City of Unending Rain

[RedSand]

It's a warm spring night in Ptolemy. Which doesn't mean it isn't raining, of course. Temperature has very little to do with the coming of storms in Ptolemy. In the winter it could turn to hail, and in the summer the rain lightened, but the air became heavier and stickier, and the wind could be like a steam bath at high noon. But tonight, it mean the wind is low, and the air is cool, and the raindrops aren't particularly intrusive. Nights like these, you could grab a warm coat and a good umbrella, take a stroll outside, close your eyes, and pretend the world hadn't drowned. Wasn't still drowning. Of course, this would require you to either be very old or very long-lived. These days, young folk don't seem to know what they're missing.

The Red-Light District was born out the body of a battleship. The OLL Bonegrinder had been one of the largest, most feared battleships in the world for the entirety of it's lifespan-before the Drowning and after. It was concrete and aluminium and ironwood, and it's exterior was coated in reddish-black, that was storied to be blood and chipped like paint. It is owned by the Lady Urza Gurgash, a now elderly Orc general of great appetites and relaxed demeanor who had sailed in ten years into Ptolemy's construction and decided the place was far too tame for her tastes.

She'd decided to build in the east of Ptolemy, near the outskirts. She'd converted every one of the Bonegrinder's six hulls into a street corner. She hollowed out rooms to make for storefronts. She raised it, tore open the hull on every side, and built grand hallways that connected it to lesser ships in her fleet, with steel tunnels and winding staircases flush with street vendors. She extended the bottom hull into a massive concrete platform, built walls around to shield from the waves, and put above it a silver-reinforced tarp, so one could enjoy a decent dry walk and have a good smoke. She'd laid down streets and lamps and paved every walkway she could with cobblestones. On the very top of the ship, she threw down as much soil as she could find, and raised what could be the last rainforest in the entire world. And she'd invited every old world gnome and hedonistic Nix and unscrupulous Dwarf to come set up shop. And they did. It's said that children learn of the old world on the knee of their grandparents; young adults learn in the lap of Ol' Auntie Urza.

Which brings us to Pale Hand Lane, a rather busy, circular street, built out of a dome stuck straight to the back of the Bonegrinder. It's here where you'll find big dance halls and open air stages and bars with a live band in every direction. To the left of the entrance lies a small hospital, built above the city's only sanitarium-City Council thought the music would do patients some good. A series of catwalks hug the domes ceiling, accessible only via flight, a back passage for employees only, and if you're young and brave, a series of climbable pipes. Local teens occasionally gather up there, drinking and risking arrest by spitting down it. The roof is coated in a black rubber that repels those pesky raindrops out above deck-even during the hardest storm of the decade, you were damn near guaranteed to not hear a thing. And it's here where you'll find the Black Cat, located near the entrance to the right, a darkly-painted little dive bar between a questionable bookstore and a Performer's Guild Hall.

Alright. I don't need everyone to be in the Black Cat for this next scene, but being in Pale Hand Lane and would definitely help. Please introduce your character and give a little info on what they're currently doing.

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay, still dressed in his butler's attire because he felt it made him look a snappy dresser even under the white and red trimmed traditional robes that probably made him look more like a wizard than a doctor, walked down the street somewhat aimlessly. He'd just come from the nearby hospital, hoping they might have an opening and finding they were full up at this time. He didn't much feel like trying the sanitarium. Not unless he couldn't find anything else. At the moment he thought he'd try and drink and stepped into the first bar he saw, the Black Cat. He smiled inwardly to himself, knowing how out of place he was likely to look.

[aguaracu]

A small gargoyle glides from the roof and lands by the door to the Black Cat. He came second in a fight the night before and his face still bears the damage.
Schist straightens his jacket, enters the bar and orders a drink.

"Are you still up for minding the door Saturday night?" the barman asks.
"Sure, I could use the money."
"Yeah, I heard 'Hammer' Thor took the winner's purse last night."
Schist sips his drink.
"Where does that leave you? Seven wins in fourteen bouts?"
"Can't say I was counting."
Schist takes the drink and retreats to a corner. He sits facing the room, a statue that occasionally picks up his glass and takes a sip.

[Django]

March Thorns wasn't old enough to be nostalgic for the forests of his homeland, but he still relished the foliage of the Bonegrinder beat. He stopped for a moment under the arms of an adolescent banyan, and swept his hair back out of his eyes (eye, rather).

March found warm nights such as these fairly pleasant. The chance to walk freely on the decks put the folknof Ptolemy in a friendly mood. And if those high spirits waxed a bit too boisterous, well, that's what he was around for.

March ambled throughout the red-light district, offering quiet greetings to the shopkeeps, prostitutes and buskers he knew firsthand. He didn't have any weapons on his belt, which gave him a more approachable, harmless appearance. Those who waved back to the Watchman were well aware what he was capable of.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

Alvin loved the rainforest on top of the Bonegrinder. Maybe it was his fey blood, maybe it was just the uniqueness of this green place amidst the endless steel and water around it, but it was his favorite spot in the city. He had spent days amidst the forest's glades, unwinding in peace and quiet after the adrenaline rush of a completed job.

Today was not one of these days. Today he had no use for peace and quiet. Today he was bored. He hadn't had a good hunt in weeks, and the occasional mercenary work or criminal endeavor hadn't proved particulary exciting. A drawn-out sigh was followed by a swig from the flask in his hand, not his first, and certainly not his last. Not particularly good stuff. Alvin was half-sitting, half-lying on the catwalks under the dome of Pale Hand Lane, slouched against the railing, feet dangling in the air, looking down on the bustling hub below as he tried to drown his ennui in alcohol. Sure, sitting up here and getting drunk was mostly the province of surly adolescents, but technically he was a teenager, even if he hadn't felt like one for years.

