The Inquisitives IC

[3SecondCultist]

"The Inquisitives"

I've been here a week, and it's still hard not to get overwhelmed by this city. The towers rise up until they disappear into the clouds. Lights gleam in a thousand windows. Skycoaches work their way through the maze of bridges in the shadows of the massive spires, and up above I can spot the burning point of an airship's elemental ring. Staring into the sky, I nearly walk into a massive warforged juggernaut. It's my first time seeing one... but there's so many things I've never seen about this place. A tattooed elf haggles with a masked halfling, arguing about the price of lizard meat. A gargoyle watches me from a high perch. I gather my senses and keep moving.

It's not until I reach the lift that I realize the warforged stole my purse.

- Wrendil's Guide to Breland, Chapter VI (On Sharn)


Taking a Case (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeS7PxGeJJI)

The stench of cheap beer of burning candle wax and spirits that have been drunk and regurgitated fills the air as you step out of the chill breeze of early spring and into the foyer of one of Middle Dura's best reputed establishments. Ghallanda Hall might have seen better days, but it's one of the best watering holes this side of Menthis. Here, booze and conversation flow freely, with the patrons having come from all over the Underlook ward and beyond to take a load off and relax as best they can. You see a trio of half-elves with flowing golden hair - triplets, by the looks of them - up on the stage, one of them belting out a well-known tune: 'The Lhazaarite's Lament'. The half-elf's siblings plays the accompaniment on a slightly frayed lute. The sounds are pleasant, if somewhat drowned out by the sea of increasingly drunk patrons.

But of course, you're not here for any of that. The reason for your arrival lies in your pocket.

The letter found its way to you this morning, delivered by a Sivis courier. The envelope was elegant, with fine postage and your name and current address clearly printed in elegant letters on the front. The missive within was short almost to the point of being cryptic: it simply asked you to 'come to Ghallanda Hall at 9 pm, and ask for the Old Orc'. The letter called you out by name, but did not specify how the writer knew your identity or where to find you. To some of you, this missive comes as a great surprise - to others, it was expected, delivered by a known intermediary or through more transparent channels. The initials at the bottom were signed only 'RT', and offered no elaboration. And still here you are. After all, in the City of Towers, grander opportunities have been seized on less.

The Hall's hosts are consummate professionals, nodding sagely when you drop the line from the letter. Quickly, you are led through the ascending raucous floor the two-floor tower tavern and to a door to a room that lies near the inn's kitchens. "In through here, please," the halfling hostess says to you as she guides you into a surprisingly well-furnished room, complete with a long table, plush chairs, and several high glass windows that offer you a remarkable view of the district and its long-spanning bridges under Eberron's twelve moons. Several potted plants of various colors brighten the dark stone, and you can smell the scent of varied meats and steamed vegetables from beneath silver dishes. Long-stemmed silver glasses gleam under warm candlelight. This cannot be anything but a dinner party in the making.

However, as of this moment, there doesn't appear to be any old orcs here waiting for you. Whoever this 'RT' is, they appear to be late. Nevertheless, you are not alone at the dinner table. Within minutes, several other people are ushered through the door, and before too long nearly all of the chairs will be accounted for.

Welcome to the IC thread! All of your characters will have received versions of the same letter, which was brief enough that I didn't bother writing it out in its entirety. Feel free to arrive in whatever manner you see fit - I'll give you all time to post before we get on with things. You may also choose to describe what your character's been up to in the few hours leading up to this meeting in Ghallanda Hall.
While many of the finest inns have left Underlook, one exceptional establishment remains. Ghallanda Hall was the first outpost House Ghallanda established in Sharn, and while it is not as fancy as the enclave up in Dragon Towers, it still makes for an impressive place. The service here is quite good, and most customers leave satisfied with their stay.
As you are the only one who has worked with this individual before, you know who 'RT' is: his full name is Rukh'arrn d'Tharashk, and he used to be one of the best regarded inquisitives in Sharn. He used to work for the Globe Information Agency - the largest and most prestigious inquisitive agency in the city - as one of their independent contractors. Word around town was that he was being groomed for leadership, but he preferred casework to politics and when he passed up a promotion, the Agency saw it as a snub and forced him into early retirement three years ago.

[Kvard51]

Thorn grimaced as he approached Ghallanda Hall. Another fruitless lead. I was sure this one was for real... He took a deep breath, hiding his disappointment behind a veil of anger. "I will find them..."

A promise, to himself and to her. Joiya. You can say her name, damn you...

Straightening his cloak, he brushed at the front of his shirt and walked to the entrance. His hand strayed to the letter that brought him here. But he had no idea who 'RT' was, and he knew the words, so there was no reason to pull it out again. He grunted, "Old Orc", as the House Ghallanda Hostess appeared, and followed her as she led the way to a door near the kitchens. Good, I'm the first one here. he thought as he entered the meeting room. Choosing a seat at the righthand side of the table that allowed a clear view of the door, he pushed his chair back into the shadowed edges of the lamplight. Now I wait...

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin cheerfully strode through the front door filled with confidence. This meeting would have hopefully prove to be interesting, and as much as he hated to admit it his current life of doing odd jobs for the Fabricators Guild was lacking in stimulation at the moment.

Well, that wasn't completely true. Finding out the cause of the sewage blockage had been a family of goblins that had taken up residence had been stimulation of an unpleasant sort. The babies were old enough to bite.


Thus was the reason Oswin had bothered to respond to the missive at all. He would have normally ignored any anonymous letters asking for a private meeting. He wasn't completely lacking any sort of common sense. However the location of the rendezvous had provided some amount of reassurance. House Ghallanada wouldn't tolerate overt violence against its Guests on their premises.

He recalled his father's lessons on the Dragonmarked, which had been drilled into his skull until Oswin could repeat them by rote:
Ghallanda Hospitality is famous throughout Khorvaire. The Common People regularly flock to establishments run by their Hospitallers guild to relieve themselves of the stress of day-to-day life. They are regarded as friends of everyone, King and Commoner alike.

Do Not Be Deceived By Them.

The Bearers of the Mark of Hospilitaty are not as innocuous as they wish to present themselves. People talk once they have a little drink in them and feel at ease, and their barkeep is always listening. Through their Hospices and Enclaves, they have access to an Intelligence Network that is second only to that of the Medani and the Phiarlen. Always guard your tongue and your thoughts while you are among them.

Oswin made pleasant smalltalk with the hostess as she escorted him to the private room. He apparently was the second one to arrive. He picked a chair with its back facing towards the door and placed his overcoat on it. A keen observer would notice that it was the one piece of clothing that was out of place with his appearance. The coat was made of thick leather covered with various alchemical stains and its various pockets were stuffed. It had been repaired multiple times, and a faint bear's head with a chevron could be seen on the shoulders. Oswin's outfit was accentuated by a cravat and a vest, which had a fine pocketwatch tucked into a pocket.

He sat in his chair and turned towards the dour faced man that was making an effort to keep himself in the shadows. He smiled, and spoke with the polished and refined manner of the aristocracy. Hello there good Sir! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Oswin d'Cannith. He pulled off his glove and extended his hand across the table.

[JonRG]

Tsorak breezed through the front door of Ghallandra Hall, mind on fire. The letter had come to his office at Morgrave University, where he had the misfortune of playing teacher's assistant to the mediocre xenoanthropologist Professor Joherra Nelview. It was very cryptic. The Daask could not have sent it. They would not venture this far from their stronghold, and they certainly would never visit an establishment run by halflings. Not with the Boromar Clan striking back at them. He was not afraid. Not ever. He presented himself before the hostess with a forced smile on his lips, respectfully inclining his head. "Good day." A Droaam accent saturated his words. Not bad for his third language. "I ssseek the Old Orc." The hostess nodded calmly and led him into the back. Her resolve was almost impressive for such a frail, small piece of meat. She left him at a table with others. Tsorak watched two men fraternize, then took a seat at the opposite corner of the table. He busied himself by checking his watch. Jeweled fingers tapped against his staff. Feigning a little impatience. It was a good habit to maintain, if a bit of a chore.

[OMG PONIES]

Ghallanda Hall was familiar to Caedmon, but tonight's invitation was less so. In fact, that the invitation called him here may have been the sole reason he responded...too many unknowns, otherwise. As the stout, auburn-haired hostess guided him to the appointed room, Caedmon even saw the table where he and his father had taken on their first joint mission back when Caedmon was a mere journeyman. His father's words still echoed in his mind: "If a sentinel is early, he is on time. A sentinel who arrives on time is late."

Caedmon had asked with youthful curiosity (since trained out of him), "But what if you're running late to meet a ward?" He could still remember his father's face, stoic and unmoving as the man was nonplussed by the question. "That does not happen to a Deneith," had been his only reply. Since that day, it had been clear to Caedmon that preparation was one of the keys to success. That wisdom had driven him this far in his career, and also helped him avoid any surprises. But tonight's invitation was nothing if not a surprise.

As he entered the meeting room, Caedmon was surprised yet again to find that three others had already arrived. He smirked and gave a quick nod, glad to at least be among professionals. He caught a friendly face in the Cannith man and his smirk settled into a full smile, as Caedmon knew Oswin to be trustworthy from prior dealings between their Houses. "Hello, Oz, pleasure as always," he said and shook hands with the alchemist.

Turning to the others, he said "I'm Caedmon d'Deneith. And you?" He did not yet take a seat, sizing up the social situation as well as the layout of the room. The others were new, but seemed to pose no immediate threats. Years of training could not be resisted, though. Even at what seemed like a friendly dinner party he was scanning for exits, keeping tally of the number of unknown people, and looking for anything that could be used as an improvised weapon should things turn sideways.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe eyed the revelry and it’s participants with a particular interest as he entered the establishment, although everyone in the room just saw the blank stare of a warforged scan them for the shortest of moments. There was a freedom in having consciousness, he thought to himself, and then choosing to inebriate yourself to the point where you lose it. To be was one thing, but to alter your state of being in such a way was beyond him. Not that he didn’t get it, he’d seen enough in Sharn that made him realise that a temporary break from your sorrows was something to induge in every now and then. It’s just that he couldn’t. Scribe would sip wine or brandy occasionally, to take note of the vintage and blend. It was an enjoyable thing. But as the toxins had no effect on him, drunk was a state he would never experience, and so it would fascinate him to no end.

“Pleasant evening?” He remarked, in form of a question, as he was led up to the meeting. As the halfling led him in he looked around the room. He had made sure that for this meeting he looked top notch. Like in the old days, clean and dressed every bit the gentleman. Nothing extravagant, though his dark vest did have a barely visible floral pattern sewn in a midnight blue color. Everything about his appearance was tasteful but toned down. Even if his clothes were a few years old.

He twisted his facial features to indicate fleeting pleasant surprise. He had not expected such a turn out, but then again with mr. d’Tharashk you never really knew what to expect.

“Good day, gentlemen. Quite the gathering, old Orcs are all the rage these days it seems.” He knew from experience that it was best to approach new people with a breezy, positive attitude. Unfortunately there were still those that were prejudiced against warforged, and he did his best to dispel any worries from the get go.

