Amaranthine Oblivion (IC)

[Nettlekid]

Across the rolling green fields, glistening dewdrops begin to fade into nonexistence as the sun sits comfortably in the morning sky. The air carried by the warm breeze brings with it the gentle perfumes of blooming flowers and drying grasses. The weight of the sunlight is the true marker of the tomb of spring, as summer's heat is just around the corner and bound to make itself all the more pronounced the further west one travels. The climbing sun draws back as a curtain the wide shadow stretching across the eastern half of the merchant town of Burrett, cast by the towering palisades of sharpened logs forming a defensible barricade around the square mile of land. Intimidating though the fortifications may be from both outside and within, wealth-laden merchants rest easy in the taverns and the Temple of Fharlanghn knowing that no band of Goblins can march through and plunder at their leisure. Always within line of sight is an armed guard, most often a Human or Half-Elf wearing clattering scale mail adorned with the crest marking them as affiliated with Magnalia's standing army, a shield strapped to their arm and a sheathed longsword at the waist. Public servants for whom the fast-paced life of the City Watch in Amaranth was too hectic, they have grown idle due to a lack of active threats and are mostly content to direct civilians or break up the occasional tavern squabble. With greater exposure to a variety of figures they are on average more respectful of different races and ideologies, unless those different races and ideologies are trying to push past the checkpoints into the city without identifying themselves or allowing inspection of their wares.

The interior of Burrett is less dense than the business might suggest - while the land most adjacent to the walls is filled with slightly disorderly avenues of permanent houses (most left temporarily unused as their owners are out doing other things in the world) much of the interior is divided out into gated plots of land. Confident and capable entrepreneurs rent out space in these empty lots to the merchant caravans riding through town, thoroughly cataloguing the inventories of the merchants renting the space and issuing receipts. Armed with sturdy fences and wire, trained guard animals, hired staff, or sometimes magical aid these lots are protected against burglary, allowing merchants to put their minds at ease while spending a few days in the town. The streets at the center of town are usually lined with vendors who are taking the opportunity to lighten their loads by selling wares to other interested parties crossing paths, a practice largely frowned upon by organizations like Amaranth's Merchants' Guild who miss out on import taxes from goods sold outside Amaranth city limits. It's very difficult to prevent this kind of trading however when it could just happen outside of Burrett's walls should the guards try to crack down on it, and most of the guards take pleasure in picking up curiosities or exotic supplies and as a result don't enforce the will of the Merchants' Guild all that forcefully.

Commonly seen are those of Elven blood trading in carpentry and tanned hides or produce and spices harvested by Halflings. It's not as often that Dwarven supplies come through across the strait, bringing solid iron or cut gems with them and catching the eye of anyone passing their stalls. Yet it's just one such merchant wagon that brings you all together this day, a company of three Dwarves and a wagon of bound crates. Your employer for this trek is one Baedur Fieson, a sturdily built Mountain Dwarf whose beard is beginning to show the age the rest of his face screams. He and his two younger nephews Elrus and Verrun Gunjand are originally from the capital of Drunvuur, he told you, but have been living in Dustrun for several years. As the voyage across the desert is too perilous to risk with any regularity for all but the most tenacious and determined, these three have served as points of contact with their extended family in Drunvuur to bring iron ingots and rough-cut gemstones to the southern continent.

It's late morning as the group gathers at the place Baedur bade you to meet, the crossroads near the southwestern side of town. As though on cue the older Dwarf appears with the clanking of metal plates, well-worn but still functional half plate doing nothing to slow his stout figure. A few paces back his two nephews, both clad in lighter studded leather, wrangle the similarly stout mule dragging their wagon. None of the three carry weapons at their sides, which is presumably why they've hired you.
"We'll be off shortly," Baedur nods to you, not bothering with so much as a "good morning." "I appreciate how quickly you four have risen to the task. These roads are kinder than many, but better safe than sorry. What with the fees due to the Guild it's work just to break even, so being waylaid or assaulted would be disastrous."
He reaches into one of many pockets sewn into the interior of his armor, and withdraws four small pouches.
"As agreed upon, here are ten silver pieces for each of you to be paid up front, with the rest upon arrival in Amaranth. If there are supplies you hope to purchase for the trip I recommend you take a few minutes to do so. The boys and I will be a few minutes bringing the old girl to the gates - we'll see you down there."




Player
Character
Race and Class
Color


Rizz
Kellis (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1370267)
Half-Elf Paladin
Teal


Stubbazubba
Halad Magorion (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1373253)
Half-Elf Rogue
Fire Brick


Ajadea
Kurche Leverett (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1371295)
Half-Orc Wizard
Indigo





1. What game system are you running (D&D, Call of Cthulu, Palladium, GURPS, etc.), and if applicable what edition (Original, Classic, Revised, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 10th, etc.)?
This will be D&D 5e.

2. What 'type' or variant of game will it be (i.e. "Shadow Chasers" or "Agents of Psi" for d20 Modern)? What is the setting for the game (eg. historic period, published or homebrewed campaign setting, alternate reality, modern world, etc.)?
Standard D&D medieval fantasy, using a campaign world of my design.

3. How many Players are you looking for? Will you be taking alternates, and if so, how many?
Not too many. A larger group slows down the game. Probably 3 or 4, 5 at the very most. Alternatively I might be curious about a Solo game. I guess it depends on the submissions.

4. What's the gaming medium (OOTS, chat, e-mail etc.)?
Here on the forums.

5. What is the characters' starting status (i.e. experience level)?
1st level. Humble beginnings.

6. How much gold or other starting funds will the characters begin with?
Standard starting equipment for class and background, plus 500 silver pieces to spend on equipment. We'll be using the Silver Standard, rather than the Gold Standard. Silver is now worth 100 copper, gold is 100 silver, and platinum is 100 gold. Silver is the most frequently traded coin, not gold. The only edits you need to make are that any item priced in the PHB in GP, just call it SP instead. This has no mechanical effect (except that any items priced with SP originally are now 1/10 the price, since the price measured in CP is the same) but I like that it makes gold feel more valuable. The idea that to pay for a suit of plate armor you can toss down over a thousand silver pieces or a mere fifteen gold makes gold feel like a powerful coin, to say nothing of platinum.

7. Are there any particular character classes, professions, orders, etc. that you want... or do not want? What are your rules on 'prestige' and/or homebrewed classes?
No Homebrew. UA is tentatively allowed but check with me for each item of UA you want to use. If you use anything that ends up in Xanathar's Guide to Everything then when that comes out it'll supersede the UA. The Mystic is the exception - it will not be allowed.

8. What races, subraces, species, etc. are allowed for your game? Will you allow homebrewed races or species? 'Prestige' races or species?
All races from available sources including EE and Volo's Guide including the monstrous demi-humans from Volo's Guide, except for Variant Humans, Yuan-Ti, Aarakocra, the Winged variant of Tiefling, and Revenants. The UA Eberron races are not available. You may replace all Orc racial stats and traits with those of Half-Orcs if you want.

9. By what method should Players generate their attributes/ability scores and Hit Points?
Standard array of 15/14/13/12/10/8, and then after adding racial stats you may add two points wherever you please (two on the same stat or one on two different stats). You may turn the 8 into a lower number if you want to have a very low stat for fun/roleplaying, but gain no additional benefit for doing so. Max HP at first level, average-rounded-up (d4=3, d8=5, d12=7, etc) each level after.

10. Does your game use alignment? What are your restrictions, if so?
I like alignments played straight. You're very unlikely to be chosen if you're CE unless somehow the entire party is. All other alignments are justifiable in some way or another as long as you get along with the rest of the party. I don't want to see any Chaotic Stupid. Jack Sparrow, not Charlie Kelly. Same applies for Stupid Evil.

11. Do you allow multi-classing, or have any particular rules in regards to it?
Standard multiclassing rules, but I won't accept any concept that just doesn't make sense or is too much of a hodgepodge. If it looks like you're just making optimal choices rather than blending into a coherent character, I won't accept it. You can certainly make a number of multiclassing options if you justify it, but I don't want the justification to be an afterthought. I want a fleshed-out character, not just a build.

12. Will you be doing all of the die rolling during the course of the game? Will die rolls be altered, or left to the honor system? If players can make die rolls, which ones do they make, how should they make the rolls, and how should they report them?
I will be making passive rolls for you like initiative when combat begins or saves against an attack out of your turn. You can make all the active rolls you want, like Perception or Stealth or social skills. And only you will be doing those, so I'm not going to let you know if your Insight picks up anything on a guy that you didn't choose to roll against unless your modifier is higher than the DC (and so you succeed without rolling). Anything else I'll roll.

13. Are there any homebrewed or optional/variant rules that your Players should know about? If so, list and explain them, or provide relevant links to learn about these new rules.

The Silver Standard I described above is in effect.

Everyone gets a bonus feat (not ASI, unless there's a +1-to-a-stat folded into the feat you choose) at first level. Combined with the free +2 ability points I gave during stat generation, you basically start off with both a feat and an ASI at level 1, and then you get your normal choice at level 4. What can I say, I like seeing characters with a little extra oomph and a little customization.

Dragonborn have a chance of recharging their breath weapon every turn by rolling a 5 or 6 on a d6, like a real dragon.

Starting at level 1 Paladins may expend uses of their Divine Sense in the same manner as Divine Smite, adding a single 1d8 radiant damage to their weapon damage.

We're using Matt Mercer's Resurrection Ritual rules, in which returning from the dead requires a successful check on the part of the DM with a base DC of 10, -3 for each successful contribution to the ritual and +1 for each failed contribution (to a maximum of 3 contributions) and +1 for each previous resurrection.

Every time a character falls unconscious and starts making death saves they also gain a level of Exhaustion. This is to avoid bouncing up and down from alive to dying like five times in one fight, and to demonstrate the stress of near-death experiences.

Drinking a potion yourself takes only a Bonus Action. Administering one still requires an Action.

Anything that can be done using a Bonus Action can also be done using a regular Action. The reverse is not the case.

If a spellcaster uses their Action or Bonus Action to cast any spell of higher than 2nd level then they may only cast spells of 2nd level or lower for the rest of their turn. This replaces the whole "can only cast a cantrip" thing. Spells cast with a greater effect at a higher level count as higher level spells, but spells cast with the same effect but just out of a higher slot don't.

In addition to its usual benefits the War Caster feat also allows you to treat a weapon and/or shield as a spellcasting focus, and you may manipulate expensive material components while holding these items.

A character can identify a spell being cast by making an Arcana check if the caster is a Sorcerer, Wizard, Bard, or Warlock, a Religion check if the caster is a Cleric or Paladin, or a Nature check if the caster is a Druid or Ranger. Alternatively a spellcasting character can make an ability check with their spellcasting ability modifier. A character adds their Proficiency bonus to this check if the spell in question appears on their spell list, and automatically succeeds if it is a spell they are currently able to cast (either by having it as a known spell or having it prepared.) The DC in all cases is 10+the spell’s level. Beating the DC by 5 reveals the level the spell is being cast at.

By making a Constitution saving throw (DC=10+the higher of the two spells’ levels) you may cast a spell requiring Concentration without losing Concentration on a previously cast spell if you choose to allow the second spell to end at the start of your next turn, effectively reducing the second spell’s duration to 1 round. The decision to allow Concentration to lapse on the second spell is made at the start of your next turn, allowing you to maintain Concentration on two spells simultaneously for a single round before deciding which to end. Failure on this Constitution saving throw causes both spells to end, the second fizzling without any effect.

A Critical Hit doubles damage dice as normal, but the first of those damage dice is automatically maximized.

Should multiclassing choices result in acquiring a redundant Extra Attack class feature, replace it with a Feat/ASI.

If a melee attack using Strength damages an undamaged target and brings them down to 0 HP, the attacker may make this a cleaving strike. If the original attack roll would hit another target within reach then the new target takes the remaining damage dealt by the attack. If they were also undamaged and this takes them to 0 HP then this chain can continue until the criteria is no longer met.

If a PC rolls a Nat 1 on an attack roll using Strength, they may opt to use their Reaction to make a Strength check with a DC equal to the target’s AC. If they succeed they instead count the die roll as a Nat 20. Whether the check succeeds or not, the weapon the PC is using for the attack is destroyed immediately after dealing damage. If you can make multiple attacks using one Attack action, destroying your weapon ends your Attack action.

Initiative will be grouped between "enemies" and "players" in big lumps for ease of posting. Party initiative will be based on the average of party rolls. Out-of-order initiative is permitted (and thus by extension Delaying Actions in addition to Readied Actions) because I don't want players to have to wait for others to post in order to go. A limitation of the PbP format, one we'll have to work with.

For the sake of removing unnecessary dice rolls and representing character competence, a character can auto-succeed on any ability check whose DC is equal to or lower than the relevant ability score-10, or the ability score-5 if their proficiency bonus applies to the check. So someone with Dexterity 20 can auto-succeed on any Dexterity check with a DC of 10 or lower, or an Acrobatics, Sleight of Hand, or Stealth check with a DC of 15 or lower if they are proficient in the pertinent skill.

You may always choose OoC to fail the action your character is attempting if you want to, even if your character is trying their hardest to succeed.

14. Is a character background required? If so, how big? Are you looking for anything in particular (i.e. the backgrounds all ending up with the characters in the same city)?
I do like a backstory that gives me something to tie into the game, but I'm just not going to read anything too long and dry, so be tactful about length and interest. I'd rather see a story about why your character's personality is what it is than a story that boils down to bullet points of "Here's how they got Class X, here's how they got Feat Y." As your characters are still up-and-comers you needn't have harrowing feats of skill or grand tragedies all parceled in, it can just be whatever gave you a sense of motivation.

You may receive some extra information about the part of the world you're from, and I may ask some contextualizing questions based on pertinent racial politics.

While you're free to coordinate with other potential players in working one another into a backstory, be very aware that one person may be accepted and another not, so don't tie them together inextricably.

15. Does your game involve a lot of hack & slash, puzzle solving, roleplaying, or a combination of the above?
Normally I prefer roleplaying, dialogue, and intrigue to hack and slash. I've tried to design this setting with hooks that feature all of the above, some adventures favoring one over the others. Usually you'll be able to roleplay your way out of combat, or fight your way through dialogue, though not always.

16. Are your Players restricted to particular rulebooks and supplements, or will you be allowing access to non-standard material? What sources can Players use for their characters?
All published books are available, and UA material is likely allowed but has to be checked on a case-by-case basis.




Map of Opus (http://img.pixady.com/2017/10/954211_map_664807512_marked.png)

The explorable world of Opus is divided between six great territories: Magnalia, Eornal, Resswald, Cyridhi, Solthlune, and Kynea. On most maps Magnalia is positioned in the center and to the south, a nation of largely Human population and great industry. On the eastern coast, bordering the oceans, are the Elf-dominated territories of Eornal marked by glades of towering trees. The Elven capital city Teurilaine stands out above the trees, buildings of wood and marble rising out, but the smaller Elven and Halfling habitations are interwoven into the forest and hidden from the average eye. To the west, across a vast desert and into the mountains, is the Dwarf-centric domain of Resswald. The villages and capital of Drunvuur are all dug into the stones of the mountains, and reach deep into the earth where it breaches into the Underdark whose paths riddle the underbelly of the continent, and the Dwarf and Gnomish villages are burrowed into the foothills. Further northwest of Resswald in the sparse forests and cold tundra is Cyridhi, a land of hardy Humans and the occasional band of Orcs. Separated by the oceans to the north is a smaller continent of purely Human population known as the Holy City of Solthlune, seat of the Empire. And halfway around the world from Magnalia is the jungle archipelago that is untamed Kynea.

There are a few peculiarities in this world that are common knowledge to its inhabitants, for this is how things have always been. The first is the presence of Dungeons, mysterious monuments and structures appearing out of thin air. These Dungeons usually follow the theme of the territory in which they appear, are filled with formidable creatures, and contain valuable wealth and riches for any who can plumb their depths before they disappear as quickly as they appeared. While many efforts have been made, so far no one has been capable of explaining the behavior of these Dungeons or predicting their next appearance.

The next oddity is the prevalence of Gems, six-inch purple crystals found uncommonly all over the world. They glow with a faint inner light but appear by all scrutiny to be entirely nonmagical. No natural formation of Gems has ever been discovered or recorded – all record of acquisition of a Gem has been from someone who already owned one. They can be assumed to have been created on the Material Plane, as they cannot pass through planar boundaries. Fortunately, they are also entirely indestructible, so the issue of needing new ones has not arisen. Anyone of significant social stature is bound to own at least one, and there are hundreds around the world.

The next is the presence of the dark arts, a corruption of magic using life force in some way. While the existence of these techniques is known and frequently warned against within most magical communities, the actual art and practice and effects are unknown to all but those who either seek out this forbidden knowledge from others who already know or those who discover it through a grisly process of trial and error.

Magnalia is the third-largest nation but the most populated, thanks to its booming urbanization and trading industry. The pinnacle of industry within Magnalia is Amaranth, home of the Magistrate who governs the central territory. Amaranth is a focus for trade throughout the continents which are riddled with paths and trade routes. While the urban environment lends itself to an eclectic mix of races all pursuing their trades in the bustling environment of the big city, there is an unmistakably Human-dominated atmosphere which on occasion causes tension between territories commanded by other races who have a longer-standing claim on the land which Human populations are encroaching on. The center of the continent is a temperate grassland whose grounds made easy work for earth roads to be packed and canals to be dug, and the villagers of trading towns like Burrett, Vennington, and Hyll to name a few are used to travelers from the three great nations passing through on the route to sell wares in other cities. These towns, while modest, are economically booming and necessary for the lifeblood of trade through Magnalia, as the longest journeys across the country can take a month on horseback and twice that with cargo-laden beasts of burden. Without these towns to chart a route through traders would be at risk of bandit attacks, and often can be persuaded to let some of their cargo go at a reduced price for the benefit of not having to continue shipping it all the way to their destination. It's said that some of the smartest economic minds on the continent are not in the glitzy, glamorous Amaranth but instead holed up in the many no-name outposts.
The city-state of Amaranth is the greatest power in Magnalia, and arguably the world. Originally a temperate forest where colonists from Solthlune who crossed The Long Fall and the Klast Sea found resources and habitable terrain, it exploded into an economic power as a result of the Humans' enterprise, the mediation between cultural powers of Resswald and Eornal, and the symbiosis where Solthlune lent military might to its colony in exchange for the tithes and resources delivered back from Amaranth. Initial exchanges between the Elves of Eornal and the Humans of Amaranth were cordial, but it quickly became apparent that the Humans were set to expand their spheres of influence and were prepared to fight to do so. After pushing back the grassland Elves into the forest the Humans packed the earthen roads and founded numerous villages for travelers and traders and locked itself in as a superpower in the region, much to the mistrust of the Elves.

Money talks in Amaranth. Amaranth is a complex, multifaceted city, but at the heart of it only the financially successful thrive. The Magistrate, one Maxirennan Gilderoy, mediates payment of taxes and resources to Solthlune, and those resources are harvested from the population by the hawklike oversight of the Merchant's Guild in tandem with the illicit activities provided by the Thieves Guild. The Explorer's Guild is among the most respected organizations of adventurers in the land and stands out against Amaranth's mildly xenophobic tendencies, and Paracelsus Academy for the Study of Arcane Science is unrivaled in its prestige for churning out world-changing wizards.



The Elves of Eornal are pretty divided in their mentalities, some being more militant and active and others valuing artistry and reflection, but their society is universally quite spiritual. It's not as church-focused as the Empire save for respects paid to Corellon Larethian, Ehlonna, and Obad-Hai, but they have a fairly Druidic approach to natural order even if very few are actual Druids. Their society tries to invade on nature as little as possible, working with naturally fallen trees as lumber or magically growing the trees to suit their purposes rather than chopping any down. At the same time, they consider themselves to be an apex in the natural order and own the right to use nature as they please, being at the top of it. As such they tolerate pretty much all creatures types apart from Undead, Constructs, and Aberrations as part of the natural order, as long as those creatures stay in their lane. Even though some magical beasts are as intelligent as any humanoid creature the Elves would consider them to be beasts rather than people. They wouldn't be afforded any legal protection as humanoids under Elf law, which means that among other things the killing a sentient creature like a werewolf is no more than a minor offense and isn't an issue that would be brought to court or tribunal. Then again if these creatures keep to themselves then the Elves would treat them like normal animals and not attack them on sight or anything like that. The result is that the forests of Eornal are full of exotic and wild creatures who often harbor resentment toward humanoids.