The half-nix sorcerer's verdant skin was paler than usual, his metallic-golden hair tousled and untamed. There were dark circles under his coral eyes from lack of (restful, non-hangover) sleep, and his long leather duster and studded armor were dirty and wrinkled. Despite that, he still looked dashing, he knew. There were perks to being ridiculously good-looking, and one of them was that being disheveled merely turned you from classically handsome to ruggedly handsome.

Desperate for something, anything, interesting to happen, Alvin watched the crowd below, taking another sip of rice ale.

By the Queen of Air and Darkness, can this day get any more tedious?

[Byunny]

Bertram Saltworthy needed a drink.

They called him bloodthirsty, but it wasn't properly true at all. He preferred a fine whisky to the taste of blood any day, though wood for the construction of proper aging casks was far too bloody expensive considering the only trees in the world grew on top of the bloody Bonegrinder. Not that grain mash was easy to come by either, considering it was harder to grow barley and rye in the damned rain than it was to grow sugarcane.

But he digressed. There was an unpleasant metallic taste on the half-nix's tongue, from when he'd bitten off each of the fingers on a man's left hand to teach him and his the proper respect. Bertram regretted the incident, but it had been necessary to remind the lowlife scum that Bertram Saltworthy punished those who went too far just as swiftly and as mercilessly as the Guard did. He had no interest in the kind of major sin that brought the Pigs down in force, and he would not have any uppity thug risking his people's lives by drawing that kind of attention. Saltworthy protected his own, let it be known.

The Black Cat was Bertram's dive of choice. He found the music agreeable, the atmosphere pleasant and the drink less unpalatable than most back-alley joints. He was on his way there when a particular cop on beat caught his eye, patrolling the 'grinder Green. "Thorns," Bertram greeted him, doffing his cap with a cool respect. "Pleasant night fer a stroll, ain't it old boy? So when do the brass drag yer nose from the grindstone, Thorns? Let ol' Bertram buy a glass an' a smoke fer a hardworking cove one o' these nights."

[Django]

March smiled sardonically at the old salt (he had a hard time NOT looking sardonic. Something about the eyepatch). Bertram Saltworthy was definitely well-known to the Watch, and March had been grateful for the half-nix's surprise arrivals as much as he'd had to clean up after his messes.

"Eveneing, Bertram. I could handle a cider, if you're feeling generous."

March looked ahead to the marquee of the Black Cat. "Nice night. You and yours staying out of any major trouble?"

[missmag]

"It’s mighty strange, without a doubt... Nobody knows you when you’re down and out. I mean— When you’re down and out..."

There was nothing quite like the Blues. Jazz was great for riling up a crowd, for making the atmosphere electric and alive, but for slow, easy nights like this one, the melancholy music reigned supreme. With the last mournful notes of Siren’s song hanging in the air, she took a moment to bask in it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as her gloved hands still held the mic. And then, without missing a beat, she signaled for the band to start anew with a silent snap of her fingers. This time, however, the singer did not join them. She exited the stage from the side, gliding down the few steps that separated it from the floor while instruments began blaring behind her. Not content to stop there, she made a beeline to the bar, and finally sat down not on one of the stools in front of it but on top of the bar itself. It seemed she had decided it was time for a break, and what better way to spend her break than enjoying a drink?

“The usual, please.”

The bartender did not look surprised, by any means, but he did nod towards the stools as a hint—a hope, really—that she might sit herself down like a normal customer. Siren responded in kind by crossing her legs and laying her hands atop them, making it clear that she had no intention of moving. That earned her a groan and the shifting of feet as the bartender surrendered to his fate and began fixing her drink. Victory was sweet. And rather pink, if the beverage being poured was anything to go by.

[Byunny]

The former pirate broke out into a smile, gesturing toward the Cat. "Allow me. And o' course, I swear on me honor to buy yours with honest coin," he joked. Bertram knew perfectly well where he and the watchman stood with regard to the law, but that was no cause for any lack of courtesy... at least until the Watch gave offense first. "The Cat, then?"

As Bertram walked, he shrugged in response to March's query. "Keeping the peace," he said darkly. "Shouldn't be no trouble for the Watch nor the good people of our city."

Bertram pushed past the doors to the bar, tipping his hat to the regular crowd as he did so. The old salt made his way to the bar, more collapsing onto a stool than sitting with any particular grace. He hooked a foot around the stool to his left, pulling it back a few inches for March to sit if he so chose. "Evenin' Billy. Miss Siren here givin' ye hell as usual?" he grunted, flashing the lounge singer a cheeky smirk. Then back to the bartender, "A cider for the watchman here and a glass o' rice liquor for me, neat. Thorns is drinkin' on me tonight."

With a sigh, Bertram turned so his back was to the bar, surveying the Black Cat. It had been a long day.

[Django]

March follows Bertam into the Black Cat. As he enters, he removes his broad-brimmed Watch helm, and clips it onto his weapon-less belt, next to the buckler he does keep on his person.

He takes the seat next to Bertram. Sharing a drink in public with the old pirate did wonders for his underworld cred, and besides, the half-nix told some very entertaining stories when he was in his cups.

March offers curt greetings to the bartender, as well as the bar-perched songbird. He was familiar with the staff of the establishment, and they with him. On a busy night, plenty of businesses didn't mind having a Watchman at the bar. March keeps his back to the populace, keeping his uniform visible, but his gaze away from any particular customer. Nevertheless, he marks entrances and exits in his (admittedly limited) peripheral vision.

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay appreciated the music while he'd sipped slowly at his drink, a martini. He chuckled at the interaction of the singer and the bartender and examined the room for rough types to make sure he could relax and enjoy the atmosphere. He made note of the watchman and the other fellow who looked anything but. That either meant trouble was very unlikely or very likely. He mentally shrugged, either he'd be able to drink in peace or he might wind up getting paid for his services. An acceptable enough situation.

