DeepBlue's Vagabond - Act 1

[Deepblue706]

Harold

Business hasn’t been going well, as of late. While you are still seen as a man with musical talent, there’s been a lot of competition at many of the venues you usually seek. The past few days have yielded very little opportunity.

However, you’ve had a touch of luck, tonight, as you are requested to play at a small inn called The Dragon’s Kneecap, a place you’ve been to once or twice before. The owner of the inn, Barts Bogger, expects you to come in the early evening, and says he’ll provide for you a free meal and a fistful of silvers. You’ll be playing after the Gutless Rosies, a trio of musicians who are known for writing lyrics that parody tales of knights slaying dragons, and the like. With no other options, is it a question that you’ll go?

You arrive at the inn on-time, spotting two men as you approach the entrance. They discuss something about the inn’s name as they look up at the sign, mounted on a post a couple of feet away.

“What’s wrong with the sign? It reads fine: The Dragon’s Kneecap.” The other smacks his forehead. “You idiot, it’s supposed to be The Whore’s Nipple. Boss is changing the name on account of poor business. It’s got to be replaced.” The both stand silently for a moment, and the first one speaks again. “I don’t think the boss can read. Should we even care?”

Len

As you make your preparations to track down the individual known as Silverweave, you stop by the small inn of The Dragon’s Kneecap for rest. As you enter, you find it is a fairly merry place, with a handful of drunkards singing to the lively tune played by a trio of musicians in the corner. The floor is occupied with a variety of tables, save for where you find the bar, to the side. There, you spot a few wooden stools, some occupied by patrons, whom the barkeep is currently serving. Opposite the bar is a grand fireplace, which does a fine job of keeping the hall lit.

There is a staircase in one of the far corners, which presumably leads to private rooms. There are also a couple of doors to be found on the base level, most likely storerooms.

“Good evenin’, miss.” The barkeep looks to you with a full smile, giving you a full glimpse of his aging face. “Would you like a meal, or a couple of drinks? Or, would you just like a room for the night?”

Ritan

You quickly make your way to the location designated, arriving there in just minutes after departure. It is a small, quaint inn of which you’ve never been to, but inviting all the same. You suddenly remember hearing of it before, from one of your peers. The basement of this place is an illegal gambling house, as well as a holding area for many underhanded dealings. But, there’s never trouble at this place, you are sure, as those that operate here have an influence which ensure that places like this are secure through the many ties they hold. You arrive presumably earlier than expected, as your contact isn’t here. You double-check the information given to you, and find this is indeed the place. It seems you’ll just have to wait.

You scan the tavern hall and find many interesting patrons. A dark-haired woman with muscles larger than many Orcish men stands at the bar as the innkeeper speaks to her – and soon a young man with a small frame enters behind her. A few more patrons come and go, and eventually you lose interest. You’ve been waiting long enough. Where is the contact?

A young and mildly attractive waitress eventually comes to your small booth in the corner. “Would you care for a drink, sir?”


Flare

After the tragic incident that occurred at sea not long ago, little has happened. You have met none of the crew members of your old ship in the city of Porto Giedion, and still have no clues as to if any of them survived. This city seems to borrow some architecture from the cities of Guilder, but the culture here seems a bit different. With so many varieties of people, and such crowded streets, you feel a bit out-of-place. Seeking quiet refuge, one night, you stumble upon a small inn called The Dragon’s Kneecap, and as you enter, you find a fairly tall, strong woman before you, currently speaking with the bartender, who presumably serves as the innkeeper as well.

Fargrim

“You truly wish to serve Faharam?” Deimos’ words still ring through your ears. “You must go to this tavern…” You clutch the parchment with the directions he gave you. “…and you will meet a man with one eye. His name is Seimon. He will give you information about a holy artifact of Faharam – a book that he will mistakenly call by the name: The Grand Grimoire. You must then meet back here, and tell me what you have learned. This is an important mission, Fargrim. You must not fail.”

You arrive at the specified location just before nightfall. It is a small inn with a tavern hall, with a number of drunkards and other patrons. You seek the one you came for, but he is nowhere in sight. But, it could easily be because of the haze caused by several patrons smoking on their pipes a few feet away, at the bar.

Suddenly, another patron enters. It’s the man you were sent to meet. He does not look to you, but instead takes a seat at a small booth to the side.

OOC

Bonus points to whoever identifies where The Dragon's Kneecap and The Whore's Nipple are from

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
The handsome young minstrel pauses outside the door of the Dragon's Kneecap, brushing a curled lock of brown hair from his eyes as he observes the sign, his hazel eyes scanning the plate quickly. His bearing is light and graceful, and his clothing impeccably clean.
Tilting his head to one side, he casts an ear towards the Inn's door. From the sounds of things, he had a few more minutes to spare. Adjusting the strap of his ornate mandolin to cut less deeply into his fine blue tunic, Harold wanders to where the two men argue about the sign, a handsome smile on his youthful face.
"Ah, gentlemen; I couldn't help but overhear; there's a problem with this sign?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare shakes his head quietly and surveys the tavern. He hadn't meant to come here, he'd have preferred a dock tavern smelling of salt and full of sailors in port. But wandering this city was disorienting, he'd gotten lost twice, and it had come to the point at which it didn't matter where he got a drink, because he needed one badly to clear his head and plan his next move.

"Rum please," he says as he approaches the bar, hoping they carried it.

He wears a dark cloak that conceals most of his frame, though he can't weigh very much. His hands are concealed by a pair of fingerless leather gloves, his feet by sturdy boots, and his head by a veiled, wide-brimmed hat. The only bit of flesh that's actually visible are his fingers and his gently smiling mouth, that is until he takes his hat off and places it on the bar, revealing a shock of dark hair... and his eyes.

One of the barmaids gasps lightly, as she passes him, and a couple drunks who had been casually watching him since he entered blink a few times. Radiant doesn't do enough to describe his eyes. A bright orange that seems out of place on his gentle human face, his two orbs seem to glow with the light of the sun itself. Right now they are focused on Len. His head is at a rather tilted angle, since the youth can't be more than an inch or two over five feet.

"Hello miss," he says in a tone naturally soothing and quiet. "Are you lost as well?"

[Saterus]

Ritan brushes off a spot from his jacket sleeve. He had stopped in an alleyway to reverse his coat, nice side outward, when he had assessed the place he would be meeting this person. He's glad he did, the ratty side would make him stand out in this establishment. Remembering the waitress, "Oh, yeah. Can you bring me a whiskey, sweet thing? Thanks," says Ritan, flirting a bit.

Ritan goes back to his scan of the room, wondering if he should go to the basement or not. It seemed to him like an unnecessary hassle to him, but he might be forced to. It seemed silly to keep such a close eye on the patrons. His contact would recognize him, not the other way around. So he sat, waiting. Waiting for his contact, waiting for his drink, waiting for everything.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim stares straight ahead, tensing in what seemed to be glorious anxiety.

After a moment of decision, he walks over to the booth and "casually" sits down next to his contact.

In a low monotone, he remarks, "Pleased to meet you, Seimon."

[Too_many_tamale]

Silverweave. What a perfect ambiguous elven name for the little pain in the ass he sounds like. All the same, Len flashes a lopsided smile at the barkeep and sits down.



<snip>

"Hello miss," he says in a tone naturally soothing and quiet. "Are you lost as well?"

Hitman! Len immediately thinks with an involuntary twitch in her right hand, a grab at a long-missing dagger. Almost as quickly, she moves her hand out of sight with a brief, sheepish grin; she really has been in Guilder too long.

"Well, I'm oriented, but let me know if you see my composure anywhere." she replies with a guarded laugh. "How's that for witty? Free beer if you answer right."

She watches those inscrutiably bothersome eyes warily, in spite of the adage that "You owe everyone a chance". If he turns down an offer like that, then she'll let herself worry, she decides.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Placing a string calloused hand on his hip, Harold continues. "Here's my advice; Take a bit of dark green or black paint, and then dab just a little on the sign, right there." he points at the center of the round kneecap of the dragon.
"A nail would also do the trick, in a pinch. Then, if he asks, you can tell him that he's only got to look at the sign to see that his Inn is now "The Mermaid's Nipple." Much Just as attractive to the dockgoers, you see. Good day!" With a tip of his imaginary hat, Harold pushes on the splintery wooden door and enters the Inn.

Looking about, Harold winces and places a thin finger in the ear closest to the stage. Can't fault their enthusiasm, I suppose. He proceeds to his third-favorite part of any tavern; the bar. With a smile and a quick bow, Harold introduces himself
"Good evening, sir! I'm the entertainment you hired after those fellows on stage are done butchering 'The Ballad of Fingus and Strotch;' Harold Betruger, at your service."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare watches Lin's sudden movement curiously, without alarm but with cat-like interest. "Witty indeed," he says. He sits beside her, helping to make up their considerable height difference. "I think you'll need that wit to find your way. But that's neither here nor now. Until then, feel free to borrow some of my composure, until you find your own."

Then he grins. "And by the way, I have a taste for rum."

[Deepblue706]

Flare

Within moments, you receive a shot of rum. "That's four coppers" the bartender says, and then goes to speak with another man.

Harold

The two men outside scratch their heads as they carefully listen to your advice. "Um...kay." says one, as you head inside.

Barts, currently manning the bar, frowns slightly at your remark about the performance. "Butchering? I...you...think so?" He peeks over to the trio, and looks back to you. "Hmph. Yeah, they're not all that impressive. I guess I won't ask them to come back, anymore - hopefully I can find someone who can fill in a bit better." He sighs. "Well, Mr. Betruger, you're on in a few. Would you like a drink beforehand?"

Ritan

The waitress responds a bit negatively to your flirting, mumbling "...pig" as she quickly leaves to fetch your drink.

Still no sign of the contact.

One more patron enters, one much different from the rest. His a tall man with blonde hair, and he seems to be concealing a dagger. He is dressed in plain, loose garb, with a small purse on his belt. He nods to the barkeeper before heading to one side of the tavern hall and exiting through another door. While you cannot seem to determine where you've seen this man before, you're certain that you've crossed paths before.

Fargrim

As you approach the man, you get a much clearer view of him. Indeed, the description given to you was very accurate - he is middle-aged, with a grizzled beard and a crooked nose. But, something about his physique is...strange. You cannot pinpoint what the source of his oddity is, but he simply does not look to be like most humans.

Walking to the booth, and repeating in your head how you'd open conversation, you bump into a fellow tavern patron. Or rather, he bumps into you.

The force of this man nearly sends you to the ground, and him as well, but he clings to your clothing and keeps you both standing. "(Hic!) Shhorry about that, lad." He smells strongly of ale. "I'm a bit drunk, you shhee? (Hic!)" He stands up straight, and finally his blue eyes meet yours, from behind his long white hair. "Come, come! (Hic!) Shhit down, let me buy you shhome drinkshh!" He tugs you away from the booth and to another table at the center of the floor.

[ByeLindgren]

Not looking to make a scene, Fargrim waits for the man to look away and order and attempts to slink away into Seimon's corner booth. Oh, he'll be too drunk to notice where I went. He might not even remember why he had the drinks.

He gets up and doesn't look back, chain shirt jingling all the way.

Hide: [roll0]
Move Silently: [roll1]
Not including relevant modifiers in context, of course.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
The handsome young minstrel with the brown curls waves his hands in front of himself. "Oh, don't take the criticism too far to heart, sir; they've got enthusiasm and volume. After they've had one or two, that's what patrons like. Tell you what; I'll make a transition. A good ballad to get the blood pumping, and then later on, quiet things down a bit with some music to touch the soul. Soothing music towards the end keeps the deep-cups quiet, and they leave or fall asleep without a fuss. Now," Harold's gaze wanders across the tavern's common room, but then returns quickly to the innkeeper's gaze with a happy grin.
"That drink? I'd be very grateful. Wine, if you have it, but Ale is fine too. Where can I set up?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare looks at the shot of rum before him and then at Len. He doesn't say anything, but the curiosity in his gaze makes it obvious that he's wondering if she intends to buy his drink.

[Too_many_tamale]

"Go on, ace, you're covered...even if I did say just 'beer'.." Len invites, slapping some of her dwindling coin reserve on the counter. The man is going straight for the hard liquor without looking back, which makes Len decide to ease up on the mind games and call him harmless.

"So, my lost friend..." she turns around in her seat and leans back on the counter. "I suppose that ice-cold composure of yours is stopping you from just asking the barkeep for directions already, isn't it?"

Before he can answer, Len notices the bartender himself meandering back her way and whips back around with a swirl of flying black hair. "Say, bartender? Have you got time for a couple questions?"

"Yes, miss?"

"Whereabouts in Puerto Giedon are we?" she askes with an impish glance toward Flare, followed by another one at a handsome, if slightly flamboyant bard waiting in the wings. Bards love to sing about travelling rogues--maybe they know some actual facts to go with that.

She only half listens to the barkeeper, silently wondering about the clue that would advance her search by leaps and bounds.

OOC:
First, Len has retained some of her saucy, primma-donna side and hopefully it doesn't actually offend any of the players when I rp it, and second, I hope edits aren't faux pas.

[EvilRoeSlade]

"Thanks," says Flare, smiling and downing the shot proficiently. He looks off in the distance, contemplative. "Yes, I am lost. I never meant to come to this place, and now that I'm here I am unable to leave. Fate has forbidden me to continue my wandering for the time being, and she has left nothing for me to do in the mean." He looks warmly back at Len. "So here I sit with you, lost. What is your name? And are you lost as well?"

[Saterus]

Ritan frowns as the waitress walks away. He was just trying to pay her a small compliment. Some women would never understand. Too bad though.

The tall blond haired man that Ritan watches walk across the room subtly nods to the bartender. As he exits the room by a door near the stairs, on the wall opposite of the entrance. He looked familiar, and was obviously going to the basement for some 'special services'. Ritan briefly considered following him immediately, but thought better of it. If the man was looking for Ritan, he would have scanned the common room of the inn. If the contact didn't show up in a few minutes, maybe he'd check the basement. Ritan continues his discrete scan of the room.

Ritan's attention is taken by a drunk man that nearly walks over another man in chainmail. The victim barely seems concerned with the drunk man hauling him up off the floor and dragging him to the bar. Instead he looks towards a table where a man with an eye patch is seated alone. Odd. He slinks off towards the table where the man is seated while the drunk man talks to the bartender. Definitely odd.

Ritan is interrupted from watching the spectacle by the waitress bringing him his whiskey. She places it on the table and turns to leave without saying anything. Ritan speaks up as she moves to leave. "Miss, just a second. I apologize for earlier. I didn't mean anything by it," pleads Ritan innocently. "No hard feelings?"

[Deepblue706]

All

Suddenly, there is a breaking of(typo) glass heard in another room. Before anyone rises from their seats, the entrance doors swing open, and two armored soldiers bearing the red crest of Porto Giedion's inner-cty police force enter, holding cludgels. Behind them are several more, all looking ready for a fight. "Attention!" Roars one of the men in the front. "This is a raid! This establishment is illegally harboring criminals and involving itself with numerous offenses to Medician law! All of you, come quietly and orderly, or we will be forced to use violence!"

The barkeep seems infuriated. "Now wait a minute!" He roars, approaching the officer. "You have no right to-" He is cut short by the brutal smack of one of the armed men, and falls to the floor. The one waitress in the room screams, and the drunkards in the room all seem paralyzed. The musicians playing the corner have dropped their instruments and raised their hands up high, not wanting to be harmed. One of the officers march towards them, smashing one of their lutes with his massive boot along his way.

One of the men looks to Len, thinking she may be tough to take down. "You there! Come quietly now, we don't want to do anything unnecessary!"

The rest of the men scatter about, pulling people outside, where you're sure there are more men, likely with a wagon of sorts.

Currently, including the two that entered initially, there are six of these men present.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Thinking quickly, Harold examines his own conscience.
Clean. Mostly.
Then he runs down the list of enemies he knows of and gagues their ability to get him framed for this kind of thing.
Not so good. Probably too much trouble.

Almost delicately, Harold leans over and places his lute on the fallen inkeeper's chest. "I'll be back for this," he says, and then raises his hands in surrender.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare doesn't know this city or these guards, and has no idea what will happen to him. But he does know that he already doesn't approve of their methods, and has no intention of seeing what they'll do to him.

He rises quickly from his stool and gazes sternly at the guard who has addressed Len, standing by her side but not yet reaching for one of his weapons. "Stop it. She isn't here to come at your summons, and neither am I. There's no need for you to do this."

[ByeLindgren]

Ah, good, made it to the seat without that idiot noticing me. Here goes...

"Pleased to m--" KSHHHSSS!

"Attention! This is a raid!"

The officer's booming voice makes Fargrim go pale for a moment, but he quickly regains composure.

Calm down, they're not here for you. The worst they'll do is confiscate... the parchment! Horse offal! Just then, Fargrim notices the dark haired man standing up to the officers. Good, a distraction.

Fargrim stares at Seimon, gestures with his eyes towards the man making a stand, and then makes a gesture towards the door. At the same time, he quickly sticks the piece of parchment in his boot.

((Oh, if Harold's got blue, I guess I'll take slate gray.))

[Saterus]

The sickening crack of the innkeeper's jawbone makes Ritan shudder. This should not be happening. If this was a legit raid, the he would have been warned. If it was not, then he was set up. First things first, he had to get out of here. Then somebody had better have a good excuse for this.