The Dwarves of Resswald base value in their society off of labor and craftsmanship. Anyone, regardless of race or belief, can grow to become a respected member of Dwarven society if they prove that they are willing to put their nose to the grindstone and work for the benefit of the Dwarven people. Most up-and-comers are found carving through the depths of the mountain, working to spread out the city and add to the labyrinth of tunnels reaching into the bowels of the continent. Even members of the Dwarven government, who convene routinely to discuss the direction of society, are known to take a pick and shovel on their off days and chip away at the stone. As it was through this kind of work that they rose to their position, many find it relaxing to revisit their personal histories. Dwarves who find that kind of direct physical labor exhausting usually turn to crafting instead, working with the stone and metals that the Dwarves collect in excess, or doing their own carving by making homes and dwellings in the new tunnels. Yet others who find this kind of toil tiresome take to the crusade, warring against the Aberrations of the Underdark who see the Dwarf tunnels as an intermediate step before invading the surface. Dwarven society is thus open to peculiar creatures and oftentimes monstrous races with impressive natural strength will outshine the work of regular Dwarves, though the Dwarves are fair and judge an individual not solely by accomplishment but by effort and taking natural talent into perspective.


At the crest of the world, beyond the flattening hills at the edge of Resswald, is a cold and harsh wasteland that's claimed by the Humans of Cyridhi. These Humans are natives of the land the same as the Elves and Dwarves, not descended from Solthlunian colonists like most of Amaranth. They are a simpler people with a gruff culture, as the wastes reward effort only with survival. They value strength, but strength is not just muscle. Any who show themselves to excel at a craft or skill is considered strong. These Humans are deeply social and band together to lash out at threats against their community like monsters or invaders. Exile is akin to execution as it means either death in the wild or isolation among the alien societies down south, and so it is reserved only for heinous criminals whose actions threaten the safety of the clan. While it is uncommon for any clan to leave their village all at once, foragers or adventurers may splinter off to explore other parts of the waste and come across another clan, especially if they cross the waters to other islands. Enough interchange between clans or marriage between them may encourage one group to move to join with another. Foreigners from down south are usually treated with mistrust initially, but welcomed and embraced if they either do a great service for a village or simply stay long enough without causing trouble.


Across the northern ocean from Magnalia is the continent Solthlune, center of the Solthlunian Empire to which the Magistrate of Amaranth reports. Solthlune holds a strongly theistic society in which the Emperor, here one Emperor Pemberton Valentine VII, is considered to have divine authority and deific endorsement. Churches of gods supporting Law and Good are strongly supported in Solthlune, while those of Chaos are tolerated to a lesser degree and those of Evil are not permitted open worship. It's through the churches that money flows in Solthlune. Government subsidies for clerical study mean that there is a high proportion of healers on the continent, which in turn means that the destitute population is nonexistent due to even acolyte Clerics being able to conjure food and water or heal the wounds of the sick and injured. The flipside of this is that to be taken care of by the church requires the declaration of ones loyalty to the church in question, though most don't question this practice. It also means that joining the church is the fastest way to a better lifestyle, and as a result Solthlune's other fields of scientific investigation or technological innovation are lacking in comparison. Due to the strong theocracy there is the prevailing sentiment that humanity isn't meant to shape the world, for such is the domain of the gods, and only the humans whom the gods have blessed have that right. As a result arcane magic is decried as sinfully stealing the domain of the gods and has been outlawed.

The populated region of Solthlune is far smaller than Magnalia and of an even more temperate climate, predominantly composed of plains and rocky outcroppings. It contains fewer natural resources than Magnalia which have been heavily consumed, making Magnalia a prized colony for imports. The less populated regions actually comprise the majority of the continent, but the terrain is rough and rocky and inhospitable. Solthlune holds a strongly pro-Human cause which manifested long ago as a templar-propelled crusade which eradicated the vast majority of monstrous creatures. The few which remained retreated either to the furthest edges of the rocky northern terrain or into the caves of the Underdark and out of the minds of the population. In some of the borders between thoroughly inhospitable and manageable, enterprising Humans have taken to keeping controlled farms of monstrous creatures such as Blink Dogs, Gargoyles, Griffons, and Worgs, and infrequently more dangerous creatures like Chimeras, Hydras, and Displacer Beasts for hides and other products. These farms are legally permitted but socially frowned upon (despite the ever-increasing demand for the products of the farms) and as such heavily taxed. If a farm fails to pay taxes, is discovered to have been operating outside proper channels, or loses control of their livestock, the livestock in question will be unceremoniously slaughtered by the knight-templars of the Solthlunian capitol Holy Vale.


Separated by churning waterways from western Resswald and southern Cyridhi is the largely unexplored continent of Kynea. Kynea is a much warmer and more humid climate, and catching more sunlight explains the overgrowth of broad-leafed plants that both rise high into the air and tangle themselves into knots on the jungle floor. A number of factors have limited thorough exploration of Kynea. For starters, the oppressive heat and obstructive foliage make any forward progress twice as draining as normal, and many expeditions retreat having exhausted their supplies early. The environment is also highly hazardous, as flora and fauna alike are toxic, caustic, or hallucinogenic. Taxonomic errors have claimed many lives, which in turn hinders proper categorization of these dangerous plants and animals. Finally, it is suspected but not confirmed that several of the sapient monstrous races with intelligence equaling or exceeding that of the Humans who took hold of Solthlune made Kynea their new home. This theory is substantiated mostly by a lack of evidence - that is to say, any exploration party that might have feasibly discovered one of these races has not returned from its expedition.




OoC (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?540116-Amaranthine-Oblivion-(OoC))

[TheFederalist]

Over a particularly grassy knoll that was somewhere near the walls of Burrett, there lay the silence of an early morning, covering the mound of earth with a veil much like the embrace of a mother. The only movement to disturb the stillness of the living image that had formed seemed to be the swaying of each blade of grass in the winds, and the rolling of the morning dew to the earth in its unending cycle. Picturesque was how one could describe the scene, were it not for the blot sitting with crossed legs in the middle of it all. As odd as it would seem, the figure was hunched over, focused on a blank piece of paper laying in between its legs, and hand hovering above it with quill in hand.

Confused by this oddity in its usually untouched playground, a bird would flutter down next to the figure, attempting to investigate the unmoving form it could. A peck made against the leathery harness on the figure drew no response, and thus the bird continued with further interest. Was the figure dead? asked its mind, as it whistled slowly and hopped onto one of the raised legs. Its feathers began to ruffle in what felt like steady breathing, causing it to twist its tiny head towards the figure's face.

"Heya, lil' fella."

The bird, upon hearing this, immediately hopped off the leg in a spur of activity, realizing that it was one of those humans from the city nearby. The figure began to move, bringing the dripping quill in its hand to the paper in its lap to begin writing. Within the second, there lay a title squarely in the middle of the paper, "DWARVES TAXED INTO LOSS OF PROFIT MARGIN, END OF SPICE AND METAL TRADE?", written in both the script of Common and Elvish.

The man then moved his body for the first time in half an hour, rising slowly as he took his time to stretch and crack every joint he could find or be bothered to go after. Once on his feet, the half elf looked towards the sky, allowing the full light of the sun to shine upon him, before he whispered, to nobody in particular:

"Balls to this."

---------


With a outstretched palm, Reagan allowed the pouch to fall right into his hands, and undid it to take a quick glance at its contents. Secure in his advance payment, something he hadn't even expected to have been given to him, he flashed his employer a quick smile, before saying "Every day it seems as though we might be falling behind on serving our lords and masters their well deserved coins, with their low taxation rates. How will each and every noble and public servant have a dragon hoard of gold in their summer homes, on which to rest, if they only take so little of the reward of all your hard work? Silly, if you ask me."

With his obvious agenda established, Reagan took a second to run his fingers back through his hair, revealing rounded yet long ears for a split second. He had hoped that perhaps his name had at least reached Burrett, or some idea of a 'half elf writing rampaging satire for the populace', and so he had made every effort to make his presence, or existence known, but with the complete lack of response he seemed to have gotten, his ego had been put soundly in check. Still, it didn't hurt to check with his employer, though it was most certainly a futile attempt.

"May as well head down with you, friend." he said, as the dwarf bade them off, realizing that there was really nothing he could buy more so than he already had. With a week and a half of rations, and enough ink and paper to waste time on during downtime, he felt set.

Or at least, as set as his urbanite mind was going to get for such travel without any added fear or paranoia.

[Stubbazubba]

Halad threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing a mess of blond curls, half-pointed ears, and a prominent scar running from the edge of his eyebrow, around the edge of his eye, to the middle of his cheek. The scar he had added. Nothing like a false distinguishing feature to obscure one's identity in the future. As the half-elf beside him launched into an eloquent lament of the low tax rate, Halad initially raised an eyebrow, quite taken aback. After a moment, Reagan's satirical tone registered, and Halad smiled slightly. Perhaps this wouldn't be too unbearable of an odd job.

Halad nodded and took the bag of coins, which went into a pouch on his belt. "Master Fieson, pardon my ignorance, but I've never trekked this route with a Dwarven shipment; about how long does it usually take your caravan to reach Amaranth?"

[Ajadea]

Kurche sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the trio of half-elves she is waiting a short distance away from, taller than all even with a slight slouch in her posture. Her severe bun and wire-rimmed spectacles suggest "librarian", while her heavy oaken staff and simple tunic and skirt make her look more like a traveler. The fangs just complete the oddity. She snaps her book shut as the trio of dwarves approach and takes one of the pouches, weighing it in her hand.

"My preparations are complete, Master Fieson. I will meet you there shortly," she says. Apparently satisfied with the silver, she puts it away in her belt pouch. She looks over at the lamenting half-elf, not quite glaring but certainly unimpressed. "You have a big mouth. Be careful with that in Amaranth, before someone sews it shut." Kurche tucks her book under her arm and starts off towards the gates.

[Rizz]

Kellis lead his horse through the town, looking about himself as he made his way to the meeting point. He had been to Burrett on several occasions, but having spent little time among this many people, he felt somewhat crowded. The sun rested on the tips of his long ears - peeking out through his mane of brown, shoulder length hair - just as it heated the plates of his armor, cloaking him in a warmth that he had come to find comforting. He hooded his blue eyes against the sun as he glanced around, observing the people go about their daily business.

He arrived at the meeting point early, expecting to wait on what he anticipated would be less punctual members of the group. He was pleasantly surprised to find his wait a short one as Baedur - followed by Elrus and Verrun - quickly appeared and approached the crossroads.

Giving a brief nod if eyes met, Kellis took note of the other individuals to whom Baedur tossed the small sacks of coin, making quick assessments of what he might expect of them if the skills for which they were presumably hired became necessary. He uttered a simple "Thank you" as his advance fell into his hands. He checked the contents quickly before dropping it into his belt pouch.

As he surveyed the wagon and the crates it contained, Kellis' ears perked up slightly as one of his companions began a decidedly wordy speech about taxes. Knowing enough to understand the sarcasm in the tone, yet not enough to have anything of import to add to the subject, Kellis remained silent. With a long trek ahead of him he knew he would have to communicate at some point, but he decided that, until adressed directly, he would leave his reservations intact. He did, however, let out a small chuckle at the blunt and matter-of-fact reply of the half-orc with whom he would be travelling.

Despite having risen early in the morning in order to give himself plenty of time to make final preparations before departing, he resorted to checking his gear yet another time. While his time spent with both Abeny and Rasmus had taught him how to prepare well for a long trip, as well as the eventuality of conflict on the road, he felt a twinge of anxiousness at the thought of truly setting out without either of them for the first time. He found that the methodical inspections helped to calm his nerves.

With Baedur having provided what amounted to a dismissal in Kellis' ears, he began to lead his horse once more, this time toward the gates. He was eager to be beyond the walls, enjoying the open air again.

[TheFederalist]

The half-orc looking librarian lady's jabbing comment only made Reagan grin harder, the muscles on his face pulling his cheeks to unheard of heights, and he spun on a single heel to face the leaving lady. Obviously, she didn't seem to be the kind to appreciate good journalism, so he made a point not to try and sell anything to her. Still, it made him a little less enthusiastic about the day when he realized she wasn't just someone who looked like a half orc, but likely an actual half orc. Well, at least she appeared to have some scholarly airs about her, so she wasn't going to be as brutish as his preconceived notions usually would have him believe. Appearances could be wrong, though!

As she left, he made sure to get a few words in, and thus quipped "Ma'am, if anybody paid that much attention to me in Amaranth, I'd be very much so glad!", his words tinged with good humor.

[Nettlekid]

Baedur gives a raised eyebrow and a tilted head halfway between a nod of approval and expressing uncertainty at Reagan's remarks. If he knows of the Half-Elf's history he doesn't express it. He then turns to Halad to address the latter's question.
"If hurrying and unloaded I've heard the trip can be made in just shy of a month. This shipment isn't light, so in the past it's run the better part of a month and a half. And even that's on account of old Chauncey-" here he gestures to the mule "being Rothheim stock. Slower on foot than most but possessed of remarkable stamina, which ends up cutting the time on the trip. People expect a horse or a mule to take you where you're going in half the time, but most aren't cut out for a long trip and you lose time letting them rest. But she'll last as long as we do."

Baedur bids a brief farewell to the group as they head toward the gates to the town, and as the party has nothing they want to see to in town they actually reach the gate before the three Dwarves do. There is a brief exchange of paperwork with the guard at the gate as Baedur shows the iron and stones in the wagon, assuring the guard nothing is being illegally smuggled out or through the city, but it's a quick process. Before long the group is on the well-travelled roads stretching across Magnalia's countryside.

The journey is long, but largely uneventful. Summer's sun gets hotter every day, and after realizing that every member of the caravan save for the Chauncey herself can see well enough by starlight the group switches to a staggered half-day cycle in which some rest for eight hours in the morning through the hottest part of the middle of the day, some rest from sundown through the darkest of the night, and Chauncey is given plenty of time to catch her breath. Verrun assures the group early on that while she can be made to muster a few extra hours on any one day, pushing her too far too fast will be damaging to her health in the long run. For some of you this resting time doesn't correlate well to the stops made at the various inns or temples to Fharlanghn stationed about a day's journey apart, but you manage.

It takes two weeks to make the journey from Burrett down to Lannish, where the group is able to replenish their supplies and rations. Unlike Burrett, Lannish is a long but narrow town not well defended against outside attack, but somewhat more populated by guards given the comparative closeness to Amaranth. There is a decidedly maritime influence to the city given its proximity to Rumbus Bay where Elven merchant ships from Caeryll Vanna make port after circling the coast, and wild-haired explorers who survived Mercy's Chalice come back to share their tales. There are no grand ships that have just arrived, but there is a mildly celebratory energy nonetheless. Kurche may feel especially comfortable in this town as it has a similar atmosphere to Tamor, though nearby Amaranthian influences can't be ignored as the Half-Orc gets more than a few curious, questioning, or outright worried glances passing through. The caravan spends a full day in this town resting and making merry, before hitting the road once more as the bulk of the journey is still before you.

Three more weeks pass much like the first two, largely uneventful but with good time being made. Near the end of the fourth week out from Lannish Elrus estimates the caravan to be about thirty miles away from Amaranth, and one final mustering of effort should get you to Amaranth the next day. Anticipating the end of your journey and the start of whatever schemes you might have brewing in Amaranth, you rest and set out bright and early the next morning. It is only a few hours of travel when-
"Heads up, eyes open! Clear the way!"
The party is jolted to attention as, with a rumbling and a clatter, a somewhat larger wagon roars over the nearby hill at an entirely unsafe speed. Two horses running at a full sprint each have a Human clinging to their back, one of which is reaching out to the side of the wagon where you can see one of the shafts attaching the horses to the carriage has splintered and broken, causing the carriage behind to swing precariously with the horses' jerking motion which in turn throws the horses off balance and panics them further. The carriage hits a bump and the reaching Human is thrown off of the horse, catching himself and rolling to a stop as the horses continue while a third and fourth Human chase behind from over the hill. At the last moment the one Human still on the horses yanks them to the side, causing them to veer off sharply and avoid running headfirst into you, but the loosely attached wagon being drawn by these two horses snaps off and does continue straight ahead, colliding with a violent crack and sending cargo flying. One wooden box from the runaway cart crashes into the ground, spilling salted kippers across the dirt path. The collision knocks Kellis and Kurche as well as all three Dwarves from the cart onto the ground dealing 2 damage to each of them, while Reagan and Halad were nimble enough to avoid the brunt of the hit.

The dust settles, and both groups of merchants begin assessing the damage. The other wagon is far more damaged than the Dwarves', and the Human that was thrown from the horse begins casting what is easily identified as the Mending cantrip on their wagon's broken wheel. One of the others who had been following over the hill runs up, out of breath, to Baedur.
"My sincerest apologies, sir!" he begins. "We've no idea what happened but the horses got spooked and started bolting, one thing led to another, and we completely lost control! I pray none of you are injured? My man can see to your wagon if there is any damage done. Is your cargo secure?"
Baedur glances at the boxes scattered on the road. None of his were broken, by the look of it.
"Perhaps not secure, but altogether unharmed I think. Scraped up, but nothing a rest won't heal and nothing to hold against you." Baedur looks over the party. "I know this isn't quite what I hired you for, but I'd appreciate a hand with these crates if you don't mind."
Elrus and Verrun are already starting to load the toppled Dwarven chests back into the wagon, though neither is particularly brawny and the iron inside is heavy. One of the other Humans, decently musclebound, starts pitching in as well and loads up a few crates when the Human that had been taken away by the horses finally returns, having settled the two down.
"Oy, Rorik, numbskull! That's one of ours you're putting on their wagon!"
The muscular Human, Rorik, looks at the crate he just shoved onto the Dwarf's wagon.
"Oh yeah. Oops, sorry."
He hefts it back down and waddles it over to the Humans' wagon, in the process of being repaired. The first Human who had spoken to you all is currently shoveling the salted fish back into the broken box, while the one who has just returned with the horses passes them over the the mage while pinching the bridge of his nose.

[Stubbazubba]

Halad grimaces for a split second, then starts assisting the Dwarves in repacking the wagon. Truth be told, so many weeks of uninterrupted routine and peace had begun to feel a bit boring, and the excitement of the runaway wagon was a secretly enjoyable diversion from Reagan's incessant witticisms. Even for a revolutionary, such things got old.

As Rorik corrects his misplacement, Halad asks the Human who appears to be in charge, "If there's something out there threatening the road, it very well could catch up with us. Any idea what spooked your horses? Were you on this road when it happened or another?"

[Nettlekid]

The Human looks back over the hill, where the band had first emerged from.
"It's hard to say. A short while ago we heard the screech of a hawk. Thought it was just regular, but maybe it was a Blood Hawk? Not common, but the bloodlust from one of those spooks most herbivores. I doubt it'll be a problem for you - you have enough people that a hawk would be scared to attack, and besides it's not like that mule fleeing is going to get enough speed to throw you off like our horses did."

[Ajadea]

In Lannish, Kurche spends most of the day off listening to adventurers speak of Mercy's Chalice, encouraging them to recall details. She seems genuinely interested in their tales, no matter how exaggerated or winding - a far cry from her general opinion of Reagan's endless prattling.

Now - Kurche picks herself up off the ground with a grimace. She waves her hand and mutters a few words and the dust vanishes from her clothes. It's not the first time she's used magic on this trip - mostly she has provided wards around the resting when no inn or temple was nearby. "Just bruised. It'll heal," she says gruffly. She begins loading the scattered crates back on the cart, having a much easier time of it than either of the dwarves. "If there are blood hawks, we'll deal with them as they come."

[Rizz]

During their time on the road, even Kellis finds himself bored with the lack of excitement. He decides to make an effort to better acquaint himself with his traveling companions. When in Lannish, he spends a little time with any of them willing to have the company. Later in the afternoon, he decides he's heard enough of Reagan's wordy manner of speaking and dismisses himself, heading beyond the town's structure to a more open area where he can spend time in excercises and the upkeep of his gear.

---

As Kellis picks himself up off of the ground, he brushes dirt and dust from himself, stretching and twisting to check his injuries. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing major.
He surveys the others, checking for serious injury. "Is anyone severely injured?"

Seeing that his limited ability to heal is not at present needed, he quickly turns to assisting in the repackaging of the wagon, glad for the opportunity to do something other than ride.

As Rorik is chided for his mistake, Kellis surveys the goods that have been loaded back into Baedur's wagon, checking to ensure no other errors had been made. He then picks up one of the other party's crates, taking it to their wagon for a better look to ensure no foul play.

At the mention of blood hawks, Kellis scans the horizon and skies briefly and nods as Kurche expresses confidence in their abilities.

[Nettlekid]

Kellis gives the wagons a once-over, making sure each chest is where it ought to be. They are not. The chests are unusually similar to one another, and Kellis notices that more than one piece of the other caravan's cargo has ended up stacked on Baedur's cart, while the spots left empty on the other cart have been filled in by Baedur's crates.

[TheFederalist]

Though the sudden interruption to their relatively calm journey had come in the form of a hearty shock, Reagan's reaction time had kicked in with enough space to give him the ability to roll most of the disturbance off. With a quick push, it was only seconds before he had come to his feet, and was surveying the damage that had been done. Of course, Reagan had learned to not trust the safety of Magnalia's roads, but when they were this close to Amaranth, he had not expected any real disturbance.