[RedSand]

The bar is alive as the music carries on the slow, thoughtful melody of The Siren, adding in a drummer and slightly complicating the tune to compensate for their lack of vocals. The warmness of the night doesn't do the place much good-nights like these, people prefer a good walk and or a bit of dancing. But there are a few curious souls there tonight, and the regulars were nearly in full force. Chatter and quiet merriment overtake the place, and for a moment you could even mistake the place as being classy.

The bar was being worked by Griff, a husky red minotaur with a jovial demeanor and a vast collection of gaudy jewelery hanging from his horns. Despite his size and a bad habit of making cringeworthy puns, he was considered quite the charmer, and often closed the bar up with a smiling girl or lad on his hooves. He fans himself for a moment, then goes downstairs to lower the furnace a bit before popping back up to service the thirsty. He's flanked by Old Toothy John, a graying Half-Orc man who'd lost his arm in a factory accident over a score ago. He'd been compensated for his injury with a cushy desk job, for which to this day he complained of boredom. Damned if he didn't make enough to pay his tab, though, and he could be kind when he was in the mood-often joked his shoulder was good for nothing but crying on. Jeerik and Mar, a red and light orange lizardfolk, respectively, sat near the stage, humming along to the tunes in near perfect mediation. They were newlywed, and they'd caused a bit of a stir for both belonging to different churches, and staying that way throughout the wedding. In the center of the room sits a Sea Elf man and a Half-Nixie woman named Tess, engaged in light conversation. Tess is a regular, an aspiring bard herself, but the man is new. They pause often, listening to the music unfold, a light tinny strumming of a guitar and the slow drumming engulfing them as the man picks at a plate of pickled spinach and the woman sips a hot brandy. Four young Dwarven women play cards and pass around a long orange cigar between them as they play. They know most other Dwarves don't go for bars like the Black Cat, especially Dwarven men, and that suits them just fine. For a couple of moments, the bar is a picture of peace.

Suddenly, the music stops. The chatter ends, and the room is entirely silent save the sounds of heavy, rasped choking. Tess puts her hand on his shoulder, then begins stepping back from the Sea Elf, frightened, as he begins heaving louder and louder. His back arches straight as he clutches his chest, and with another violent burst of coughing his chair falls back. Bystanders begin approaching him to help, as the force of impact turns his coughing to retching, and he vomits over his own coat. The onlookers slowly step back, wondering aloud what the hell has gotten into him. None continue, but some run into the streets to call for a doctor, or anyone. What the poor elf produces starts out a dark green and quickly becomes an even darker purple. His regurgitation lasts for a good ten seconds , after which he goes limp, and with a moan his cheek kisses a now rather disgusting floor. His eyes are wide open and bloodshot. His breathing is faint.

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay immediately jumps from his stool as soon as the sea elf begins his heaving, but can't make his way through the crush of bodies for far longer than he's happy with. "I'm a doctor, please give us some space." he declares gently but firmly and leans down to examine the man.

Medicine: [roll0]

Edit: Things Dr. Clay would like to know: What's wrong with this man? Is this something he knows how to fix with mundane medicine? Is he equipped to do so now? Does the man need magical healing or will he assuredly survive just with regular treatment?

[RedSand]

You immediately recognize the dark purple substance to be Sea Elf blood as you rush to his side-a clear sign of internal bleeding, likely in the stomach. Some of it still trickled down his throat as he began drifting off into unconsciousness. His eye patterns denote lucidity despite his panicked state, and you suspect he isn't quite sober. There is far more blood than you would expect-Sea Elves have a lower volume blood than most other humanoids, and made up for it by having blood that clotted almost immediately-meaning whatever was causing the bleeding was still active. You tilt his head back and look down his throat. It's covered in acid burns far thicker than they should be, and a closer look with a lantern shows some kind of thick, nearly translucent oil that beings at the base of his tongue and continues congealing down his esophagus. You don't recognize the poison, but you can deduce with confidence that whatever is, it's eating through his internal organs, much as it's currently doing with it's tongue. Given the hacking and coughing, you imagine a good bit of has likely caught in his lungs. You imagine you could probably get the the oily poison out by forcefeeding quite a bit of club soda and inducing vomiting a few more times, but that wouldn't do much good against the poison in his lungs, and until you get all the poison out, casting healing magic will only delay the inevitable.

[Ramsus]

((Would Lesser Restoration fix the problem enough for magical healing to do the rest?))

[Django]

March is quick on his feet, keeping the bar patrons far away from the sick elf and the lizardman physician. He makes a quick inventory of the witnesses, and keeps an eye on the exit for sudden departures.

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay looks over to the bartender and asks, "Do you have any soda water? And more importantly do you have some kind of tubing?" Dr. Clay then expands briefly a bit more on what he would need.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

Shouts from below interrupted Alvin's brooding determination to get even drunker. A perfunctory look shows people exiting the Black Cat in distress, looking for a doctor. Maybe just someone unable to manage their drinks, but there might also be a bar brawl or some other reason for spilled blood going on. It was a gamble if the occasion was interesting enough to bother with, but he was bored enough to take it. The half-nix rose from his slouched position, swaying only slightly as he did, and considered his options. Usually he would come down the same way he went up, clambering along the pipes, but he wasn't sober enough to climb anymore, and not quite drunk enough to do it anyway. There were alternatives.

He stepped out of view from the crowd below, drawing on his inborn power. Being drunk had never hindered him in the use of the arcane, the way it often did wizards. His magic was like another limb, its use instinctual, if a little more reckless and imprecise with increasing inebriation. The air around Alvin shimmered as he changed, suddenly eight inches taller, packed with muscle, and sporting two cragged tusks, one of them broken. He had taken on the image of Marok, a janitor working in Pale Hand Lane. Whistling drunkenly, the newly shaped half-orc went down the private staircase, greeting other employees along the way with a sloppy salute. He had to remember to buy Marok an ale some time.

