CotCT 5e IC

[Amnestic]

It is the 30th day of Abadius, a Starday, with rest and recuperation from work on the horizon. Korvosan winters are always a mixed blessing. They rarely reach sub-freezing temperatures and earnest snowfall in the city is a rarity, and the cold does help alleviate some of the worst smells – especially those in Northpoint and Old Korvosa. On clear winter days, it's almost refreshing, and the sea breeze washing over the city fills it with a new sort of life. On the other hand, a winter rainfall is sure to drive everyone indoors as the icy chill clings to slicing darts of water that fall from the sky. A concerted rainshower in winter can drive the city to a standstill until it passes, and they are not infrequent.

Today, at least, you're spared the worst of the weather. Clear skies with not a cloud in sight greet you, though a frosty chill may drive you to cling close to warmth and wrap your cloaks a little bit tighter. It's impossible to miss that the streets are not those of a normal clear winter's day though. A persistent undercurrent of unease has run through the city streets and up through the gutters for months. The cobblestone streets are a bit less active, traders hawking wares a bit quieter and subdued. Most blame it on the poor harvest season, itself a victim of poor weather conditions, but in the dark corners of the slums there are mutterings of something else. More than a few Varisian Harrowers claim the cards predict ill for the city, though the great churches of Abadar, Pharasma and Asmodeus assure the populace that they have naught to fear – if they offer right prayers in worship, and perhaps a sacrificial tithe.

Loric, Small Home, Thieves Camp 'District'

Tannery shifts are long and hard at the best of times, and unlike some industries you're busier than ever in the cold months – though if you expected this work to result in any greater pay you find yourself perpetually disappointed. Sebastian Crispin, the tannery owner, has a seemingly endless stream of potential workers who'll slave away for coppers, and in that regard the only difference between you and them is your tenure.

It's still barely past dawn as you prepare for another grueling shift. The rickety wooden shack in the Thieves Camp does little to keep out the cold, and you might almost be glad for the relative warmth of the tannery, even if the smell leaves something to be desired. Just as you reach the door to your tiny home on the eastern shore of the Jeggare river, you spot a yellowed piece of parchment, folded over, that seems to have been slipped under or through your door during the night. Inside the fold of the parchment is a Harrow card – the Queen Mother – and the parchment itself carries a message.

I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

As the words settle into your mind a brisk gust blows between the gaps in your front door, chilling you to the bone. Lancet Street is in the midland district, near Citadel Volshyenek, sandwiched between Warehouse Way and the docks. On foot from your home it would be little more than an hour to get there, so you have plenty of time if you left immediately, but a tannery shift does beckon if you wanted to spend time ruminating there – though the smell would follow with you into the city. Tenure might, if you're lucky, buy you some leeway with Crispin, in that he will still let you slave away there even if you miss a day of work. That's more than some get. The rickety wooden walls that box you in creak and bend at the boreal winds that roll over your home, a reminder that even this much is fleeting and easily stolen.

Creissus, Kroft Branch Manor, Midland District

When the fourth daughter of the Kroft family, Selena, invited you back to their branch manor for the night it was a hard offer to turn down. It had been an engaging evening, with the young Kroft laughing at all your jokes, listening enraptured to your tales, and taking you to bed once the night had truly fell. For a few moments you might have even believed that she cared about more than simply spiting her Father by dallying with a disgraced noble.

Granted if it was a deception, she played her role whole-heartedly, and it's nothing but a cynical mind (and knowledge of their family drama) that would make you question it. Noble manors are spared from the worst of the cold, and you awaken to a roaring fire with Selena still beside you, her apparent interest in you not diminished at all in the morning light. It's well past dawn by the time you stir, and a breakfast spread is already laid out beside the bed for you both to enjoy.

As you take breakfast (no sense passing up a free meal, after all), a rapt knock-knock-knock is heard on Selena's bedroom door. With confirmation from your lovely partner, a servant enters bearing an envelope. “Apologies for the interruption my lady.” The servant notably does not look at or address you. “This letter was found in the entryway this morning.” Your partner in nocturnal dalliance nods quietly but gestures at the servant to hand it over. She looks at it, furrows her brow, and then waves the servant out of the room. Puzzle still creasing her delicate cheeks, she leans over and drops the envelope in front of Creissus. “It's addressed to you?” It seems almost impossible for that to be the case, since the invitation had been rather spur-of-the-moment and you'd told no one.

Sure enough, however, the envelope bears your full name - Creissus Walrun Ornetto IV – in neat, if not particularly professional, handwriting. With a (clean) knife included in your breakfast spread you easily slice open the containing paper and a small folded piece of parchment and a Harrow card – the Courtesan - fall into your lap. Unfurling the note, it reads:

I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

Selena lets her noblewoman's grace slip for a moment, asking with her mouth half full of toast and raspberry jam, “What does it say?” To her credit she doesn't try to sneak a peek. At least not that you see.

Shadi, Laughing Wave Inn, North Point District

“I got nothing for ya.” The answer was as predictable as it was repetitive. The third person today who doesn't have any leads on Lamm. None that they'd share with you, anyway. The building was the oldest surviving inn in mainland Korvosa, and despite (or due to) its age – its sagging steps and rounded table edges – it still remains a popular destination for people from wall walks of life. It was the only structure not razed by Shoanti when they drove back Chelish settlers hundreds of years ago, and it's this ageing cosmopolitan inn that you'd hoped would have someone willing to talk to you about your ongoing search. You can't tell on its own if it's dislike of the Shoanti or fear of reprisal (or a combination of both) that has people's lips sealed. Shrugging, the man you'd hoped would be an informant pushes away from the table to find someone else to drink with.

It's barely past noon, which means you've got a lunch crowd to contend with, but it's still less busy than an evening or tomorrow. That (relatively) quieter atmosphere was something you may have hoped would make people a little more forthcoming, but instead the opposite seems to be the case – they clammed up, hard, when there was any concern they might be overhead. Settling back into your antique seat, the question of where you go next is still fresh in your mind. Leads were thin, perilously so.

“Here sweetie.” A barmaid with the professional gentleness of someone who makes most of their money off of making friends places a fresh tankard of ale in front of you, along with a small plate of reefclaw pasties. “Someone seems to like you.” Half-covered and pressed beneath the tankard is a folded slip of paper, which when unfurled reveals a short message, and a Harrow card – the Teamster.

I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

A look around the inn room has no one giving you the time of day, save for a few glances with clear hatred and disgust for you in their eyes. They are unlikely to be the source of the note. The barmaid hovers for a moment in case you have any further requests. If she's curious or has any other information, she doesn't volunteer either way.

Scipio, Old Korvosan Flat, Bridgefront

"Thank you sir, you've done me a great favour.” The middle-aged man holds out a hand to clasp in gratitude. It might be difficult to take it, because the news you gave him is not positive. The man's husband has been stepping out and breaking their marriage vows – an all too common tale that you find yourself investigating these days. Some take such news poorly, some take it well, some take it violently – those are the hardest. Behind you are the days where real crimes cross your desk. Instead now you're faced with a seemingly never ending stream of infidelity and missing pets. But rent isn't free, and unless you want to find yourself back on the street you need any paying customers you can get.

After seeing him out you settle back into the thick cushioned but heavily worn chair behind your desk, shuffling papers aimlessly. There was something in the air that set the hairs on the back of your neck aflame. It makes you restless, but without any clear fix. It's barely past noon. Plenty of time to get some more work done, but the bouncing in your leg won't stop, so your eyes don't focus on anything in front of you. Tap tap. The noise comes from behind you. Odd. Neighbours making noise? Local kids playing pranks? Tap tap. It happens again. Light, but precise, with a clear rhythm. You move to the shutters that serve to keep some of the cold out and open them, allowing a blast of the wintery air into your home and office. The sudden motion sends a small flock of pigeons that had been roosting nearby into the skies, cawing in a mix of fear and frustration. Delicately placed on your the outer window sill is a folded piece of parchment, inside which you find a message and a Harrow card – the Inquisitor.

The message reads simply:
I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

Lancet Street is halfway across the city, near the Korvosan city guard citadel, a location you knew well, once. It's an hour or so walk, so you do have some time yet until sunset to prepare or deal with other business in the meantime.

Aubin, Temple of Sarenrae, Heights District

The turreted temple of Sarenrae stands apart from the other buildings nearby, giving it fair space to absorb the sun's light and warmth, though even on today's clear skies the sun seems a bit more distant, a bit chillier, a bit less welcoming. The white marble was not inexpensive to import to Korvosa, and nor is its regular cleaning, but the constant foot traffic of the masses and generous offerings from wealthy patrons means that even this smaller temple (dwarfed by that of Abadar) more than supports itself.

It's here that you find yourself again, for the noontide rituals where the sun is at its highest point. It's also when the most people attend, even on a working day like this. Your leads on Lamm have come up short so far, regrettably. While guards may know his reputation and those who dwell in the darker corners of society may know him personally, his actual location has been remarkably difficult to deduce, not helped at all by the news that he supposedly moves establishments on occasion to keep the guard off his case.

You're cramped in a pew alongside countless other worshippers as the priestess delivers a sermon and leads prayer from the altar. It's familiar, perhaps reassuringly so, given how lacking in direction you otherwise are with your chosen task. The prayer comes to a close and the priestess calls for you all to rise for a hymn in your goddess' honour. All is as it always is, the rote rituals promising order to your life, but when you pluck the folded hymn sheet an additional piece of parchment falls out, along with a Harrow card – the Cricket.

Even as the music begins to swell around you, the parchment bears a wholly different message to one of worship and praise for the Dawnflower:

I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

No one looks to you as the hymn continues, save the occasional curious glance as to why you're not also participating, but it's not that unusual for some to hold back, so their eyes quickly move on.

Pogdan, Bank of Abadar, North Point District

The Bank of Abadar serves the dual purpose as a religious church for followers of the Master of the First Vault, and also as an actual bank, offering services to the entire city of Korvosa, including those of different (and sometimes even opposing) faiths. Sneer as the Asmodeans might, their coin inevitably finds its way here regardless. It is here that you spend much of your days, diligently carrying out tasks for your god. Due to the lower foot traffic in the winter seasons you find yourself in one of the back rooms of the bank to sort incoming post that arrives from a steady stream of couriers.

It's a small room that might be cramped, were it not for your small size. The steady stream of people coming and going to bring the sorted packages and letters to elsewhere in the bank means it would never really get quiet, but this isn't helped any by your sorting partner, the perpetually cheerful and even more perpetually chatty halfling Abigail. She is by all counts your junior, being half your age and having only joined the church last year, but you wouldn't think it with the confidence (and speed) with which she never stops talking. She can talk enough for the both of you, even without any real responses. It might be a problem but when her mouth stops moving her mind seems to as well, and invariably she does work better when chattering away. After a while though it becomes almost a meditative white noise, the kind that might lull you to sleep. It's only when she suddenly breaks her breathless speech that your mind is brought back to the conversation.

“-and so then I told Shiri that Vexi had told Welt who'd told – ah!” Her shock is clear. “Pogdan, this one's for you! Look!” She waves a sealed envelope at you in such a way that you can't look, before finally stopping her frantic motions to let you take it. The handwriting's neat, but you've seen enough letters to know this wasn't done professionally or by any artisanal pen. Probably not a noble or official letter, at least. Slicing the envelope open, out falls a small folded parchment and a Harrow card – the Winged Serpent. The parchment itself carries a short message in the same pen as the address:
I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.
Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.

“Well? Well? What does it say? Is it a marriage proposal? A duel? A duel OVER a marriage proposal!? Oh Pogdan I knew you were daring but that is going too far! Just wait until I tell Shiri all about this.”


I wouldn't expect such huge posts every time from me, but I wanted to set a big introductory section with you separate. We are slow burning this start a bit, give you guys some time to establish yourself in Korvosa, get a bit of NPC roleplay in as you move towards the mysterious Lancet Street home. Feel free to take your time with it, expand upon things.



https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/561287824964452363/861657424376102952/unknown.png

The common association of Harrow Cards is fairly common knowledge. A DC7 Intelligence (Religion) check gives this, and those with any significant Varisian connection rolls this with advantage.


Bearing the image of a Fornian, an ant-like humanoid, this Queen is the personification of knowledge, who is fond of the powerless, the underclass, and those who will show her obeisance.



A three-eyed devil holding a mask covers this card. It represents political intrigue and the superficiality of social niceties.


The teamster card holds the image of a muscular half-orc, working as a beast of burden for a gnome that rides atop it. It represents a external force that drives the subject on even past their normal limitations.


This card bears the image of a robed man, finger pointed in accusation as his book of law overflows. It represents an immutable object that cannot be deceived or influenced.


The card holds the image of a Grig, a tiny fey creature that appears as part elf, part cricket, though in this case it's more cricket than elf. It represents quick travel and the reward at the end of one's journey.


It represents the couatl, the bridge of understanding between the towers of knowledge and judgement.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Ignoring the questioning, perhaps accusatory looks of his fellow parishioners, Aubin tucked the hymnal sheet, it's hidden message and concealed Harrow card, into a vest pocket behind his tabard. Taking his tricorne from the pew beside him, he placed it atop his curls, and precisely the right angle to conceal his gaze, and moved passed the heavy throng of worshippers. Feeling vindicated in his prayers, he stepped outside the temple and looked towards the sky, placing two fingers on his lips, he kissed them in thanks before pressing them to his heart, intoning a devotional to the Dawnflower herself.

He then turned north and east, following Hillcrest, where it cut towards the walled Acadamae, the massive dome of the Hall of Summoning expanding above the walls from it's central position. Banners held the university's heraldric symbol, seven stars atop a porticullis, itself supported by imps, draped down the wall in an ostentatious display of wealth and political power. He moved quickly along the street, watching closely to ensure he wasn't followed from his devotions, he was a man of habit, and though he varied those habits, if discovered they could lead his foe's underlings to him. He still hadn't decided if the letter was a valid, or if he had overplayed his hand, and Lamm was aware of his efforts to pursue him, dangling the carrot to lead the old mare to slaughter. Still, it would be best to exercise caution, as he thought his feet led to to the Academic Way, a mixture of academia, literary, and bodegas where bearded and coiffed students would discuss the politics of the day, making bold claims of the future and the myriad ways they could change them, while slowly being molded by the administrators of the university to become the very thing they hated, members of the establishment, cogs in the machine, as he, himself, had once been. Still, the mwangi coffee was strong, it's aroma sharp, and bitter, and the scent of baking, a varisian rye and barley, was enticing and made his mouth water.

Determined now that he needed a noon day meal, he turned south and east, towards Harborview South and Warehouse Way, towards Whisper Home. It was Madame Zeraznia's brothel and while a noonday dalliance was not out of the question, it was an establishment known well to him, and able to shield him from Lamm's underlings, if only because of his defense of the property during the riots some years ago. Zeraznia was a friend, though caustic and bitter, he trusted her more than most, if only because beneath her powder and her wigs, she cared for her girls, and would defend them against all comers, and she had never, in the years that Aubin had known her, lied to, or deceived him, her blunt honesty a charm in this city.

He walked into the common room, smiling at Contessa, the courtesan who greeted the clients, doffing his felt hat, he swept it low, a smile, and a rakish gleam in his eyes. "Would that I had the time my dear, the merest flash of your smile and a man's heart sets to hammering against his ribs. Would a man be able to procure a plate of cheese, cured meats, and a lovely bottle of red, to pursue his thoughts and contemplate the coming night's debaucheries?"

OOC: Basically at this point, I am going to spend some of my afternoon pursuing gossip, trying to gather information and determine the type of establishment at Lancet Street, whether it is a private residence, a shop, a warehouse, something else. And then information on it's owner, and, or, any activities that may be occurring thereabouts.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


"Fa droma kul sosmo," Shadi murmurs to herself as she surreptitiously hunches over the mysterious letter, reading it front to back once and then again to make sure she's read the Taldane idioms correctly. Finally, it's looking like she has a lead. Near a fortnight in, and this is the first solid message she's gotten about Lamm. She does not allow herself to seriously consider the fact that this might be a trap. Ignoring the summons would be worse than getting ambushed, it would be an admission.

The edges of her fingers curl up and tighten around the edges of the accompanying card as she studies it further. The significance of the card's drawing is not lost on her, and neither is the relationship between the half-orc and the gnome on its back. Whoever gave this to her believes her to be the beast of burden, destined to be pushed about by greater forces. The obvious comparison to the half-orc isn't exactly flattering either; she did not know to be ashamed of her body while among her own people, but here scars and proper musculature are not something most 'desirable women' possess. She's learned much in her three years among these pale-skinned devils.

The young woman's face hardens further as she takes in the stares from the throng of the midday rush. Though she knows better by now than to rise to the bait - even when stares turn into words - sometimes trying to ignore them only makes them angrier. By turning away, she somehow thinks she's better than them, above them. Everything incenses the small-minded, those who miss the woman for the Plateau. No matter what she does, they will come for her sooner or later.

It's a trap, and one she has no intention of getting herself caught in.

Quaffing down the ale and stuffing her face with the admittedly delicious pastries, Shadi is likely quite the sight to anyone sitting nearby. It isn't that she is lacking in an understanding of table manners - working in Varisian kitchens has taught her the points of what the locals consider 'proper etiquette' - but in this instance speed outweighs decorum. Smothering a grin at a scandalized gasp from an older woman nearby, the former champion slams down her payment with an extra silver piece or two for the barmaid's trouble. It probably isn't her fault that she works in this rat-hole of a neighborhood.

Besides the cryptic note, there is nothing of value here, she concludes. Best keep moving while the sun still shines.

Stepping outside, Shadi shrouds her bare shoulders in a cloak and pulls up the hood before heading down the streets of North Point towards the address on Lancet Street. She tells herself that it's to protect her ears from the cold, rather than to hide her features from passers-by.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan does not mind his tiny workspace, and he doesn't even mind sharing his room with Abigail; she talks ceaselessly, but none of it matters. It doesn't make her uncomfortable that he has little to say, and anyone walking by doesn't have reason to remark on the silent little man lost in the world of numbers.

Calling him daring is the closest thing to an insult she's ever offered him, though.

He stands abruptly. "Abigail, I must go. I need to speak to a parishioner." Podgan does not lie when he can avoid it, and this is not a lie, either. "The matter of a man's soul hangs in the balance." This is also true.

He does take the time to tidy up his work and mark his place and send a note to Father Cowper. The price of this orderly mindedness is that Abigail pesters him with questions the whole time, but Podgan is by temperament as a silent and solitary as an oyster, and in rare form this afternoon.

On the way to Scipio Arquetius's home, he rehearses what he intends to say. In his imagination he is always more eloquent than he seems to be in the moment.

I wanted to share this with you because I know we both feel the same way about him. I know I cannot rest while he lives. I know it is a sin, that the Law belongs to Abadar and to his representatives here in life, and to take it into my own hands is a grave crime against my vows. As your confessor I should not show this to you, should not lead you into temptation with me, and so I compound my sin.

But I must have this. If this message is anything but a tasteless joke at my expense, I must know.

If this be a sin, I will make my life before and after this sin a monument of repentance; I will live the rest of my life in quiet obedience. But in exchange I must have this.... this holiday from reason, from justice, from good order. An I can see Gaedren Lamm bleed, I will burn the rest of my life as a tribute with a glad heart.

And there is no one else I can ask to accompany me.

When he knocks on the door, however, every single one of the words flee, and instead he thrusts out the note gracelessly. "Look."

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

"Take care."

Scipio holds the man's hand in return and nods understandingly - but that's as much compassion the former guard is capable of showing, hiding whatever feelings he might have behind a façade of stern professionalism; he closes the door after his latest client and sits uncomfortably at his desk, trying to keep his mind busy with the paperwork but still way too nervous - something nibbling its way through all the thoughts Scipio is trying to bury it under.

He starts reading some of the notes he took of his latest case, the evidence and testimonies he found of infidelity; a sudden pang of loneliness makes him grunt, quite bothered by how carelessly his client's husband had thrown away his relationship. He shakes his head and his mind spontaneously digs up memories of his time at the Acadamae, his fling with Cara and his own desire of that becoming something else, something more serious - her betrayal, being used by her still hurting. Painful memories rarely travel alone, however - Gaedren Lamm, how he was manipulated by that rotten scum and how he lost everything he had; a craving he knows all too well comes immediately after, the desire of sleeping the dreamless sleep only the Shiver can give him.

Tap tap.

The flow of thoughts comes to a sudden stop when Scipio hears the light tapping at the window and stands up to check what it is; he frowns when he finds nothing except a message and a tarot - the Inquisitor, half-recollecting that the card is associated with strength of mind and purpose. The message is however way more interesting than the tarot, however; Scipio's hand starts shaking, his eyes twitching from barely contained rage. He sits and reads the message again, his mind racing to all the possibilities behind those few words.

Knock knock.

The sound of someone knocking at his own door makes Scipio jolt out; he draws a dagger and slowly and cautiously goes to the door, opening it to see out of his flat none other that Pogdan, his own confessor. Before Scipio could say anything the priest gives him a note that he reads dutifully and when it becomes apparent it's the same message delivered to him, he says nothing and just shows the banker the Harrow card he found with a silent question in his eyes.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"So. Both of us," Podgan says. How many others?

He looks thoughtfully at the cards. Both the Inquisitor and the Coatl are icons of Lawful justice; is it blasphemy to read these omen as a tacit approval from the god who rescued him and Scipio both from the clutches of Lamm in the first place? Or at least a gesture of indulgence?

Probably.

"I must attend this meeting," the priest says, looking sad and scared and under that, determined. "Will you come? It is wrong to ask. But will you come?"

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

"It might be a trap." Scipio answers while reading the note again, his word filled with doubt and suspicion. After a while he sighs and says to Pogdan "Even if it is not a trap, Gaedren Lamm has done much already to hurt us - would not be better to try to forget he exists? Put everything he did to us behind our backs, not giving him another chance to make us suffer."

The former guards gives the note back to Pogdan and goes back to his desk, seemingly uncomfortable with the whole situation and trying to find some kind of solace in cleaning the mess he left "Better people than us tried to put and end to Lamm, sir. They all failed. I do fear that if we go down this road, we'll lose everything."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"Perhaps you have grown wiser than I," Pogdan says sadly. He stares at the cards. "For all you say is true, and correct."

"But in truth, I suffer every day he breathes the air of this city. He will never stop hurting me until he is dead. And whoever aims to do this, I must help them." The tiny figure framed in the doorway turns away.

Like all novice priests, he was rotated through different specialties, and shoved in an old trunk he has scale mail and old dagger to remember his brief stint as a vault guard. He should prepare himself.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Waking to the chill of dawn, Loric pulls himself up from the modest mat of straw bedroll laid out beneath him. Wrapped around him is his cloth cloak, it and the tiny shack alike doing little for the cold. It is not an unfamiliar cold. Night on the desert is as freezing as the day is scorching.

Changing out of the only slightly warmer set of clothes he reserves for sleeping in (to keep the worst of the smell off of them), he puts on his street wear. Only a brown shirt and pants, with his dark grey street cloak pulled tight over his shoulders for warmth. It is made from wool he sourced himself.

Something feels different as he walks to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then he detects the sensation of something beneath his boot. Paper, between his worn and tired bootsole and the dirt floor. Reaching down, Loric raises the envelope to look at it in the light cast through some of the cracks in the shack's wall.

Plucking the mysterious card from the letter, he turns it over and examines it. Harrowing is a local tradition, one he knows little about. Could the card represent him, or represent the sender? He runs a finger along the card's surface, tracing the insectoid queen upon it. Or... a sign from the beetle god? Opening the letter, he reads. The words linger in his mind, like the ringing of a bell that lingers after it is tolled. A small smile creeps onto a weary, weathered expression as heat builds up in his core, heat burning in spite of the chill wind that causes all of his hairs to stand on end.

It is the feeling of a predator that has finally spotted his prey.

Sliding the letter into the pocket of his pants, Loric takes up his walking stick. The familiar grip feels hungry in his hand, but light without the weight at its head. Still feels so light after all these years. He begins his march down to the tannery. Sunset is a day away, and he has mouths to feed. He stops to pat each of the two sheep fenced next to his yard on the head. The already scabby grass in their enclosure is getting too thin again, and it will soon be time to move them to the other side of the shack, which means disassembling the enclosure and moving it over. He will need to obtain another bag of feed soon to supplement their grazing, once he has the copper.

This time, before he goes, he digs up his 'bug out' bag from behind the shack. Torches. Dried food. Rope. A shovel. Just in case. But not the blade. That remains in its resting place. Carrying it all upon his back beneath his cloak, walking stick at his side, he looks somewhat like an old hunchback trudging through the ragged outskirts of the city towards the tannery.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

"Being right and making things right are quite different, sir." Scipio shakes his head ruefully "I owe you. I'll come, if nothing else to keep you safe." the former sighs and stops trying to sort the piles of papers he has on his desk; he waves to Pogdan to stay put and goes to another room of his small flat; after five or six minutes he comes back, armoured and armed "It still might be a trap, so you should arm yourself, sir. Then I would say he should try to find who lives at this address, make some questions around."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

He should not feel better to have led Scipio into temptation with him, but in truth, he does very much.

"Yes... I have some arms. Not much, but I can be cautious. I trust your skill to investigate."

A quick trip back to his quarters, and he cuts an odd little figure in his scale mail and shield; rather like an armadillo. So little of him remains to be seen. He moves slightly awkwardly, but not as much as you might expect; the noise of it clinking and scraping is the real problem.


https://i.ibb.co/DRp7nQ5/Podgan-portrait.png (https://ibb.co/yQS8JqW)

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Creissus woke up that morning with a satisfied smile on his face. He spent the first few moments of the morning planting warm kisses on the Lady Kroft and basking in the petty victory of conquest. The glory didn't last long, however, when the reality of his situation sunk in. This woman didn't truly care for him. She was just another young noble lady flaunting disobedience to aggravate her family. Rather than let this realization sink his mood, he shrugged, kissed her again, and decided to simply enjoy that he got to enjoy himself and partake of the low hanging fruit of a high noble family. There were worse entertainments, worse beds, and worse bed company to be had in Korvosa, and he had wined with, slept in, slept with, and regretted many of them in the last few years. No matter her motives, I would rather spend the night with young and beautiful Selena Croft than wake up next a ugly understudy sleeping on the play house floor again.
When it came time for breakfast, there was a quick battle of wills between over indulging in the best meal he'd had in a week and maintaining manners and decorum. Propriety won out, and Creissus ate slowly, but thoroughly. He even took the time to coquettishly feed Selena a bite of toast, then use the excuse of errant jam to share a particularly sweet kiss with her. Crease wasn't putting particular effort into wooing the young lady Kroft- no matter who he took to bed, they all got the full experience, full of flirtation, romance, and adoration. He just didn't have it in him to go into any heated relationship half-hearted.

Then the mail came, and when Selena passed the letter to him he was even more surprised than her. For the few seconds it took him to open it his face showed open, genuine confusion. It wasn't until the Harrow card fell out that his features shifted to intrigued, with one eyebrow raised. He picked the card up between two fingers and turned it to face him, smiling as the three eyed devil of the Courtesan smiled back at him. Whoever chose to contact me in such a curious way certainly knows me well enough to pick the perfect card. Slipping the Harrow into an interior pocket, he turned his attention to the letter with interest.

It took all his considerable skill to maintain his features as he read. The very concept of revenge on Gaedren Lamm was music to his ears. When Selena asked him about the contents, he took the briefest of moments to whisper a prayer of thanks to Calistria for this opportunity before folding the note into a paper bird and neatly sailing it into the flames. What story should we weave her to assuage her interest? OH! I know! One of flattery, romance, and valor. Yes, she'll eat that up and ask for seconds. He assumed the features of a man enraged as he turned back to Selena.

Dearest Selena, I will spare you the precise details of this attack on your person, but let me summarize for you so you can understand the depths of my adoration and what I must do. A low life rogue, a detestable drudge, a scurvy ridden rival of my artistic talents has caught wind of the beautiful music you and I have made together. In an attempt to lessen our innate connection, our amorous entwinement, our noble and vivacious enjoyment of one another, this mangy dog has sent a letter filled with insults and implications against both your honor and mine. I simply could not stop myself from hurling his hellacious lies into the flames. His features became resolute and determined. It is now clear to me that I must take my leave, hunt down the rapscallion, and put my rapier through his wicked tongue before it can slander you even one more time. I care not for his comments on my own person, but I cannot abide his slurs against the unassailable countenance of my precious Selena Kroft! I will not sully your ears with details on this wallowing pig, rest assured that I will ensure he never writes or voices further lies against you! He reached out and took both her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes. I only ask that you give me some small token, that I may wear it when I vanquish the toad from the streets of Korvosa forever more!






Deception for that big, fat lie to an impressionable young lady- [roll0]. Assuming she buys it, Crease will make a quick exit and head to scout the location. I simply didn't want to move the scene on from a contested roll. I almost hope I roll like crap because it would be hilarious to be chased out of Kroft branch manor holding his pants with one hand and warding off thrown objects with the other.

[Amnestic]

Loric, Tannery, Thieves Camp 'District'

The Thieves Camp district is a bustle as always. Though filled with outcasts of society – Shoanti and Varisians who can't find acceptance in the larger city – they find a place together on the edges of society, and in so doing create a bond that often transcends origins. It's a truth that when individuals have nothing they often pull together to help one another, and in so doing receive help in turn. Despite the name, the culture is far less cutthroat than that of mainland 'civilised' Korvosa.

Mostly, anyway. There's always exceptions, and Sebastian Crispin is one of those. A man of some sixty years, he's a miserable miser whose ownership of the city's largest tannery has brought him not inconsiderable profits, buoyed by his use of cheap labour of societal outcasts who struggle to find work elsewhere. His money means little, however. It doesn't scrub free the smell of dung, urine and worse that pervades the tannery's building, it doesn't get him accepted into noble society, nor does it buy him the affection or attention of his wayward children, and it's these facts that have driven the business owner further and further into negativity.

From behind his desk at the front of the tannery (the furthest spot from the worst of the stench) he barely gives you a second look as you enter, instead leaning long over his desk, peering at his books with eyes that have begun to fail but that he refuses to purchase glasses for, lest they cost him some of his precious coinage. Beyond the room you can hear work already being carried out, likely by those who slept in the building and had no other place to go.

Creissus, Kroft Branch Manor, Midland District

Perhaps despite her better judgment, the Lady Selena does seem to believe you. She gently blushes and waves her hand at you, half-embarrassed and half-enticed by such a eloquent and elongated explanation. With a soft titter, she says “Oh you. Keep going like that and who knows what might happen.” Hands in yours, she glances back to the bed at the suggestion of a small token, but sighs wistfully instead of urging for it. Vanquishing dastardly foes probably takes priority over a mid-morning tangle in the bedsheets. With the slightest hint of regret in her motions, she turns away, gracefully sashaying her way across the room to the windowsill, where a number of flowers sit in pots and jars. They're a varied bunch, and at least a few of them are clearly magical. Perhaps a hobby of hers, perhaps simply she collects them because they're pretty. Another day you might get the chance to ask.