Immediately, he began to frown for the first time on the trip, his mind wandering as he attempted to assist with the reorganization of the boxes, only distracted by the occasional self reminder to not lift with his back. Suddenly, he popped back into reality, and said Say, Baedur, you mentioned you were Guild-certified, right? Just checking."

[Rizz]

Distrustful, yet not wanting to jump to conclusions, Kellis attempted to act natural as he placed the chest on the strangers' wagon. He next picked up one of Baedur's containers, making his arrival at the dwarf's wagon coincide with that of Kurche. Flashing her a smile, Kellis spoke in a hushed voice, "Careful. There may be foul play."

Not wanting to waste any time, Kellis turned back to work without waiting for a response. Picking up yet another one of Baedur's chests, he hauled it to the other wagon. Setting it on the strangers' wagon with a thud, Kellis paused. "Oops. It would appear I have made the same mistake, Rorik." Making a show of scanning over the other chests in the wagon, Kellis continued speaking, "In fact, it would appear we've made this mistake a few times!"

[Nettlekid]

"I am, yes," Baedur remarks nonchalantly, not catching the direction Reagan is pushing the conversation. "Only for a few seasons now, but it seems like going with the flow will be better for business in the long run."
Reagan notices the horse-wrangling Human catch the gaze of the first Human who had spoken, then they look away from each other again.

The horse-wrangler, who seems to be the leader of the four by the way he's bossing them around, glances to Rorik and Kellis when the latter remarks on the state of the carts.
"Hey now, don't try riding off with our cargo!" he calls out with a joking tone, perhaps overly so. He comes over to the pair, and looks over the chests that Kellis pointed out.
"Hmm, right you are. My apologies! Hired help and all that," he gestures to Rorik. "You want something done properly, gotta do it yourself."
Between himself, Rorik, Elrus, and Verrun the other group manages to shift the crates back over to Baedur's wagon. Kellis' watchful eye upon them, they don't stop until all of Baedur's chests are back where they belong, and in their hurry don't seem to be particularly interested in recovering their own.
"Maewyn, are you finished Mending? Can't stick around all day." the Human calls over to the spellcaster at the wagons. She looks up.
"Er, yes, it should hold. Are we...going, so soon?"
"We'll have to cut our losses here, before the fish spoil. The sun's rising, and quick!"
Halad recognizes this as an idiom in Thieves' Cant which means "we're about to be found out," as in the rising sun striking away shadows being used to hide in.
Leaving a couple of their own boxes on Baedur's cart and the one broken in the road, the four Humans hurriedly start boarding their cart. The three Dwarves seem perplexed by the sudden change in tone and are a little taken aback by the whole ordeal. The Humans seem prepared to depart, but there's still time to address them.

[Stubbazubba]

Of course, Halad thinks. "So it is," he says to the human in charge of the thieves. "Better luck with your next recruiting service," Halad nods to Rorik but maintains eye contact with the man in charge. "If no one's hoisting the Dwarven boxes, then no one will break any fingers and we'll carry on smoothly to Amaranth. Better to bore your uncle than drop a glove, right?"


"Better luck with your next highway robbery. If you don't steal the Dwarven boxes, then no one will get hurt and we'll stay quiet on to Amaranth. Better to disappoint your fence than get a hand chopped off (i.e. get caught and punished).")

[roll0]

[Ajadea]

Kurche nods grimly at Kellis' words. "Noted." She helps replace the crates, keeping a much closer eye on it this time. As the humans prepare to leave, she shakes her head and slams her staff into the ground, with a declaration that sounds like a guttural curse. In an instant, a packed earth wall rises from the earth in front of the humans' cart. "I am certain your fish can wait. They're salted enough to keep for weeks. And somehow, I don't think this is the first time your horses have spooked," she says pointedly.


[roll0] to assess whether they were lying about why the horses spooked, because this is getting fishier (pun intended) by the moment.

Kurche is casting Minor Illusion to create a 5'x3' slightly concave wall of packed earth. And saying "Wall" in Draconic because it sounds enough like an actual verbal component.

[TheFederalist]

"Understood, just wanted to check." came the reply to Baedur, as Reagan went back to lifting what few things remained on the ground, until things began to piece themselves together in his head. Kellis' words were the final tip off to him, as his mind began to realize that things were most certainly off about their current company. He stole glances at the humans while he pretended to check the state of his instruments, noting their awkward looks.

Immediately, he considered his options: Petty thievery? False flag robbery? Or just normal highway banditry? An overactive imagination, perhaps? His options dwindled quite quickly, as the situation came to a head, and Kurche cast her spell. Her words gave him the backing his mind needed to make his thoughts public. As the wall sprung up, he rolled his eyes.

Pfft, bloody wizards.

"Oh, are we doing this? Must we really?" he announced, finally breaking a long spell of his own silence with a sharp and clear cutting voice. He turned to look directly at the two, before remarking with an oddly nonchalant tone, still checking the tuning of his stringed instrument, "What are you guys? Bandits? Thieves Guild? Merchant's Guild operatives out to keep down interracial trade? Just find somebody else today, would ya? Honestly, it's not worth it. Wizard lady over there has, like, ten spells that all rhyme death and stuff, and I'm genuinely more sane not seeing her get to use her eldrit- eldtric- her weird powers. Call it a day, guys, go goof some noble off instead. He's probably got actual gold on him instead of rocks you're gonna have to sell anyways."


[roll0] for Persuasion, just to get them to leave us alone.

[Stubbazubba]

"Well," Halad says, shrugging his shoulders. "So much for subtlety."

[Nettlekid]

The story about the horses being spooked was definitely false. If she had to guess, this band was in full control of the horses and this whole situation was staged.

The horses whinny as the wall of earth soundlessly rises, surprised by the sudden motion. The other Human who had been the first to speak gives a quick few glances around to find another path, but the mage Maewyn looks with a furrowed brow at Kurche, then scrutinizes the wall, then gives a quick whisper to the first Human.

The leader gives an uneasy look back to Halad, clearly unnerved by Halad's proficient speech. He's about to speak when Reagan jumps in to bombastically praise Kurche's capabilities, and then manages to cough up the words caught in his throat.
"The Thieves' Guild's got more eyes and hands than you know," he scowls at Reagan. "Mardel's got plans for busybodies like you. Then it'll be scarves being dropped, not gloves!" He delivers this last remark pointedly toward Halad, while with a loud "Hee-ya!" the first Human flicks the reins of the horses. The horses start rushing again, the encouragement from the reins spurring them beyond their hesitation of the wall, which they and the carriage pass through as the bandits disappear over the next hill.

Baedur, who has been staring with great confusion this whole while alongside his nephews, approaches the group.
"Well...that wasn't entirely what I expected. I was picturing, what, scrappy thugs with twisty daggers jumping out of the bushes. Time used to be you could at least trust a thief to look like a thief. Thank the All-Father I did hire you or I would have been suckered out of my cargo and not known it 'til I got to Amaranth's gates."
With his cargo lashed down and the mule calmed the three Dwarves clamber back onto the wagon.
"We'll keep an eye out for any more nastiness, but Amaranth shouldn't be far now. We'll be there before sundown, despite all...this."

The name the bandit dropped has meaning to you - Mardel Dint is the leader of the Thieves' Guild, though it's uncommon for him to be seen doing his own dirty work and much rather relies on underlings like these. He wasn't present when the Guild had tried to recruit you, but both the recruiters and your gang's leader gave you his regards during their encounter with you.

You solved my Bandit Puzzle! Take 60 XP each for getting rid of them without resorting to violence.

I'll give you a chance to post if you want to discuss anything with each other or the Dwarves, and then move the scene on to your arrival in Amaranth.

[TheFederalist]

"Pal, I've lost money to your folks every time I've left my house in Amaranth, so I don't doubt it. Just gets tiring. If you know Fel, tell her I said hey, would ya?" replied Reagan, as he looked right back at the leader of the fellows with a steely eye and a one sided grin. He then proceeded to spin around to get a look at the others, as the two left in their hurry, with the expected remark right on his tongue "Anyone of you speak Cant? I have no idea what that fellow just said."

He pulled a string on his fiddle, letting off a light twang, before stowing it away to his backpack, and then moving back towards the wagon, climbing aboard with an only barely audible grumble of "I could say the same about politicians, but that would be redundant."

[Rizz]

With the bandits barreling off over the hill, Kellis relaxed his grip on the longsword still in its sheathe. Glad as he was that his first expedition had not led to bloodshed, he still would rather have seen those who would have taken what was rightfully that of another pay for their schemes.

Feeling tension leave him, he moved back to the wagon. "I am glad that we have been able to prove ourselves worth the expense", he responded to Baedur. "Good work on ending the situation without escalation, everyone", Kellis said as he nodded to each of the other hired companions in turn. "I hope that their next target fares as well."

[Stubbazubba]

Halad's expression soured. "You may be on the Thieves' Guild's radar," he says to Reagan. "Can't imagine what they could have against such a conformist."

More concerning to him was that Mardel's name was being used so openly. The Thieves' Guild leadership runs on control of information, and knowing a name is the first step toward assassination. Either this thief was particularly sloppy and would probably get a "talking to" soon, or the Guild itself was getting a lot more brazen. And coming after a satirist? Could the Magistrate be putting them up to this? Halad pushed those questions aside. Best not to rush to judgment. At least until more facts came to light.

But it sounds like Amaranth may be much changed since he left.

[Nettlekid]

Taking a breather on the road (and enough of a short rest to heal those 2 HP) the final stretch of the journey is comparatively uneventful. Chauncey the old mule keeps on chugging and a few hours from sunset the group sees the roads of packed earth coming together from over the horizon, tying together into one path stretching across the grasslands toward the wide walled city of Amaranth. Raised atop a gentle but long hill surrounded by open land and rough-cut canals, only the tallest buildings and those at the center of the city peek above the hundred-foot stone walls studded with crenellations and punctuated with guard towers. Even at this distance roving pinpricks mark the guards on their patrol atop the tower, ever-vigilant for a Goblin Host or raiding band of Gnolls that could threaten the safety of the city. The walls cast a shadow on your road ahead as the sun hangs in the western sky, giving the mercantile district near the eastern main gate the last few rays of the evening while plunging the poorer residential district on the other side of town into an early twilight. Furnaces run somewhere, lines of wispy black smoke stretching into the sky to meet the solid white clouds overhead. A wide moat connects the external canals to gated waterways reaching into the depths of the city, over which a wide wooden drawbridge is semi-permanently lowered. Many of these defenses are holdovers from a more hostile era, in which the city had to defend itself against invasion from hostile native forces opposed to the new Human settlement. Amaranth's persistence speaks to their effectiveness.

The sounds of the city never stop, not entirely. To the attuned ear the sound of a guard's metal sabatons clinking against the cobblestones speaks volumes to just how many steps the lazy man took before leaning against a building, failing to look busy and engaged. In the distance the sound of the Market Mile closing up shop echoes through the alleys in the lines of buildings. Permanent structures and establishments are locking their doors while impermanent stalls clatter as wooden braces are taken down, cloth ceilings folded, and the whole ramshackle operation along with unsold merchandise is loaded into a wagon and taken away for safekeeping through the night. On a better-traveled road a guard walks by poles of black iron, pulling on a firm metal cable at each to unwind a shutter exposing a heatless yellow flame burning eternally in a dusty glass sphere and illuminating the streets with a flickering torchlight. Tallow candles burn in only a few windows, save for the brighter lights of wall-mounted sconces shining out from the various taverns which are boisterous and bustling at any time of the day, even in the more run-down residential area in spite of (or perhaps due to) the lower wealth of the patrons occupying it.

It is upon this scene that the Dwarves' caravan trundles up across the drawbridge, and Verrun stops the motion of the mule as Baedur hops out of the seat with a stack of papers in hand. There are four guards posted at the bridge, though only one comes to meet the wagon. Baedur discusses with the guard their purpose for entry and hands over a few pieces of paper serving as temporary passports for himself, his nephews, and the four of you that he had drawn up in Burrett by local representatives of Amaranth's guard when you were first hired. He then gives them a much larger sheaf itemizing the weight of the iron ingots and the estimated value of the gemstones. The guard quite thoroughly investigates the Dwarven crates, examining the rough-cut gems and testing the weight of the crates of iron. It's clear that the guard doesn't have a good sense of what the goods are worth, and that she isn't for a moment about to try to claim leverage in a discussion about minerals against a Dwarf, so she accepts the hefty satchel of coin he gives her without argument. The guard then inquires with raised eyebrow about the four other crates of different design on the wagon, and for a moment you can see Baedur's heart leap into his throat as he realizes he hasn't properly itemized this unknown boon of salted fish. He cracks open each crate with a crowbar to show off the wares, four cases stacked to the brim with salted kippers. The guard makes a half-hearted effort to look underneath one or two, obviously hoping to have found something a little more scandalous or exotic than local Magnalian preserves. She asks Baedur why a Dwarven caravan is carrying Magnalian fish, but before Baedur can answer one of the other guards who had only half been paying attention snaps to focus and remarks that they'd received message about a waylaid delivery from the Lannish fishmongers due a few days prior. Baedur comes clean, looking to the four of you for support, that your caravan had come under attack by a gang of bandits claiming to be with the Thieves' Guild trying to swap their cargo with his own. After being called out they had fled with great hurry, leaving behind a few crates that Baedur suggests may have come from a previously intercepted delivery. The four guards at the bridge react with surprise and grimace at the mention of the Thieves' Guild, and the one who has been interviewing Baedur congratulates first him and then the rest of you on stopping yet another robbery. She remarks that the only way to cut into these criminals is for the common folk to prove they're not afraid, and you've done just that. Seeing as the crates of fish can be safely called stolen goods and thus not strictly Baedur's to own or sell the guards confiscate the four fish crates to be safeguarded, but with those off of the cart there is nothing to stop the seven of you from passing through the entryway uncontested.

A few hundred feet beyond the main gate, Baedur takes a few deep breaths and turns to you four.
"Now that could have gone a lot worse. I've had a harder time with my papers more in order. It's all on me, I wasn't thinking properly after getting a little shaken up this morning, and I forgot to account for everything. That's not your responsibility, but I thank you for sticking through it all. All's well that ends well. That said, here's what I owe you for your efforts," Baedur fishes out another large satchel of coin, and counts out forty silver pieces for each of you.
"Well earned. You have my gratitude, and another job in a season's time if it suits you. Where do your travels take you next? I seem to recall you saying you'd be in the city for a while. I can recommend a tavern to stay in if you have no accommodations, proper and Dwarven."

[Ajadea]

Kurche watches the cart disappear over the next ridge with an impassive expression. With a simple wave of her hand, the illusory wall disappears as suddenly as it had appeared. "The word is eldritch," she tells Reagan. She does not bother to look at him. "And my spells do not, as a rule, rhyme." She snatches a large handful of salted fish from the road and gets back on the cart to begin quietly cleaning her mean prize with magic. She puts each fish away inside her mess cup, oblivious to or perhaps simply ignoring any stares she gets. If anyone asks, she replies only that she likes kippers.

Amaranth hasn't changed in the least since she left - now more like seven months ago, really, since the departure from Burrett. Guards clomping around pretending to work, flickering eternal flames lighting the night for weaker eyes than hers, making it nigh impossible to get a decent night's rest. She takes the second pouch and nods solemnly. "It was good to travel with you, Master Fieson. Depending on where you are going, I might be interested. My own plans are vague enough at the moment. Certainly don't plan to stay here longer than necessary." She snorts and shakes her head. "I know of an inn, but thank you for your offer. Let me know where you intend to set up, and I will stop by. In a season's time."

[Stubbazubba]

"I have old friends in the city I need to catch up with, but that'll be in the morning," Halad says, pocketing the coins as he had the first bag. "I'm quite impressed with the craft of dwarves, I'm sure dwarven hospitality is an experience not to be missed. I have one errand to run, then I'll meet you all there." Halad wanted to report in with Lord Amblecrown, but going to the Dwarven inn would be a good cover. He could run out later in the evening, but he needed to send word that he had returned so someone was there to talk to when he did. "Where did you say this was?"

[Rizz]

"It was an honor, Master Fieson", said Kellis as he secured the coins in his belt pouch. "I can't say as to where I will find myself in a season's time, but I would enjoy the opportunity for more of your company. I will be sure to watch out for you if I am in the area at that time. As for accommodations, I would much like to see this tavern you speak of."

Turning to Kurche, Kellis added, "In fact, having very little knowledge of the city, I think I would like to make myself more familiar. If it is no imposition, Kurche, where might I find the inn you have in mind?"

[TheFederalist]

Entry to Amaranth, much as Reagan had always felt, had been nothing more than a drag. The dictatorial passport measures, the inane security checks, and by the tip of his quill, the insanity of the import tariffs were downright ugly at their best, and at no point did he not have the urge to make a snide remark explaining his disgust and distrust. However, he felt that it was probably a gross violation of any contract Baedur might've thought he had with him to get the entire wagon crew stuck in an endless loop of security checkings.

So, he tried the one thing he admitted any level of incompetence in: silence. And surprisingly, after the first question about relations to anti human group or goblin host connections, it began to get easier.

Didn't mean he would keep it up once they finally got in, but they likely owed him for keeping shut the entire time. Of course, there was also the concern that one of the guards would recognize him, as unlikely as that was, and give him a swift kick for any anti-Guard article one may have read on the Eternal.

Once they had finally gotten inside, his mood would take flight, however. Perhaps it was the familiar sight of stalls against the darkened sky, or the smell of the torchlights by the roads, but it instantly made him feel more comfortable.

He was back home.

So, in a surprisingly charitable and humble tone, he looked at the folks surrounding him and pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the city and said "I could also recommend a few places, or if any of you care to, you could stay at my place. It's pretty big, and I haven't got the money to fill it up with press equipment get, so anybody would have a fair bit of room. Unless you don't like the smell of ink."

[Nettlekid]

"It's called the Pint and Chisel, in the artisan's district to the west of the Market Mile. If in doubt, follow the smoking chimneys. Korren Blackboot's the owner there and knows how to treat a soul right," Baedur answers Halad.

The tavern that Kurche is familiar with is called Extra Credit, a surprisingly well-managed and strait-laced pub that caters to the rowdy and potentially explosive crowd of students of all ages currently enrolled at Paracelsus Academy for the Study of Arcane Science. The proprietor, Orinder Thistedown, is a Gnome who himself flunked out of the academy and never had a substantial magical aptitude but is good enough at picking up the theory as relayed to him by decades of stressed students that his brain can be picked in times of questioning or need.

Reagan's apartment would be one of many in a crowded block on the far western side of town, the region currently in the shadow of the walls. It's become an increasingly seedy district as the area fills up both with new immigrants and the children of old ones and there's competition for space, food, and money. Less reputable establishments that have no staying power in a respectable venue like the Market Mile have cropped up in the area, and many members of the population have taken to alcoholism or drug use. It's also a lively spot for taverns and bars, where people of like minds and fortunes can commiserate together. Indeed, the Pint and Chisel Baedur refers to is close to this region, as the artisan district somewhat sprang up around it. It's not likely that anyone of considerable wealth is living in this region or even frequents it, and you're likely to see a larger number of unusual races beyond the more common ones living in the rest of the city.

[TheFederalist]

With a foot stepping over what could only be described as a puddle of mystery fluid, Reagan was home. Not just home, but what he had to call home. As was tradition, he clipped his nose with his index and middle finger, before stepping forward with his left hand digging into his rucksack to find his keys. His signature grin was missing, replaced with the frowning tiredness known well to any returning workman. It was difficult keeping his smile right, and the witticisms took a lot out of him, and that had been the longest time he'd spent outside of Amaranth and outside his familiar lonely environment.

He inserted his key into his doorlock, before sighing and forcing it to turn to the right with all his strength. That was the third lock that he had found becoming worse with the wear and tear of constant lockpicking attempts. Poor bastards that lived around him were looking for money or food, probably, but it wasn't like the same issues didn't strike him every day either.

He waltzed in, making sure to pulled his key out of the lock and bring it in, and began to hum, taking in the smells and sights of his house. The smell of an unfinished tumbler of terrible alcohol mixed with median quality ink and paper, forming a waft that smelled pretentious, yet poor. The sights were not much better, as all the rooms seemed to contain was a rug on the floor, seemingly used for sleep, surrounded by large quantities of wooden planks. There were long planks of cut lumber wood, and then smaller planks that looked like they had been cut into pieces, each the size of a page. Of pages, there were also plenty, stacked into story-high piles next to the only other piece of furniture in the apartment, an empty and large wall console style table.

Reagan took a long look at the table, considering his options, before seemingly making up his mind and dropping into the rug, eyes already shutting.

[Ajadea]

Kurche nods at Kellis. "I'll take you there myself, if you're interested. It's up near Paracelsus. The food's good, and Orinder's got a couple rooms to rent. You're not the usual sort there, but he might well appreciate that. Less likely to damage his tables. Or walls. Or ceiling." She smiles at the memory. No one with sense would ever practice a remotely dangerous evocation indoors, but drunken students were always bereft of such.