He took off his bowler hat and put it in front of him on table as he sat down.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin turned his attention towards the Deneith man who offered him a familiar greeting. Oswin briefly panicked as he tried to recall where he had met the man before. It wasn't coming to mind. Oswin hadn't been put into any sort of physical danger in his life until he enlisted in the Brelish Army, and once he returned to Sharn he had tried to stay away from notable Cannith business as much as possible. So it wouldn't have been any sort of fieldwork.

He blinked. Ah, no wonder he forgot. While he had been apprenticing as an Artificer in the House before being enrolled at Morgrave, he had been asked to assist with numerous shipments of Healing potions to House Deneith. Being a dragonmarked heir, he was invited into the actual business meetings and conversed with various Deneith members. Its possible that there had been other incidents as well, and Oswin had just forgotten them.

Ah Caedmon! I guess this rules out that the letter was a prank. Are you on the clock or is this personal business?

Oswin turned his attention away from the two shadowy figures. Shadowy quiet figures weren't particularly interesting. The newest arrival on the otherhand....

Social conditioning emulation? Well aren't you just adorable Oswin cooed at the Warforged, in a tone of voice that would be more appropriate for addressing one's pet. He stood up from the table and closely examined the Warforged, prodding his pinky into its left eye socket. He rattled off questions at a whirlwind pace. Whats the highest prime number you can calculate? What's your name? Did you pick it yourself or was it given to you? Who was your designer? I simply must know!

[Starbin]

Alistair sat at a small table listening to the Lhazaarite's Lament, sipping a mug of water. He had been in the establishment for a number of hours, playing the part of a fan of bardic performances. It was enough time to have been taken up to the room initially, then find his way back down to the tavern floor and find a spot to watch both the half-elves perform as well as the stairwell he had been taken up. Since his original passing of the mundane password (Old Orc indeed), Alistair had counted five others to be led upwards - two humans, a half-elf, a warforged and a man with scales and snake-like features. Rubbing his chin, Alistair took a few notes in his book while watching the performers, obviously writing a review on the trio.

After a few more minutes passed, bringing the hour to nine bells, Alistair sighed and stood slowly, reaching for his walking stick. Leaving a few silver on the table, he didn't even acknowledge the waitress who swept by to collect the coins. Instead, he began the laborious task of trudging up the stairs to the room he had been taken to before. Once there, he paused to rub his hip, using theopportunity to listen for a few moments, before knocking politely and opening the door after a momentary pause. Stepping in, his gaze swept the room, taking in the same figures he had previously noted.

Smiling, Alistair bowed his head slightly to the assembled group, eyeing the table with apparent appreciation. Looking for an open seat, Alistair waved one hand and introduced himself. "Alistair Hasseldorf ... the slow, as it would seem." Slowly ambling forward, Alistair moved to an open seat with sight of the door, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this invitation, or are you all in the dark as much as I?"

As Alistair glanced around the room, he realized two of the group seemed familiar; whether from a random encounter on the streets of Sharn, or at school, he wasn't sure. But they had the look of academicians about them, so he was inclined to presume they were students or faculty at Morgrave. However, his eyes were drawn to the human fondling the warforged...

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe had meant to raise his arm to wave this intrusive person away but was slightly late on the draw. Before he knew it Oswin was all over him.

“What are you… No, wait.. Please don’t.”

It happened, these things. Ignorance came in all forms, and out of all of them this might be the one Scribe cared for the least. On top of that he knew he needed to assert himself right now, or else they would take advantage of him for as long as they could. He had made the mistake in the past to remain way to polite. It had made him feel, dirty, somehow. Used.

To be treated like this in this particular setting was increasingly unacceptable. He cared for how mr. d’Tharashk viewed him and considered him a valuable contact, one he wouldn’t mind working for every now and then.

This is undignified, he thought as he became increasingly angry.

Before Scribe could really mull over all the possible outcomes to his intended action, he stepped into gear to stand up for himself. As Oswin looked him over and started prodding his eye socket, Scribe clamped his metal hand tight around the mans private parts. It was an aggressive move to be sure, but one with the least showy dramatics and hopefully effective because of the intrusive nature.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest yourself?” Scribe mockingly answered in a similar way Oswin had initiated. He then rattled intrusive questions back at Oswin at a high rate.

“What did your mommy and daddy do? Are you an improvement to their line or are you testament of it’s decline? What was his spermcount? And was she fertile or did she just spawn you?”

He released his grip to give Oswin the chance to step back, if he wanted. Then, in order to defuse the situation a bit, Scribe calmly looked at Oswin and started answering some of the questions.

"I am Scribe. It is a name given to me by my maker, Baron Merrix d’Cannith. And the highest prime number I can calculate is a secret I’ll take with me to the grave, so to speak."

Scribe stood up and extended his hand towards Oswin, for a handshake.

"Pleased to meet you."

[Starbin]

Alistair paused at the table, halfway to sitting down as the two beings groped each other. He stared, nonplussed for a moment, before he collapsed into his seat with a hiss of pain. He rubbed his hip gingerly before commenting, "My apologies if I am interrupting something..."

[JonRG]

Tsorak smirked, then raked his eyes up Caedmon and Alistair's forms. "I am Tssssorak," he replied in clipped, accented Common, eyes focused on his watch, "and our employer should have been here already."

[Starbin]

Alistair looked to the snake-man, then smiled with unabashed interest. "Tssssorak? I am sorry, but I have never met one as unique as you. Perhaps later, you would share with me your origins, and something of your people?" Alistair wanted to know more, but wasn’t done with this situation.

[OMG PONIES]

Ah Caedmon! I guess this rules out that the letter was a prank. Are you on the clock or is this personal business?

"All business is House business, Oz," Caedmon said in a perfunctory manner, as if he was reciting something from his initial training. "I've disclosed the invitation and possibility of a request for side engagement with my direct command, and they've provided the necessary approvals." Of course, Caedmon knew he was reciting the protocol to nobody but himself at this point. Happened all the time with Canniths, minds moving from one thing to the next like a hummingbird.


Smiling, Alistair bowed his head slightly to the assembled group, eyeing the table with apparent appreciation. Looking for an open seat, Alistair waved one hand and introduced himself. "Alistair Hasseldorf ... the slow, as it would seem." Slowly ambling forward, Alistair moved to an open seat with sight of the door, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this invitation, or are you all in the dark as much as I?"

Caedmon furrowed his brow a bit, but said nothing...he could almost be sure he had seen the old dwarf listening to the musicians as the hostess had brought Caedmon back to the room. But conflict was not the way to make an introduction, so he simply made a mental note that this Alistair may not be as slow as he let on. "Caedmon d'Deneith," the younger man said, rising and offering his seat to the elder dwarf with an inviting gesture. "And I expect we'll find out together."


Scribe stood up and extended his hand towards Oswin, for a handshake.

Seeing the warforged grab Oswin by the crotch, though humorous, posed a risk of violence toward a member of one of the Houses. Caedmon, already out of his chair, stepped to interpose himself between his friend and the fancy machine. "Let's be a bit more civil, shall we?" he growled as firmly as he stood, seeming to direct the admonition only at the warforged and not the offending tinkerer.

[Kvard51]

Thorn took in the arrival of each newcomer without speaking, wondering what ridiculous game he was being drawn into.

A foolish Cannith, a foppish Warforged, a slimy magewright, a belligerent Deneith, a crippled dwarf, and himself - an excoriate Medani - all brought here by an unknown party for an unknown reason.

He almost stood and drew his sword when the Cannith who was mauling the Warforged had the tables turned. When the Denieth oaf - he might have a thing for the Cannith - started flexing his overlarge muscles, it was halfway out, but then the old dwarf seemed to defuse things...

Hopefully, this won't turn into a brawl before we find out what this is.

[Starbin]

Alistair shook the other human’s hand. "Aye, that we will." However, when the man turned to interpose himself in the situation, he cleared his throat and murmured, ”Agreed ... civility is certainly desired, by all parties. Perhaps consider we are likely under surveillance by a potential partner or employer, and let that guide your behavior.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak tipped his head to one side. That was... the first time someone had repeated his name back exactly how he had said it. His tongue flicked behind his teeth while he spoke. Obviously inhuman, just like the rest of him. "I sssssuppossssssse, yessssss. But," he swallowed hard and with obvious effort, said, "Tsorak would be fine too." He squinted at the dwarf. His face pulled at Tsorak's brain, though damned if he could place it.

[3SecondCultist]

You have been waiting for nearly ten minutes when the door to the room flies open, revealing a singular figure. At first blush, this person's silhouette is reminiscent of a typical half-orc, muscular with wide shoulders. However, a lot of his physique is exaggerated by a dark longcoat, which reaches past his knees. Your contact is in truth not all that fit, the age spots on his forehead visible thanks to a receding hairline that is more grey than black. Deep-set wrinkles form frown lines around his mouth and eyes, and his tusks look like they've been blunted somehow. He does carry a very fine cane of some kind of dark wood, which he leans on for support as he walks in. The Old Orc seems to appear exactly as advertised.

"Thank you for coming," he gravels as he heads across the room in order to pour himself a goblet of wine from a decanted jug on the serving table. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, but my damned leg isn't what it used to be. Ah sorry, where are my manners? For those of you who don't know me, the name's Rukh'arrn d'Tharashk, but everyone just calls me Rukh. And yes, before any of you ask, I am that Rukh, the same one who solved the Rokesko case back in '93. Of course, that wasn't enough for Velderan to keep me on… but enough about me! I bet some of you are still wondering why I've called you all here? It's really quite simple: I have a job that needs doing." While he speaks, Rukh pauses periodically to take a sip of his wine, before eventually sighing and settling down into the chair nearest the kitchen.

"You might as well all have a seat. I told the hostess to finish and run out our meals on my way in, so they shouldn't be more than a minute or so. House Ghallanda doesn't like to keep hungry customers waiting! If my pitch isn't to your liking, you'll still be more than welcome to a hearty meal and some company."

The case of Shauranna Rokesko is several years old, dating back to 993 YK. Rokesko was an aide to Royal Minister Yarik Freul, a crown liaison to the Sovereign Host. The minister came to Sharn with his staff for an annual meeting with Onatar priests in the latter years of the Last War, and Rokesko disappeared for several days afterwards. It was a huge case that consumed nearly all of Sharn, involving three Dragonmarked Houses, several foreign interests, and two different Sovereign Host sects.

In the end, it turned out that Freul had been blackmailing Rokesko's father and she had found out about the arrangement, so the two of them had conspired to have her 'disappear'. The inquisitive agency that got the credit was none other than the Globe Information Agency, now the largest inquisitive business in Sharn.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin let out a small yelp of pain as he felt the Warforged's hands clamp down on his unmentionables. He waved Caedmon down as the Denieth man had stepped forward to defend him.It's all good Caedmon, it's all good. This one is unique! Oswin' hadn't expected the Warforged to possess a sense of dignity. While Oswin had grown up within the Cannith Enclave in Sharn, 'Warforged' and 'product' were used interchangeably. The ones he had encountered in the War had all been similar in nature: stoic, blunt, and barely possessing any sort of self-identity.