She returns to the breakfast table holding a small bottle, perhaps as tall as her index finger, and half as wide. Inside is a tiny white flower set in some dirt. The entire flowering bulb of the flower is surrounded by a small bubble. “A Bubble Lily. Beauty encased in a delicate cage, that will pop and shrivel if the greatest of care isn't taken in harvesting its nectar.” Subtlety was not one of Selena's strong suits. “Take good care of it. For me.”

With the token of her affection safely stowed away, you can make a quick exit from the manor, and begin your path towards Lancet Street. There's lots of time left yet before the meeting, and keeping your ears open you pick up on some of the few street-bound people chatting loudly. In this case they seem to be discussing some rumour about King Eodred – specifically that he (supposedly) had a deformed brother who died at birth, and whose remains are still kept in a castle attic, sealed and preserved in a jar of alcohol.

It's still barely noon by the time you reach Lancet Street, a thin side road off of Warehouse Way, nestled between it and the docks nearby. The smell of fresh-and-not-so-fresh fish waft up through the narrow street of broken cobblestones. The address itself, Number 3, appears indistinguishable from the homes that flank it. A small terraced building greystone supporting a wooden frame. In fact it's almost remarkable in how little there is of note about it. A light appears to be on inside, with some light flickering through the single street-facing window.

Shadi, Streets of Korvosa

With the end of the noonday meal the streets are a bit more alive again as people return to work, or move to second jobs, or simply have finished for the day. If there were any hopes that you'd be looked upon more favourably outside of the inn, you're out of luck, as most still give you stares of distrust at best, disgust at worst.

You're barely a few streets away when a conversation catches your ears between two unruly looking individuals. The words are slurred, indicating no small amount of alcohol, but you can still make it our clear enough, and they're loud enough that everyone on the street can hear them clearly.

“My brother, he's an apprentice up at the Acadamae, he said they're going to be closing their doors soon if the unrest doesn't get better, might do so for good, cut themselves off from Korvo – Oi, horser, does it look like we're talking to you? Hm?” Regardless of how much or little attention you'd actually been paying them, one of the men begins yelling at you, loudly, aggressively, and begins approaching. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a pair of Hellknights patrolling the roads, coming in the direction of you and the intoxicated man, though they don't yet appear to be paying any particular attention at their distance. They're certainly in no particular hurry to reach the brewing confrontation. Their pace is measured, but leisurely, and their clanking armour is only barely audible from a distance on the city street.

Scipio and Pogdan, Streets of Korvosa

You look like quite the pair, though the looks you get are more curiosity than anything else. It's not often that Korvosa sees a chelish man and a blue-skinned gnome walking side by side. Pogdan is, to those who don't know him, quite a novelty, and one that never really seems to be fully accepted as normal. You're not stopped or harassed though. Gnomes (blue or otherwise) get better treatment that shoanti in the city.

Crossing from Old Korvosa back south, you overhear a group of washerwomen gossiping by the water's edge. The topic, in this case, is the Key-Lock Killer, a serial killer from roughly a decade past who killed nine people before vanishing. Rumour has it that they either worked for an arbiter or actually were an arbiter themselves, and that they're still alive and executing so-called 'justice' in service of the city. Corruption, one calls it. A conspiracy, another says. The third's expletives aren't the sort of words that are shareable among high society, but they all have a good laugh when her curse-filled rant is done with.

By the time you reach Lancet Street, you're still hours before sunset, but it's not hard to spot another person who is milling around and looking distinctly out of place – that being Creissus, in all his noble finery and gilded glory.

Aubin, Brothel, Midland District

Though the brothel offers comfort and safety for your pursuit of information, it doesn't offer much in the way of information over 3 Lancet Street. It appears to be an utterly unremarkable location, with no one knowing much of anything about it – perhaps an indication that it's just a home of someone who's relatively unknown. One lovely lady, on overhearing your interest, mentions that she thinks it's been empty for a year or so. Another thinks it might be the resting place or retirement home of the famous and generally beloved vigilante Blackjack, who has been missing from action for years now. A third suggests that it's the meeting place of a cult of Urgathoa, even now plotting evil against the city, though what evil she doesn't share with you before she's taken into a backroom by another patron.

It becomes clear fairly quickly that it's nothing but rumours, gossip being spread by intoxicated men and women to their purchased partners. What is clear from this however is that the lack of anything concrete does suggest it's not a particularly notable location, certainly not one that's a well-known meetup spot for any particular group or groups. If it were a safehouse for the Cerulean Society, a smuggling spot, or some other untoward building, chances are at least one of your leads would have given you that knowledge, but it's all a lot of 'I heard this' and 'He told me that'. Nothing concrete.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Passing through the streets - in as much as the dirt paths can be called streets - of the Thieves' Camp, Loric pays a nod of acknowledgement to those he recognizes as he passes. Many of them come from different lands, from outside cultures, with little in common. But there is also a respect here that does not exist between those in the city itself, with its infertile stone streets and self-obsessed people.

Oftentimes, Loric would assist the other 'thieves' with the odd task. Fixing a fence, collecting wood for a bonfire, the sort of simple honest work that Khepri smiles upon. And they repaid in turn - it was his neighbors who helped show him how to build the jigsaw sheep enclosure without any nails. This is a good place. One where violence seldom troubles his heart. But now, now things have changed. The soft eyes of a diligent worker drone doing his part are gone this day, replaced by eyes of stone, cemented in purpose.

He is a man of few words. Entering the festering interior of the tannery, Loric passes old Crispin without a word. A brief nod, maybe. The sad old miser probably doesn't notice or care. Into the back, with the other workers. His eyes fall upon the station where the boy used to work. Loric still doesn't know the boy's name. For all the many words he had spoken, his name was never one of them. Walking past, he sets his bag, cloak and walking stick near his own station and takes out his tools.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

The former guard doesn't talk much these days, even less so with his thoughts focused on Gaedren Lamm, so he's not of much company to Pogdan during their walk. When they finally arrive, Scipio waves his hand to tell Pogdan to stop, then nods slightly pointing at the strange figure just outside the address they're looking for "What do you think? Trouble or ally?" he whispers, eyes trained on Creissus "Doesn't look like the kind of people Lamm preys upon, but doesn't look like someone who would mingle with him either."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"There is no one Lamm does not prey on," Podgan says simply.

"I think we may meet any sort of person here tonight."

He does not approach either, merely whispering up to the tall former guard, an odd pair indeed.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Standing across the street from 3 Lancet Street, Creissus tried to act casual while observing the building. However, his attention span only lasted so long before he grew bored of staking the building out. He began to regret not staying for another tumble with Selena, and a lazy grin stole over his features as he remembered their entwinement the night before. After a few moments of reminiscing he shook himself and looked about. Well, he had hours to go and there was little to do here, so he took one last look at 3 Lancet Street before turning in place and heading across the city towards the Bard's End. He couldn't remember if his tab was paid up there, but he had coin in his pocket and his guitar slung over his back. Rather than spend the time doing something practical, he decided to go eat, drink, sing, play cards, and swap tales till the sun neared the horizon. Then he would return, his interest renewed.





Crease has a poor passive perception, so I'm just having him not notice Podgan and Scipio. Feel free to stop him or follow him if you wish.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Paying a few coins for his midday lunch, Aubin orders a last bottle of red from Zeraznia herself before departing the Red Pillow, and making his way towards Lancet street. An unassuming residence set amidst the leaning tenements that surrounding it, shadowing the narrow streets, several blocks before he arrived at the location, he wandered through a small apartment, subdivided to provide cramped, but serviceable living quarters to the dispossessed, those with little but the rags on their backs and the hope of a dream held firmly in their mind. He sighed, these poor migrant workers, their wages going to fill the coffers of some wealthy landowner, who built this building for as little funds as possible, to rent it to those who could afford nothing else and didn't wish to live in the Camp.

During his time wearing the Nail, he had been ordered to raid similar hovels, dragging families into the streets, so mothers and fathers could be questioned over countless heresies. Some, simply, for offering prayer to own's own gods, or believing in a philosophy that differed from the Order, accusing others of heresies, chaos, and barbarism, all while disguising one's own cruelties beneath a veneer of devotion, and a rigid adherence to a hellish code. He shook his head, pushing down against the rising anger, and it's accompanying wave of guilt. There! A single, narrow door, which led to a canting rooftop, the buildings pressed so tight, one could step across from building to building, while remaining hidden from view by the overhanging balconies, and the press of the structures to either side of the street.

He moved along, ducking beneath hanging wire where occupants had their clothes out to dry, stoops, chairs and table tops indicated someone's rooftop dining from the previous evening. He smiled, and took a seat, turning his attention towards 3 Lancet, to observe the comings and goings, perhaps guards were stationed around it, hoping to catch conspirators, Lamm's enforcers perhaps? He narrowed his eyes, there were two, conspicuous for the vast differences between the two, one, much smaller, and walked with the ambling gait of a man wearing some sort of rigid armor, the other, taller, broader.

They seemed to be conversing with one another, Aubin pulled the cork from the red, spitting it to his right, took a long pull, and set in for an afternoon of watching, before the arranged meet time.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi lets out a thunderous sigh as the men approach. She's done her best to stay inconspicuous, but in this city of narrow places there's nowhere to turn. Looking about in vain for an alley to retreat down to get her out of this, she's forced to conclude that the only way forward is through. For better or worse, she's going to actually have to talk to these ignorant drunkards. She grumbles minimally that it's usually for worse, these days, but she's never let that stopped her before.

"I greet you," she fumbles in Taldane, immediately suppressing the urge to reach for the cloth-wrapped bundle strapped to her back. "I am just passing through to meet a friend. I apologize for intruding."

Lowering her head, Shadi tries to walk on right past them towards her intended destination, hoping that her speed and size can make up for the obvious failings of her words. Though she avoids actively touching either of them or even brushing up against them accidentally, her bulk makes the matter a bit more difficult and she realizes that she's going to have to squeeze through them. Whether they bar her way now is entirely up to them.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"Oh, he's left," Podgan says. "Perhaps he had nothing to do with our business at all." Or perhaps he had concluded the same from their wariness.

He feels patently absurd; his crossbow over his back is as tall as he is. "I'm not sure what sort of people we will meet here, Scipio. Probably desperate, vengeful men."

He knows his own capabilities well; he is not going to be the one to strike a deathblow. He doesn't even eat meat! All his magic is oriented to heal and support; Abadar is a faith for an organization, not a lone hero. "I hope we can find some we can trust." The next time, he promises himself, he will not stand mum on the sidewalk.

So when he picks up someone in his peripheral half-hidden among the tangles of the rooftop, he waves, despite feeling like an absolute fool.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

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

"Hm. Might be so, but it seems way too much of a coincidence to find such a fellow at the very same address we're headed." Scipio gently and slowly strokes his beard, seemingly mulling over what he just saw; Pogdan's comment on the kind of people they would probably meet makes Scipio grunt in approval and answer with a smirk "As we are, sir. As we are."

Scipio seems about to move, when the priest waves his hand at someone on the roof; the former guard frowns and looks up, where a drinking Aubin has sat and seems to study the figure of the former Hellknight. After a couple of moments the chelish man says to his confessor "Seems like that fellow is on a stakeout. You park your behind on a vantage point and just observe. Do you know him, sir?"

[Amnestic]

Loric, Tannery, Thieves Camp 'District'

The tannery is one of the warmer places to be found in the city – by design. Temperature and humidity control is important in the curing process. Crispin may be a money-grubbing snake but he's not stupid enough to jeopardise his income for the sake of saving a few coppers on heat. Spend money to make money, as the case may be.

Quietly you begin work, the knowledge that in order to make the sunset appearance you'll have to cut your shift “short”, working a 'mere' 7 hours instead of the 8, 10, or sometimes 12 that Crispin demands of his ever rotating shift of workers. Conversation is thin in the tannery. People don't want to open their mouths too much given what you're working with, and those that might want to speak are often kept from doing so by the grueling work and exhaustion. Still, there's a little chatter, and the prime topic of the day seems to be King Eodred's supposedly ill health. Two of your colleagues trade words over how no Korvosan monarch has ever died of old age, nor produced an heir after being crowned – a historically true situation that has been dubbed the Curse of the Crimson Throne, though how much truth that aspect has is another matter entirely.

Giving yourself the appropriate amount of time (if you walk swiftly) to make it to Lancet Street, you pack up and head out through the only proper exit – the front, where your boss resides. “Where do you think you're going?” The wheezing voice of Crispin calls out to you as you pass him. He doesn't look up from his numbers. “Your shift isn't over for another three hours.” He says it matter-of-fact, as if reminding a child, but with the slight undercurrent of a threat attached to it. You both know how long your shift lasts, and at best he's extending a slight lifeline as a way of exerting power over you.

Shadi, Streets of Korvosa

“Nah nah, I don't think so horser, think you stepped in the wrong neighbourhood, think you need to be taught a lesson. See we don't want you hear, none of us do,” The drunkard casts his arms around, gesturing to the few people nearby, even as the clanking steadily gets louder. Whether he thinks it won't affect him or if the booze has simply addled his hearing isn't clear, but he seems to not pay attention to the fact that most people seem to want nothing to do with him, or the oncoming Hellknights. “So get out of Korvosa! Go back to bedding animals like the rest of your dirty kind!” He tosses a glass bottle at you, but his aim is wide and he misses even without any actual motion from yourself. The glass shattering breaks the stupor of any onlookers who immediately move away, not wishing to be caught up in what comes next.

The drunkard pulls back to launch another projectile – a stone tile – in your direction but is stopped when a black gauntleted hand grips his wrist. A voice projected from beneath the horned helmet booms forth. It's flat in tone, in such a way that it barely sounds human. It is less a person now holding them back, it is the force of the law itself.

”Attempted assault witnessed.” The second knight at their side continues: ”And confirmed. Per Korvosan Code 24, you are being detained.” The man curses, and swings a fist directly at the obsidian armoured man that now holds him in their steely grip. The punch does nothing. It clangs pointlessly against the solid plate, and at best only serves to injure the man's own hand. ”Assault of an enforcement official. Korvosan Code 373. Loss of offending limb and one year hard labour.” With very little effort the Hellknight drags the drunkard over to a nearby table and slams their arm down against it, before unhooking an axe from their waist. Fear fills the drunkard's eyes as the gleam of the razor-sharp axe reflects the winter sun, but fear of the inevitable does not stop it arriving. ”Sentence issued.” ”And confirmed.” The axe slices through air, then flesh, then bone, before finally lodging itself in wood.

A great deal more alcohol would need to be imbibed to stave off the pain the drunkard now feels, and his scream is a testament to this. He struggles to get away, flailing as a mad animal caught in a trap, but even without his right hand the grip on his wrist does not relent. His associate is frozen in place, which may be for the best. Fleeing would likely only make his situation worse – as it stands now he's merely an accessory to attempted assault, and will at most suffer a week or so in prison before release. Running from the law would add magnitudes of sentences on top of that.

To what the little credit the Hellknights have, they do not leave the man bleeding out. His sentence isn't death, after all, and one immediately begins administering aid to staunch the bleeding so that they can be hauled away for 'processing'. The other turns to you, and without a hint of emotion – no glee or malice – simply says: ”Continue on your way citizen. Do not cause trouble.” He need add no more to the statement. Law – Korvosan Law - has been enforced, for all to see.

Thankfully, no further interruptions are met on your path to Lancet Street, though you're not the first to arrive, spotting two others – a human and a gnome – already there.

Creissus, Bard's End Tavern, South Shore District

Change in Korvosa is as regular as the tides, and Bard's End is no exception to this. Situated in the picturesque and much-desired South Shore district, the enormous tavern sprung up on prime real estate and quickly established itself as one of the places to be for those seeking entertainment of song, stage and stanza. Boasting three separate floors of entertainment (ranked in ascending level of fame, from the cellar to the first floor) it is never empty of both accomplished and would-be bards plying their trade for fame, fortune and fun.

Alas, your status as a persona-non-grata among much of polite and impolite society means that your own songs are restricted to the cellar stage, even if you are, perhaps, capable enough to warrant the ground floor. Certainly your infamy precludes you from the coveted first floor stage, where the real money makers and money spenders reside. The cellar does always have the most lurid rumours and stories however, and this afternoon your table's topic of talk is the many (supposed) affairs that King Eodred has pursued with attractive artists, performers and debutantes who visit the castle, much to Queen Ileosa's immense displeasure. Some of those you play cards with even suggest idly that they should aim for a night with the old man, and that whatever favours he has to offer would be worth the idle wrath of the Queen, while others warn them off such foolishness, though even they start to see some wisdom in it as they get deeper into their cups. Royal favour can open a great many doors, after all.

The afternoon otherwise passes as calmly as a rowdy tavern full of competitive bards is ever going to get, and before long sunset is on (figurative and literal) horizon, for the appointed meeting time.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin regarded the small figure, as he lifted his face and waved a hand towards his location. The brow over his scarred eye arched in curiosity, had these been Lamm's men there would surely be some sort of bravado, a display of aggression, and the pounding of feet up the stairwell behind him. Instead, a curious look, and a timid wave, interesting indeed. The former armiger rose to his feet, swaying only slightly, and tipped his large tricorne hat by way of acknowledgement, before grabbing the bottle of red in his left hand, and descending to the street. Moving, once again, through the pungent, oppressively damp stairwell, he descended into the street, still shaded by clothes lines, balconies, and lean of squalid tenements over head.

He walked towards the pair, a drunken swagger in his steps, perhaps overplayed, but to have them underestimate him would be to his advantage if they were to cross swords. The smaller man, though on closer inspection he doubted him man indeed, for his skin was a blue-grey, wrinkled and thick, like a farmer's calloused palms, he wore shoddy, worn clothes, however something in his movements seemed stiff. Ahhh, he came armored, as though expecting trouble. His companion, a hair taller than Aubin himself, was a narrow shouldered man, with a hawkish, chelish face, his dark clothing adorned with pouches and straps which could contain any number of weapons, or devices, of which he may need to be wary.

Aubin himself approached, wearing sturdy buckles shoes, hose, and a navy doublet, over which a leather jerkin fell to his knees, buckled about the waist by two overlapping weapon belts, on held a rapier on his right hip, the other a device that would be unfamiliar to most. A dark wood handle, with brass fittings and a striking plate. Across his chest a bandoleer, like Scipio's, but instead of pouches, a number of loops that held small thumb-sized parchment wrappings, sealed with wax. He regarded the pair with a stern eye, one of which was scarred as if by a duelling blade years past, dark curls framed his mustachioed face, he smiled broadly, bowing without taking his eyes off of the pair.

"Good gentlefolks," he spoke quietly, "it appears I am not alone in by curiosity about yon domicile." He nodded towards the entryway to 3 Lancet, "And you are both too ... cultured ... to be in the employ of one Mister Lamm, so I can only assume you are here for interests, both personal," he raised the red to his lips, draining the bottle, before tossing it into a nearby refuse pile, "and shared." His right hand moved to his tabard, and from beneath it produced a harrow card, which, once turned, revealed a playful grig, the Cricket, to those familiar with the Varisian symbology.

"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Marcillus Aquillonius, Viscount of House Eriador. And with whom do I have the pleasure of sharing this refuse strewn alley?"

OOC: I have no issue if Scipio, being an Artificer, instantly recognized the flintlock pistol. I believe they are rare enough to be somewhat of an oddity to the common citizenry.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi doesn't flinch at the insult of 'horser' anymore. She's lived in this city for near on two years now, and it's a word she hears thrown at her almost every day. Even the thrown bottle doesn't faze her; it's obvious his aim is off, and the sharp symphony of broken glass is a report she's equally familiar with. The Shoanti-in-exile gives the layabouts a flat stare, as she begins to loosen the muscles in her back and legs. She'll need to be limber for what comes next.

For the briefest moment she closes her eyes and reaches out, feeling the network of mortar and paved stone expand beneath her feet. Beneath that is loose brick and topsoil, the churn of centuries. And beneath that is an expanse of shale rock, the very shelf that Korvosa is built upon. Slowing her breathing, she prepares herself to draw it all in, to put on her second skin and show these two what it really means to get in a fight.

Then the Hellknights step in, and Shadi freezes.

She's seen them before, of course. It's impossible to hail from the Storval Plateau and not know of the Order of the Nail, the iron-mailed fist of the law. When she first left her home, she didn't believe that the Chelish really worshipped a horned devil. But her doubts were wiped clean when she witnessed a troop intervene at student protest outside the University. Evidently some edict from Egorian had been passed which curtailed resources from non-Academae teaching personnel, which had resulted in a number of resignations of popular professors on campus. The University-going public had been... less than fond of the rank favoritism shown to the diabolist school, and the protests followed predictably. At the time, Shadi didn't know about any of that: all she saw was a crowd of angry faces, and a line of figures in spiked plate mail with great weapons. "Savagery must be quelled," they had said, "in the land, home, and mind." What followed after was nothing short of brutal - she had never seen violence launched simply against those just trying to speak out. In that moment she had decided that she hated them; hated their armor, hated their devil-god, and hated their words most of all.

But it's easy to say such things in private, and harder to act on them when the moment forces itself upon you. Now, standing in the lane looking at steel-clad silhouettes of law made manifest, she cannot help but quail. The severed arm itself has little to do with it - she's seen worse, inflicted worse and taken on similar injuries - but the way the act is being carried out. As if he is not even a person, just a mistake that needs correcting. She forces herself to nod as she walks away in perfect silence.

By the time Shadi arrives on Lancet Street, she has largely collected herself. The adrenaline is gone from her, the colour in her face and twitching of her fingers that scream to fight or flee. Instead the Shoanti focuses on what is ahead, which are two more individuals. Pulling her hood and cloak closer to her, she finds a place nearby and leans her massive bulk against the wall to wait for the allotted time. Beneath the cloth wrapping, the hilt of the greatsword digs itself painfully into her right shoulderblade, but she ignores it. At first she wonders whether the small and large one are here for the same reason, but then they seem to get embroiled in a conversation with a third man who looks like one of the night-men that she's heard rich women in this town pay good money for.

Ah, it's probably unrelated.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan blinks up at the human. "I am Podgan, a priest of Abadar and this is..." He pauses, realizing that maybe Scipio doesn't want this man to know his name.

"This is my friend." He shows his own Harrow card, like a shibboleth.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin nodded, "Well then Factor Podgan, it appears that we may well, both, be acquainted with one Gaedren Lamm. A man of dubious moral character, who preys upon the disenfranchised, the oppressed, and other such victims of misfortune." He paused, a slight scowl obscuring his, rather congenial face, "I am sure that even the Master of the Vault would agree that such an individual is a rot in our shining metropolis, one which must be excised for the benefit of our fellow citizenry. A thought which has occurred, no doubt, to the mysterious author of letters, seemingly delivered far and wide."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Throughout the day, Loric toils passively, quietly, as he has done every day for years now. The scraping of the leather, the white noise of gossip in the background, even the stench all wash over him and off of him as a duck sheds water. Accepting this role has given him a kind of peace, a stability. But now that there is something else, some of it eats at him. A little bit of his coat of armor has fallen off. A little bit of the mask chipped away, reminding him of what's beneath.

This isn't peace. This is hiding.

The internal voice chastises him, his passive expression cracking with a twitch of the brow. He frowns at the work before him, but does not justify the doubts with a response.


Until it comes time. Picking up his bag in a motion that feels so out of place among the clockwork, he shifts it once more beneath his cloak and takes up his walking stick. Any other workers of long tenure might see reason to whisper about this, too- the silent man who has been here every day precisely on time, worked every day precisely until told it was finished, suddenly getting up to leave early. As if a stone dropped into a river has caused the streams to diverge.

He walks out into the room where Crispin awaits, predictably detecting the oddity. Loric stops, looking at the old man in the eyes. He slowly walks towards the desk. In the years he has been here, Loric has spoken to the old man once, perhaps twice. He opens his mouth and breathes in as if he'd been forgetting to do so for some time. His heavily accented words are awkward, those of a man no longer accustomed to interacting with other humans: "I have vitally important business at 3 Lancet Street. I request early leave to do so." The asking is a formality, the words barely a question. He will do it regardless. But not burning bridges would be preferred.

Who cares what a sad old man thinks.

[roll0] Persuasion to ask permission.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

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

Scipio, hands on his hips and head slightly tilted, listens intently to the exchange between Pogdan and Aubin; it seems quite clear that he's much less trusting than the priest and when Pogdan introduces him, he greets the newly met Aubin with a nod and nothing else - he doesn't say anything, he doesn't show any cards, he doesn't even confirm or deny that he knows anything about Gaedren Lamm. Even though the former watchmen doesn't show any open hostility towards Aubin, he doesn't seem quite keen to accept whatever the other's saying at face value and his inquisitive gaze goes from the former Hellknight countenance to the pistol he carries and back.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Crease both loved and hated the Bard's End. Out of the taverns that knew him by sight or reputation it was by far the most welcoming, and it was always full of his kind of people. Bards, actors, musicians, playwrights, scoundrels one and all, and they would even loan him money or buy him a drink on their tab if they were doing well. It would be his favorite place in the city, were it not for his abysmal standing with the management. While he was free to be a patron there as long as he could beg, buy, or barter his way into an evening's entertainment, he was relegated to the lowest stage in the building, where, in his own mind, only riffraff and has-beens played. It didn't for a second come to him that his vagabond lifestyle might make him riffraff, or that his sullied reputation had relegated him to a has-been. He just silently promised himself every time he crossed the threshold that one day his fame and skill would reach a point where any amount of infamy he had accumulated would not hold him back from preforming on the grandest stage of the entire place.

After buying himself a drink and a hearty lunch, he sat down to play cards with some out of work and off duty actors he had been in a play with some weeks ago. Exchanging rumors and tales, he took every bit of juicy gossip and stored it in his mind in case it became useful later. Few people recognized the value of excellent gossip, but it could strike sharper than a dagger in the right moment or time. Creissus played conservatively, fully cognoscente of his current lack of employment. Still, he couldn't help but place a significant bet on his weakest hand of the day. The other players folded, and Creissus scooped a healthy pile of coins into his purse, taking his leave before anyone could look at his cards and realize he had an abysmal hand.

While walking back across the city towards Lancet street, he was tempted to play his guitar as he walked, but since his host had so obviously attempted subterfuge, he realized it may be rather gauche to show up with an entourage of fans at his back. Instead he whistled, occasionally singing under his breath, and weaved his way around and between people. The entire way there he fantasized about the different ways he could take revenge on Gaedren Lamm, with his whistling growing particularly vigorous as he envisioned some of the more violent ones.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


The woman from the Kallow Mounds is about to tune out the droning completely before she catches the very unmistakeable sound of a name. 'Gaedren Lamm'. Shadi's ears perk up and she starts to actively pay attention to what's being said by the man to the two others. For the time being she's kept her cloak and hood wrapped around her, but anyone even halfway looking sees the chalk-white tribal tattoos, the rattling bone necklace and years of training bound up in scar and muscle. Though she can only make out every second or third word, Shadi does hear mention of a letter.

So I am not the only one. That is no surprise; the missive did tell her to expect others. She was rather hoping that she would be the first one here - the better to appraise the others who have it in for Lamm - but it's not too important. If they can help, then she will be willing to work with them to bring the lowlife down.

But Shadi's ruminations are interrupted by a peculiar sound, one that brings her back sharply to home. Whistling, sharp and pointed in the brush to track game, to mimic birdsong or give signals over long distances. She was so surprised when she first heard it in the lowlands, but here they don't use it for anything useful. The Varisians use it for music, which befuddled her at first. The tune on the air now isn't one she's heard of, but she has to admit that whoever is behind it knows their way around a note.

When the whistler rounds the corner, the warrior sizes him up. Thick-set with clothing even more useless than the other ones', carrying a thin blade and a red hat that would mark him out as a target for near half a mile. It takes everything she has not to scoff. She really hopes that this one is a spellcaster or just another passer-by; she would not like to have to protect him in a battle.

Stepping away from her wall perch, Shadi closes the distance to the new arrival less than two heartbeats after he strolls into sight. Though she's only a few inches taller than him, her bulk provides enough of an impression that it looks like she's trying to loom over him; she isn't of course, but the city was not made for folks of her stature. Besides, she's not about to shrink down and pretend to be smaller than she is for the sake of some stranger who's strangely good at whistling.

"Are you here for Gaedren Lamm?" She asks in accented Taldane in lieu of any kind of introduction.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Creissus stopped short when addressed, seemingly just noticing the formidable woman before him. He chose to stifle a sneer, because expressing his distaste for her obvious Shoanti blood, her outlandish clothes, or her abrupt attitude could easily result in him getting punched directly in the nose, which was something he strived to avoid. Instead he lowered himself into a profound bow, thinking while he spoke, as was oft his habit. Gaedren Lamm, my lady? I haven't the foggiest idea who you could be referring to. Gaedren Lamm, Gaedren Lamm... no, I don't think I know the name. Then again, it does sound familiar... he slipped two fingers into an interior pocket and slid the Harrow card of the Courtesan out of his clothes in one swift, smooth motion, turning it so the woman can see.Perhaps if you've a card matching mine and we share similar purpose my memory might be jogged into recollecting this Gaedren Lamm? He felt safe enough with this innuendo. Gaedren was known for chaining youths, not barbarous women, and even if she was working for him a quick spell and he would have time to run for his life, or so he would wager. Hedging his bets, he takes a quick sliding step backwards to make sure he is out of her reach.

[Amnestic]

Loric, Tannery, Thieves Camp 'District'

Crispin sneers at your words. “Oh important is it? More important that your job, than your coin, than the roof over your head. There's a clink of coins in his pockets as he sits up to look at you. “Oh well if it's important then go, just know that for each hour you're gone I'll be taking back a day's wage.” He peers through the window at the steadily dimming light outside. Still an hour yet until sunset. “I expect that will be three or four days you have to make up to me before first. Long shifts too, so you understand.”

He doesn't try to stop you further. Not that he could. The difference in your physicalities is abundantly clear – he's wizened, thin. Bitterness has sapped his strength over time and he's perhaps a particularly bad winter flu away from the grave...though some say that the evil ones always live the longest. Instead his weapon of choice is coin, and one he wields eagerly. He even bids you a fond, glib, farewell when you pass through the doors and back into the winter cold.

The streets are quiet as you make your way the long route south and then across the river. The sun continues to dip on the horizon in front of you, bathing the sea and sky in a blood red light, but one that will be gone soon enough. There's already an assembled group when you arrive at Lancet Street – five, excepting yourself, and eclectic in clothing and appearance that it seems unlikely they're all part of the same group normally.

Assembled Party, Lancet Street

For some it's a matter of hours, but for others, mere minutes, of waiting together outside the Lancet Street home. The chill continues to grip at you, the sole interfering force as you wait the time away until sunset. This small path leaves you unbothered by others, who barely give you a second glance as they make their way up and down Warehouse Way. There's almost no dock traffic that comes through here, the workers preferring the roads further north near the warehouses, or further south near the Korvosan Guard citadel for any cargo that requires additional inspection, and more often than not bribes.