[Nettlekid]

Kurche guides Kellis through the thinning streets, catching more than a few glances from commoners who may not be used to seeing a Half-Orc and a Half-Elf walking side-by-side, or a Half-Orc carrying a staff. Most of Orcish blood are either impoverished or work as unskilled laborers, with the notable exception of the feared and fearsome Kutrul, one of the captains of Amaranth's guard. Breaking from the rest of the group who were heading down the closing Market Mile to the western reaches of the city Kurche and Kellis head south toward the towering spire that marks the tower home of Paracelsus' reclusive Tiefling headmaster, Theophrastus von Hohenheim. They reach their destination a little to the northwest of that tower and the main campus, an alehouse filled with boisterous voices. Pushing through the door the pair is greeted by the sight of predominantly Human and Gnomish patrons, though there are a few of Elf blood and even Dragonborn. Standing behind the bar slinging overly large flagons via Mage Hand is an older Gnome with graying hair, thick spectacles, and a large, pockmarked nose. He looks up at the new arrivals, and shifts his glasses so that his eyes focus better.
"Oh my wordly wordington, isn't that Kurshay? My eyes are every bit as bad as they were when you were last here, but I think the odds are in my favor. You haven't been here in a while, you're hitting the books too hard!"

[Nettlekid]

The clouds darken with the passing of the evening sun, a patchy haze letting pinpricks of starlight through while the moon watches silently overhead. In the flickering shadows of hooded Continual Flames Kellis and Kurche find rest in the Extra Credit inn, Halad feels secure in the bustling of the Pint and Chisel, raucous voices carrying conversation deep into the night, and Reagan is surrounded by the familiar smells and sounds of his home.

It's deep into the night, closer to morning than it is to midnight, when each of you is roused roughly from your slumber. There is a violent pounding at Reagan's door, and a man's voice calls out to him. Kellis and Kurche are both awakened by a more gentle rapping at their respective doors as Orinder calls to you, but there are a few figures on the stairs behind him. Halad is alerted by the gentle but heavy hand of the Dwarf Korren at his door, who looks sheepish and a little concerned. Each of you is being accosted by Humans wearing chain shirts or scale male emblazoned with the marks of the City Guard, and each gives you roughly the same remarks.
"Come out of the room immediately. Hands where we can see them, weapons stowed, no funny business. You were the escorts to a Dwarven caravan that arrived in Amaranth today, correct? You have some explaining to do. Come with us, we're escorting you and your friends to the gates where it was last seen."

[Rizz]

Kellis started awake at the sounds coming from the other side of his door. He threw on a shirt and peeked out the door. Seeing the guards, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Deducing from their words that something had gone awry with Baedur or his shipment, and knowing enough to know that he had no choice, Kellis resigned himself to going with the guards. As much as the idea of being at the mercy of others chaffed, he knew he had done nothing wrong and trusted that this truth would be made clear.

Cursing himself over the troubles that had already come from being in a large city, Kellis grumbled at the lead guard, "Can I at least get my boots?"

[Nettlekid]

"Your boots, armor, and weapon by the sound of things. Just keep it all visible," the guard demands.

[Rizz]

"Very well", Kellis said as he nodded to the guard. He took extra care to make slow, deliberate motions as he gathered his gear, keeping his hands in sight of the guards.

[Ajadea]

The winding streets haven't changed, and Kurche leads Kellis through them like she's never left the city. She greets Orinder with a smile and nod, though is notably evasive about the nature of the "independent research" that's kept her away from the tavern. She is quick to turn the subject to acquiring lodging, begging tiredness. She knows Orinder probably doesn't buy it, but that's fine. She's never been good at falsehoods at the best of times.

When Orinder knocks, she rouses herself only reluctantly, coming to the door with tousled hair and a bleary-eyed glare, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold. Her hands rest on her upper arms, both visible if not exactly spread. "Can this wait until a sensible hour? We already told you about the idiot thieves' and their kippers," she snaps, before the guards can even get a word in. When they say their piece, she rolls her eyes. She slips on her shoes and grabs her staff from where it was leaning against the door. "It's stowed as it's going to get," she says. "Let's see what's happened to that iron."

[TheFederalist]

Reagan's sleep could've easily been described in a few words, but one of them was likely the most descriptive: oblivion. The half elf slept like a rock, moving only in his rhythmic breathing, dreaming of nothing at all. He found some comfort in his fur rug, as miserly as it was, that he could not have found in the inarguably more comfortable sleeping bag that he had slept in for the past few weeks. Awakening came to him with some level of difficulty, but even his comfortable rest had to bend to the loud sounds that startled him awake. His eyes fluttered open, and for one brief moment in time, there moved the happiness of living through Reagan's mind. The banging must've been some horrific nightmare he'd had and already forgotten about. This remained for no longer than a moment, and the realization of reality hit him like a wagon rolling down a steep hill.

He had an article to write, hundreds of papers to jam, and he had to find some other work. He had gotten enough money for a single month's rent, but he had to worry about food and his supplies for the Eternal, so even though it was an ungodly hour, he would have to start working.

He pushed himself off the floor, in a not so elegant jump to his feet, and he made it all the way to his pack to retrieve his cleaning things, before his door began to shudder. 'Typical, someone must be walking nearby', he thought, before the door stopped shuddering and began to bang once again, with the annoyance of someone clearly banging for the second time. So the first time was real! This forced him to quickly turn towards the door, before he jogged over to it and opened it. Upon witnessing the guards, and their insignia, his heart jumped the slightest bit as he remembered the thieves' and the half orc's words. Were they here because of his last paper? His next one?

Relief came in the form of annoyance, as he realized that it was likely some kind of check up, or perhaps there had been some kind of filing issue they needed to verify. "Wonderful, wonderful. Couldn't have come at a more reasonable time, I suppose. I'm coming." he grumpily replied to the guards, as he walked back to his pack and picked it up, slowly dropping some of the things he thought he wouldn't need, like long distance rations.

[Nettlekid]

Each of you is unceremoniously marched out from where you're staying, the occasional pair of eyes peering out from through dirty windows to watch whatever's making a racket in the street. Under the glow of the streetlamps you're taken to an area near the eastern gate you all entered through, the guards seeming to take some amount of enjoyment in moving you along and keeping you in the (figurative) dark. The three Dwarves are already there, looking concerned and as confused as you are. Their caravan is there as well, along with a few more guards and a robed Gnome who looks on the young side.
"And you're sure about this?" the guards are asking the Gnome, who nods emphatically.
"And I'm telling you there's no chance in the world!" Elrus is glaring at the guards, while his brother tries to keep him calm for the sake of not antagonizing the guards. Seeing you four approaching the Dwarves turn to you for support.
"They're saying we brought some kind of contraband material into the city, but I don't know what they're talking about!" Elrus exclaims. The guard gives him a shove to quiet him, and addresses you.
"Pembert Wickham, of Amaranth City Watch. Earlier this evening the lot which was storing the wagon brought into the city by the seven of you received complaints about a rancid, rotting smell. Upon investigation of the wagons being stored yours revealed a tarry black liquid soaked into the wood underneath the crates, the source of the stench. Pimsley here, a student at Paracelsus, was able to identify the substance unmistakably as monstrous ichor. As a result, you are to be detained under suspicion of smuggling illegal biological material within city limits, and will at minimum be conscripted to search until the beast which produced this is-"
There is a loud, rumbling crash coming from the north. A piercing scream cuts through the night, and alarm bells begin to ring.
"Found."

Four guards including Pembert hurry along with the four of you toward the sound of the scream, while the rest rouse reinforcements and the four short folk totter after you. Following the sounds of twanging crossbow strings and clattering metal, you skid onto a street in the southern part of the northern religious district. Thankfully most people are shut up in their homes for the night, but there were still a few civilians out on nightly errands who were caught in the panic. At the far end of the street, two members of the City Watch reload crossbows with shaking hands, while a third tries to steady himself as blood streams down his broken chain shirt. Two civilians each with minor injuries hide behind stacked crates in the hopes they aren't seen, not yet daring to make a break for it in the open air. Two or three bodies lie slumped at the sides of the road, unmoving and with stains of blood marking the path they were thrown. One more civilian is currently being held aloft, screaming and kicking but unable to free herself before, with a nauseating crunching noise, her arm is torn from its socket and ripped from her body. Dropping her for now and biting down on the warm blood and splintering bone is a hulking, grotesque figure standing as tall as two Humans combined. It stands with a humanoid form and gait but with overly long arms and clawed fingers, wrapped in ropy muscle. Its hair is coarse and matted, forming locks more like tendrils or tentacles. Its long, hooked nose hands in front of a maw lined with jagged, broken, razor-sharp fangs, and beady yellow eyes stare out from a green-skinned face. A black tongue like a thick rat's tail runs across its teeth, lapping at the smeared blood from the woman's arm.

It has not yet noticed you.

Unless everyone feels strongly against this, I'd like to try a "theater of the mind" style of play just to see how well it works out. For that to work, I'll need to describe everything in solid detail.

The road you're standing in is about 25 feet wide and 100 feet long. At the western end, as far from you as can be, are two City Watch guards wearing Chain Shirts and wielding Heavy Crossbows. Twenty feet ahead of them is the injured guard who also wore a now broken Chain Shirt and was holding a Longsword and Shield. The monster is standing forty feet from the west end of the street and sixty feet from you all, and the woman it was holding is now crumpled and bleeding out five feet south of it. Halfway down the street, fifty feet from you and from the far guards, is a ten-foot-wide alleyway leading north. There are two crumpled bodies forty feet from you on the south side of the street, and one thirty feet from you on the north side of the street. The four of you are gathered at the end of this street, with the street you arrived from stretching south and continuing north. The four guards with you are just behind you, and the Dwarves and Gnome will need one more round to reach you.

Every twenty feet on both sides of the street are fifteen-foot-tall hooded lanterns (with the hoods raised) with Continual Flame spells burning inside. On the south side of the street starting fifty feet from your side are several stacked boxes rising up five and ten feet, and a similar arrangement of boxes on the north side of the street seventy feet from you. The two hiding civilians are behind the first stack of boxes, hidden from the creature, but they both wear robes and one has a censer from which a sweet incense is burning and they are at risk of discovery by scent. The building that forms the corner the alley halfway down the street appears to be a restaurant with three barrels stacked outside, and an upper balcony accessible from inside. The buildings all along that north side have awnings stretched out on top, both on your side and on the other side of the gap caused by the alley. The building on the south side of the street across from the alley appears to be a temple to Boccob. Eighty feet down the road from you is a sewer grate with narrow slits only a few inches wide. The road is paved with cobblestones.

[Ajadea]

Kurche is about to argue the point and demand to see the wagon herself when the alarm bells go off. She runs after the guards to the alleyway, taking the scene in with a single sweeping gaze. "Troll," Kurche says grimly. "We need acid, or fire. Real fire, not the lanterns. I hope someone has torches." She extracts a glimmering diamond pendant on a silver chain from her belt pouch, which she wraps around her fingers. "I can't do this forever." She speaks again, in a different language this time, and the gem begins to shine with flickering orange light, growing brighter with each syllable. The pendant swings from left to right as she gestures, and then up into her hand as the spell completes. An orb of fire shoots from her outstretched palm, straight at the troll.


Casting 1st level Chromatic Orb, damage type Fire.

Ranged Spell Attack [roll0]
On hit, deal [roll1] fire damage

[Stubbazubba]

"No fire, no acid. But I've got steel," Halad mutters as he draws his crossbow and slots a bolt into its groove. The green monstrosity made an easy target, and its fixation on its victims gives Halad the time he needs to line up a shot. Thwack!

To-hit:
Best of [roll0] or [roll1]

Damage (on a hit):
[roll2] + [roll3] Sneak Attack

Halad then runs up along the north side of the street, under the awnings, headed for the alleyway.

[Rizz]

"By the gods, that is a foul beast!" Kellis dons his shield and draws his longsword, following on Halad's heels. "We need to get it away from the others!"

[TheFederalist]

The sight of the troll in the streets came as a bit of a shock to Reagan. He was, as someone who had lived in the poorer parts of Amaranth, not particularly squeamish, but the gore that it was spraying, and the pain he could only imagine the poor citizen that was its current victim was feeling, was enough to make him physically cringe. With little thought, he immediately reached to his side, grabbing a pouch of minor ingredients.

As far as he could tell, there were at least four people, guard included, that were in immediate threat and would need to be treated soon enough. Kurche said something, but he wasn't listening, more busy as he followed Kellis and Halad, keeping a distance of a few feet to surround the beast, and retrieved a feather from his pouch. As he moved, he blew against the feather with a whisper, too tiny to be heard, but whatever it was, the feather immediately burned with a light purple.


Using Tasha's Hideous Laughter on the troll, and moving up thirty feet, directly straight so I don't clump up vertically with the others
I think I have a DC of 14? 8+Casting Mod (4) + Prof bonus (2)?

[Nettlekid]

Kurche leads the assault, forming a violently coruscating sphere which settles to an orange-red which launches out at the inattentive Troll. Just by a hair the sphere fails to connect, taking off one of the Troll's matted dreadlocks but failing to strike the flesh of the creature itself as it spirals off and leaves a cloud of embers scattered against the far wall about eighty feet from you.

Aware of the warmth passing by its face it turns, then staggers as Halad's bolt strikes true and sinks straight into its throat. A line of black ichor drips down the shaft of the bolt before the Troll rips it out, sending the same liquid splattering to the ground.

The two guards standing further back each take aim to capitalize on Halad's opening, and fire a bolt from their heavy crossbows. The first is a pathetic miss and the bolt scatters past Halad and Kellis' feet, but the second is a triumphant hit and catches the beast in probably the heart if the black blood is any indicator. Still, the guards and Halad can both see that even these grievous wounds are slowly knitting back together, torn flesh and skin joining like a seam. The wounds last, but the effect is diminished.

The four guards who accompanied you each draw a light crossbow, having sacrificed impact for mobility. Only the man who had spoken to you before, Pembert, managed to land a blow on the Troll's hide, and it is little more than a scratch that also begins to mend. The realness of the indomitability of this threat begins to sink in.

Finally Reagan conjures a fragment of arcane magic powered by song, and feels the Weave wind and wrap around the head, then mind of the Troll. Now facing you, the Troll bares its sharp teeth in a wide smile, then begins to laugh roughly and raucously. At first it seems as though the spell has taken...but the Weave straightens, and Reagan can feel that the magic is not sustained.

No, the Troll is laughing not by force but for real. Its muscles ripple and roll under its body as its legs tighten and it lunges, putting all its effort into rushing and closing the sixty feet down the street, entirely ignoring Halad and Kellis despite the grievous wound dealt by the former and even shoving past Reagan. It finishes its sprint, coming to a stop right in front of Kurche. Somehow recognizing her as the greatest threat it must face, it bares its fangs and raises its claws in preparation to lacerate.

Even in the face of this, Kurche is able to recognize that this is strange behavior. A Troll possesses greater intelligence than some beast despite being brutal and barbaric, but recognizing a spellcaster with the power to harm it at first glance requires greater clarity than she would expect from a Troll. More importantly, she's confident that it did not see her cast her Chromatic Orb, and shouldn't have known that she was the origin of the flame.

The four guards standing by Kurche suddenly find themselves nervous by the close combat the Troll has brought. Trundling up the path the three Dwarves and the Gnome arrive to the scene, then scream as the Troll reaches the same corner.

[Ajadea]

Kurche whips around at the sound of a chorus of screaming, only to see the dwarves and gnome finally arrive. Just in time to get a face full of ugly. Because the situation had to involve even more bystanders. Naturally. At least the gnome had showed up, and if she was really lucky, the civilians would take their chances and leave. "Baedur, get out of here! Pipsqueak, you're from Paracelsus, show it! We need fire or acid. Now!" She ducks out of the way of the trolls' wicked claws and darts back some distance behind the four guards in the opposite direction of the gnome and dwarves, her thin shoes slipping on the cobblestones. If it was chasing her, then it would at least chase her away from the others. Or trip on the guards before it got to her. Either one would work, honestly, she was not in a mood to be picky.

Her hands are shaking, so she shoves the pendant into her belt before she drops it, and grabs onto her staff defensively. Not that it would help that much, against a creature that size. It does make her feel better though.


Action to disengage, because me and my 10 AC are not into this whole "melee" thing.
Move 30 feet north and east, kind of behind the guards and away from Pimsley and those non-combatant dwarves.
Object interaction to put away the pendant.
Plus a lot of yelling. I don't know whether I hope the troll does or doesn't speak Common. Either one's probably bad at this point.

[TheFederalist]

As the troll rushed past Reagan, Reagan immediately felt that something was off. The troll's first movement had struck fear into his heart, as he realized the beast was headed in his direction. But the fact that he was brushed aside, and the fact that it immediately headed for Kurche, his intuition alerted him to just how off that seemed. But he didn't have time to consider the why, and he'd think about it if he lived through the morning.

He turned to face Kurche, realizing that she was already making the smart choice to back away from the creature, but she couldn't keep that up. It was too fast, too strong, and he couldn't think of a way to immediately bring it down, not after it had already shook off his first spell. He looked around, seeing the newcomers right as their screaming began, and felt yet another gut-wrenching feeling of anxiety. More citizens, more of his brothers, more victims.

He had to do something, and by now, he had an idea of something he could attempt to do.

He ran towards the troll, looking to the sides of the street to check if there were any who could become collateral. The speed with which he moved didn't allow him to get a full look, but he was too far into this to stop now. As he got close to the troll, he jumped, dunking onto the ground with a shout of "Enjoy this meet and greet with some dirt!" Each syllable was bent oddly, as he clearly channeled his control of the Weave through his words.

As his fist touched the ground, a quick rumble began, and another arcane purple light broke through the ground around him, turning the ground into rubble all around, heading towards the troll. If this worked, he'd have to pay for so much property damage, but it would be worth it.

If.


Move until I'm within five feet of the troll, and cast Earth Tremor
DC 14
[roll0]

[Nettlekid]

A vibrating pulse radiates out from Reagan, raising the cobblestones but petering out before reaching the walls of the buildings. The Troll, just having finished its run, is unstable on its feet and loses its balance, falling on its back with a crash. It's not largely harmed by this, but it is currently in a vulnerable position.

The four guards that had been standing next to Kurche as the Troll barreled in are also caught by the pulse of earth. Two remain on their feet, but two are toppled over.

[Rizz]

Kellis felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of the troll's sinister laugh. "Damn!", he cursed as the Troll rushed past, headed now toward Kurche. He was just glad that she managed to get a little space before the monster could cause her harm. Seeing the troll stumble and fall backwards, Kellis took advantage of the opportunity to strike.




Kellis moves toward the prone troll and makes an attack - with advantage from prone target - with his longsword, expending a use of Divine Sense to add 1d8 radiant if it strikes.

Attack: [roll0]
Advantage: [roll1]

Longsword: [roll2] Slashing
Smite: [roll3] Radiant

[Nettlekid]

Kurche manages to gain some distance as the Troll comes up against the various fighters still at the end of the road. Some of these tumble to the ground along with the Troll itself, and Kellis seizes his chance to plunge his sword into the leg of the beast before bursting forth with explosive radiant energy. He can feel the grisly sensation of metal scraping against bone, and the Troll's screeching scream affirms that he damaged it well. Yet even still the skin begins to heal over the blade, and it takes a little more effort than expected to rip the weapon from the closing wound.

"What's with the 'pipsqueak,' you vegetable? A little respect to those in academia..." Pimsley gives Kurche a foul look before turning to the Troll a few feet away, hand raised. With an arcane gesture three motes of light appear as the points of a triangle around his hand, do a half-rotation, then each launch a sizzling beam of red hot energy at the Troll's prone form. Unfortunately with the Troll's prone position it makes for a narrower target than previously, and the Scorching Ray leaves blackened lines on the upturned cobblestone.

The toppled guards stagger to their feet, too close to the beast to risk taking a safe step back in order to shoot another bolt. Counting on their numbers to get the job done they drop their crossbows and each draws a longsword at their waist, gripping it firmly in two hands and following Kellis' lead. The first stabs in but draws no blood, rebuffed by the calloused hide. The second however finds purchase in the side of the Troll, leaving a palpable hit. Pembert also lashes out with a longsword and connects, though his is a weaker blow while he holds onto his shield. The one guard who was not thrown by the Earth Tremor gains a little distance and fires her crossbow at the prone Troll, but the bolt shatters against the ground right next to its neck rather than within it. The two guards at the far end of the street fire a couple more bolts of their own, but they both sail over the Troll's prone form.

The Troll presses against the ground with its burly hands, lifting itself to standing form. It is caked with its own black blood, clearly heavily damaged, though you can still see those wounds closing in time. With prey so easily within reach it lashes out in a wild, furious frenzy. The first claw lashes out at Reagan, standing just behind it to reach with Earth Tremor, but Pembert's style of Protection enables him to shove with his shield and deflect the blow, sparing Reagan from the scything claw. The Troll brings its other claw around to attack Pembert and lacerates him, streaking the man's shirt with blood seeping from underneath. Pembert remains conscious, but not for much longer. Finally, to the one who dealt the greatest blow yet, the Troll rears up its ferocious head with a roar and sinks its teeth into Kellis' shoulder. A dangerously critical hit, it savagely rips a piece of flesh from the side of Kellis' throat and deals 10 damage to him. With a sense of knowing in its eyes it gleefully devours this meat, and seems ready for more.