In response to the Warforged's questions, he grinned and said. My Mother is an Artificer; a damn good one. My Father is... lets not talk about him. His smile faltered a little. Whether or not I would be considered an advancement in the bloodline is a subjective matter, My Father had a chart of the family line going straight back to the War of the Mark, so thats a lot of ground to cover. His Sperm Count? No idea, while I also have no objective way of proving anything towards the last subject.

He let out a low whistle when Scribe revealed his Maker. A Warforged designed by one of the greatest Artificers alive? Whatever other feelings Oswin had towards Merrix, he had a great deal of respect for the man's technical proficiency. He took the outstretched hand. Oswin D'Cannith. Don't take this the wrong way friend, but I would love to get my hands on what makes you tick.

Oswin sat back while the Inquisitive gave his introduction. He had heard of the Rokesko case through his Father. House Cannith was traditonally tied to the affairs of the God of Smiths. Many in the house still claimed allegiance to Onatar, but Oswin suspected that it was more akin to lip service then anything else.

Let me get the obvious questions out of the way Rukh. If its a legal job, why not contract the services of your own House, or some other established problem solvers for hire? And if its an illegal job. He glanced over at Caedmon. Then I think you've made a grave misstep.

[3SecondCultist]

"The job is most definitely legal!" Rukh adjusts the spectacles - a fine pair, with copper wire frames and set in half-moon lenses - so that they rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. A wry smirk plays over the half-orc's lips. "Let's just say that I'm not on... great terms with my house at the moment. Or perhaps ever. You see, I used to work for the Globe Information Agency, the largest and most prestigious investigative agency in the city. But I can't stand workplace politics, and my replacement wasn't exactly a friend of mine. So technically I'm 'retired', and most of my 'family' won't deal with me now." He actually stops drinking to make little air quotes around several of the words as he says them.

"Ah right, the job! So there's a fellow who went missing, some 2 days ago. Normally in Sharn, that isn't a big deal, but this man is none other than Lord Drevan ir'Roole, a member of the Sharn Sixty. As an old retainer of the family's, I have been contacted by Lady Nora ir'Roole to find her husband in exchange for fair payment, which is substantial. But as I just mentioned, I can't be showing my face around investigating a case now. Truth be told, I'm not up for the legwork anyhow." Rukh stops to chuckle at his own joke. "I've asked around about potential enterprising adventurers in the area, and your names came up. If you help an old orc out, there's 300 galifars in it for each of you! Nothing illegal, just finding a man for his worried wife."

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin nodded sympathetically as Rukh discussed his issues with House Tharashk Family Problems? I get that. Say no more friend.

It didn't take long for Oswin to decide to join in. This sounded like it could be an exciting distraction from from his current affairs. The money was an added bonus. Truth be told, Oswin could have a comfortable life anytime he choose to,. However it would involve returning to the House Proper and doing whatever was expected of him, and would involve sacrificing certain freedoms that he would prefer to keep.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but the money was a nice bonus. Working for the Fabricator's guild gave him a decent living, but it did not pay as well as true Artificer work. That would be enough to repay his younger brother, and keep extra. Being in debt to his younger sibling did make him feel uncomfortable.

To be honest, I have nothing better to do. This sounds like it could be an engaging distraction. He paused for a moment as he contemplated this new challenge in front of him.

So what leads do you have? Where was he last seen? Whose company did he keep? Are you realllly sure he didn't want to just get away from the Missus?

[JonRG]

Tsorak peered intently at Rukh. He recalled the Rokesko case well enough. Professor Nelview loved to read The Inquisitive over her coffee and subject him to her insipid opinions. Weeks of her guesses and judgments (all wrong) before the true culprits confessed. This Rukh was a clever enough fellow. "What a... generoussss offer." Almost as generous as the cut Rukh would skim off the top. "Should we expect your lady to have hired anyone elsssse?"

[Sgt. Suitable]

Seeing the warforged grab Oswin by the crotch, though humorous, posed a risk of violence toward a member of one of the Houses. Caedmon, already out of his chair, stepped to interpose himself between his friend and the fancy machine. "Let's be a bit more civil, shall we?" he growled as firmly as he stood, seeming to direct the admonition only at the warforged and not the offending tinkerer.

This had Scribe doubt himself, and for a moment he was lost for words. Had he gone too far? He suddenly felt overly self aware and cocked his head slightly as he looked at Caedmon. Luckily Oswin made a show of brushing Caedmons help aside.


Oswin D'Cannith. Don't take this the wrong way friend, but I would love to get my hands on what makes you tick.

He couldn’t help notice the lack of apology from Oswins side, and decided he wouldn’t hold his breath for one. Scribe forced a smile back. Of course he could be civil. A short pause after Oswin spoke he nodded once. “And please don’t take it personal, but I hope you never do."


As he sat down again waiting for the old orc, one thing just didn't sit right with him. He mulled it over for a while and found it must have been what Oswin said to Caedmon.

it's all good. This one is unique!

Something about that sentence worried him, so much so that he remembered every intonation and detail about it.

Scribe didn't have time to worry more about it, because at that point Rukh'arrn made his appearance. Scribe sat back and took in everything Ruhk had to say. It felt good to divert his attention to more important and more immediate matters. Threehundred reasons to pay attention, the orphanage could use it.

[OMG PONIES]

"And yes, before any of you ask, I am that Rukh, the same one who solved the Rokesko case back in '93."

Caedmon keeps a straight face, as any professional should. His internal monologue is telling, though: Yet another Mark of Finding come-up who lucked into some tabloid case five years ago and hasn't let the towers stop hearing about it since, most likely. Wish Tharashk would stick to bloodhounding like nature intended.


"The job is most definitely legal!" Rukh adjusts the spectacles - a fine pair, with copper wire frames and set in half-moon lenses - so that they rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. A wry smirk plays over the half-orc's lips. "Let's just say that I'm not on... great terms with my house at the moment. Or perhaps ever. You see, I used to work for the Globe Information Agency, the largest and most prestigious investigative agency in the city. But I can't stand workplace politics, and my replacement wasn't exactly a friend of mine. So technically I'm 'retired', and most of my 'family' won't deal with me now."

Caedmon's eyes narrow a bit at this, sizing up the tale to determine if it can be trusted or not. A Tharashk, even an excoriate, assembling as motley a crew as this just to do some finding he should be able to do by his lonesome...something didn't sit right with him. [roll0]

[Starbin]

With the situation in the room finally settling into an uneasy truce of sorts, Alistair visibly relaxed, reaching into his satchel to remove a small notebook. When the half-orc entered the room, Alistair eyed him closely, smiling in response to the aged investigator’s greeting. He listened to the offer and the others questions, smoothing his beard periodically. Old Orc, indeed - Ruhk’arrn was exactly what one would expect.

And that was warning enough.

Why would a noble turn to an out-of-favor inquisitive for a real mission? Why would said inquisitive turn to outsource his help with unproven or unknown entities? Why would he need this many people to find a single lost man? Likely answers? A), Ruhk was not what he seemed. B) He had another agenda. C) This was likely a test for a larger task.

Regardless, there were too many questions to take this at face value ...

Aloud, he said, ”Aye, what other information might you have regarding the individual and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance? And why is his absence deemed a concern?”

[Kvard51]

Thorn listened to the Tharashk excoriate recount his offer. He had never heard of him, or his exploits, but his tale resonated. The Dragonmarked Houses asked much from their members, but seldom gave much in return. And damn sure don't embarass your House or you could find yourself on the outside looking in.

The premise behind the job seemed valid enough, and if all the reasons for needing a crew like this one to handle a simple missing persons case didn't all ring true, well, Thorn could use the money. He was strapped for gold and information, even shady information about trash that murder young women, never comes cheap.

As the others begin the standard questions, Thorn sits forward into the light and says, simply, "I'll take the job."

[3SecondCultist]

The investigative's smile widens at Oswin's rapid-fire stream of questions, holding a hand out and nodding his head as though to confirm that he has in fact heard everything that has been said. "Asking questions is of course within your right, and I'm glad to see the enthusiasm! I know a few details, passed on by Lady Nora. I'm... well, I have worked with the ir'Rooles before on an old case, so I expect she remembered me. I can't speak to what she think happened to him, but apparently two days is a long enough time for her to be concerned. As far as I know, we're the only ones looking into this disappearance. You won't need to expect any competition."

"As for leads, I really just have the one. According to Lady Nora, Drevan is known to frequent a specific watering hole in Middle Dura, a place known as the Half-Pint Tavern. He has drinking buddies there, friends he made in his wasted youth that he's never really shook. He typically goes down there to relive old times. In fact, he's friends with the owner, a Karrnathi half-elf by the name of Kylev Throth. He's been known to pay Throth in exchange for the keys for an evening before." Rukh seems to note a few of your skeptical gazes, sighing infinitesimally before continuing.

"Look, this is probably just a case of another member of the Sixty getting bored with playing the husband and stepping out. Nine times out of ten, Drevan got way from the wife and went on a bender. But on the off-chance that something did happen to him... well, it'll feel pretty good to earn those galifars either way."

Anyone trying to get a read on Rukh's intentions will find them to be largely genuine. He doesn't seem to be lying about his past as an inquisitive, and there are no tells that he is anything other than who he says he is. However, you pick up on the significance of the pause when he mentions Lady Nora. You get the impression that Rukh himself isn't 100% sure that the job he received is legit, but he is going along with it anyway... for some reason.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Maybe Oswin should have been more cautious about accepting everything he heard at face value. Maybe something fishy was going on, but to be earnest, Oswin really didn't care if there was. If there was some twist or threat of violence agianst him, he would simply deal with it when it came up.

So you're telling me, that our best lead is at a bar? Sounds like a win-win to me. We will either get useful information or we will have a fun time. Either way we win, although I'm not sure I would trust a Karranthi to run a hospitable establishment.

Oswin snapped his fingers as he came up with an idea. Oh, I know! We should do a pub crawl before we get there, that can be our cover story! He pointed at each of the assembled figures in the room. Pub crawl? pub crawl? pub crawl? pub crawl? Sorry Scribe, I guess it won't do anything for you. Do you mind being our designated coachman? pub crawl?

[OMG PONIES]

"pub crawl?"

Caedmon rolls his eyes at the suggestion, his largest show of emotion yet. "Business before pleasure, Oz," he jokes. "We'll need your mind at it's sharpest...it seems we have a job to do."

The sentinel meets gazes with the unnamed man seated in the shadows who had just taken the job. "Since we'll be working together, might we ask your name, sir?"

[Starbin]

Alistair watched the half-orc answer questions and one thing became abundantly clear - this man was good. For all the things that shouted LIE! Alistair could detect no falsehoods. No sweat on the upper lip, shuffling of feet, nervous hand wringing, shifting gaze ... none of the tell-tale signs that would indicate Ruhk was misleading them.

