DoctorGlock
2016-01-24, 01:51 PM
Party 2
I figured it would be better to separate the two parties after some folks brought up concerns via PM. So continuing...
The strange metal bars might provoke some curiosity, but no answers. You have never seen the like and neither has your somewhat-leader. 'Maybe it's worth something. Your find, your keep,' Co'av says. 'We have the correspondence. Let's head back to base and Zalo can take a look, see who and where our next target is.'
It takes about 40 minutes to wind through the slums into the sewer networks where the small Irshedai compound has sprung up. Throughout the maze of warrens and tunnels cookfires burn, spitted meat lied cracked and roasting, though it may be best not to think too hard on what in many cases. Some dark elves developed rather... unconventional... tastes during their ordeals during the war. The base is filled with music, both the old folk songs of a people in exile and the newer, cruder and darker ones that have risen to take their place.
For all of that, it has a lived in and home-like quality. It had sprung up during the occupation and was used by partizan forces during the war. Abandoned afterwards it was re purposed by Irshedai affiliated partisans whose war had not yet ended.
A cart full of weapons rattles by on its way to the docks as you cluster around a table lit by lamplight and Co'av lays down the papers. 'Not much,' he says, 'but I think we stumbled into something a little bigger than the usual camp guard.' As you look at the papers you note that they are written in gnomish, but the linguestic slips and tone are very clearly elvish, as if translated but only in part.
All is not yet lost Mr Harris, you have more than enough opportunity to settle your debts. Simply guard the reagents with your life and do not let them fall into the Authorities' hands. By the time your anniversary rolls around you can look once more with pride upon the world.'
Vague enough to be utterly useless. The next it a little better, you had found it sewn into an inner pocket before relieving its occupant of material concerns. A number of passports, all with the same picture and different names.
Vance Harris, 87, Half-Elf. Nationality, Briadoch. Occupation: Roofer...
Mearen Galen. 124. Elvish. Nationality, Sorish. Occupation: Coach Driver...
They go on and on. 4 sets of false documents total, each describing an innocuous profession and a quiet, neutral and above all uninvolved country. Coav reaches into a drawer and pulls out a thick file, thumbing through it until he pulls out a dossier.
Herr Mearen Gealith. 124.
Unterlieutenant 12th Elfensturm
The pictures and physical descriptions are a dead match for the rapidly cooling corpse in the slums.
'Feanwe's right hand scum himself,' Co'av says as he pops the final few papers on the table. A ticket for an airship flight dated three days hence heading south to the jungles of Aretina. And a hastily scrawled note with the following: 10:45, fisherman's nook. 'So just who would be giving him orders, hmmmm?'
I figured it would be better to separate the two parties after some folks brought up concerns via PM. So continuing...
The strange metal bars might provoke some curiosity, but no answers. You have never seen the like and neither has your somewhat-leader. 'Maybe it's worth something. Your find, your keep,' Co'av says. 'We have the correspondence. Let's head back to base and Zalo can take a look, see who and where our next target is.'
It takes about 40 minutes to wind through the slums into the sewer networks where the small Irshedai compound has sprung up. Throughout the maze of warrens and tunnels cookfires burn, spitted meat lied cracked and roasting, though it may be best not to think too hard on what in many cases. Some dark elves developed rather... unconventional... tastes during their ordeals during the war. The base is filled with music, both the old folk songs of a people in exile and the newer, cruder and darker ones that have risen to take their place.
For all of that, it has a lived in and home-like quality. It had sprung up during the occupation and was used by partizan forces during the war. Abandoned afterwards it was re purposed by Irshedai affiliated partisans whose war had not yet ended.
A cart full of weapons rattles by on its way to the docks as you cluster around a table lit by lamplight and Co'av lays down the papers. 'Not much,' he says, 'but I think we stumbled into something a little bigger than the usual camp guard.' As you look at the papers you note that they are written in gnomish, but the linguestic slips and tone are very clearly elvish, as if translated but only in part.
All is not yet lost Mr Harris, you have more than enough opportunity to settle your debts. Simply guard the reagents with your life and do not let them fall into the Authorities' hands. By the time your anniversary rolls around you can look once more with pride upon the world.'
Vague enough to be utterly useless. The next it a little better, you had found it sewn into an inner pocket before relieving its occupant of material concerns. A number of passports, all with the same picture and different names.
Vance Harris, 87, Half-Elf. Nationality, Briadoch. Occupation: Roofer...
Mearen Galen. 124. Elvish. Nationality, Sorish. Occupation: Coach Driver...
They go on and on. 4 sets of false documents total, each describing an innocuous profession and a quiet, neutral and above all uninvolved country. Coav reaches into a drawer and pulls out a thick file, thumbing through it until he pulls out a dossier.
Herr Mearen Gealith. 124.
Unterlieutenant 12th Elfensturm
The pictures and physical descriptions are a dead match for the rapidly cooling corpse in the slums.
'Feanwe's right hand scum himself,' Co'av says as he pops the final few papers on the table. A ticket for an airship flight dated three days hence heading south to the jungles of Aretina. And a hastily scrawled note with the following: 10:45, fisherman's nook. 'So just who would be giving him orders, hmmmm?'