quickly as he arrived, Hux arches his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn't very sure of his own optimism at the outset, but now they had landed not only another customer, but one who bore a title? He smiled to himself at their good fortune.


Valuun does not look impressed. And he didn't even say please! Well, at least it sounds like work. What's on that card he gave you, Gatecrasher?

Hux chuckles at Valuun's disdain. "Important people and those who work for them have no use for pleasantries," Hux says, "they're for the rest of us."


Gatecrasher reads the card aloud to the group.

"Does anyone know who Councillor Bridgeworth is?"

Hux doubles over as another cough wracks his body. He closes his eyes as his throat spasms, and before his eyelids he sees flashes. Scene after scene flicks before his eyelids with all the vivid detail of being there, but it races past him so quickly that none of it actually soaks in. For the first time, Hux finds himself startled enough that he stops coughing. What was that? And was there a way for him to make it happen again?

[roll0] to identify the Councillor
[roll1] if more appropriate

"I think...I do?" Hux says, unsure if he even believes himself.

[Solophoenix]

Huxley
Councillor Bridgeworth's first name is Clarence. He has served on the council of the Stormreach Commerce Guild for 4 years. He is a human.

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Slag

"It's alright to have bad manners I guess, as long as he is free with his coins. Though, I doubt the council desperately wants us to open a bar..." Slag comments. He prepares to gathers his things to leave.

[appending_doom]

"It's his right to act as abrupt as he likes," Rurroth comments. "We might as well get going, though, unless you want to have bartending as your only option." She offers Slag a wry grin as she moves toward the door.

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith

Hux pushes all the odd flashes out of his mind, focusing on what he knew of the man--Bridgeworth was the councilman reponsible for the Commerce Guild, and thus their application. "Clarence Bridgeworth. He's served in the Commerce Guild for about four years now. Looks like we're going to hear whether our application was accepted...time to face the music." He picks a tattered coat off of a nearby rack and drapes it over his shoulders. "Maybe we can snag some whiskey while we're at it." He digs into the pockets of his coat, looking for coins but finding none. "If someone could spot me, that is," he adds sheepishly.

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Slag

Slag tisks at Hux. "It's far too early for drink. Let's get a move on, we don't want to be late." A rare hint of excitement creeps into his voice.

[spoonodoom]

"Please excuse me" says Valuun, and he quickly goes to his room to change - It would not do to meet an official wearing clothes he has slept in.

[appending_doom]

Rurroth scratches idly at her dirt-smudged ear, apparently not sharing the same feelings as Valuun.

[Bartil]

Ha! Need some liquid courage to face the counsillor, Hux? Ux Oth lets out a slight chuckle. He gathers the rest of his equipment. So, everyone ready to go?

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith


Ha! Need some liquid courage to face the counsillor, Hux? Ux Oth lets out a slight chuckle.

The aging man shakes his head. "Afraid not," he says, "I just don't think he'd appreciate it if I cough up any phlegm on him."

[Postmodernist]

Gatecrasher appears cheerful amid all the banter, though he quite clearly has no idea what is going on. "You fleshy creatures are very confusing and interesting. Tell me more about this 'whiskey.' Why would one of you need it? Is your 'phlegm' corrosive or dangerous? Is it considered bad protocol for it to come into contact with someone? Is it precious or personal? I have so much to learn." He opens the door for his companions, and looks earnestly at Huxley.

[Ragnarok'n'Roll]

Slag

"I think its a lubricant for the fleshling joints..." Slag offers matter-of-factly to Gatecrasher.

[appending_doom]

"Lubricant for the fleshling spirit, actually," Rurroth adds. "Come on, let's get this party started!"

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith

The aging engineer arches an eyebrow as the warforged discuss bodily fluids that don't concern them. "Always an adventure with you lot, isn't it?" he marvels at their fascination with the most mundane parts of the world around them.

Hux puts on a thick woolen overcoat and a tattered, faded gray hat that's meant to hide the age in his hair. However, the hue of the hat just accentuates his silver streaks even more. With a sigh and a slight wheeze, he heads out the door. "Last one out be sure to lock up," he calls back over his shoulder before mumbling, "Though there's nothing worth stealing."

[spoonodoom]

Valuun returns from his room, changed, and carrying his handy haversack. He follows Hux out of the door.

[appending_doom]

Rurroth gives a pause at the door, sniffing at the air. She shakes herself once, like a dog, before stepping out into the sun. You know she was considering leaving the bar as a dog or something to avoid having to talk to anyone. You're not clear if that would have been a good idea or a bad one.

[Solophoenix]

As you traverse the wakening city of Stormreach, the smell of gin slowly fades from your nostrils, and you are able to take in the many scents the city has to offer. Fresh fish are slowly baking under the already scorching sun, laid out for the morning markets. Alongside, exotic fruits of various types, whatever has been found to both grow in this environment and serve as food. Leathers and woods of the various Giant handicrafts blend into the mix.

This too, slowly fades as you head into the richer area of town, carried away by the pleasing breeze that engulfs this side of the city, cooling and refreshing for most organic races. Somewhat less so for warforged, given the sea salt it brings with it.

Reaching the address on the card, you stand before a wealthy looking townhouse, three floors high, but with slightly peeling paint. It takes an extremely wealthy and determined person to win the battle of paint versus salt air. Evidently, someone the councillor is not.