For now, he would have to accept the situation at face value, until he could find empirical evidence to the contrary. ”Thank you for the information, sir. I’ll accept the offer.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak sighed internally. Meat was so weak, inexorably bound by physical desires. Not that he could get drunk even if he wanted to. Tsorak idly rolled his staff in one hand. "What trade issss the lord in?" Someone had to ask for pertinent details. "Alsssso, where might we find Lady Nora if we have quesssstionssss for her? More importantly, where can you be found?" Tsorak stared into the orc's eyes, unblinking.

If Ruhk was playing some sort of game, he would live to regret his mistake.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe took in the information and weighed his options. He looked around the room and considered the group. He nodded along slowly as questions were being asked. He considered weighing in with some of his own but didn’t quite find the moment, or someone else asked them first. This was more than fine with Scribe. Apparently Rukh had assembled brighter than average minds, hungry to put their intellect to the test.

When Thorn bluntly stated he’d accept, scribe used the moment to size him up. There was something about his behaviour that Scribe couldn’t place. Before he had the chance to think it over though, Oswins enthusiastic idea pulled him back into the room. Scribe however only had time to make a innocent shrug of the shoulders when Caedmon torpedoed the idea and zeroed in on Thorn, so Scribe put his attention back on the half-elf and watched him closely, waiting for an answer.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin looked disappointed as Caedmon shot down his idea and the others deemed it not worth the time to response. So this is going to be the no-fun party? he grumbled. He looked over at Caedmon. We are going to have to blend in, a man in full armor showing up at a bar and not drinking is going to stick out like a sore thumb. Its guess too bad you aren't a Medani, this sort of activity is definitely more their wheelhouse About 25% of his critique was sincere, the other 75% was a petty reprisal for refusing the pub crawl. He glanced over at Tsorak and Thorn. I don't think there is going to be enough shadowy corners for both of you, so are you two good to share?

I don't have anything to add at this point, I'm ready to move on to the next scene.

[Kvard51]

Thorn leans forward into full light. He looks at the Deneith scion through eyes squinting againt the sudden increase in light. Turning his head to take in the whole group, he nods as if making a decision. "Thorn. Bravick Thorn. And your Cannith friend is right. Not about a pub crawl, but we should approach this tavern as if we are old colleagues out for an evening on the town. We don't want to be obvious about our agenda until WE decide to be obvious. I suggest we leave here as we came in, seperately. Then, make our way to the Half-Pint by the turn of the hour. I'll head there straightaway and reserve a table for six."

[3SecondCultist]

Footsteps behind the double doors cause the old half-orc to turn around and grin. "You'll have to hold on just a moment; it sounds like our food is here!" Rukh watches with obvious delight as several Ghallanda waiters bring in steaming platters under silver dish covers and place them all in front of you. The viceroy himself, a rotund looking halfling in a crisp suit with a very his dragonmark on one side of his neck, waits until the last plate has been placed before you before politely clearing her throat.

"Master d'Tharashk and guests, welcome. For your meal this evening, the kitchen has prepared several dishes in the Sharn Fusion style to suit a varied palette. At this end of the table we have hot spiced chicken in panya leaves, a southern Brelish delight. We also have a Reacher's garden salad and lentils with selas spice dressing, for anyone not possessed of a carnivorous disposition." As the Ghallanda viceroy calls out each entree, a server reaches over to expertly pull the cover off and reveal the predictably delicious looking food item. "Moving right along, we have kettle-fried spider, garnished with redeye berries plucked from our orchards right here in Sharn! Oh, and you must try the king's favorite, our very own in-house Beef Boranel. We slow-roast the side of beef both before and after the bread and mushroom stuffing so that it doesn't lose an iota of flavor. And finally, at the far end we have fire-wrapped golden fish, caught this morning in the Straits of Shargon." Your host finishes his presentation by placing several drinks on the bar in the north-west corner of the room, which include Karrnathi ale, Windshire Rainbow wine from Aundair, Thrakel Berry Brandy from Flamekeep, as well as a freshly brewed pot of tal tea.

Rukh extends a hand to the viceroy, who takes it warmly. "Thank you as always, Kelso. Your hospitality is appreciated." After a little inane small-talk, the halfling disappears with the wait staff, letting you enjoy your meal and continue your conversations in peace. Clearly not willing to wait any longer, the dragonmarked inquisitive begins to fill up his plate with a generous helping of the beef, along with some of the spider and a vanishingly small portion of the spiced lentils. "Where were we? Ah yes, the ir'Rooles. I did some research into the family when they first put me on retainer some years ago. Their business largely consists of heavy textiles and the cloth business both domestically and abroad throughout Khorvaire. They own a factory down in UnderSharn, as well as a few distributor stores in North Towers, in Lower Central. They mostly sell blankets, bedding, that sort of thing - not clothes that people wear. I checked it all out personally, it all seemed above board to me."

Between bites, the half-orc dabs at the corners of his mouth with a fine linen napkin. "The ir'Rooles have a modest estate up in Skyway, but I would not recommend going up there unless you absolutely needed to talk to the Lady Nora. Walking the halls of the rich and rarified has a tendency to draw attention. Now, I trust you all enough to tell you where I live. My residence is 112 Zephrah Spires, in Stormhold. It isn't too far from here, in point of fact. I will instruct my staff to keep an eye out for you and make you feel at home if I am not present, as I am not always at home. Furthermore, if any of you have need of a place to stay, I have a pair of guest rooms that are currently vacant. It will do for the time being."

[Starbin]

Alistair listened as the halfling announced the meal, nodding in appreciation. He thought to himself, himselfA far cry from school food ... or the slip you used to eat back in the day. Once Ruhk ‘broke the seal’ so to speak, others moved forward to get food. Alistair slowly limped forward, placing modest amounts of fish and chicken on his plate, and settling for tea. While the spread included a bevy of quality spirits, Alistair wanted his mind to remain sharp. He didn’t fear the food being poisoned - there was little purpose in it aside from wanton murder - but he wouldn’t be surprised if the booze was chosen to loosen the lips and cloud the mind.

Once the small talk ended, Ruhk returned to business. Most of the information was interesting and would be useful later. However one phrase set off a warning bell. Clearing his throat, he raised his hand a spine. ”in the spirit of sharing and honesty, I have a question. You mentioned you trust us ienough to share your home address. Why? What have any of us done to earn your trust to not undercut your endeavors, let alone share the hospitality of your domicile? For that matter, why have you chosen us in particular?

In the name of honesty and trust, of course.”

Alistair smiles politely and looked to Ruhk for an answer.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin was the picture of perfect decorum as he enjoyed this meal. The meal was quite good by any objective standard, but it did not elicit feelings of wonder from Oswin's perfect. He himself had enjoyed finer fare at numerous points throughout his youth in Upper Central. The spider was also a touch overcooked, although he was polite enough not to mention it outloud.

His approach to getting to know these strangers wasn't working as he had intended. He could adapt. It didn't matter what field one worked in, good design required trail and error. If one approach didn't work, then a different one would be required. If this group wasn't collectively interested in good cheer and merrymaking, then perhaps a more rationalist approach would get their attention.

If we are intending to work together, then it would be prudent to discuss our capabilities. Oswin addressed to the table. In contrast to his usual easygoing manner, he now seemed like he was all business. I am sure most of you have deduced this already, but I am an Artificer. I specialized in Chemistry and Alchemy. I do have practical experience through serving King and Country, so if a physical confrontation breaks out you can trust me to watch your back.

[JonRG]

Tsorak served himself a little bit of every dish, with the exception of the salad. He wasn't a damned rabbit. Tsorak also poured himself a large glass of brandy. The bottle cost more than he would earn in a month, and he could enjoy the taste even if the heady, drunken sensation was denied to him.

The dragonmarked dandy called for everyone's attention. Tsorak peered at him intently. Oswin didn't flinch, to his credit. He wasn't being a prat. It would be best to encourage that. "Very well. I am a sssscholar and a diviner by trade." Mission accomplished, he returned to his food and drink. Brandy needed to be savored, and there would only be so much time before they would get to work.

[Kvard51]

Thorn returns to his seat, a heaping portion of beef on his plate and the Windshire Rainbow, held by the neck, in his hand. He sits back down, moving his chair up to the table where he is fully in the light. His careworn face turns to each speaker in turn before he tkes a long draw on the wine. As he it the bottle on the table beside his plate, he says, "I have some experience as a bodyguard, and I am a proficient swordsman."

Ducking his head, he digs into the beef with gusto.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe too grabs a plate and places a few things on there, some salad and a bit of the beef Boronel. He pours himself a glass of Karrnathi ale before sitting down again to listen politely to Rukh. All of this, the dinner and the tardiness, he had come to learn to expect from the half-orc. Scribe was increasingly at ease and much less paranoid than some of the others. He noted their apprehension and concluded they would make fine colleagues. He liked people that didn't take things at face value, and always looking beyond the obvious was a good trait in this line of work.

He listened as the others spoke and ate a bit here and there to put the people around him at ease. He had discovered that joining in their rituals, like eating in this case, tended to humanise him and he gathered that with his earlier encounter that might not be such a bad thing.

When Oswin spoke, Scribe nodded in an interested manner. He acknowledged Thorns response with a nod and piped up himself.

"I help young criminals find their way again, so I'm pretty well versed in Sharn law. I do have some practical tricks up my sleeve though, and amongst other things I am a capable lock-whisperer".

Scribe turned to Alistair, and looked at Rukh. He had become used to Rukh opening his home to investigators, although Scribe had never taken him up on the offer. Still, he was curious for the half-orcs answer.

[3SecondCultist]

"Mhm, yes I can see how my gathering such a crew might be somewhat confusing. On paper, the lot of you might not seem ideal. But this is not my first time partnering up or asking for help from outside sources. Ask Scribe over here if you don't believe me: I've been fortunate enough to have use of his services in the past." While still working on his meal, the inquisitive seems to take a moment to think of his answer. Eventually, he gently places his cutlery down and takes one more draught of the Aundair red.

"My reasons for choosing you are twofold. The first is versatility. As I am not entirely certain what might await at the Half-Pint - or really wherever the evidence might take you, as can sometimes happen on these cases - it is sensible to be prepared for anything. I'd say that hiring two mercenaries, a second story legal expert, an ordained smuggler priest, an accomplished arcanist, and a canny inventor is a good start. The second and perhaps more important reason is your connections. Between the six of you, you have or are currently building contacts with most of the key players with interests in Sharn's underbelly, both legitimate and otherwise. That means you will be tapped into information that I would not otherwise be privy to."

Rukh takes one more bite of his beef before settling to the back of his carved wood chair. "And to answer your other question, master dwarf - I trust very few, but I do my homework on everyone. If nothing else, I am a detective. Assume I already know all of your secrets and our partnership will run much more smoothly." His deep tones are remarkably matter of fact, and yet he makes a point to catch each of your gazes as he speaks. The subtle promise there is unmistakable.