In your ears there is a high-pitched ringing. The Troll's left eye twitches, but it seems to shrug off whatever it heard. The ringing intensifies and an unpleasant pressure forms in the back of your skulls, and the Troll's head shakes violently as though punched. When it straightens out its eyes seem slightly vacant, as though its willpower is shaken and mental assault may prove more potent in this instant. The Troll has disadvantage of Wisdom saving throws for a round. The ringing fades, but shimmering colors akin to those you experience if you press on your closed eyes dance across your vision. They blind you for half a second before settling down, and outlined in those colors you see points where the Troll's stance is weak and its flesh is vulnerable. All attack rolls next round have Advantage.

The two acolytes hiding behind the boxes in the middle of the street bolt for it, heading toward the northern alleyway while the Troll is distracted and surrounded by fighters. The woman downed in the middle of the street appears for a moment to be doing better, before suddenly retching and coughing blood. She appears to be in critical condition.

[Ajadea]

Kurche screws her eyes shut against the assaulting colors, shaking off the unfamiliar effect much like a dog shakes off too much water. "We're fighting an intelligent, potentially magical, troll, at some unholy morning hour, so forgive me for not remembering your name!" she snaps at the gnome. Paisley? Pembert was the guard, she was pretty sure. She shakes her head, deciding to figure it out after. The dwarves are gone, the acolytes running. Kellis is reeling, but she can't do anything about that. All she can do is make the most of the opening she's been somehow given. Her fingers move in the same gestures as before, looping and circular, as she backs up farther north. At the apex of her gesturing, she seizes her pendant again. The diamond swings up just in time to discharge the growing fiery light in a spinning orb towards the troll.

"Some of us have priorities."


Using my second and last Chromatic Orb. With advantage. PLEASE hit.

[roll0][roll1]
[roll2]

I also want to move perhaps 15-20 feet farther north, without breaking line of sight (should be easy enough, if the troll is in the mouth of the connecting road. If there's anything like crates or barrels, I'll get behind those.

[Rizz]

Kellis reels from the rapid blood-loss that accompanies the horrendous wound he just received. It is clear that he can't stand toe-to-to with a beast such as this, but extricating himself from the situation will prove tricky, and of more immediate concern is his injury. Calling up the limited divine power he has learned to wield, Kellis channels it into his neck, willing the wound to close, and trying to brace himself for the troll's next assault.

Lay on Hands, 5 points, 0 remaining

[Stubbazubba]

Halad blinks at the effect on his vision, unsure for a moment what was going on. Focusing his attention on the Troll, however, he immediately recognizes the spots appearing at joints and soft spots as the sort of thing folks in his career had always relied on to overcome stronger foes. He pulls a bolt from behind him and loads his crossbow, takes aim at a weak point facing him, and fires.

Sneak Attack w/ Adv
[roll0] OR [roll1]

On a hit:
[roll2] + [roll3]

Halad hears the woman retch to his right, and moves over to her as far as he can, planning to give her a potion.

[Nettlekid]

Kurche launches another opalescent sphere at the Troll, but it moves at just the wrong time and the orb streaks past. It continues onward toward the restaurant Halad was near and strikes the top of the stacked barrels at the corner of the alley. The barrel shatters and a thick burgundy liquid spills out about ten feet into the middle of the street, fifty feet from where the Troll is standing. The embers of the Chromatic Orb scattered on the wall drift down and hit the wine, sending a pale blue flame racing across the surface. It seems to have enough fuel to burn for a few rounds.

Kellis manages to heal himself somewhat, but is still right in the Troll's face.

Halad's shot strikes readily and true, catching the Troll in a tensed muscle for significant injury. He nears the downed woman with his movement, but at this time he cannot quickly determine her condition. She is not moving at all.

Reagan spits a lashing insult at the Troll, and in its mentally addled state it isn't prepared to defend against an unexpected Psychic onslaught. Although it doesn't do significant harm, the Troll is disoriented as it prepares to attack again.

Following in Kellis' lead Pembert steadies himself, catching his breath and getting his Second Wind. He's still significantly injured, however. He whips out at the Troll with his longsword, and narrowly catches the Troll's back for a solid hit. The other guard in melee follows suit, and thanks to those strange spots that presumably she is also seeing manages to land a solid strike. One of the crossbow users shoots and still misses, but the other manages to catch the open wound that Halad opened and critically harms the Troll.

Blood pouring from its open wounds, streaked with sword slashes and pincushioned with crossbow bolts, the Troll's knees buckle and it crashes to the ground in a pool of its own black ichor. But even as the guards shakingly start to lower their weapons, you can see that the Troll is visibly alive as the roiling, knotting flesh pushes a bolt or two from its torso and the slashes begin to close. The Troll reawakens, and recognizes the position it's in. It pushes against the ground to lunge into a standing position, then shoves past both Pembert and Kellis to dart running back down toward the middle of the street. Leaving itself open Pembert takes a swipe at it but only catches a bit of tough skin as it flees.
(If Kellis decides to take an AoO - I assume so because I don't see any other use for your Reaction)
Kellis also makes a quick stab with his longsword, divinity guiding his strike and cloaking his blade in burning light. He catches the Troll, twisting the blade in its back, and sending it onto the ground again, once again unconscious but still healing.

The Troll is currently about ten feet from the crowd at the end of the street, just having left Kellis' reach. Its muscles continue to writhe. The shimmering colors in your vision have faded.

[Stubbazubba]

Halad lays his crossbow on the ground, pulls a red potion of healing from his pouch, lifts the woman's head from the ground, and tries to administer the potion to her. "C'mon, lass, hold on! There's got to be a healer around here, someone'll have you patched up in no time," he lied, barely able to peel his gaze away from her bleeding arm socket.

Medicine check, if needed:
[roll0]

[Nettlekid]

The woman isn't moving, so Halad has an easy time pouring the potion down her throat. Her bleeding staunches immediately, and almost like the Troll the flesh around the woman's torn arm tightens and weaves together. Nothing grows back, but it isn't at risk of reopening. There is a worryingly long pause, before the potion's magic continues to work internally and the woman coughs, spluttering, back to consciousness. Flashes of panic cross her face as she retroactively processes what has happened, and she makes half an effort to stand before the exhaustion hits and she's forced back down. She tries to use her missing arm to stabilize herself, and topples. She tries to form a couple of questions, but is still a little out of it and isn't intelligible.

[Stubbazubba]

"It's all right! I've got you!" Halad tries to assure her as he pulls her arm behind his neck, reaches around her waist, and stands, lifting them both. "The alleyway, let's go!" he says as he helps her hobble towards the alley, keeping a safe distance from the flames.

[Ajadea]

Kurche spits an orcish curse as the second orb goes wide, hitting a barrel instead of the troll. The second turns to a loud sigh of relief as the troll collapses. She steps forward slowly, fists clenched to stop her hands from shaking. "Throw something flammable on this thing and I'll set it on fire. Cloth. A torch. Anything. Before it gets up." She's quite proud of her ability to keep the tremor out of her voice, knots of tension holding her tone flat.


Moving within 10ft of the troll (shouldn't be that far, since I only backed up like 15 feet last turn).

Holding my action to wait for someone to throw an aforementioned flammable object on the troll, then casting prestidigitation to light it on fire.

[TheFederalist]

As the troll collapsed, Reagan took an audible breath, finally being able to make anything more than short bursts of exhalation, but he knew that this was only a temporary victory, as the beast's skin began to knit itself right back together. He glanced at Kurche, before realizing what she was saying. Fire! He thought for a millisecond, before one-handedly scrounging in his backpack to retrieve one of the flasks of oil he had in there. He then rushed up to the troll, uncorking the shoddy bottle, and swinging his arm, forcing every bit of the oil onto the body of the troll. "Turn it to cinder!" Reagan cried to Kurche, urgency mounting in his voice.

Move to within five feet of the troll body.
Drop the oil onto it.

If I can't get within 5 feet (I think I should be, from my understanding of the map as it stands), then I'll make the ranged attack in OOC

[Nettlekid]

Reagan darts next to the Troll and shatters the vial of oil against its back, a wide-open target. Thin yellow-green oil mixes with the black blood, running into the gashes left by the many sword and arrow wounds. No sooner has the oil spread does Kurche step forward, and with a snap of her fingers conjures a burst of cosmetic flame racing up the Troll's back. While insubstantial on its own, the flame hungrily latches onto the oil and begins searing and cauterizing the Troll's torn flesh. The Troll reawakens, attempting to push itself back to its feet, but its torn muscles and broken bones aren't coming back together for support. The fire consumes it entirely, and with first a roar and then the squeal of liquids evaporating the Troll is reduced to a pile of ash in a burnt husk of Troll skin and exposed blackened bones. As the flames die down you can investigate with sticks or weapons but it is clear - the Troll's regeneration is halted, and the Troll is undoubtedly dead.

The two guards at the far end of the street support the injured third and regroup with the four guards who had accompanied you near the middle of the street, where the Troll's corpse smoulders and the wine fire begins to subside. The sixteen of you (the seven guards, three Dwarves, Gnome, injured woman, and the four of you) can take a moment to survey the damages. The worst of it was done before you arrived, evidenced by the corpses of civilians thrown to the side of the street where you first saw the Troll stomping. The broken barrel of wine and the ruffled cobblestones pale in comparison, and judging by the face of the pair of Humans opening the door of the restaurant just a crack there is nothing but relief in tear-streaked faces.
"How did this happen?" Elrus finally breaks the silence.
"That's what we want to find out," Pembert answers. "But that isn't top priority. It will be, but first we need to make sure everything is secure. One thing is for certain," he turns to face the four faces of the party. "We owe you a great debt. Perhaps a debt that will be repaid in the forgiveness of whatever potential hand you all had in this, but a debt nonetheless. Had you not been here to support-no, to lead the charge, there could be a Troll still rampaging here and a few more tin-plated corpses scattered on the street. I think each of us here is convinced you are up to no villainy, or else the Troll would not be dead now."
The other guards all nod and murmur agreement.
"The injured among us should visit Panacea. Aranara's used to late-night visitors. We'll clean up the street. The uninjured should come with us to the guard's stations and we can debrief...perhaps after we take a rest."

"If you're looking for a place to stay..." comes an unfamiliar voice from the far road, further west than the far guards had been originally. Stepping into the light are a few fearsome faces, very much unlike the dime-a-dozen Humans walking the streets day or night, and the guards are clearly surprised. On one side, standing just as tall as the Troll but walking with uncanny lightness of step is a hulking figure with greenish skin and pronounced tusks. Kurche recognizes this as an Ogrillon, the child of an Ogre and an Orc, typically more cunning than an Ogre and brawnier than even a full-blooded Orc. On the other side dusky yellow predatory eyes leer down a scaled snout, muddy brown skin uncovered by any stitch of clothing. Kellis has met a Dragonborn before and this is no such creature - far more lizard than dragon. And finally leading the posse is a human-sized black cat with curling teeth like a saber tooth tiger, wrapped in dark leather armor and sporting a pair of light blades at his belt. It is he who speaks now.
"We were the few awake when the news came through. We got here as soon as we could, and it wasn't fast enough. Well hunted." The Tabaxi's gleaming eyes alight on each of the four of you. "Come stay at Wander Inn for the night. The cleanup can wait."
He glances at the Gnome standing to the back.
"Hey Pims. Didn't know you were here."
"A little too much for me to handle on my own..." the Gnome admits sheepishly. "But I witnessed their work, sure enough. I think they can cut it."

You've solved my Troll puzzle! Take 250 XP each for your trouble.

You currently have a couple of options. You can go with the guards who are currently about to clean up the street, go with the others including the Dwarves who are about to return to the guard building and discuss what happened (and how it happened), to this place "Panacea" where there's presumably a healer, or with the newcomer monsters to Wander Inn. Feel free to chat a little more right here while everyone's gathered before deciding.

[Ajadea]

"Pimsley!" Kurche exclaims, pointing at the gnome. "That's your name. My apologies. Knew it started with a P." She looks over at the newcomers. It wasn't every day you saw a group like that in Amaranth. She nods deeply, not quite a bow but certainly respectful. "I am Kurche. It's a pleasure to meet you. I have a place to stay for tonight, at least, but I might pay a visit to this Wander Inn later. Seems like interesting company." She smiles, genuinely, though with a lot of fangs.

She surveys the blackened, bloody, mess in the street, using the butt of her staff to prod at the debris occasionally. "Trolls can regenerate from even a severed head. I'd wager that's how it got into the city without anyone knowing. It's hard to imagine why someone would go to all that trouble smuggling in troll bits and then leave the head unsupervised long enough for the rest of it to grow back though. Lot of wasted effort."

[Stubbazubba]

As the Troll finally burns to death, Halad and the injured woman hobble to what's left of her arm, which Halad wraps in his cloak and places, as gingerly as possible, into his pack. [He also picks up his crossbow, which I/he forgot to grab before, and slings it across his back]. He once again helps the woman limp towards the rest of the group. "Hang in there, miss. I've got you."

As they approach, Halad hears different place names and follows up, "Panacea? What is that? And where? Can they help her?"

[Nettlekid]

Pembert looks to Kurche as she speaks.
"So it was just a head when it came into the city, regrew out of sight, and then went on a rampage? How did it get in? Who brought it, and why?"

One of the other guards, the other who had been fighting in melee, steps forward.
"Panacea is a medical facility. There are many priests and healers in the temples around the city, but sometimes civilians feel put in an awkward position of obligation when finding healing with a church that isn't their own. They may not even be affiliated with any church. Aranara Bonebinder at Panacea is entirely secular and trades in no money, so her services are available to all who ask. She can knit together injuries, heal the sick and poisoned, restore sight, even revive the recently deceased. But this...I think is beyond her."
She steps toward the injured woman, helping Halad hold her.
"Breathe, take your time. You are in no more danger. What is your name?"
The woman still seems dazed.
"A...Aya...Torinth," she manages to mutter. "I...this...I...I am an acolyte...in service of Istus..."
"Kara Einheart," the guard responds with a weak smile. "Of the City Watch. Though I think you may thank Istus for putting this man across your path, else you may not still be with us."

A third guard grimaces as he looks at the stump of Aya's arm.
"Honestly, she might be better served by T'inker than Bonebinder."
The fourth guard seems to disapprove of this remark.

[Rizz]

Kellis heaves a sigh of relief as he surveys the scene laid out before him. He had a close call with death. Sure, he had suffered wounds in the past dealing with bandits and brigands, but this was a new experience. This had been a beast against whom his skill with steel was only a minor factor in determining the outcome.

He had been compelled to stand his ground for the sake of the others, but he had been sure he was about to meet his end. "And still freshly on my own", he thinks as he chuckles to himself. "What would Abeny think of that? Well, at least I no longer need ponder what kind of man I would be in such a situation."

He turns to the three newcomers and replies to their offer of lodging. "Much like Kurche, I also have a place to stay for the night, but I will accompany her to see you tomorrow. As for now, I am going to offer what aid I can to the wounded. What is left of my own injury as well is in need of someone more skilled with medicine than I."

Sheathing his sword and stowing his shield, he moves to help with the wounded but pulls up short, only just registering the comment made by Pimsley. He turns to the gnome, "Wait, cut it?"

[TheFederalist]

As soon as Reagan dropped the oil onto the troll, he instinctively covered his face and eyes, dragging his left arm across his face defensively. This instinct came rightly so, as Kurche's spell immediately sparked the oil into a fire, burning against the horrid beast like a wildfire, taking hair, skin, and bone against the regenerative properties of the troll's body. The smell of burning flesh filled Reagan's nostrils, almost immediately making want to lurch, but he kept his stomach to witness the decay of the creature to ashes.

With the battle finally seemingly over, Reagan removed his arm from his face, and crouched down to the ashes, reaching out towards the burnt skull to push it. The resultant morbid roll of the skull made Reagan confident that it was dead, allowing for his adrenaline to stop pumping, and for his breath to finally enter a more rhythmic pattern, though it was quite obvious that Reagan's body was not going to be at rest for quite a while. Still, the feeling that came immediately was euphoria, for never before had Reagan's life been threatened this much, and while the terror of a gang's torture was always in the heart of a poor citizen like Reagan, nothing like it had ever been so much in his face. He was alive!

But a quick glance around served to temper that euphoria, as around him lay quite a few casualties of the troll that could've been his or any of the people in the caravan's fault. Thankfully, it seemed that they were being attended to, at least, and he imagined that the guard's suggestion for rushing to Panacea wasn't going to be ignored. For the first time since he said good bye to the others yesterday, he afforded himself a little grin, directed at no one. This grin disappeared quite quickly with the appearance of the group out of darkness.

For a second, when all Reagan saw were the tusks of the hulking one, his heart rate spiked once more, as some part of his subconscious thought: Orc!, before he realized what the standing offer was. A fearsome group of... warriors? that he hadn't heard of, and were staying in Amaranth? Now his interest was most certainly piqued. He couldafford a few extra coins tonight for a more comfy room than his rug, and it would most certainly be worth it if he could figure out who these folks were... or what.

He took a second to shoot one of the guards next to Halad and the woman a dirty look about his comment, before looking back at the three, staring the lizardy-one in the eyes with no intention of backing down. "Well, we've had our asses handed to us, so cutting anything but some bread for dipping in alcohol might be the last thing we were thinking about, so you might have to explain that comment for any of us to get what you mean, eh? "

[Nettlekid]

The black cat looks to Pembert as though awaiting an explanation, but Pembert looks a little too sheepish to give a good one. Kara steps up to the plate, with a difficult-to-read expression.
"Wander Inn isn't just some other tavern in the city. They call themselves 'A Home To All Who Wander Inn.' Most of the city knows them by a different name: The Explorers' Guild. In much the same way that you guys were able to take down the Troll when we in the City Watch really couldn't have, they...They take missions and go around the world doing things no one else can do."

"You are disturbed by how we look," the Lizardfolk remarks matter-of-factly, in a softer voice than you might expect. She notices Reagan's fixed gaze and does not react save to blink sideways. "Not all Wanderers are so inhuman. But they sleep at night. Tha-Zerra," she announces. "Gubb Barns," she gestures to the Ogrillon, who nods, "and Black Cat Nikolai." The saber-toothed Tabaxi gives a wolfish grin.
"Pimsley also calls himself a Wanderer when he can be dragged from his studies," Nikolai teases.

[Ajadea]

Kurche nods at Pembert. "Who brought it. Now that's the real question, isn't it?" She frowns, then throws her head back and lets out a sigh that seems to go from her head to her toes. "I swear, if there were troll bits in those stupid fish...." She swears in Orc again, then remembers her company, looking over at Gubb in particular with a sheepish expression. "Er. Sorry. It's been a long day. But the ichor is our best lead. Unless... can any of you three track?" she asks the new arrivals. "Trolls can regenerate, but I've never known them to fly. It had to have walked here from somewhere. Might be able to see where the head was dropped, at least. Not a perfect lead, but certainly better than nothing."

[Nettlekid]

"The fish?" Baedur asks, confused. The three Dwarves look at each other. "Well...our wagon did have the Troll blood on it, so whatever grew into the Troll was on it. But the wagon isn't broken, and I don't think it could take the weight of that full Troll. So...the head was on the wagon, but then off the wagon when it regrew. Sounds like maybe you're right - it was buried under all those red herrings, and grew back only after it was taken off our cart at the gates."

[Stubbazubba]

As the guards approach, Halad stiffens. He didn't like the sound of a trip, likely escorted by officers of the City Watch. "It sounds like you know the way better than I," he says to the guards. "Aya, is it?" he asks the woman, shifting to look toward her. "I think these kindly officers will help you from here. I'm not from around here and would likely just get us lost," he lied. "Time is of the essence, so I'll leave you in their capable hands."

[TheFederalist]

The names seemed to tick with Reagan, as did the term 'Wanderer'. Suddenly, things seemed to fall into place for him, at least some what, since he imagined that "cut it" was simply a reference to their entry protocols. As he considered this, he did his best to maintain to maintain his amiable composure as he struggled to grapple with how the hilarity of the situation slowly seeped into his understanding. Of all the things he'd expected to happen over his lifetime, a possible invitation (though he did not discount the fact that he could be misunderstanding the situation) to the Wanderers was one of the last things he could've imagined. Not only because he thought of himself as a journalist and just another angry, motivated half elf, but also because he didn't think very highly of them. A standing military machine like the folks up north had would benefit Magnalia more, and likely cost less, but he kept his mouth shut about this. Partially out of decency, partly out of realizing just how much exposure he could get from inside the Guild, and also due to the massive muscles currently bulging close to his face.