Loric's arrival brings your number to six, and just in time for the sun to dip below the horizon fully.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The Tannery

The old man's response is as expected. His words hum in Loric's ears like a buzzing fly, barely registering. A familiar look to Crispin, the face of one too weary to argue. "I understand." Turning away, Loric resumes his walking pace towards the door. As he steps outside into the chill breeze, the cold stokes the fire inside him that wants so much to be indignant.

If I return.

Alive or dead, perhaps Crispin's chapter in his life is over. Three to four shifts working for free, when already the pay is bare minimum. There is honest labor, and then there is slavery.

It isn't worth my time.

His feet move as if under their own power, carrying him on a familiar posture. Tonight he may well be going to war.

3 Lancet Street

Last to arrive on that cold Abadius evening is another who stands out even among this eclectic group, not for wealth as with Crease (in appearance, if not in truth), but for poverty. A man with dark skin that marks him a foreigner to this land, clad in little more than rags, worn boots, and a hooded wool cloak. At his side is a walking stick, the head rather strange in appearance. Too tall to be a cane, with a broad head that looks like it once held something else - a spearhead, maybe.

When he draws near, it's the smell that hits them. Like he just crawled out of the sewers, the cloak hanging off of him like muck and refuse. Tired eyes draw lazily over everyone already there, appraising them, but he doesn't speak at all in greeting.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Conditions: —
Concentrating: —


Shadi's coal-dark eyes narrow when the stranger denies knowing Lamm. It's not that she doesn't believe him but... well, she doesn't believe him. Her suspicion is proven right when only seconds after stating he doesn't know the man he implies directly otherwise by producing a Harrow card. His looks different than hers, a craggy-red skinned trickster wearing a mask. She's no expert on the practice, but people with masks usually have something to hide. Great, she thinks to herself, a liar.

After a moment's hesitation she rifles into her shoulder-pouch to bring out her own card, that of the Teamster. Trusting this man seems like a foolish proposition, but if he's been invited here to go after Lamm same as her - and apparently half of Korvosa, if the nearby trio is any indication - then they at least have some kind of mutual interest. The tribes of the Skoan-Quah have a saying: a wanderer in the Cinderlands must take such water as they are offered, no matter its source.

"This is the Teamster. We are here for the same reason, I think. My name is Shadi, and yours?"

After the introduction is made, the warrior moves to stand directly beside this newcomer and wait to meet the others. Under her breath, she wonders: "Though I do not know how one would 'jog' a memory. Running in circles?"

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan looks around at the group of tall beings. He's not uncomfortable--he's spent his whole life surrounded by humans--but he is intimidated. Shyly, he says, "I think we are all here for the same reason. Because of the same man."

"It is not the way of my faith to take personal revenge, but... I cannot forgive him, and I cannot trust the law to deal with him. Abadar forgive me, but I cannot trust the law this time. I think that... that we all feel the same?" He breaks off, embarrassed by his little speech.

If they have all suffered the same indignities, surely that is a foundation for trust? For some kind of community?

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

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

The more people show up, the less worried Scipio seems to be - it might not be a trap, after all; he stares at them with a professional eye in a way that might be considered rude if one pays attention to proper etiquette, but the former guard doesn't seem to care much. After Pogdan's speech, he sighs and nods and shows the others his own card, the Inquisitor, and says without addressing anyone in particular "The law has tried and failed, because most people don't care about what Lamm does. But we do." Scipio shrugs, turns to the setting sun and than points with his head towards the door of 3 Lancet Street "It's time."

[Amnestic]

With the pressing cold encroaching deeper still, the decision is made to enter the home. Knocking on the door finds it ajar, opening to an empty living room. Calling into the home receives no response, and lacking anything else in the way of options, you enter.

The interior of this small, humble home consists of a single cozy chamber filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice. The aroma comes from several sticks of incense smouldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke gives the room a dreamy feel, mixed with the earthy smoke of wood burning in a fireplace – the source of the light seen through the window, and some much welcome respite from the winter cold. The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling human hearts, and another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall, hooded figure shrouded in mist, holding a flaming sword in a skeletal hand. Several brightly colored rugs cover the floor, but the room’s only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throw cloth and seven elegant, tall-backed chairs. One for each of you, plus your absentee host, one might assume. The Varisian style in the interior design is clear and pervasive. On the table in the centre of the room is a small note, penned in the same handwriting on the notes that you all received individually. Out in the open, it's clear for anyone to read, stating:

Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you.

Sure enough, a basket covered by blue cloth sits beneath the table with sufficient bread and wine for all of you to fill your bellies if you so choose to. Whether you stand or sit, eat or hold back, a few minutes pass, letting the warmth of the comfortable, if somewhat sparse, house seep into your bones.

As time ticks away there's a creeping question if you might not have all been played for fools, but a few minutes after you've set foot in the home you hear the tapping of shoe on stone approaching from outside, and through the door steps a Varisian woman, perhaps in her mid-30s, early 40s. She keeps her long dark hair tied in a bandana, and her clothing matches the decor of her house - not particularly ornate, but comfortable and well worn. Little effort has been given to get matching cloth for the patches to cover holes, and the dress she wears may well be the product of four or five other dresses all mixed together. Her skin has a delicacy to it that tells you she's unlikely to have done much hard labour in her time. Whatever her business outside of the home was, she returns, apparently, empty handed.

"Good evening everyone, thank you for coming, and for putting up with the unconventional method of contacting you all. My name is Zellara Esmeranda." From a deep pocket in her dress (sewn separately, it seems) she withdraws a Harrow deck, minus six cards. With a flick of her careful fingers, the errant cards flip up from your hands, pockets, bags, or wherever else you have stowed them, and tumble through the air, carefully placing themselves on top of the deck, which she then begins to shuffle. It's a well practiced motion, one she can do without looking, or indeed focusing on the cards at all. The cards seem as water to her touch, flowing gently with the back and forth motions she creates. "It's a cute parlour trick, I admit, but it's no help against the man whom has wronged you all, and myself. I speak, of course, of Gaedren Lamm, a man whose cruelty and capacity to destroy the lives he touches are matched only by his gift for avoiding reprisal."

"A year ago his thieves stole my Harrow deck from me. It's an heirloom, passed down through a dozen generations, and my sole means of support. When Lamm's pickpockets stole it, my son Eran tracked them down and returned the deck to me. But the next day he was dead, killed by Gaedren's people in retaliation. I sought help from the guard of course, but they turned me away. 'Too busy for one pickpocket and his goons', they said." Her otherwise gentle voice takes on a harsh tone, anger briefly taking over, but it dissipates as she moves past it. "And so I asked around, I paid for what information I could find, and I consulted my deck for advice. Finally, I was rewarded with two things - his location, and your identities. People that might be able to stand up to him and his thugs."

"Gaedren resides at an old fishery building north of here, at Westpier 17. It's there that he trains the abducted children to pick pockets and counts his stolen treasures." Though you might not know the exact building, the pier is maybe twenty minutes walk away at most. As it is with this city, he's been barely any distance away from you all all this time. With this information Zellara stops and takes a breath, letting it settle in, and giving you the opportunity to speak your own pieces.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The Wait

Walking through the crowd gathered outside, the vagabond knocks upon the door without reservation, then looks at it when it creaks slightly open. This does not seem to dissuade him at all and he ventures inside, bringing with him a cloak of stench that the incense and smell of flowers - to their credit - attempt to abate.

There doesn't seem to be any attempt at tact, decorum or caution. He plucks up the note and wordlessly hands it to the next person behind him, taking a seat at the table. With the hunger of someone who has not had many good meals recently, he helps himself to the bread and wine stored beneath the table.

The Arrival

Seated with his walking stick resting across his lap, he watches the woman, eyes tracking the cards as they swirl around, his own sliding from his pocket as if by another's hand. "The cards told you," he says, neither wholly a question or a statement. "Why?" he asks, this time very clearly out of curiosity. It is not the how that interests him.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"I am sorry for the loss of your son," Podgan murmurs, at that point in the story.

The location isn't the one he remembers; no doubt Lamm has moved his homebase around many times since Podgan escaped him. There's no reason that should surprise him, but it does--he had always imagined Lamm still lurked there, in the old mill that haunts the gnome to this day. In his mind, even the children are the same, though they must no doubt have grown up by now.

Even Lamm--Lamm must be an old man by now, or on his way. He realizes now he had expected nothing to have changed, as if they would mount a raid on his memories and not on a mundane location.

When the tanner--so very clearly a tanner--asks his question, Podgan speaks without meaning to. "To kill him, of course."

He's startled, but he goes on, looking around at the group and their hostess. "That's what we're talking about it, isn't it?"

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"No," the man's small, awkward voice speaks up as he shakes his head, peering at the blue-skinned gnome from the corner of his eye. At first it seems he might be saying no to killing Lamm, but he speaks again, "Why would the cards advise now, not before?" he rephrases his question with a bit more context to his thoughts. The man looks down at the floor in thought, wondering who 'answers' these cards, who is behind them determining when to speak and why.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Outside 3 Lancet Street

When this Shadi woman introduced herself, Creissus extended his hand to her. Creissus Walrun Ornetto the Fourth. I assure you that any scurrilous rumors you may have heard of me are greatly exaggerated. And if you haven't heard of me, you my dear friend are in for a treat. He grinned an impish smile at her before striding towards the front door of the building. He makes a point of holding it open for the others, giving him a chance to get a good look at each of them before entering.

Inside 3 Lancet Street

Crease eagerly settled down into the chair, testing it for comfort first and practicality second. When the basket containing food is brought up, he briefly considers that the food, the wine, or both may be poisoned. However, his stomach quickly convinces his mind that there would be far easier ways to see him dead than such an elaborate trap. Poisoning the Harrow card, for one, or putting an inhaled powder in the envelope. So he tucks in readily enough, favoring the wine over the bread. Trusting that further introductions will have their time and place, Crease eats and drinks heartily, even though he had a large late lunch at the Bard's End. Who was he to say no to life's simple pleasures?

When their host arrived, Creissus took one last lengthy sip of wine to wash down his last mouthful of bread before listening to Miss Esmeranda's regrettable tale. For now, however, Crease chooses to remain silent. While he strived for justice against Gaedren Lamm with his every breath, he was not eager to throw himself to the metaphorical lions without first learning more about the qualities of his "allies". Part of him was convinced that now that he knew where Lamm resided he could extract justice by himself, but a larger part of his mind was unwilling to risk his own person without serious assistance, preferably the martial and musclebound kind. Looking over at Shadi, he mentally checked that box off, smiling as he did.

[Amnestic]

"I didn't gain all the information at one time." The harrower doesn't seem to take any offense at the line of questioning, nor is she particularly defensive. Her soft voice is measured and soothing, likely not that far off the tone she uses when doing her readings for paying clients. "A year of effort went into the divinations and investigations to get all the details I have. The cards aren't usually so specific or precise, and my personal investment in it helped. Had Eran..." She chokes up for a moment, the words catching in her throat as she struggles to get them out. "Had Lamm not harmed me personally, I do not believe it would have worked, no matter how much I tried."

"As for killing Lamm...I believe it is the only option. The city hasn't shown itself willing to help, and even if he's arrested, who's to say he would actually see punishment? He's evaded their justice for this long after all. The right official bribed and he could be right back on the streets to do more harm."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Outside 3 Lancet St - Dusk


"It is not the way of my faith to take personal revenge, but... I cannot forgive him, and I cannot trust the law to deal with him. Abadar forgive me, but I cannot trust the law this time. I think that... that we all feel the same?"

Aubin shook his head, removing his large brimmed tricorn, holding it over his heart, a pained look on his face, as the diminutive Factor spoke. He shook his head, "Abadar chose to write his laws in the minds of men," a sigh, "it is not the spirit of the letter that is corrupt, but the hand that penned them. The heart of the author is given to base desires and petty cruelties, as with all men." He looked to the small gathering, judging their faces, committing them to memory. "For are we not all flawed, in some manner or other?"

Inside 3 Lancet St - Madame Esmeranda's Parlor

Having spent some time among the people of the road, they were close knit families, related by blood, marriage and other complex, powerful ties. They were however, hospitable above all, despite the rumors to the opposite, quite willing to share a fire and a tale with a stranger, and that was, in fact, how Aubin had first encountered them. The Harrow deck, and it's various readings, were not new to the man, but it's complexities were lost on him, having little practice, or familiarity with the images and the, many, varied, interpretations.

He helped himself to the bottle, inhaling it's scent before pouring a glass, which he slide across the table to the spot left vacant for their host. He stood, leaning forward against the high backed chair, his hat now hanging from the crook atop it. When their hostess revealed herself, he gave a simple nod, by way of greeting, tipped the bottle towards her by way of thanks, and took a small mouthful, savoring it's taste as it rolled along his tongue. He listened to her story, his eyes narrowed, as he stared at the woman, trying to determine the veracity of the story. Not that he doubted Lamm, nor his associates would react so violently to the retrieval of an heirloom stolen from it's owner.

He spoke softly at first, "First, I offer thanks, to our hostess for allowing us to take shelter beneath her roof, and within her walls." Hospitality was a kindness, and should be thanked. "Your tale, Madame Esmeranda is one of grief and loss, it is an inconsolable loss you have suffered, I will not offer my sorrow or sympathies, I will instead witness your grief, and respect it." Now he addressed the others who had, so recently gathered in the street outside this noblewoman's parlor.

"What we speak of is conspiracy, and the Order would gladly drive their precious nails through wrist and ankle, to leave us to rot on a cross if they caught wind of our murderous intent." He surveyed the room, taking stock of the moral character of those around him, the Factor seemed soft hearted, his resolve wavering between a personal desire and a conflict of faith. His man, a wiry, cautious, fellow, was guarded, overly so, perhaps protective of his companion, however, given his steely gaze, Aubin could only guess the nature of the ills Lamm had inflicted upon him. The Shoanti woman, he could barely meet her eyes, memories of his youth spent as an Armiger, and driving the horse people from their tents, and their land, pushing 'civilization' ever forward in the most barbarous manner possible, the wheels of progressed greased with the blood of her people. Blood, he, himself, had spilt, in blind allegiance to his Order. A sigh. Ornetto, the man seemed good natured, and vivacious, however, it seemed a deep pool, Aubin recognized a charlatan when he saw one, perhaps he did not lie about the ring upon his finger, but his right to wear it? That perhaps, was how Lamm had gotten his hooks into the minor nobility of the city. And then finally, the harsh, blunt stare of the tanner, a steely resolve, perhaps ignorant of the repercussions of the actions they so openly discussed, or perhaps simple unconcerned with the consequences. And that was something that Aubin, himself, could empathize with.

"As we gather here, one must ask one's self, 'Do I have the resolve to do what must be done, to take a man's sins, and make them my own?' For when one kills a killer, he, in fact, becomes that which he has slain." He shrugged, "Better men have made me worse things, and it is a burden I, for one, am willing to bear. Are we all in agreement that this is a task we are willing to undertake, despite the cost it will demand of us?"

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

When their hostess speaks of the failure of the law, Pogdan's face is pained; ashamed. He seems to sink into himself, an even more ridiculous figure in his armor. A pillbug on the sidewalk, or a forgotten husk.

When Aubin begins to speak, however, he stirs, and as he was the first to speak openly of murder, he is the first to respond.

"I know we are all afraid to trust each other," he says quietly. "But when I left my home tonight, I knew what it was for. We are the ones who are here, so it will happen--or not happen--with these people. If one of you betrays us to the guard, then I will have failed. I never had much hope to succeed. But I must see him dead. I must."

His voice begins as a low whisper, appropriate for the husk he seems to be, but firms as he speaks. "I have taken my draught of sin already, whatever happens next."

"Everything I have learned, what little magic I have, is all meant to serve the city; to support others, and strengthen them. I don't know that I can kill him myself; if I could, I think I would have tried already. But if by being there I can be sure one of you does--"

"I serve the law," he says, his voice choked. "And if we go to do what the law cannot, then I will serve still."

He has his own assessments of the crew; he is not easy with people, but he has learned to read them, all his life. But nowhere in his mind is the question of their suitability. In service, as in governance, there is no room to ask, are these people suitable? Only what can be done, with the people who are here? He is set on this course now, and he live or die with this group, assembled by chance and prophecy.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Conditions: —
Concentrating: —


Entering the house next to last and inclining her head slightly at the man with the too-long name, Shadi wrinkles her nose as she falls under attack by the heady melange of spices and aromas. Too much nutmeg. And is that lavender on those incense sticks? Whatever it is, it's far too pungent for her liking. Even after years in Korvosa she's still uncomfortable with the constant whiffs of raw seafood, so this is a whole other level of off-putting. Unlike many of the others she does not take a seat while they wait for the host to arrive, preferring to stand near the front door with her back set squarely to a wall. After the assembled adventurers take a seat, Shadi looms even more obviously over everyone present. She greets the other folk in the same manner she did Creissus: with all the subtlety of a dislodged boulder tumbling down a mountainside.

When their host Esmeranda finally arrives, Shadi's eyes barely leave her. She studies this patron of theirs with obvious intent, trying to size her up and get a sense of the veracity of her story. When the Harrow card gets taken her jaw clenches, but she does not speak up. She refuses drink with a shake of the head when offered but does try the food, taking a few bites before deciding it's not too bad and stowing some away in her pockets for later. She chews with her mouth slightly open while Esmeranda and the others bandy words back and forth - an affectation she's adopted in 'civilised' company to see how they react to the 'savage' among them. The wet noises are barely audible, but they fill the silence quite easily in such an enclosed space.

The jury - she loves this new word, jury - is still out about the host, but the conversation soon turns to the matter of their target and ending his life permanently. The bones on her chest rattle slightly as she exhales deeply at the sound of the nightwalker man and his moralizing. Did everyone in this city talk too much? At least the one who smells of leather seems certain in both questions and purpose. Shadi finds herself studying him, wondering whether he would be open for a tumble after they're done with Lamm. It could be fun.

Putting the thought away, she returns to the matter at hand. At long last Aubin seems to be wrapping up whatever he was saying and the little gnome pipes up with similar whinging. So Shadi speaks up to the group for the first time since they've gathered. She thinks back to the restaurant, to the sight of it burning down. She grits her teeth, and a faint cracking noise can be heard.

"We are here to stop Lamm," she says slowly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "If he is a big threat then we should kill him quickly. He will hurt others if we half-do this thing, the way he killed her kid. What else is there?"

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Hearing that the cards had not chosen, suddenly, to speak - it puts Loric more at east. He does not know from what source these fortunes derive their knowledge, but manipulation by spirits or outsiders rubs him the wrong way.

The laws of the Order mean little to Loric. The laws of men are frivolous things. But as he listens to the tricorned man speak, he begins to sense a familiarity in the words. Do I have the resolve to do what must be done? rings a familiar question, one Loric asked himself long ago. And his answer was much the same as this man's. For home and kin, I would stain my soul again.

Here in this city, twisted and perverse in its aspect, his home is among the forgotten. And that makes the boy his kin. Loric never knew the boy's name, but that does not matter. Names are only another law of men.

I swore never to take up the blade in war again, he thinks to himself, looking down at the spear haft laid across his lap. Ought I break my word to you, old friend? He runs a hand along the smooth wood, the grip of the handholds, the shape of the wooden gums from which the defanged weapon's tooth once protruded. His thoughts respond as if spoken from the spear, "My blade is gone. But our flesh and bone may serve." By mistake, he speaks the words aloud in barely a whisper, but does not seem to notice.

Lifting up his head he voices agreement, "With this, we will send a message."

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None

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

"We won't get caught. The Order, the Guard, the Church of Abadar, the Crown - they don't care about Gaedren Lamm and they certainly do not care about us. If they did, Lamm would've never had the chance to cause us any suffering." Scipio scoffs and waves his hand like he's trying to fend off an annoying insect "Tonight it's just us and Lamm. I know what I lost because of him and I intend to make him pay." the former guard spits these words, grim and unyelding. He hasn't touch any food, any drink - doesn't seem to have done that out of suspicion, more because of a knotted stomach.

"What we need is intelligence. We know where he is, now we need to know how many lackeys he has and how well protected is this fishery - doubt that scum would be alone. We do not want to alert him until it is too late, or he's going to make a beeline out of there."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Creissus chose that moment to speak up, now that the others had each voiced their opinions, beliefs, and concerns. He had a habit of talking like others enjoyed the sound of his voice, which admittedly was often the case when he was preforming. But he still hadn't gained the discernment to tell when brevity was a virtue. My new friends, I think we all find ourselves in agreement that the world would be a better place without Gaedren Lamm in it. And we all seem to have come to terms with our own consciences on the subject of utilizing violence to remove the Shepherd of the Little Lamms from this world and on to the next. I, for one, was told by my fencing instructor that my sword would end many a fiendish rogue in this life. The small, self-satisfied smile when he said this would be all the evidence an experienced fighter would need that Creissus had never killed anyone. Whether his frivolousness with ending a man's life was flippant fantasy or a true killer's callous disregard was still to be determined, but his naivety was certainly a mark against him. What matters now is not the morality or the legality or the specifics of Lamm's slight against any one of us. but the HOW. He raised a fist and shook it with vigor. THE SUBSTANCE! As the fisherman explained to the fool in Deilind's famous farce, killing the fish when it is on the shore is the easy part. Catching the fish is where the skill lies. So, I think it in all our best interests if we plainly and succinctly detail our skills so we may form a combined strategy for our mutual success and satisfaction.

Creissus let that settle for a breath before contributing his own repertoire of abilities. I am a classically trained fencer, but my sword arm is not where my true lethality lies. My magic can strike fear in the hearts of men, driving them to flee for their lives, if but for a moment. I also specialize in supporting magics through oration, instrument, and song, as well as stealth, disguise, persuasion, and coercion, or as the layman would say, "I could talk a demon into setting himself on fire." Bachman, scene four line twenty seven. He gave a quick rat-a-tat on the small interconnected drums at his hip to punctuate his point, followed by a quick series of chords on his guitar. Though the music was brief, the air felt slightly charged for a moment, the ambient magic raising goosebumps and making hair stand on end. His explanation was neither plain nor succinct, but it was thorough.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Naturally, things progress to the planning stage. This is where Loric feels a pull towards his former life, flashes of memory he'd done his best to forget as he considers the angles. A part of him considers lighting up the fishery and killing anything that comes out. But that would draw attention, call down the authorities on them. And more importantly, the person he's trying to save could be killed in the fire. Remember the goal. Their goal is Lamm. Mine is the boy.

They are facing an enemy with no moral compunctions about putting children in harm's way. The man's distant voice becomes clearer, more solid, less like the voice of a ghost and more like that of a soldier. "If he is cornered, he will use the children. Hostages, child soldiers, either way they will be in harm's way. We must separate them first, or strike him before he can."

[Amnestic]

Zellara bows her head deeply in thanks. “Before you go, I would like to do a reading for you all. Though it might not be a great help, the card's magic may help you find your way.” She doesn't wait for an answer, immediately separating nine cards from the fifty-four strong deck, then a further six from the nine, and spreads them out across the table to each of you. Pogdan receives the Demon's Lantern card, Loric the Peacock, Creissus the Rabbit Prince, Scipio the Dance, Shadi the Crows, and Aubin the Cricket. She gives you a moment each to digest the cards, before calling them back to her deck. “That was the Choosing. Each card is now aligned with you, and when the fateful time comes its magic should aid you in your trials to come. Next is the Spread, that which tells of our past, present and future.”

She then shuffles and draws nine cards, laying them face down in a three by three grid. From top to bottom, she slowly and methodically turns over the cards in the leftmost column, revealing the Uprising, Big Sky, and Foreign Trader cards. “This column is aligned with the order of the past, that which has been set in stone but yet echoes beyond. Uprising and Foreign Trader – these cards speak of the Shoanti history of Korvosa, those who were here before the Chelish. The Big Sky card at the centre indicates that their past will cover the city in its influence, though to what end it's not yet clear.”

Next, she reveals the centre column, again, top to bottom. Revealed are the Sickness (upside down), the Forge , and the Keep (also upside down). “This column represents the present, that which is happening as we speak. The Keep card would normally speak of stability, and the Sickness card of recovery, but they are both misaligned. Inverted. Instead, a cursed illness – one made with purpose, from the Forge card – rots the city, and it will shake Korvosa to its core.”

Finally, she reveals the column on the right. “And this speaks to the chaos of our future, that which has yet to come and is still in flux. It is unlikely these events will be in the near future, and could be months away.” She reveals the Fiend – inverted, the Winged Serpent, and finally the Juggler, also inverted. While before she seemed fairly calm, this reading sets her on edge. She purses her lips quietly. “The Juggler, when upright, indicates that fate stands with you, yet here it is inverted. The Fiend, which normally spells out devastation from a calamity, inverted instead represents salvation from it. Finally the Winged Serpent, uniting the two. It represents the knowledge of when to strike, and when not to strike. If we are to take this at it is, then the cards foretell a great suffering in the future, but one that you might help avert, or at least offer salvation from, by finding the true threat that lurks beneath the surface.”

“I can understand any doubts that these are true. Certainly others do, but I expect in time the truth of the matter will reveal itself.” With a final thank you for your patience, and a farewell, Zellara bids you adieu, and your collected group heads north along the riverside towards the fishery building she specified.

By the time you exit her home night has truly fallen. Most side streets lack any sort of lighting, and that along main roads if sparse at best. Lighting is left to individuals to handle for the most part in Korvosa. The Crown has better things to spend its coin on, especially in a harsh winter such as this. Up above the clear sky is starfilled, a scattered cosmology of bright gleaming down from above, punctuated by the light of the waning moon. It's enough to cast silhouettes of buildings, but outside of darkvision you'll need to utilise your own lighting to avoid tripping over loose cobblestones or slipping on patches of ice.

Even with the occasional misstep it's barely half an hour before you arrive at the Old Fishery. Even though the darkness you can see it as a creaking, decrepit building, though its frame still seems solid. It doesn't seem near an imminent collapse at least. It stands alone, separate from the buildings to its side. The building is perched atop a steep embankment that drops 13 feet directly into the freezing river below. They're slippery, but could be climbed with some care. Fisheries such as this would usually have a water access to them, if you wished to take the plunge beneath the ice cold waves and risk whatever lurks in the Jeggare river.

From the north side of the building you can hear activity. One of the doors is slightly ajar, and light is spilling from inside. The sound of sloshing flesh and guts, punctuated by the tink-tink-tink of pointed metal striking metal, is consistently audible, punctuated occasionally by a high pitched voice giving orders. Despite night falling it seems that the fishery is still active. Around the south side of the building, a rotted wooden plank pathway curves along its edge out onto the water, though for what purpose you can't make out at the distance. You can see that all the external windows have long since been boarded up, but a sliver of light escapes through at least one window on the south side. The main doors on the west side, facing inwards towards the rest of the city, are mottled with mold and grit but remain solid. A close inspection reveals them to be locked.


Zellara's harrow reading has two special effects. The first is that you accumulate Harrow Points, the second is the Choosing card itself.

Each time a reading is done, every party member gains a Harrow Point.
If any cards during the Spread are of the dominant suit (in this case, Keys, aligned with Dexterity) every character gets a harrow point.
If a party member's Choosing card appears during the spread, that individual also gets a point.

Harrow Points can be spent at no action at any time – even when it's not your turn, and any that aren't used by the end of a chapter are lost. I will usually give a warning when you're nearing the end of a chapter, but chances are you'll be able to tell yourself, if you've got any points left by that point.

In this case, no one's Choosing card appeared during the Spread, but there was a Keys card – the Juggler - so all party members gain 2 Harrow Points.

In this chapter, Harrow Points can be spent on one of the following:-
Reroll a dexterity ability check/save or initiative roll. You must take the new roll, but you can spend a harrow point to reroll this again.
+1 to AC for one encounter. This cannot be stacked.
+15' movement speed for one encounter. This cannot be stacked.

In addition, your Choosing card will grant you temporary buffs for a specific encounter (sometimes combat, sometimes not), which I will mention as it comes up, so watch out for that.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Looking out at the shape of the destitute fishery, Loric examines the points of entry. "Can any of us pick a lock?" he asks, indicating the front doors which appear to be shut tight for the night. "We could split. Three pairs. Cover all entrances, all ways for Lamm to escape. Close in like a vice."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
[COLOR="#000080"][SUP]AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.


Aubin looked to Lorric and nodded. "A sensible plan, however one that forces immediate confrontation with Lamm's associates. We know little, and less, of the strength of out opponent. We do, however, know something of the man, and he won't hesitate to use his orphans as a shield against us, to preserve his own hide."

The former Armiger considered their options, "We observe for the evening. Determine who and what waits for us, inside. Find one of his orphan's, see what they have to say?"

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"I am confident I can remove them from the problem without killing them," the man takes his walking stick in both hands and examines it. Am I though? What if reflex takes over? The doubts cling to his thoughts, but the frown is barely different from his usual neutral expression. He eventually admits after searching his head for the right word in the common tingue, "An... informant would be better."

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 2

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

"I know my way around locks." Scipio chimes in, even though he certainly does not look the part of an accomplished burglar. He then points towards the south side of the building "A stakeout is fine and dandy, but might be not enough. Therefore we should also scout the place: see what's at the end of the wooden plank - guess a pier of some sort, but better be certain. And I also see light coming outside that window, might be worthwhile to take a look inside." the former watchmen slightly raises his head, hand on his ear "Hear that? The noise? Might be loud enough to allow us to sneak in without being heard."

"My take is: one or two of us try to scout the place, the rest of us spread out a bit and stake out the fishery. If a kid comes out, we try to cajole them into helping us."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan is, immediately and unsurprisingly, out of his depth. His one contribution would have been a plea to spare the children as much as possible, but to his surprise and gratification it seems unnecessary. These are not the ruthless vengeful desperadoes of his imagination.

"Having been one of those children," he does contribute, "we must be prepared for a certain degree of suspicion with that lie. It would, I'm afraid, be much easier for them to believe we are there to do them an unkindness than to help. Someone who is... convincing... should sell the idea. And we must be be very conscious of our belongings."

He doesn't care if they strip his purse bare, but if one of them kited his holy symbol, for instance, he'd be in a lot of trouble.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Crease stifles his annoyance that no one else wishes to relay their skills. He suppose he would find them out in short enough order. On the subject of cajoling a child, however, he smiles. Children love me! A strum of my guitar and a few honeyed words and we will have the assistance we require. He frowns and speaks again with more hesitation. But we cannot afford to wait all night. I say we set a deadline and move in before the night is out. We have no promise that our host will be able to find Lamm again. Her powers seem fickle. That said, Creissus stows his gear and prepares to approach the building to get a look through the window.





Stealth- [roll0]

[Amnestic]

On delicate steps, Creissus slowly creeps the twenty five feet along the creaking wood plankway. It's not silent, with each step causing a new heart-stopping creak, but Creissus is able to turn them into his advantage, picking a path and rhythm that mimics the wind blowing through beams and allowing him to pass undetected. The window is as boarded up as the rest, but with clever positioning and occasionally dipping your head away you gain a decent bearing on the room within.