Ritan downs the glass of whiskey in front of him. He stands and begins to walk calmly towards the entrance of the inn. There was no way of telling if there was a back door to this place, and a wrong move now would land him in jail. He knew that going to the basement now would make him guilty.

After a few steps, a man starts to verbally resist the guards. This might be his chance. If it came to blows, others might join and there would be enough resistance to put these scum in their place. These people did nothing to deserve this. Ritan loosens a knife from the inner sleeve of his coat. An outraged mob could overwhelm this handfull of guards. He'd have to wait for the right moment though. Without the support of the mob, his planned resistance would be suicide. He had to show the people that the guards weren't invincible.

Ritan moves slowly with the crowd towards the door, waiting for the right moment. He tries to circle around the side of the guard captain, putting the guard in between him and the man who has started this resistance.

Ritan moves behind the guard captain. Once he's within 10 feet and in flanking position, he throws a knife. The tries to have it come from an anonymous source within the crowd, but knows that hitting is more important than stealth.
[roll0]
[roll1]
Reminder: Vexing Flanker provides +4 to flanking attacks instead of +2, and since he is throwing the dagger, the attack is at a +2 instead of +1 (Str vs Dex).

[Too_many_tamale]

Len winces at Flare's tirade. "You know, ace, all I did was buy you a drink. I'm starting to think this is your way of hitting on me." She whispers through the corner of her mouth and is answered by an orange glance. Even at a time like this, those damn eyes bother her.

Despite her bravado, the thought of once again ripping people asunder makes her heart pound sickeningly and, after an entire career of watching the justice system snarl up because of loudmouthed idealists, she very nearly leaves hothead beside her alone with the consequences of mouthing off.

And then she sees the barkeeper, a poor old man gurgling helplessly as he spews blood and teeth on his own floor. Even in Guilder, that isn't justice.

Someone else agrees; a knife flickers though the air and in a heart-stopping instant, any hope of mediation dies and Len's dilemna becomes moot. She yanks her halberd blade free of its hood as she stomps to her feet and strides into action.

"And this does not mean we're hooking up!" she barks back at Flare.

*Len draws a halberd and advances through the crowd toward nearest guard.*

(I'm assuming the crowd counts as rough terrain)

[ByeLindgren]

Bah, that's a bit too much of a distraction. After those three go down, who knows what those guards are going to do?

Fargrim turns towards Seimon, says "This is probably a good time to suggest a rescheduling," and casts Disguise Self. Suddenly, instead of the stocky pale man, there is a thin swarthy man, discretely drawing his morningstar under the table. 'Cmon, things have gone bad, but they're not going to fail completely. They'll catch some random thin guy for the murder of a town guard, the heat will be off, and I'll be able to meet with Seimon again.

Disguise Self (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/disguiseSelf.htm)

DC 15 if interacted with.

Disguise check (if necessary): [roll0]

Divine Spell Power check (1 turn attempt burned): [roll1], so disguise self lasts for 50 minutes.. awesome rolls.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Despite his anger and fear, Flare can't help but chuckle at Len's flippant remarks in the face of danger. "Don't worry, all I'm really looking for is a friend. Listen, try to keep them from charging me. I can clear a route to safety with my spells. When the opening comes, go for it."

He turns to address the guards one final time. "It's not too late to leave! I don't want meaningless bloodshed!"

But even as he says this he prepares an attack, his hands moving in strange and compelling patterns as he murmurs words whose languages are only spoken in worlds beyond this one.

[roll0]
As a full round action I begin to cast sleep which won't take effect until next turn.

[ByeLindgren]

So he acts like he can take on the guard? This is either good news or a bad bluff.

Fargrim whispers, "Get out while you can" and begins to contemplate standing up weapon in hand.

Forgot to roll initiative: [roll0]

[Deepblue706]

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr1.png

I used your colors and letters in your name to determine your place. We have (L)en, (F)lare, (H)arold, Far(G)rim, and R(I)tan. Sorry, some letters are easier than others, and I'm a novice :smallbiggrin: The blank, darker grey blocks are guards, the one with the yellow center is the captain. Red = fireplace, Brown = bar. The diagonal lines are doors, and the rest of that nonsense is chairs, etc.

Round 0

As the guards take more patrons outside, Len draws her halberd, catching most by surprise. Patrons shout, guards bark at one another, and a call for backup is heard.

Amidst the chaos, a knife flies through the air, clanks against the lead officer's armor, and falls to the ground. The officer is panicked, now, and frantically shoots his eyes around the room. He swiftly scrambles back to the rest of the guards.

As the crowd realizes what's happening, most drop to the ground, or quickly move away from the fighting. The guards ignore those unarmed and unthreatening, and come closer to those planning to fight back. Therefore, Harold is ignored.

"A magician! There is a mage is among them!" One points out at Flare as he chants his spell. "Take him down!"

Fargrim manages to get his spell off without anyone noticing - and he sees his contact running to another door as the chaos ensues.

Now, as for layout. To make this orderly, I'd like you guys to to something to this effect:

Name
Round: Number
Initiative: Result
HP: Current/Max
AC: Current

The actions/flavor text, etc.

So, actions, please.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Round 1
Initiative: 15
HP 7/7
AC 13

A look of panic crosses the minstrel's face as the knife flies and the spell is cast.
By the gods, why did I come to this inn?! It's full of madmen and criminals!
If no one tries to stop him, Harold reaches down and snatches up his mandolin again, and then begins inching along the wall towards the door.

(Picking up mandolin, moving one square right towards the door. If anyone tries to stop him, he'll stop immediately)

[Too_many_tamale]

OOC: I'm assuming it doesn't matter what order we post in, since we already have the initiative number to determine the sequence. If that's wrong and I posted out of turn, then egg on my face.

Yeah, that's right. Egg.

Len
Round 1
Initiative: 11
HP: 13/13
AC: 17

Len levels her halberd on the nearest guard. "Drop the weapon and surrender! Now!" He roars.

Wordlessly, Len closes and the armored man lashes out with his club, which happens to be what she wants. She whips the butt of the halberd at his wrist...


Len makes a Disarm attempt, provoking an attack of opportunity.

Attack roll: d20 + BAB + Str + 4 (Two Handed Weapon Bonus) = 1d20 + 1 + 3 + 4

As usual, correct me if I'm wrong (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/combat/specialAttacks.htm#disarm).

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare's eyes shine with light and he holds a glowing hand high into the air as he completes his magic. "Heavenly respite, I grant unto thee," he says tranquilly as what seems like a warm, gentle beam of light pours down onto the group of tightly packed guards, making them incredibly drowsy. Managing to appear determined rather than cowardly, he then squeezes behind Len so that she is blocking the guards from reaching him.

If possible I will finish casting sleep and target the corner that is 2 down and six to the right of the top left corner. This should put a total of four guards save the captain and the one in melee with Len under the effects of the spell, and no one else except perhaps that red square with no letter on it if that's a person. The Will save to resist is DC 15.

Then I am going to move to the top-most left-most square to the right of Len. None of these actions should provoke an attack of opportunity unless the guards are no longer flat-footed by the time my turn arrives.

[Saterus]

This is more like it. People with a backbone. Ritan smiles. If this goes down well, people will talk. Word will spread and city officials will think twice before blatantly violating the common people's rights like this. Ritan draws another knife, reaching around the small of his back, his hand returning with steel. He flips it in his hand, catching the blade. With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife sails towards the guard captain. He no longer tries to hide that he is actively resisting. These guards would be sorry they picked this inn, on this night to pull this stunt.

He looks to his right and sees a man cowering in the corner. Ritan lightly smacks the man on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Defend yourself! Fight for your freedom! Stand up against these bullies. If you never show them they can't, they will only learn to walk all over you!" Hopefully that would put a backbone into some others in this place. "If you don't stand up for yourself, after they mercilessly slaughter those who do, they will either give you the same fate, or throw you in prison for simply being here." That should scare the rest into action.

Ritan Drenathy
Round: 1
Initiative: 17
HP: 6/6
AC: 15

Attack: [roll0]
That assumes I'm not flanking, which I don't think I am anymore.

[Deepblue706]

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr1-1.png
S = Sleep, D = Disarmed


Slade, I don't think you rolled initiative...so I'll simply assume you got a 10, resulting in a 12. If I fail to see initiative results in the future, though, I'm going to assign the player an initiative of 1.

Round 1

Ritan's second knife flies towards his same mark, and once again fails to strike true. The captain spots his attacker, and barks an order for his men to take him down.

Harold is still completely ignored for not involving himself in the combat. Peering out the door, he spots five armed guards outside, all with ready crossbows.

Len then draws in on one of the guards, who seems unprepared. With a swift and precise motion of her halberd, she knocks away the weapon of her foe, prompting the guard to retreat backwards (5ft).

Flare ends his chant with quick hand motion, and suddenly two guards drop to the floor. He then retreats behind Len, who finds herself prey of the captain's club. With a mighty swing, he crashes his weapon into Len's skull, dealing 5 damage.

As Ritan tries to rouse the tavern patrons to fight back, one of the guards rush him, brutally striking his shoulder for 3 damage.

The last remaining guard goes to his captain's aid, and swings at Len, but he misses.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim

Round: 1
Initiative: 4
HP: 10/10
AC: 14

Thought the big-talker would've bought me more time. At least the mage did good work, and the guards are too busy to wake the sleepers.

All of a sudden, Fargrim turns to the now battered Ritan and says, "If they were just going to throw me in prison, I would have gone with 'em!"

Fargrim moves into flanking position on Ritan's assailant (swoops around threatened areas, ending the move action in the square directly behind the guard) and attacks using his morningstar.

"Stupid interruptin' city guard!"

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Round 2
Initiative: 15
HP 7/7
AC 13

Harold blanches as he sees 5 loaded crossbows levelled at him, and quickly ducks back inside the inn. Looking around, however, he sees that things haven't improved much at all; knives are still flying, spells are still being cast, and weapons are still being swung. Armed men still stand between him and any other exits.
Besides, they'd probably have those covered too. Maybe if I just sit quietly in the corner...?
Edging his way past the sleeping guards, Harold clambers beneath one of the wooden tables in the very corner of the inn. To comfort himself, he begins playing a melody on his mandolin; one marked with crashing crescendos and soaring tune that is very evocative of the heat of battle.


Moving two squares to the right, beneath the table, and beginning to Inspire Courage, granting +1 on attack, Damage, and saves to the brawlers

[Saterus]

Blood rushes from the wound in Ritan's shoulder. His hands are slick with blood as he draws another knife from a boot. Ritan curses the man next to him, cowering in fear. "They won't spare you," Ritan reassures the man. Gripping the handle tight, he slashes at the throat of the guard in front of him.

Ritan Drenathy
Round 2
Initiative: 17
HP 3/6
AC 15

Attack: [roll0] (Stupid high initiative, I miss out on both flanking and inspiring courage.)
Damage: [roll1]

[Too_many_tamale]

OOC: Ow. Anywho, I know it looks like I'm just using whatever special attacks catch my eye at the moment, but there is method to my madness.

Len
Round 2
Initiative: 11
HP: 8/13
AC: 17
Effects: Inspire Courage (+1)

Len's eyes cross briefly as a large purple swath takes shape over the side of her face. She blinks, and the red crested helmet of the captain comes into focus in front of her.

Immediately dismissing the urge to ram her halberd through his face, she drops into a crouch, snags the weapon through the other guard's legs, and then wrenches her end of the weapon to one side...

"Don't let this fool stand up again, ace!"


*Len makes a Trip attempt with her halberd against the guard to her south*

She avoids the attack of opportunity (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/equipment/weapons.htm#halberd) because she is using an armed touch attack, if I understand correct.

Strength Check (I hope this is right): [roll0]

[EvilRoeSlade]

I did roll initiative and got an 18. I hope it's not too late for you to edit me back up in the line if it would make any difference in the first round, since it wasn't my mistake. Look in the spoiler on the last post I made before you posted the map for my roll.

Flare
Round 2
Initiative: 18
HP: 13/13
AC: 12
Effects: Inspire Courage (+1)

Flare glares at the guards and suddenly his hair turns from black to pure white and glowing brightly, like a fragment of the sun fallen to earth. His orange eyes are truly blazing. "I won't let you hurt anyone!" He shouts.

Celestial Sorcerer Aura (using 1st level spell slot).
All hostiles within 20 feet of me must make a DC 15 Will save or take a -2 penalty on attack rolls, checks (including opposed ability checks and such, which will probably matter given what Len is doing), and saving throws. The effect lasts 24 hours or until the enemy successfully strikes me.

[ByeLindgren]

Ritan does receive flanking bonuses, which I forgot to include in my roll for some reason, because Fargrim flanked at the end of the first round! For ease of reading, I'm going to post a round later and bump my initiative to 30. It won't change the order, and hopefully it won't change anything else.

Assuming both Fargrim and Ritan's attacks were enough to take out the guard (man, I hope so), Fargrim says to Ritan, "You look hurt. Play it safe and take out the sleepers before they wake up. I'll go after the lively ones."

[Saterus]

If Fargrim takes out the guard directly in front of Ritan, he'll move to attack the one across from Len. This time, he will be flanking and he'll get sneak attack damage. Which, is what would happen if Fargrim doesn't take out this first guard.

Attack gets +4 for a total of 17
Sneak Attack Damage: [roll0]

Note: Coup de Grace is a full round action, if I remember correctly, so I couldn't move and get a sleeping guard. Might as well try to get the ones that are still kicking this time and get another sleeping one next round.

[Deepblue706]

Sorry, Slade. I hadn't realized that. My bad. 18 is your Initiative.

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr2-1.png

Round 2

Fargrim attacks one of the guards from the side, and quickly dispatches him with a great display of combat prowess. He and Ritan exchange words in the mess of the fighting, and Ritan then runs forth to attack another guard.

Flare cries out at the men nearest him, and unleashes another spell. Immediately, the unarmed guard seems affected, and flees in the hopelessness of his situation. You can hear him calling for more aid. The captain seems unaffected, but the other guard with him loses his footing and seems to lack the focus to fight with all of his strength.

Ritan arrives but a second after, burying his knife in the back of the remaining affected guard, immediately dropping him to the ground. The blood from the guard's wound stains Ritan's hands, a bit catching onto his clothing, as well.

Harold ducks under a table, far from the fighting, and plays a strange tune. Those resisting the guards find themselves more confident in their ability to continue the fight.

Len tries to knock the guard captain off his feat, but finds her attempt to be futile. The captain takes the opportunity to use her compromised state against her, but is unable to force her to the ground. Desperately, he swings his club again, connecting with Len's head once more, and dealing 3 damage.

Suddenly, the eastern door connected to the tavern hall bursts open, and three more guards pour in. One of them looks more distinguished than the rest, much like the captain, but his dress would suggest a lower rank than he. Seeing his comrades failing, he cries out to the others with him. "Quickly, to our captain's aid! Take down this scum!"

(This new guy is Mr. Red Dot)

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare
Round 2
Initiative: 18
HP: 6/6
AC: 12
Effects: Inspire Courage (+1)

"This is your last chance! I'm not going to hold back any longer!"

The color of Flare's hair however, seems to be flickering a bit, and his eyes dull as he casts another spell.

Begin casting sleep.

[Too_many_tamale]

Len
Round 3
Initiative: 11
HP: 5 / 13
AC: 17
Effects: Inspire Courage +1

This hit connects with a heavy 'thunk' in Len's hearing as it slams into her ear. Extremely, blindingly painful, but less disruptive than taking one in the chin, at least.

Okay, big man...

Without letting herself miss a beat, she swipes the halberd, this time with the business-end forward, toward the soft underside of the captain's arm.


*Len attacks...for once*

d20 + BAB(1) + Str(3) + Inspire Courage(1) =

[roll0]

OOC: C'mon, double digits.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim
Round: 3
Initiative: 30
HP: 10/10
AC: 14
Effects: Inspire Courage +1

Yes, yes, aid your beloved captain...

A mischevious grin runs across Fargrim's otherwise solemn face as he turns to the captain and lets loose the power of Faraham's command:

"Flee."

He then quickly moves to the square to the right of the captain to flank him and to guide his course of fleeing towards his comrades.

That should demoralize 'em.

Command (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/command.htm), DC 15

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Round 3
Initiative: 15
HP 7/7
AC 13

Harold cradles his mandolin as he continues playing a song.
**** **** **** ****! They're actually trying to kill the guards! After this mess, they're going to arrest everyone who even looks like them!

[Saterus]

As the guard goes down in a bloody mess, Ritan looks at another cowering patron of the inn. "See, they aren't invincible. They are only human. But if they capture you and throw you in a dungeon, they'll seem like demons," says Ritan hastily. He steps up, knife in hand to the guard left in front of him. Using an opening left by a feint from Len, he slides in between the table and the guard. The blade of the knife was slicked with blood. Rousing battle music poured through the room. Ritan swings his knife while the guard is distracted with Len. This needs to end. Soon. "The only way any of us are going home tonight is if we all work to get out of here!" Anger and frustration colors Ritan's face. After all of this, most of the people still weren't realizing fate was in their hands.