Arriving on ground level, he dismissed the illusion before leaving the confines of the back passage, taking care to do it when unobserved. It didn't take him long to spot the source of the commotion upon entering the Black Cat. A watchman, holding back the crowd. A sea elf, almost motionless on the floor, looking rather pale. Alvin had seen enough of their kind get sliced up in a back alley to recognize the purple blood on the floor. A lizardman in a white robe, trying to help. He ambled closer to the scene, coming to a halt next to a throng of onlookers.

"So, what happened?" he asked noone in particular, his speech only very slightly slurred. His tone was a tad to perky and upbeat for the seriousness of the occasion, but he was happy to have found something of interest. "Ol' knife-ear here get stabbed for cheating at cards?" If the fact that his own ears were at least as pointed and sharp as the elf's occured to the half-nix, he didn't show it.

Anyone feel free to assume that Alvin adressed your character, if you feel like it.

[RedSand]

Griff pulls a bottle of club soda out from under the bar and then rushes upstairs. He emerges with a healer's kit. "I think they got little tubes in this thing-for blood transfusions and-and whatnot". He hands both items to one of the Dwarven girls, who carefully hands them to Dr. Clay.

[aguaracu]

March is quick on his feet, keeping the bar patrons far away from the sick elf and the lizardman physician. He makes a quick inventory of the witnesses, and keeps an eye on the exit for sudden departures.
"Give the doctor some space folks, the gentleman is in good hands."
Schist joins March in crowd control.

@RedSand: Are you handling perception and insight rolls secretly?
Schist is trying to rewind the scene in his mind, who had an opportunity to touch the elf's food? Perception [roll0]

Does Tess' reaction seem genuine? Insight [roll1]

[Ramsus]

"Thank you." Dr. Clay responds in a general way that encompasses everyone who is being helpful and then gets to work trying to flush out the substance from the man's body.

Afterwards (whether the roll works well or not) he'll cast Lesser Restoration followed by Healing Word on the patient.

Medicine: [roll0]

[RedSand]

You notice several people starting to leave, many out of disgust or fear of disease. Others stay out of morbid curiosity. The music having stopped, several of the band members also decide they don't get paid to watch a man be operated on in his own vomit and go backstage to smoke. All the regulars seem to stay, though.

You think back, having kept a close eye on everything earlier. You didn't hear them order it or anything, but you distinctly recall Griff bringing a small jar of pickled greens straight to the bar from the kitchen and spooning it over a plate of hot rice. The rice had presumably come from the same pot that most people had been eating from all day, but you can't think of anyone else ordering the spinach since you'd arrived. When he served it, Old Toothy John leaned in and took a disdainful whiff of it, and made some dry crack to Tess before she carried it back to the Sea Elf, along with two short glasses of brandy.
As for Tess, you can't quite tell if her reaction is genuine or not, though from the looks of things she seems very distressed , looking away and trying not to vomit herself.

[missmag]

“Someone has to keep the man on his toes. I’m just doing my part.” Siren gives a playful wink, though whether it’s directed at the bartender or the newly arrived familiar faces is hard to tell. Knowing her, the ambiguity is intentional. That’s just the way she likes it. A little mystery and tongue-in-cheek never hurt anybody, not really. … Unless you’re a Sea Elf with a penchant for pickled spinach, apparently.

Siren’s teasing words appear to have unintentionally held some element of foreshadowing within them, if the choking sounds drawing the focus of everyone in the bar are anything to go by. This kind of an emergency will keep everyone on their toes, whether they like it or not. It’s a call to action, one that those in the vicinity heed with vigor as various individuals try to do their part. Siren personally honors the call by taking a hurried swig of her newly poured drink before slamming it down and trying to get closer to the downed victim. A shot of liquid courage to get her through this train wreck is well warranted, in her eyes.

She kneels down some distance away, close enough to get a good look but far enough to give the doctor plenty of space as requested. Peering at the scene from her perch, she answers Alvin as panic creeps into her voice. “He— He just started choking out of nowhere. The choking turned to gagging, which turned to vomit, which turned to… Blood, I think? It all happened so fast…”

Siren wasn't paying close attention when all this initially went down, so at this point she's just looking for any general signs of foul play. Not sure when you do or do not want us to make Perception/Insight rolls, as I remember you mentioning you'll make those for us sometimes, but in case you do want it in this instance: [roll0]

[RedSand]

Quick as he can manage and with the resources available to him, Dr. Clay asks for the patient to be held down(after assuring everyone that it is poison and not sickness) and quick as he can manage, fills the patients lungs with carbonated water that he very fortunately was able to breath, before ramming the rest down his throat and inducing a second and third bout of vomiting. It's gruesome, takes a while, and he loses quite a bit more blood out his throat, but he eventually stabilizes and goes comatose, and the crowd notes that bloodflow from his mouth stops entirely.

You are almost certain that he needs more medical attention at a proper hospital, as there might be more poison in his system lying inert, and you may have not cleared out his lungs completely. He also looks like he'll be needing a good bit of bedrest and his throat and voice will require time to heal, and may have suffered permanent damage. Still, he'll likely live through the night.

[RedSand]

Siren looks around. There's not much that's immediately obvious, but you do notice two things that aren't there: One, you don't see Assyria anywhere. Assyria is a minotaur woman, tall and wiry with black fur and a white face. She was a known criminal, having had the tips of her horns shaved off for stealing from a wealthy family while working there as a maid-one of the most ruining things that could happen to a Mino, both physically and socially. The Black Cat hired her to do the cooking and cleaning on the assumption that it made the place seem more intriguing.
Second, there were the two people that had run out screaming for help or a doctor. The first was a Half-Nix who had run back in when her friend had called her warning her about Dr. Clay's operation, but the second, an Imp Gargoyle in a heavy coat, hadn't bothered to come back at all. He'd even thrown down money for his two ales on the way out the door.