It's small, clearly a side room rather than a main area, and certainly not large enough to be on the other side of either of the entrances you've noticed. A wooden desk sits in one corner of this room, its side preventing the western door opening all the way. The table is heaped with dozens of slate boards covered with chalk scrawls. Beside it, a cabinet slouches against the wall. Seated at the desk is a man in fancier clothing than you might expect for such a run down fishery - his red velveteen coat, embroidered with ornate seashell patterns, looks distinctly out of place compared to the other decor, along with his expensive-looking boots and short, but perfectly coiffed hair. His face is sour as he pores over the slates. At his belt is a dagger, sat in a gold-embossed sheathe, a thick leather bag, and a hefty coin purse. He has his back to Creissus, and doesn't look to the window, only occasionally stretching the kinks out of his back. There are no children in sight, but given the apparent purpose of the room that might not be too surprising. Pickpocket orphans usually need additional teaching to become qualified accountants, as Pogdan can attest to.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"One of the children is new. And his younger sister," Loric points out, though he doesn't really expand on why he knows this. He provides a short description of the pair: blond hair, thin limbs, freckles on the boy's face. But no names.

He watches Cressius stalk up to the building, admittedly impressed by the foppish man's technique. Easily a match for his forward scouts in days gone by.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Creissus, not willing to risk breaking and entering quite yet, sneaks his way back to the others, using the same genius technique that he accidentally came up with just minutes ago. Once he returns to the group, he relays what he has seen. Whoever manages this place dresses far above his station. The window leads to an office, where the ponce is reading his slates and figures. He's armed, but only barely. Any deceptions or misdirections we attempt should factor this in.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Conditions: —
Concentrating: —


Night in Korvosa. Truth be told, the constant noise of the city by the sea has had her on edge since she arrived, but night makes it worse. In the hills, one can stand atop a crag and hear the whistling of the wind, the howling of wolves and the rustling of the brush. The stars hung overhead, a brilliant weave of constellations whose meanings were as clear to her as the day she had first learned them. Not so in this city of burning-oil, where rooftops blotted out the heavens and one could not go fifteen feet before finding oneself up against another wall or barricade.

Swallowing her discomfort, Shadi has followed the group at a pace of perhaps two feet. Her blade is close at hand and in her mind, and even though she never goes quite so far as to draw it the way her eyes flit about in the dark says everything about her state of mind.

We were not meant to live all closed in together like this. Such places are the furthest thing from natural under the blue sky.

Upon arriving at the fishery and noting its various entrances and exits, the rest of the assembled party begins to list off their skills and set about formulating plans. Shadi, though not volunteering to do either for the time being, lets out a little sigh as Creissus 'nominates' himself for a stealth mission and promptly disappears, before reappearing ere too long. She does not get a chance to tell him that closing in alone is a moronic idea, that if he is caught there will be no immediate reinforcements, and feels no need to mention the fact upon his return. Instead, she weighs in on the problem before them.

"Two sneaky ones could go in quiet and take out those who watch in the building," she offers at last. "I have a magic to help, to speak to you through the earth. They will not hear, but you cannot go too far. I can stay out by the door and be ready to enter, along with someone else."

Offering to coordinate with Message with a stealth party while Shadi and maybe another person goes towards the northern entrance. She'll be ready for a scrap.

[Amnestic]

You see no new figures as you quietly discuss plans, eventually settling on your two-pronged approach. The so-called diplomacy team heads around to the north end of the building, where light is pouring from the slightly ajar door. Your approach is across a similarly rotted set of wooden planks as what Creissus snuck across before, creaking with each step. With the three of you, it's harder to conceal your movements (if you even intended to) and after a moment you hear a high pitched voice inside call for a stop. A heartbeat passes as silence falls, then another, then another, before a face juts itself around the door frame. They're a gnome, you can immediately tell. The skin stretched around their widened eyes seems to have set in there, as if they have had their entire eyesockets extended to allow them to see more. The long brown hair atop his head doesn't fall against shoulders, instead each strand is spiked up, perfectly straight, as if made of wood instead of hair. It's only the ever so slight drift when he moves, his manic eyes darting between the three of you, that it takes on more of a hair quality.

In the same high pitched voice that called for quiet earlier, he practically screeches "Feck do you want!?" out, his voice cutting into the gloom of the night. The room behind him has gone quiet. No more churning of flesh and guts or tink-tink-tink of metal points on metal.

At the same time, the lockpicking team gets to work on opening the double doors in the darkness.


Gonna need a lockpicking check now that you're on the clock. I'm guessing from Scipio since he's the one who has thieves tools. DC13 to open.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points 2

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

Scipio blends in the shadows of the Docks, quite happy he doesn't have to do any kind of talking; here, where close to one can see him, he seems much more comfortable. He approaches the locked doors cautiously, hand on the hilt of the knife he carries by his side, most probably afraid a hostile voice is suddenly going to stop their advance. When the group arrives at the doors he quietly kneels and starts rummaging through the stuff he carries in the backpack, whispering to Loric first "Have a care, keep your eyes peeled; don't want to be caught with my pants down like an idiot." then he mumbles to himself "Here you are." when he finally finds a small leather bag which he immediately opens, revealing a set of lockpicks of various sizes and shapes; he looks Pogdan in the eyes and says "If you have any blessing from Abadar, sir, now's the time." before starting to work on the lock. He certainly knows what he's doing, but doesn't seem to be a professional - he frowns, huffs and has clearly having some troubles getting the better of the lock.

[roll0]

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin cleared his throat, looked to his companions, and hoped the others had made it to the back undetected. "Ser, I am Magistrate Ballard, of the Korvosian Bureau of Taxation. Armiger Crassius of the Order of the Nail accompanies. Open the door, and summon the owner, as we must inspect the premises to ensure that all incomes are being properly reported to the authorities."

OOC: Deception check, as required, [roll0]. Hopefully that works!

[TriciaOso]

Podgan nods in acknowledgment, and offers a quick prayer before touching the guard's shoulder.

Guidance: [roll0]

It feels extremely strange to pray to Abadar for this; he's prayed for lock-picking to go well in his life, that much is for sure, but never to the god of law. It comes out as much a prayer for metaphysical guidance as physical.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Walking alongside the gnome and his human associate, none of them having yet introduced themselves - as far as they knew this would be a one-time gig together - Loric stands guard, facing away to watch their flank as the man works his trade. He stands with his staff in hand, the head lowered into a waiting position. One with combat experience would recognize it as more of a spearman's stance than a staff stance.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3

Creissus doesn't miss a beat, picking up immediately after his companion. His normal relaxed demeanor is gone, replaced with cold steel in his spine and his eyes as he affects the demeanor of a Hell Knight. It has come to the city's attention that your master dresses well for the owner of a humble fishery. We will get to the bottom of this, and I assure you that anyone who complies will be ignored when final determinations are made. Any who stand in our path will be considered accessory to any crimes we may discover, pursuant to Code 2319. So it is written, so it shall be executed. He puts a hand on his rapier's hilt, tapping it with his finger as though he is more than eager to punish the guilty, looking down at the gnome with a vague insinuation of guilt.





Providing assistance to Aubin's already excellent roll. Feel free to roll again and see if we can get a higher roll.

[Amnestic]

The gnome glares at the two speakers, then looks beyond them to Shadi, his eyes raised. "Hellknights hiring horser muscle now is it? Tch." He spits, though where his distaste is directed - at the 'magistrate', the 'hellknight', or Shadi, isn't clear. Perhaps all three. "Pretty sure we're all paid up for the month, wait here for a minute, I'll fetch someone to talk this through." He doesn't wait for an answer, slamming the door shut in your faces. You hear grumbling grow quieter as he moves away, leaving you temporarily in the cold. He did seem to believe you, at least, and the door notably isn't locked, just shut.

At the same time around the side of the building, Scipio's finds his fingers faltering, but the image of Zellara's card reading blossoms into his mind unbidden. For a moment he sees two fates ahead of him. Unknown footpaths. One on the left, where his lockpicking fails, the other to the right, where the door swings open. Choosing the rightpath, his composure returns, buoyed by Pogdan's blessing, and the lock clicks open with a satisfying metallic sound. Now free, the heavy door swings open. The reek of brine and the stink of week-dead fish grows as you gain access to the fishery. A single desk sits in the middle of this room, with a moldy chair pushed up against it. The thick layer of dust and grime says it hasn't been used in months, if not years. You see the edge of ratty furs and straws heaped beneath the desk. Though you can't see what actually lurks beneath it, you hear a shuffling sound and a low growl. Sleepy at first, but quickly waking.


Only Loric rolled high enough on the initiative to potentially act before whatever is beneath the desk, so what comes next will depend on if he moves in or not.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin tested the door cautiously with the toe of his boot, quickly noticing that it was not locked, he looked to his companions and shrugged. "That simple, direct violence you wished for," he whispered to the stoic Shoanti woman, "is certainly within your grasp. Have a caution though, that these cretins do not shield themselves behind the bodies of street rats and orphans." Crossing the threshold, he drew the renaissance pistol from it's holster, deftly loading a paper cartridge into the barrel and ensuring the strike plate was clean.

OOC: Aubin will step in, load his pistol, and survey the entryway looking for any threats, or cries of alarm. Perception check, as it is, [roll0]. Yup, totally not an ambush, not at all.

[Amnestic]

The door that the gnome shut doesn't stay shut for long, as the 'negotiating' group pushes it open, spilling the light back into their faces. The sitnk in this room, a mixture of fish and sweat, is enough to make the eyes water. To the east, a large wooden trough holds a hideous mound of half-rancid fish, seaweed and brine. Filthy river water and fish blood stain the floor around this trough, and a pair of wooden schutes lead through holes in the eastern wall into a larger room beyond. To the west, a desk and chair sit in one corner, while a tall cabinet sits in the other. Four emaciated children - some of his 'Lamms' - stand around the trough, pitchforks too large for them in hand, half dug into the mound of fish carcasses. They all peer at the entering group, fear in their eyes and terror stilling their motions. "Oh I sees," the gnome says gleefully, a smile filling his manic features, "Want to do this the hard way do ya?" He pulls a razor sharp kukri from his belt, the blade gleaming in the lantern light.

Loric gets enough of an eye to see that a dog - a muscly hound with ill temper in its eyes - is waking up. A guard dog in all sense of the word, yet if acted on quickly you might be able to silence it before it alarms the entire building.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/865686365629579324/unknown.png

The aside from the doors you've opened besides your characters, the rest of the doors you can see are shut - including the one between the dog and the blonde to the east, that's just revealed because Creissus scouted it.

Initiative wise only Shadi and Loric rolled high enough to beat the enemies, so those two->Enemies->Everyone.

For the sake of PbP simplicity actual initiative order for the party won't matter a great deal, and in the event something happens where one person wants to do something before another, I'll usually go with whatever outcome is most beneficial - though the same will often apply for the enemies in turn. Also it happened here but in the case of initiative ties between player+enemy, I'll always preference the players going first because it's more fun that way.

This is also a good opportunity to mention the Tumble variant rule from the DMG is in effect, since chances are you'll be tripping over orphans aplenty and chances are you don't want to be murdering children. I hope. I really hope.


TUMBLE
A creature can try to tumble through a hostile creatures space, ducking and weaving past the opponent. As an action or bonus action, the tumbler makes an Acrobatics check contested by the hostile creatures acrobatics check. If the tumbler wins it can move through the hostile creatures space once this turn.

[TriciaOso]

Podgan prays once more for Abadar's guidance as things begin to escalate. Please, oh God of Law and Ditches, help us. Even just a little bit. Please.

Cast bless on me, Scipio and Loric -- won't help Loric his first turn, though.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 16
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Three times, Shadi stays quiet. She does not protest at being selected to be part of a 'diplomatic' greeting party, for the others surely know better and perhaps she might be of use as a silent looming figure. People tend to dislike her when she stands places. She does not speak up to stop Aubin when he claims to be a tax officer and names the rotund piper as a Hellknight, despite the fact that her presence unravels such a feeble fiction. Finally she does not rise to the bait when the horrid gnome decides to throw that old word at her.

The first time the Shoanti goes to say something is when Aubin steps through the door and addresses her directly. She lets out a cavernous sigh, pulling out her sword from its resting place - nearly three full feet of honed steel, with a handle of wrapped cloth and bone - and closes her eyes. For the second time that day, she allows herself to be one with the soil here. There is certainly enough of it; wet and churned and despoiled by bones and detritus though it may be, the earth always remains. She calls to it and feels it answer, sluggishly as is its wont but soon it arrives in roils.

Underneath the feet of everyone standing nearby is a faint tremor, and suddenly waves of calcified stone appear as though out of nowhere all over Shadi's skin. Mostly limestone this time, the chalky joins in stark contrast with the dark soft skin underneath, but there are whorls of granite and marble. The suit of armor - for there is no mistaking it from anything else - expands to cover nearly every inch of Shadi, save for visor-like slits for her eyes. She steps forward with an audible crunch, elbowing Aubin out of the way with a roughness that is certainly not accidental.

"Knowing and wishing are not the same," she chastises softly, her voice the same under her new helm. "At least you are good at wasting time."

Shadi is using her action to activate Stone's Durability and bring her AC up to 16, then she is moving past Aubin to take the frontline position. Ideally she will close with the gnome and let herself be flanked by the children, which would then let Crease and Aubin move in to flank them. I've got my Shield spell at the ready.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Ears detecting the unmistakable sound of a guard dog awakening, Loric springs into action. He slips into the room, adjusting the position of his staff to strike around the obstacle of the desk shielding the beast from the door. He attempts to kick it in the throat to shut it up, then drives the staff into its head, aiming for a killing blow. But his body is slow than it once was - out of shape, out of practice.

[roll0] attack with staff
[roll1] damage (2h)

[roll2] bonus action attack with unarmed kick
[roll3] damage (I believe the monk's bonus action attack counts as a normal attack, not offhand, since offhand features usually specify)

[Amnestic]

"Get 'em, or I'll feed you to the dog!" The gnome's battlecry is as much manic aggression as it is desperation as he watches the stone 'armour' form up on Shadi's skin. Whatever he'd been expecting from your group, it hadn't been that. The children, fear still in their eyes, nevertheless move forward. They brandish their stinking, fish-gut laden pitchforks at Shadi, thrusting forward with ill-timed and worse-balanced strikes. Only one attack actually strikes the stone skin, but even that one doesn't come close to chipping at her defenses. They are, at the end of the day, starving children. The gnome is either luckier or more skilled. Using the children's poor attacks as a distraction he slips his blade in a small area on the back of the knee, where the stone is a bit thinner and slices hard across it. While the blade comes away clean of blood, the damage is still felt. Satisfied, or perhaps overly cautious, he dips away from Shadi, taking cover behind an orphan.

When Loric strides in the hound is still waking up, blinking sleep from its eyes. The snap kick to its throat does more than simply choke down the animal's yelps however, the powerful blow crushes the beast's throat entirely. It chokes on nothing for a few moment before slumping over, the shock ending its consciousness, and the lack of air ending its life soon after. The darkness of the front room of the building settles in again, but the movement and brief fight hasn't gone entirely unnoticed. You hear movement behind the door to your east, though with the desk shoved up against it, it's unlikely you'll be able to push through. It's impossible for the lockpicking team to miss the yelling and sounds of fighting to their north either.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/866591216711761930/unknown.png

Loric oneshots the dog.
Shadi takes 4 slashing damage and the angry gnome then disengages to take cover behind a child.

We're not using the flanking rules, but I might poll the group after this 'dungeon' if they'd like to change that.

Everyone's up now, though Pogdan's already had their turn posted.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 12 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Deftly stepping around the Shoanti warrior, Aubin moved into the room. As he feared, Lamm's associate moved into the crowd of orphans, trying to use the starving, street rats as cover. A frown on his face, he gracefully leapt onto the desk in the north western corner, allowing his comrade in arms a clear path to entry, from his elevated position he took aim and pulled the trigger. "You should have surrendered good ser, this, is now, upon you."

The hammer fell forward, sparking the strike plate, with a roaring, thunderous boom, a cloud of acrid, powder smoke hung in the air as the bullet struck true.

OOC: Move Action; Acrobatics to hop onto the Desk in NW corner, possibly drawing an AoO from Orphan to Shadi's immediate N. Acrobatics check [roll0]. Attack action, fire Pistol at the Gnome, [roll1], for [roll2], piercing damage.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 2/3

About the time the firearm went off, Creissus realized that battle had been joined, Surveying the situation, he decided that rather than leap into action against the gnome with the razor (and therefore putting himself at risk), his efforts would be better applied to disarming and subduing the cluster of children currently poking and prodding at Shadi. Unslinging his guitar from his back, he took a moment to adjust his hat for maximum jauntiness before entering the room with a struck chord and a perfect note.

Children, oh children
Please put down your arms
For we mean you no harm
We'll free you and feed you
Though most don't give a damn
We'll deliver you from the clutches
Of the foul Gaedren Lamm


Finishing his impromptu verse, Creissus, always his own worst critic, has to swallow a look of disgust at his malformed rhyming structure. Switching to spoken word, he punctuates the song by saying Throw down your forks and wait outside, and we'll feed each of you till your bellies are rounded over once we punish your foul master! He adds one final strum of his guitar, sending a wave of inspiring magic at Shadi to aid her sword arm. He was certain this fight was far from over.





Moving inside along the western wall. Aubin should have already triggered the reaction attack of the child near the door. Attempting a Persuasion to get the children to stand down- [roll0]. Using a bonus action to give Shadi inspiration- feel free to add a d6 to an ability check, attack roll, or save you make in the next 10 minutes.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 10\10 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: Bless - Harrow Points: 1

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

Even though everything's happening way faster Scipio had imagined, the old training of the Korvosan Guard kicks in and he moves in, quite ready to storm the place. Sounds of battle comes from the north, then the unmistakeable sound of a pistol being discharged; he rushes forward towards the door and crashes into it, trying to open it with a solid shoulder bash and his own weight. The scene he finds in the room leaves him dazed for a moment - Aubin on a desk with a smoking gun, Crease singing a limerick to a bunch of kids and Shadi that doesn't look much like the woman he met that evening.

Time is of the essence, however, and he tries to identify the threat Aubin shot at: what Scipio had mistaken for a child is instead an armed gnome; he picks something from one of his pouches, a small crystal that he immediately breaks before trying to strike the gnome down with the spear now emitting a low, discordant sound.

Scipio moves and uses his free object interaction to open the door; he casts Booming Blade on the gnome as soon as he's in the room.

[roll0] [roll1] Damage [roll2]

[TriciaOso]

Podgan takes a deep breath and hurries after them. His stomach churns when he sees the children in the mix.

Well, what did you think you would happen? he berates himself. What would you have done?

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The strike intended to be a killing blow strikes beside the beast's head, but it proves unnecessary. Pulling his weapon back, Loric hears the gun go off, undoing the work he'd hoped to accomplish keeping a modicum of silence. Recalling Cressius' earlier warning that the door would be blocked, he swiftly moves back out through the door and circles the building along the old boardwalk to ensure their accountant does not escape.

Move 2 W, 3 S, 9 E.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 6/10, AC: 16
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi barely feels the brunt of the children wailing on her, but her stare is fixed on the cowardly gnome as he cuts through her armor and goes to hiding behind a child. Her armor shifts and cracks, the only warning sign of what comes next. She pushes down the sliver of cold doubt that she faces at the idea of what she is about to do.

"Do you think that hiding behind them will protect you?"

With her front leg, the Shoanti warrior stomps her stone-covered foot directly into the floorboards. The second she makes contact, the entirety of the building begin to quake and rumble ominously as a localized blast of tectonic force erupts from her position.

Shadi is casting Earth Tremor. All creatures other than Shadi within a 10 ft radius (which should be the gnome, the kids, and Aubin) have to make a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw or take [roll0] damage and be knocked prone. Hopefully I roll low enough not to become a mass child-murderer!

[Amnestic]

The snap of Aubin's bullet through the fishery brings everything to a halt for a moment as all involved need a moment to recover from the sound. No moreso than the gnome, whom is struck hard by it, penetrating straight through the armour into their shoulder. Their arm falls limp as blood begins to trickle down it, but it doesn't cause a surrender. The kukri slips from their injured grip, but it's scooped up by their one remaining good hand.

When Shadi shakes the earth with her spell it's difficult for everyone involved to remain standing, and indeed three of the orphans find it to be too much. The vibrations running up their emaciated forms cause them to drop to the ground, shivering and shaking. The last one in this room drops their pitchfork, ignoring Creissus' words, and runs past the unconscious forms of his friends. He ignores the gnome's yelling, ignores the looks on your faces, and breaks into the cold night. Fear compelled him to fight, and now fear has driven him away. Cursing his luck, he barely avoids Scipio's booming spear. His attempt to retaliate falls short, his aim hindered by using his offhand and the bullet in his shoulder. Face contorted with fury, the gnome leaps across the fish guys, accumulating some stink along the way. He slams through the door into a larger room, but makes no effort to close it after himself. His mind seems set solely on escaping, now that his shield of orphans has been broken.

"Gruller, what the hell is going on!?" you hear a voice call. It's snide, as if his nose is permanently raised at everyone and everything, but the superiority in tone is hindered by the confusion of a gunshot being fired a few rooms away from him. "Some crazy Magistrate jus' shot me!" the gnome calls back, the deception you facilitated still holding strong despite his injuries. "There's four of 'em at least, maybe more." A third voice, one close to Loric, begins giggling. It's a mad laugh, one of excitement and glee due to them being attacked. He's dressed lightly, with a longbow slung over one shoulder and a brutal flail in one hand which he bangs upon the raised walkway. "Get ready little ones. If you let them through you'll be sent below." More laughter. It bubbles from his throat, breaking forth from a giggle to a roar before subsiding once more, though his 'comrades' and the children clustered around the base of the room clearly don't find the matter funny. The children all clutch at the pitchforks they've been using to stir the slurry, while the well-dressed man unhooks a vial from his belt, gleaming with green liquid.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/867842786366455838/unknown.png
I'm revealing the next room because I'm anticipating at least one of you will get in there on your next turn and it saves me waiting a few hours and then revealing it anyway.

Aubin takes 1 from the earth tremor, but stays standing.

Unfortunately, the gnome made his save too. He attacks Scipio, but misses, then dives across the fishy guts and slams through into the next room (disengaging in the process).

3 of the kids (marked in red) are down for the count from the earth tremor, and are making death saves, though they all passed their first one. The one who didn't get knocked down runs past you all into the night. Sadly, Creissus' pleas fell on deaf ears.

If Loric wishes, they may try to break through the boarded up windows to burst into the room. AC12, 4HP because they're rotted.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

"No!" shrieks Podgan, as the children collapses before the Shoanti's magic. One of them survives and escapes, but the others...

He darts forward and skids to his knees beside the nearest child; completely unaware of the combat around him at all. He looks over the injured child, and his stomach churns with horror at the damage, but a veil of cold calm falls over him. He's trained for this. He saw too many of his friends fall and wasn't able to help them, but he is not that child any more, and this child--this child will live.

He can't reach the others right now, but waves a hand at the farthest out of reach, speaking a holy syllable and sending healing magic into the child.

Just one more.

26 Medicine check for one, 6 hp for the other.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: Bless, False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

After Shadi's stunt, Scipio seems to decide it would be wiser to give her a wide berth - instead of immediately pursuing the gnome he stays put, takes a small bottle with some glowing liquid in it from one of his pouches and promptly drinks it; whatever was in the bottle was quite certainly of magical nature, since now his veins are unnaturally engorged. He then cautiously moves and peeks around the corner where one of the kids is laying down unconscious and whispers to Pogdan "Going to cover you, sir. And watch out for the Shoanti, she doesn't seem to care who gets in her way."

Scipio casts False Life for [roll0] Temporary Hit Points, then moves where the lowermost kid was.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

After a brief glimpse through the grimy window in passing, Loric crouches down and moves past the next window as quietly as he can to check the back of the fishery for threats. His staff remains ready in hand.

Action to Hide.
[roll0]
Move 3 E to check around the corner.
If the green guy moves past the window, can he attempt an AoO through it with his staff? If so,
[roll1] to hit +2 from Bless
[roll2] damage

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 10/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 2/3

Crease drew his rapier and moved around Shadi, careful not to step on the bodies of the children Pogdan was aiding. He shot the barbarous woman a look of mingled fear and disgust on his way by, having just seen her level magic at children. He hoped she had just panicked when she was surrounded, but now was not the time. Moving past, however, he came up behind the gnome and began waving people into the room. Hellknights! Advance! Round up the children, and put the adults to the sword! Then he began to mutter under his breath, his attention splitting between the wounded gnome and the madman with the longbow. With his left hand Creissus played a brief rat-a-tat-tat on the drum on his side, sending out damaging and frightening psychic magic at both of them.





Rolling a deception to give the impression that back up is on it's way- [roll0]. Moving adjacent to the gnome and casting dissonant whispers on him and the longbowman, using his twin spell metamagic with a sorcery point so he can target both. They each make a DC 13 Wisdom Save- gnome [roll1], and bowman [roll2] to halve this damage [roll3] psychic. If they fail they also must use their reactions to get as far from me as possible. If the gnome fails Crease makes an AoO- [roll4] to hit and [roll5] damage.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

"NOOOOO!"

Aubin watched the chaos unfold, events progressing in, what seemed like slow motion, horror and shock writ clear on his face. Two voices called over the roar of the weapon, one confused, calling to the commotion, the other committing yet more children to the criminal's defense for fear of some lurking punishment. However, the most shocking, was the actions of his own companions, the Shoanti woman, driven be vengeance, rage, or simply, callousness, summoned her magics, sending forth a tremor that shook the foundations of the fishery, cracking floor boards, and sending her assailants, including the children, sprawling.

Watching the Factor attend to two of the more seriously injured street rats, Aubin dashed to the third, stowing his pistol in it's sheath as he did so, he knelt beside the child, checking his breathing and trying to determine the extent of his injuries and stabilize their condition. "Stay with me son," he murmered as he worked on the injuries, "I know it hurts, but we're here now, we've got you, just a little longer."

OOC: Busy week, and while we were trying to help Cultist struggle with the consequences of their posted actions, I forgot I hadn't yet posted. So sorry for the delay! I will move to the third critically injured child, and try to apply a Medicine check to stabilize them. I am, however, untrained in Medicine, so it is a straight Wis- check, [roll0].

Son of a ... and Harrow are Dex- only. Sorry kid >.<

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 6/10, AC: 16
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shale, blood and bone. She knows the song of the steppe, the manifold heat of the shimmering Storval Plateau playing melodiously over her skin while the cool thrummings of bedrock form the baseline. Shadi has heard it in her dreams since she was a girl, ready to forge out and choose her destiny.

As she watches the children collapse under the swell of the magics, their own bodies crumpling under the strain of the force she conjured, Shadi knows that she chose the wrong music. The Shoanti tribesman sees them fall as if from far away, reaching out a futile hand as though to reverse time and bring them back. They should have stayed standing, some part of her tries to rationalize. I have used those magics before, and my opponents still stood at spell's end. She had hoped they would be knocked down, the way to the true enemy clear; yet she has underestimated her own strength.

And innocents now are to pay the price.

Her debt grows. She is no healer, and as the rest of the group that accompanied her begins to tend to the fallen - the children - she steps over them, face affixed in a granite glower as she brings her sword up to try and cut down the true enemy: the fleeing gnome.

Shadi is going to move through the open door to try and attack Gruller the gnome with her greatsword.

Attack: [roll0] for [roll1] damage

[Amnestic]

Resolute in the face of her foe, Shadi's blow strikes true and hard. The gnome had little chance of standing up to her strength when fully brought to bear, and the sharpened blade neatly slices straight through his leather armour, through his body, and out the other side. Now in two parts, the gnome's body collapses to the steps, steadily rolling down it. This display of power is enough that it stops any of the children from climbing the stairs, even as the giggling half-orc urges them on with yells of "Get them! Get them!"

Aubin's fingers, perhaps still shaking from the after effects of the spell or simply nerves, find it difficult to locate the exact point of injury and stabilise the child before him. Its breathing ragged, stuttered. Pogdan has more luck, his training and experience in the healing arts paying off dividends. By carefully positioning the boy, raising his head, adjusting his posture, the breathing settles. Though he remains unconscious, he's in no further danger. Likewise when a divine word falls from Pogdan's mouth to wrap one of the children in its warm embrace, they awake immediately, springing to their feet and bursting past Creissus into the night. They do not look back, or thank you, all they do is run.

Creissus slips past the children, and Shadi, to enter the room proper. His spell wraps around the frustrated and angry minds of the two adult opponents in the room, forcing them into a retreat, albeit a temporary one. The moment the spell's malicious grip on them ends the giggling half-orc turns around, slamming his flail into the fishery wall and lodging it there, before unslinging his longbow and loosing an arrow at the 'nobleman'. It strikes, though thankfully avoids marring his face, instead skating across the edge of his wrist and slicing through the cuff of his clothes.

The sneering blonde returns just as well, though his attack is less effective. Once back up to the railing after his previous retreat, a bottle of acid is retrieved from a bag or pocket or pouch and hurled at Shadi. Though the glass vial shatters against her skin unleashing a noxious green liquid, it has no effect. It sizzles against stone but ultimately its effect is that of water; at best it has made her slightly damp.

Around the side of the building Loric's exploration continues. Peeking around the riverside of the building, he spots nothing less than a ship's hull, or what remains of it. The rotten deck of this ancient sailing ship seems to be barely intact; its hull is worn and thick with seaweed and barnacles. The ship is held together primarily by the layers of old rope that lash it securely to the pilings that support the fishery and the nearby boardwalk. The rickety walkway leads along the ship’s starboard, a foot below its railing. A single wooden door leading into the aft cabin bears a crude painting of a red fish on its surface. Though it's difficult to make out at the angle, it looks like there's a second path exiting out from the side of the ship below the building, to a lower floor of the fishery. A lower floor that, at least from your investigations so far, there is no other clear path to.



https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/870036970137591858/unknown.png

Shadi ends Gruller's life.
As noted, Aubin's stabilisation attempt was unsuccessful, but Pogdan stabilised one and healed another, who's now out the door.
For the sake of not losing out on a spell or slash, I retargeted Dissonant Whispers from the gnome to the blonde man, so both he+Giggles took the damage. Giggles retaliates and hits Creissus with an arrow for 5 piercing damage.
Loric gets a peek around the corner. No other doors into the fishery, but the window remains an option.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan moves to the last child, gently pushing Sir Aubin towards the door, and whispers a prayer to Abadar; not healing the child, but stabilizing him. If he hadn't panicked, he realizes, he could've done the same for the first one.