Ritan Drenathy
Round: 3
Initiative: 17
HP: 3/6
AC: 15
Effects: Inspire Courage +1

Attack: [roll0] (+1 Str, +4 Flanking, +1 Inspire Courage
Damage: [roll1] (+1 Str, +1 Inspire Courage)
Sneak Attack [roll2]
Diplomacy Check: [roll3]

I think I was confused about where exactly the door was. From where the new guards are, I'm guessing I moved away from the door. In hindsight, I should have asked for that to be made more clear. :\

[Deepblue706]

Saterus, how do you mean? Following my description, the north door is the entrance. Sorry if that was vague. These guards apparently have come through a side/back door. If you look up at an earlier post..."There is a breaking of glass in another room" just before the first bunch entered. The diagonal lines show where the doors open up - I can try to bold them so they stand out more.

Round 3

The fight rages on mercilessly, and things become increasingly violent. Fargrim calls upon the power of God, to instill a command in the Captain to retreat, and then moves in, barring his path towards the closest exit.

Flare then warns the guards a final time as he then proceeds to cast another spell, but they ignore his cry and move in closer.

As Ritan continues to rouse the other tavern patrons, he whirls his knife about, and soon goes for the next-nearest target - the captain. Catching him unprepared and ready to run, Ritan digs his knife deep into the man's side, who lets out a cry of anguish before dropping to the ground. "Captain! NO!" Shouts the other decorated individual, as he springs forth. Fueled by his anger, he lets loose a powerful attack on Ritan, which hits directly, dealing 7 damage (non-lethal).

Harold is still ignored.


I'll assume Len, not having the Captain as a target, goes for this guard instead.

Len now decides to use the lethal force of her halberd, swinging carelessly at the lieutenant figure, and misses. He seems nervous, going up against an individual with such a large and deadly weapon, when only armed with a cludgel, but stands adamant.

Another guard closes in behind Fargrim, who turns in time only to watch helplessly as a club crashes into his face, mercilessly. Surely, the might of the blow has broken Fargrim's nose. Fargrim is dealt 11 damage (critical hit, non-lethal). The third guard fails to get close enough to press the attack, so instead he calls out to the brawlers. "Surrender, you knaves!"

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr3-1.png

[Too_many_tamale]

Len
Round 3
Initiative: 11
HP: 5 / 13
AC: 17
Effects: Inspire Courage +1

Len only has time to miss the captain before a counterattack comes crashing through the door and two of her own are mowed down.

"Hey, ace, I'm beginning to think we should have just paid bail. What do you think, Lieutenant?"

"I said surrender!"

She rolls up on the balls of her feet and readies the halberd. She has a good feeling about this next one...


*Len attacks*

Attack roll
[roll0] (d20 + BAB + Str + Inspire Courage)

Damage roll
[roll1] (d10 + Str*1.5 + Inspire Courage)

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Round 4
Initiative: 15
HP 7/7
AC 13

Harold winces with each scream and thump of a body hitting the floor, but keeps on playing beneath the table. Until... The guard captain falls to the ground, and doesn't move. Harold's fingers drop nervelessly from the strings, and all he can do is gape.
(1 round of Bardic Inspiration remains)

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare
Round 3
Initiative: 18
HP: 6/6
AC: 12
Effects: Inspire Courage (+1)

Flare's eyes burst with light as he finishes his spell, but then dull, until they are almost, but not quite at the level which a normal human being might possess. "Sleep now," he says gently. "Thy burden is lifted off thy shoulders."

His eyes blaze at whichever foe remains. "Unleash thy wrath!" An open palm points into the direction of his target and then an arrow made purely of light speeds toward the guard, passing harmlessly through any object or person in its path until it explodes upon contact with the unfortunate man.

Flare's eyes are dull indeed now, though they still seem to have just a bit of arcane life in them. His hair is no longer anything but the black it was in the first place. He pulls his longspear from his back and begins looking for a way to join Lin.

Sleep is finished casting, I will target the corner below the fallen Fargrim, which should hit the guard that defeated Fargrim and the Lieutenant. Will Save DC 15 to resist sleep.

Should the guard who defeated Fargrim still stand, I will target him with my magic missile. Otherwise I will use it on the guard behind the lieutenant.

[roll0]

Then I will draw my longspear and hold my position for now.

[Deepblue706]

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr4.png

Round 4

Flare's second sleep spell quickly incapacitates one of the guards, but the lieutenant still stands strong. Then, with a quick chant, he unleashes a bolt of magical energy, hitting the other guard dead-on. He is wounded, but does not falter.

The lieutenant and Len exchange attacks, and soon Len finds her halberd buried in the shoulder of her foe. Blood spurts from the wound and across the weapon, as well as onto Len's face.

His strength leaves him, and his club clanks to the ground. For a moment, he remains standing, staring into Len's eyes as she removes her weapon. He slowly falls backwards, his back hitting the table, with a look of overwhelming fear and pain etched into his face. It is a haunting, chilling face, one of which that seems to burn itself into your memory.

His last remaining comrade cries for his loss, and finally joins the fray, despite his wound. His anger guides his movements, making his attack clumsy, and easy enough for Len to parry. He screams in anger at Len as his pitiful swings fail to break through her defense. "You scum! You scoundrels! You bastards! Your existence is an affront to God! You don't deserve the right to live!"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare
Round 3
Initiative: 18
HP: 6/6
AC: 12
Effects: Inspire Courage (+1)

Flare moves around the table, chairs and stools clattering as he jostles them. "Forgive me," he says quietly as he moves to the opposite side of the guard and jabs at him with his spear.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Too_many_tamale]

Len
Round 3
Initiative: 11
HP: 5/13
AC: 17
Effects: Inspire Courage +1

The chilling, black void of guilt suddenly eats away at Len's insides. This feeling is as old as warfare itself and she only knows it by the Guilderian term "conscience attack", reflecting their adversarial attitude toward so much of the human condition.

"Look at that innkeeper and tell me what offends your God!" She says more firmly than she feels during a lull in the barrage. She can think of ten different former clients she had bled to protect that the wild-eyed young man resembles.

Finally, she lunges; the worst battles are always on the inside.


*Len attacks*

Attack Roll
[1d20+5]

Damage
[1d10+5]

[Too_many_tamale]

Ugh, way to blow the code, Tamale:

Attack roll:
[roll0]

Damage:
[roll1]

[Deepblue706]

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb298/DeepBlue706/Tavernr5.png

Round 5

Both Len and Flare fail to take down the remaining guard. While a mess of emotions, that doesn't stop his armor from warding what blows would ordinarily take down most men. He continues to scream wildly as he swings for Len once more, but as earlier, his attack is wide and clumsy, missing her entirely.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Reassured that the fighting is at least carrying itself away from his table, Harold pulls out one of the chairs and sits down, straightening up his white shirt as he does. He carefully measures the distance between himself and the nearest window, in case those remaining choose to not leave witnesses to the battle.
Look on the bright side, Harold...at least the Inn's not on fire. That poor inkeeper's gonna have enough stigma as it is, without the place burning down around his head as well.

[EvilRoeSlade]

I'm actually two squares left of where you put me, which might not actually give us flanking bonuses. But I do have a longspear and I can't hit anything from there.

Flare grits his teeth and jabs with his longspear once again.


[roll0]
[roll1]

[Too_many_tamale]

Len follows Flare's lead. She's starting to get a headache.

Attack:
[roll0]

Damage:
[roll1]

[Deepblue706]

Flare again fails to strike true, but Len compensates by dealing a heavy blow to the man's chest. He slumps to the ground, his blood pooling out a bit beneath him.

Victory

Harold, scoping out for windows, finds that the nearest window is but a foot away, but it leads to the front where more guards wait. Peeking out, he notices a prison wagon of sorts, where the unruly drunkards and being pushed into. The guards make actual requests for the more sober patrons to comply, and they seem to give their cooperation. A few more guards arrive before the tavern, and their leader speaks with one of the others outside. Like the captain who fell inside, this new arrival shows markings of superior rank. They have yet to make move towards the entrance.

Aside from the other windows facing the front, there is one window to the west wall, behind the bar. It's unlikely it'll provide a very good escape route, as it would be in clear view of those out front as well.

As you look around you, you count five wounded guards, and two wounded brawlers. Though the guards sustained great injuries (and they continue to bleed out), the others that fought against them seem to be alright, though you're sure they'll carry bruises for a week.

The bartender groans as holds his face in pain - at least he seems conscious again. Still, he is surely incapacitated for the time being.

Flare, Harold, and Len appear to be the only alert individuals in the room, at the moment.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold strides with light steps to where the stricken inn-keeper yet lies and looks down sympathetically.
"We've both got rotten luck, but I'm about to do you the favor of getting these violent people out of your inn."
Crouching down, Harold walks to the back window of the Inn and flings it wide. He calls out in a low, rough voice;
"C'mon boss; we gotta run for it! That invisibility ain't gonna last forever! Munsten'll distract 'em!"
Then, with a brief incantation, Harold uses a ghost sound to give the sound of two heavy thuds outside the window, and then a confusion of footsteps thudding across the cobblestones with the sound of jingling armor.
Following that, Harold mumbles again, and a silent glowing humanoid blob of light coalesces in front of the inn door; its arms held wide to bar passage.
(OOC: dancing lights)
There. A double feint. I doubt most two-silver coppers could get much past one feint.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare puts his longspear away. "Thank you Lin. We'll get you out of here and have your wounds tended to. His eyes run over the two fallen men who had helped them during the battle. "Can you carry either of those two?"

He isn't wasting any time, and he moves back to the bar to retrieve his veiled hat and put it back on, concealing the color of his once-brilliant eyes. Then he rushes over to the innkeeper, crouching beside him and wiping the blood off the old man's forehead. "We've taken care of the guards for now sir, but we desperately need to escape. Are there any hidden exits out of this place?"

[Deepblue706]

Harold's distraction seems to work almost immediately - several guards rush to follow the "invisible" escapees. However, the front is still occupied.

Sounds of fighting can be heard in other rooms on the ground level, not far away. "Hidden exits? Boy-o...what kind of establishment you think I run here?" he takes a moment to collect his bearings, and sits up, on the floor. "Wait, you said you dealt with them?" He looks around, and begins to panic when he sees the bodies of several guards laying on his floor. "Oh no...I could have easily gotten out of this because they didn't follow the protocol...but now...this is horrible!" He stands up, frantic. "They'll close me down for good! I'm done for! They're gonna take my inn away and they'll pin this all on me!" He holds his head in pain as he stumbles backwards, stopping once he falls against the side of the bar.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold nods, somberly.
"That'd be a problem. How about this; an Innkeeper who, after being left tied up by the villanous vagabonds, manages to escape his bonds and tend to the sorely-wounded guards in his Inn? You saving their lives has got to be worth something, am I right?"
he snaps his fingers.
"speaking of which..." Harold dashes over to the recumbant guards, seeing who's bleeding and providing first aid as quickly as he can.
[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

Wearily, he shakes his head. "No, that'd never work...I...I..." He begins to stumble towards the exit.

[Too_many_tamale]

Len slips her halberd's blade back into its leather hood and snakes her arm through the weapon's carrying strap, blinking in surprise when ace thanks her by name...sort of.

What's left of the inn is ominously hushed in the precarious break. Somehow, the musician she vaguely remembers having some business with has survived the carnage and takes charge.

His first act, besides throwing open the window and yelling, is to talk up the innkeeper and begin reviving the guards. Not wanting to carry the other two brawlers, she focuses her attention on them. Deciding which of the two bleeding men should take priority is hard;

Heal Check on Ritan and Fargrim
[roll0]

Kneeled over a man with a horribly mashed nose, she looks over in relief when the innkeeper stands up, and then sighs when he staggers toward the door.

"Sit tight." she says quickly to her patient, leaping to her feet and intercepting the old man.

"Hey, take it easy!" she says, pushing him back toward the bar in mediation.

Diplomacy Check:
[roll1]

"Unless you want to spend the rest of your natural life being passed around the cellblock like a peace pipe, siddown and think of a way to get us out of here."


OOC: Just you try and sneak away. I've got a Strength and Use Rope check waiting for you.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare moves over to Len. "I've got a plan. We'll go out the back and if we see any guards, I'll talk us past them. We have to hurry. Carry whoever you can."

He glances briefly to Harold. "You too."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
The handsome bard looks around the Inn, apparently weighing the choice of running off with a bunch of violent criminals or being the one left behind to account for at least three wounded guards.
He hoists the strap of his mandolin a little further up on his shoulder.
"Right. Lead on, Uh...whoever you are."

[Too_many_tamale]

Flare moves over to Len. "I've got a plan. We'll go out the back and if we see any guards, I'll talk us past them. We have to hurry. Carry whoever you can."


Without letting go of the inkeeper, Len nods at Harold. "Not to be difficult, but handsome here tried to sneak out that way earlier. Will you go see if whatever stopped him is still there before I agree to this?"

She discreetly peers out the front door, roughly estimating the guard strength between the inn and the wagon. She's isn't about to start arguing with ace at a time like this, but a solid Plan B is nevertheless forming in her head and in her opinion, this situation is beyond sneaking.

"Hmm..."

OOC: So, deepblue, what's the lay of the land?

[Deepblue706]

The innkeeper quietly panicks as Len holds onto him - he whimpers but does not struggle.

Outside, you spot at least 12 armed men by the wagon, which less than 50ft away. They seem to be ready for anyone who would try to escape via the streets. Among their ranks you spot 10 regulars, a captain, and a robed man with whom the captain currently speaks. You cannot fully make out what they say, but it would seem the robed man intends to enter with a portion of them, by their gestures and a few words here and there.

With 5 of these men with crossbows facing the door, and 5 others with halberds, there's no doubt in your mind that attacking them would be suicide.

Visible exits from the tavern hall, aside from this door to certain doom, would be south, where some patrons ran to, east, where the flanking guards came from, and the stairs in the southeast corner.

Suddenly, you hear a cry from above - coming from out a window on the second floor.

"Help! Help me!" He calls out to the city guards. "There's a bunch of maniacs in here, they're cutting down everyone! Help!"

It's unlikely he's referring to anyone other than your "group".

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare holds up his hand and his fingertips are engulfed in light. "Secure the portal." The door leading outside closes. "Alright everybody, we can't delay any longer." Flare hurries out the southern exit.

Cast open/close.

[Too_many_tamale]

Len balks at the sheer volume of manpower still remaining and abandons her idea of stealing the wagon. Discreetly, she slides her head back inside the door...

Then someone, somewhere, begins squalling for help.

When the door slams shut, she immediately lets go of the bartender, throws a table over and braces it against the heavy planks with a woody clunk.

Craft (Barricade)
[roll0]

Then she grabs a handy liquor bottle and messily stuffs a bandage down the neck, watching it darken as it soaks up the booze.

"Hold up a second, ace!"

Craft (Molotov cocktail)
[roll1] With a wink, she tosses it (unlit) to Flare, and sets to work hefting the nearest wounded, Ritan, onto her back. The blood has made him very slippery.

The door thuds, rattling against the table. Hopefully it holds long enough.

"Hey barkeep, its worth a gold piece if you help handsome here pick up the other guy!"

With something between a snarl and a grunt, Len hefts the rogue up onto her shoulders and begins to shamble after Flare. She fails to notice when the fine, silvery chain of an elven necklace snakes out of her pocket and dangles invitingly, sparkling in the firelight just inches away from Ritan's nose.

OOC: Yes, I am LenGuyver.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare moves to Len's side, grunting with effort as he helps her with the table.

1d20-1

[Deepblue706]

As you make your effort to barricade the door, you can already hear the guards running for the entrance. You manage to set the table in place, but lack the time to fully fortify the barrier, as the guards already seem upon you. They pound on the door for a moment before calling out to the others of their number. "Quickly, an axe! They've barred the door!"

The innkeeper continues to panic as the chaos persists. "Oh dear Faharam!" He ignore's Len's plea to assist them, and instead runs to corner beside the bar, curling up into a ball.

[EvilRoeSlade]

"We have no more time, let's get out of here!" Flare unsheathes his longspear and pushes it through the handles, further reinforcing the door and then rushes towards the southern exit.

[Too_many_tamale]

Len plods after Flare and Harold until she has to step over the unconscious Fargrim.

"Hey barkeep, get back over here and--!" she begins until the door shudders from the vicious bite of an axe. There really isn't any time to help Fargrim and if Puerto Gideon's law enforcement are as unlike Guilder's as she has heard, then he will be cared for.

Instead, she stoops down and kisses him on the forehead, unsure if he can even hear when she explains "For luck." A knot forms in her stomach when she realizes he will take most of the fall if they get away. "C'mon, bard! Good looks don't help you in prison."

Silently, the glistening necklace slips free from her billowing vest pocket, spilling into a small pile on Fargrim's chest as it lands. The elven writing on the coin-like medalion glints in the firelight until, buffeted by the unconscious man's breathing, it slides down inside his collar and disappears.

Len fails to notice and thuds away with Ritan bouncing wildly on her shoulders, hopping out the door and stumbling away.

Fairly sure that they won't get far like this, Len glances around as she runs for something to hide in or ride on. Other than letting her cross paths with a mage, life has yet to throw her a bone today.

OOC:
Yes, that necklace was important so don't let Fargrim lose it. I'll explain later.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold Betruger winces with each thud of the axe on the door.
"I don't suppose you'd all consider giving yourselves up? I mean, you were shouting about repression an' that, but once you get to jail, you get a pretty fair trial here. 'course..." he looks at the unconscious guards "Not much chance of getting away scot-free. Lead on; I'll be right behind you"
Don't antagonize the woman with the blood-soaked weapon. Good advice any time.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare just shakes his head as he moves along. "It's not that I want to hold myself above the law. It's just that I'm beyond it. If they wanted my cooperation, they should have asked for it, not demanded it. And besides, if this were really a den of thieves, then they ought to have a hidden exit."