[Django]

Seeing that the situation is relatively stable, March emerges briefly from the Black Cat, horn in hand. He produces a short series of notes; a call for any nearby officers. The code of the horn reports conveys the severity of the incident; a civilian injury possible crime, but nothing that requires a major show of force. Should be enough to summon a few more officers, able to carry the elf to a hospitaler.

Heading downstairs, March pulls a fishskin ledger and a pencil from within his coat. He starts to assemble a report, and asks Griff for a list of the bar's patrons that evening. After this, he begins taking statements from direct witnesses.

He murmurs an aside to Bertrand; "Just a heads-up, there'll be a few more coppers here in a minute. If you don't want to be associated with this mess, I wouldn't blame you."


Asfar as roleplaying, March is polite in his inquiries, if a little curt; understandable, given the grisly scene nearby. Assuming this process is uninterrupted, March will accept whatever he's told (within reason) without a lot of argument. He's treating the witnesses as innocents, maybe potential victims, rather than suspects. If you want March to be privy to your IC knowledge, that's fine too.

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay stands up and states, "I've done what I can. He should live, but we should still get him to the hospital." He looks to the watchman who had blown his horn, knowing he'd probably called for some others. Since there wasn't much else he could do at the moment, when the officer had a free moment he informed him in detail of what he'd been able to determine about the man's condition and the cause. He added, "We should probably collect whatever he was eating or drinking for testing."

[Django]

Dr. Clay stands up and states, "I've done what I can. He should live, but we should still get him to the hospital." He looks to the watchman who had blown his horn, knowing he'd probably called for some others. Since there wasn't much else he could do at the moment, when the officer had a free moment he informed him in detail of what he'd been able to determine about the man's condition and the cause. He added, "We should probably collect whatever he was eating or drinking for testing."

"Thank you for your assistance, Doctor. Does this look like a poisoning, in your opinion? "

changing my text color, there's enough red floating around.

[Ramsus]

"That is the most likely scenario I see, yes." Dr. Clay replies.

[aguaracu]

"So, what happened?" he asked noone in particular, his speech only very slightly slurred. His tone was a tad to perky and upbeat for the seriousness of the occasion, but he was happy to have found something of interest. "Ol' knife-ear here get stabbed for cheating at cards?" If the fact that his own ears were at least as pointed and sharp as the elf's occured to the half-nix, he didn't show it.

"The gentleman has taken ill. Let the doctor do his work, sir, and if we need your help taking him to hospital we'll ask you." But only if we can't find anyone sober.

[missmag]

Siren tells March everything she observed. She talks quick and quiet, trying not to draw the attention of any parties that could be involved-- Though she suspects those that are have already fled, which is why she works fast. This is the kind of information she’d usually charge for, but the circumstances here are different. Evidence points to someone trying to poison a man where she works, and that doesn’t sit right with her. The situation also reeks of danger and excitement, which instantly piques her interest, though she keeps that much to herself.

“You coppers can do what you please, but I’m not going to sit helpless on the sidelines. I don’t take kindly to people being poisoned at my place of business. This is personal.”

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer


“He— He just started choking out of nowhere. The choking turned to gagging, which turned to vomit, which turned to… Blood, I think? It all happened so fast…”

Alvin takes a drunken second to ponder on this information before answering with a light-hearted "Sounds like poison alright. Remind me to abstain from the food in here going forward, I like my blood on the inside". He smiles to show he is joking and not actually blaming the establishment. Then a thought strikes and the smile turns to an enthusiastic grin. "You know, I think this might be a wonderful opportunity for both profit and entertainment. How about it, Siren, you up for a little investigating? Should be right up your alley, information is your business after all, ain't it."

Giving her a wink, the sorcerer moves closer to the people holding the crowd in check.


"The gentleman has taken ill. Let the doctor do his work, sir, and if we need your help taking him to hospital we'll ask you."

Alvin looks as if the prospect of helping the man hadn't really occurred to him. His slim 5-foot frame wasn't much for physically carrying things (or people) anyway. Despite that, he gives the gargoyle a nod of drunken indulgence. "You do that, my stony friend, you do that."

Ambling further, he half-nix youth adresses the watchman in the red coat with a cheery voice.

"March, the people's lawman, always in the right place at the right time." He steps closer and lowers his voice a tad. "Poison, huh? Not something the watch can just tolerate, I'm guessing. But we both know you've never got enough bodies in the field. That's what you hire people like me for after all. So, how 'bout it. I'm usually more of a bounty hunter than a private eye, but I'm bored enough to make an exception. You tell me there's a reward somewhere along the line, and you got my sorcerous talents at your side! I even promise not to "psychologically torment the perp" this time, though I still don't understand what that complaint was all about."

As was loosely discussed in the recuitment thread, I'm assuming that Alvin, as a bounty hunter and mercenary of dubious moral fiber, knows both the Siren and March on a rough acquaintance basis from their professional dealings. Alvin isn't too big on altruism, so some incentive is needed to get him into the investigation. A vague promise would be enough, even it doesn't actually work out later.

[Django]

March regards the sorcerer with a look of measured skepticism. "Alright, Alvin, consider yourself deputized. And as I'm sure you know, the Ptolemy City Watch is happy to compensate helpful citizens. The same goes for you, Miss. Siren, right?"