[JonRG]

Something flickered in Tsorak's chest. Heartburn, most likely. A yuan-ti did not feel anxiety, discomfort, or fear. So what if this orc knew about the Daask? They were connections that could be explained away easily enough. Tsorak had to wonder, how much could the old orc have learned about the yuan-ti? Perhaps he could discover that truth in due time. In the interim, Tsorak focused on the food and drink before him. His brandy was about half-gone, but the others seemed like they might take a while. He idly sloshed a little more into his glass. Waste not.

[Starbin]

Alistair nodded to Ruhk and raised his mug of tea. ”Thank you for your honesty ... and well said, Master Ruhk.”

Alistair continued to eat and drink, listening to the discussion. Ruhk shared enough answers to satisfy the older dwarf ... and also cloak a subtle threat inside a civil response. It wouldn’t do to presume Ruhk was as altruistic as he might lead them to believe. He was clearly an information broker ... and knowledge is power.

[OMG PONIES]

"I help young criminals find their way again, so I'm pretty well versed in Sharn law."

Caedmon keeps his gaze fixed on his plate, a neatly-portioned and balanced meal of proteins and vegetables. As the warforged speaks, the human chews on both his food and the automaton's words. What could possibly drive a war machine into the field of charity? From the dwarf he expected something like this--Alistair seemed like the church type--but not from a machine. Nevertheless, Caedmon thought it more appropriate to keep eating than to bring it up. After all, he didn't want to find his unmentionables in a vice grip anytime soon.


"My reasons for choosing you are twofold. The first is versatility. As I am not entirely certain what might await at the Half-Pint - or really wherever the evidence might take you, as can sometimes happen on these cases - it is sensible to be prepared for anything. I'd say that hiring two mercenaries, a second story legal expert, an ordained smuggler priest, an accomplished arcanist, and a canny inventor is a good start. The second and perhaps more important reason is your connections. Between the six of you, you have or are currently building contacts with most of the key players with interests in Sharn's underbelly, both legitimate and otherwise. That means you will be tapped into information that I would not otherwise be privy to

Caedmon politely places his silverware on the table, perfectly straight and in their proper places. "One clarification, sir," he says to Ruhk, rolling up the sleeve beneath his chain mail. "I'm no mercenary; I'm a Sentinel," he says with pride. The sleeve bunches up around his flexing bicep to reveal the Deneith dragonmark on his arm. "276th Batallion, specializing in protection and risk mitigation. I'll make sure the team stays safe, sir."

[JonRG]

"You are a well-funded mercccenary, then? Noted." Tsorak neatly laid his utensils across his plate and sipped from his glass. Ruhk was unlikely to give them any further details. He seemed the sort who preferred information to flow in the other direction. They would have to reach the Half-Pint to learn more.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin counted up the team in his head. A couple of bruisers, a couple of arcane magic wielders, an elderly priest who might be a touch hard of hearing, and last...

Oswin's ears perked up as he heard Scribe's self proclaimed profession. A warforged barrister? That was an unusual application for a Warforged to say the least. And a quite promising one at that. He would have to inquire about that later. This warforged seemed skittish, and Oswin didn't want to push it any further.

Oswin frowned as Ruhk responded to the dwarf's inquiries. He had been ready to go along with this investigation without any prodding, but Ruhk's behaviour was causing him to have second thoughts. Ruhk resembled Oswin's father far too much for him to feel comfortable around the man: feigning civility to induce co-operation, acting like he always knew the most of anything in the room, and willing to use his advantages in a dialogue to coerce cooperation.

Oswin knew he was here of his own free choice. He didn't have any secrets that could be used to coerce him. Annoy know him and vex him quite possibly, but nothing that was blackmail material. Could he say the same for everyone else in this room? He honestly didn't know. When Ruhk took his turn to look at Oswin, Oswin returned it with the most bored expression he could muster. Neeee-at. He let out with a slow drawl. Unmature? Without a doubt. However in Oswin's opinion subtle bs was best responded to with blatant irreverence.

Oswin finished his current drink, a glass of Aundairan Red to go with the beef, before he continued. The obvious fix that could be in this setup is that you haven't mentioned what the actual total for the reward is, and consequently what your portion of the take will be. Oswin shrugged. I honestly, I could care less whether my fair portion should be 300 or 3000. Call me conceited if you wish, but Money simply doesn't motivate me.


However Ruhk had implied something else that caught Oswin's interest. The implication that House Cannith had a stake in Sharn's criminal underworld. Oswin was aware that Cannith had numerous Factories down in the Cogs, but if there was some illegitimate business going on.. In return for my continuing to neglect to ask about the total reward, I want something else in addition to the money. He put the glass down on the table a touch more forcefully then he intended. In the future, I will ask you one question. I won't ask you to put life or limb at stake, but I will expect you to answer it to the best of your ability. Do we have a deal?

[Sgt. Suitable]

"Mhm, yes I can see how my gathering such a crew might be somewhat confusing. On paper, the lot of you might not seem ideal. But this is not my first time partnering up or asking for help from outside sources. Ask Scribe over here if you don't believe me: I've been fortunate enough to have use of his services in the past."


Scribe nodded at this. "This is true.. He has been fortunate enough." The warforged raised his glass to Rukh and gave him a curt nod to indicate his jest was good-natured.

"Having worked for Rukh before, I can attest to the fact that this seems to be business as usual."

Scribe was in his element. Not only was he looking at the prospect of a nice little payday, he also got to flex his skills a bit, things had gotten a bit predictable and everyday over at the orphanage and this would be a nice change of pace.

[Kvard51]

The subtle threats didn't faze Thorn. He finished his Beef Boranel, took another long draw on the Aundairan wine, leaned back in his chair and gave the Tharashk a grim smile.

"Everything about me is available to anyone who reads the tabloids.
If your money's good, we won't have a problem."

[3SecondCultist]

A Pint Half Empty (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvBDfN7n-cE)

Dinner proceeds apace, with rather limited conversation and a few more pointed glances and covert observations. Although none of you are completely sure in your measure of any other, there is the general sense that - at least for the time being - all of you are in the same boat. Rukh, for his part, is more than happy to finish his meal and call for a sky carriage back to his estate, but not before leaving all of you with directions to the Half-Pint. The half-orc wishes you all luck one more time before he departs, hobbling out of the dining room on his dark wooden cane after paying for dinner and leaving a generous tip for the wait staff's discretion.

The journey through Middle Dura is surprisingly lively, and you see more than your fair share of people up and about despite the late hour. Even as you cross the last bridge to your destination, you notice a pair of warforged stonemasons studying a crack running through the stone span. Dura Quarter is the oldest in Sharn, and it certainly shows here. Unlike Underlook, the rest of Middle Dura is closer to a lower ward than other quarters, catering to the working and lower class. All told, this is not where you imagine Drevan, a nobleman, would decide to spend his evenings. And still here you are.

The Half-Pint Tavern looks no different on the outside than any other storefront. The slightly scarred bricks and mortar sport a faded maroon sign, and there is a sturdy door with a good lock. It looks like the sign might have once boasted a passable depiction of a pair of figures raising tankards together, but the details have long since been eroded by the city. The entire facade is largely forgettable, but a few details stand out to you. The windows and blinds look to all have been closed, leaving you with no impression of the building's interior. What's more, there don't seem to be any lights on, with the exception of the lanterns under which several individuals loiter.

Three members of the Sharn Watch block front of the Half-Pint Tavern, various looks of fatigue and annoyance on their faces. In front of them, a nervous half-elf paces back and forth. As you watch, the half-elf turns to say something to the guard, which only brings a scowl to the human's face. A quick retort on the watchman's part earns a curse, which quickly escalates as the half-elf moves in for a swing. Before you know it, the half-elf is being knocked to the ground, steel wrapped around his wrists and escorted down the street and around the corner.

The two remaining guards, after making sure that the half-elf isn't going to cause any more trouble, take their positions up on either side of the door, watching any passers-by closely. Luckily for them, there don't seem to be all too many of those at this time of night, and those that are walking past in these neighborhoods are anxious enough to get away from the stern gaze of the law. By the looks of it, getting past them will be your first challenge.

The Half-Pint Tavern (https://app.roll20.net/editor/)

So the map of the area is up! The two guards look like they're actively guarding the door, not just hanging out randomly. They haven't seen any of you yet - I'm assuming you're a bit further away than the map indicates, but within line of sight. It's up to you how your group wants to handle this situation. By the way, in keeping with this game's structure, expect to see obstacles like this en lieu of lots of combats.
A keen ear can pick up some of Kylev's muttering as he is being dragged away. The half-elf is busy claiming that 'it was like that when he walked in less than an hour ago' and he has 'no idea what happened in there'. The guard, for his part, grunts for him to shut up.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin looks around the group. Well standing here isn't going to get anything done. We need to know whats going on. I'll talk with the guards. Worse comes to worst I might not make it into the tavern, but I trust the rest of you will be able to meet our objective. Oswin carefully folded up his cloak and handed it over to the first party member who would be willing to take it. Once that was done, he adjusted his cravat, stepped out into the light and boldly walked towards the guards. He ignored the half that got arrested, and focused his attention towards the two that were guarding the door. Constables, what's the reason for this disturbance?


[roll0]

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe enjoyed the walk over there. He liked the Dura Quarter for some reason. He was impressed by humanities sheer stubborn resilience, and to him Dura had always been a testament to that. It was far from perfect, with imperfections showing near everywhere you looked. Still, as a whole, it had withstood the test of time, seemingly giving logic and reason a big Sharnish middle finger.

He loved it.

As they came across the scene, and stood huddled in the dark a ways away, he looked around.

”Seems as though we’re late.” He remarked casually.

Oswin had the initiative and Scribe watched him go. Himself he didn’t feel like he was particularly suited to chat up some Sharn guards tonight.

”I’ll take a walk around the building, see if maybe someone has seen anything.” I shouldn’t be long, anyone care to join?"

He took the right turn, and headed off in search of a witness, or maybe someone that heard more than they had.

[Kvard51]

Thorn walked through the Dura Quarter in grim silence. He was still unsure about being saddled with this motley crew of wannabe inquisitors. He would have to see how they handled the Half-Pint.

As they approached the tavern, Thorn noted the minor commotion. Of course, before he could share what he had heard with the group, the fop was already on his way to make a scene with his dragonmark or his money. Thorn grimaced. He hoped things wouldn't turn stupid before he could get the info they needed.

When the warforged suggested an alternate approach, Thorn decided to go with him. They were more likely to get in through the kitchen entrance, anyway. "I'll tag along. The back door is probably more accessible, anyway."

[Starbin]

Alistair was fairly reserved for the rest of the meal. He responded readily enough if engaged in conversation, but didn’t really initiate any discussions himself. While he took mental notes, he rarely provided anything of interest about himself. By the time dinner drew to a close, Alistair was more than ready to get to their mission.

The dwarf lagged behind the others as the group travelled towards the tavern, his limp pronounced and unchanging as they went along. He didn’t complain or ask them to wait up, however- he simply took the time to keep an eye on their surroundings, watching people on the streets watched and checking for anyone following them. His mind was already racing to figure out why the noble had come to this section of town, what events had transpired to get him here.