[Deepblue706]

You reach the south door and quickly find yourselves in what appears to be an ordinary hallway, extending both left and right. Simple wooden doors can be found on either side of the hall, which presumably lead to common rooms. At the right end of the corridor you spot a broader door than the rest, much like those found in the tavern hall. At the left end, the corridor turns sharply around a corner, continuing left.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare shuts the door firmly behind him and hurries down the hall. He stops at the large door, glancing around for any windows that are on the same wall. "Could this be the exit?" He wonders out loud. He pushes the door open slowly, alert for danger.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Bringing up the rear, the minstrel takes a moment to look sorrowfully at the state of his shirt. The white fabric, once immaculate as an angel's underwear, now was smudged and stained with whatever unguessable humours had occupied the floor beneath the table.
Still, I'll be lucky if the shirt's the only thing I have to mourn tomorrow he adds, mentally.
As the strange man with the unearthly eyes begins searching along the hall, Harold reaches surreptitiously for the knob of the closest room, and checks it softly.
Unlocked.
As quickly and quietly as he can, Harold flings open the door, darts inside, and closes it behind himself with barely a click

[Too_many_tamale]

OOC
I shoulda took your mandolin as insurance.

Len crouches behind Flare, peering over his head as she gently tilts Ritan to one side, in case she needs to schuck him off quickly.

She is sweaty, sore, shaking and becoming a little bit queasy as something warm runs down her back, soaking through her vest and underlying chain mail.

Suddenly, she remembers what she had meant to ask the bard, only to realize that he's gone without a trace. Well, it was a long shot anyway.

She returns her attention to the doorway...

[Deepblue706]

Len and Flare find themselves staring into a storage room. There are barrels, crates, shelves...it seems like a dead end. The room is dark, and might be easier to hide in, that most others in the inn.

Harold sneaks into a room, unnoticed by the others, and closes the door behind him. He finds himself in a vacant inn room, with clean white linens on a simple wooden bed. Beside it is a desk, and just beyond that is a small crack of a window, one barely large enough to fit a head through.

Suddenly, the sound of wood clanking can be heard, and it becomes apparent the soldiers have entered. Their heavy armor clanks throughout the tavern hall, and their heavy boots send vibrations through the wooden floor. Words are barked out, and movement continues within the room.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare darts out of the room, pausing for a moment. "Too bad," he says. "I liked his music."

He moves further down the hallway.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold taps his fingers on the neck of the mandolin, thoughtfully. There was a chance that in their pursuit, they wouldn't think to check each and every Inn room. Then he could conceivably sneak out. If worse came to worse, he'd just surrender; his conscience was clean in this mess. Either way, nothing to do but sit on the bed and keep quiet.

[Too_many_tamale]

Len grumbles, turning around after Flare and following toward the other hallway, slowing to a creep as she passes the bar entrace.

Move Silently
[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

As Len and Flare move through the hallway, the clanking of armor becomes louder. Suddenly, the hall door bursts open and three guards pour in. They quickly spot the pair and hold their weapons ready. "You there! Throw down your weapons, or we'll spare you no mercy!"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare spins around, turning to the guards. "Help me please!" He cries. "They've taken my little girl! My sister tried to fight them off but they wounded her badly."

[roll0]

[Too_many_tamale]

Len crosses her fingers.

"And our poor servant, here! :smallsigh: Why, Diddles, why?!" she wails theatrically in the unconscious Ritan's face before sobbing into his neck.

Aid Bluff
[roll0]

Her face pressed into a stranger's scratchy stubble, she immediately thinks to herself You dumbass. Hopefully they haven't spotted her halberd.

[Deepblue706]

The guards hesitate. The glance at one-another, and one comes forth. "What?! They have a hostage?" He seems to believe you. "One of you!" He turns to the others. "Go inform the commander!" He turns back. "Which way did they go?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare is frantic. "They went this way, I think they're hiding out in one of these rooms. We were trying to find a safe place to hide when you came along."

[Too_many_tamale]

OOC: High-five, Roe.

They're actually buying it!

Face still buried in Ritan's shoulder, Len almost chokes in shock. Preferring to quit while ahead, she limits herself to helplessly whimpering over her fictional, heinously kidnapped niece and 'Diddles'.

Flare is handling the alibi fine on his own.

[Deepblue706]

"Right." The guard scans the hallway. "You lot go with Bors here, he'll bring you to safety." He points to the other remaining guard, who stands by the door.

More guards can be heard moving throughout the inn. More orders are barked, and more people are told to come outside.

One of the hall doors creek open, and a man peeks out. "What's going on out there?" He calls out, and the guard (who spoke with you) rushes to meet him. "You there! Please, come this way! Everything will be alright, so long as you cooperate." He stands about 30ft away, back facing you, just beside the door leading to the tavern hall. The man peeking out is about another 10ft further down.

[EvilRoeSlade]

So nobody is paying attention to me right now?

Flare darts into the storage room and hides behind a crate.

[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

(Well "Bors" is, maybe. Make a move silently check as well)

[EvilRoeSlade]

Alrighty then.

[roll0]

[Too_many_tamale]

Psh, all this hiding. Just wait till the guards bring in their dogs.

While the guards are talking about them...in plain sight...Flare drops low and sneaks away before Len's very eyes, never to be seen again.

Standing awkwardly beside the miraculously oblivious guard, her mouth falls open in amazement. There is no way she can duplicate that.

Looks like this is where we part ways, ace. You too, Diddles.

With a heavy grunt, she lowers Ritan and wearily drapes him against Bors' chest. This, of course, reveals Len's halberd, which is unmistakable under its hood and crisscrossed with trails of running blood all the way down the shaft. Only one kind of person would carry that at a time like this...

Watching the guard's eyes shoot open, Len bolts down the hall. The tavern door whisks by as she races hellbent toward the sharp turn at the end. If nothing else, she opened a small window for ace to do something, like rescue the unconscious and otherwise doomed Ritan.

*Len moves at full speed toward the other end of the hall, with the sharp corner*

Note that Len's load is back to 'light'

[Deepblue706]

Flare easier avoids being seen, as the guards are distracted. He ducks into the storage room, behind a crate, leaving Len to fend for herself.

Len leaves Ritan in the arms of Bors the Guard, and sprints down the hallway. The guards are caught off-guard, and she manages to get some good footing ahead of them. Maybe just enough to escape.

Or not.

As she rounds the corner, she comes to another extention of the hall, where before her stands a tall, blonde-haired man with green flowing robes. He wears a badge of Porto Giedion's police force on his shoulder, and holds a small wand in his left hand.

"End of the line." He says in a low, monotone voice.

(Will save, please)

Harold hears some words exchanged and people running about, all going on just outside. The guards are certainly close.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold sits quietly on the bed in the small room, turning his mandolin over in his hands. He had a crossbow, of course, but that was unthinkable. Far better to just sit still and keep quiet in this room. Just a little longer...

[Too_many_tamale]

This roll is going to be great. I just know it.

Will Save
[roll0]

Tossing her willowy hair out of the way, Len lets the still-hooded halberd slide off her shoulder and into her hand, running straight into the teeth of the spell as it takes shape...

Len isn't sure, though. Here's to hoping it isn't a fireball or a sex change, or something.


If I survive, I'd like to work in a non-lethal attack and continue on my merry way:

Halberd smack-a-bitch:
[roll1]

[Deepblue706]

As Len stands before the robed figure, he throws fourth a fistful of strange powders, followed by a small hand flourish. His words become strangely soothing, and your eyelids become heavy. As much as you want to fight the feeling, you'd rather just ---thump---

Harold can hear the guards down the hall now, speaking with the other man. "She's asleep. Bind her hands, and bring her in with the others. We'll get to the bottom of this."

As the sound of a body being dragged is heard, there are also very distinct footsteps that slowly walk down the hall. A pause.

Suddenly, every single door in the hallway swings open violently, each slamming into the wall of their rooms with such tenacity, that they nearly fly off their hinges. There is a light chill in the air.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
"Gleep."
Harold tries to suppress the cry as the door to the room slams open, but he jumps a little ways off of the bed. Swallowing, Harold continues to wait, now looking even at the corners of the room, nervously.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold blows a curl of hair out of his eyes and straightens up. Well, the gig was up. With luck, though, they'd think he was just what he'd been acting like lately; a rather cowardly musician. Certainly not the type to get mixed up in...criminality.

The speech would need work.

The minstel clears his throat and calls out "If I come out of the room, is anyone going to hit me?"

[Deepblue706]

A voice calls back, "Not unless you compromise anyone's safety." No footsteps.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
"And...No one's going to step on my instrument or break it or not return it to me later, right? Then I'll come right out."
Still a little tense, the handsome youth stands and paces across the wooden floor to the door, his hands carefully away from his sides.

[Deepblue706]

About 10ft away stands the robed figured you saw outside earlier. He studies you carefully, his eyes not even blinking once.

Two more guards arrive, and the robed man turns to them. "Here's another. Take him back, and tell the Marshal I'll be moving ahead. Intelligence reports a secret doorway is around here somewhere - No doubt, the men we are looking for will be found there." He pauses as the two guards come to your side. "No more mishaps - Captain Harris fulfilled that quota already with Mr. Bogger."

The two guards beckon you to follow them.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold smiles sheepishly at the guards, and moves to follow. There's a little more spring in his step now that it looks like he'll get a chance to come peacefully after all. He pauses at the doorway to the common room and glances back.
Wonder if any of them got away...?
Dismissing the thought, Harold turns again and follows the guards out of the Inn, rubbing the back of his neck.
Shouldn't go too bad. Any divinations will prove that I've done nothing wrong, and if anyone can make a speech in his own defense, it's me.

[Deepblue706]

Flare, alone, hides in the storeroom, the door now open wide. Little light comes inside, but any thorough search would leave you found, you're certain. You hear the happenings in the hall quite clearly, and as Harold is taken off, the Wizard peers in your direction.

He mumbles something to himself, and takes a step forward in your direction.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare begins looking around for a secret door from his hiding place.

[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

As Flare quietly looks around the storeroom, he notices something "off" almost immediately. There is a small chain that sticks out between two boxes stored on the side of the room, simply sitting loose, with a small cloth tag on the end.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare slowly looks over his shoulder, and then tugs on the chain.

[Deepblue706]

The chain gives away as you pull it, and there is a clanking from the darkness behind the crates. Suddenly, part of the south wall disappears, a passageway revealing itself. In the passageway stands a shadowy man with a dagger at his belt, who is surprised to see you. "Make haste, they are upon us!" he yells down the new corridor. He then draws his blade, and leaps forth to meet you.

Initiative + Actions, please.

[EvilRoeSlade]

[roll0]

Flare backs away from the man quickly, trying to make sure he and the guard have a clear path to each other.

Move out of the way.
Total defense.

[Deepblue706]

((I made some rather...unexpected rolls. Apparently this won't actually need a map))

Before Flare can get his defenses up, and man lunges forth and delivers his blade into his gut, dealing 11 damage (that's a critical). You quickly feel the burden of consciousness slip away, but before you do, you hear another entering the room, and a struggle. There is a call for aid, and then you drift into oblivion.

.................................................. .............

The Next day, early evening.

Flare, Harold and Fargrim all find themselves in a single, small room - though not a cell, it would seem like private holding quarters. Those who fell lie in small, simple beds with clean white sheets - and dressings on any wounds suffered during the fight. Around the room you spot a table with two seats, a closet, and a window just out of standing reach.

Each of you feel very drowsy, and a bit like you've had too much ale. Each of you can also bit a slight itch on your hands, extending down to your elbows.

"Here," Harold was told "you will wait. Witnesses have given many conflicting reports, and we must ask for your full cooperation with our investigation. We will send someone to ask for your statement of what occurred in due time. Please relax as you wait." And here, you have waited...with a few guards just outside, to ensure that's exactly what you do. Though you oddly blacked-out in the room earlier, nothing seems to have changed since, other than the coming of strange symptoms.

You do not have any of your weapons on-hand, but your other possessions appear to be in the room, just at the base of the table.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere, Len and Ritan awake to find themselves in a cold, dark cell. They share this place with no one - and it would appear to be the only occupied cell in the entire corridor. You both surmize you were suspected of criminal acts because of the rather literal blood on your hands (though, you are cleaner now).

There are some windows, which reveal that it is late in the day - the pair of you must have been out for some time. You both feel somewhat hung-over, with a great need for rest. An uncontrollable itch suddenly bites into your hands, and down the length of your forearms - and it seems you've developed a bit of a rash.

After a few moments, the loud creak of a door is heard, you hear what you determine to be the footsteps of two people, approaching your cell.

Upon reaching the door, one jingles through a ring of keys, as the other steps into the light, with his arms folded, looking intently at Ritan.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold shakes his head to try and dislodge the dizziness, but that only makes it worse.
Damn, I didn't even get any wine. Still... He looks at the two bed-ridden men in the room.
Could be worse.
He stands up and picks up his mandolin from the end of the table tuning the strings as he strolls back to the chair. Easing himself down, Harold begins to strum a soft, soothing melody, evocative of sunlight through curtains and cool smooth stone.
[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

As Harold walks, and as he plays his mandolin, he feels his coordination a bit...lacking. Looking at himself, he realizes that he's as clumsy as he would be only after becoming fully intoxicated. His talents, however, do not leave him - it in fact only causes a minor inconvenience. But, doing much else might prove difficult.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare sits up, his veiled eyes on Harold. "I do like your music. I must say I had no idea that we'd meet again."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold doesn't look up from his playing, as the tune seems to speak of arched, airy buildings, peaceful and still, the melody as if walking through a hushed cathedral in spring.
"It's a talent," Harold replies, his voice sonorous and hushed "but not my only talent. I didn't think to meet you again, either. What's your name, my hooded friend with the strange orange eyes?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare inclines his head. "Of course. Talents are how we define ourselves. I think everyone has one, that defines them more than anything else that they can do. I'm Flare. Who are you?" His head shifts about the room and he begins to look alarmed. "Where... are we? And where's the woman?"

[ByeLindgren]

Deimos' reprimand, the storm of an army, and a grand battle all pass through Fargrims dreams, little painful demons eating at his nose all the while. The dream that stays with him is Faraham's holy blessing - a kiss on the forehead. The pain wakes him.

"My nose..." Fargrim's eyes slowly open to meet the sun peering low through a window. "Am I... No, my nose wouldn't hurt this much if I was dead." His head slowly turns left and right, and he notices the source of the music.

Still a bit dazed, Fargrim forces himself to sit upright. He ignores his cellmate and asks Harold, "Who are you?" Memories slowly creep back - memories of the tavern, of his appointment. "Oh yeah, you were playing the lute. But that got smashed..." That thought opens the floodgates to the rest of his bad memories. "Oh... oh no. I'm in prison, aren't I?" He kneels next to his bed, his eyes closed tight in anxious prayer. "Oh, Faraham, give me the strength to live through this."

Oh, my great brethren, give me the power to escape this.

Fargrim was just hazy on who's performing - I didn't forget the details. Also, Fargrim's praying for spells now. I'll assume he can get them, because he just needs prayer time.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold alters the tune, and a raincloud stops the light in the musical abbey, and the flickering of strings suggests a cool rain pattering outside the windows.
"My name's Harold. Harold Betruger. We're somewhere safe, at least. Probably the jail, or the guardhouse. I don't know where she is...but for now all we can do is wait. They'll be coming back soon."

[Too_many_tamale]

Sooooo...how about that XP?

Barely consoled by the distant, plinking sound of a mandolin in the air, Len stares at the floor.

She has seen Guilderian prisons many times when called for by clients--now those are scary places, where the rigors of daily life make mutilation and disfigurement grim certainties.

Even though the main danger in Medician prisons appears to be boredom, she still has that foreign feeling, worry, running around inside her. Ever since that day in the arena when half of her intestines were spilled with a single swipe, in fact, her imagination has found something to terrorize her with.

Its always the same 'something', too.

Len raises her itchy, reddened sword-arm and pores over a long row of black tally marks, sticthing their way up from her wrist nearly to her elbow. Her expression softens with a look of almost feline contentment as her mind drifts elsewhere...

Then, a pair of men approach, and Len sits up. She suddenly notices none other than the rogue she had almost gotten to safety, chained beside her. She is glad she didn't throw him at Bors like she had wanted to.

The men unlock the door and walk in. Showtime.

[ByeLindgren]

Hands still clasped and eyes still closed, Fargrim mumbles, "I didn't see you... defending yourself. Why are you here, Harold?" He gets up, done with his meditations, and ambles over to where Harold sits. Fargrim's big frame hovers over the small mandolin player as he stares him down as menacingly as possible. "I'll tell you why you're here, Harold. You're here to confirm our side of the story."

He looks over to Flare, then back to Harold. "Those guards were crazy, violent, corrupted by their position. Once that loon threw a dagger, they were going to kill everyone in that tavern. The ones that must have come in later - the living ones, anyway - they're good and upstanding, but not those first guards. Not the guards I saw. Right, Harold?" He grins, much the same grin as when he commanded the captain to flee.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold places his fingers against the strings of the instrument, hushing them.
He looks up at the hulking invalid with hazel eyes far more calm that the last time you'd seen them. Shifting his gaze downwards, Harold stares at his toes, moodily.
"In a word, I'm here because of you fellows. The reason I didn't "defend myself" is that I make it a point to only do that when people are attacking me. As to your side of the story," he sighs and massages his eyelids with the palm of his hand. "I'm normally a very honest person, you know, " he says, keeping his expression carefully even. "But I don't think lies would help here any, even if I were so inclined. Drugs, mate. I think we've already had our interrogation. The prudent man, therefore, would take care he doesn't give conflicting testimony."
Harold crosses his arms and leans back moodily in the chair, apparently thinking.