March looks to the performer. "The gargoyle, the one who hustled out the door. Would you recognize him if you saw him again? If so, let's go see if we can't catch his trail." At that, he heads out of the Black Cat, out the same direction as the trench-coated imp gargoyle.

[Byunny]

And a long day grew longer.

Bertram growled, eyeing the disturbance before him. A poisoned elf, some do-good doctor and the damned meddling Stormdancer. The whole piss-drowned city was sitting in the Black Cat that night, it seemed. After taking a moment to get a hold of the situation, Bertram shook his head in response to March. "True enough. Proper alibi ain't always worth sterling when yer brothers get riled, eh?" The old pirate grabbed the watchman's arm, whispering into his ear. "But if some addled cove be peddlin' death an' poison in this town, I had damn well know about it. If a little rat on my side o' the water can shed some light on this here hubbub, we can deal, Thorns. Help one another keep the peace 'round here. The Cat'll be heavy with copper soon, so meet me up in the 'grinder Green in a few hours. Bring your new little crew too."

With that, Bertram laid his hat back atop his head, killing his glass and setting it on the bar. "On my tab, Griff. Now's not the time to be fumblin' with purses, I imagine," he said. And then he was out the door, expression grim. Bertram Saltworthy was off to find the criminal element. He had questions to ask.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

The half-nix grinned and gave a mock salute. "Alright, Sir! Deputy Stormdancer, reporting for duty! I like the sound of that!"

Noticing Bertram standing close by, he gave the old pirate a cheery wave. "Hey Bertie. Fancy meeting you here. Leaving so soon? You sure you don't want a fancy deputy title?" In truth, he had a good measure of respect for the man. Bertram was almost five times Alvin's age, and had survived for all these years, even prospered in some ways, in a very dangerous business. They'd clashed a few times, in the course of their respective professions, and it hadn't always gone Alvin's way. But it wouldn't do to show his feelings too openly. Bad for the reputation. Besides, the old pirate was often so grim, it was fun to wind him up a little.

Sauntering back to March, he asked: "So, Boss, I overheard what Siren told you. What's the first step? Checking out Assyria or the mysterious Gargoyle? I am at your command." Every reference to his employment is laced with light sarcasm, but he seems willing enough to do his part.

[missmag]

Alvin earns himself a smirk from Siren as she plants a hand on her hip, a hint of a brow raised in amusement. “Personally, I just want to make sure I can eat the food here without worry of dropping dead. Packing a lunch every day sounds far too domestic for my tastes. But I won’t exactly turn down any coin that comes my way…” In actuality, her motivations align more closely with the sorcerer than she’d care to admit. Altruism has never been her guiding principle. Not that it should matter, as long as the right person gets put behind bars. Everyone may have their own reasons, but they all lead to the same place.

She trails behind March as he makes his exit. Her pace is noticeably slower, and she keeps looking behind her at the bar, reluctant to leave until she voices her opinion. “A gargoyle in a trench coat should be easy enough to remember. The problem is finding him before our other lead vanishes into the night. Unless you have a better idea, I think we should split up. We can’t be in two places at once, and we can’t let either of them get away, not until they clear their names. It couldn’t hurt to make sure no witnesses leave until they’ve all been questioned, either—But what do I know? I am only an entertainer, after all.”

Siren twirls a lock of hair around her finger, batting her eyelashes and suddenly playing dumb. Inappropriate timing as usual.

Would Siren recognize the mysterious gargoyle as a past customer, or is tonight the first time she's seen him?

[RedSand]

People are starting to shuffle out of the Black Cat, understanding that their evening's entertainment was at the very least going to be delayed for a good long while. Griff runs out with them, and stops March, Siren and Alvin as they walk out.
"Uh. Hey. You're a copper, and Alvin's near one. I sent Victoria-eh, the girl who gets the band ready and manages the equipment-to send a message to Rex. The owner, that is. Should uh, should she have stayed? Should I stay-I mean, I figure given the near-murder and all, with me serving him and all, I , uh-do I need to be interrogated? I mean, I didn't, obviously, but am I going to have to...y'know? Go downtown? Is everyone? Who can leave?"

As this is going on, Tess, the woman who'd been with the Sea Elf, approaches Dr. Clay. She looks down at her date. "His throat was steaming. And his tongue looks a bit...ugh...is his voice going to be okay?"

[Ramsus]

"In the near future, probably not. In the long term?" Dr. Clay added a shrug to his response. He didn't know exactly how much damage the substance had done and not knowing what the substance actually was he didn't know how well the hospital would be equipped to treat it. Not to add the complication that was magic to the equation.

[aguaracu]

"Don't let the food, especially the pickle, out of your sight. And make sure some else can testify to the evidence being preserved, for your own sake." Schist tells Griff.
Schist steps away and takes flight. His wings beat heavily as he climbs for the roof.
Schist will try to get a good viewpoint to see someone with the right clothing leaving the area. If necessary he will cast Darkvision on himself for 2 ki.
Edit: Schist isn't trying to put the frighteners on Griff here. The advice was meant to be helpful.

[RedSand]

Tess makes a face at that response. "He's not going to be happy about that. Lot of people aren't. He's a troubadour, and he's maybe kinda, sorta famous? I know he's big enough to fill the seats an opera house. I'm also a performer, and I met him while traveling, and he showed me a bit about their music and I thought, y'know, I might return the favor. God, he's going to be pissed when he wakes up. Oh Sweet Queen, this is awful." She slumps forward back into a chair, her face petrified with worry.

Griff nods nervously at Schist as he ascends, then goes back inside.

Schist gives the area a good look. The crowd is fairly heavy, and he can't quite make out any gargoyles moving around too quickly. The crowd is too thick to get a good look, though he does scan diligently, and there are none other than him in the air, but he hears a clatter above you as a young Half-Nix jumps from one of pipes on the side of the wall to the catwalks above. This normally wouldn't be anything to think of, but as she jumps up, you notice she's wearing a cloak that seems just a bit too small for her. It barely reaches her thighs, despite having a prominent hood, and she immediately runs for one of the maintenance doors, which most teenagers aren't braindead enough to go through without a very good disguise.