He raised two fingers to his forehead, giving the three a heads up greeting the best he could manage it, and immediately said "Explorer's Guild? Well then, I suppose I really shouldn't have been surprised, although at this point in the day even the taxman coming to my door would surprise me. Apologies! I suppose we'll have to talk over a... Is it? Eh, not too early for a drink, so I suppose we'll have to talk this over one. As soon as we can, at least." With his last phrase, he looked over to the others and the guards. "Obviously, something's been missed here. As part of the debriefing, can we get a look at the wagon? Something still seems off to me about it."

[Ajadea]

Kurche's eyebrows go up, and she looks at Reagan with something like amusement glittering in her dark eyes. "You can go inspect the wagon, if you want to waste a lot of time. I'd go look at where they keep the contraband. There was more than one crate of fish, and there's no telling what's buried in all of those. That is, I would if I were so inclined to investigate, instead of catching up on lost sleep. Which I am not." She yawns, only partially deliberately. It was still dark, and she couldn't even begin to imagine the hour. Something dreadful that should not be seen, no doubt. It wasn't like she was a healer or anything, so no point in sticking around. "Kellis, will you be able to find your way back on your own, or do you need me to come pick you up at Bonebinder's in the morning?"

[TheFederalist]

Kurche's eyebrows go up, and she looks at Reagan with something like amusement glittering in her dark eyes. "You can go inspect the wagon, if you want to waste a lot of time. I'd go look at where they keep the contraband. There was more than one crate of fish, and there's no telling what's buried in all of those. That is, I would if I were so inclined to investigate, instead of catching up on lost sleep. Which I am not." She yawns, only partially deliberately. It was still dark, and she couldn't even begin to imagine the hour. Something dreadful that should not be seen, no doubt. It wasn't like she was a healer or anything, so no point in sticking around. "Kellis, will you be able to find your way back on your own, or do you need me to come pick you up at Bonebinder's in the morning?"

Reagan looks towards Kurche, giving her a wider smile, and replies "Were I someone who wanted to sleep, I might've agreed! But wagons have enough empty space that I figured I'd do both. Ain't no rest for me to be found this morning when there's work to be done, even if I am drained of the eldritch." He raised a hand, and pointed in the general direction of a gate with all five fingers, and dropped his smile, now speaking more quietly "And, the guards checked those boxes pretty thoroughly. Say what I may about our government, border-guard has at least a semi-decent level of competence that shouldn't have let this slide. That's why I'm interested in the wagon."

As soon as he finished speaking, he raised an eyebrow in thought, as the memory of the scene hit him. There were... two boxes the guards didn't really bother looking into, so Kurche had a likely point. But on the other hand, those crates were likely to be more empty now than before. He'd made his choice however, and it was unlikely to take him longer than the entire day to do both.

[Nettlekid]

Pembert takes a deep breath then winces at his own injury, glancing enviously at Kellis whose divine magic sealed up injury more consummately than just pushing through pain.
"Right, then. You, Officer Stingrow, and I will escort Aya to Panacea," he gestures to Kellis and the guard who had been injured by the Troll before you arrived. You realize that apart from Kurche's Pembert probably doesn't know your names. Or he may have gotten them from Baedur, but doesn't know which name goes to which face.
"Reynold, you can escort the Dwarves back to their wagon with Pimsley to investigate that Troll slime a little further. Kurche makes a good suggestion about tracking the residue." Pembert motions to one of the guards that had been with your group from the start.
"I'm not doing anything at present. I'll give you this one pro bono," Nikolai nods.
"Jastell, Kurche makes another good suggestion about investigating the confiscated crates. No telling what else might be in there. We can get a report in the morning." Here he points to the other guard who had been with you.
"Officers Forsynth and Harris can finish taking care of things here. Get reports from anyone who witnessed this, maybe ending with those acolytes that bolted. They were closest to the whole thing. And identify the bodies of the dead. That's...going to have to get taken care of." He motions to the two guards who had been peppering the Troll with crossbow bolts from the other end of the street.
"And Kara, I want you on call if any of these four need connections to the Explorers' Guild. You know the Guild well enough to escort them, and I'd appreciate an eye from the Watch there."

Pembert sighs and winces again.
"Come on. Let's wake up Bonebinder. I'll still want to speak with all of you, but Kurche's right, it can wait until we're in better shape."
With that, he and the injured Officer Stingrow work together to support Aya as they start heading toward the Market Mile.

[Rizz]

"I will meet you there in the morning", Kellis replies to Kurche. "Thank you."

Noting that his injuries seem less severe after his healing than those of the other others, Kellis walks over to Aya and the officers. "I am afraid I've no means of magical healing left, else I would provide what comfort I could. I can at least carry Aya for you."

[Stubbazubba]

After leaving Aya and her arm with the soldiers, Halad steps up to the Tabaxi. "I've heard a lot of tales about the Explorer's Guild," he says, reaching out a hand. "'Name's Ruven, Ruven Yelmaer, from Vennington. I'd be very interested in helping out."


Deception check:
[roll0]

[Nettlekid]

With decisions made, the group starts to dissolve. Some of the guards are briefly anxious about allowing you four to scatter, but the events of the evening suggest that you're reliable and those fears are assuaged.

Kurche is allowed to head back to Extra Credit without escort. The tavern is dark and quiet when she arrives, even the longest burning candles snuffed, and finds her room undisturbed. She manages to get to sleep and recovers from the strain of the evening, with her spellbook ready for study on the morrow.

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

Kellis shoulders the lion's share of Aya's weight as the four wounded hobble down the streets and reach the wide Market Mile. The usually bustling center of commerce is eerily quiet in the darkness of the early morning. About three quarters of the way down the mile you come to a simple wooden shack, modest but not ragged or worn down in the slightest. A wooden sign with elegant calligraphy displays the name "Panacea" across the top. The shutters are closed and there is no light from within. Pembert knocks anyway, first quietly and then again more loudly. There is a small clattering, and footfalls on the wooden interior. The door bursts open, and you are greeted by the sight of an astonishingly attractive young woman with tanned skin, short black hair, and loose-fitting clothes supplemented by wound bandages like some martial artists wear around their limbs and torso. She seems a little sleepy, and blinks to focus you in her vision. From within there is a pleasantly tangy aroma of spices and herbs.

"Good morning, miss Bonebinder," Pembert nods.
"...it's mornin'?" Aranara mumbles. As she wakes up, her eyes alight on the injuries carried by the four of you. "Goodness, what happened? Please, come in, come in! What did I miss?"
The four of you are escorted into the house, and Aranara taps a coatrack which bursts into a warm light. The light illuminates a few wide beds with soft bedding as well as some wooden chairs. There is a cabinet in the corner with some medical supplies hanging out from the drawers, and glass bowls of the aromatic spices on top of the cabinet. Among the various implements cluttered around, Kellis notices one of the rare purple Gems. Kellis is motioned to help Aya onto one of the beds, while the two guards each take a seat.
"There was an attack in the temple district. A Troll. Thanks to a few powerful fighters who happened to be on the scene we took it down, but not without injury. Those who are still alive but injured are here now."

Aranara spends a few minutes looking over Aya, who is slipping in and out of consciousness. She flicks her finger into her palm and a few dried leaves tacked to the wall fly into her hand. She crushes them and drips the powder into Aya's mouth, and in a few minutes more Aya falls still and her breaths settle into those of a deep sleep. Once Aya is asleep Aranara examines her arm a little, then places both hands around the broken arm. Halad's healing potion had helped staunch the bleeding, but whatever Aranara's doing not only regenerates enough muscle and skin to cover the injury but does the same to the rent wounds around her body.

"That's...about as much as I can do for now. She'll sleep solidly probably for a day or two while her body recovers. But regrowing an arm, that's no easier than growing a whole new body, and that takes more than I've got. It would be easier to bring her back from the dead. Talking of which...you said you're the ones who are alive."
"There were already casualties before we arrived. Officers are working to identify them. I knew they were beyond your aid," Officer Stingrow affirms solemnly.
"I can restart a life, but I can't bring one back from too far gone. You'd need divine magic for that. Cavendish could do it, but fat chance he'll cut you a break on those diamonds."

Sighing and stretching her back, she turns to look over the three less critically injured fighters in the room. She starts with Kellis, looking at the wound on his neck.
"Tell me, how did this happen? What were you doing? And this is partially healed already - who tended to you?"
She puts her hand to Kellis' chest, pressing her index finger firmly against the top of his sternum. Kellis' ears are filled with the same unpleasant high-pitched ringing and pressure that he heard back in the fight against the Troll, but the pain in his throat subsides almost immediately as the wound heals over without so much as a scar.

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

Nikolai accepts and shakes Halad's hand.
"Come, you've had a full day and night. You can rest at the Inn, and we'll talk about what you can do tomor-later today. I will meet you later, after I go with the guards to help investigate the wagon site. Tha-Zerra and Gubb have you in good hands."
Nikolai gives a quick wave goodbye and heads off with Reynold, Pimsley, and the Dwarves, leaving the two Half-Elves in the company of the Lizardfolk and Ogrillon. Kara hovers around briefly, but since the Wanderers are bringing you to the guild she isn't needed and goes off to follow the Dwarves.
"Com'on. Human eyes dun open to the moon," Gubb waves to the two of you. You follow not far behind Kellis' group heading toward the Market Mile, though you stop only about a quarter of the way down the street.

It is twice as wide as the storefronts to either side of it and twice as tall as well. The front of the building is presumably stone like the others but has been coated with a layer of plaster so that an intricate mural could be painted on the face. The left side of the mural features an adventuring party consisting of a knight fully clad in armor with sword pointed and shield raised, a wizard in a starry robe and tweaked hat with lightning crackling around his hands, a priest in white vestments boldly raising an indistinct holy symbol, and a rogue with bandoleers of daggers crouching in the foreground with a crossbow trained on its target. The faces are indistinct, and their roles are discernible due to their dress more than anything else. On the opposite side are the targets and prey, monsters exaggerated to the point of caricature baring fangs and claws. A Mimic with rows of teeth is flanked by two Skeletons, the orange insectoid Rust Monster waves its feelers from atop the gnarled hulking body of a long-nosed Troll, and behind them an impressive Red Dragon hovers with wings spread wide. The doors to enter the guild hall are placed right between the clash of heroes and monsters, as though to evoke the notion that those who pass through regularly walk the line of battle and peril. It is through these doors that the four of

The hall to speak of is designed like a wide tavern, with several rows of tables forming a communal dining area underneath a high ceiling. The right-most wall has four cork message boards with a few posters hung on each, and the balcony of the second floor which extends out from the back seems to have another. The tables are strewn with mugs and plates marking the remnants of a spirited dinner the night before, as does the smell of spiced meat in the air. In the back seems to be a wide and flat metal grill that would be used for cooking, and barrels of drink are stacked in the corner. The hall is dim and empty save for a Kenku tiptoeing around, stacking mugs and dishes.
"There are rooms upstairs. They are safe and your throat will not be cut while you sleep," Tha-Zerra remarks, leaving Halad and Reagan to rest through the night while she goes to take bones from the plates the Kenku is collecting.

[Rizz]

"Unfortunately", Kellis responds, "I angered the Troll. He took a large bite out of me. The limited healing done was by my own hand. A certain level of divine blessing."

Kellis winces just a bit at the ringing and pressure. He feels the wound finish healing and, after feeling his neck, utters a quick, "Thank you", giving her as much a bow of the head as he can, lying down. "Say, what is that ringing and pressure? I felt similar earlier."

[Nettlekid]

"Your own hand!" Aranara's eyes light up and she looks you up and down. "A touch of divinity? How exciting, to be touched and chosen by the gods! Ooh, tell me, I assume you to be a religious man. Did you find religion before your blessing and as such were blessed for your faithfulness, or did the gods choose you to be blessed and as a result you followed their teachings?"
The ringing continues as she moves to Officers Wickham and Stingrow, touching each and forcing the injuries to close up, though she remains looking curiously and eagerly at Kellis for his answer.
"Ringing? Pressure? Hmm. I suppose side effects. Nothing to be concerned about! Just a quirk of this brand of magic. Well, not magic."

[TheFederalist]

Reagan was split on the decision that was really made for him, disappointed because he was hoping to get a good idea of what was happening, but glad to actually get some sleep instead of continuing the hectic plan he'd set up for the day. At least he'd be capable of facing any, heavens forbid, more threats that could occur. He wouldn't have ever thought as such, but the morning's troll attack had left an impression of paranoia in the back of his mind. It had come out of nowhere, and he had been indirectly attached to hi, so he figured his slight worry was now just a natural response.

As he passed into the hall, he stopped to take in the mural, although he felt it was oddly generic. It garnered some scrutiny and a raised eyebrow, but within seconds, he had moved into the hall. The kenku gained a little more surprise from him, but the quiet stature of the hall prevented him from commenting on the odd nature of its existence. He followed Halad up the stairs, glancing over at the kenku as he went to his room. He fell into the bed, finding incredible amounts of comfort in it, and fell asleep within the minute.

[Ajadea]

Kurche collapses into bed almost as soon as she's returned to her room, pausing just long enough to kick off her shoes. What a night. What a stupid bloody night. She awakens to sunlight streaming through the window, her glasses askew, and the smell of meat frying. Breakfast. Hopefully not lunch. She retrieves her spellbook from under a shoe and sets it on her lap, frowning at the pages as she reads them. After a minute, she pulls out ink and inkpen, and begins writing on one. When she's finished, she blows on the page to dry the ink. That would do for next time, if there had to be a next time. Worse things than trolls lurked in dungeons.

She claps her spellbook shut, grabs her things, and heads down to the common room to see about swiping a sausage or two from Orinder before she leaves for the Explorer's Guild. "Morning, Orinder. It is morning, right?" she says. She's only half-joking. "Hope the guard didn't scare you too much last night. It's all sorted out. Well," she corrects herself, "At least it's all their problem now. Got any food?"


Added Expeditious Retreat and Find Familiar to Kurche's spellbook. Her Arcane Tradition is School of Divination.

Portent rolls: [roll0][roll1]

[yasseglal]

:smallfurious::smallfurious::smallfurious::smallfu rious:

[Rizz]

"To tell you the truth, I am not entirely certain why I was given the ability to tap into the divine like I can. Though I was raised and trained first by a priest, and then by a fellow paladin, I never swore fealty to any gods before my ability manifested. I have since had it pointed out that my own beliefs are rather in line with those of one of the gods. Perhaps it is a matter of my convictions drawing his favorable attention."

Kellis sits up and stretches as Aranara works among the other wounded. "I am curious, if what you do isn't quite magic, what is it?"

[Nettlekid]

The bespectacled Gnome is up early, tending to excessive amounts of lard sizzling on a blackened griddle in the fireplace. A clay cauldron bubbles with broth, inside which eggs boil to varying degrees of firmness.
"G'mornin', Kurshay! I hear you had quite a night! You're darn tootin' I was surprised when those chainshirts jingled in the door, but I heard the gist of the story. Elbert Nummuck, the kid who sings on off days, told me that his friend Jeston was told by their mutual friend Flittim that Pimsley found some kind of muck that freaked out the guard or something. You're looking pretty sharp this morning, for such a busy night!"

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

The ringing in Kellis' ears subsides as Aranara finishes tending to the officers. The officers look over their outfits, feeling the relief of their closed wounds and bemoaning letting the arcanists leave before they were cleaned up. Aranara heavily plops down in the seat next to Kellis, stretching and yawning again. She doesn't let Aya out of her sight, while keeping a curious eye on Kellis.
"Interesting, interesting. What god do you follow, if that's not too personal? I've never been an extremely religious woman, though maybe I should be. I can't pretend to know the habits or preferences of the gods. Your theory seems reasonable, that your god saw a faithful if unwitting servant in you and rewarded you accordingly. Oh! But what if it's not even your god, what if it's a different god who's okay with you thinking it's the one you think it is? That would be wild!"
The officers stand, content as to the status of their injuries. The two of them thank Aranara for her time, and nod a professional goodbye to Kellis with the assurance that they'll be in touch. She gives each of them a wave, and for only an instant the ringing returns much softer than before. It quiets down as they leave, and in its absence there's a calm if heavy silence of the little remaining night.
"Um, so yeah! The magic stuff. I mean, it's kind of hard to describe. Most magic comes from the outside, be it divine forces or the Weave. Whatever I do comes from within, it's my decision and will. Some of those Paracelsus students sometimes want me to come over to learn about it, but I don't know, they kind of...creep me out a little, they just have a weird vibe. I enjoy the company of spirited people with amazing lives and fascinating stories to tell me, and most of Paracelsus are boring bookworms."

[Ajadea]

Kurche snorts and shakes her head. She's long gotten used to Orinder's mispronunciations. If he hadn't learned in six years, he wasn't going to start now. "Elbert doesn't know the half of it. The muck was monster ichor, from a troll stuffed into a box of herring. I swear by all the gods. Herring. There was a fight, a bad one. But like I said, it's the guard's problem now," she says dismissively. She leans over to look at what's cooking. "Can I get two eggs? Hard-boiled. And a sausage, if you've got one. I'm meeting Kellis at the Explorer's Guild. Doubt he knows where to find a good place to eat in this city, and it'd be a shame if he starved his second day here."

[Rizz]

Kellis takes a moment to consider Aranara's words. "I hadn't considered that possibility. Have you heard of Trithereon? I can't say that I particularly follow him, but... well it's been pointed out that his values and my beliefs tend to run mostly parallel." Kellis chuckles to himself as he considers the matter. "In fact, the very tenets of Trithereon tend to discourage simply following, but rather making your own choices."

Kellis yawns as the lack of sleep and events of the night catch up to him. He stands from the bed and turns to Aranara. "Thank you very much for your assistance. Is there anything I can do to repay?"

[Nettlekid]

"What an entertaining paradox. Maybe it is for that reason that I am unaware of his flock. Perhaps it is that Trithereon rewards those who independently choose the 'correct' paths of their own accord?"
Aranara watches Kellis yawn, which elicits one from her as well.
"It is late, and you need your rest. I don't know how far you plan to walk or where you're staying. If you have any concern about your wounds reopening or if you think you may need any attention through the course of the night, you're welcome to stay here. There are plenty of beds, and I can personally attest to their comfort. Ah, but in any case, I do typically request one form of payment for my services."
The same quiet ringing resurfaces in Kellis' ears. What follows is a strange sensation, in which Kellis does not hear Aranara speak but receives the thought and essential memory of having just heard her - as though she had bypassed the step in which she speaks and he listens.
I would like you to share with me a memory. Something you feel is important to you, that reminds you of being alive or that has shaped who you are. Fear not, I won't steal it from you. I just want to share it with you. I cannot see or hear anything you do not willingly open to me.

[Rizz]

Kellis felt himself jump as her voice rang out clearly in his mind, despite the lack of movement from her lips. Interesting. He had never experienced something like this before. "A memory?", Kellis thought, wondering if he was doing this correctly. "Just recall it and you can see it?" He found himself mildly concerned about the implications of such a thing. Particularly due to memories of his time under his father's control - memories he never wished to share with anyone - flashing into his mind for brief moments before he could clear his mind of them.

"Let's see... something that makes me feel alive or has shaped me?" A specific memory came to mind, and Kellis couldn't help but relive it.

---


Kellis and Abeny were traveling to their next destination. Kellis hadn't paid much attention to where it was, but he remembered they would be staying at the temple of Heironeous in the area. Abeny was speaking of what he was hoping Kellis would learn there, and whom he wanted Kellis to meet. Kellis, however, wasn't paying much attention. He was rather distracted by a dimpled face framed by dark curls.

The two of them had encountered a caravan headed in the same direction as they were, at least for a few days. Abeny enjoyed the opportunity to travel with others and hear what they had to say. Kellis didn't mind. Sometimes traveling with Abeny could simply be boring, and there were other children his age with this group. Among them was the girl who distracted him now. Her name was Sarene. She was riding in the back of a wagon with other children from the group. Kellis, however, was made to ride beside Abeny in a wagon behind them. He stared ahead until one of the hired guards - one who seemed rather distrustful of the newcomers - noticed Kellis' stares and moved to interpose himself, giving Kellis a scowl. Kellis let out a sigh and was about to turn back to Abeny when he saw the guards eyes suddenly go wide and the man prepare to shout. In the blink of an eye a pair of crudely constructed arrows pierced the man's chest and he dropped to the ground.

A roar of vicious cries rang out as short green-skinned men burst forth from the trees, several arrows flying before them, a few of which found targets. The guards flew into action, engaging the goblins. Abeny leaped over the side of the wagon, his lithe movements defying his aged appearance. "Get down, boy!", he shouted to Kellis as he ran forward, he hands beginning to glow. Kellis ducked himself down into the wagon, but soon found himself peaking over the edge to see what was happening. Many of the families and merchants were huddled inside of their wagons as well, while the guards fought off the marauding beasts. As he watched, Kellis saw a pair of goblins with hungry looks in their eyes slowly making their way toward the wagon with the whimpering children, going unnoticed in the commotion. Kellis tried calling out, but no one heard him. Panic was written on the faces of the children in the other wagon, and Kellis felt the need to do something.