He can hear children in the next room, and seeing Crease and Shadi disappear through the door, he feels anxiety lurch in his chest. He pushes into the doorway--not enough to pass, but well enough to see into the room--and vanishes, reappearing in the midst of the children. He is hardly bigger than any of them, but his armor and his shield are enough to feel secure in the face of their pitchforks or even the giggling half-orc's bow.

"Don't be afraid!" he says to them. "Please. You don't have to fight for them." He looks at the half-orc and blonde man in disgust and terrified fury, then under the catwalk. He can't reach it, but perhaps the children can.

"We won't let them hurt you anymore." He hopes he can keep his promise.

Spare the Dying; movement; Misty Step.

Persuasion: [roll0].

If Podgan takes damage from one of the adults, he will use his reaction to turn invisible and give the other one disadvantage, but not if it's one of the children.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Peering around the corner, Loric's eyes take in the wreckage of the ship. No longer seaworthy, it sits here as much a gutted corpse as the fish that flow through this place. Then, his eyes trace the small walkway leading beneath the fishery, into the hidden places.

But the sounds from inside pull him away from thoughts of hideaways and of prey. Stepping in front of the window and adjusting his stance, he drives the staff through to strike the half-orc in the back. With an opening made in the window, he reaches through to grab the giggling monster and try and slam his head into the window frame.

Move 1 W. Attack on Giggles through the window.

[roll0] to hit with staff
[roll1] Hide Advantage if applicable
+ [roll2] Bless + 3 (Bardic Inspiration in Discord)
[roll3] damage

[roll4] to hit with unarmed strike bonus action
+ [roll5] Bless
[roll6] damage

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: Bless, False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio warily watches the Shoanti charge and doesn't seem too keen to follow her down the stairs - Pogdan has however other plans and when the gnomish priest disappears, the former watchmen mutters a curse and looks around, trying to find another way instead of cluttering the fleet of stairs where his "companions" are now standing. He waves at Aubin, a hint to follow him, and then moves towards the room they entered the compound - a door unlocked, a small corridor, then another door unlocked as well; he moves urgently, most probably quite worried for Pogdan, and seems a bit startled when he finds someone of apparently upper standing on the other side of the door.
Hesitation doesn't last long, though; from one of the pouches Scipio picks a small, dark crystal he cracks before trying to stab the nobleman with the spear that's emitting a low yet dangerous humming now.

Scipio moves and then casts Booming Blade on the "nobleman".

Booming Blade [roll0] Damage [roll1]
Extra Damage (if he moves) [roll2]

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 6/10, AC: 16
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi does not speak or even react to being soaked with the blood of the now-bifurcated gnome. A rock does not speak, so why would she? Beneath the mask of claiven earth, dark eyes survey the room as hands flick the worst of the gore from the monstrous blade but not her chest or neck. The incoming acid rain does little to deter the woman either, as the payload emulsifies with the existing viscera in foam-thick streams down her stone hide. What sloughs off is nothing more than mottled pitch, leaving behind coal-black stippling.

She can take it.

Her gaze snaps towards the source of the attack. The blonde man seems to be giving the orders, so he will be the next to die. Barely paying any attention to the dandy prancing around her, the great Shoanti bends at the knees and pushes off the ground in a splintering ascent. She leaps clear of the stair rail, hanging weightless in the air for a moment before the trajectory of her jump brings her crashing down on the far side of the pool of water at the base of the room. As she comes down, Shadi takes a knee to cushion the landing and puts out her off-hand to crunch into the base of the floor with a great thud.

Her head slowly rises to find the giggling orc in front of her. Clenching her sword once more, she begins to stride inexorably up the far stairs.

Shadi is going to perform her great leap to clear the pool in the room and do a big three point landing, then move up to be adjacent to the giggling orc on the stairs with her action (taking a double move).

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 5/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

When the arrow flew towards his face, Creissus threw up his hands to protect his money maker. When the arrow drew a line of blood across the top of his wrist and cleanly cut through his fine clothes, he took a moment to grip the wound and hiss under his breath in pain, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Then he looked up at the giggling orc with the rage of a petulant child played across his features. You piece of filth... this shirt is worth more than your life! Spotting Loric behind the offender, Crease played a few beats on his drum and shouted Oh Loric! Do me the greatest of favors and punch his laughing teeth down his idiotic throat, will you? That done, Creissus resumes chanting and whispering under his breath, but the words quickly rise to an authoritative shout. Flee, knaves! Flee before us like shadows before the eminence of the rising sun! The Charge of King Mendos, page sixty four, line seventeen! Another invisible wave of magic moved across the room, splitting to wash over the acid throwing posh man and the cursed longbow wielding orc again. Then Crease turned tail and moves back into the previous room, out of range of further reprisal.





Bonus action to Bardic Inspiration Loric. Have a free d6 on me. Action to cast Dissonant Whispers, again with twin spell, spending my last sorcery point. Pompous save- [roll0] and Giggler save [roll1]. Success vs. DC 13 means they halve this damage- [roll2] and don't have to run away. If Giggler runs, Loric should get an AoO. Lastly, Crease moves back into the previous room to form the rear guard. Sure... rear guard... that's what it is. Not cowardice.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

His hands still shaking, he stepped aside allowing the diminutive Factor to do his work, admiring the practiced manner in which he arranged the child, so as to preserve their life. Noting the wave, he moved with the Factor's companion, Scipio, to the south the room with the form of the slain mastiff, it's great tongue lolling out of it's mouth. Another casualty of Lamm's cruelty, no doubt, starved and beaten into a vicious, near feral creature. Everything, he thought to himself, that that man touches. They entered a short corridor, Scipio opened the door with a swift hand, and seemed startled by the presence of a blond haired compatriot of Lamm's, a quick thrust of his spear that did little to dissuade the man from attacking them, Aubin stepped forward.

His hand did not shake, sparing a life was something he was unaccustomed to, the taking of, however ..., "DOWN!" He yelled as he put a hand on Scipio's shoulder and pushed him towards the wall. A deafening roar as smoke powder and lead filled the short hallway.

OOC: I am fine spending a Harrow Point to ensure this hits, so the 1st roll will be my Attack, if it hits, I'll keep the Harrow Point, if it misses however, I will spend the Harrow Point to eliminate the blond haired man at the landing. Move to follow Scipio, I will, however, be forced to fire through his square, granting my target some cover. Attack check with Pistol, [roll0], if unsuccessful, Harrow Point re-roll, [roll1]. If Attack the 1st, or 2nd is successful, it will deal [roll2], piercing damage, with another [roll3], if I happen to score a crit.

If a 17 misses, due to cover, I will re-roll, but obviously miss entirely.

[Amnestic]

Pogdan and Shadi both cross the main workfloor in dramatic strides - Shadi with force of feet, Pogdan with mystical movement. Unfortunately Pogdan's words don't seem to reach the children, who remain frozen in place for now, eyes still wide with panic and confusion at the scene that's unfolding around them - blood and carnage from strangers, and no clear exit. Forward they would have to push through Creissus, back they'd have to go through Giggles - and now Shadi too. Instead they remain where they are, clutching their pitchforks close but unmoving.

When Creissus incants his spell for the second time, Giggles manages to overcome it this time, his pained laughter reaching raucously loud, overwhelming the whispers in his mind. The snidely blonde is less lucky, and even as he evades Scipio's booming weapon, he turns to flee, doing so right into the sight of Aubin. The bullet speeds past Scipio's right ear and into your enemy's neck, before exiting the other side in a shower of scarlet life. What fleeing he was intent on ends immediately as he collapses to the ground. He splutters once, twice, before falling still as the blood begins to pool around him and seep through the boardwalk to the ground floor below, his deadened eyes staring up at the ceiling in shock.

Only one enemy remains that you can see, but even with his laughing off Creissus' spell he doesn't go unharmed. Loric smashes through the boarded window with his staff to create an opening and successfully grabs hold of the man's head to ram it into the wall. Dazed, confused, but not dead, the laughter continues unabated. Maddened, growing ever louder. He ignores Shadi - perhaps to his future detriment, and instead tugs a potion from a pocket and downs it on one gulp. With uproaring laughter his meaty fist closes around his flail's grip once more and he swings it wide and round to retaliate against Loric, only to find it lodging in the wall once more. He swung too wide, too hard, too fast, and in the process missed his mark entirely.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/870647527135911956/unknown.png

Between Creissus and Aubin, Yargin the blonde who didn't end up getting named by anyone dies.
Giggles is still standing, having made his save against the dissonant whispers. He takes Loric's hit, quaffs a healing potion and then completely misses Loric with his flail, after discarding the longbow.

Unless you all roll colossally badly (possible!) next turn I think you've got this one in the bag.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

I can't do it, he had thought. I can't take a man's life, but I will help those who will.

That was before he was here; like living in a flashback to his past. Hearing them threaten the children.

He fires a lance of radiant energy at the giggling half orc, his mind black with anger.

25 to hit and a whole 3 damage. He's glowing, though.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Flinching to the side as the madman swings his flail, Loric finds the movement ultimately unnecessary as it strikes the wood of the wall instead. Adjusting his stance back into striking position, he reaches in to wrap his staff around the man's neck and drag him down into the splintered glass and boards of the broken window.

Just some flavor for another pair of attacks.
[roll0] to hit with staff
[roll1] Guiding Bolt Adv
+[roll2] Bless
[roll3] damage

[roll4] to hit with unarmed strike
+[roll5] Bless
[roll6] damage

[Amnestic]

Ducking aside from Loric's staff is one thing, but it leaves the half-orc open to the javelin of light that pierces through his chest. He stumbles back into the window, just in range for Loric to wrap an arm around his neck and tense the muscles, snapping the life out of him. A final choked laugh brings an end to the half-orc, and the fight. Peering past the dead body of the half-orc, Loric can finally get a better view of the children - and see that he recognises none of them. The Boy isn't here, but a half-dozen other children are. With the last adult dead they only have each other to cling to, quickly forming a tight circle, all facing outwards with their pitchforks held forth in a defensive manner. Their teeth are grit, but their eyes are wet with panic, their hands slick with sweat, and their knees shaking. Your swift killing of the adults who they've feared for so long will doubtless be cause for celebration in time, but for now all they have is fear as to what you will do to them now that their 'masters' are no longer alive.


First combat concluded, but there's no sign of Gaedren, at least in this part of the Fishery.

I'll go over spoils once someone says they're going to be looting the bodies and/or Fishery, don't want to step on toes for whomever wants to try talking down the kids.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

After the fight Scipio throws a worried look to Pogdan and asks "Are you well, sir?" no names, of course - the less potential witnesses can say to the Guard or the Hellknights, the better. Then he starts picking up the weapons of the fallen enemies, patting them just in case they have some hidden dagger here and there and also checks if they're still alive - might look like he's just looting, but he ignores coin or other valuables and seems focused on what could be used to harm someone; when done he piles all he has found in a corner, out of immediate reach of potential enemies (including the scared kids).

Here's an Investigation roll to find hidden stuff.

[roll0]

[TriciaOso]

"I'm all right," he confirms, his attention still on the children around him.

"You're all right," he says. Prays. He tries to remember the patois he spoke when he was one of these children, but abandons it as hopeless; small he may be, but he is not one of them anymore, and no half-remembered patter is going to help.

"I was one of you, once. I can take you to the people who helped me escape. For now... for now, there is a woman who can take you in. Until we're done here."

"We're going to stop Lamm. For good."

Persuasion: [roll0]

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

He looked to Scipio, "Did you find a set of keys, or an envelope on him? Something to lead us to Lamm?" As he spoke, he turned so his back was to the larger room, reloading his pistol, he watched their flank to ensure that Lamm or his associates could not approach and catch them unawares.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 5/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

Peeking into the room, Crease finds their opposition quite dead. He walks in and down to where the children are, adding his voice to Podgan's. We seek to end Lamm's ability to harm children like you, but for that we need to find them. Do any of you know where he is hiding? We promise he won't be able to hurt you anymore.





Providing advantage to Podgan. [roll0] if you don't mind me rolling it for you to save posts, Tricia.

[Amnestic]

The collected children look at you nervously, swaying side to side, and there's a few hushed whispers between them that you can make out as saying things like "can't trust them" and "they'll shoot us dead!" but finally one boy - the oldest, by the looks of him - lets his pitchfork hang loose in one hand, lowering it from a ready position. One child hisses "Kester, what're yo-" but the boy, Kester, shushes him. "If they were gon' kill us they'da done i'already! Loo' wha' they did ta Giggles and Gruller." His words seem to hold sway over the children, who one by one steadily lower their own weapons. "Lamm's down below, s'where he always is. Only way down is through the ship, least so far as I know," Kester points out to the vessel that you Loric observed earlier. "Yargin had a special way to drop stuff down but I don' think you'd fit, was for stuff we nabbed on t'streets, not for people, though..." He hesitates as he looks Pogdan up and down. "You migh' be able ta fit?" He pauses again, still a little bit wary. "There's spiders on the ship, bu' don' go in t'river to get roun' em, there's a shark or somethin' worse down there." It seems like that's all he has to say for a moment, but another orphan tugs on Kester's rags with another whispered word. Kester nods and turns back to you, somewhat more awkward. "Mr. Lamm, ah...he took Nodder down below. Told Puddles ta bring back five hundred gold by midnigh' or she wouldn' see him again." Kester, hands empty now, clutches at one arm with anger, the bruises clear. "P...please save him." He suddenly thrusts forward in a haphazard and completely ungraceful bow, but his head is lowered horizontal. The other children hesitate for a moment before repeating the motion and request, the chorus of please save him filling the room for a single moment that nevertheless echoes into you.

With the children being tended to, Scipio is able to rummage over the bodies and recover whatever he wishes freely. There's no one to stop him, and Aubin's vigilant watch ensures that no one sneaks up on you - though guards arriving for gunshots at the docks at night is unlikely enough to begin with. On the blonde he finds a number of items - a small stone engraved with a thunderbolt, a tightly clapsed leather bag that seems to squirm against your grip, some more acid, two keys - one brass, one iron - and around his neck is a gemstone amulet.

From the dead gnome, there's his kukri, a small case containing facepaints, artificial hair and other items to forge a disguise, another iron key, and a handful of coins. Finally Giggles has two potions of healing, his longbow and flail, plus a bag that jingles with coinage - 72 in all.


From Yargin the blonde who never got named while alive you find:
A magical wand of some sort, though you'll need time or an Identify spell to discern its effects.
3 more vials of weak acid (thrown item with 20/40 range, shatters on use, 1d4 acid damage)
1 Thunderstone (20' range, 10 radius DC10 con save or 1d4 thunder damage, blind+deafen until end of next turn. Half damage and no condition on success.)
1 Tanglefoot bag (10' square within 20', DC8 strength save or Restrained. Opposed strength check to break restrain. Creates difficult terrain and lasts for 1 minute.)
1 dagger
1 light crossbow with 10 bolts

A brass key, that seems to match the locks you saw on the outer and inner doors of the fishery.
An iron key, that at a glance probably matches the cabinet in the initial workroom that Gruller and the children were in
And a shiny amulet inset with a gleaming garnet gemstone. (DC11 Intelligence (Jeweler's Kit) check to appraise).

He's also wearing a set of leather armour.


On Gruller:
His Kukri, of course.
A disguise kit
Another iron key that is identical to the one that you recovered from Yargin.
And seven gold coins.

His armour is ruined due to damage.

On Giggles:

Two Potions of Healing (2d4+2)
Chainmail armour
His longbow, with 19 arrows.
His flail
and 72 gold coins.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

As the room echoed with the cries of the children, Please save Him! Please save him! Aubin gave a small, silent prayer to the Dawnflower, asking her to watch over these wayward souls, their innocence had been stolen, they deserved, at the least, a long-lived life, so they could find the love and joy that had, until this point, been denied them. He lifted the wooden sunburst to his lips, kissing it reverently, before tucking it back beneath his tunic.

Watching his companions search the area, he moved cautiously to the rear of the fishery, checking first the southern door, searching for a desk, coffers, something that would provide more information on the nature of Lamm's narcotics operations, underlings, dealings, and consumers. Probably too much to hope for, but still, if it was there and then bypassed it as they rushed to the ship's hold, he would never forgive himself.

OOC: Moving to the door that leads to the south-west corner of the fishery, looking for a desk, documents, or such that would help Aubin track down Lamm's associates who deal in Shiver and such. An Investigation check, if needed, [roll0], not his strong suit, but he wants to try. And doing it while the others are distracted means he doesn't need to discuss his motives, or admit to his addiction.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 5/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

Crease's eyes shifted awkwardly as the children begged for them to save the missing child. The bard didn't like taking on responsibility, especially with such dire consequences. Still, he would do his best. He may not be a man with much moral fiber, but he didn't want anything to happen to the ragamuffin. Taking a moment to rifle through the ill gotten gains they'd managed to secure, Crease picked up one of the healing potions and uncorked it, looking around at his companions to see if anyone was opposed before tipping it back and drinking the contents of the vial. He shivered a bit as the wound on his wrist regenerated, and by the time it was done he was smiling. Then he picked up the crossbow and bolts. He aimed down the sight and took in the weight of the weapon. I haven't used one of these since I was a young lad at our rural estate. I was a crack shot with it back then, though, and I don't think my skills have dulled that much. If anyone else desires it I can fall back to my less powerful spells, but this should pack considerably more punch.





[roll0] healing.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

After the giggling madman falls lifeless, Loric peers through the window and down into the room, trying to make out any familiar figure among the children. But The Boy is not there. Standing at the window listening to them, he picks up on some things that tense his hand around his staff. "The Boy is in danger. Distributing these mongrels' wealth can wait." He grabs Giggles' corpse and roughly drags it out through the broken window, bringing it with him.

Burning with purpose, he carries on down the dock towards the ship, on guard for these resident spiders. No stranger is he to abnormally large arachnids, but the ones from his homeland often came with jabbing stingers and grabbing claws, and a much worse attitude. Hopefully they would be more amiable - or at least momentarily lulled into false security - with a meal.

Upon reaching the ship, he looks for ways in, prepared to chuck the corpse in ahead of him and see how the arachnids react.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

At the sound of words from the window, Podgan looks up and realizes one of their group is forging ahead.

With a last word of reassurance to the children, he hurries up the ramp and calls to the others. "The tanner is going ahead! We have to follow him!"

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 6/10, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi stands unfurling amidst the carnage. The moment that the present threat is dealt with, the warrior lowers her blade. She descends down to the landing of the lower room, avoiding the gaze of child and adult alike. As she takes the first step, minute cracks appear around her wrists and ankles. Then the inside of her knees. Then her neck and shoulders. With each footfall the fissures grow, bits and pieces of blood-soaked stone sloughing off of her figure to reveal glistening muscle beneath. Shedding her skin, the Shoanti comes to stand before the others; Crease and Kester, Pogdan and Scipio.

She says nothing for a long while, regulating her ragged breaths until they're approaching steady. This is hardly anything new to her; but anyone watching would surely see a red-handed killer melting away and a wounded young woman taking her place. Her gaze settles on the children and does not waver. Shadi’s eyes are warm and expressive, though what they convey precisely is unclear. Guilt? Frustration? Regret?

"You are free," she says roughly to no victim in particular. "I am… sorry, that your friends fell. I only meant to stop them, not kill them. I am pleased that they still live. We will find Lamm and make sure he pays for putting you all here to die for him."

When she sees Loric slipping away to immediately go after the ship, Shadi breaks off speaking and frowns. She curses as Pogdan takes off right after the errant tanner, turning to the others. "Are we moving right away?"

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

I suspect we will have time after Lamm is dead to more thoroughly loot this business. However, if we wait too long and Lamm manages to escape, who knows when we will be able to locate him again? I say we follow Loric and press on. Crease takes a few steps, meaning to do just that, before looking back to see if anyone is following him.

[Amnestic]

The children finally seem calmed with your confirmation of help. Lead by Kester, they shuffle past the bisected corpse of Gruller back into the upper room where their injured (but stable) comrade lies. Between them, they lift him up and carry him into the one unexplored room on the upper level, which turns out to be a small sleeping area, though given the size and number of the beds its original use was most likely the adults, rather than any of the orphans.

While Aubin does get a brief look over of the desk that Yargin was previously sat on, the numerous slates of numbers require more time to investigate than his quick glance allows him. Almost immediately after he picks up a tablet to begin deciphering its contents Loric has disappeared with the body of Giggles. His swift feet carry him, weighed down or not. The moonlight above highlights a door towards the stern, and with no other options Loric's foot hits the deck - to his detriment. The added weight of Giggles body and the poor vision in the dark gives Loric's feet the perfect storm of being in just the wrong place at just the wrong time, and the rotting deck of the marooned, meager vessel gives way beneath him with a thunderous snap. Though only ten feet down the fall would normally drop a man, maybe even snap a leg, from its sudden and unexpected arrival, but Loric is faster and manages to angle Giggles corpse beneath him, softening the drop. It had caused the fall in the first place, and now it saved him just as much.

The interior of the ship is no more pleasant than the exterior. Dark and dank, the hold smells of mildew. Several barrels, crates, and other containers lie stacked here and there. Dust and grime cover the floor, except where river water has collected in puddles. Already Loric can make out the vague shapes of 'giant' spiders (which admittedly are still slightly smaller than your average cat) crawling out from behind thick webs and other detritus. Five, that you can see, but all clearly hungry for the intruder that made its way into their nest. Past them though, on the west side of the hull, is a hole back onto onto a wooden plank pathway, loosely tied with the same ropes as the one you were on just a moment before.


Had to split it between upper level and lower level.
Upper:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/561287824964452363/871859131542274118/unknown.png
Lower:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/561287824964452363/871863242778083368/unknown.png

The slightly drawn over square is where Loric fell through.

I tried to position people in 'realistic' positions for how quickly Loric took off and he was followed. Reminder that you can exit the building through the smashed up window to the southeast of Scipio.

As for initiative, while I expect most party members turns are going to be roughly "dash a lot", the official order is

Everyone except Loric->Spiders->Everyone, with Loric prioritised.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan catches up with Loric, just in time to see him drop through the deck of the boat. The gnome peers down into the hold, his cave-evolved eyes picking out the creeping spiders, and fires another lance of light, with much less moral qualm.

"Are you hurt?" he calls to Loric, as he tries to shift out of the way of the rest of the group on his heels.

[roll0]

[roll1]

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

During his cursory search he noted several of his companions rush past him to exit the building, moving towards the moored galley along the quay. Hearing shouts of alarm and concern, he turned from his intended purpose, and moved quickly along the dock. He dashed past Scipio, Cressius, the large Shoanti sorceress, and the Factor, before arriving at the gangplank. He immediately noted the ragged hole in the rotten deckboards, and the Tanner sprawled on one of Lamm's associate's corpse.

However, there seemed to be movement from the shadows, concerned for the Tanner's safety, he nimbly hopped onto the gunwale, hoping the hull more sturdy that the deck. He maneuvered himself into a position where he would have a line of fire on any creature that closed on the Tanner. "Make haste," he called to his companions, "but have a care the deck's not rotted through."

OOC: Move & Dash to end my movement on the eastern gunwale, just south of where Tanner fell through the deck. Acrobatics check, if required, [roll0]. Or not ... :sigh: ...

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

After the quick search, Scipio starts following the others (or more probably, just Pogdan) outside, even though he doesn't seem much in a hurry; he now wields his loaded crossbow instead of the spear - the Shoanti might've apologized, but the former watchman doesn't seem so keen to delve into melee at her side. A flash of light, then his gnomish friend asking to someone if they're hurt prod Scipio to move quickly, vaulting the smashed window and running to reach the others and see what's happening.

Move + Dash, Scipio stops besides Pogdan

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

Creissus advances across the dock, rattling slightly from the collection of weapons, instruments, and odds and ends he's got jangling and bangling from his body. When he sees the hole Loric has made he peers down into it, alarmed by the drop. He raised his crossbow and prepared to fire at a spider should it move to attack his ally.





Moving so Crease can see down the hole and firing the crossbow if the spiders move to attack- [roll0] to hit (Disadvantage makes that a 9 to hit) and [roll1] damage.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Spurred on by impulse, Loric takes a heavy step onto the deck of the ship and feels it give way. Moving automatically, he angles the body of the dead man beneath him to cushion the fall, landing in a crouch atop him after riding him down the short drop. Around him are spiders, predictably panicked by his sudden appearance.

He had hoped to bypass them without wasting more time. His unceremonious entrance would surely have left them too rattled to calm. No matter, he will have to adapt and overcome. "I am alright," he responds to the gnome above. The others are releasing volleys, so he kicks the corpse of Giggles out in front of him and takes a defensive stance to ward off the spiders with his staff and avoid being surrounded in the dark-shrouded hold.

Drop Giggles 1W, take Dodge action.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 6/10, AC: 16
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


The Shoanti woman does not hesitate to jump right back into the action, one hand held over her bleeding stomach to staunch the worst of the bleeding. Wine-dark dribbles through her fingers as she keeps pace with the others, keeping her weapon at the ready as the group charges after Loric onto the ship. He tumbles out of sight and Shadi wastes no time in re-suiting herself in the living rock chrysalis she was wearing earlier.

Shadi is spending her action activating Stone's Durability and then moving closer to the hole in the ship. She will jump down and join the fight next turn.

[Amnestic]

The platform around to the side of the boat holds fast, despite the creaking and shaking that it does as your collected group rushes up in Loric's wake. Pogdan's gleaming javelin of light pierces through the darkness for only a moment, skewering one of the cat-sized arachnids directly through its thorax, sending its collapsing body skittering across the lower hold floor. Scaling the gunwale, Aubin's foot slips out from under him against the wet, moss covered wood, sending him forward onto the deck that collapses out from the sudden impact. With one hole there already, he at least has enough wherewithal to brace properly, kicking against the hold wall to slow his fall and allow him to land on his feet - luckily, as a spider creeps up from behind him and launches itself in his direction. Even in the darkness his training pays off though as he deftly dodges at the last minute.

He's matched by Loric. With one spider adequately distracted by Giggles' body, the tanner is able to evade the other two spiders who try to nibble at his ankles, undistracted by the thud of Creissus' crossbow bolt slamming into the hull. At the very least the wood is still thick enough that you don't have to worry about it springing any sudden leaks.



https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/873943628786053140/unknown.png

https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/873944937828335646/unknown.png

Aubin broke through the ship after slipping off the gunwale. Made his dex save though, and then deftly dodged the spider.

Two spiders attacked Loric, who dodged them both. Another spider takes a bite out of Giggles' body.

Creissus' shot misses, but Pogdan pierces one with his radiant lance (that, unfortunately, does not offer light).

Everyone's up! These spiders may be little more than a roadbump at this rate.

If you willingly drop down from the top deck there's no dex save to make, since it can be assumed you're skating the walls or otherwise taking care not to fall over.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

Podgan frowns when he sees the Shoanti woman still trying to continue the fight while staunching a serious wound. Despite her mistake with the children, he doesn't bear her any particular ill-will, and he knows they will need everyone to finish this fight. He offers a brief prayer for her to Abadar before firing another lance of light at the spiders.

[roll]Healing Word for Shadi: [roll0]

Attack Roll for Radiant Lance: [roll1]

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Despite watching the deck boards crumble beneath the Tanner, Aubin, erroneously, assumed the Grunwald would support his weight. Finding it slick with moss, mold and disuse he too, tumbled through the darkness to land, heavily against the hull, before rolling to his feet.

A wet, ominous clicking, alerted him to the arachnid's assault. Dropping his left shoulder low, he rolled up, around the mandible, letting off a shot, angled upwards, towards the creature's left, so a miss,or misfire, wouldsend the errant shot towards the prow, rather than towards the south and east where his companions approaching.

OOC: I'll slip to the SW putting me on the spiders left flank, then spin and shoot it. Attack vs AC, [roll0], if successful, it deals [roll1] piercing damage. Harrow point reroll (in Discord channel), for 14 vs AC.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

"Watch out, sir. Don't risk too much. You're no good to anyone dead." Scipio says to Pogdan with barely more than a whisper, then boards the ship and heads towards the top of the stairs, cautiously peeking dowstairs before exposing himself - while he seems willing to fight, he doesn't seem so keen in rushing forward without a good enough reason (Pogdan in any danger might be one, as far as anyone can tell).
He kneels to be a little more accurate in firing the crossbow, lining up a shot to the spider right below him and warning the others as to avoid any potential friendly fire "Watch the stairs, I'm firing!"

Scipio moves and attacks with the crossbow.
Attack [roll0] Damage [roll1]

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

Cursing the darkness and reloading the crossbow for later, Crease instead waits for everyone else to attack the spiders, and if any survive he utters Join your friends, vermin., evoking psychic harm that can be resisted but not avoided. As far as getting onto the ship, he will wait to make the passage until he is sure the boat is done collapsing. Do any of you happen to have a rope? I'd rather not take the fastest route down.





Reserving action to cast Vicious Mockery on any surviving spiders. Spider makes a wisdom save vs. DC 13 [roll0]. If it fails it takes [roll1] psychic damage and has disadvantage on it's next attack roll.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Another lands beside him. Loric can't tell who it is in the dark, until he hears the deafening report of the man's weapon. Twisting to put his back to the new ally, he focuses on fending off the two spiders to the north. Making out what he can of their positions in the brief flash of light from the gnome's sunlight spear, Loric lashes out with his staff, and stomps with his foot, seeking to strike down the arachnids.

Attack with Staff against spider to the North.
[roll0]
[roll1] Disadv from Darkness
[roll2] damage

Attack with Unarmed against the same spider if it is still alive; if not, the spider to the NE; if both are dead, he shifts 1 NE and attacks the corpse eating spider
[roll3]
[roll4] Disadv from Darkness
[roll5] damage

[Amnestic]

The coordinated efforts of the team are swift and brutal against the giant-yet-still-small spiders, and though perhaps noisier than you might like the arachnid foes all fall swiftly enough, and with none the worse for wear at all, save perhaps a bump or bruise from those who fell. The ship's hold itself is piled with crates and barrels, but they're either clearly empty from the cracked and splintered wood or reveal themselves to be so with a quick knock. There's little of value here, unless you specifically value years-worn wood that wouldn't stand up to even the slightest pressure or force and smells worse than it looks, which isn't particularly pleasant to begin with.

With the coast clear, you're able to look through the hole in the west side of the hull to get a better look at the narrow space under the fishery. About three feet of room between the floor of the eastern side of the building and the languid, foamy river water below. Wooden pilings support the building, and thick mats of moss and cobwebs hang from ropes and rusted chains between them. A wooden walkway floats on the river’s surface, winding along the inner wall of pilings that supports the building’s frame above. The walkway leads from the sodden ship to the east all the way west to a small two-and-a-half-foot-square door that leads into an understructure below the fishery’s land-bound half. The pilings below this understructure are densely arrayed, leaving only narrow gaps into the water below that area. There's light beaming through the tiny, boarded up windows indicating someone is inside, but you can't see through further without getting into the water - a dangerous prospect given both temperature and warning.