Once the group arrived at the tavern, Alistair tried to recall anything he had heard about the Half Pint. He murmured to the others, ”This place doesn’t exactly scream drinking establishment, does it? Seems a bit subdued for even this part of town. It might be best if we don’t completely split up. But checking around the building does seem like a good start. “

Alistair looked to the others, but planned on accompanying Scribe and Thorn on their walk.
[i]OOC - [roll0] for any info on this inn and the area ...
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

Oswin heads forward with the swagger and presence that only a dragonmarked heir can conjure. Stepping into the light of the dingy lanterns by the inn's door. As he gets closer, he notices that the guards seem wary, looking out at any other passers by or people on neighboring towers. Their spears and shields are already out, though they don't seem unduly eager to use them. Both members of the Watch turn their heads to look at the noble, their expressions stony and unmoved by his request for information.

"Move along, citizen," says the first, a burly looking man with a five-o-clock shadow and thin lips. "This area is an active crime scene, and we're not allowed to give out information to just any lookie-lou. Look for the story in the papers like everyone else." His partner, a older sort with a thick nose and a rash of pockmarks on his cheeks, simply stares at Oswin, as though to back up the first man's statement. However, in looking at the artificer you can see him notice the trio of the half-elf, the warforged, and the dwarf begin to head around the side of the building. His brows furrow into a slight frown, but he does not leave his post.

"Keep walking. I'll not ask again."


Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

While the artificer moves forward to engage the guard, the three of you have quietly agreed to head around the side of the building to look for another entrance. The voices of the Sharn Watch echo behind you as the light disappears and you proceed into the grimy alley. Despite Alistair's prior comment, you do notice a few souls during your investigation. A shutter closing above you prompts you to notice the gazes of several eyes watching the scene from other towers and buildings, likely just curious citizens. A few people stand at the juncture, moving away as you approach. Nobody seems to want to talk to you here.

Rounding the corner, you find yourselves at the head of another crooked lane, this one facing south. About halfway down, you spy the outline of a stoop and a back door. A few stray bottles lay strewn on the stone, some of which have been broken into glistening shards. The smell is unpleasant and there are puddles of stagnant water that lead from the mouth of the alley to the door. You can see a few spots of dried blood and even a hand smear along one wall. A small figure crouches huddled behind some crates where the alley meets the street on the other side of the Half-Pint, partially obscured from view. Their features are hidden underneath a shift, but there's no doubt that they're aware of your presence.

[Kvard51]

Thorn quickly slips the peace thong off his sword while watching the figure in the shadows.

”You might as well come out. There is nowhere to go and you are clearly injured. Let us assist you and you can tell us what happened before the guard gets involved.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak sighs, gently pinching the bridge of his nose. "Shadow, what an idiot..." he groans under his breath. His gaze flicks to Caedmon. "Should we... help him?" Tsorak didn't particularly care whether "Oz" got himself arrested or not, but it wouldn't do to have the guards upset and on high-alert. Not if they wanted to get any information.

[Starbin]

Alistair

As they walked around the building, Alistair noticed the guards glancing at them as they shuffled by. He thought back to the half-elf, and something dawned on him. ”I think I know who that was - Kylev Throth, the owner! He bought the place a few years back, with some backing from unnamed sources. I wonder if he’s been keeping up with his payments ... or if our mission is related to him by more than happenstance.“

As they rounded the corner, the three noted the blood and a figure hidden in the shadows. When Thorn spoke, Alistair frowned slightly, glancing at his other companions, then back. The man was jumping to conclusions, but they could discuss it later. Right now, they needed to keep their eyes open and see if there was another way into the inn. He cleared his throat and motioned towards the shadows. ”As my companion stated, we just need some help ... and you look like you could use some too.”
[i]OOC - [roll0] for any Shenanigans. Sorry in advance for any spelling/attention to detail items - eyes were too heavy for much more ...
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[OMG PONIES]

"Should we... help him?"

Caedmon says nothing, but nods and steps forward. He places a hand on Oswin's shoulder and gently--but firmly--begins to pull him back from the guards.


"Keep walking. I'll not ask again."

"Understood, sirs," Caedmon says curtly. "But we're no lookie-lous. We were hired by one of the Sharn Sixty to find her husband, known to frequent the old Galleon here. Not to brag, but our team has eyes on from three separate Houses.

I won't do it without your say-so, but all we ask is ten minutes to look around quietly. We'll disturb nothing. If possible, we'd also like to speak with Throth since he's a friend of the missing man. then we're out of your hair like we were never here. Otherwise, I anticipate more publicity than any of us want. But it's your call."

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

The eyes of the first guard only narrows further as the obviously armed and armored Caedmon approaches. His hands tense on his spear, and you get the sensation that he is a few heartbeats from brandishing it in your direction. However, the Deneith agent's authoritative manner and calm words seems to have pacified the man's aggression. Both members of the Watch hear Caedmon out, exchanging a few glances at the mention of the Sixty, and then again at your group's involvement with the dragonmarked houses.

The elder of the two seems to come to a decision first, as he relaxes his guard before speaking up. "Well if you are who you say you are - and I'm not saying I believe you, mind - then I can personally escort you inside to check the scene out. Throth's headed up to the Daggerwatch Garrison for interrogation. He's considered a person of interest in whatever it is that happened here, but you're welcome to follow up with the desk sergeant there. We wouldn't want to break protocol in a case like this, especially if you've got influential backers. Gotta say the Watch has done things by the book, you know what I mean?" The faint smirk on his lips indicates that for all of his servility, this man has no intention on making things easy for you.

"Marius, watch the door." The younger of the two hasn't taken his eyes off of you, but he moves to unlatch the makeshift lock that the Watch has placed on the entrance to the Half-Pint. "Now, I'll take the three of you inside for five minutes and five minutes only. You got it?"


Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

The silhouette freezes for a moment longer before making themselves visible. As they slowly steps out of her hiding place, you see that they - no, she - is a young halfling, an urchin by the looks of her. Her clothes are quite threadbare, slightly too big for her in most places. Her skin, where not covered in grime, is puckered with old scars and raw blisters, the symptoms of living rough. She has no shoes, and her feet are cut or callused in most places. Finally, she has a scar that runs from her mouth down the left side of her neck. Her posture is still hunched, but you see that not only is she decidedly not injured, she doesn't have a trace of fresh blood on her.

"Beggin' your pardon sirs, I was just resting here. I don't need no help, not one bit." Her attention flickers from Thorn, to Alistair and back to the half-elf, as though not sure who to address. You get the impression that she isn't exactly used to people talking to her, because she fidgets and licks her lips several times as she speaks. "Don't think I can help you much, either." With that, the halfling girl begins to slowly back away from the three of you. She is already almost at the southern end of the alleyway where it opens back up to the edge of this tower.

Your keen eyesight notices not one, not two, but three hidden daggers and other blades on the halfling's person. The first is barely noticeable on the far left side of her waistline. The second is a razor blade wrapped up in her tangle of hair. The third and final weapon is attached to her right side ankle, visible only as a slight bulge near the hem of her pants.

[Sgt. Suitable]

The girl backed up and at that, Scribe carefully stepped forward. He knew she was going to bolt sooner or later and he made sure not to make any sudden moves. ”At least take this.” Scribe pulled a silver coin from his pouch and showed it to her. He pointed at the girl, and tossed the coin her way.

While he was sure to make just enough of a show when he showed her the coin, he was also sure not to show her his other hand, fiddling a short copper wire and bending it into the shape of an arcane rune.

As the coin flew through the air. He whispered, soft as a sigh, trusting that the magic would relay the message to her loud and clear.

“There’s more where that came from. The Stepping Stones Home. Ask for Harvey, tell her Scribe sent you. Coin, and food. For only a few questions."

[OMG PONIES]

"Well if you are who you say you are - and I'm not saying I believe you, mind - then I can personally escort you inside to check the scene out. Throth's headed up to the Daggerwatch Garrison for interrogation. He's considered a person of interest in whatever it is that happened here, but you're welcome to follow up with the desk sergeant there. We wouldn't want to break protocol in a case like this, especially if you've got influential backers. Gotta say the Watch has done things by the book, you know what I mean?...Now, I'll take the three of you inside for five minutes and five minutes only. You got it?"

Caedmon says nothing, but nods. He was surprised to have gotten any assistance, so he wasn't about to press his luck with anything else.

[Starbin]

Alistair

The dwarf watched as the girl backed up, raising a hand to forestall any misunderstandings - this was obviously someone who knew how to take care of herself. However, whether she was overly protective or a professional on the job remained to be seen. For all they knew, she was the one who had killed the noble.

Clearing his throat, Alistair spoke after Scribe tried his trick. ”’Ere now, lass, ye dinnae need t’be squirrelin’ in us. Ah just want inside, if’n yer willin’. Then he kin be onta more’n juicy marks, aye? “ The change in accent wasn’t false - to the others it seemed more likely something from his past.
[i]OOC - Not sure if passive insight would note anything, but [roll0] if not.
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[JonRG]

Tsorak

Tsorak stops fumbling through his pack and walks towards the two guards. This was Sharn - he probably could just hand them money and tell them to leave, but plausible deniability would serve him better with his companions. "You are too kind, my friendsss, but the arcane operatesss in itsss own time. Perhapsss, you could get sssomething to eat while you wait. We will not interfere with anything, and you both mussst be hungry." He hands a small pouch to each guard. "My treat, and pleassse, take your time." Tsorak smiles with all the false geniality he can muster.

Each guard is now the proud owner of fifteen gold pieces. Persuasion total calculated using the 20 rolled with Portent.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin just stands back as he watches events unfold. He would have preferred to keep details of their mission secret, but Oswin wasn't one to argue with results. As Tsorak offered his bribe to the guard, Oswin added his winning and more human smile to the effort. A token of appreciation from the Houses to the hardworking men of the Watch.

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

Marius and his partner, whose name you overhear as being Alain, murmur quietly to one another as Tsorak makes his offer. Their skeptical glances towards the snake-man are undercut by the sheer amount of coin they are being offered. The look in their eyes makes it clear that the moment the bribe was on the table, they would have been happy to leave no matter what was said. "That sounds like a reasonable suggestion," says Alain after a brief interlude. "We'll just... ah, we'll just take a break. I've heard there's a great little corner shop that sells late night kuryeva. Come on Marius! You're buying the first round." The younger guard's protests eventually fade into the distance as they disappear from sight, leaving you with an unlocked door to your first crime scene.

Stepping through the entranceway, you immediately find yourselves immersed in the cloying red-black smell of old blood. The whole space is nowhere near as bright or clean as Ghallanda Hall. Along one side of the room stands a long bar, which looks to have been half-cleaned before whoever was doing the work simply stopped. The beers on tap are cheap, and there is a faint smell of excrement from what is no doubt a backed up latrine at the northern edge of the establishment. A large unlit fireplace and stone chimney dominates the far wall, standing beside what looks like a sturdy looking back door.