He jumped over the edge of the wagon and ran over to the body of the guard, his face now pale and vacant of any life. He pulled the man's longsword from it's sheathe, a blade far too large and heavy for Kellis to handle effectively. He stood between the wagon and the goblins and swung the sword wildly about, not knowing what else to do with it. The goblins simply snickered between themselves and waited for Kellis to tire himself. His arms rapidly growing tired, he let the tip of the blade rest on the ground. The goblins split and began to circle him until he could no longer face both at once. In a rush, the goblin behind him came in to attack. Kellis spun and simply raised the blade in front of him, flinching as the goblin charged. A look of surprise blossomed on the goblin's face as he impaled himself on the sword. The second goblin took the opportunity and dove in with a shout, his wicked blade cutting into Kellis' thigh. With a cry Kellis release the sword and fell to the ground. He looked up as the goblin raised his blade to strike once more, an expression like anger on it's face. Kellis raised his hands in front of himself, knowing it wouldn't help, but not being able to do anything else.

A bolt of light slammed into the goblin's chest, sending it sprawling and momentarily blinding Kellis from the flash. As his vision cleared, he saw Abeny rushing over to him, inspecting him for further wounds. "Fool boy", he cursed before gripping his amulet and muttering ancient words, radiance enveloping his hands. "I told you to hide in the wagon." He touched Kellis leg and the flow of blood ceased as the fleshed knitted back together.

Surveying the scene, Kellis saw the goblin that attacked him a few feet away, lying on it's back with a smoldering hole in its chest, the other with the sword still impaling it. A few guards had fallen, but what few goblins remained had fled from the caravan, realizing they had bitten off more than they could chew. The adrenaline leaving his system, Kellis suddenly felt tired.

"Well, the others needed help. And you didn't tell me to hide, just to get down. I did, but then I couldn't just leave them." Kellis let the weariness overtake him and he just laid there. Abeny got that look he always did when Kellis was technically correct. That look faded to one of appraisal, and Abeny let out a grunt as his stood up. "Well, if this is how you intend to handle such dangerous situations, then I think I have a friend we'll need to have you meet."

---

Kellis pulled himself back to the present. Trying to further get acquainted with this mental communication, he thought toward Aranara, "Is that what you meant? Is that sufficient payment?"

[Nettlekid]

Aranara falls back in her chair, putting one hand to her own chest as she catches her breath. Kellis can see her eyes misting over.
"And so was born the knight protector. I think that's a fair guess as to why Trithereon chose you. Bravery in danger, protector of innocents, complete disobedience of a direct command. You were a cute little rebel. And then? Who was it you were to meet? What of the girl?"
Aranara steadies and collects herself, then stands.
"No, that is unfair of me. Thank you, that was more than enough. I'll let you save the rest for the next time you're mortally injured. You take care, and don't keep too safe now. I gotta stay in business somehow!" She gives Kellis a warm smile and walks him to the door, bidding him a good evening.

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

Hours later, in Extra Credit
"Good lord, a monster like that smuggled into the city? What's all this protection for if something just slips right on through! Great big walls around the city and a great big door in the walls that a great big Troll stomps through! I tell you what though, there's gonna be a hunt for who's responsible. Smuggling smugglers and all. This is the kind of thing that makes the the Watch look weak, and then Amaranth loses face around the rest of the world, and then what happens? I don't know. But someone wants it!"
Orinder tends to the breakfast on the fire and scrapes together some for Kurche.
"Explorer's Guild? You got a job needs doing? And oh yeah, the knightly-looking kid? He oughta be upstairs, I think he got back maybe an hour later than you, or so I'm told. Explorer's Guild and an out-of-towner warrior, not the company I expected you to keep from your time at Paracelsus!"

There is a tapping on the swinging door, and Kurche sees the City Watch officer Kara Einheart standing. She looks disheveled, and probably hasn't had a chance to rest since you last saw her a few hours ago.
"Hello, Kurche? I think two of your friends are already at the Explorer's Guild, but Officer Wickham instructed me to guide you all there when you were ready to go. No hurry or anything, in your own time. The people at Wander Inn march to the beat of their own drum and expect the same from others; they'll want you when you want to be there."

[Rizz]

Kellis chuckled inwardly at her intrigued questions. He was glad to see that he had picked up on Rasmus' penchant for storytelling, even if this was a wholly new way to tell a story. He was equally glad for her change of direction in stopping herself from seeking more, as he had found that - despite the exhaustion that wore on him - he felt a slight disappointment at the thought of having to deny her inquiries.

"I must say", Kellis said, returning her smile, "after tonight's events, I feel that 'too safe' isn't likely to often be applied to my life. In any case, I thank you for the assistance and the company. Sharing that memory was... pleasant. If I find myself with a shortage of serious wounds, I may stop in some day to share more anyway."

Kellis gave a small bow as Aranara said her goodbye, then turned and began to puzzle his way back to Extra Credit. "Pretty smile", he thought to himself.

[Nettlekid]

Since I've kept the rest of you waiting long enough I'll move the scene along. Apologies to Ajadea if there was anything else from Orinder you wanted, but naturally you'll have time to talk later.

Whenever Kellis finishes waking up and comes downstairs in Extra Credit he'll find Kurche and Kara waiting, and before too long Kara will encourage the pair to come with her to the Explorer's Guild. Orinder wishes you well, and asks that you give his regards to "Juiri's granddaughter" at the Guild. As the trio winds through the streets Kellis can recognize the path they take toward the Market Mile as it is the one he shambled home down only a few hours prior, but it is transformed by the hustle and bustle of active crowds eager to start their day. Even in the early morning the market is swarming with locals and travelers alike walking up and down the cobblestone streets gazing with interest at the curiosities of the gathering bazaar.

The street is abnormally wide, but with good reason. The center is clear enough, dotted with pedestrians who move out of the way when a carriage or wagon comes through. The occasional performer takes up this space, doing acrobatic tricks or feats of sleight of hand or playing music to impress onlookers for tips. Flanking the center are stalls, temporarily constructed booths made from hinged wooden planks and cloth roofing, where non-local merchants who can't justify a permanent storefront can set up their wares and displays. You can see that there are Elves selling delicate woven goods or wooden ornaments, Dwarves with weapons or tools of forged Resswald steel, Halflings with glass containers of dried spices and herbs, and even Orcs with animal pelts and hunting equipment. Behind each row of stalls is another narrower sidewalk flush with the buildings for the benefit of the pedestrians who want to get around the crowd a bit more quickly. And finally, forming the borders of the street are whatever permanent establishments hold a prestigious position on the mile, staples of the city whose owners receive traffic from loyal local customers and impressed tourists. Names like T'inker's Emporium, the Brothbrewery, the Soulforge, and Panacea are only a few which stand out in these tidy, well-kept stone brick storefronts.

The trio reaches the Explorers' Guild that presumably Reagan and Halad had been led to at the end of the night. Kara shifts her weight anxiously as she stands in front of the double doors within the mural, then bids you a tired good morning as she considers her mission accomplished.

Reagan and Halad awaken from a busy and stressful night and enter onto the upper balcony just as Kurche and Kellis push open the double doors from outside. The four of you are greeted to a sight as bustling as the streets outside but ten times as startling at first glance. The Explorer's Guild is a hectic den of enthusiastic-looking adventurers, and immediately upon arrival you notice a much greater variety of races than there were on the city streets. Not only is there a higher percentage of Elves and Dwarves than formed the pedestrian population but some look unlike Elves and Dwarves you've seen before - dark-skinned Elves from the Resswald desert and gray-streaked Dwarves from the arctic north. A familiar hulking Ogrillon and slender Githzerai, wide winged Aarakocra and furry whiskered Tabaxi all dine at the long feasting tables. Humanoids with red or blue skin suggest some kind of elemental or extradimensional heritage, and there are even monstrous creatures like Lizardfolk and Thri-Kreen in this hall. The room is full of an elevated chatter as various groups of friends discuss over meals and drinks, while a spellcasting cook in an open kitchen near the back calls out orders. The hall is full of the smell of sizzling fat and frying meats, and the number of mugs on the table suggest that there are some who started drinking early or never finished from the night before.

The first person Kellis and Kurche can speak to is a Halfling woman sitting behind a desk at the entrance, a beaming smile on her face. She has dark tanned skin and her hair is braided into many tight cords. She has a few simple arcs tattooed on her face contoured around her eyes and cheeks, and you both notice that some of them cover scars.
"Well hey there! I'm gonna guess you're the second half of the group we're looking forward to meeting! Your buddies Reagan and Ruven oughta be upstairs, so if-oh, there they are!"
The Halfling turns to survey the crowd, notices Reagan and Halad, and waves them over to join the conversation (if they so wish.)
"You got in here so late there was no one to give you a proper greeting. But by the sound of it there were some unusual circumstances. Well, better late than never! You're welcome to Wander Inn! I'm Miriconda Rudgain, but you can call me Miri. I expect you know a little about us and what we do here, and I gotta say it's not often we do talent scouting. Usually we're turning people away at the door! Word travels quick and we heard from Nikolai what all went down last night, and obviously hearing about a few people who just rolled into down and took out a Troll while saving a bunch of lives isn't something that comes up every day!

Now, just to clarify, I'm not saying that we're crawling out here on hands and knees begging you strangers to be part of our family; that would be kind of weird no matter the circumstances. If there's no match, no chemistry, then it wouldn't be good for anyone. And even if you did want to join we'd want to make sure it was for the right reasons. I guess it's more fair to say that you caught our eye? And, if you're interested, we want to start taking the next steps. Sorry, that was way more info than you needed dumped on you this early in the morning! Have you had breakfast? You should grab some and meet some of the Wanderers, and if you have any questions about what we do or anything else you can ask me or anyone else you see here!"

[Ajadea]

The Explorer's Guild, or Wander Inn, or whatever they wanted to call it was certainly busy. Kurche looks around, taking it all in. There's not a terribly large number of places where she'd be one of the normal ones, but this place definitely counted. She liked it already. A broad grin breaks across her face. "Nice to meet you, Miri. I'm Kurche. I've had breakfast already, but thanks for the offer. You've got a nice place here," she says. "What sort of work do the people here do, mostly?"

[Nettlekid]

"Good question! It all depends on what jobs come in and what's requested of us. It might be something simple like bringing a delivery from one side of the city to another or searching for something that went missing in the city, or it might be something more dangerous and complicated like hunting down a monster for parts or rescuing a missing person. For the most part we prefer not to take jobs that take us too far from the city - our strength is in our unity, so not only does a wayward Wanderer not have the support of the guild behind them but they're also not around to support the rest of us back here. But some of the more experienced members can be called upon for missions that take them away for months at a time."

[TheFederalist]

"Heyo!" cheered out Reagan as he witnessed the others, and followed them up to the Halfling. He looked oddly ruffled, even more so than what he'd have looked like during the trip, and signs of tiredness simply poured out of his face, even if his signature smile never wavered. With his hair in the way of his eyes, and a spot of dried ink on the side of his face, it looked like he'd attempted to write in the night, though to what success was unclear. He headed over to Miri as he raised an arm in greeting, while using the other hand to straighten out his back. He avoided the meeting the eyes of any of the others around him, and simply came up to Miri, listening intently.

"Miri, Miri, wonderful. Suave operation you've got here, but I think I can keep business waiting for the breakfast table." he said, addressing the Halfling and reached a hand out. "Although, never thought I'd be joining the Guild at any point, I'll be honest." he said again, repeating his thoughts from earlier in the morning.

[Ajadea]

"Hello to you too, morning glory. How did your pointless late-night investigation of a cart go?" Kurche asks Reagan. Despite her words, her tone isn't hostile - or at least, it's no more hostile than she'd been towards him for the entire trip south. She turns back to Miri. "So you lot do take requests for monster parts. Like, say, if someone wants troll pieces, fresh, no questions asked? Figures," she says, rolling her eyes. She leans on Miri's desk, which has the side effect of her looming over the halfling woman.
"Do you keep any records of past jobs here I can look at? If you don't mind." She smiles. It doesn't help.

[Nettlekid]

Miri accepts Reagan's handshake.
"And perhaps you still won't, if the path you hope to take isn't one that the guild can walk with you. Just extending a hand and expressing interest."

She then turns to address Kurche's question. Miri's expression is difficult to read, she doesn't react to Kurche's looming, though it's unclear if she's oblivious the intent or if that kind of show doesn't faze her. Her tone is calm with a hint of sternness.
"There are some cursory records kept, not by myself. But no, they're not available for anyone off the street to peruse. If there was something you were specifically looking for I could talk to someone about investigating. Now, there's no need to point fingers so readily, nor speak in doubletalk and implication. You'll find very few Wanderers here shy in speaking their minds openly. You're suggesting we're involved with last night's attack, and I can tell you with no uncertainty that there is no connection. I can assuage your concerns a few ways. Firstly, we're not mercenaries, we're not so beholden to terms of employment that we'd break laws and risk the safety of our peers for a job. Secondly, if there was need of pieces of a Troll I assure you we'd have members excitedly gearing up to hunt one down in the deep forests of Eornal, not trying to smuggle it in through the front gates of Amaranth. Thirdly, were we to try to smuggle it in we'd have better ways to do it than passing it onto an unaffiliated wagon; guards know better than to interfere with Wanderers doing their business, and a crooked member of our order could have abused that. But there are no crooked members because of the fourth and most important reason: No member of the guild would willfully endanger civilian lives, period. With good reason or not. We're not the monsters that the Empire would have you think we are."

[TheFederalist]

With a light giggle, he looks over at Kurche, and said "Went smashingly, as in I smashed my head into a bed not long after we left each other's company! I'll be headed there right after, although I suppose..." He glanced upwards, noticing his hair, and went back to talking "I'll have to handle that I look like gutter fish first. The issues of poverty, eh?"

He shook Miri's hand quite fine, answering her words with a quieter "Well, I'm quite receptive to the offer!", caring less about actually placing an attitude of negotiation than appearing as such. He knew his place in the world, and he knew quite well that while he had problems with the Guild's position, he was in no place to be refusing what appeared to be a feeding hand. Especially if it meant he had more to write about, more money, and a reputation revival to place himself further. There was plenty to be done, and the Guild's offer could in no way harm him... right?

He backed up, letting Kurche ask her questions, internally smiling as she heavy handedly tried to accomplish what he planned on doing later. It was a good effort, but altogether too early on for investigation of that sort to be committed to. "Come now, the Guild has protected Amaranth for years, and even the odder folks that some amongst the civilian life find different are well accepted by the people of the city and much of the country. I'm sure, if the Wanderers were bringing trolls into the city to create a frenzy of fear amongst the common folk like me, just to enhance the need for the Guild or something, they'd be much more subtle in their ways, and they'd have arrived at the scene earlier, eh? " he said, with an ambiguous tone drowned in a dismissive laugh. He kept his distance from both Miri and Kurche, appearing as small as possible with his tiny slouch.

[Rizz]

Kellis introduces himself with a bow of the head to the chipper halfling. "Kellis, is the name. Thank you for the extension of accommodations. I must admit I am quite unfamiliar with the city, but an organization that would provide me opportunities as you mention seems quite appealing."

As Kurche begins leveling implications on the matter of the troll, he finds himself surprised. Distrustful as he tends to be, this was not an idea he had considered. Then again, he had always been a man of action, not prone to much investigation. In contrast to Reagan maintaining a distance from the exchange, Kellis remains by Kurche's side.

[Ajadea]

Kurche pulls back from the table like she's been burned. "What - oh blast it. That came out wrong. Look, I'm not saying your people were the smugglers. We already know it's the Thieves' Guild that's behind this, they said so. But the Thieves' Guild had to get the parts from somewhere. I mean, the Thieves' Guild has influence, everyone knows that, but I can't imagine they're the troll-slaying type. And they were coming from Amaranth when they hit us. So unless you know anyone else in this city that does live troll heads wholesale, I figured the easiest way for them to get ahold of the parts was via a nice upstanding middleman. Who could get the parts from you above-board, and sound legit. Not actually you personally! But the sort of person the Explorer's Guild would do business with normally." She's talking too quickly now, trying to get all her thoughts out in a single breath, and looking increasingly embarrassed the entire time, flushed dark under her grayish skin. "Also, I was hoping you had some about old local dungeons? That one's a personal project, entirely separate from the troll thing."

[Nettlekid]

A few ears and eyebrows raise from tables over when Kurche declares that the Thieves' Guild is to blame. True to Miri's words the Wanderers aren't shy about expressing their interest in the conversation, and heads conspicuously turn. Miri herself scrunches her mouth to the side.
"Wow, that's...pretty chaotic, even by my standards. You said the Thieves' Guild took open responsibility for the attack? That's wild, I don't know what to make of that. Um, did you tell the guards in the City Watch that? Because last I heard they were running around trying to find leads, and that sounds like a pretty big one.

I apologize, I was hasty in assuming your meaning. As you might imagine we get a lot of flak and rumormongering from people who think that we're up to no good, so when something bad happens we get a lot of fingers pointed our way. Paracelsus has the same problem, but better PR. But what I said before is relevant - we wouldn't take a job that so obviously endangers people as even bringing something that hazardous into the city. For an organization like ours we have to do a lot of proactive damage control.

Hmm, dungeons? Now that's definitely more our scene. Every now and again a report of a small one comes in and we're hired to clear out anything guarding the entrance and explore inside a little. You'll have better luck talking to some of the individual members, but I think...Tyvian explored one in the Eornal forests, Elistra's team found one not far from Dustrun, and Tule and Dunmar were asked to explore one in Rothheim." Miri points at a few faces as she names names - a tall and burly red-nosed man first, then a group of four Humans and one Elf, a speckled-winged Aarakocra, and a broad-shouldered Goliath.

Casting your gaze around the dining hall right now you can see:
Tyvian, the hulking man with the red nose and shaggy hair.
Elistra, a well armored Elf woman with riding braces.
A well armored Human with a Greatsword.
A Human who doesn't quite have the body to be shirtless with a faint sheen of red scales across his body.
A scrawny Human in a robe bearing the symbol of Ehlonna.
A Human who does have the body to be shirtless, shirtless.
Tule, the speckled bird-man wearing a loose-fitting robe.
Dunmar, a heavily tattooed Goliath with an axe.
An uncommonly tall and lanky humanoid with Elf-like features but sallow, yellow skin.
A dusky orange furred Tabaxi with many pouches on her vest and lightweight weapons.
A blue-skinned and slightly scaled humanoid with finned ears and gilly gashes in his neck.
A gray-skinned man with a thunderously heavy hammer and a stern expression.
Two Halflings chatting with each other, one with a sleepy wolf at his heel.
One Halfling taking orders at the grill.
A Human wearing a lute on his back.
A Human bearing the symbol of Pelor proudly on her pauldrons.
Pimsley from the night before chatting with another Gnome.

Of these Tyvian the red-nosed hulk, the scaly blue human, the Tabaxi, the two chatting Halflings, and the lute-wielding Human notably listened in a little closely when Kurche mentioned the Thieves' Guild.

[TheFederalist]

"Unsurprising, for I hear every Tae, Dirk and Haefan at each bar complain about how they were rejected. Rumors of this kind will spread, assured, when you're a selective organization." said Reagan, not mentioning that he himself was partial to some of the complaints he heard. Bite not the hand that feeds, he thought, before he turned his head in the direction of the named individuals. He, however, gave appropriate gaze to the ones he noticed looking at them intently.

"Well, our friend raises a brilliant point. I'm sure none will mind a few probing questions in morn."

[Ajadea]

Kurche shrugs, ignoring the staring Wanderers. "The customs guards know it was Thieves' Guild people that put the crates of fish on our cart, and I told the guard last night the troll head probably got in the city under the fish, and obviously someone had to be maintaining the troll head if it can go from crate-sized to cow-sized in a single unattended night. So if they can put two and two and two together, they ought to know the Thieves' Guild here is where they should be looking." She pauses, considering the events that had taken place the night before, and then sighs heavily, adjusting her glasses with one large hand. "...I should probably just go tell them, shouldn't I. Later."

She looks up as Miri points out the relevant Wanderers and nods. "So much for local," she says, in a way that probably meant to be under her breath. Kurche only ever seems to talk at one volume though, and it's not a quiet one. "Thanks for the help, Miri. And uh. Sorry about how I came off. Still distracted this morning." She trails off into a grumble, straightens up and waves a stiff, awkward, farewell of sorts to the halfling woman. She then walks off to the burly red-nosed man's table.

"You're Tyvian, right? I'm Kurche. Miri says you found a dungeon in Eornal?"