Combat over! As expected little more than a speedbump. No loot because spiders don't often carry gold pouches.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

With some help from the taller people, Podgan manages to join the group in the hold of the ship. He squints out at the small door and readies himself to go onward, acutely aware he has exhausted his spellcraft for the day. "I cannot do any further healing," he says apologetically, "but I can take that remaining potion, to administer if needed. That will at least keep a more useful person's hands free."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Lifting up his boot, coated in bug guts, Loric moves on silently. There is no room for embarrassment for his mistake, they were too loud coming down here and now time is more of the essence than ever. Stepping out of the ship's bowels and onto the walkway below, he is more careful now with where he places his footing on the rotten planks. When he reaches the door, it takes all of his restraint to look back at the others expectantly for them to form up instead of barging in. But he has made a mistake once today, and learned from it.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Shifting the pistol into the crook of his elbow, he quickly reloaded the weapon, placing a wad of paper, powder and shot into the barrel, before following the tanner. He shifted his grip, careful to keep the weapon free of any entangling rope or chain from above could snag it, and with his free hand holding his hat to his head, he moved across the dock quickly, for fear of it collapsing beneath his weight sending him into the churning waters below. He followed the Tanner closely, and when the swarthy skinned man came to a halt, Aubin did as well, drawing a bead on the small door, nodding towards his companion as he looked back.

Aubin nodded slightly, as the tanner looked back, as if to say, 'I've got your back.'

OOC: Move across the floating dock, carefully, so as to avoid another collapse, or being pitched into the water as the river swamps the dock.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio looks around while reloading his crossbow, when it seems there are no more enemies he says "Clear." to his companion in a quite professional voice, like he's been trained to do exactly what they're doing right now. He take the stairs down, checks Pogdan to be sure the gnomish priest is well, then follows Loric towards the door - crossbow raised, he nods a little to the others to signal he's ready to storm what might very well be the last refuge of Gaedren Lamm.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

Making his way as quickly but carefully over the dock as he can, Crease looks quite the fool, with a guitar slung over his back, a drum at his hip, a rapier sheathed at his side, and a crossbow in his hands. Maybe the weapons made him formidable looking, but that effect was probably ruined by how sweaty he looked. Eager for Lamm's blood, Crease fell in behind the others. On three, then? One... two...

[Amnestic]

When Loric pushes open the door and lets the light out he immediately notices that the air in this large room is chilly - colder than that of the rooms above - and stinks of the river. It's immediately clear that this is thanks to a huge opening in the floor that drops away to the river shore three feet below. Several pilings emerge from the waters to support the roof eight feet above the floor, with mossy ropes slung between them. In two places, rusty manacles hang from the ropes over the water. Two five-foot-wide walkways cross the hole to the other side of the chamber, where a collection of old cabinets, lockboxes, and piles of clutter are strewn about. Chipped porcelain plates, a cracked goblet, badly rusted silverware, an old wooden shield with a crossbow bolt embedded in it, the odd dinged helm, and other “treasures” litter the floor of this side of the chamber. Three tables heaped with clutter stand amid this mess. In the southwest corner, a wooden door provides access to a walled-off section.

By the tables, his back hunched, is an old man that some of you recognise as Gaedren Lamm. The jaundice in his face and liver spots on his hands tells of a persistent illness and the limp in his left leg as he shuffles to take a look at who's entering marks him as feebled by age. Beneath the sunhat atop his head are little more than threadbare strands of whispy white hair that look more akin to spider's silk. Despite his advanced age he's not unarmed or unarmoured, the thick padded hide coat he wears giving him ample coverage, and even as he shuffles the dagger and crossbow at his belt rattle about. Unconscious beside Gaedren, swinging from a third pair of manacles tied to the ceiling, is 'Nodder' - the boy from Loric's past. He appears to be breathing, at a glance, but unresponsive.

"Ah," Gaedren says, coughing a sick chesty cough almost immediately as he speaks. Phlegm flies from his unconvered mouth, but thankfully you're all more than far enough that there's no risk of it getting anywhere near you. "Come in, come in, let me get a look at you." His milky eyes seem dimmed, but they still seem to see enough. "I don't think I recognise you but ah, Pogdan? Have you brought some more customers for me?" He tugs two vials from his pockets that glimmer with silver liquid. Shiver. Gaedren waves them at Aubin and Scipio. "Come back for another hit I take it?" Gaedren's grin widens showing gaps of missing teeth amongst blackened gums. "They always come back. And is that..." He turns to Creissus, squinting. "Ornetto, come to find your fortune perhaps? There's work for you if you want it, and for you as well, horser." He coughs again. Despite the age and physical deficiencies the sneering superior tone says he's only half-serious about any of these offers. He's mocking you all, even in his position.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: No Active Conditions: No

When Scipio checks in with him, Podgan gives him a wan smile and a blessing, granting him guidance on his next action. He looks grim and a little sick at the idea of going in.

That sickness grows and curdles inside him as they penetrate the familiar confines of Lamm's lair. It is different than the one Podgan knew, of course, but somehow the same, stained with the squalor the man takes with him everywhere.

At his speech--at his recognition!--unreasoning horror starts in Podgan's chest, as much as if he was looking at one of the spiders again, grown to unearthly size. The urge to run rises in him, and collides with the volatile, explosive emotions unleashed by the sight of the chained child. All of Podgan's medical and pastoral training cry for him to run to the boy, while every instinct ground into him in the gutter tells him he must get free of Lamm. The result of this alchemy is the clear and furious awareness that Lamm must die for any of them to be safe again. He must die.

"I've brought you something better," Podgan says, his voice thin at first, but firming. "I went away to the temple and I've stolen a little justice. And I've brought it back, after all these years."

He reaches for the magic of the radiant lance, and readies himself to hurl it again. Suddenly the old street patter is there after all, and it falls from his mouth like it was yesterday. "And you'll get yer cut, Mister Lamm. I promise you that."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"I do not give my name to pathetic creatures," Loric states simply, ignoring Lamm and examining the bindings holding 'Nodder' for a way to get the boy down safely.

Perception
[roll0]

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 1/3

The fortune is long gone, Lamm. But you remain. I couldn't give a damn for what you did to the rest of my family, but the second you so much as inconvenienced my sister and I you signed your death warrant, you great garbage heap of a man. The only question now how long and how loud you'll scream in the end. Crease didn't bother with any pretense of negotiation. He raised his crossbow to his eye and took aim at the man who ruined his life. Ruined his sister's life. Made them laughingstocks and stripped them of their deserved status and wealth. He would enjoy this.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio rushes inside, ready to fight and clearly expecting to be met with violence - instead, he finds defiance. Worse, he finds the Shiver here; the former watchman looks at the drug that gave him such comfort, eyes full of longing and suffering, then turns to look at Aubin like he's seeing him just now for the first time ever. When his gaze goes back to Lamm, he drops the crossbow and picks the spear again without offering the one who hurt him so much any word - he not just wants to kill Gaedren Lamm, he needs to do that up and personal, to see the life leaving his eyes.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin watched as the door swung open, Lamm, crooked, hunched, and pathetic, held a vial of temptation in his hand. Shiver. He felt the numbness spread over him, the release, as the world faded away, the worry, the regret, the shame and the guilt. He sighed, noted the hand holding his flintlock shaking. A sound caught his attention, time slowed across the room, the young, emaciated boy, swinging by rusty manacles, the chains, a solitary, horrible sound, echoed in his mind, the Hellknight's interrogation chambers, chains, and worse, ten times worse. A hundred. A thousand. Ceausescu cries, for release, for vindication. Too late, he could never give her that, not after what he'd been a part of. The reality of it crashed in on him, like the waves beneath the young lad's feet.

Suddenly things snapped back, into crystal focus, the child, the boy, looked, not at Aubin, but at the Tanner. He put a hand on the swarthy skinned man's shoulder, steadied himself, "You got him?" He whispered in Loric's ear, "Lamm's not taking anything, from any one, not tonight. Never again." He cocked the hammer, "You hear me, tanner?"

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 17
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi is mute as she follows the rest of the crew to the sagging frame of the ailing craft that lies low on the waterline. The others fall through to the waiting arachnids and she watches impassively from behind a granite visage. Though Pogdan’s touch does heal her wound, all she manages in this form is a single stoic nod, the ever-present grinding of her neck muscles the only audible report of her gratitude.

She is ever more thankful that more of her strength need not be spent dealing with vermin, and wonders not for the first time at the loud weapons of steel and black powder wielded by her new allies. To call such instruments foreign to Shadi’s understanding would be something of an understatement: before descending from the Storval Plateau, she had never heard of thunder carried in cartridges, or bottled fire. Such powers have ever been the province of gods, spirits, and holy men.

But there is no more time for such tangents, as the final door opens and their quarry stands before them. Lamm speaks - an irrelevant exchange, though the use of the common slur was a bit tacked on and less than inspired to her thinking - but the Shoanti pays the passing wind no mind at all. Her weapon already drawn and by her side, and she brings it to bear as she begins to close the target before he can get another word in edgewise.

Shadi is spending a Harrow Point for an additional +1 to AC for this fight, bringing her AC to 17. Then she will start to move in on Lamm, probably triggering initiatives.

[Amnestic]

Lamm expresses neither surprise nor disappointment at your resounding rejections. Instead his grin goes wider still. "Come on then fools, let's dance." He drops the vials of shiver behind him on the table with one hand even as he uses what meager strength he has to push the strung up Nodder out to hang out over the water's pool. "Wake up! It's time for feeding!" He yells out, tugging his hand crossbow and loosing a bolt not at you directly, nor at the boy, but into the water itself. It churns for a moment before the head of an enormous crocodile bursts forth, its snapping jaws hungry for food. You've found out where all the missing children end up, at least. Now awake it looks around for a moment before biting down towards Pogdan - the smallest snack perhaps, but the one closest to 'child sized', and furthest away from Lamm.

Thankfully the gnome priest is faster, and the massive crushing bite finds no flesh, just sodden wood that it tears away at before returning back into the water, preparing to make another strike. Lamm curses quietly, as he reloads another bolt, preparing his next shot - most likely at Shadi, since she's closest to him.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/876057839968342016/unknown.png

Lamm spent his first turn shooting his crossbow into the water to wake up the croc, who then missed with his bite. Crocoboy is only half submerged so not affected by underwater rules, but may need to be aware of OA if you pass by his threatened area.

The child is currently hanging by the rope above the water, and is thus in danger of becoming a snack.

Everyone's turn, since Lamm beat you all on initiative.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17\17 (7 THP) - Conditions: None - Active Effects: False Life - Harrow Points: 1

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

The bolt fired by Lamm seems to kickstart Scipio then moves quickly and runs past Crease, Pogdan and Aubin - knowing all too well that he would be an easy target for the huge reptilian, still willing to risk being wounded to give his gnomish friend an opening to move away from the terrible beast without suffering from any kind of retaliation.

"Go! Don't stay there!"

He yells at Pogdan, afeared and worried, maybe even hoping that the crocodile would take interest in him instead. The former watchmen doesn't wait to be hurt, though - he open one of his pouches to retrieve a small bottle containing a blackish fluid, something clearly not fit to be drunk; yet it is exactly what Scipio does, he drinks the viscous oil and after a few moments he spits it in the direction of Gadren Lamm - weirdly enough, it's much more what he has drunk just a couple of seconds earlier. A pool of grease forms under Lamm's feet, something that would certainly cause some problems to whoever stands in it.

Scipio moves and casts Grease.

[Amnestic]

The heavy thumping of Scipio's footsteps and the yelling is enough to get the crocodile's attention. It launches itself from the water and with a grasping bite latches down onto the man's leg, threatening to drag him under. Its jaws hold fast, drawing blood. When the bubbling grease forms up around Lamm's feet he struggles for just a moment before catching his footing, and manages to remain standing, laughing - and then coughing from the laughter - at the effort. "Not bad boy, but not nearly good enough!"


Scipio takes 10 piercing damage and is Grappled and Restrained while being bitten. If he doesn't get freed by the croc dying (or being knocked back), then on his next turn he can make an athletics/acrobatics check vs. DC12 as an action to free himself.

Lann, regrettably, made his saving throw.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 17
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


There is no pause in the warrior’s movements as the melee erupts into existence around her. Shadi can’t miss the emergence of the reptile and its subsequent grasp of Scipio, but she already has a target in her sights. Avoiding the worst of the radius of the magics, she places herself directly between Lamm and the suspended child as she raises her sword to bring it down in a diagonal cut. Even if she misses, with the newly unsteady floor at his feet he should be hard-pressed to position himself or fire without collapsing.

Shadi is going to move to the square due south of Lamm and attack him with her greatsword.

Attack: [roll0] for [roll1]

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3

Crease looks uncertainly from the massive reptile to Lamm, but then Scipio dashes by and distracts the beast, giving Crease an opportunity. But to do what? He began to move opposite of Scipio, heading closer to Lamm, further inside of the building. Once he was no longer in immediate danger of being grabbed by the crocodile (who was chewing on Scipio with enthusiasm), Crease raised the crossbow to his eye and fired a bolt at Lamm. Calling over his shoulder without looking back, he taunted and attempted to enrage his ally as they wrestled with the monstrous animal. Be careful, morsel. I look good in croc skin, but I don't think you can pull it off, and certainly not inside the damnable animal. Break free! A spark of potential is carried by his words, and despite his uncaring attitude he sincerely hoped his magic would save his fellow man's life. But he didn't have time to look back. Once he was off the catwalk he dropped the crossbow with no minor flair for the dramatic and drew his rapier, throwing his cloak back with his free hand. For now he simply blocked Lamm's excape and made sure that his allies would be able to get into melee with the villain, but he looked good doing it.





https://i.imgur.com/7GXksRq.png moving to the indicated square. Firing the crossbow- to hit and [rol1d8+3 rolled a 9 including crit damage on the discord. Bonus action to give inspiration to Scipio for his self sacrificing badassery. Free action to drop the cross bow like this is an action movie. Object interaction to draw his rapier and throw back his cloak, hopefully into an ally's face for comedic effect.

[TriciaOso]

Podgan stares wide-eyes at the scarred walkway where the croc just missed him, then a few feet away where Scipio is grappled by the creature and grievously wounded.

"No!" He maintains his concentration on the blessing he gave Scipio, and draws forth the radiant lance to hurl at the croc--and hopefully through it, at Lamm himself... but his hands are shaking, and his eyes are on the watchman.

Rolled an 11, which I doubt beats the croc's AC. But if it does, the croc and Lamm both take 3 damage.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 11 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin watched, helplessly as Scipio charged past the scaled monstrosity, Lamm's last, cruel, twist of fate. He hadn't, however, failed to notice the look of recognition, the struggle, and the conflict, as their tormentor had held those vials, Shiver. The hunger that followed, and, finally, the resolve, the focus, the clarity that pushed through that clouded desire. Scipio had made a choice, and Aubin could only respect that, commend the sacrifice, and despite the, now, red churning water beneath the slippery piles, the former Hellknight looked towards Loric, the Tanner. Nodding, and with that he plunged across the piles, moving nimbly, like the Cat, whose sign he was born under.

As he approached the hanging form of the young boy, he judged his distance, looked to Loric, and how the man was moving with lean, economical grace towards the young lad's form. He drew his pistol, the boy's eyes widening at the bore of the pistol leveled towards his head, then lifted towards the ropes that bound his wrists, with careful, almost instinctual accuracy, he lined up his shot.

OOC: Alright, despite my initial thoughts on helping Scipio out, we're going to honor his sacrifice, and stay true to my intended purpose of saving the young boy that our Tanner seems so focused on. So, my move action is to skip, hop, and tumble across the piles between myself, and the far side of the room, requiring some sort of Acrobatics check, [roll0], and then secondly, the shot, to shoot through the young boy's restraints, so the Tanner can catch him and carry him to safety. Attack check, [roll1].

Both of these checks MUST succeed to save the kid, so Harrow re-rolls on each, if required. So Acrobatics re-roll, [roll2]. And attack check re-roll, if needed, [roll3].

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The great beast bursts out of the water, and Loric's grip on his spear shaft tightens instinctively. Time seems to slow down in that moment, flashes of movement all around him. Thoughts rush through his head - how to reach the boy past this beast, how to break the chains, how to keep it away from him. But he is not alone here. One of the man practically dives in front of the monster, seizing its attention. An admirable sacrifice to be repaid in kind; Loric would need to make sure this one survived.

Thoughts go to the thunderstick, and his eyes turn to see the tricorn man locking onto his own. Their thoughts in sync, he rushes down the path towards Lamm. But instead of lunging for the crooked old man, he jumps towards the wall and pulls in his legs, using them to propel himself across the wide churning gap in the wood. As he sails through the air, the crack of thunder rips through the building, met by the sound of screeching metal and desperation.

Whether on the other side or in the water, Loric would catch the boy.

Move 2 N, then leap 3 NW with a running start and catch the boy.
If he lands on the other side, he will set Nodder down 1 W of him, next to the door to presumably Lamm's room.
If they hit the water, he will cover the boy and attempt to get him to shore with what's left of his movement.

Acrobatics if needed
[roll0]
If necessary, he will spend a Harrow Point to reroll [roll1]

In the event of a fall, Athletics for the rough water if needed
[roll2]

[Amnestic]

The crocodile doesn't even flinch when Pogdan's radiant lance impacts on its scaled hide. The gleaming magic dissipates against the stinking wet bony plates with no damage done. With little cause to not continue its existing feast, it bites down hard again on Scipio's leg. The sensation is too much for him all at once, and he passes out from the pain.

The wooden poles creak under the coordinated weight and movements of Loric and Scipio in the rescue of the child. Nodder's unconscious form is still breathing, though will likely need at least a few days of rest to recover from his injuries. When Shadi's powerful greatsword strike tears at Lamm's crossbow arm, he's forced to abandon the weapon and instead draw his dagger. He clearly hadn't expected the party to get this far and still be in such keen fighting shape, and panic crosses his eyes for a moment. Maybe he thought the crocodile would hold their attention more. Maybe he expected you to be weakened from the fight above. Maybe he's just surprised at his old age and the precipice of death that he now stands over, just as Shadi stands over his hunched body. It's this panic that sets him on edge enough to avoid the majority of Creissus' bolt, though it still tears past his padded armour and draws blood.

He lashes out with his dagger at Aubin, wild, like an animal, and manages to land a blow, but whatever feeling of success he might have enjoyed is cut short when the momentum carries is feet further than intended and he slips on the grease underfoot. He falls face first into the disgusting, slippy, yet sticky liquid. He splutters feebly, perhaps an intent of deception or trying to engender sympathy, but it may be hard to feel any when he brought all of this upon himself, and more.


https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694162563092578364/876760549969518632/unknown.png

Lamm's dagger stabs Aubin for 5 piercing damage. Lamm is, however, unable to maneuver out of the grease without risking at least one, potentially more, opportunity attacks, so he chooses not to, and then fails his dex save and falls prone, meaning all melee attacks have advantage against him until he stands up on his next turn.

Croc bites down on Scipio again for 12 damage which drops him to 0 and unconscious. He'll start making death saves unless healed on your coming turn. Whether the croc continues its current chomp session may depend on the party.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 12 | CURRENT 6; 10 | HIT DIE: 1d10 | CURRENT: 1d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

The dagger's bite was a moment of clarity, Lamm, the spider, cornered in his web. How much would he sacrifice for a measure of revenge? How much? Had you asked him a year ago it would have been everything, but now, surrounded by people, comrades, who, too, valued life, he considered that even revenge had a price, and he was not prepared to pay it should it cost another's life.

He watched as Loric tackled the youth to safety, however, the water had turned a deep red, and frothed with blood as the reptilian horror pulled Scipio's, now limp, form, towards the water. He took a breath, steeling himself, and fired a shot at the scaled bulk of the creature, before casting his firearm aside, drawing a dagger of his own, taking a deep breath, perhaps his last, as he plunged towards the beast. "I shan't look on whilst another dies," he screamed as he plunged into the cold, salty water.

OOC: Standard Action to blast the crocodile, [roll0] vs AC, for [roll1] piercing damage if successful. If the attack misses, I roll spend a Harrow point to reroll, [roll2]. I will then cast aside my firearm, sliding it to the NW, beside Cressius, spend my Bonus Action to Second Wind, and heal for [roll3] HP's, then use my move action to draw a dagger & jump into the water adjacent the crocodile.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/Jx94h3g/podgan.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
HP: 10/10 Concentration: Yes (Guidance) Active Conditions: AC +1 (19) from Harrow point

Podgan would no doubt enjoy watching Lamm's fall, but he has no eyes for anything but Scipio. He is grey with horror as he darts forward and feeds the young man the last potion, then tries to draw the beast's eye, moving away and waving his arms and shouting.

Even as he does, a more potent distraction arrives, however...

9 healing for Scipio and then, heck, an untrained animal handling check.

[roll0]

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 10/10, AC: 17
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: Stone's Durability
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Implacable, the stone-clad Shadi squares her feet as she looks down at the pitiful Lamm, now fallen supine before her. Behind the mask, her dark gaze hardens in its mold. She should feel pity for this pathetic man before her - yet the unmistakeable chorus of water and cries of pain only fuel cold anger's grip. He has called forth only pain and misery into the world. This is a man who does not deserve to draw breath.

As she plants herself firmly on the floor to avoid any of the spill, the Shoanti woman lifts her tribal blade high before bringing it down in a long swing, aiming right for her target's center of mass.

Smack!

Attack: [roll0] / [roll1] for [roll2] damage

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 9/10
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3

Crease watches one of his allies dive to save another, thinking for a moment before moving into the empty position and jabbing at Lamm with his rapier. He felt he had already given what aid he could. He would certainly turn around and try to kill the crocodile... after Lamm was dead.





Moving into Aubin's former position. Stabbing Lamm. [roll0] to hit and [roll1] damage. Rolled advantage in the Discord and got a 22 to hit.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 9/10 - Conditions: Grappled, Restrained - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

When the huge reptilian closes his jaws on Scipio, the former watchmen doesn't seem surprised - it's like he knew something like that would happen, that no matter how hard he tried failure would be his ultimate fate. Scipio goes down, bleeding and about to be eaten, death finally giving him some kind of peace; but that peace is quite short-lived, he opens his eyes and takes a deep breath, a rush of sudden pain.

"AHHHHHHHH"

Scipio yells and starts kicking the crocodile who's trying to chew and gobble him up, agony fueling his attempt of freeing himself from the jaws of Lamm's pet.


Athletics roll to break the crocodile's grapple [roll0] plus Guidance and Bardic Inspiration (5, rolled in the discord channel)

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk
AC: 16 HP: 10/10
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Setting the unconscious boy at his feet, Loric looks back towards the towering crocodile monster. It still has the man in its grasp. But he cannot afford to leave Lamm alive near the Boy, no - this man would not hesitate to take a hostage. A moment of assessment and planning, then he springs into action.

Depending on whether Lamm is KO'd yet:

If yes
Move 2 W, 5 S, Help action to give Advantage for Scipio to get free.

If no
Attack Lamm
[roll0] with Staff
[roll1] damage
[roll2] with Unarmed
[roll3] damage
Then if Lamm is down, move 2 W, 5 S.

[Amnestic]

With Lamm on the floor his defenses are feeble at best and downright embarassing at worst. He writhes back and forth, desperate to evade the blades and bo that descend upon him but a quick stab, slash and bash from Shadi, Loric and Creissus - the latter of which rapier's pierces your hated foe's spine and ends his life for good.

Though Scipio, quickly awakened in the Croc's jaws by a hastily administered potion, struggles to free himself, the great beast holds fast. That is, until a pistol shot from Aubin pierces its scaly hide. It rears back at the sudden pain and looks to flee, but the swift strike of Loric leaping to assist, deftly administered to the bullet wound, causes an overload in the creature and sends it into shock. It rolls over, quite dead from the experience.

The sudden burst of action comes to a halt, and the fishery falls quiet save for the lapping of riverwater against the shore and the whistle of the wind blowing from beneath the creaking floor. There's one room remaining unexplored in the building, presumably Lamm's sleeping quarters given a lack of bedding in this main area, and the unconscious child to deal with.


Recovery moment before I deal with loot to give a small chance for RP, and for people to start investigating. I'll do all the item recovery at once since it'll be a relatively substantial list.

As mentioned in discord, this is also Level Up! moment, reaching the peak of your power at level 2. You don't refresh everything as if it were a long rest, but everything you would gain from 2nd level (features, spell slots, HP, etc.) is online and ready to go. As a reminder, we're not rolling HP, just taking your average (eg d8=5+Con).
Also since it might come up, DC10 Int (History) check on the orphanages in town:

Korvosa’s Mercy (North Point): The largest of Korvosa’s state-run orphanages, Korvosa’s Mercy has a long-standing association with the military.
Dawnflower House (Midland): Dawnflower House is the only one of the orphanages to be run by actual clerics, specifically Sarenrae.
Little House (East Shore): The smallest and newest of Korvosa’s orphanages and focuses primarily on non-human orphans.
Scrapper Hall (Midland): This orphanage is a traditional work-house.
Riverside House (Midland): This mid-sized orphanage is also Korvosa’s oldest.

None of them are marked on the map on discord (I guess orphanages aren't sites of interest, probably for the best) but Riverside House, as the name implies, is closest. ~15 minute walk away at most.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


For the second time in what feels like hours but surely cannot have been more than a mere span of minutes, the stone facade around the former Skoan-Quah champion begins to recede. The whorls and knots crumble away one at a time, revealing flawless caramel coloured skin and muscles slicked with sweat. Shadi's bone trinkets rattle slightly as she leans over and, making an unflattering noise, spits candidly on the bloody body of the child peddler. Honour satisfied. Strapping her sword ponderously back in the leather sheath on her back, she then makes her way to the edge of the pool where several of the others have jumped in to fight the drake-beast.

"That was a good kill," she mutters in obvious approval in Aubin's direction, reaching out with an outstretched trunk-like arm to pull him out of the water. "And you were wise to bring a knife to fight close. Does your fire tube work in the water?" She gives the wounded one who was caught in the monster's jaws a perfunctory nod of respect for drawing the its attention, trusting the strange little healer to do his job and deal with any of the remaining wounds as he did hers.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Creissus feels the life snuff out of Lamm at the end of his rapier, the first time he'd ever actually killed anyone with his blade. His instructors weren't wrong- he did have a talent for it. One strike, straight to a vital area. Though it may not have been enough if not for the damage heaped on by his compatriots in this murderous endeavor. Crease took the time to wipe his blade on Lamm's filthy clothes before sheathing it in one smooth, practiced motion. He felt... better. Not fantastic, without the full catharsis that he thought the act would bring. In all reality, he was still bitter and hurt. But the ache was relieved for the moment. He forced himself to smile. "Well, well, well. That was somehow easier than I thought it would be. I expected more of the filthy old drug dealer. Perhaps he preyed on children because he didn't have the strength to stand against adults." His smile grew larger, by a pure effort of will, and he spoke in verse. "A dark deed, well done, gives way to brighter horizons for those with the fortitude to take command of their own fate. From Derther Clint's A Blade in the Dark, sixth page, verse four." Creissus looked to the dead crocodile, then to the adjoining room, where, presumably, Lamm kept his lucre. "Shall we begin assembling the spoils of war then? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm practical enough to not snub hard earned coin."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Letting out a relieved breath through his nose, Loric reaches over and helps steady the bitten man on his bloody leg. "Let us go to Lamm's sleeping area. You can take a seat, and we can treat that leg." He helps the man towards the door, looking down at the boy resting against the wall next to it. "We should bring him as well. Rest him somewhere comfortable while we look the place over."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 18 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin accepted the Shoanti woman's aid in escaping the frigid, frothing depths, climbing to the creaking floorboards of the fishery. "My thanks," he nodded, sheathing the dagger, he made note that he'd need to check, dry, and oil his blades, lest the sea water pit them with rust. He shook his head at her question, "No, the flintlock relies on a steel striker igniting smoke powder, and fire cannot start in water. It would require magic, not alchemy, to allow it to fire if wet." Her question though, showed a keen mind, something he could admire in anyone, man or woman, Tamran or Shoanti.

He pulled out a sodden paper cartridge, shook his head, "Useless," he muttered to himself, considering the time and effort it would cost to replace his bandoleer that had been soaked through. He watched as Loric and the other's aided Scipio out of the water, the man looked pale, and his leg ragged and raw, but he was alive. If a few hundred silver and some time over a worktable was all he had to pay to see his companion alive, he shrugged, he would be glad to pay it. Walking by the table where Lamm died, he snarled, time enough for that. He moved to the floor where his discarded pistol lay, retrieving it and holstering it. Time enough to repair it after the night were through, perhaps back at Esmeranda's manor.

He looked at the young child, that at least, he thought to himself, was a deed worth remembering. A life spared, to balance those, oh so many, taken during his time as armiger. As the other's talked, he looked towards the closed door, striding through it, rapier and dagger held in a fencing style he quickly surveyed to ensure there were no traps, no henchmen, no further threats.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan checks over Scipio, first, and then the others, his mind buzzing.

Lamm is dead? Really dead? Is it really over?

He searches his breast for any sign that the familiar weight of resentment and childish fear has eased.

Maybe later. Maybe he'll feel better later. When the job is done.

"We must give thought to the children, now," he murmurs. "Is there a way back up from here?"

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 16/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio kicks the carcass away, still in pain and still quite scared - having a massive crocodile chewing on one's leg is certainly quite the experience. He accepts help from his companions, muttering a subdued "Thanks, thank you." and weirdly enough, he doesn't seem that glad to still be alive. He sits and checks the wounded leg - some bleeding, nothing broken - and nods to Loric and Aubin "Thanks again, believe I'm going to be fine. Need just a bit of rest."

When Pogdan mentions the children, Scopio scratches his stubbly beard and after a couple of seconds he chimes in "Believe we should take them to the Dawnflower House. Riverside House is closer, but I fear they might ask questions if we show up with a bunch of traumatized kids in the middle of the night. Priests of the Dawnflower are known to be much more understanding." a brief pause, he turns his gaze towards another corpse, Lamm's "Believe we should also throw Lamm and his lackeys in the river. Better avoid leaving anything behind."

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi squints at the man slightly, committing the strange words he speaks to memory. She's familiar with flint of course, but she sees no lock anywhere on the weapon Aubin is carrying. The mechanics of striking a spark are also rudimentary enough, but she makes a note to ask about the word 'alchemy' and what it has to do with the coupling of fire and powder. Regardless, it is a question for later; as the others have brayed more than once, the work is not yet done.

The search is perfunctory, and the Shoanti puts in a minimum of effort. Looking for things that aren't a hidden blade or predator in the wilds isn't exactly her area, and in truth her mind is elsewhere.

"I will take care of the bodies," Shadi announces eventually, and there is no room for argument in it. Deplorable though Lamm and his kin were, they must be sent off the correct way. Besides, after… what happened upstairs, best she steer clear of the children. The warrior forces herself to keep from flinching at the memory, raw as it is. Part of her wishes that she was still wearing the mask.