[Deepblue706]

((I just need to check Saterus' status before continuing. Feel free to continue chatting, just no NPC stuff will happen until I'm sure where he's standing. As for XP, I suppose I could grant the party...128 points! Gyahaha! Don't worry, the number isn't random. That's just how I roll. Yes, indeed, if you are 1 point behind leveling, that means you have yet to level up. I am that cruel.))

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare steps over to stand beside Harold's side. "This isn't his fight. There's no need to force it on him. Right now we need to think about ourselves." He leans over and whispers into Fargrim's ear. "Are you ready to make a break for it?"

[ByeLindgren]

He stares down Harold as he talks. He's not even budging... Then he turns to Flare, defeated. "Psh, are you? Harold's right about one thing - we've been drugged. Besides, we don't even know where the hell we are, or how many guards are right outside... Might as well lay down and accept our fates."

Fargrim clumsily plops down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He's my only way out of this. "It's not lies I want you to tell, Harold. It's a matter of perspective. To me, those abusive, corrupt guards looked more than happy to kill everyone just right after they killed the ones who were fighting back. And how do you suppose they interrogated me while I was out cold?" Oh, Faraham, if they did...

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold looks up at the ceiling.
"Well, like you say; matter of perspective" The youth shakes his hand free of a smudged white sleeve and picks his teeth with his fingernail.
"From another perspective, it'll be said that an officer subdued the unruly innkeeper when he resisted the raid, and then someone chucked a knife at his head. In the ensuing chaos, a bunch of people stood up and resisted arrest with lethal force." Harold strokes his chin. "All in all...not a very promising picture, for those who hope to walk free the next day. Any of your gang have a prior criminal record? You can't tell me the lass with the halberd hasn't been in for grevious bodily harm at some point."

[ByeLindgren]

Still lying down, Fargrim turns his head towards Harold. "I can't tell you that, Harold, because I don't know her. I don't know any of you. I doubt anyone who was 'resisting arrest' back at the inn knows each other, though Flare here might know the lass. The fact is, there were at least four people, all from different places in life, all viewing the situation far differently from Captain Lutesmasher and company. If you're going to make the Captain look like a saint, fine. Condemn us. Flare's right - I can't force you to do anything. Just know that, at this point, the only thing that's going to change is whether or not the 'gang' spends the rest of our days drugged and confined like animals."

Well, that hope is lost. Maybe Flare had the right idea. Let's see if I can even get an orison out...

Fargrim looks around the room and finds a wood chip under his bed. He mumbles a few words of holy power and attempts to cast Light on that object.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold raises his eyebrows in surprise,
"What, really? You didn't even know each other? Huh." He scratches the back of his head. "Wasn't expecting that. I thought for sure you'd be the folks they were looking for in the first place, or a bunch of hot-head adventurers. Well, anyways." Harold steeples his fingers.
"You're misunderstanding me, here. There's going to be a trial, and at that trial, you're probably going to be hearing a story not unlike the one I just laid out for you. You've got to figure out how you're going to defend yourself in there. And you've also got to know that you've probably already truthfully answered a lot of their questions already, and that you're not gonna know which ones until you walk into that courtroom."
Harold turns his head and meets Fargrim's gaze.
"Now, I can't tell you what I'm going to say when I give my testimony, if they even ask for it, but I can give you some advice. Of course..." he says, reaching for his vest pocket and extracting a small card "There's a price."

The card reads


Harold Betruger
Musician, Problem-solver, Outrageous Liar
Reasonable rates, friendly service, great renown.

No love potion problems, please


"Here's the deal I'm proposing. Either the two of you agree to listen to my advice or you don't, but you decide that right now. If I advise you and you walk free after a period of no more than, say, two months, then you'll pay me the sum of one hundred gold coins, payment plan negotiable. If you don't go free in that time, you owe me nothing. If you decide not to seek my advice, you owe me nothing."

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim grabs the card but does not yet look at it. "Wait, wait, wait. You've said this twice. How could I have already answered questions? What sort of drugs make you do that?" It can't be. I couldn't have betrayed my brethren in my sleep.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold shrugs. "Can't really say. I've never been brought in like this, but there's a kind alchemical magic, I think, that lets them put you in a trance, where you answer questions honestly. I met a bloke once who told me about it. He talked about some memory loss and the sensation of being drunk."

[ByeLindgren]

That guard should have cracked my head open, not my nose. I deserve to rot for my failure... Though, I guess they could have kept their questions pertaining to the inn fiasco. I wouldn't have given them any more than I needed to. Better yet, I would have truthfully told them what I thought - those guards were going to kill us.

"All right. I'll take your advice. You'll understand if I don't have the money right after I'm hypothetically freed. I'd work something out, though." Yeah, sure. He looks at the card. "So... you're an outrageous liar, or so your card says."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold Betruger waves a hand "Nah, that's just a typo. I told you before; honesty is practically my middle name." Harold takes a deep breath and looks once more up at the ceiling.
"You're in a tricky situation. By now, they have your own testimony that you struck a guard with lethal force. So, no outright denials for you." Harold laughs a little at that, but then sobers up a little "Now, unless you've got some outstanding warrant on your head, or any particularly nasty secrets that they might have asked you about, your best bet is probably to cast yourself as a somewhat reckless adventurer that had a little too much to drink that night. That parcels up your fighting ability and your willingness to get involved."
Harold scratches his head and looks expectantly from face to face "Good so far?"

[ByeLindgren]

"Sure, sure... I don't see how that testimony frees me, though."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare doesn't seem to be keeping track of the conversation, instead he's very interested in seeing what effect Fargrim's spell produced. If this other man can cast spells, he doesn't see any reason why he can't.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold crosses his arms.
"Well, first off, drunk and violent is better than a man who hauls off and takes a swing at watchmen using a deadly weapon, when it comes to sentencing, if that's the best we can do. Now, if you don't care about throwing the lass to the wolves, you can point in that you got yourself knocked cold early into the fight. You can say that you were just looking for a friendly brawl, because you had too much to drink. You'll still probably get sentenced, but I think you can cut down your sentence by a lot by pointing out that you weren't one of the people they were looking for in the raid, and that the captain in question was the one you attacked. You start to see where I'm going with this?"

[Deepblue706]

((AH! An explosion of posting!))

Fargrim finds concentrating on any kind of spell is a bit more difficult than normal - it seems he is distracted by something. Indeed, he feels so, as if a fog was clouding his thoughts. He successfully imbues the small wood chip with light - albeit, quite dimmer than one would expect. It slowly fades in and out.

((I need a concentration check, please))

[ByeLindgren]

Well, now that we're able to talk to each other (and I'm able to talk), boom! Concentration Check: [roll0] Of course, I waste the good roll on Light.

"But what if they already know I wasn't drunk? Or that I used a lethal weapon to kill a guard in a supposed brawl... And these drugs... are you sure they're what you think they are? If so, they do a lot of different things..."

[Deepblue706]

The spell works. Through the fogginess of his mind, Fargrim pushes, and finds the wood chip begins to glow like a torch, strong and consistent.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim will dismiss the light upon any sign of guards (though he realizes they probably know what he can do at this point). "That was much more difficult than it should have been."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold nods.
"I'm banking that they got to the guard in time to save his life. If that weren't the case, I should think you wouldn't be sitting here in the same room as us. As for the drunkenness...since you were unconscious when they first got to you, it shouldn't be hard to make that fly. Possibly you can get by with some polished truths. You know the sort of thing;" Harold's voice drops and he adopts the serious, bull-headed expression of a testifying witness " 'I was just about to order the biggest mug of whiskey they had, when...' " with a cough, Harold returns his voice to normal. "You're going to want to lean pretty heavily on the fact that the captain struck first, so you assumed a brawl was breaking out, and, in your state, you didn't realize that the guards weren't attacking to kill. How's that?"

[ByeLindgren]

"What it seems," says Fargrim, getting up again, "is that we're relying on the idea that they don't actually have all the facts - that these drugs were made to hinder our escape and nothing more. They would have asked me if I was drinking... I think." I feel better now.

"Anyway, sure, I'll do that testimony. They might wonder why I looked different when they hauled me in, though. I guess I can say I was embarassed to be in that establishment, so I disguised myself."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold's brow furrows for a moment. "Ah, right; the disguise. That's a touch trickier. Er, why were you disguised?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare seems to have tuned out of the conversation. Eventually, he just shakes his head. "I hope you don't mind, but I feel that I was wrongfully imprisoned and I don't intend to stay here any longer than is necessary. Both of you are welcome to come with me when I escape." He glances at Harold. "If you help, I mean."

He rises up and steps over to a chamberpot and sticks his hand down his throat, trying to force himself to vomit.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold gets halfway through his reply;
"Point of view, remember? It-" but he stops as the strange man with the orange eyes tries to make himself vomit. Harold wrinkles his nose, but elects to keep talking as if nothing had happened.
"It depends on what point of view the court ends up taking up. If nothing else, they'll get you for inciting violent acts and resisting arrest. Not really sure how stiff a sentence that'll be...I think it depends on how much you distance yourself from the woman with the halberd. Who was she, by the way?"

[ByeLindgren]

"I wasn't planning on being knocked out by some chump with a club. Had I escaped while disguised, any credible witnesses - namely, you - would have pinned the 'crime' on someone else." Fargrim suddenly gains interest in Flare's actions. "Vomiting it out won't stop what's already coursing through your veins. This stuff's probably magical, which means it could've taken effect instantaneously, hours ago. They got us pretty good. Any escape attempt just makes us look guilty."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare ceases his activities for the moment, breathing heavily. "If you mean that I have no respect for barbarians and dictators, then I don't look guilty, I am. Are you sure about the poison? Can't we do anything to counteract it?"

He steps away from the chamberpot for the moment, thinking about these questions himself.

Is the poison magical?[roll=Knowledge (Arcana)]1d20+6

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold steeples his fingers again and waggles his booted feet idly.
"Which is a fancy way of saying it's none of my business why you were disguised, am I right? Well, if it was for something they could nail you on, I don't think my advice is going to help you much. You might have even been why they did the raid in the first place, yeah?"

[ByeLindgren]

"I doubt it. You believe what you want, but I'm not lying. Looking back, I guess I made some mistakes, the disguise included, but the town guard wasn't looking for me." But what of my contact? We would have met somewhere more discreet...

Back to Flare: "And hey, buddy, I never said anyone here was guilty. I completely agree with you. These unholy tyrants deserve every bad thing that happens to 'em. But the facts are the facts - we're caught. You can't expect to just up and leave. If we play their game, we might win, but that means not pissing their magistrates off. And I'm not sure about the poison, but I doubt they'd drug us with something we could vomit away."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betriger
Harold looks up at the ceiling.
"Then again, magic is expensive. Herbs aren't. What I was trying to get across here, is that unless you've got some sort of acceptable reason for having a disguise, you're virtually assured of being clamped with being a part of whatever they were investigating, especially if they thought to question you earlier about it." Harold sighs. "Sorry mate but you, at least, might be done up good and brown. I'm going to go ahead and advise you to tone down the rhetoric about 'Unholy tyrants,' when this comes to trial. No magistrate is going to appreciate that kind of talk.
"Now," the minstrel says, shifting a bit in his seat, "It may be that this is all academic. They might have gotten enough testimony from you while you were out, and might just have you be in the room while they hand down your sentence. Or, they might agree to some kind of suspended sentence; for example you serve a jail time, and then you get to do some adventuring on the behalf of the city. If you've got skills enough, that is. All sorts of possibilities."

[ByeLindgren]

No. They didn't do that. It's not true. "I don't get why you're so deadset on this 'unconscious interrogation' thing. The fact that I'm in the same room as you says enough. I disguised myself so I could get away with dispatching the guards, and that's it." He suspects me more than the guard... "If you're saying the courts might pin me on whatever was happening merely because I was using a disguise at the time, you may be right, but we can talk our way out of that."

[EvilRoeSlade]

"Well, of course we won't just walk out. I need to find that woman first, it's really my fault she's involved in this. Anyway, I'm making my move at the next guard shift, with luck we'll have a skeleton crew and I'll have figured out a way to feel better."

Flare moves back to the chamberpot and proceeds with his dire business.

[Deepblue706]

The door creeks open, and a guard pokes his head in. He gives each of you a look, sniffing the air, a bit displeased."Is...somebody sick in here?"

Suddenly, from further down the hall, you hear an outburst. "What?! What do you mean?! Royal Inquisitors have no right meddling in our affairs! This is ridiculous!" From where you stand, it's hard to know what's happening. But, you do hear a struggle, and another man speaks in a voice that both Harold and Flare recognize. "Restrain him. We cannot have the Captain interfering."

The guard halfway in the room is looking down the hall all this time, as footsteps can be heard, growing louder.

Eventually, the guards outside greet someone, who is then allowed into the room. As he steps inside, Harold and Flare recall him to be the robed figure who was at the inn last night. Indifferently, he looks to each of you, with weary eyes.

"I'll try to be brief. By decree of High Magistrate Joshua Bailey, you were originally to be put on trial for the consortment with the murderer of Lieutenant Gaius Reddas, and the assault of 6 other watchmen of Porto Giedion, as well as consortment with thieves, and conspirators against the throne, as well as the people of Medici."

He pauses.

"Due to difficulties regarding complications of the investigation, conflicts of evidence, and the inspection of the legality of the investigation practices and process..." He studies your reactions, and continues, "...the trial will be delayed, indefinitely. All charges are withdrawn until further notice. This way, please."

He beckons you to follow him into the hallway, with a slight hand gesture.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim barely holds back an outburst of joy. I'm out! All right, calm down... As he heads towards the door, Fargrim casually remarks, "And I suppose my confiscated things will be returned. Well then, with a possible arrest still hanging over my head, I guess I'll get going." Fargrim stops and sharply turns towards the robed man. "Hey, so, just for kicks, exactly what did you put in my unconscious body, and when does it wear off?"

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold blinks rapidly, his knuckles white as the tighten on the neck of the mandolin.
Royal Inquisitor...I can't tell if this is better or worse.
Harold stands hastily and makes ready to follow.
I'm going to guess worse. This trial thing looks like something that'll be dangled over our heads.

[Deepblue706]

The man gives Fargrim a disinterested look. "I don't know of what you speak, sir. But, yes, the weaponry you held can be reclaimed..." he pauses. "...once you obtain a license. A court was in session earlier today, which declared the use of magic and weaponry inside the city limits to be a threat to society, unless regulated. If you wish to obtain a license, you must visit the offices of Magistrate Eisen. It is a short walk from here."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare is silent, watching the Inquisitor with a slight, mysterious smile.

[Deepblue706]

You are led through the building and eventually, the exit. You stand in Lawmaker's Way, the rich streets looking much like the noble's subdistrict. There are lamp posts about every 50 feet, standing tall in their regal design, starting to be lit for the evening to come. Guards stand in all directions.

Before you is the Golden Court, and across the way stands the majestic Courthouse of Giedion. Not far from there are several offices of the state, including another barracks.

A tall building looms ominously in the background - it is dark, and foreboding. It is called Crowhaven, a prison built generations ago. While originally built mundane, they say mages are hired to ward the place with powerful magics.

A carriage pulls up before you. "You certainly must have powerful friends. They've requested you to be taken straight to them. This way, please." The robed man, says, and steps inside.

[ByeLindgren]

Walking out of the prison, Fargrim feels the fresh air and takes in the view of luxury. The air and the sights are both tainted by the robed man's responses. I don't know what you speak of... Obtain a license... "Harold, I'm not sure I would count this as being a free man just yet. You got two months."

The carriage pulls up. "You certainly must have powerful friends..." Yeah, but how many? "I guess I'll deal with the Magistrate rejecting my request for a weapons license tomorrow." Fargrim enters the carriage.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare makes no move to step inside the carriage. "And what about the woman?"

[Deepblue706]

"Len? Don't worry. She'll be with you soon enough." He looks to Harold. "Are you ready to depart, Mr. Betruger?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

"By the way, thanks for the help." Flare enters the carriage.

[Deepblue706]

Fargrim, Harold, Flare

"I'm just doing my job, sir."

((I'm assuming Harold gets in))

The carriage slowly makes its way through the city streets - the man with you silent all the way. By his expression, he is discomforted, but not suffering any aggravation.

It is certainly nice to relax in the carriage, as the seats are not plainly wooden, but fitted with most exquisite cushions. You regret it when the carriage finally stops, and your company asks you to follow him out.

You look up to find you are before the looming structure you spotted just earlier - the Crowhaven. It is a large complex, surrounded by a large courtyard. The entrance is closed by portcolis, and a set of iron doors.

The man approaches the entranceway, who is immediately recognized by the guards. "Welcome, Inquisitor Gerney." One of the two stationed at the door calls out, and the portcolis is lifted. Gerney leads you inside, halting before reaching the first waystation. "We are to wait here."

After a short wait, you find the other two (Len and Ritan) being led over by a third, a middle-aged man with dark hair, and a scar on his forehead.