[Nettlekid]

Tyvian sits awkwardly, too large for his seat. He has the look of someone who doesn't want to make a fuss or stand out, and is ending up standing out prominently. In his large hands he has a small cup of steaming tea. He looks up and stammers as Kurche approaches.
"Oh, er, uh, what? Um, about a, er, a dungeon? Um, yes, sort of, something like that, yeah. I wasn't looking for one or anything, uh, it was just a normal errand, sort of. It was kind of, um, north of the southeast woods. That's kind of where I'm from, so I thought maybe a good place to take a job. Deer being raised by Elf farmers were going missing. I did some exploring, or I mean, just kind of looked a while, and found some creature's lair. It wasn't there when I found the lair but there were tons of bones and stuff so I reported it to the Elves and I think they took care of it. But while I was there in the lair I found a part that went deeper than it should have, like a bush with no other side, um, if that's not stupid. At first I was scared it was some kind of, um, like a faerie grotto or whatever. It had like these bloody twig monsters and a Shambling Mound, and I was kind of able to get around them. It wasn't super big, this dungeon, I think I've heard of way bigger. I got some good coin out of it and some really nice Elven-made boots that I think were, um, quiet like, uh, by magic, or something. So it was neat, it was worth it."

[Stubbazubba]

Halad had kept relatively silent and a step back from the conversation with Miri. Now he approached. "Do you get a lot of Thieves' Guild members in your ranks?" he asked quietly. He imagined the Thieves' Guild would have eyes and ears wherever it could get them, preferably clandestinely, but wanted to get her perspective. "What's this Guild's relationship with the Thieves' Guild like?"


Do I recognize anyone here?

[Nettlekid]

Miri's mouth scrunches.
"Not to my knowledge, no. They do keep pretty secretive, and it's not like it's a badge of honor they're proud about - it's a little unfair to call whatever they are a 'guild' in the same way we're one. I think we'd think twice about accepting a member who we knew was part of the Thieves' Guild, because it's hard to believe they'd have our best interests at heart. But it's not like we have eyes on our members every second, and if they have a private life that doesn't hurt us then I guess they're allowed to."

Halad does not recognize anyone here from his days on the street or when he was almost recruited.

[Stubbazubba]

"That's what I imagined. Now, how about the Explorer's Guild's relationship with the Amaranthine government? Friendly? Or is the government overbearing?"

[Nettlekid]

Miri gives a grin and rests her cheek on her fist.
"You must not be local, huh? Just about everyone around here hates us!"
The eavesdroppers give a loud cheer and clink their glasses.
"Amaranth is all about rules and the status quo and staying in your lane. We do none of that. We exist because we don't! We aren't in the Merchants' Guild's pocket or in fear of the City Watch's cudgel. Amaranth has a select few at the top held up by piles of workers underneath. An echo of its origins. We don't join in at the top but they have no power over us, and that makes us like none other! Well, Paracelsus has a kind of similar stance, but they keep to themselves so the government isn't all that concerned about what they do. We're the ones who shake things up. We're Wanderers!"

"The government never wants to admit that they need us as much as they do," the tawny Tabaxi a few feet away chimes in. "Every now and then they try to belittle our accomplishments, or remind the public that they're in charge of the city. Pff, they couldn't shackle us if they tried."

[Ajadea]

"It doesn't sound silly. Dungeons are known to be strange," Kurche says. "So you found the lair and there wasn't a dungeon in it at first? But when you explored the lair again it was there?" Dungeon genesis was such a fascinating subject. Pity she probably wouldn't be getting much information out of Tyvian. But a little was better than nothing.

[TheFederalist]

Miri's words seemed to strike a chord with Reagan, given that he found himself nodding in some kind of agreement. "Not wrong. Amaranth's wracked by issues, and while I harbor my own opinions, recognition comes from the top to the Wanderers sparingly. In fact, I'd wager your independence is the kind of thing that drives the Magister up the wall. Not something I'd considered before now, I'll admit." His tone changed, taking a darker reflection, and narrowing his eyes "But fail not to recognize that the shackles you so refute have arms that are long. Resist, but let your guard down and loose they let the dogs on you. I speak with some experience."

He unfurrowed his brow, before looking around to say "But, you folks know how to run your joint, so I think I'd better start some lines of questioning instead of advising those who probably know. Who do you think is most connected to going ons of the city?" before he raised a question eyebrow.

[Nettlekid]

Tyvian looks confused briefly, then thinks back, finds recognition, and continues.
"Oh, uh, no, sorry, I think I phrased that poorly. It's not that the dungeon wasn't there, the beast wasn't there. The dungeon was there when I first explored the lair a little, in the back part of it. It was actually not that hard to find; for some reason the grotto underneath all the underbrush was lit up pretty well with some luminous gemstones, and the shadows exposed how the back of the grotto was wider than it looked from the outside. I took those stones too, but they ended up not being particularly valuable."

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

Miri tilts her head listening to Reagan's question.
"That's a pretty broad question. There's a lot that happens in this city, and I doubt there's any one person who has a stake in every single organization that gets things done. But if you're putting me on the spot...well, I guess the person who has the greatest impact on the city is Cavendish. You've probably heard of him; he's pretty famous. He used to be a deacon with the Church of Heironeous but I think he gives worship to a different god since he hasn't been seen back there since he made it big. He's always been good with money and he made a few investments that bumped up the church, and then he put those talents to use making profit. He joined the Merchants' Guild as an investor and shareholder, made a few good calls, and climbed the ranks. While every shareholder supposedly gets heard and the Guild operates by round-table discussions, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that he's the one calling the shots. He's effectively the head of the Merchants' Guild. All the laws and taxes and stuff come from him, and even people like the Magistrate respect his wishes because he's the one bringing coin into Amaranth."

[Stubbazubba]

Halad turns to the Tabaxi who had chimed in, "The government needs you? Do you do a lot of work for the government? What kind of work?"

[Nettlekid]

"Not governmental work per se, if that's what you're imagining," the Tabaxi replies. "Maybe an expected shipment of cargo goes missing, or some grasslands Goblins start hassling their precious merchants. Maybe a project needs land to be surveyed or investigated, or even excavated. Grimlocks in a quarry, Oozes in the reservoir, Bulettes tearing up a road. You think they'll send their babied city guards out to get slaughtered? We're just the right balance of expendable and capable. They pay us pretty well, since it's more expensive to let those problems go unresolved. But then they get worried that we'll think we have power over them, so they discredit us in the same breath as they beg us for help. Politics, right?"

[Stubbazubba]

Halad chuckles. "Yeah, it's all about the appearance of power. But you folks don't seem to need the façade, am I right? That's probably liberating. My name is Ruven, I'm from Vennington. And you are...?"

[Nettlekid]

The Tabaxi accepts Halad's hand. Her own is an oddly articulated paw, halfway to being a hand with pads.
"Felicia of the Stalkstep clan. From my neck of the woods, huh? Well, I say that, but I've roamed all across between Lestead and Hearthhaven. It doesn't do to stay in one place for all too long."

[Stubbazubba]

"I've bounced around a bit myself," Halad says. "What led you to join the Guild? How long have you been here? What's the worst thing about it?"

[Nettlekid]

"Slow down, leave some breath in the room for the rest of us! Awfully personal, considering I've known you for all of five minutes!" Felicia chuckles, and her tone clearly indicates that she doesn't mind. She turns somewhat wistful, thinking back. "Let's see...Well to start, you say you've bounced around a bit? I don't know how many Tabaxi you've met, though if you're from the east maybe more than most. We stand out in a crowd, but we don't have any great homelands like the Elves and the Dwarves so we always find ourselves in a crowd of others. You might think Amaranth's bad when it comes to prejudice, but I promise further east it can be just as bad. The Elves will treat us like the beasts we look like. It's not malicious, it's just...cold. You know you don't count as a person in their eyes."
She pauses, briefly.
"It doesn't help that Tabaxi have a name for themselves as thieves and scoundrels, not entirely unearned. In short, it's hard to find a place to fit in. It was more by luck than anything that I found Wander Inn, after coming to Amaranth after hearing how beautiful it was. I've been somewhat of a collector of stories, which has served me well to find a place in a tavern on the road, and the tales told by the guild members really struck a chord with me. Before I knew it, I was just here. That was close to...ten years ago, I suppose?"
She takes a swig from whatever she's drinking and another moment to ruminate on Halad's last question.
"The cliche answer is something like 'Oh it's so hard to be pinned down in one place,' but it really doesn't feel that way, I still feel like I have the freedom to go where I want to. I suppose the hardest thing is feeling like everyone around me grows so quickly that it's sometimes hard to keep up, and I'm scared of getting left behind. When I look at people like Keldra and Tiptoe and Miri and see how strong they are I want to be there beside them on the missions they go on, but I'm far from ready for that. It's a dangerous line of work, by nature and by choice. Monsters and storms and shipwrecks and landslides and all these things that catch you off guard. It's a little scary, but I think most of us agree that you're not living unless you're reminded that you're living."

[Ajadea]

"Fair enough," Kurche sighs. "Thanks for the information, anyways." She meanders back to the others near the bar, for once listening instead of talking. She's fairly obviously eavesdropping on Halad, but she's hardly the only one listening in.

[Nettlekid]

"Oh, er, I...oh..." Tyvian murmurs, before returning to his tea.

[TheFederalist]

Reagan nodded as soon as the word Cavendish came up, since it would be somewhat off had he not at least heard of the fellow. "Meant more as to around here, since I'm considering my options for the Thieves Guild, including outright asking them... None expect that. For now, I think you can color me with acceptance to any suggestion of joining the Guild, considering how much of an honor it would be, though I figure you folks have something of a more official process?"

[Nettlekid]

"Ah," Miri corrects herself, "like who among the Wanderers is connected to the city. Um...none of us, really? All of us equally? Like I've been saying, we're very much a organized bubble that just happens to be in the city, rather than a functioning and integrated part of the city like a shop or whatever. I guess I'd be the most connected, since I'm the one that's usually taking mission requests. Speaking of which!"

Miri hops off of the chair she's been sitting at and disappears behind the desk, then walks around the side and beckons the four of you further into the dining hall and to the cork message boards on the far wall by the stairs. She waits for the four of you to finish your respective conversations and come over before continuing.
"I'm glad that you're showing some interest in our group! Truthfully I do think you'd be a good fit, at least for the most part. But it's not all killing Trolls you know, the jobs we go on serve as a means of making the world a better place and earning our guild goodwill. Before we decide if you're a good fit for the guild we'd have to see if you've got the knack for getting the job done and getting it done well. So if you're interested you can go ahead and pick a request from off of this board as a probationary mission! We'll have a guild member accompanying you, but they'll just be there to observe and maybe step in if things get crazy. You're the one calling the shots and directing the mission. How does that sound?"

Looking to the boards, there are a huge number of posters and flyers and printed scrolls nailed to the cork. Most of them are fairly mundane, but these are the ones that catch your eye:

-The northern town of Kalweigh is being set upon by wild boars from the pine forests who have been besieging their winter stores. After two deaths the village is seeking experienced aid in tracking and slaughtering the beasts.

-The captain of the guard in Hyll is requesting cool-headed adventurers for an undisclosed task that will not take them outside Hyll's city limits.

-Goliath farmers in Rothheim have requested aid in slaughtering a young Red Dragon drake who has been raiding the farms.

-A pair of noble Half-Elves will be arriving in Amaranth from Eornal's political capital of Teurilain and will need guides to escort them through the city.

-The Dwarven monastery of Earthstar Redoubt is dealing with an infestation of subterranean beasts blocking off the passages into the prayer halls, and needs adventurers to clear it out.

-Aranara Bonebinder of the medical center Panacea is requesting that a brave exploratory team skirt the coast of uncharted Kynea to retrieve a rare mushroom called Jengwort.

-The Amaranth city guard has requested investigation into strange sounds and odors coming from the sewers and waterways beneath the city.

-Earl Frasanz deGrey of Amaranth's Merchants Guild is requesting discreet aid for a personal task, to be elaborated on upon acceptance of the mission.

-Gwyon Redsole of Parlu Nanta's Redsole Trading Company wants bear pelts sourced from the northwestern forest.

-A farmer from Beabury has been spreading rumors of alien abduction. The mayor of Beabury would like him calmed and pacified.

"I might recommend you pick something closer to home so your travel doesn't take you too far, but at the end of the day it's up to you."

[Ajadea]

Kurche nods as the discussion finishes and a mission is decided on. Lord Grey's matter wasn't terribly urgent though. Trolls were pretty urgent. "I should really go tell the guards the blindingly obvious at some point. Anyone want to join me?" she asks Halad and Kellis. Regardless of the answers, she leaves Wander Inn and starts making her way to a nearby guard post, stopping here and there along the Market Mile to pick up the supplies she needed. Pine charcoal. A few sticks of cheap incense. A small brazier, or at least a bowl that wouldn't disintegrate if she lit something in it or looked at it funny. A sack to hold it all. Temple-ish sort of things, if priests had the habit of shopping out of the bargain barrels. Summoning was always so fiddly.


Hoping to buy enough supplies for 2 castings of Find Familiar (20sp). Plus however much the brass brazier or acceptable equivalent costs, which should be a one-time expenditure barring unfortunate adventuring mishaps. And a sack, for 1 cp.

[Nettlekid]

Kurche has no trouble finding the supplies she needs. She does exit onto the main Market Mile, and even if the streets were less crowded with vendors her time among the arcanists of Amaranth have left her familiar with where to find Find Familiar reagents. She purchases the supplies and a small portable censer akin to the ones used by the priesthood for an additional two silver pieces in which the components can be burned.

Once collected she makes her way to a nearby guard outpost, not far from where the Troll had attacked the night before. She gets a few surprised glances from the guards as she enters inside, but some seem to figure out who she is and others seem strangely nonplussed about seeing a Half-Orc in a guard building. The reason for this makes itself apparent shortly - Kurche does not see Pembert or any of the guards she encountered during the night, but standing looking down at a table over a number of papers are two startling figures. The first, clad in shining silver plate armor with a longsword at his waist and a shield on his back, is a red-skinned Tiefling. Two long and thin horns rise from the crown of his head, unshoed cloven hooves tap on the wooden floor, a spaded tail hangs beneath two large folded batlike wings, and a tongue like a thick worm dances in his mouth when he speaks. His eyes, pitch black with no distinction between sclera or iris or pupil, meet Kurche's as she enters. The other figure is more familiar at least to her, in that it is a fellow Half-Orc. His figure is slight for his race; he is a head shorter than Kurche and his muscle is lean, giving him a slender and toned profile. His face is every bit as gruff as any Half-Orc's, and he isn't without fangs or scars. Unlike the Tiefling he wears only studded leather armor, with crossed scimitars on his back.
"Hullo," remarks the Tiefling, "is there anything we can-oh! I think I can guess why you're here. Kurche? Officer Wickham mentioned you in his report. Good of you to be here, saves us some trouble. We can go over some of what the officers looked over last night, and I'd love to hear some of the story from you directly. Caliburn Lightbringer, captain of the City Watch. And my associate Kutrul, also captain of the City Watch."
Kutrul makes a small nod with little warmth in his eyes. He clearly doesn't know what to make of Kurche, but is probably forming dismissive opinions.

[Stubbazubba]

Halad scans the board, stopping on the name Earl Frasanz deGrey. That name faintly rung a bell, and a job here in Amaranth would be beneficial in many ways. He still needed to meet up with Lord Amblecrown without arousing suspicion, after all.


He returns to Miri and asks, "Earl deGrey, I've heard that name before. Do you know if anyone here has worked for him before?"

[Nettlekid]

Miri looks at the request that Halad points out, and thinks to herself for a moment.
"Nothing immediately stands out. But sometimes government stuff blurs together. Oh, wait, I remember one thing. It wasn't with us, but I heard from Jeston that he or someone working for him was asking Professor Whiteschist at Paracelsus about shifting a lot of earth. Part of the canal project they keep talking about and never actually working on. Maybe this is about that? Eh, I doubt it though...I remember when he came in to submit the request. He looked a little shaken up and was kind of jittery? It does say he wants discretion, and it's kind of weird he didn't go into more detail in the actual submission. For most people we wouldn't have accepted a mission request like that, but you don't want to go around making enemies out of nobles for something petty like paperwork."

[Ajadea]

"Yes, that's me. Pleasure to meet you both." Kurche nods at each of them. She's heard of Kutrul occasionally, but she hadn't expected both captains of the Watch to be so visibly non-human. Too many years in Amaranth getting into her head. She wipes her hand on her skirt to remove a smudge of charcoal, then holds her hand out to shake.

"Short version of what happened: Thieves' Guild people crashed into us about half a day out from Amaranth. They dumped a box filled with herring and a troll head onto our cart, gate guards confiscated it when we arrived, the head grew into a troll, and the troll went and ate some people. The cart was coming from the direction of Amaranth, so you're looking for someone in the area. The head went from crate-sized to box-sized in a night, so this someone had to have been maintaining it, probably cutting off the growth every few hours. The thieves mentioned someone, Marden or something, but I don't know who that is. I don't know where you get troll heads around here either, but I'm hoping that's where you come in." She ticks off each item on her fingers as she talks. "Oh, and you should probably have someone look at wherever you keep the contraband, since a troll went crashing through it."

[Nettlekid]

"Well, it seems like you put together much of what the guards found last night," Caliburn remarks. He looks over some sheaves of paper and then casts a concerned glance to Kutrul, who continues staring at Kurche. "One smashed crate after the head reawakened, ate as much of the fish surrounding it as it could, then regrew a body and broke out. We lost a few bodies who had been guarding that area, taken by surprise at an attack from within. There's no evidence of anyone having tampered with the boxes once they were in the room - I don't think the Troll needed to have been kept small, it's more like it was...'asleep' as a decapitated head, and started regrowing after it awakened and had a plentiful food source nearby. But it's a good thought, and we'll do some double checking. Obviously we investigated the other crates, but there was nothing amiss in those. We even broke them down to make sure they weren't Mimics, or hiding something in the planks. A Troll would have been a great distraction to smuggle something more subtle in, but so far it doesn't look like anything else slipped through. What we can't pin down yet is the motive behind this. It's just raw chaos; I can't figure out how it benefits anyone."

Kutrul keeps his cold eyes on Kurche, jaw clenched. Finally, he speaks.
"I'm gonna guess the name you heard was 'Mardel,' girl. What exactly did they say about him? I didn't expect the Thieves' Guild to be a part of this. Until now they've been delicate, hard to trace." A jagged smile starts to form along his fangs. "We might be able to use this to our advantage. If the Thieves' Guild is going to start endangering lives instead of just working with dirty money, it gives us justification to start cracking down harder. Taking preemptive steps, striking first, cutting them off at the source. This is the perfect chance to get Mardel Dint out of our hair for good."

[Ajadea]

"One of the thieves was capable of magic - enough to fix their cart, at least," Kurche says. "That could have helped keep it dormant. If all it needs is to eat, you don't want it waking up off schedule. Are you certain there was nothing missing from the contraband holding area?"

Kutrul speaking makes her start - he'd been so quiet, it was easy to forget he was there. But she meets his cold stare without blinking. "They made some idle threat about the Thieves' Guild having eyes and hands everywhere. That this Mardel person had plans for busybodies, presumably because they didn't like us actually noticing them switching the crates around. And something about dropping scarves. I'd been hit by a cart about five minutes before, so you'll forgive me for not taking notes."

[Stubbazubba]

"Indeed," Halad said. "Do you know where one might find him?"

[Nettlekid]

"Quite certain; there's not a lot of contraband in there at any one time," Caliburn remarks. "And everything matches our papers. Doesn't look like anything's been taken or added."

"No? You look like the note-taking type." Kutrul snorts. "The Thieves' Guild has eyes everywhere? Heh, I don't doubt it. But someone's not going to be happy that these goons were mouthing off so much," he smirks. "We got some descriptions from the Dwarves, so we'll keep an eye out if they're seen on the streets or floating in the waterways."
Kutrul looks back to Caliburn.
"Well if there's nothing else you need, I'm done here. I don't think she's good for much else, and we're either waiting for the Guild to make another move or else we're taking the fight to them."

Caliburn turns to Kurche.
"On behalf of our wise and honorable Magistrate the City Watch appreciates your effort, and the time you've taken to help us in our pursuits. With any luck whatever scheme the Thieves' Guild has had will blow up in their faces and we'll catch them with their trousers down! I think we've everything we need here, and hope not to have to bother you again."

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

Miri tilts her hand back and forth in a universal "kinda" motion.
"He left an address we can send a letter to if someone takes the job. So maybe he's there? I couldn't tell you how to get ahold of him normally - nobles are usually pretty busy people. If this is the one you want then I could send word, but I wouldn't feel comfortable with that for anything nonprofessional."

[Ajadea]

Kurche shrugs. One hypothesis down. "The only other thing I can think of then is if your guards responded to the attack, they would have been pulled away for something. But the troll got pretty far, so I guess there wasn't much of a response. And that's a hell of a gamble to take when all you really need for a distraction is someone with a rock and a good arm."

She rolls her eyes at Kutrul's blunt dismissal, but manages a smile for Caliburn. At least he had some manners. "Pleasure to be of assistance, Captain. If you do need help in the future, I'm sure you can figure out how to find me." She hefts her sack and heads back to Wander Inn.

Once there, she waves hello to the others and starts looking for a table with enough space for her to sit down and set up.