"… but I would not mind another person to stay and help me."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"I agree," Loric responds to the injured man's suggestion of bringing them to the Dawnflower House. Looking to the boy, he considers how he will fare. Probably better in the hands of those who serve good gods than in some of the less reputable locations, who employ the children in indentured servitude. In the Thieves' Camp, he hears many rumors about these places, for many residents were once those same children.

"You may call me Loric," he states to the group, finally sharing with the others what he is called. They have earned that much, after this endeavor. "Do as you must with the dead and the spoils of war."

Leaving those matters to others, he takes out some of his trail rations and waves them beneath Nodder's nose, trying to stir the boy awake. The sister is still missing, on some errand of Lamm, and he must find out where.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease begins to follow the gun fighter into the final room, eyes keen for items of value, but he pauses. Turning back to Lamm's corpse, Crease begins to go through the pockets of Lamm, assembling what he finds on the ground. Assuming that doesn't take too long or turn up anything too unusual, he will then follow the gunfighter, curiosity assuaged.





[roll0] Investigation. Jack of All Trades, Baby!

[Amnestic]

The tables in the main room are mostly filled with junk - things that couldn't be sold or repurposed even if you wanted to. Broken things, scraps of cloth or spare wood. There is, however, a coffer made of darkwood sat in one corner of the table. It's latched, but not locked, and inside are almost two dozen vials of the same silvery liquid offered before. Shiver.

Lamm himself has little of interest - his hand crossbow and ten bolts and dagger, neither of which appear to be of particularly impressive design. His padded armour is now damaged and even if you wanted to use it, it's unlikely to offer any proper protection. Like the others, he does have some keys, however. A brass one that looks to match the locks throughout the fishery, and an iron one that doesn't yet have a lock.

When you open the door to the final room of the Fishery you're repelled by a new set of smells. Instead of fishguts and riverwtaer, it's rotting and decaying food. The foul-smelling room seems to be a combination bedroom and study. A wooden bed with a lumpy mattress stands against the east wall, while a round table heaped with dirty plates, bread crusts, stained goblets, fruit rinds, and scuttling cockroaches sits nearby. At the foot of the bed sits a large strongbox; a slightly rusted iron lock - for which you hold the key - secures it and a moldy ledger with pages rippled from moisture sits atop its lid. A sagging dresser filled with moth-eaten clothes well past their glory days is in one corner. What appears to be a wooden hatbox surrounded by a small cloud of flies sits atop this dresser.

Opening up the lockbox, you find a number of treasures that have been individually wrapped up with twine - a cigar case inlaid with jade, a gold ingot bearing the Cheliax coat of arms, a miniature gold crown, a screimshaw carving of a kraken with garnets for eyes, a silver ring bearing the inscription "For Emmah - the light in my nights", a highly realistic and scandalous ivory figurine of two entwined succubi, a particularly impressively made shuriken from a far off land, a dagger with a strange blade shaped almost like a key, bearing the inscription "For an inspiration of a father", an abalone-shell holy symbol of Shelyn, a glass tube of an unidentified oil, an obsidian wand that appears magical, a crystalline vial containing a different, more viscous silver liquid that you can't identify at a glance, and finally a particularly ornate bejeweled brooch with a broken clasp.

The ledger on top of the strongbox is filled with detailed, but coded entries, and it's written entirely in Varisian. It would take someone a few hours at least to decipher the code (along with the keen mind to understand it in the first place), so it may be best kept to one side until there is ample time to look into it.

Finally is the hatbox. When the top is removed from this construct of thin wood the stench of decay grows exponentially at it's immediately obvious as to why. A severed head sits inside, one that looks remarkably familiar. Even through crudely, unsightly makeup and poor preservation, you can recognise the head as belonging to Zellara. A small wooden box sits beside her head, and retrieving it reveals that it contains her Harrow deck, the card designs instantly appearing familiar to you all from her 'calling cards' and the reading she did for you all earlier.


The decay around the edges of the flesh and the stench tell you that the head hasn't been attached to a body for several weeks, which is odd, as Zellara seemed quite alive last time you saw her less than an hour ago.


Nodder doesn't stir at the food beneath his nose. His injuries will heal naturally, but it will require some time to do so.


22 Vials of Shiver. Our (former) addicts will be keenly aware that a single dose goes for roughly 25gp if you hawk it on the street. Of course, you could just destroy the vile vials.
The ledger, as yet untranslated.
Zellara's Harrow Deck.

I'm not going to require appraisal checks because inevitably it'll just bog things down when you go to someone to sell the stuff off. All the values below are 'full', so their sell values are half the numbers below.

Cigar Case - 25gp
Cheliax Ingot - 100gp
Gold Crown - 350gp
Kraken Scrimshaw - 200gp
Silver Ring - 150gp
Succubi Figurine - 450gp
Fancy Shuriken - As a dart, but has +1 to attack rolls. Sells for 100gp.
Keyblade Dagger - 750gp

The style of the blade matches that of the notorious Key-Lock Killer, a serial killer who was active roughly a decade or two back. He killed over 180 people, and supposedly was never caught. How and why Gaedren has this isn't obvious.

Shell-Shelyn Symbol - 300gp
Mystery Oil - Identified It's an Oil of Keen Edge. Can be applied to 10 pieces of ammunition or one weapon as a bonus action. For 1 minute, attacks with the oiled gear crits on a 19-20 instead of 20. 100gp value.
Wand - Requires identification.
Crystal Vial and Silver Substance - 50gp for the vial. Identified. It's a vial of Silversheen. Can be applied to 10 pieces of ammunition or one weapon as a bonus action. For 1 minute, attacks with the weapons are treated as being from a silvered weapon. 25gp value.
Bejeweled Brooch - 2000gp


You recognise the brooch as belonging to Queen Ileosa herself. No doubt she would reward whomever brought it back to her, likely more than whatever its street value is.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 16/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio puts the wounded leg down, trying to understand if it can support his weight; after a couple of tests he stands up and join the others - he can walk, sure, but limps a little and wouldn't probably be able to run that fast. He shares with the others what he knows about the two liquids the party has found, but it's the dagger that mostly captures his interest; he squints and examines the weird-looking weapon before muttering a puzzled "Can't be. Why he had...?" the former watchman then turns to the others and shows them the dagger "Can't be sure, but I do believe this was the dagger of the Key-Lock Killer. He murdered nearly two hundred people and was never caught."

Even though Scipio might've wanted to say something about the Shiver or how to dispose of Lamm and his lackey, the discover of Zellara's head stops everything else he was doing on its tracks. He looks at the others, especially at Pogdan - like the gnomish priest might have some kind of answer "What's happening...?"

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan does, in fact; of a sort. "She has been dead a long time," he murmurs. "I believe what we saw must have been some sort of phantom. Perhaps her desire for vengeance really did outweigh any of ours." He frowns and shakes his head.

"I agree with you; the Dawnflower House would be wise. But we must ask them what they want. It has been a long time, I think, since anyone did."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

A wicked grin spreads across Crease's face as he begins rooting through the loot, doing his best not to look at Zellara's head. "I think Podgan is likely correct on that front. There are many Varisian tales of revenge from beyond the grave, and it seems that we have been drawn into one. We should probably make sure that the... gulp... head... is laid to rest with care, so as to allow her spirit to rest at ease, knowing her revenge is complete." Spotting Zellara's Harrow deck, Crease slowly reaches over and takes hold of it. He'd always been interested in Harrow, and he was sure that if Zellara is actually dead she would prefer the deck go to someone of Varisian blood. Well, she may want it buried with her, but he wanted it, so he was sure she wouldn't want that.

Then he turns back to the lucre. He makes a point of opening the cigar box, trying on the silver ring, and examining everything very closely, speaking up and giving an approximate pawn value for each item. However, when he reaches the jeweled broach, his mouth gapes open and he gives a small sigh of awe. "I saw this very brooch on the neck of Queen Ileosa at a ball once. She looked radiant with it. I'm sure she would be more generous than the pawn broker should we return it to her. I would volunteer to do so myself, and see that each of you gets a fair share. In that vein, I volunteer to sell all of this bricka brack and make sure you all get a fair share. I am... experienced... in the game of buying and selling art pieces." Inwardly, Crease is beaming, wondering if returning this brooch may give him and his sister better standing in the eyes of the court.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Unable to stir Nodder, Loric stands up from next to the lumpy bed and joins the others. He looks fondly upon the scuttling cockroaches in the corner. They are in many ways like his own patron diety's favored animal. Small, resilient creatures who thrive even in the shadow of things like Lamm.

Leaving them to their feast, he peers into the hatbox at the head everyone is gawking at. To the dead woman he offers a nod of acknowledgement, and thanks. Thanks to her, his mission had succeeded. "I can carry her to my home. There are Varisians, who will know the proper rites," he says, closing and resealing the hatbox to contain some of the stench, carrying it under one arm.

"The Boy- Nodder's sister is still out on errand for Lamm," he says, turning away. "I will look for her." Trusting them to take care of the boy while he rests, Loric ascends back to the surface, seeking out the other orphans if they've hung around to see the fate of their compatriot.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


"Every stone, a totem," says the former tribeswoman at the various revelations and discoveries that the group makes in Lamm's hoard of lost things. Shadi does not explain the saying's provenance - that it is important to remember and revere the land and all things found upon it, for all have power - since she does not trust her grasp of their tongue enough to do so. Instead she keeps her own counsel, listening to the others and expressing her next thoughts through a gamut of frowns. The notion of someone killing over two hundred people in Korvosa does not shock her one bit, but she betrays her surprise at the rotting head of Zellara with a clenched jaw and hissed breath.

The woman who sent us the Harrow cards has been dead for days, perhaps weeks. Was it truly an undead who had summoned them, then? Shadi has seen them before, in her past life. Yet the ephemeral figures hunted by the boneslayers of the Skoan-Quah have so little in common with the entity that welcomed them in. Shadi wonders in that moment that the force which impelled the six of them is nothing short of Korvosa itself; even a chaotic locale such as this is bound to have spirits, whispers of the land brought to life by need. She is no shaman, but she has sat at enough fires to know those stories.

When Loric volunteers to take the head she looks up sharply, but his subsequent mention of Varisians and rites mollifies the warrior into silence. In truth, it is the gleam in Crease's eyes at the prospect of pawning off Lamm's treasures to royalty that puts Shadi ill at ease. She did not sign onto this enterprise for coin, but people here live on cold metal and she will need her fair share if she is to rebuild everything that she's lost.

"If you are bringing back something of value for a queen, we should all be present." She gives the noble a level stare. "I do not trust you not to take more than your due at our expense, because I just met you."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease frowned slightly at the inference that he wouldn't give a fair share to the others if he presented the brooch to the queen himself. He may be selfish, but one would have to have a death wish to risk the ire of so many trained fighters and casters who already proved themselves so adept at revenge. Instead, he tries another tact. "I am not AGAINST some, or even all of you coming with me to return the brooch, but I would put two caveats on that idea. One, I should do the talking- I am a noble of this city, I've met the Queen before in passing, and I know how and who to talk to. Without me you'd probably get yourselves hanged for stealing the brooch in your attempt to return it. Secondly, if we ALL must go before the queen of Korvosa, then I must insist we dress and act with a modicum of appropriateness. No bone necklaces, Loric needs to wear clothes that don't smell like a tannery, and EVERYONE bathes first. My position in the court is delicate enough without bringing an unwashed hoard before the most powerful woman in the entire state."

[Amnestic]

There's still doubt. The idea that they'd be allowed free to go - not 'owned' by an adult - just seems to bizarre to them. Still, Kester answers the question honestly, so far as you can tell: "She's probably prowling North Point for marks, but she'll have to come back at some point tonight. You're probably better off waiting than trying to find her on foot. If she thinks Nodder's waiting on her then she's not got much choice but to come back with what she's got."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Stepping softly into the room, Loric holds his staff passively now, no longer ready to strike at any moment. He nods slowly at Kester's observation. "Lamm and his pets are dead. They are all that is dead." He glances at the still-lying corpse of the accountant. Probably still a pet.

"We are not going to do anything to you. You should go to the Dawnflower House orphanage," he recommends to the children, before adding: "But your fates are your own to choose now." Stepping down to the floor of the building, he looks at its rotten wood and stained boards. The smell of dead fish still permeating every crack and every seam. The rot of Lamm's soul has bled deep into this place.

"I must also find the sister. Nodder's sister. Into what trouble has Lamm sent her?" he asks the children.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 10 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

The discovery of Zellara's head had shocked the former armiger into silence, not for the violence of her death, but for his interactions with her spirit, her ... ghost ... only hours before. They had been used as vessels of the woman's vengeance from beyond the grave, it shook the normally stoic man to the core. It was one thing to be driven by one's own desires, but to be manipulated from something that had passed beyond death ... there was something deeply unsettling about that implication.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, as the tanner, no, Loric, closed the box, tucking it under an arm before ascending to the fishery above. The others discussed the contents of the room, trinkets, mementos, and stolen goods from Lamm's long and sordid career as thief, the odd shaped blade seemed familiar, it's history obscured by his desire ... or Zellara's ... no, he couldn't let his mind wander too far down that path.

He gathered the vials of Shiver, ignoring any protests as he did so, the look on his face brooked little in the way of argument. He moved back outside Lamm's dingy bolt hole, and began to remove the stoppers on the vials, one by one, the acrid, cloying smell, bringing back memories he had long suppressed, his hands shaking as if they meant to bring the vial to his eye, to pull back the lid, a single drop against the naked eye, a sting, and that, oh so familiar, numbness. "No," he whispered to nobody but himself, as he poured the contents over Lamm's brutalized form, still laying in the greasy residue left by Scipio's concoction. With each vial, his conviction grew, as he finished pouring out the last vial, he shouted to the others, "Clear out the fishery, it, and it's owner are about to burn in hell." He loaded the one dry packet of smoke powder into the firing chamber of his pistol, it's spark would ignite the shiver, notoriously flammable, and send the whole sodden structure into the cold, unforgiving waters of the harbor.

"When the sun rises tomorrow, you'll not feel it's warmth, and those who suffered under your care will find naught but burnt timbers, cinder and ash. Nobody will remember you, nobody will mourn you. Lost and forgotten, forever doomed to roam the shadowy roads of limbo, never knowing rest, nor redemption, and least of all, forgiveness. Suffer for eternity you selfish piece of filth!"

As he raised his gun, he smiled, his hand no longer shook, for there was a certainty, and finality to his actions. The decision had been made.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi frowns at the unnecessary dig at her choice of attire. "This is a ceremonial klar," she retorts somewhat defensively, "given to me to mark the passing of my name-trial. I am Shadi because I wear this: to take it off would be to deny myself." But the rest of what the little rock gnome is not objectionable, so she stops herself and gives him a sharp nod of agreement. Bathing is not a regular practice among her people, but having attended several baths since arriving here Shadi freely admits that it is her favourite part of living in Korvosa.

She does not speak up again for some time. The rest of the deliberation over the items and the children lie outside of her interest; she has already spoken her piece on both of those issues. It seems they have the beginnings of a plan, and it is one she intends to see through with them - Zellara or her shade brought them together for a reason, and though she is no big believer in fate, she knows a calling when she sees one. Though some of them might be parting ways for the time being, she has the inescapable feeling that the disparate members of this group will find their way back to one another.

But when Aubin starts to pour out the vials on the bodies, Shadi springs into action. By word and deed, his intent is clear. There is no hesitation in her movements, only resolve as she steps between the man and his pain.

"Stop." The woman places a hand on the arm holding the gun, and while the grasp is surprisingly gentle, her stance is implacable. "How we treat the dead is what makes us better than animals. They deserve desecration now, but did not always; someone cared for them once. It is to them - not Lamm - that we offer respect by completing last rites."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 10 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin regarded the large, broad shouldered, square jawed woman with both sadness and respect, he didn't however, lower the gun. "Shadi, of the Shoanti peoples, I am not one to question your customs are beliefs." He shrugged, his aim not wavering. "Hell, I've seen enough tonight to question my own, but that whore son there?" He waved the gun towards Lamm's body, "He hasn't done right by anybody his whole damn life, and any who did care for him, love him, they been betrayed and let down so many times their heart isn't nothing but scars and wounds that won't never heal." Another pause, "This here is an ending, his story is over, and I am just making sure there isn't anybody who can pick it up and read it. Better off if history forgets his name and it dies with us. Tonight."

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


The Shoanti's mien softens - the corner of her mouth turns down in visible sorrow, a mirror to his own - yet her grip does not lessen for it. Muscular fingers dig unrelentingly into his bracers.

"I do not pretend my rites are better than yours," she replies, and cannot avoid breathing him in. He is leather and steel and caustic smoke, all that which comes before or after a fire. She does not hate it, despite the circumstances. "And what you say may be true. Lamm and his kind might not be loved. They might have hurt everyone they knew. But they might not. I do not know every path that Lamm took, and neither do you. What I do know is that it is not our place to judge their souls, or choose where they go after this."

Shadi shakes her head slightly. "There will be no honour to Lamm in his next life. What I will say will not matter to the gods. The houses of their spirits are already empty; what we do with them is of honour to us, to all those who remain. You may do what you like to them, but I will speak the words before you do. If you wish to mark your soul as a desecrator, that is your choice."

She spares another look to their surroundings. "Besides, this place will not burn. I do not care to try to make such a thing happen. Better to say our words and see them off quietly before leaving ourselves."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease, smiling amiably, attempts to put his finger in the barrel of the gunfighter's weapon. I tend to agree with our ceremonial klar wearing friend here, but for entirely more practical and selfish reasons, my friend. We've just committed murder. Warranted, mind you, a strict case of vigilante justice if I've ever heard of one, and trust me, I've heard of dozens but if we were to poll a Hellknight murder it would be. The fortunate thing about murder is it is easy to cover up- body in the river or dumped with some particularly nasty pigs and you're free as a bird. ARSON, however, is nearly impossible to hide and will call every state sanctioned killing machine in the next three districts, who may or may not be able to put together that the people who died here were killed by bullets or psychic magic instead of flames. Whereas if we dump the bodies in the river tied to rocks, someone might figure out a few days from now that a bunch of people are missing. And no one can be blamed for missing people. People go missing all the time, and no one is beheaded for it. I don't know you, so you may see this as a weak or cowardly course of action, which I would not argue with you, but more over it is the path that is far more likely to end with us dying in our beds seven decades from now fat, bountiful, and well loved instead of tomorrow on a public block to boost city morale. So if you'll not restrain yourself on your own account, think of all the new friends you've just made who might not have the same self destructive tendencies that you're showing a flair for right now. It's a good look on you, but it's out of season, handsome. The entire time Crease has been flashing what he hopes is a winning smile, using a reasonable and convincing tone, and displaying no hints of aggression towards the man who could easily send the bard's finger into the nearest wall in shreds.





[roll0] Persuasion, just for the fun of seeing how convincing Crease can be.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 16/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio keeps busy, most probably to avoid thinking too much on the Shiver so close - enough to carry him for days, maybe even weeks. Even if time has passed, even if Pogdan helped him during the worst days, the sweet oblivion of a dreamless sleep still beckons; so he stays quiet, a bit far from the others, putting the stuff they found inside whatever bags are at hand and make ready to leave the fishery. But when Aubin talks of burning the compound down, when Shadi and Crease intervene to stop the former Hellknight, he clearly feels compelled to make his thoughts known to the others.

"No." a single syllable, unyielding like the Inquisitor card Zellara gave him "Korvosa has already suffered much because of Lamm. We rid this place of that scum and now there's a chance it might be again a place where people could earn a living, find their fortune, give to the city instead of just taking, taking, TAKING." the former watchman raises his voice, the fist strikes the palm of the other hand in rhythm with the word "taking" "Now you want to give Korvosa another scar. Lamm finds ways to hurt Korvosa even beyond the grave. Burn him, make him disappear, but leave this place standing. Korvosa needs to heal."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Everything Podgan would have said has been said; he almost holds his tongue. But he has a calling, and there is something heavy on his heart. Perhaps it will help this man and stop their fellowship from collapsing.

"Scipio is right," he said, in his mousy voice. "Burn him, if it will give you pleasure. And it will put him beyond resurrection. I think I saw a metal trunk that might do the job. But it will not give you pleasure to hurt the people of this neighborhood. I know you are not that kind of man."

"I thought killing him, seeing him dead, would make it stop hurting," he confesses. "But that's not how wounds work, is it? Or killing. Scipio is right. All we have to show for today's work is that he will do no further harm. Don't let him."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 10 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.


Shadi shakes her head slightly. "There will be no honour to Lamm in his next life. What I will say will not matter to the gods. The houses of their spirits are already empty; what we do with them is of honour to us, to all those who remain. You may do what you like to them, but I will speak the words before you do. If you wish to mark your soul as a desecrator, that is your choice."

As he stood in the larger Shoanti woman's space, given her strength and the damage he had seen her wrought on her foes, he felt her power, not phyiscal, though that certainly did not waver. But a sense of belief, conviction, and the last, marking his soul, the measure of disappointment in her voice. Why then, for an ally he had met so recently did that cut deep? Was it because he had seen what vengeance had wrought, on the revenant who had manipulated them, Zellara Esmeranda, surely her soul had been marked by anger, hatred, loss, guilt, and sheer, terrible vengeance. Would this act, so to, condemn him. His hand wavered in Shadi's grip, though his eyes continued to stare passed her towards Lamm's cadaverous visage.


... committed murder. Warranted, ... but if we were to poll a Hellknight murder it would be ...

As the disgraced noble blathered, Aubin only heard a man who had no idea of what the Order represented, lecture him, an armiger who had suffered under that Order, about the consequences of his course of action. He glared at the little man, hard, in a whisper, he spoke, his lips near bloodless from the anger writ clear on the hard angles of his face. Aubin eased his hand from the Shoanti woman's grip, where he savagely pulled open the sleeve of his right arm, exposing a sunburst of nails tattooed on the inside his his forearm, in a stylized Taldan script around the burst, it read 'Savagery, must be quelled in the land, in the heart, and in the mind'. "Would you care for me to quote, verbatim, from Reus' treatise on the Dispensation of Justice and establishment of an Authoritative Rule, for the crimes we've committed tonight? Do you think me ignorant of either my actions or their repercussions from mine, own, order, ser?!?" Even as he spit venom at the noble, Scipio strode forward.


"No." a single syllable, unyielding like the Inquisitor card Zellara gave him "Korvosa has already suffered much because of Lamm. We rid this place of that scum and now there's a chance it might be again a place where people could earn a living, find their fortune, give to the city instead of just taking, taking, TAKING." the former watchman raises his voice, the fist strikes the palm of the other hand in rhythm with the word "taking" "Now you want to give Korvosa another scar. Lamm finds ways to hurt Korvosa even beyond the grave. Burn him, make him disappear, but leave this place standing. Korvosa needs to heal."

His anger faded as he noted the former guardsman advocate for his city, a shared weakness with the man made him keenly aware that his pain was not endured alone, or at least a portion of that pain festered, too, within the man now speaking to him. "There are two kinds of scars, those caused by a wound, or injury, that come as the result of an attempt to injure or kill. Or the scar left by a chirurgeon's blade, meant to incise a festering wound, an infection, that, left to run rampant, will injure and kill. Korvosa has suffered many of the former, and far too few of the latter. This building," a sweep of his, now bare arm, indicated the sodden wood and timbers of the fishery, "is a bloated, rotting beast, that has been consuming children, corrupting decency, and poisoning the citizenry of this city, for years. The Factor will tell you, the governance of this city will not destroy this carcass, for it is valued less than the cost of destruction, so it will sit empty, rotting, waiting, reminding all in this district of the damage it has wrought, until the next Lamm pries off the boards marking it as abandoned and sets up shop to pray, once again, upon this city. If burned, we prevent that future Lamm from taking root, we excise the infection, and stop the corruption. Korvosa will have a new scar, yes, but it will be bright, and pink, and it WILL heal, healthy, and clean of corruption, infection and filth." As he advanced on the guardsman, not as a threat, but in an impassioned plea, the diminutive Factor stepped forward.


"Scipio is right," he said, in his mousy voice. "Burn him, if it will give you pleasure. And it will put him beyond resurrection. I think I saw a metal trunk that might do the job. But it will not give you pleasure to hurt the people of this neighborhood. I know you are not that kind of man."

"I thought killing him, seeing him dead, would make it stop hurting," he confesses. "But that's not how wounds work, is it? Or killing. Scipio is right. All we have to show for today's work is that he will do no further harm. Don't let him."

At the Factor's words Aubin seemed to deflate, he looked over his shoulder at Shadi, "Say your words," and to Podgan, "It is not harm I seek to inflict upon the peoples of this district, but harm I seek to prevent. If it concerns you stand firewatch with me, as faces peek from shuttered windows we can inform them that Lamm is no more, that their children are safe from depredation, and this fishery will no longer spew poison and corruption to those who suffer in the gutters, the alleys, and the halfway houses. If my former brethren respond, we inform them that we are concerned citizenry, come upon a conflagration and seek only to stop it from it's spread."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan sighs and bows his head. "I can accept that." He looks at the others to see if they are satisfied.

"Each of us is on our own journey, through vengeance to perhaps some kind of peace. If this is part of your road, I will walk it with you, for your service today." He gestures at the corpses of the monsters.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi does not allow herself to rage when she sees the tattoo so proudly emblazoned on Aubin's arm, the very same creed she has learned to despise. Many of the words spoken after that are as noise, slipping past her like a river; she does not follow them to their intended place of meaning. But she remembers herself. Though the veins in her neck tremble as if facing an emberstorm and her fingers ache from white-taut constriction, this is neither the time nor the place. To bare insult or steel now would be to betray the spirit of what she has just defended so ardently. Instead, the Skoan-Quah exile meets the eyes of a man who once swore an oath to destroy her culture and trusts herself only to nod.

"I will be quick," she manages to reply. Stepping towards the corpse, she kneels down before it. From her pouch she draws a stone and begins to carve. Within a minute two symbols emerge, etched together into the floorboards around and enveloping the dead man. Even to those with no knowledge of the Shoanti, there is significance to the shapes and curves; the first character inhabits the space around Lamm's feet, sweeping lines and long curves suggesting waves or hills far away. Eanaw, she remembers, the Endless Journey. The second symbol is heavier, interlinked characters coming together to form chains, or perhaps a curtain around Lamm's torso, head and shoulders. Sosmo, this she knows, Forever Dead.

"Shadi feru Skoan-Quah kitiral tshamek Lamm," the warrior whispers, "Irul kandia vor. Irok devit fendrik swork." Rising to her feet, Shadi lets out a breath she did not quite know she was holding and locks away everything else inside. Overcast, hollow eyes survey the group before settling back on Aubin and his tattoo.

"It is done. He faces his judgment in the next life. Burn the body or the building if you wish; I no longer care for either."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 16/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Upon seeing the gunfighter's tattoo Crease removes his fingers from the barrel of the weapon and steps aside. I'll not quote you the laws, for I do not know them. My knowledge is of written wisdom, not enshrined tyranny. If you are dead set on this selfish path of destruction, don't let the wishes of everyone else who fought beside you sway you. Burn away and damn the consequences, as they say. Crease, securing the loot, walks away from the scenario, tossing the jibes over his back at the mad former Hellknight.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 16/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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


His anger faded as he noted the former guardsman advocate for his city, a shared weakness with the man made him keenly aware that his pain was not endured alone, or at least a portion of that pain festered, too, within the man now speaking to him. "There are two kinds of scars, those caused by a wound, or injury, that come as the result of an attempt to injure or kill. Or the scar left by a chirurgeon's blade, meant to incise a festering wound, an infection, that, left to run rampant, will injure and kill. Korvosa has suffered many of the former, and far too few of the latter. This building," a sweep of his, now bare arm, indicated the sodden wood and timbers of the fishery, "is a bloated, rotting beast, that has been consuming children, corrupting decency, and poisoning the citizenry of this city, for years. The Factor will tell you, the governance of this city will not destroy this carcass, for it is valued less than the cost of destruction, so it will sit empty, rotting, waiting, reminding all in this district of the damage it has wrought, until the next Lamm pries off the boards marking it as abandoned and sets up shop to pray, once again, upon this city. If burned, we prevent that future Lamm from taking root, we excise the infection, and stop the corruption. Korvosa will have a new scar, yes, but it will be bright, and pink, and it WILL heal, healthy, and clean of corruption, infection and filth." As he advanced on the guardsman, not as a threat, but in an impassioned plea, the diminutive Factor stepped forward.

"Then I guess you believe we should burn at least half of Old Korvosa. Maybe burn all the bridges too, se we're sure the corruption's not going to infect the rest of the city." Scipio doesn't seem to be convinced by Aubin's words, just shakes his head with contempt "My friend believes you should have the chance to have some closure. Tells me more than a bit you want closure at the expense of Korvosa, but so be it. Burn the building." the former watchman raises his hand, index pointing at Aubin "But you're going to owe me. Means that if we ever work together again, we're going to do things my way once. You're fine with this, you can burn the building; if not, Lamm should be enough for you."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 10 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin immediately noted Shadi's reaction to the sigil etched into his flesh, a brand that he, himself, loathed as much as any who saw it. However, it was a wound from the past, one that he loathed, but one that drove him forward, to be something more than blind obedience and unquestioning faith. He stepped back as the Shoanti woman performed the rites for Lamm, he didn't particularly feel as though their tormentor deserved such observance of faith, but he did feel that Shadi deserved it, she would not be here, in this city that sickened her, if she too wasn't wrong by the black hearted Lamm.

As he pleaded with his companions, they each fell away, expressing concern for the plan which, he felt, brought closure to the situation, that would burn away the corruption and the violence that their quarry had inflicted upon the district. Allow it to flourish and heal. Still, even as Scipio walked away in disgust, Aubin could only nod, his head low. "My thanks, guardsman," for who, other than a guardsman would have the loyalty, not to the crown, but to the city itself, it made sense, given the man's demeanor and skillset. "You will have my support, this I vow." It did not matter to Aubin that Scipio likely could not hear the pledge, or was too incensed to care, but a pledge was a pledge, a man's word was often all he had.

He removed his cloak, and held it in the briny water of the bay until it was sodden and thrice it's weight. He then wrapped it around his shoulders and mouth, tasting the foul salt of the bay in it's cloth. A muffled voice spoke to Podgan, "Wet cloth will protect your chest and throat from the smoke," he moved through the fishery as the other's left, dousing exposed, flammable surfaces with alcohol and other flammables so it could be set alight. While he did so, he looked for pikes, gaff hooks, and other such instruments with which to push burning piles into the bay to prevent the spread of any fire.

He nodded at the Factor as he worked, thankful for the diminutive man's presence, it was comforting if nothing else. He readied the flint and tinder, setting the fire in the back portion of the fishery, the rooms supported over the water, where the fire was easiest to control, and would drop into the cold, dark waters, where this rotting carcass of a building would be mourned by precisely nobody, for the damage it had wrought to Korvosa and the people of this very district.