-------------------------------------------------------
Len

Back in the prison, Len watches as Ritan and one of the men exchange words (the other walks off). Ritan seems surprised by the visit, and judging from his tone, he is very grateful. But then, he seems a bit confused. "You thought they were with me?"

The man he speaks with doesn't seem pleased. He speaks strongly, in a distinctly low voice. "They were quick to join you in the fight, no? I assumed they were fellow operatives - perhaps even friends, considering this one here even carried you around, supposedly." He shoots you a glance. "Someone screwed something up, and what happened wasn't supposed to. I wasn't about to let a bunch of kids get thrown away because The Guild lacks any sense of responsibility." He ponders for a moment. "And regardless of who they actually are, I can't take back a bribe. You've been cleared, and I need you to get to work, immediately. If they find out about this, every last one of you will wake up with slit throats - me too." He begins walking for the exit. "This way - we've got to meet with the rest of your entourage."

Ritan and who you presume to be his friend lead the way out of the holding area, and beyond several waystations. In this light, you can see the man to set you free is middle-aged, and from the looks of a scar on his forehead and one on his arm, has seen a few fights. His eyes tell you of experience, and wisdom.

Eventually, you come to what appears to be the exit, and before you stand four individuals you met the previous night: Harold, Flare, Fargrim, and the mage that you presume took you in. He doesn't pay you any attention, focusing on the man who visited your cell, and brought you out.

----------------------------------------------------------------

"They're all here, Mr. Tieger, just as you requested. I will depart, now." Gerney leaves, with only this other man to answer your questions.

[Too_many_tamale]

That was a very elegant solution. I would have needed to resort to some big, overwritten prison break or intrigue.

[/brownnosing]

"Avarice sure has its uses." Len sighs uneasily to herself.

Although it appears that the Medician justice system is going to conventiently forget her debt to society and, for all of her supposed self-reformation, her conscience is shamefully clear about last night, her nerves are still stretched taut.

Bribes are nice when they work, but there's usually quite a few strings attached besides money. Hmm...

Intelligence Check
[roll0]

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold nods complacently as the coach rattles along. Now this was more hie element. The handsome minstrel scratches his chin, however, when Ritan and Len are brought along as well.
This can't be right. The giant said that they'd never met before, and he seemed to be telling the truth...and yet, here they are. Did we step on someone's toes, or did someone pull strings on our behalf? Where's the pricetag?
Aloud, he says
"Ah, the rest of our merry band. It's good to know you aren't languishing in a cell, certainly."

[ByeLindgren]

Maybe I should blow these fools off and find Seimon...

Fargrim thinks better of it. "Er, pleased to meet you, Mr. Tieger, was it?" Fargrim extends his hand.

[Deepblue706]

He nods. "We have very important business to discuss." He glances around. "Of course, this isn't the appropriate place - I just wanted to make sure I had you all together as soon as possible. It's imperative that we get moving along quickly, so, if you would follow me..."

He leads you back into the streets, glancing around nervously, almost frantic. Not a moment later, a large carriage arrives, and Tieger breathes a sigh of relief. He nods to the driver, a short, fat man, and holds the door open for you. "Inside now, I'll answer your questions once we've begun moving along." Ritan obeys without hesitation.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold follows close on Ritan's heels. It's pretty obvious that it wasn't a request, although the why of it was still something of a puzzle.
If I had to guess, I'd say one of these fellows is very important to this man. The target of the raid, perhaps?

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare also steps into the coach, sitting slightly apart from the others. "You can call me Flare," he says calmly. "Would you mind telling us what this is all about?"

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim frowns when Mr. Tieger hastily ignores his hand but quickly follows Ritan into the carriage. He says nothing, awaiting the answer to Flare's question.

[Too_many_tamale]

Her suspicions all but confirmed, Len plants her foot on the carriage running boards and, as far as she's concerned, steps back into prison.

Pillowing her head against a window frame, she peers wistfully out at a modest tree garden. As her clouded mind wanders, the sight gives way to thoughts about Doctor Ziye's lushly wooded estate. She decides that it was the most beautiful place she has ever seen, a knot of stately old forest overlooking a broad harbor, but insulated from the bustling commerce by a breathtakingly fresh mist as the salty air wafted through the woods.

Worlds away, Flare asks, "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

Len can only smirk at pondering what an awkward sight she had been at Ziye's funeral service, gingerly padding along in wide-eyed wonderment with her vicious polearm. At the time, however, she had misinterpereted the understandably resentful looks of Ziye's grieving kin as aloofness, which lasted throughout her stumbling self-introduction. Snubbed again, just like the rest of her attempts.

Haggard and still reeling from another attack of her fever, her composure had finally failed her in spectacular fashion. Storming around in the reverently hushed clearing, an unwanted interloper at the worst possible occasion, Len remembers shrieking semi-coherently at the elves, her big brown eyes pooling with tears of frustration...

She would like to think that she persuaded them, rather than having them pity her. Either way, she did not expect the amount of information she recieved, and even less what came next; An elegant, finely crafted necklace, right here in her--

"Oh shhhhi--! " Len whispers, patting down her empty pockets. The elven widow's solemn warning, that Silverweave could not and would not help her without that necklace, rings coldly in her memory.

Exhausting all the possible pockets twice over, she eyes the thief Ritan apprasiningly; she had carried him for quite a while. She lets her expression cloud, and pretends to listen.

[Deepblue706]

Mr. Tieger clears his throat, and finally begins his explanation. "It seems God has granted you all a bit of luck. Or, perhaps not." He starts, but then pauses to find the right words. "Whether you committed the crimes they said you had, or not, it seemed rather certain that all of you were going to be held in prison for a very long time. I cannot confirm reports of who the culprit is, but a higher-ranking guardsman was slain last night, at the tavern...and that combined with the attempted murder of the other guards would make your futures look rather grim. It seemed the entire incident was to be pinned on just you five."

He studies your expressions, and continues.

"They say there are those who control this city from the shadows...a Guild of men who through immoral codes, bend the aristocracy, even the lawmen to their will. These rumors are not far from the truth - in fact, there exists such a Guild, and I am one such member. Ritan was too, until recently. Considering the nature of the incident, I could not allow the life of one I knew to be utterly spent in a cell for crimes he did not commit, when it could have been avoided, if only some organizations were slightly more responsible..."

He takes a deep breath.

"When I considered the conduct of the lot of you, I mistook you for Ritan's friends. I had assumed he would not leave his companions behind unforgivingly - and talking about it would take time I simply do not have. That is indeed why I hastily made my decision, and why you are all here now. Time is very, very short."

He pauses again, noticably thinking hard on how to express his thoughts.

"The gold used to bribe the officials, and to get you out of the sentences you would receive, was quite a sum. A sum of which my own coffers cannot provide - and so The Guild is responsible for your release. Only..." He glances to each of you once more. "...it is unaware of its involvement. But, this is not something that will go undiscovered long. Their funds must be replenished, and quickly...or you will suffer fates much worse than a life of imprisonment. I will do my best to remain amongst The Guild, and gather what wealth I can alone, but I must implore you five to work together to obtain...no less than five-thousand gold coins. It is a daunting task, I know - but it can certainly be done. I am aware you all have talents, and am fully confident that you can do what is necessary to obtain the necessary funds. I only suggest that you try your best not to get caught by the city guard again, should you partake in anything illegal...as then I am sure your lives would be forfeit."

The carriage stops. "Are there any questions?"

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold drums his fingers lightly on the seat.
"I'm not ungrateful for your blunder, for all that your assistance was unintentional, but hypothetically speaking, suppose that one of the knaves sprung from prison decided to skip town instead of trying to help out. What would be the consequences, both to him and to yourself?"

[Deepblue706]

Tieger grins. "Eventually, The Guild would find those responsible for the unauthorized usage of their funds. And, all parties involved would be kindly asked to "cough up" what is owed - which would probably be given about 1000% interest - or Guild members would spare the knave the effort and search his guts for anything of wealth, themselves."

[ByeLindgren]

Gulp. "Five... five thousand..." This got even worse. "How much time do we have to collect this sum?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare considers quietly. "While I do appreciate your help, it's very important to me that my fate be in my own hands. I believe I would have escaped soon enough by my own wits, and I really can't support a system like this, let alone fall into place within it. How would you respond if I refused to collect this money?"

[Deepblue706]

Tieger ignores Fargrim's question, his eyes shooting directly to Flare. "Escape? Not from the courts. Not from the Magistrates. And, certainly not from Crowhaven. Just who do you think you are, kid? Do you think because you have a few minor arcane talents, that the world will bend to your will? A Royal Inquisitor would barely need to lift a finger to put you in your place. And, The Guild - which I should note has even more influence than the so-called "authorities" - is far more ruthless than any justiciar of Medici. To walk out would be to condemn yourself, and compromise the efforts of those who actually want to live to see their late years." He seems rather frustrated. "But, I can't force you to help. If you're that foolish to condemn yourself at the start, trying to force you into helping would probably prove useless. Not that persuading someone with such a deathwish would be wise, in any case. You'd probably just prove to be a liability." He kicks open the carriage door. "Well? What are you waiting for? If you're not working with us, you're just in the way."

[ByeLindgren]

Fear, desperation and anger stir Fargrim's subconscious. His own life hangs above his head, ready to drop at an indeterminate point should he not be able to collect on his debt. That life may be worthless, depending on what information he unconsciously gave to the Medician justice system. The final straw, the boiling point, is this man who refuses to even acknowledge Fargrim's existence. "Hey! Am I sequestered or something? How long do we have until a bunch of goons come kill us?"

[Deepblue706]

Tieger turns his attention to Fargrim. "Not long. I can't give you an exact date, but I suspect a couple of weeks, at most. That may seem like it gives you plenty of time to run - but in fact, The Guild possesses man-hunters of the likes that have successfully tracked those who tried to flee the continent. The safest bet is for you to work together, to gather what money you can in that time - which may not be as hard as you think. They call Porto Giedion the "Golden City of Opportunity" for a reason, you know. There are plenty of ways to make money, if you want it enough."

[ByeLindgren]

"... Thank you, Mr. Tieger." Fargrim steps out of the carriage and waits for the other passengers to do the same. His face is slumped, but his eyes have a twinkle of determination. A couple of weeks... I have a chance. He looks up to Harold, still in the carriage. "All right, Mr. Betruger. Looks like you're going to have to work for that hundred."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold nods to himself. Yeah, it didn't take very deep pockets to hire killers, and if you had deep pockets and an overdeveloped sense of vengence, you could hire good killers. Harold tips an imaginary hat to Tieger.
"I'm in, of course, but I have a few logistical questions, before we go. First, five thousand gold...does that need to be in coin, or will the equivalent in gems, magical items, etc serve as well? It's just that even if it were all in platinum, five thousand coins is ten pounds worth of coins; enough to make even the portliest of pockets bulge. Furthermore," Harold continues, listing the items off on his fingers, "Once we have the money (no doubt far ahead of schedule!), how shall it be delivered back? Will Ritan know how to contact you, and should we assume you're watching?"
After waiting for the answer, (assuming one is forthcoming), Harold makes an amused snort at Fargrim's comment about the 100 gold pieces.
"Normally for this sort of job, I'd charge about ten percent. But...I think I'll be doing this one pro bono, as it were."

[Deepblue706]

Tieger looks to Harold. "The Guild only really deals in coin - you're not going to look into a Guild coffer and find an assortment of which you'd see in a dragon's den. But, I know good appraisers, and I could make the necessary exchanges - so really, anything of value will do." He points to the building outside which you've stopped. "This inn is a safe place - there's no reason why any guards would be found investigating here, as it's in a good neighborhood with good folk - and that's why it'll serve as a meeting place for us. I have a very trusted man who will stay here throughout these dealings, who will go by the name of "Wyatt". He's not here now, but he'll be staying in room 12. He'll be your contact for me, and he'll try to keep an eye out for work. He knows all about noble's quarrels, mercenary companies, merchant's caravans, and all sorts of odd-jobs that'll be good for a group like you. Might be a touch dangerous, but I don't think there's any easier way to go about doing this. If you all knew how to work a heist, I'd say that'd be your best bet...but I don't think that's really an option as of now."

He clears his throat. "This inn - the Harpy's Head, as it's called - is more or less at the center of the city. Here, it should be easy for you to get wherever you intend to go, and easy to get back. Stay here tonight, and meet with Wyatt in his room first-thing tomorrow. I can have him provide you with some licenses and weaponry, but I don't quite have the King's armory at my disposal. Is there anything you'd like to request?"

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold looks thoughtful.
"Letters of introduction of any stripe would be nice. Not necessarily from yourself, of course, but if you know someone who's good at handwriting, as I'm sure you do, a few choice names could be useful to drop. Dockmaster, a captain of the guard, a well-to-do merchant, an official of the Church...that sort of thing. Other than that, I've got what I need, I think."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare inclines his head. "Very well then, sir. I go to be condemned." He steps off the carriage lightly, staring off into space and smiling like a surreal fool.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim raises an eyebrow at Flare.

"Err, anyway, once I have that license I can get my weapons back, but feel free to give me any finely-crafted thing you can get your hands on."

He pauses, lips pursed, and then looks up to the rest of the group. "I, uh, I know we're on time constraints, but can we meet up for that job tomorrow? Back at that tavern, I was... I need to go check on something. Trust me, I know what happens if I don't come back."

[Too_many_tamale]

Watching Flare march away makes Len shake her head, even if she can fathom his rationale. In a way, that kind of absolution is a rare gift; too bad it will probably to lead him to his death.

Maybe it makes her cowardly, but Len would rather bend than break. She smiles compliantly at Mr. Tieger. "Retrieving my old halberd would be best, but I'll take any heavy polearm you've got; I've used them all. Ooh, and a good city map, please."

He nods grimly, waving her off.

"Thanks for the fighting chance." She jumps out and immediately strolls toward the others. She throws an arm over both men's shoulders, turning to Fargirm first when he stumblingly dismisses himself.

"We'll be waiting." She says, giving him a long warning stare. She hates coercion, but doing this will be hard enough with one of the party deciding to be a conscientious objector without anyone else jumping ship. Then she turns to the bard.

"Sheesh. You've already got something planned, don't you? Look, I hope you don't mind if I pick your brain for a while, but I'm not even from this country."

She rolls her eyes. This is the kind of thing prostitutes back home would say during a pick-up.

[Saterus]

Ritan Drenathy

"I need to talk to Mr. Tieger alone for a moment," says Ritan. He stares at Harold, being the only one still in the carriage, until he decides to leave. "Ok, enough...." can be heard from Ritan as he swings the carriage door shut.

[Deepblue706]

Eventually, the carriage door opens again, and Tieger steps out. "Now, where was I..." He ponders for a moment, and then looks to Harold. "Ah, Yes, I will make effort to procure what you ask, and have Wyatt give it to you in the morning. Letters of introduction are fine, Mr. Betruger..." He then turns to Len. "...But I'm afraid your Halberd is off-limits. It's still being held as evidence, as you aren't quite cleared. Technically, it is to be brought before court, at a trial now delayed...if indefinitely, it's still to be kept." Glancing between her and Fargrim, he continues, "I'll do my best to ensure you have suitable equipment." He glances to Flare, and then back to the rest of the group. "I do suggest you make an effort to persuade him - you'll need all the help you get."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold
Harold nods happily and seems about to reply when Len clamps her arm around his shoulder and begins walking him towards the Inn. He looks startled at first, but then relaxes, seeing that her other hand doesn't hold a knife.
"Ideas...No, more like possibilities. Erm. Pick my brain, eh? Is there something in particular you wanted to ask?"

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim rolls his eyes at Len's wordless threat. "Like that look would mean anything if I was really going to skip town." Fargrim turns to leave, but upon hearing Mr. Tieger's second round of bad news, he turns his head and mentions, "I don't want nothin' fancy like a halberd. If I can't have my stuff, I want replacements. Morningstar, longspear, finely crafted." Off he goes.

Other than weapons, did the courts confiscate anything else?

[Too_many_tamale]

Yeah, I was wondering that too. I think the only ones who lost anything besides weapons were Ritan and Len (because of Harold still having his mandolin to play, and some vague recollection of DB saying so. Then again, I skimmed that part)

So, all this ditching and arguing and even a motion to teamkill already...is this normal?


She sees Fargrim scoff nastily as he slides free of her arm and leaves. Len has such a way with people!

Len has long since come to understand that her schtick, fighting, is actually pretty narrow in its uses. In the civilized side of the world, its the best talkers and thinkers who usually win, and its poor Harold's savvy aura that Len needs so desperately to do this.

Hopeless as it seems, drawing on ace's unique skills as a mage would also be invaluable. She sends a pleading glance over her shoulder at Flare.

Diplomacy
[roll0]

She returns her attention to Harold. "Fingers crossed. Anyway, lets go inside; I want to know everything you can tell me about this city so I can..."

Len glances skyward in thought.

"You know what, scratch that. What can you say about your plan of attack-- so to speak-- so far? Go ahead, lay it on me."

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare inclines his head and steps over to Len. "Don't worry. My statement was perhaps misleading, but I have no intention of abandoning any of you. After all, it's partly my fault that we're in this situation in the first place. I just needed Mr. Tieger to understand that I'm not necessarily on his side. An unasked for rescue is worth at least that."

Flare slings his arm around Len's shoulder in a gesture similar to the one that she had used on Fargrim. "Well then, I don't think I ever got your name. Are we ready to be bad guys?"