[Postmodernist]

Gatecrasher balls up his fist, rears back, pauses, and then raps on the door as gently as possible.

[spoonodoom]

Valuun mutters If he has someone paid just to answer the door for him, we ought to charge him double... as he looks to the door expectantly.

[OMG PONIES]

Hux stands at the door and smiles politely, doing the best he can to suppress another cough. Unfortunately, the best he can do is not very good, and he is soon doubled over and gasping for air.

[Solophoenix]

((OOC: Oh hey, we're back up! Sorry I didn't notice earlier. Expect normal DM service to resume after I finish work tonight!))

[Solophoenix]

The door opens to reveal the same half elf who visited you earlier, hurriedly pulling on the coat of a more formal outfit, one better suited to a butler or valet, rather than a messenger. He quickly composes himself and speaks.

"Stormreach Solutions, I presume? You are most punctual. Please follow me."

He leads you into the house, and the first thing you notice is that it is almost unbearably hot, even moreso than normal for the sun-baked abodes of Stormreach, especially in this part of town, well served by the sea breeze.

You pass along the narrow ground floor corridor, before ascending a flight of stairs. Here you are led to the first door of another corridor, and taken through to a yet hotter room. The reason for this is soon apparent, as this room contains a great ornate fireplace, happily crackling away, oblivious to the outside temperature. In one corner stands a large globe, and most of the wall space is covered by rather sparsely populated bookshelves. What remains holds various maps, charts and the occasional naturalist's sketch. There is a rather worn looking three-seater leather couch and matching armchair, and in the middle of the room, a large table. There are no windows. The only light comes from the fireplace and a slightly tarnished bronze chandelier, its tiny flames adding even further to the oppressive heat.

"If you would kindly wait here, I shall inform Councillor Bridgeworth of your arrival."

He quietly steps through the only other doorway into the room, and closes it behind him.

[Postmodernist]

Gatecrasher idly walks up to the bookshelf and begins perusing the volumes that line it, look for anything that might stimulate his curious mechanical brain.

[OMG PONIES]

Hux steadies himself against one of the bookshelves, desperately trying to catch his breath before their host comes to join them.

[Solophoenix]

Shortly, the door the servant left through opens again, and into the room steps a small, rotund, balding man of about 50. He has a large, bushy brown moustache, exceptionally well-groomed, and he wears a military-esque suit of heavy broadcloth. Despite this, and the temperature of the room, no signs of sweat show on his brow.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning!" he intones rapidly, offering his hand to anyone close enough to shake it.

"My name is Bridgeworth. You are indeed Stormreach Solutions? Ah good...well, not entirely good, but I'm hoping we can change that!"

The half-elf returns with a tray of glasses of brandy, offering one to each of you in turn. The councillor resumes speaking, his tone and emphasis seeming to wander of their own accord.

"You see...your application to join the Commerce Guild...well, it's not very impressive, is it? You don't have any allies on the council, and your deeds as adventurers up to this point have been rather lackluster. In fact, I would go so far as to say that they lack so much luster that if something is not done soon, you will surely be rejected! Baahhhh!"

His strange laugh is somewhat jarring.

"But we can change that! Yes, yes we can. You see...I'm going to offer you just what you need. You will do something for me, and not only will you gain an ally on the council, in the form of yours truly, but the deed will be just what is needed to make the others notice you! What do you think of that!? Hmm?

He looks around the room, eyeing each of you expectantly.

[OMG PONIES]

Huxley d'Cannith

Hux tries to fight back his eyebrow's urge to arch. He's concerned about the possible ethical ramifications of the quid pro quo the Councilman seems to be implying. However, he's far more concerned about not having a paycheck coming in. "I think I'd like to hear what the job is," he says dryly. Hux had been around parts vendors long enough to know when someone was making a sales pitch, and this looked like the beginnings of one.

[roll0]

[spoonodoom]

Valuun ponders to himself - An ally on the council is never a bad thing, always good to have friends in high places he thinks. He smiles and takes a glass of brandy, and begins to sip it.

[Bartil]

Ux Oth takes a glass from the tray and downs the contents in one big gulp. He looks Bridgeworth up and down. "Depends on what the job is, sir." Ux Oth says while putting his now empty glass back on the tray. He sure seems nervous. Hope he's not hiding anything, well more then all politicians already do. Ux Oth ponders. "Is there something wrong sir, you seem a bit tense?"

[Solophoenix]

Huxley
You don't sense any deception or insincerity from Bidgeworth.

The Councillor takes a glass of brandy for himself, and, sipping it as delicately as one can while also driving one's moustache into the glass, continues.

"It's my daughter, you see. She's gone missing, and I have no idea where she is. I want you lot to find her, and bring her back safely to me. If you can do that, not only will I be overjoyed with sheer happiness, but you will be my friends for life, and I can just about guarantee you that guild membership.

Well? What say you?"

[OMG PONIES]

For a moment, Huxley was speechless. He half-expected the bidding of a local politician to contain at least an iota of corruption. Instead, the Councilman seemed like a genuinely concerned father. "Would we be able to talk to anyone who might have more information on your daughter? Friends, other members of the family, etcetera?"