[Django]

March bursts into the streets, scouring the nearby streets, while waiting for a signal from Schist.

[Ramsus]

"Hmmm. That may be why this occurred. Let us inform the officer, I believe the information might help him and consequently your friend." Dr. Clay says and gently takes Tess' hand and leads her over to March to have her repeat what she just told him.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

Alvin follows March, looking around for signs of the mysterious gargoyle, just in case he was still in the area. There was this saying about criminals returning to the scene of the crime, though Alvin himself had never really seen it come true.

[aguaracu]

Schist gives the area a good look. The crowd is fairly heavy, and he can't quite make out any gargoyles moving around too quickly. The crowd is too thick to get a good look, though he does scan diligently, and there are none other than him in the air, but he hears a clatter above you as a young Half-Nix jumps from one of pipes on the side of the wall to the catwalks above. This normally wouldn't be anything to think of, but as she jumps up, you notice she's wearing a cloak that seems just a bit too small for her. It barely reaches her thighs, despite having a prominent hood, and she immediately runs for one of the maintenance doors, which most teenagers aren't braindead enough to go through without a very good disguise.

"March!" Schist calls. He points at the door and flies towards it.

If Schist gets close enough to the 1/2 Nix he'll call out "Hey! Stop. I want to talk to you."

Will Schist gain much by spending Ki on a bonus action dash (Step of the Wind)? Can he use that while flying?

[Django]

March gets the signal from Schift. The suspect may be attempting to make it to street level from inside the building. March heads inside; if Schift can keep on their tail, perhaps they might catch the perpetrator in a pincer movement.

my read on the situation is that the suspect is entering a different taller building from a maintenance door, and said building is accessible from Street level. That correct?

[RedSand]

Anyone currently on ground level who heard Schist(Read: Says that their PC heard him) may make their way to the maintence building the woman is currently approaching. Said building is built into the side of the dome, and is used to access the outside for immediate repairs and/or upkeep, as well as funnel workers and supplies between areas without fuss. The tunnels also can be used to fast track between district areas, though the way they're laid out is extremely labyrinthine, with several tunnels breaking down into dead ends to service small, out of the way parts of the structure, or just straight making the paths longer or more confusing than they need to be. Shockingly, this is a system that only inconveniences people who aren't Minotaurs.
Everyone currently entering the maintenance tunnels may make an Int navigation check to get up to the catwalks as fast as possible. Siren and Alvin may give themselves a +2 on this roll, due to familiarity with the area/regularly using magic to cheat their way inside, respectively. Only the highest roll matters.


The woman is currently moving toward the maintenance doors. Using Step of the Wind, which I see no reason not to allow during flight, will allow you to reach her before she reaches the door.

[Django]

To navigate the maintenance building...
[roll0]

[aguaracu]

Schist flies over the catwalk and puts a hand on the half-nix's shoulder. "There's a policeman who wants a word with you."

Schist spends a ki for Step of the Wind. He now has 2 ki or 0 ki, depending on whether he needed darkvision.

His AC is 15, I think he's about to get beaten up by a magical green fairy girl.

If the half nix continues to run Schist will try a grapple check with his mighty +2 proficiency.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

Alvin, hearing the gargoyle's shout, starts running alongside March. Entering the maintenance tunnnels, he tries to remember the fastest way up. His sense of orientation is not the best, and it doesn't help that he is often drunk while using these passages.

[roll0]

Edit: Looks like March and Alvin are forever lost inside the labyrinth :smalltongue:

[RedSand]

The Half-Nix glares at Schist, but with obvious distress. "How did you-" She looks herself over, and then notices the disproportionate size of her cloak. She minces under her breath. "Of course, the cloak didn't-damnitdamnitdamnit..." She steps back from Schist, visibly panicking, and lays a hand on her thigh. There is a short burst of violet light from her fingertips, and her panic fades, replaced by a sort of stoic anger. She draws a stone dagger from her side, and glares at Schist, slowly beginning to walk backwards. "Listen. This doesn't concern you-it's all just a big misunderstanding. I'm leaving out that maintenance. Just go back to the pub, keep your watch and take care of the Elf. Do not come near me."


Initiatives, if combat ensues:
Schist: [roll0]
Woman: [roll1]

[Ramsus]

Dr. Clay sees most everyone else run off and briefly entertains the thought of joining them... except there's a patient here and people who might know more than they're saying right here and he doesn't actually know what the rest are rushing off to do and extra bodies running around without direction would probably be less than helpful. So instead he leads Tess back into the Black Cat telling her that they'll just have to wait for the other officers to arrive. While it's not really his job, he doesn't know what else to do in this situation, so he decides to play detective a bit and starts with searching through the victim's belongings.

[aguaracu]

She draws a stone dagger from her side, and glares at Schist, slowly beginning to walk backwards. "Listen. This doesn't concern you-it's all just a big misunderstanding. I'm leaving out that maintenance. Just go back to the pub, keep your watch and take care of the Elf. Do not come near me."
"Hey, I know you didn't go near the man's food and I'll say so in my statement." Schist holds his empty hands up in a vaguely placatory gesture. "But the poor guy's family will want to know what happened and they should be told everything. Just say what you saw and it will help them, please."

Schist keeps pace with the woman, walking forwards as she backs away.
Schist, won't let her open up a gap between them. If she runs he will try to grab hold of her.

Does her accent tell Schist anything? eg. whether she sounds posh, whether she comes from Ptolemy or somewhere else.