[Deepblue706]

((Len and Ritan have the clothes on their back, the other three members have everything they had at the end of the night, minus weapons. It seems Fargrim's note went unnoticed. I need Fargrim to make a listen check, and I need to know if Ritan wants more to say IC before continuing.))

[Saterus]

"Ready? To be the bad guys? You do not simply begin being a bad guy," adds Ritan. "You either are, or you are not." The emphasis makes the statement fact. Ritan smiles to lighten the mood, bowing and waving his arm towards the door of the inn.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold laughs quietly to himself.
"Well, you certainly gratify me with your confidence, Lady Len. For now, I'd like to see what Tieger's man Wyatt has to offer us. If I can get those letters as I wanted -and they're any good, of course- then the possibilities are endless. I think we can take today, at least, to find our feet and get our bearings. While I must say I prefer your assorted company in the knowledge that you don't have any weapons on you, I recognize that you and Fargrim, at least, will be needing pointy pieces of metal to poke people with."

[Too_many_tamale]

Eventually, they break formation to enter through the door.

I assume. If you really wanted to use the chimney and I spoke for you, feel free to scream.

"Lady Len." she echoes, pretending to be enchanted. "How's that for a name, ace?"

Len has to work to keep from sighing miserably at the typical bar-noise upon entering. Last night at the Dragon's Kneecap was just the latest in a long history of bad fortunes she has found in these places.

Letting Flare and Ritan chat, she motions toward some well-lit seats by the wall, in order to limit the number of sharp ears nearby without being 'those strangers in the corner'.

"You know..." she looks at Harold as they sit down. "...between you and me? I'm really hoping we can earn most of this gold honestly."

Then again, mercenaries make their living honestly. Technically speaking.

"Seriously, If I wake up one morning and find out that we have to plunder a twenty-gun merchantmen before breakfast, fight a war until lunch, and then ransom the king in time for afternoon tea, I'm going to take my chances with the Guild hitmen.

There's got to be a way. How did those snobs on Noble's Lane get their fortunes?"

Knowledge me , bard.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Taking his seat as well, Harold nods in agreement.
"Yes, I'm with you on that one. Honest work generally involves fewer surly men with axes. The problem is, when you're earning five thousand gold in two weeks, you want it to be safe, honest, and easy, and all the ideas I have at the moment could only get us one of the three." Harold leans in a little closer, his hazel eyes showing traces of amusement. "It'd be nice to take it from someone who won't miss it, or won't be in any position to find out it was us. The thing about nobles is that most of them have their money because of political connections or because their ancestors were big murdering bastards. There's a reason it's called 'old money'."
He sits back again in his chair and plucks at the white sleeve of his shirt as he thinks, trying to think of anyone who deserved to have less money.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Too_many_tamale]

"Psh, it figures. I knew this country sounded too good to be true." Len grumbles cynically. "If we can't do this legitimately, let's at least limit the bloodshed; chopping people and breaking things is what got us into this mess."

Harold is still thinking. Len shuts up upon receiving an annoyed wave in response...

...for a moment: "If you're thinking what I suspect, then just as important as the big-shots themselves is who manages their finances. We need a lord who's extravagant or involved in a risky business, and most of all, absolutely despicable to his staff; abusive and prone to indulging in vices."

Although Len's voice stays low, this strikes her as more and more promising. If rich people are the same everywhere, especially the kind who didn't earn it by their wits, then there's bound to be a mousehole in one of those swelling coffers where five thousand could slip through.

Its certainly better than becoming a cleaner or some form of hired muscle, fighting over the table scraps from bigger men and rarely allowed to quit their trade without a coffin. While Harold thinks, Len looks at Ritan.

"What do you think, knives? Are you into this?"

[Deepblue706]

"I take it no one has more to ask of me? Then, I will be on my way. Good luck..." Tieger enters the carriage, and calls to the driver to get moving.

((Right now, discuss what you like - I'll can fastforward to the next day once you're done, if nobody wants to do anything afterwards))

[ByeLindgren]

Listen check for the previous moment: [roll0]
How later-in-the-day is this discussion happening? I'll assume it's at least a couple of hours after Fargrim left.
After his compatriots have settled down in the tavern, Fargrim rushes in with a typically conspicuous thud thud thud. He quickly looks around to find Flare and Ritan talking in one booth and Len and Harold talking in another. He approaches Len and Harold.

"See?" Fargrim gets out with a bit of effort, panting. "I'm early. I bet you owe Mr. Betruger a wager, miss, uh... Well, anyway, let me pay it for you." That oughta burn her a bit. Reaching for some coin, Fargrim smugly asks, "So how much did you wage--" He feels an odd bit of metal near his coin pouch. "What the..." They planted something on me! Destroy it! Destroy it! Fargrim quickly rips the metal object out of his pocket and discovers a medallion. Fargrim holds the medallion in front of him and examines the etchings. "Well that's... I'm gonna ask Flare what this thing does."

[Deepblue706]

Fargrim heard the chinking of some chain wherever he decided to go, today. Looks like you decided to find it, anyway...

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
The minstrel seems little interested in the contents of Fargrim's pockets.
He crosses his arms across his chest and rubs his nose, thoughtfully.
"Well...this is mostly a trade town, you understand. Ships go in and ships go out. The nice thing is that some of the major deals in the city are in some rather rare and exotic goods, which means high profit margins for the merchants. There are rich people enough, some charitable, some misers. The rich, however, have money enough to ensure that their money is closely-guarded. The plain fact of it is, unless Wyatt has some better ideas, we'll have to look into getting the money...unethically. Reparations could be made later, if we feel so obliged."

[Too_many_tamale]

Ha! That couldn't have been better timing, Byelindgren

Len nods as Harold explains, slowly tilting inward on her elbows as she listens intently. Ignoring Fargrim's crowing, she grins when Harold finishes.

"Exac--" With a violent double take, she goes suddenly pale when she recognizes her salvation in Fargrim's hand, the elven medallion. Dangling under the eyes of four very money-desperate people, the ornate elven jewelry glints enticingly in the firelight.

Len swallows hard, and then forces a pretty smile, chuckling awkwardly.

"Hey, uh...heh heh...listen, I was wrong about you, you know? I get a little worried sometimes and I'm not all that trusting and...just, keep that necklace to yourself and have a seat."

She scoots over and pats the cushions beside her, earnestly dreading the lengths she'll have to take this charade to get it back.

"C'mon, we need you in on this discussion, you hunk." ...of ****. Why did it have to be you?.

She turns just a little too casually back to Harold, barely able to keep from glancing over. "A-anyway, bard...there's different shades of black you can stain yourself. I'm almost sure you have something in mind, let's hear it."

Our dog rolled in something unholy, and nobody has the heart to make her sleep outside, so long story short, I'm covered in dog-soap and now I smell unholy. See you guys tomorrow

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold lifts his eyebrows in an expression of amused puzzlement at Len's loss of composure, followed by her sudden onset of sleaze directed at Fargrim.
He meets her gaze with a sort of "Well?" expression, but with no explanation forthcoming, Harold shrugs and speaks;
"Good analogy. Well, I, for one, am not keen to trade one set of deadly enemies for another. I've noticed we have a few amateur disguise-fanciers in our group. That, along with those letters should see us halfway towards earning enough money. All we need to do in that case is show up at the right jewelers or financial bodies, and walk away with a tidy sum of untraceable platinum coins, which we'll dump as soon as possible on the cabal we're indebted to. That's probably the closest I can get to the plan being both easy and safe. It isn't ethical, but there's no blood involved, and the people losing out can probably afford a few platinum here and there. At the worst, whatever poor clerk okays our withdrawal gets brutally beaten to death by his boss's goons."
He steeples his fingers.
"But I'd much rather see first what letters Tieger will be providing, and what Wyatt has to say."

[Too_many_tamale]

Len almost laughs except for the necklace weighing on her mind.

"A loan? Thats so...hell, I love it. If Wyatt doesn't have anything better, I'm with you on that one." She nods with an enthusiasm that belies her personal concerns . "You should speak up more often."

She drops her head on folded arms with a groan disguised as a yawn. Len can already see Fargrim in the curiosity shop, shaking hands merrily with the clerk as he tosses away the necklace and hefts an absurdly large sack of coins labelled "$".

She sits and stares for several minutes, perfectly comfortable with the brooding silence. Elsewhere, the fire blazes, people laugh and banter resoundingly, waitresses come and go, and her unintended companions discuss the details of the plan.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare glances over at Ritan but doesn't seat himself beside him, instead he joins Len and her company at their table.

"I really hope we don't have to bring innocents into this. I think we should strike those who wronged us in the first place, either these thieves, or the cities government. I can do so with a clean conscience and they're sure to be lucrative targets."

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim looks oddly at Len while Harold describes his plan.

That look... And keep it to myself? Hunk? She must recognize this thing for whatever it's worth. Fargrim smiles and gives Len a wink that would nauseate a Succubus, and puts the medallion in his back pocket.

"Wait, wait, back up a second. What sort of disguise makes rich jewelers loan us 500 platinum on the spot?"

[Too_many_tamale]

"Wait, wait, back up a second. What sort of disguise makes rich jewelers loan us 500 platinum on the spot?"

"Its not the get-up alone thats going to sell it." puffs Len through her arms after recovering from the horror of Fargrim's 'signal'.

"Its going to take the smoothest talker among us, armed with the reference letters Tieger is going to procure and who looks like a respectable merchant. It doesn't even have to be the entire amount or a single lender, either.

In the end, we still owe money, but we can pay it back on more reasonable terms." She looks up at Flare. "Say what you want, I'm behind this idea."

She stands up and relinguishes her seat so that Fargrim and Flare can discuss it further with Harold. She ambles over to Ritan's booth and sits down with the resident specialist in this field. "A copper for your thoughts?"

[ByeLindgren]

Hmm, I sent a shiver down her spine... At least now I'm sure about what that 'hunk' talk was all about. As Len gets up, Fargrim casually remarks, "I'll talk to you later," this time sparing her the wink.

He turns back to Harold and Flare.

"Anyway, I'm guessing that Len meant you were the disguised smooth-talker. One problem: The Holy Father blesses me with the ability to disguise myself. Maybe you have some mundane ways to pull the same trick, though."

He leans in close so only Flare and Harold can hear.

"By the way, not to alert anyone who might get a bit jumpy about it, but I think we're being followed."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold rubs his eyes and then rests his chin on his hands, glumly. He scratches his shoulder blade beneath his shirt.
"Doesn't surprise me. In fact, I'd be shocked if at least two groups of people weren't trying to keep tabs on us. Truth be told, there's isn't much we can do or the moment. The disguise you mentioned will probably be necessary, yes. I can pass myself off as myself at a couple of places, but more than that, and I'll at least need to be someone else. Magical disguise will probably be a bad thing; most major financial institutions will have some sort of safeguard against that, I think.
Either Wyatt has some ideas for us, or we'll need those letters. Best thing I can do right now, I think, is get some supper and some sleep. Tomorrow can sort itself out." So saying, Harold rises from his seat and paces to where Len and Ritan sit. He offers a casual salute, rapping his knuckle on the table as he goes, and then proceeds to the bar to order some supper. As he walks, he tucks his mandolin carefully behind himself.

[Saterus]

Ritan looks up from his thoughts as Len sits down across from him. "My thoughts? I think we've got a rough couple of weeks ahead of us. I have to work out where we can go without causing trouble, but still have the opportunities to make such a large amount of money. Tieger practically gave me a list of places I should avoid showing my face. I'm trying to think of somewhere I can go tonight to get some information. The places I want to go, I shouldn't. Risk vs reward." Relying on Tieger to tell me everything is practically a death sentence.

Ritan excuses himself, walks to the front of the inn and orders a drink and a meal. He slides back into the booth and folds his hands on the table. "What about you? Any ideas on how we can raise that much money so quickly? It'd be a feat for most people to raise that amount with longterm planning."

[Too_many_tamale]

Len smiles. Apparently they kept their voices down pretty well.

"That's what I wanted to talk about; the bard suggested we just borrow the five thousand again, this time from a bank. I'm sure they'll be much nicer about collections than your Guild.

"Object all you want, but I think we're in enough trouble that a clean and simple solution like that is just what we need. The alternatives we've heard so far..." she sighs. "...they'll get messy."

"I wanna know who just is this Wyatt, anyway? How much can we trust his reccomendations?" Len sniffs. "And how much for a bowl of that soup?"

[EvilRoeSlade]

"Well," says Flare, doing a remarkable job of conveying an expression of thought with no posture and only the bottom of his face visible. "If this town is as infiltrated with criminal guilds as we've seen so far, anyone we lend money to might potentially hire them to harass us if we borrow a debt we can't repay. So it's possible that we won't end up in any better of a situation than we are now. I have an alternate proposal. We can all hire on to a sailing ship and leave for a different country. I don't particularly care for the one I've found myself in, and I have a lot of experience on such vessels. Each of you seems like the type to contribute to that environment as well, and if you don't mind hard work, and if we stick together, I'm sure we can tough out anything these people might send after us."

[Saterus]

Ritan Drenathy

"Flare is right about the banks using muscle to collect, especially such a large amount of money. However, running away is not the answer," says Ritan. He picks up the piece of paper in front of him and slides it into his breast pocket.

"As far as this Wyatt person goes...I'm not sure. I may have met him before, maybe not. But not specifically by that name. Names mean little to the people we are dealing with now."

[ByeLindgren]

"Well, that's reassuring. It seems to me that planning any sort of con is moot until we get what we get from Tieger and Wyatt." Fargrim looks around for a more private room, or even a semi-secluded space. Assuming there is such a location, he adds, "Since that's the case, I'll be right over there," motioning toward the secluded area, now looking straight at Len, "thinking about things I should keep to myself."

He walks over to the spot. That didn't come out right.

[Too_many_tamale]

That sounds like such a Jack Nicholson thing to say

"What fun colleagues you have." she muses to Ritan, after giving Fargrim a reluctant smile. "Its not easy being surrounded by question marks; people you probably can't trust or predict.."

She glances appraisingly at one such question mark, Harold. Musician, outrageous liar, problem solver, and who knows what else under that colorful exterior, he definitely strikes Len as sufficiently crafty to rescue the necklace. However, the thought of that same wit coupled with the influence over her that the medallion would give him makes Len shudder.

"Well guys, I guess we can call these ideas Plan B and Plan C. It shouldn't be too hard to make the necessary arrangements and then have them waiting in the wings if Wyatt and Tieger's ideas don't come through."

She hauls herself to her feet.

"I've got some other ideas that could put the disguise-artist to use, but I won't waste your attention on them until I've hammered them out so...see you guys tommorrow."

Len struggles to avoid eye contact with Fargrim as she takes the walk of shame to his booth, caging her eyes on the table in front of her as she shares his seat. "..."

In a flash of insight, she remembers how she must have lost the necklace to begin with, stooping down to...

"Whatever you do, don't take it out. The others won't be happy to see us hoarding valuables behind their backs." she grumbles through the side of her mouth. She has no doubt that if there happens to be a bard in the world who took the trouble to learn lip-reading, it would be Harold. The thief, it goes without saying.

"Do you like stories?"

[ByeLindgren]

Always has to be the roundabout way...

"Stories, eh? Do tell."

[Too_many_tamale]

"Break out the violin, because this is a sad one."

Len takes a deep breath, and then warily recounts as much as she dares about the necklace, building it sentence by sentence with the most guarded wording possible.

"I guess I'll begin by saying that, this Guild? Yeah, I have more hanging over my head than that..."

Len covers all the bases, taking a few liberties with its presentation; It is worth a fortune and had been entrusted to her by a very influential family in Porto Gideon. The person who is supposed to recieve it was very dangerous, and Len's life depends on its safe delivery to him. Selling it at some pawn shop wouldn't do justice to its true value.

"...I didn't mean for you to get a hold of it. See, when you were knocked out last night, I stooped down to...to check your pulse, and it must have fallen out of my pocket." Len concludes.

"Please, I need it back." She folds her hands on the table, simply radiating sincerity.

C'mon Fargrim, lets see that Lawful Evil alignment in action.

[ByeLindgren]

Hey now, Fargrim's a shining beacon of Good! Tee hee.

"That's a compelling story." Credible? Seems so... Not what I expected, though. "There's something missing from it, though. I'm sure it's as valuable as you say it is, and I'm glad you didn't give me a bogus appraisal in order to buy it back cheap." A hint of impatience rings in Fargrim's voice. "Trust me, I'm thrilled. But in Faraham's name, what makes it so valuable, and why would a noble entrust you with something that important?"

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold puts down his knife and leans back happily in his chair.
Mmmm....roast chicken...
Taking care to keep the grease off his instrument, Harold draws forth his mandolin and strokes a few notes, winding a slow, ponderous progression of chords. It always helped to have a little music while you think.

[Too_many_tamale]

"Trust me, I'm thrilled. But in Faraham's name, what makes it so valuable, and why would a noble entrust you with something that important?"

Len glances down at the tabletop. In her upset state of mind, she hadn't bothered to question her good luck when they gave it to her.

"You know, your guess is as good as mind." she shrugs. "It was an elven family, and I gather that this is a treasured heirloom of theirs; you've gotta wonder what kind of medallion it takes to impress the world's greatest jewelsmiths.

Of course, that does beg the quesiton of why they would trust me to deliver it to this prodigal son of theirs...if he's as dangerous as I was led to believe, then maybe I'm the only person who's dumb enough to try and search him out."