But you don't care about any of that, because the inside of the Half-Pint Tavern currently looks like the sort of place where somebody was stabbed not too long ago. Near the base of a stairwell leading up to a second floor, there are knocked over chairs and an overturned table. The commotion seems to be focused around one particular corner, where broken glass from a bottle and goblet lies on the floor. You find dried liquid on the ground and you see some darker spots, the source of which seem rather obvious the moment you begin to put the scene together in your mind.

So there are four major clues to investigate here. Each one will have its own associated skill check, depending on what it is / how you choose to go about checking it out. Or you can choose a different avenue of investigation! I'm just including the four "obvious" clues here.

- The Struggle

- The Floor

- The Broken Glass

- The Blood

Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

In pulling out the silver piece, one might be forgiven for thinking that Scribe has cast an enchantment on the girl. Her eyes never fully leave the coin, even if you get the sense that she may still be watching all of you for sudden movements. More importantly, she stops retreating out of the alleyway and even leans in slightly closer. The offer for sanctum seems to seal the deal in the little halfling's mind, because she eagerly snatches up the sovereign and steps closer to the warforged.

"Thank you! You're one of 'em metal men, ain't you? Most of the ones I met are right rusty c*m-buckets, but you don't look so bad. Oh sh*t, sorry, that weren't polite of me." If she seems genuinely ashamed by her comment, nothing about her demeanor indicates it. Instead, she's busy making the coin dance far too nimbly over her fingers for your comfort. She isn't even looking at the coin; you realize after a second that she likely doesn't even realize that she's doing it.

"Right then. The name's Renn. I ain't been inside this place, but I know things. Would you like to hear 'em?"

[Sgt. Suitable]

Inside he was smiling at the girl, and he had to contain a chuckle. These street rats never ceased to amaze Scribe. He admired her brutal honesty and directness.

He remained straight faced though and Scribe cocked his head slightly in surprise and tipped his hat to her. “I’ll take that as a compliment Miss Ren.” He said in the most reassuring and friendly way possible. Knowing she probably didn’t talk with a lot of warforged, he wanted to her to feel in control. At the same time he knew she couldn’t afford to play games and would still probably bolt at the first hint of unease. She had to, in order to survive her lifestyle. So Scribe chose to be direct too.

“Well, what I said holds. There’s more where that came from, and I’d very much like to hear what you know. If it’s useful, I’ll pay.”

He gave the pocket of his vest a double-tap, and the sound of some coins could be heard briefly.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin nodded approvingly as the guards walked away. Nice work Tsorak. If there is one constant in this city, its that you can always count on using money to get your way. As sad as that is.

Oswin stepped inside the tavern and took in the scene in front of him. It was a grisly site, and Oswin felt somber as he realized that someone likely lost their life in this place. On the otherhand, he felt a buzz of excitement overtaking him. This was a challenge to be solved, a machine to be reassembled. Just like in a machine, everything that was in front of him were connected to each other. Once he understood the connections between the parts, he would know what their overall purpose was.

He took off his vest and rolled up his sleeve. Lets get to work!

Oswin started his investigation (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqTMxx9goDg). He quickly went over the area, assessing the overall situation before deciding where to focus his time. Tsorak, Caedmon, we should check the blood and the glass. Oswin stepped back again to look at the corner. Now how did this all play out. Where did the fight start, and how did it go from there?


Investigation check for the struggle: [roll0]
Investigation check for the floor: [roll1]

[Kvard51]

Thorn watched the Warforged play the halfling girl like a violin, and a smile crept onto his face. This one, at least, knows what he is doing.

Not wanting to break the mood, Thorn held back, watching the surrounding shadows for danger.

[Starbin]

Alistair

Having the girl ignore him was not so disconcerting as he demeanor once the coin came out. They weren’t so far from the seedier parts of Sharn to not still be in danger. This girl had too many knives and too quick of fingers to be completely trusted. However, the Warforged has he attention now. Of course, while they were watching the girl, who was watching them?

Alistair continued to keep his eyes on the area, but keeping the girl in his oeriphvision at all times.
OOC - I’ve got a not-so-good feeling about this ...[roll0]
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[JonRG]

Tsorak inclined his head respectfully, and the hint of a smile graced his lips. "Now, do you have fundsss or shall I sssend Houssse Cannith a bill?" He sidled into the Inn and calmly surveyed the scene. Either someone had died or the Watch would be hunting several very woozy brawlers. Tsorak cast his gaze over the blood in particular. He had certainly seen enough of it in his time.

I want to know what the bloodstains can tell me about what transpired here.

[roll0]

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

With Oswin pointing out the pertinent aspects of the scene, the three of you spread out around the room in search of clues. The Cannith heir is the first to hone in on the struggle by the stairs, trying to track how the fight unfolded. By the number of scuff marks and bloody footprints, the struggle consisted of at least four figures. Immediately, Oin notices that amongst the chairs and table is a large scrap of cloth that shifts in color. It has intricate stitching on the inside and the colors indicate some kind of glamerweave. Someone fought hard to rip this cloth and probably damaged the entire garment. What is most striking is the pungent smell of sour perfume and vague rot that permeates the cloth and its surroundings.

Meanwhile, Tsorak finds himself surveying the unmistakable stains all over the floor. There is a lot of blood splatter and small spots of blood, but no large pools to indicate that anyone died here. It's hard to gauge exactly who was injured, but the amount seems to indicate that more than one person got hurt. The blood trail takes the form of several sets of footprints, along with a ragged dark brown line that leads away from the fight and towards the back door. The yuan-ti's nostrils are full of the rich, coppery aftertaste of the wounds that were scored.

Glamerweave is a special fabric that has magic woven into it at creation, usually illusion-based for the sake of cosmetics. This particular piece of cloth bears a maker’s mark, a small signature stitched into the hem that some tailors use to differentiate their styles from others. Such marks are popular in Sharn’s large markets.
Looking closely at the blood reveals that it is at least a day old - likely closer to two days - and that the injured person or persons was definitely still alive afterwards and hurt badly enough that they would need medical attention and healing.

Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

"Well..." Renn seems to ponder her next words before jumping in. "I could tell you that there was a scrap here two days ago. I could tell you that there were five guys, some of 'em wearing fancy masks with red markings on 'em, kinda like dragonmarks. One was hurt pretty f*cking bad, bleeding all over, another out cold, being carried and all. I followed 'em a bit, none the wiser. Went straight for the lifts, they did. Maybe could've a chance to pocket something of value as they hurried along, but they were careful-like. Bleeding one wanted to go straight down to some ward to get a healer, so they split up. Nowhere to hide on a lift, so I watched them go from the shadows. Returned to my spot later on."

As she speaks, the street-girl is careful to watch all three of you. Although she is telling the story to Scribe, her eyes flicker every so often to both Caedmon and Alistair. The words tumble out of her all the same, one after another. By the time she's finished, Renn's gaze returns to the warforged. "Now how much would that story get me?"

Although the girl seems to be telling the truth, Renn's posture and body language tells you that she's definitely on edge. She definitely acknowledges that she's taking a risk talking to strangers for coin, and she seems maybe a few seconds away from going for her daggers should any of you make any sudden moves.

[Starbin]

Alistair

The tale Ren told was interesting, well worth a few gold pieces ... but they needed a bit more than nameless, faceless nobles running to higher levels after a physical altercation gone wrong. Grunting, Alistair nodded to the warforged and said, ”Extra coin from me pocket, if’n ye kin put faces on the five ... and draw their marks.”

Alistair watched the girl carefully, knowing she was on edge already. And desperate, scared people make desperate, scared decisions.
OOC - Alistair will give a bonus if she can answer his other concerns
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[OMG PONIES]

Nice work Tsorak. If there is one constant in this city, its that you can always count on using money to get your way. As sad as that is.


"Now, do you have fundsss or shall I sssend Houssse Cannith a bill?"

As they begin to identify and investigate the clues, Caedmon shakes his head. The sentinel mutters to his companions, "Was an illicit bribe really necessary? I think they were going to let us in already without needing to violate any laws." While it's clear that this small action was gnawing at the Deneith man's ethics, he says it in such a nonchalant manner that it is also clear he's had to watch other wards violate his ethics in far deeper ways in the past. He seems more annoyed than anything.

Turning his attention to the scene, Caedmon mainly listens to the insights of the other two. Caedmon had often helped an inquisitor visiting a particularly shady section of The Gateway to Perdition, but his role had always been that of the silent protector. As such, he was more inclined to keep his senses attuned to any approaching threats than to allow himself to focus on the minutia of some of these clues. Regardless, there is a job to do so he attempts to apply himself to it. However, he can't help but keep an ear out and one eye open for anything going on around them while he looks down to the floor and the broken glass laying in front of him.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin chuckled at Tsorak's remark. You can certainly try. Some members of the House classifies bribes as a business expense in their books. That being said I'd be shocked if I still had access to the House accounts, so you would have to get someone else to submit the claim.

Oswin scratched his chin at Caedmon's comment. I'm not sure about that. I doubt they would have accommodated if there wasn't the implicit threat that we could cause trouble for them through our connections. The coin should at least smooth over any ruffled feathers on their part.

Content with the Denieth heir watching his back, Oswin examined the scene for the clues. When he noticed the piece of glammerweave, he pulled out a pair of tweezers from his kit and carefully placed it inside a clean cloth bag. Glammerweave. Common enough material among the Upper Wards. Cannith has manufactories that can mass produce the stuff. Someone put a great deal of effort into assaulting the individual that wore this.

Oswin peered closer to try to examine the signature. Looks like there might a name, if it was custom-tailored it tell us who made it.

Oswin frowned as he considered that line of inquiry. That being said, I can't help but feel that we are moving away from our primary objective. Unless we can prove there is a connection between the brawl and our quarry, getting access to the proprietor of this establishment is a higher priority. Tsorak, you found anything useful?

Lets see if there is anything else that is interesting.


Oswin will examine the cloth for the signature. (I assume its Weaver :smalltongue:)

Oswin will ritual cast Detect Magic and use it to examine the scene further.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe nodded and as he pulled out a small pouch, he spoke. “Thank you for telling us. We greatly appreciate it. You’re a perceptive and smart young lady and we won’t keep you any longer. You’d make quite the inquisitive, you know?” He tossed her the pouch.The weight of it equalled five gold in silver pieces.

“Go see the lady I told you about. It's tuesday so she's been to the market today. Eggs and porridge for breakfast. Describe their faces to her, in private, if you’d like. If you can, sketch out the marks and leave them on the bedside table.” He hoped she would take him up on the offer. To keep her here any longer would probably not have the desired effect, so Scribe was betting on the long shot, and the allure of a fresh bed and some breakfast to get them the information they were after.

He gave her a curt, respectful bow and turned to his colleagues.

“It seems we have our work cut out for us. Should we continue our walk around the block?"

[Kvard51]

Thorn nods his approval to the Warforged. "Good work with the girl.
But I intend to break in this back door and see what happened in here."

With that, he slips a set of tools from his boot and sets to opening the door.