If she wants to know, she can quite easily tell that:
Schist is clearly a terrible liar.
Schist is telling the truth when says that he saw she didn't go near the food (that is right isn't it?).
Schist isn't physically afraid of her, despite the weapon and the fact that she's taller than him.
Schist doesn't know what to do, but he will stick to her like glue until he works out what to do.

[RedSand]

You listen to the woman's voice, and it sounds sort of...raspy. Rough, even. This could indicate that she's a heavy smoker, or just a bit androgynous(as fairies occasionally were)...but it also kinda sounds like the voice of a gargoyle.

"I'm not afraid of you". If it wasn't the truth, that certainly sounded like something she believed. She pauses for a moment. She continues walking backwards, though slowly and ponderously. "I'm not a killer. I didn't poison the man. I'm just a spy who was told to wait there and report on someone. And by someone, I mean not the Elf. That's all I can say on the matter. And now..."
She glances at the maintenance door. "You're going to let me go."

[aguaracu]

"Look, you can't just walk away from a murder. You might have seen something that everyone missed, since you're a professional." Schist still keeps pace with the woman.

Schist, won't let her open up a gap between them. If she runs he will try to grab hold of her.

[RedSand]

The woman clearly doesn't feel like complying. She lunges at Schist, but does so obviously, scowling, tensing, and putting a foot forward before rushing him. He's seen plenty of that kinda thing before. Her swing is interrupted by Schist's stony hand, which grips her wrist before pulling her to the ground. He rolls under her, using his size to his advantage as he brings his other hand to the back of her shoulder and forces her to the ground, the force of her own spring slamming her knees against the grating as she falls.

[aguaracu]

"If you stab me I will punch you." Schist warns as he struggles to pin her without getting injured.

He then shouts "MARCH! On the catwalk."

Schist will try to knock her prone if she isn't already prone. After that he tries to not get injured (a disarming attack if we're using those?). He expects March to arrive soon.

If you want to move things along quickly feel free to bot Schist for a few rounds:
He is going to continue to hold her while calling for March and trying to convince her to come quietly.
If she breaks and runs he will chase and grapple.
If she starts doing damage to Schist (5hp or more) or casting spells on him he will try to knock her out, including using ki for Flurry of Blows.

[RedSand]

Despite just taking this route, Alvin immediately mistakes a hallway to the left for the way leading to the stairs, and March, not knowing any better, almost follows him. Siren, for whatever reason, does seem to know a fair bit better, and while it takes her a second to convince the others that no, that way leads to a balcony covered in dead jellyfish, they do eventually find the way to the stairs, and then the second staircase, and then the hand-cranked funicular disguised an avant garde seesaw.

Meanwhile, Schist held the woman firm, putting his other arm behind her neck and keeping her wrist held. She's tries to rush forward on her knees, pulling at his grip, and when that fails, she paws at him, putting her hand to his torso as violet light begins to erupt from it. There is the beginning of a pulse followed a quick emanation of dark purple...that immediately peters out. With it, a wisp of the same energy also emerges from her head. Within seconds, her face transitions from frustration, to surprise, to worry, to panic. She relaxes her muscles and drops the dagger. "Oh, damnitall." With a look of exhaustion, she begins crying.

March, Alvin and Siren arrive two rounds later.


No one stops Dr. Clay from searching the Elf's bag. Most anyone who frequently goes for a dip carries a water tight bag on them at all times, for the simple reason that pockets don't quite function underwater. The first thing he finds is several small musical instruments-including castanets, some form of bone horn, strings, but no instrument for the string. Second, money, most of it the stone currency of the Elves, known as Tritons, but some of it has been traded in for proper gold and aluminum(the latter having replaced replaced silver as it's far too valuable for money). There's typical traveller fare-soap from home, grooming kit, that kind of thing. There's a journal, written in elvish, but the title simply states "Music Notes" and a cursory glance shows little but sheet music scrawled over most of the pages, with accompanying comments. You do find the Elf's name on that-Raeranthur Fandir. There's a powder that smells heavily of lavender that's spilled into the rest of the bag. Lastly, however, buried underneath everything and sandwiched between several pieces of loose parchment, is a small jar. Inside you find a cream that smells heavily of rot and bubbles when it comes into contact with the open air. It strikes you as immediately grotesque.

[Battlemage]

Alvin Stormdancer

Alvin is still grumbling about the fact that he totally would have known the way up, and that he isn't that drunk, when March, Siren and he arrive at the catwalks.

Grinning broadly, the sorcerer takes in the scene.

"Good job Schist, you managed to make the little fairie girl cry! I hope her soft green flesh didn't hurt your stone fists too much!"

Once again he shows absolutely no self-awareness of the fact that he is a half-nix himself.

[Django]

March arrives behind Alvin, feeling more than a little embarrassed. He looks down at the gargoyle and the suspect.

"Thank you for the timely apprehension, Mr. Schist. Now, Miss, I don't see the need to place you under formal arrest, if you're willing to come in from the rain and answer some questions. Are you willing to cooperate with the Watch?"

March squats down to eye level with the half-nix(for now). The handcuffs on his belt are clearly visible.

[Ramsus]

Medicine to identify the contents of the jar as well as the powder, if he can: [roll0]

[aguaracu]

Schist gets embarrassed when the woman starts crying - but he does not let go. He looks mightily relieved when March and the others arrive, then Alvin's comments leave him mortified.


March: "Thank you for the timely apprehension, Mr. Schist."
"Just doing what any citizen would do." Schist says gruffly. "Be careful, I think she was trying some sort of magic."

Feel free to narrate either of these:
If March asks him to, Schist will hand the suspect over, let go of her and reasonable stuff along those lines,
If ask if she said anything he will say "She said she was there to spy on somebody, somebody else."

Edit: Hadn't spotted Alvin's speech the first time round.