Privately, Len assumes that it will carry special significance to Silverweave and add legitimacy to her claim of seeking his medical knowledge. Which reminds her again that she still forgot to ask Harold about that bandit.

An overwhelming on set of that shaky, clammy feeling, long since become familiar to Len, warns her that she doesn't have long to negotiate. With a reluctant breath, she seals her fate:

"After we meet Wyatt tomorrow, tell me what you want in exchange for it. I need to take a walk."

Len stands up weakly and disappears out the door, not to return until the sun creeps up again the next morning.

That's my way of retiring Len for the night, since a couple of us seem to be getting bored. Nighty-night.

Follow her at your own risk.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger

Harold plays for a few minutes longer, obviously in the midst of some intensely-personal reverie. His hazel eyes are closed as he clutches the instrument, his fingers barely even sounding the strings. The sound of his playing is so soft as to be inaudible over the chatter of the inn. His handsome face is quiet and almost serene as he works his way through "The Lay of Catcheman."

Finally, Harold stops playing, lifts his head, and stands. His face is set in a faroff look as he dusts off the crumbs from his pants and makes his way to the bar once more, this time to reserve a room for the night.

[Deepblue706]

The innkeeper provides free rooms for you, as he explains Tieger has already taken care of it.

You manage to sleep well, despite not knowing what may come next, and awake early the next day. It's a warm day with broad, open skies. But, the heat wouldn't be excessive, as there would surely be a cool breeze from the harbor.

When ready to move on with the day, you go to meet with Wyatt, at the room designated. Upon knocking, you hear someone rummaging about, and soon the door creeks open. A short man with large, brown eyes gives you all a quick look, and invites you inside. "Alright, alright, come in. Close the door behind you."

With the door fully open, you watch as Wyatt turns away, hopping and scurrying over scattered piles of paperwork, bound by thin ribbons and rope. There are papers of all kinds pinned to the wall - some appear to be maps, others simply notes. "C'mon, now - don't just stand there, come inside!" He seats himself at a small desk, covered with numerous documents. There is a bed a couple of feet away from where he sits, but there are no chairs to take.

[Too_many_tamale]

Last of all inside is Len, haggard and shuffling drearily. Her face and neck glistens wetly from a hasty visit with a wash basin, and she has clawed most of the hay out of her hair. Somehow, her clothes are mostly clean, if damp and matted down.

Here and there, however, are overlooked rivulets of drying blood, all pointing toward her raw nose and mouth in a violent spray pattern. Gingerly clutching her stomach, she softly coughes away at the sickly bile in her burning throat.

She listens, shakey but alert. Her walk was not much fun.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold enters the cluttered room without much aplomb.
By the brothers...I'll bet he rarely leaves this room at all...
He murmurrs a polite greeting as he looks around, but, seeing no place to sit, merely rocks backwards and forwards on his heels, arms crossed.
As Len staggers into the room, Harold starts.
"Good lord, did you manage to get into another brawl on your way here? What happened?" he asks, concern visible on his face.

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim made himself as comfortable as could be in the sty of a room. Mr. Betruger could negotiate with Wyatt. Fargrim's mind was in another place - imagining the street outside of Wyatt's room, himself making a demand too strong, too difficult for lesser folk. But Len was strong, a warrior. She could take it. She had to.

Unfortunately for Fargrim, he did not see as strong of a warrior as he wanted as Len entered the room.

After Harold expresses his worries, Fargrim makes it a chorus. "Yeah, you don't look so good." Real concern shows in Fargrim's eyes for just a moment, but he quickly pushes the feeling back, telling himself Her appearance can be explained. Don't stray from the plan. You can make her do it.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare has immediately lost whatever interest in Wyatt that he had. "Len! Are you alright? What happened?" He steps towards her and holds out his hands indecisively, before reaching into his voluminous cloak and pulling out a waterskin that he offers to her.

[Too_many_tamale]

Funny; this is the reaction she had always hoped for when she faked illness on harvest day as a girl, but now she feels like a bother.

Len groans as a wave of concern runs through her companions, and she immediately decides that she should have washed up more thoroughly. She gratefully agrees to a sip of water but the annoying, bitter sting in her throat doesn't subside.

"Drank too much." She fibs hoarsely, locking her arms around the nearest three heads in a clumsy group-hug.

"That's all. You guys are great, though." she gamely ruffles hair and hats all around before peering through the group at their forgotten host. The fact that she doesn't smell so great makes a change of subject all the more inviting.

"Mr. Wyatt! Good to meet you; what's the word?"

[ByeLindgren]

Drank too much alcohol and got in a fight, eh? That's a strong-- Group hug. Fargrim's acute senses betray his hopes. ... Smells like anything but liquor. He pales a bit. Oh no...

"I... I can't..." he looks up, shocked that he thought out loud. He seals his lips and looks on.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare gulps as his rather tiny frame is squashed against Len. Finally he chuckles and pats her on the back before sliding away. "Do we need to cancel this meeting? Or do you feel that you can go on?"

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt gives Len a strange look as she stumbles in, and then glances to each other member of the party as he takes a moment to choose his words. With Len drawing the attention, Wyatt snaps at the group.

"Focus, people. This is important. Now, while we want to make sure you chums find well-paying work, we can't just throw anything at you, until you're ready. So, until Tieger and I are convinced the best way to do this is to start with small odd-jobs around the city, and then work our way up." He clears his throat. "I have contact with the constable's offices, and I hear there's some small-time work that should pay rather well: just outside the Merchant's Square is The Silver Arch, a theatre whose productions have come to a screetching halt because of a strange disturbance. This place has a history, and it's run by a fairly well-known man in the city - his name is Julian Gortana. Truth be told, the place isn't as prestigious as it used to be, but Mr. Gortana is desperate nonetheless, because it's just about all he owns, nowadays. Apparently, there has been a presence at the theatre causing mischief, and casting illusions upon the stage that scare off patrons. I think it's possible it may simply be a wizard of some kind - but his motives escape me." He shrugs. "They promised a grand reward, but they didn't say how much. Considering the owners and how dependent they are upon this being fixed, I'm sure it'll be fair enough pay."

He scratches his head. "Of course, we can look into other work for you, but that'll take time. And, we encourage you to look for other means of raising the money if you find what we provide unsuitable - but, I would suggest you take what we offer. We know this city very well." He goes through his papers, and pulls out an envelope. "Ah, yes, we had some letters of introduction forged - they're not much, but they might be able to help you along. Just don't flash them around too much - if someone becomes suspicious and notifies the city guard, you'll probably find yourselves in more trouble than you can handle. Though, I'd only worry about that if you intend to deal with city officials and the elites of the upper-class - most others probably won't think twice." He scratches his head again. "Oh, yeah, and here's a map of the city. It's a bit old, but it's not like any new districts have sprung up, or anything. Try to keep good care of it."

I don't actually have a city map prepared - but if you guys like, I can make one. If you don't mind, then I'll simply reduce the time it takes for you folk to move around the city, and you'll significantly lose the chance of getting lost. Yes, I actually have rules set for that.

[ByeLindgren]

Despite his distracted state, Fargrim manages to pick up on most of Wyatt's speech. "A grand reward for taking care of a troublemaker illusionist, hm? Sounds like our kind of work." He looks towards Len.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
As Len releases her bear hug, Harold raises a hand to his neck, apparently massaging out a kink, his expression somewhat dazed. As Wyatt talks, Harold pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, glances down at it, and then tucks it away once more.
When Wyatt finishes, Harold nods thoughtfully. "A mystery, eh? That's one of my specialties. Sounds like a good place to start, job-wise." Harold steeples his fingers and rests them on his lips, as a man praying.
"Julian Gortana...Hm."
[roll0]

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt takes a moment to ponder to himself. He mutters a bit, and then slaps the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Tieger left licenses for you folks, too. And, a few choice pieces of weaponry, I might add. Fair quality stuff - should serve you well enough." He opens up a small closet, gathering things from inside. When he turns back to you, he holds a morningstar, a broadsword (equivalent of Longsword, mechanically), and a shortbow (and a small quiver of arrows). He nearly loses his grip of the weapons as he brings them back to his desk, and quickly heaves them on-top.

Taking a second to breathe, he looks through his papers some more, and pulls out several small pieces of paper. "Keep these in your purses, or wallets, or some kind of case. They'll warrant you folk to carry weapons like these - but anything larger won't quite do. There's large restrictions on heavy weapons, as those have been deemed only appropriate for the King's guard. Small, concealable weapons are limited, as well. Try not to get caught hiding away a dagger, or anything - that'll get you into serious trouble." He hands over the licenses, and then scratches his head. "Of course, I've got more equipment stored here, if you think you'll need it. I'll have to keep tabs of whatever extra gear you take, though - this stuff isn't cheap."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold snaps his fingers. That's where he'd heard that name before.
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Harold waves away the weapons.
"No, thank you. If it comes down to violence, there's people here far more qualified than myself to provide it. I'm more interested in those letters that you've got for me." A thought strikes him. "Ah, and I could use some new clothes and a disguise kit, though. Those things can wait, however." Harold rubs the bridge of his nose and smiles a winning smile.
"As for solving Mr. Gortana's problem, I'll count on my wit being sharper than my comrades' blades."

[ByeLindgren]

Fargrim takes a gander at his new spiked bludgeon. A small sense of joy rushes through an otherwise troubled conscious as he realizes he is once again equipped to fight and kill for the Holy Father. "You have a plan already?" asks Fargrim, eyes still locked on the morningstar.

[Saterus]

At the mention of concealed weaponry, Ritan frowns. He seems to do a slow count on his fingers, stopping at 7. As Wyatt finishes answering the question, Ritan sits forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "He's right. We'll need better clothes than the ones we fought our way into trouble in. If we show up looking like this, our letters won't do us a bit of good," says Ritan.

"Do you have any clues on what is going on at the theatre? Wizardry isn't exactly my specialty," admits Ritan.

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt's eyes light up, as if he just remembered something. "Ah yes, clothes - Tieger thought you might need some." He approaches the closet once more, and pulls out a large chest. Inside, you spot some fairly clean clothes, neatly folded into squares. "Nothing fancy, but you'll at least look above street trash." He stops a moment, continuing to move his mouth but not actually saying anything. "I mean, not that you look it..." He scratches his head. "A disguise kit...uh...you mean what, a bag full of fake moustaches and makeup? Tieger would know more about that stuff than I - I'll ask him about getting one of those for you. In the mean time, you'll have to make due with this. I think that's everything...but then, I've got so much running on my mind, I can hardly remember all the details of anything..." He trails off for a moment, but comes back shortly. "Oh, um...yeah, so there are rumors of Wizardry, but it's not confirmed. That's just what I'd bet on. A truly malevolent spirit would only be there in case of a death, or something. Nobody's ever died in that theatre, to my knowledge. I'm thinking it might be someone hired by a rival theatre, or something." He laughs. "Maybe some fool thinks he'll make Gortana sell the theatre if he doesn't get anything out of it - I mean, The Silver Arch does have a history, probably would attract people if it had the right productions..." He snaps. "Damn! That's not a bad idea!"

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare's mouth flattens neutrally. "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind helping out at the theater, but what I'd really like to do is take the government down a few pegs. There are tax offices in this city, certainly? Can you gather logistics for us so we can rob one?"

[ByeLindgren]

Faraham has blessed that man with some big... nerve. "Always the smart planner there, Flare. I'm sure everyone else is just as excited as you are to retry that jailbreak attempt, but just for my sake, let's try the safer job first."

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt pauses. He seems to disbelieve Flare's comment. "Rob...a tax office? That's a good one, kiddo!" He laughs. "What makes you think you could pull it off?" He cannot help but grin.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare isn't deterred. "Because I'm a sorcerer, and my companions are even more talented. We'll do this theater job. Just get things ready for us for when we're done. We'll need guard schedules, a security rundown, an entry point, and so on. It won't be a problem at all with someone like you supporting us, will it?"

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt's grin fades. He seems baffled. "Magician or no, that's biting off a bit more than a lot can chew. You realize the government buildings are very well-warded...right? I mean, they make sure things are tight. It's not a simple job. Frankly, I don't think we have enough time to properly plan an operation of that magnitude. But, if you'd prefer I deter my efforts from what Tieger deems a more effective approach, and pool everything into a tax office op...yeah, maybe I could help you set it up. But to tell you the truth, I'd bet on you lot on getting caught. Professional thieves have tried jobs like that - and I don't recall the last time I heard any of them succeeding. But then, it's your decision, since it's your fate. Well, I guess it's Tieger's too, but I guess you wouldn't care about what happens to him, huh." He scratches his chin.

[Too_many_tamale]

In spite of her near-delirium, Len takes the trouble to eye the broadsword skeptically. She has always taken her weaponry seriously.

Although glorified above any other arm, swords are the last resort on the battlefield as their inherently close quarters fighting is difficult to control in the thrashing chaos. That's one place Len would prefer to avoid no matter what is at her side, however.

Not about to complain and suspecting that its at least a better fit than the bow, she reaches out and closes her hand around the blade. Its sharp, but thankfully not too much so; a good pair of gloves will let her half-hand this weapon like a master.

Oh, all right...

Suppressing a frown at how light and just plain inadequate the weapon feels, she shoves it into the goatskin sheath and roots through the clothing bin for some gloves, as well as anything in cotton. Wool is itchy.

I know, I know. A 4 lb blade wouldn't be trivial to you or me, but Len's accustomed to swinging around what amounts to gym dumbells.

Still weak from her episode last night, Len remains tuned out of Flare's discussion and tucks the weapon under her arm, burying her nose in the map.

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold snaps his fingers.
"Y'know, if you're having trouble figuring out what I need as far as disguise goes, I'm sure I can pick up something at the theatre. Negotiate it as an added bonus on our fee, maybe. Maybe even a good set of noble's clothes or guardsman's uniforms. Possibilities..."
However, he rolls his eyes as Flare lays out his intentions.
"Tax office; bad idea. Not only do you have to time things just right, and there aren't many reasons why money would be leaving the office in the first place." Harold rubs an eyebrow.
"Shipping magnate or banking office; much better. With the right letters of recommendation, the right bearing and the proper clothes, they'll even hold the door open for us as we leave. Money's always going in or out of those offices, and a few transactions can be slipped by quite easily."
He waves a hand.
[COLOR="blue"]"But that's for later. To tell you the truth, I'm somewhat intruged by this theatre mystery. Besides, as a musician and performer, I feel it is my civic responsibility, nay, my duty to ensure that it gets back up and running.[COLOR]

Harold browses through the bin for something...elegant, as well as something official-looking.

[Deepblue706]

The Chest contains the following:

3 Explorer's Outfits
2 Artisan's Outfits
2 Scholar's Outfits
4 Traveler's Outfits

[Too_many_tamale]

Still poring over the map, Len also reaches into the bin and fumbles around for some fresh clothes. She accidentally grabs a nice shirt in Harold's hand, leaving faint black smudges.

"Aww, sorry." Which somehow reminds her: "Say, don't forget to share your loan idea with Wyatt and see if there's anything to it."

She finally finds some plain traveling clothes, which she adds to the bundle under her arm. Making several abortive attempts to re-fold the map, she meanders by Fargrim while the paper squawks torturedly under the abuse.

*rumple-rumple-crunchity-crunk*

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
"Ah, so it was a Chimney you got into a fight with." He sighs and looks down at the besmirched shirt sorrowfully. "Nevermind. Let it pass. I suppose around you folk, I should get used to the idea that clean shirts will be a rare luxury."
Nonetheless, Harold picks up a scholar's outfit and carefully folds it away.
"Mr. Wyatt," he says, straightening up. "Those letters?"

[Deepblue706]

Wyatt points to the envelope that he earlier pulled from his mess, which now stands on a mountain of papers on the table before him. "In there. It's not sealed. I ran out of scroll cases, thought that'd hold it fine enough."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
"Hmm." Harold reaches forward and examines the envelope's contents. "I'll be needing either a scroll case or separate envelopes for each one. Some sealing wax would be nice, as well. The look is everything when it comes to this sort of thing. Can you provide it?"
Harold concentrates on the letters, determining the tone of the message, and noting the signee.

[EvilRoeSlade]

Flare glances at Harold and nods briefly. "Well, go ahead and pick the softest target you can find. Shouldn't be too hard to bribe our way in with all the corruption, should it? Now, you didn't get weapons for me or Harold. Can you give us directions to a shop that sells them?"

[Deepblue706]

The letters seem well written, and multiple signees can be noted. You count several for each name: D'Anrise, DeBenedetto, Capolici... "I'm kind of in short-supply as far as containers go, around here...but yeah, I can pick up some more, if you give me some time." He scratches his head. "As I said, those are forgeries - show them to chumps, and you'll be fine. Try flashing them in big-time establishments, however...they might simply get you into trouble. We made a bunch with different names so that if one gets seen-through, you still have others to fall back on. Sound good?"

He turns to Flare. "I gave you your licenses, you can reclaim what weaponry they didn't lock away for evidence, over at Magistrate Eisen's offices. From my understanding, that means anything held by you, Fargrim, or Harold is accessable. Again, if you'd like me to provide you with more equipment, you're going to have to owe me."

[The Great Skenardo]

Harold Betruger
Harold tries to recall if he recognizes any of these names.
[roll0]
He nods.
"Yes, these are be used sparingly, of course. My main concern is that they seem to be a fairly official endorsement of whatever I happen to be doing at the time. You know the kind of thing; credit advances in someone else's name, license to pick up small shipments, etc."