[JonRG]

Tsorak smirks. "They were going to allow usss five minutesss while they watched. I wanted latitude to work. Besssidesss, thisss one," he jerks his head at Oswin, "indicated that the bribe came from your Housssesss, ssso hopefully, I will be compensssated. That isss, if they - or you - have any honor." Tsorak looks over the fabric. Weaver might know of the designer if they couldn't figure it out.

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

Oswin, checking out the cloth, finds that he doesn't recognize the particular maker's mark. Whoever is responsible for making such an item isn't readily known to the artificer. Such an item would need likely to be taken to an expert or perhaps somebody who keeps track of such arcane markings in order to decipher who made the garment. However, as he looks at the cloth, Oswin notices something else on the ground. Mixed in with a few pieces of the shattered glass nearby is a piece of what looks like red porcelain, carved into a strange looking pattern. Grasping it, he finds that it's actually red painted wood, sort of in the shape of a fragmented dragonshard.

While the Cannith heir begins his ritual casting, the other two members of your group fan out to see if there is anything else that you've missed. Tsorak examines the blood to discover that it's more than a day old. Whatever went down in here, it didn't happen too recently. Not tonight, and probably not even yesterday. This in itself is hardly surprising - it will be Mol for at least a few more minutes, and some bars like this are closed on Sul, meaning that this likely happened on the last night of Sar. More importantly, the yuan-ti can tell that this was not a killing. Nobody died here.

Finally, Caedmon stands back to survey the whole scene. In an instant, the Deneith scion's eyes follow the movements, putting the entire incident together like a cup shattering in reverse. Following the threads that the other two investigatives have already spun into the narrative, he sees the scuffle for what it really is. The five assailants - and there were almost certainly five - surrounded the victim and took him. The victim fought back, and he fought hard. The blood here looks like it's from two separate people, sprayed all over but not pooled which means that nobody was lying down or bleeding out. Once the victim was subdued, the assailants dragged him through the back door and were gone within minutes.

As you look back through your memories, you realize that you have actually seen the pattern on the wood before: on several theatrical posters down in Lower Dura. Of course, none of you pay attention to that sort of thing, but the origin is definitely clear to you.

Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

The street girl's eyes are saucers as she receives the purse of galifars. At that moment, any remaining hesitation or skepticism about your character seems to evaporate into the spring air. Renn nods along, almost absentmindedly, as Scribe outlines the offer for charity. Whatever opportunities that can be bought for five gold coins seems to far outweigh any sort of shelter, at least in the halfling's mind.

"Can't say I saw any of their faces, it being dark and all. All but one of 'em was masked, and that one was being escorted quick-like. Didn't look like he was 'with' them, if you know what I mean. Maybe I could draw them masks for you, when I meet your friend." Renn stops for a moment, before fishing into a pocket that none of you realized was concealed into the hem of her clothing. She fishes out a small object of dark stone on a chain and hands it to Scribe. The design looks at first like some sort of three-dimensional obsidian spiral, but as you all look closer at it, you realize that the centerpiece is actually a cracked garnet that most definitely represents an eye.

"One of 'em dropped this. I planned on pawning it, but you've been so kind, so I thought... well, hope it helps I guess." The waif takes an instinctive step back as Thorn moves for the door, only to find that it opens without too much provocation. Looking inside, the Medani excoriate comes face to face with a scene of horrific blood... and the three faces of your new companions.

https://i.ibb.co/PtD28jf/Belashyrra.jpg

The object is a very particular holy symbol. This icon is dedicated to a particular sect of the Dragon Below, specifically that of the Closed Circle, a long dead order of Sharn wizards that sought to learn the secrets of the daelkyr. It is unknown which - if any - of the known aberrant lords the Closed Circle was associated with in its time, but the fact remains that this absolutely belonged to a worshiper of an old and terrible power.

[OMG PONIES]

"They were going to allow usss five minutesss while they watched. I wanted latitude to work. Besssidesss, thisss one...indicated that the bribe came from your Housssesss, ssso hopefully, I will be compensssated. That isss, if they - or you - have any honor."

"Honor?" Caedmon asks with a furrowed brow. His normally stoic face is clearly triggered by the term. "Neither House Deneith nor I suggested any bribe. You'll have to take that manner up with Cannith, but let me assure you I and mine are men of honor."


"That being said, I can't help but feel that we are moving away from our primary objective. Unless we can prove there is a connection between the brawl and our quarry, getting access to the proprietor of this establishment is a higher priority. Tsorak, you found anything useful?

"There may be a connection," Caedmon says, his face returning to its normal expressionless countenance. "This was no barfight; it was an extraction. Five abductors, one mark. The mark fought back, but it wasn't enough. Quick hit, out the back door. Not sure if Drevan was the mark, but I don't think Throth knows either. He was saying it was this way when he arrived...as they took him to the garrison."

[Rofltrollcopter]

Hmm? Oswin heard Caedmon's comment. House Cannith is... complicated. Honorable only as market forces allow it to be. Which is to say, is not honorable.

He completed his spell and reported his results to his colleagues. Nothing else that is magical in this room.

He sifted through the room and reported his find. He held the painted wood up for inspection. So I've got.. a bit of wood painted to look like a red dragonshard. Could be supposed to look like an Eberron Dragonshard, but those are usually more pinkish. Eberron dragonshards are the most common, used for permanently enchanting items. Weapons, Armor, that sort of thing. House Cannith purchases them from House Thurashk by the ton. What something like this might be used for, I have no idea. Its not of any practical value for Artificing, I can tell you that much.

As Caedmon finished his analysis, Oswin scratched his chin. It seems like our leads here have dried up. Should we rendezvous with the others and see about getting a chance to chat with Throth?

[OMG PONIES]

Caedmon paused a beat. He was used to his wards not listening to him, so he didn't mind repeating himself. "I heard Throth say that the place was like this when he arrived, so either he's lying to the Watch or he doesn't know anything. I suggest we head out through the back; I think the others were headed that way already."

[Starbin]

Alistair

The dwarf noticed that ’some wearing masks’ went to only one wearing a mask ... and suddenly one of the figures ‘not with the others’ ... was that the unconscious one? Or the one that split off? Alistair nodded his thanks, figuring they had gotten most of what they could hope fore; at least until Ren shared any descriptions or sketches of the dragon mark(s?).

After Scribe payed the girl, she reached into a pocket to pull something out. Alistair also slipped his hand into his own pouch inside his shirt to slip out a few golden coins. Before he could give them to Ren, Thorn thanked her and turned to work on the door, which didn’t appear bocked. As the others peered in, Alistair nearly rolled his eyes as they turned their backs on the ‘waif.’ Instead, asked, ”Which one was nae wit th’others ? Mr. Mask, or th’bleeder? And d’ye know if’n Throth was trackin’ any o’ this!”

However she answered, he gave her another three gold.
OOC - Bonus time, with two more questions. Also, Alistair isn’t leaving their backs exposed to the halfling
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[Kvard51]

As Thorn reached for the door with his tools, it instead opened easily under his hand. Pushing it open, he stepped in through the back of the tavern and into a blood-soaked taproom. Three of his new companions were already inside. I guess the dandy succeeded after all...

A quick circuit of the room revealed what could be gleaned by visual clues. The blood was far from fresh, but not enough to account for a dead man. And the glamerweave Oswin was holding was a very high quality cloth, although he did not recognize the mark.

"Did you find anything else? Either way, I'm ready for some rest.
I propose we set a meeting place and meet in the afternoon to discuss what we know."

[3SecondCultist]

"Nah, you misunderstood me dwarf-man. There was one bleedin', yeah. But he was one of the masked men too. They had a guy out cold, were carrying him." The urchin shakes her head at the mention of Throth, not clear on what exactly you might have meant. But the instant after she takes the coin, her eyes are fixed on the door that Thorn has open. Hearing voices from inside, the halfling begins to slink backwards the same way she did when you first met her. As she leaves, you can hear her call out to you. "They looked dangerous, they did! Wouldn't go after 'em myself. Thanks for the gold though, eh?"

After Renn darts around the corner and is gone, the six of you once more find yourselves united. For those of you who went around the back route, you are struck by the mess of the struggle, even as you see that the snake-man and the two others seem to have the situation well in hand. For what it's worth, the scene seems to correlate roughly to Renn's story: one man was taken by a group of others, and there was a fight that left one of the assailants bleeding. There don't seem to be any signs of anyone else having been nearby when it happened.

But before any of you can corroborate your findings, Caedmon - and soon after, all of you - hear a sound that gives you all pause. Footsteps from outside the front door, getting progressively louder. And there are voices too, muffled as they are from beyond the closed portal. As the implications of the sounds set in, you hear one particular voice above the rest, a gruff but distinctly feminine cadence that is clearly raised in anger. "... nobody watching the scene? Taking bribes!? Bloody sovereigns, I have to do everything myself!"

Because certain members of your crew have a high passive Perception, I'm ruling that you are hearing the voices at the door 1 effective 'round' before anyone enters the room.

Each of you has approximately 6 seconds to decide what to do next.

Ready... set... go!

[Starbin]

Alistair

Alistair nodded thoughtfully at the halfling, watching closely as she waved and slipped into the dark with a final warning. At the sound of the door opening, he turned to consider the scene for a moment before he entered. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and enough to keep the dwarf attentive yet cautious. He focused on activity near the back door, looking for clues about the ‘escape.’

When the voices came from the front door, he paused for a moment. However at the word bribe and the tone of voice, he quickly turned to hobble out the back door - he couldn’t imagine any good would come of a confrontation with the voice he just heard. ”Time to go, my friends. Where do we meet?”
OOC - Unless someone gives a good reason, Alistair is bookin’ it ... as best he can
AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[JonRG]

Tsorak

Tsorak rolls his staff against his palm. "The old orc doesss not live far from here." He was not some dragonmarked ponce, and the Watch was not known to be gentle with "outsiders." Tsorak calmly walks out after the dwarf without even so much as a look back at the others.

[Rofltrollcopter]

As the group became alerted to the new arrivals on the scene, Oswin fished through his pouch. He pull out a thin glass rod, which he tossed against the wall. When it shattered on impact, the chemicals reacted with the air to produce thick smoke. The smoke thankfully wasn't hazardous, but hopefully it would distract the Watch long enough for the group to exit the scene.

As good a plan as any. He whispers to Tsorak and Alistar. He also quickly attempts to flee the scene.

Using a standard action to use Smoke Stick on the area behind the door.

[OMG PONIES]

"... nobody watching the scene? Taking bribes!? Bloody sovereigns, I have to do everything myself!"

"This is why I only asked for five minutes," Caedmon grumbles under his breath as they head out the back door. By force of habit, he positions himself between the fleeing Cannith and the voice of the female member of the Watch who'd be shortly bursting onto the scene.

[Kvard51]

As Thorn assesses the scene, he hears voices from outside. Turning towards the back door, he sees that he is joining the others in slipping out the back door.

I'll have to take note of which one of them used the smokestick.
That was a useful distraction.