OOC: Aided by chemicals from the creation of Shiver, gunpowder where needed, alcohol and other such accelerants, Aubin is going to create a controlled blaze, meant to drop the fishery into the bay, and send a message that Lamm & associates are no more, which will hopefully embolden the residents of the district to no longer allow men of Lamm's disposition to hide amongst them, while preying on them like a parasite. If you would like any specific rolls let me know.

[Amnestic]

The Fishery

As the fire takes hold of the fishery and works at its wood and those within, you cluster outside. The heat steadily rises as the flames spread, cracking and breaking the old half-rotted wood. Orphan and party both watch as the flames rise and rise before the supports give way, and the entire building sinks forward, crashing down from the slanted shoreline into the water. The building continues to burn as it steadily sinks further and further into the riverwater, before finally being consumed by the liquid and extinguishing the flame. The fishery is gone, and its owners with it, swallowed by flame first, and then the icy black of the Jeggare river at night. Whether because of the sudden lurch towards the water, the cold weather or simply serendipity, adjacent buildings are spared the flame.

Some orphans scatter, choosing the cold of the streets over trusting adults - both you and that of orphanages - and believe they will make it on their own. Some might be right, but the cold chill of the winter wind that wraps around you may lead one to believe that at least some of them won't make it in the end. That's nothing unusual for Korvosa though. It's an inevitability that those on the streets will perish in winter, and no matter how much charity the churches offer or how well policed the streets, Korvosan streets always spit out some bodies by the time the frosts thaw in spring. If they're lucky they'll be discovered before the sewer otyughs that lurk below find them.

The majority of children choose to remain include Kester and the still unconscious Nodder, apparently preferring what guiding hand Loric can offer, awaiting the return of Puddles. She returns sometime after the fishery is gone, and it's only Kester's intervention (and the sight of her unconscious brother) that keeps her from fleeing as some of the other orphans did. With Loric and any others who wish to assure the safety of the remaining children, they're delivered safely to the nearby orphanage. The Matron there, a kindly middle-aged woman with more stress wrinkles than a sunned prune, welcomes them in with a mixture of appreciation and frustrated sigh. Not at you or the children, as she is quick to explain, just at the continued state of the city that would bring this on.

Early Morning, 31st Day of Abadius

Wherever you choose to rest your head overnight - be it a brothel, an inn, your home or simply the streets, you are alerted in the mid morning while darkness still cloaks the city. Though night presses down from above, the skyline of the city pushes back with an orange glow. Fires, flickering on the horizon. Some close to you, some far, but dotted across the city in what looks to be every district. The frantic clang of alarm bells harmonises in a perverse way with a cacophony of screams, the clash of steel on steel, shrieks of terror, and the occasional detonation of arcane magic. The hefty wingbeats of the hippogryph mounts belonging to the Sable Company swoop over the city, angling towards Castle Korvosa at a breakneck pace.

Through all the noise and the chaos, the din of a city temporarily gripped by madness, you hear the shouts that herald the cause: "The King is dead! Long live the Queen!" and its counter cries, ragged and screaming "Hang the Queen! The usurper must die!"

Sunrise

When dawn comes the city is...quieter. Not quiet, but quieter. The fires have died down, the sounds of combat have ended, though the streets are still loud with talk and people. Far louder than the streets of the day yesterday. The uneasy powderkeg, briefly flared overnight, has now settled into merely toying with matches instead of being actively ignited. The heated blood pumping through the city is offset by the wintry fall of snow. Thick clouds on the horizon, even buffeted by the seawinds, promise more and more to fall over the coming day, and potentially worse tomorrow still. Though it chills to the bone, it may be for the city's best. It will keep some less-dedicated folks from taking to the streets. Either way the city is in dire straits, on the brink of yet another uprising.

As you make your way across the city, it's impossible to miss the rumours and gossip from those brave or warm enough to take to the streets. Though King Eodred II's health had been declining for some time, his sudden death caught everyone off guard. Some say it was a disease that even the grandest of clerics in the city - of Sarenrae, Abadar and even Asmodeus - could not cure, though the words "poison" and "curse" are not far from such discussions.

Already stifled labourers, put down by Eodred II's spendthrift reign, are taking to the streets. Soot-covered smiths, salty dock workers and all manner of artisans seem immensely displeased at Ileosa taking the throne. The knock-on effect is immediate: Merchant ships and wagons apparently have no one to unload their goods, and the steady flow of food begins to hiccup and stumble. Not only that, but the Acadamae now officially has closed its doors allowing none to enter or leave. The Bank of Abadar follows suit, closing its gilded gates to the public, with a contingent of the faithful armed and ready to repel any would-be looters.

Having arranged to meet up again at a spot you all know - outside Zellara's empty home - you reconvene a little after the sun rises, though it's blocked entirely by thick white-grey clouds above. Slushed snow from your passing clings to boots, and each step steadily dirties the clear white snowfall with grim and dirt. Lancet Street is a quiet place for a meetup, secluded, and relatively untouched by foot traffic by the time you all arrive. What few residents the street have seem to have decided the best option is to stay inside, and given the weather it's hard to blame them.


Feel free to go into more detail on where you sleep, maybe some orphan stuff for Loric, etc. If you choose to get up to stuff during the 'Early Morning' you will exclude yourself from a long rest though. I'm happy to do some timewarping stuff as needed, but remember that the party is severely split. Try not to do something that might get you killed and cause a time paradox.

Also, the weather is Snowing. This has the following effects, though not all of these will be immediately (or potentially ever) relevant:
Overland travel speed (but not combat movement) is halved.
If you try to take a long rest without cover and heat, you need to make a DC15 ConSave to gain the benefits of a long rest. On a fail, you gain no benefits. If you fail by 5 or more, you gain an additional level of exhaustion.
All Cold damage rolls have +2 to them.
The sky is blocked by cloud cover. High flying aerial creatures have Total Cover. Outdoor light doesn't count as Sunlight for the purposes of sunlight sensitivity and similar traits.
Ability Checks with navigation tools to determine your location based on the sky are made with disadvantage.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi's dreams are full of fire and water. She stands atop a spire of endless stone and looks out over the ruin of the new made world as it is torn apart by nameless disaster; roiling cinder-swarms of soot and ash travel across barren wastes, and the silt-rich sea bursts forth from its confines to spill across the plain. Where they meet great columns of jet-fog erupt and billow upwards, choking the skies and casting all in shadow. Though the tower she stands on is secure, she stands under the pall in perfect silence as her vision begins to fade. At the edge of her consciousness, she imagines a hand reaching out to her. No human action, this, but an extension of the rock itself - cool and inviting and immutable. The last sensation she feels before waking is the embrace of stone.

"The King is dead! Long live the Queen!" The words - shouted hoarsely over the echoes of calamity - come from a crier barely ten yards away from where Shadi has come to rest her head for the evening. The former Skoan-Quah warrior cracks open her eyes blearily, failing to absorb the words until they are repeated as others begin to shout nearby. Shaking off the vagaries of sleep, Shadi begins to extricate herself from her den. Excavating the loose mounds of top-soil that she has gathered requires only a thought, as one of the 'walls' of her sleeping area i is pushed up and away and she crawls out of the ground. As she emerges from her self-made warren, her vision swims with blurred shapes in the darkened distance, and the outlines of flames. For a few heartbeats, Shadi is convinced that she is still dreaming before realizing the truth of what she's seeing.

Korvosa is burning.

The first thought - spitefully, uncharitably - is 'good riddance'. Despite her pursuits and the limited success she had at Plates and Plateaus, this city has brought her no joy, and she has never met such ill-spirited people in her life. The face of the Hellknight crosses her mind, and the memory of it frozen in some kind of twisted conviction, believing that the best cure to a thing in pain is to set it ablaze. Maybe one fishery wasn't enough of a world for him to save.. Yet her mind is still muddled by glimmers of guilt - shouldn't she help these people, despite their failings? 'Civilized' though they may be, even a warren of tomb-robbers such as this has innocents, people who are surely suffering as a result of the chaos to come.

The concern fades. This is the way of the world, and there will always be those too weak to avoid getting stepped on. She cannot help them alone in any case; to get involved now would invite a quick death by someone labelling her as part of 'a Shoanti plot' or some other nonsense. Retreating back to her den, she wraps herself in a shroud of claiven earth to stare down the storm within.


Shadi wastes no time after dawn breaks, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders to ward off the goosebumps on her bare arms from the deep bite of snowfall's chill as she cuts a path directly across Korvosa to the agreed meeting place. Though she enjoyed seeing a few traces of the stars at night, she has to concede that if she doesn't want to freeze to death, she'll need to find a roof over her head and a warm blanket. Though she has a few coins leftover from her working stint, with the restaurant burned down she'll need to find another source of income until she can start to think about rebuilding. Hopefully the haul from the Fishery will help in that regard.

The Shoanti arrives at Zellara's dwelling on Lancet Street under a limpid milky sky and waits in silence. Despite the cold, she does not seem to twitch or shiver - she may as well be a statue on the street corner.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan sits the firewatch, and talks to any of the children who will listen about hope for a life beyond the streets, a life after Lamm. He escorts them to the orphanage of a gentler god with the rest of the group, and goes home troubled, his mind full of fire and the hollow eyes of the neighborhood, watching them all with mistrust. Two former officers of the law, a priest of civilization itself, an aristocrat; and two foreigners, yet each in their way as honorable as any devotee of Abadar the gnome has ever met. The children cut down, combatants like any other; the child dangling, and the desperate intemperate passion of the tanner to save him.

In his dreams he sees his god, the god of justice and law both, torn apart and battling himself, strict rule of Law against the demands of Justice, and where their titanic feet tread in the city of Korsova, fires bloom and people run in terror, and Mercy chases after them with water, doing all she can to save the innocents. He is dedicated, life's blood and oath in his own breath, to those titans; but his heart is with the ragged figure with the ewer.

Fire and chaos in his dreams, and he wakes to find his dream loose in the city. The day that follows is terrifying, not just because of the chaos but because even the Temple is at a loss. The law is torn in two, flapping loose, and no one knows what happens next. The closure of the bank wounds him at his core; what is it but a confession that even the edifice of the law is defeated and dares not open its doors? What hope can they offer? And more prosaically, what about the gold in their vaults that people surely desperately need back? They took it with a promise. If that promise means nothing, then he means nothing. Nothing more than what Lamm made him.

It is a good thing he took out and oiled his scale mail for his work the day before, because it is needed as soon as he rises from bed, and he is already sore with the weight and wearily sick of its clanking obviousness when he joins Shadi in the alley. He continues to look absurd; in armor designed to make a tall man look like a gleaming exemplar of law and wealth and civilization, he looks like a fat, ambulatory candlestick.

"Good morning," he says cautiously to the Shoanti woman. "I know little of your people, I'm afraid, but I must say I was struck by your commitment to the dead yesterday. You seem to me a very honorable woman. And I think you did more to sway our friend than any of the rest of us."

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


"I do not believe it is a good morning, Pogdan," Shadi replies with a vague gesture towards the city behind her. She does not turn around to look herself. "There will be many more dead to speak over before the sun sets again."

The warrior sighs, shifting in the snow and creating an ever-widening pool of brown-grey slush at her feet. "Your words are kind, but mine failed to move the Hellknight from his course. Maybe your choice was the more honourable, to stand beside an ally on ill ground even if you did not share their beliefs." From her pocket she produces a small bundle which she carefully unwraps in front of the armoured rock gnome.

She reaches out, passing out a morsel of what appears to be some sort of jerky before biting some off to chew herself. "This is maxmax. Dried moose back meat treated with maple and sugar, a recipe from home. It will keep up your strength."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

He chews it thoughtfully. "Quite tasty, yes. And, ah, an entertainment in itself." He chews a bit longer.

"We all gathered yesterday to commit a crime. My oath is to the law, and I cannot find honor in it, for myself. For you, of course, as an outsider to our ways, I am sure it was different."

"But crime or no, it felt needful to me, and so I went with the intention of seeing it done with all the... the decency we could manage, under the circumstances. If it was needful to him to burn the the fishery, then, well--no one promised me it would be easy. No harder than watching a nobleman loot warm bodies or healing children forced to protect their abuser. Yet in the end, we did it, and we did do it with what decency there could be, and..."

He looks at the smoke in the sky and finally swallows the lump of dried meat. "On this not-so-good morning, where less careful fires burn... that is something, I suppose."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 0/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

The Night of the Fire

Crease did not linger long at the site of the fishery. As far as he was concerned, his business here was concluded when Lamm died and the loot was accounted for. So while the others were managing the fire and the orphans, Crease headed for the Bard's End for the night, intent on a good night's sleep. Perhaps not as good as the manor bed he shared with the coquettish Kroft girl, but perhaps even better now that Lamm was dead. Yes, he attempted to convince himself, he felt... better. Revenge was... sweet. Assuredly, things were on the path to his personal betterment. But if that were so... why did he have a bitter taste in his mouth and his heart? Shrugging as he moved down a dark alley, Crease figured that it was nothing that could not be banished with good wine. And now he could afford good wine.

Early that Morning

As warring shouts filled the street, Crease covered his head with his pillow and cursed his fourth glass of wine. The King is dead... and I feel like I am too. But... bright sides not we will have an audience with THE most powerful person in Korvosa instead of the SECOND most powerful. And she will be in our debt, at least to some degree... Blearily, Crease went back to bed with a smile on his face, dreaming of honor restored and Anoria returned to her rightful place.

Sunrise on Lancet Street

Crease is late. He would say fashionably late, but the truth is much more biological than that. He'd woken up with a hangover from the hells themselves. Something about killing Lamm hadn't satisfied him as he thought, and no amount of wine would wash the bitterness of dissatisfaction from his mouth. That hadn't stopped him from trying. Still, he had plenty of experience walking off the results of a night of overindulgence. In the time he'd spent preparing this morning he'd had several cups of black coffee, an icy bath, and a hearty, greasy breakfast with extra butter and runny eggs. By the time he arrived, he was late, indeed, but he felt halfway human again. Boots crunching through snow, he approached the others with a pained smile, a new feather in his cap, and an impish salute. "Good morning, all. I'm sure you've heard the news. We're all about to meet with the supreme ruler of Korvosa and make her day. I assume you've all followed my instructions and bathed?" He gave a few experimental sniffs as though to test the question.





Rolling perception to see if anyone stinks. [roll0]. I'm tempted to argue that Shadi sleeping in a literal hole in the ground gives advantage, so in case it does [roll1].

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The Wake

Upstairs, Loric is seated inside near the front door to shelter himself from the chill wind outside as he waits with the other children for 'Puddles' to return. When the others climb up and inform him of the fire, he frowns slightly, but does not complain.

This building is of no importance to him, nor the fate of its neighbors if the fire should spread. He would disappear into the night and be forgotten if need be. Again. But no such disaster occurs, as they stand vigil outside. What irritates him his he and the children having to stand out in the cold for this foolish act of passion. He remains for a time, with the children, waiting for the boy's sister. The heat of the flames provides more respite from the weather than huddling in some nearby alley would.

"Such a shame," he comments idly as he squats near a wall, offering cover from the wind. Fire flickers across the tired lines of his face as he stares into it. "The roaches were quite pleased with their lot. May just be the only thing this man has made happy for a long time." The crocodile, he imagines, was beaten to keep it mean and obedient. Apart from his small eulogy to Lamm's pest infestation, he doesn't say anything to those others standing around.

When puddles arrives, he leaves the talking to Kester. Speaking is not his strong suit, and he is as likely to frighten the girl away as convince her to go with them, even as he carries her brother. Bringing those who are left trailing behind him like ducklings, he marches to the Dawnflower House. With his charge delivered to safety, the man vanishes from the group as mysteriously as he arrived.

The Morning of Fire

On the edge of the Thieves' Camp, near the shore of the water, Loric sits in the damp grass and looks out over the city. His dreams had been haunted by thoughts of the past, and he had risen early. The dawn is welcomed not with the tinged aurora of the sunrise, but with the blazing red of more fires lighting up the city. The shouts and clashing metal bring him back in waking memories, clutching his spear haft tightly in front of him.

The city is at war with itself. The streets run red with blood, the snow of the winter morning stained. It is a reflection of a truth that has been lurking underneath its skin for a long time: the city is at war with itself. Nothing has changed.

As embers of an old fire start to kindle anew, purpose twitches the man's hands. His thoughts turn to rotten old miser at the tannery. Plastered upon the wretched thing's face, Loric sees Lamm's leer. He is starving these people. Behind Loric, the Thieves' Camp, many depend on the tannery to get by and that is being exploited. These are his people now. They have helped him build his fence. They have helped him care for his sheep.

The war will not notice one more casualty.

Cruel and destructive justice moves Loric from his seated position, the familiar old haft carrying his weight from its rest. It is ready. It is willing

Remember your oath. This is not who you have to be.

The other voice, drifting in the scent of the tannery around him, speaks to him in a soothing tone. Looking down at the patterns in the wood, Loric debates between the two. "I swore never to take up the blade in the name of war." He holds the staff in both hands, closing his eyes as he whispers to himself. Convincing himself. "This is neither blade nor war."

Stepping away from the shore, he walks towards the tannery, moving through brush and cover of darkness. It is early still. No one else will have arrived yet. He can find the old man as he returns to his seat of power, if the city's revels do not take him first. It is karma's due, and Loric would not begrudge karma for claiming it first.

The Rendezvous

Loric is already waiting outside of Zellara's residence when the others arrive. The others can tell he has been there for some time, as snow has settled on his shoulders and atop his hood. His clothes look freshly washed, but the stink of the tannery still clings to him like a shroud. It is immediately obvious to Cressius, assaulting his delicate nose with its invasive tendrils.

"I have not," he points out the obvious, in answer to the fop's question. "If one cannot withstand the smell of work, they are not worthy of my respect."

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Early Morning
After having escorted Pogdan, Scipio goes back to the small house he has rented in Old Korvosa and tries to get some rest - as much as he is tired, however, sleep doesn't come easy. A deep, painful longing for the Shiver fills his mind; if he had at least one vial...
...the former watchman starts punching his pillow over and over and over in a desperate effort to use the anger he feels for what he has lost to stave off his desire for that poison. After a while he sighs and relaxes a bit, trying to remember the words Pogdan had used to help him during the dreadful days when his whole life crumbled because of the Shiver, because of Lamm. Yes, Lamm - the man he helped murder. Now that he has some time to ponder on what happened, Scipio realizes, surprisingly enough, that he doesn't feel guilty and he has no fear of retribution, be it from Lamm's associates, the Guard or the Hellknights.
After his brush with death back in the Fishery, meeting Pharasma doesn't scare him.

Thanks to the memory of the peace he felt when everything went dark, Scipio finally manages to doze off. Korvosa has other plans, however. When the screaming starts, Scipio abrutply awakes and goes to the the window to check what's happening. Screams, fires, violence. The Curse has struck again. The city he loves seems bent on destroying itself and he feels powerless - Lamm might be dead and yet it doesn't seem Korvosa is any different from the day before.

Sunrise
He arrives last, still a bit drowsy. He wears the same patchy clothes he wore during the night, but at least he is more or less clean. He nods a greeting to his accomplices and doesn't seem in a talking mood, but when Crease gets close he moves away and says with an indignant tone "Stop acting like you're the one calling the shots. You're not." he scoffs and shakes his head "You truly believe we're going to be close enough the Queen could actually smell us? Don't be a fool."

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease wrinkled his nose at Loric and looks absolutely aghast at Scipio. I don't presume to be in charge, but I would be remis if I didn't utilize my superior skills in diplomacy, gentility, and negotiation, alongside my elevated social rank, to our advantage. I simply offer advice to maximize our profit in this exchange. And not all profit comes in the form of coin. Acknowledgement. Respect. Privilege. Even position. All of these and more can be earned by preforming favors for a Queen. And all of which may be squandered if the Master of Horse, Head Butler, or the Chief Groomsman, any one of which may be the one we actually hand the bauble off to, smells the scent of piss and rotten brains on one of our number. I'm only trying to help you all see a bigger windfall. Crease tried to look nonchalant, but allowed it to fade into a thorough pout as his will slipped.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

"Sure, the Queen couldn't wait to have the like of us at her service." Scipio snorts, sarcasm dripping from every word "I mean, we're just a Shoanti - no offense, ma'am, just stating people here in Korvosa don't like your kind - and a tanner - again, no offense, I know what it means to work with your hands - and a couple of former addicts." the former watchman shakes his head "What you really mean is that you hope to get respect, privilege and what else. But know also too well that the rest of us doesn't stand a chance, no matter how clean and well-dressed we are. But truth is: you're fooling yourself." now the tone of the chelish man is less rough, there's a hint of pity "We got scammed, cheated, exploited by Lamm because we're a bunch of losers. He knew all too well no one would really care if something happened to us, so he could toy with us without any real fear of retaliation." then he points his finger towards Crease "And if you had even a shred of influence or power here in Korvosa, Lamm would've left you alone. You're just like us: a nobody. The Queen won't care about you, she won't care about any of us. Nor her servants."

"Believe all of us heard what happened during the night. People don't want a foreign Queen - can't say I blame them, she's from Cheliax. Believe the new Queen'll want to strengthen her rule, suppress any opposition. Tying your fortunes to the Queen could very well mean help her get rid of these people."

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 10 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Firewatch:

Aubin tried to remain stoic over the course of the blaze, leaning against the gaff stick, patrolling the perimeter of the smouldering fishery, ensuring the blaze did not catch to neighbouring buildings, however, his hands betrayed him. They shook, not from fear, or anger, or outrage. No. They shook because he craved, he desired, he longed for the poison that Lamm had thrust upon him, and in his weakness, he had accepted. He looked, even now, through the smoke and the flame, out over the bay, and he could hear her screams, if he thought to, and the cotton that the shiver packed his brain in could not stop the thoughts as they came roiling in, the blame, the guilt, and worse. He had committed a crime today, a murder, perhaps several, and all he felt for it was ... empty. Nothing.

After the fishery's inevitable collapse into the cold, dark waters, he turned, perhaps his companions had been right, perhaps this had been for naught, another wound on this city, in this town. Surely he had excised it, but with what, a poker? He had seen what such instruments do to a man's flesh, he had been an armiger long enough, flame burns away corruption, but it is not clean, and a burn is a terrible thing to live with. Could Korvosa? Could he?

His mind wandered as his feet took him through the byways and alley ways of the city, before he found himself, once again, walking the length of Lancet street. It was oddly different at this time of night, and it's alleys echoed with his footfalls, the wind moaned through chinks in the stone of neighbouring tenements, a haunting, ghostly, sound, but no matter where he looked he saw no flicker of their hostess. He shrugged his shoulders, clasped his hands together and approached the manor, breaking in through a boarded window. It's interior did not match his memory, dusty, faded, furniture, or remnants of, mouldering fruit in bowls, cobwebs, and an air of abandonment. It possessed none of Esmeranda's hospitality, or her wisdom, it was a carcass, emaciated and paper thin, like Aubin himself. He stood at the table, where a night previous he had sat, he looked to the head, where she had sat, and in a sombre, tired voice, he whispered that the deed had been done, justice, vengeance, or just murderous revenge. He scoffed, her vessels were well chosen, if nothing else.

He gathered the old, rotten wood from the room, breaking it over his knee, and tossing it in the hearth, Korvosa nights were unforgiving cold, and he did not mean to die this night. Using what was left of his smoke powder, flint and steel, he started a fire, running his fingers through the flame, just to feel something, anything, before, finally, the unrelenting fatigue of the night's work dragged him down into oblivion.

31st day of Abadius:

He awoke with a start, the cries of his dreams mingled with those of Korvosa's citizenry, until the two were, both, indistinguishable and undeniable. Had his fires spread? Had Esmeranda's vengeance consumed the minds of the town's inhabitants ... the cries of the mob echoed through his sleep addled brain ... the king dead, the queen to blame ... what portent of this had the discovery of the locket been? It all seemed madness and flame, when he heard the sound of familiar voices from outside the manor's boarded doors. Donning cloak and hat, he r rubbed snow and sleet across his face, it's bracing frost, forcing bleary eyes wide, cautiously moved around the corner of the revenant's home, to spy his murderous companions, as Scipio, loudly declared himself, and his allies losers, in the eyes of Lamm, and, very likely, the Queen of Korvosa. Shrugging Aubin could hardly disagree, "Ill omens abound, smoke, and flame, and fire, last night we conspired to murder, for motives of our own. Now, the city stands aflame, cries of Regicide echo through her walls? It seems ill advised to return a Queen's bauble when her crown is wreathed in ash?"

[Amnestic]

Now gathered and with your next goal decided upon, you head west towards Castle Korvosa. Anyone could find it in the city even if they were a complete stranger to the land, as it's almost certainly the most imposing structure in the entire city. A fortress, citadel and palace all at once, the castle is built atop an ancient four-sided pyramid, built millenia ago by the Shoanti. Few things boast of Korvosa's victory over the Shoanti more than the Castle, a monument to domination, and a warning to the remaining tribes that live beyond the walls. So tall are the castle's bladed towers and parapets atop the pyramid that the castle can be seen from anywhere in the city, and likewise someone in the castle can see down to anywhere in the city. Though the King is dead and the monarchs have had a distinctly tumultuous legacy before now, it's no mistake that the entire city rests under the looming gaze - and shadow - of the throne.

The castle's position at the top of the pyramid also serves a second notable, and deliberate, function: that of tiring out any potential petitioners, be they expected or otherwise. The broad ramps on each of the pyramid's four sides aren't prohibitively steep, but you're nevertheless climbing the equivalent of a number of tower's worth in height, and it's enough to leave even the most hardy among you huffing and puffing, especially when the snowfall beneath your feet makes the ramps concerningly slippery. It's possible that a twisted ankle or a slipped foot at the right moment and the wrong step could send you sliding down the side of the pyramid, to almost certain death, if not grievous injury. This, it seems, is an acceptable risk to the Throne. Perhaps on other days a contingent of guards or workers would be sent out to keep the ramps clear and secure, but today there is no one. The guards normally expected at the bottom of the pyramid have been pulled away, and you're not accosted during your ascent, nor do you see anyone else making the trek, though with three other avenues to the castle, they may simply have chosen another route.

The city's thick tension isn't alleviated as you ascend through the cold and snow, vision half-obscured by the frozen flakes falling from the firmament. Step over step over step, your legs complaining, your knees aching, your shoulders shivering, your breath clouding. Until finally you breach past the edge of the pyramid and ascend onto the flat plane. What was once a far off sight in the castle now looms over you almost as a malicious shadow, its dark stone breaking through the cold, fog and snow.

More pressingly than the castle however are the dozen Korvosan Guards on duty at the gates - gates that are shut, and likely barred. Security has been pulled back, heightened, and is on alert. Though they're not actively pointing their weapons at you, they look a hair's breadth from doing so. High strung, cold, and perhaps a little more than eager to fight. At the very least they're restrained enough to hold off from immediately feathering you with crossbow bolt volleys. Instead one - a sergeant, if his insignia is to be believed - steps forward from the collected guard and calls out to you. "State your identities and business! Do not approach until given leave to do so!" His voice, cracked from cold, may have echoed out to the city on any other day, but today it's half washed away by the wind and snow.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease steps forward, but only a single step, having no more desire to be cut down by swords than to be feathered with bolts. He takes a deep breath, his exhale rising from his lips and smoke, and clears his throat before proceeding. I'll let my allies provide you their names, but mine is Creissus Walrun Ornetto the Fourth. Perhaps you've heard of my many stage performances, concerts, or of the many notable deeds of my household for the Crown. No? No matter. We are here because after being engaged in combat by some local thieves, we discovered amongst the spoils of victory a bejeweled brooch that I immediately recognized as originally belonging to our noble Queen. As loyal and humble citizens of our fine state, we knew it was out duty to see it returned to her, post haste. If she sees fit to reward us for the life or death struggle we engaged in that led to it's recovery, all the better for us. We will gladly wait here while you alert the proper courtiers, and perhaps even the Queen herself, that we have come to return her prize. Making doubly sure that he is too far away from the guards for them to simply reach out and yank it from his grasp, Crease holds out the brooch, letting the jewels catch the light, just to hammer home the point that they were here with purpose, not violence or revolution, in mind.





Persuasion- [roll0], or [roll1] if someone wishes to assist.

[Amnestic]

Creissus' words, along with a scrutinised look at the brooch in question - at a distance - provoke a short discussion among the guards. Their lips unreadable, their voices unheard over the whipping winds, until the sergeant turns back to you. If he's impressed by Creissus' position, he doesn't show it. Perhaps he's well used to dealing with nobles in his position, or perhaps he's just cold and tired. "Understood. Those who wish to enter may do so, however you must surrender all weapons, magical component pouches, arcane focuses, holy symbols, and any other similar items prior to entry. These will be returned to you when you leave." They don't move to open the gates, however, presumably waiting until you're disarmed before doing so. The abundance of caution is clear on display.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 20 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin was not at all surprised by the request, however, with a commanding view of Korvosa, he did note the areas of smoke, and ruin, from the early morning riots, and given the current state of the city, he was surprised by the unease he felt at disarming himself, even while in the presence of the Queen's guard. A deep inhale, he removed his coat, draping it over one arm as he unclasped his bandolier, from which hung his rapier and paper cartridges. He then drew his pistol, carefully, in a slow, deliberate manner, so as not to be feathered by crossbow bolts, holding it with the bandolier, "Surely you've a man to collect our arms, if forced to place my pistol upon the snow and sleet, it will irreparably damage the firing mechanism. Perhaps send a man down to collect it? I've two more daggers in my belt, but only so many hands, yea?"

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Continuing her trend of remaining quiet, the Shoanti woman chews on the snack that tastes of home as she listens to the others waste time on matters already decided. They are all going to the castle to see the queen, who could apparently also be a usurper but nobody really knows anything about it. Shadi nods in agreement when Scipio mentions her kindred not being accepted in these stolen lands; that much is obvious enough. Although she has taken care to use magic to clean off her clothes after lying in the dirt for the evening as requested, altering her wardrobe is out of the question. She has earned what she wears now, and there is little that anyone here can say to change that. Especially not the Hellknight, who she does not acknowledge from the moment he shows up on the scene. Shadi barely even looks at him.

The journey through the snow is not so long as to be overly taxing, but she has not expected the weather to turn so drastically. Wrapping herself tightly in a cloak with a similar fur lining as the rest of her Storval clothing, Shadi stares up at Castle Korvosa balefully when the group arrives at the base of its titanic pyramid. She wonders - not for the first time - how many of her ancestors died defending this place, and how long it took for the invaders to think of the land as theirs after the slaughter was done. The climb is spent in similar laconism. Shadi focuses on keeping one foot in front of the next, the mechanics of movement and overwhelming desire to avoid slipping on slick stone taking the place of too much rational thought.

It is only when they reach their destination at the castle gate itself that some part of her stirs out of its momentary hibernation. The guards call for a halt and the preening liar presents himself, and then in a moment they're asked for their weapons. Shadi pauses, her fingers moving towards the hilt of her sword and the bundle that holds her hunting spears, but looks at Pogdan to see what the gnome will do.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

For his part, Podgan surrenders his dagger and the crossbow he carries awkwardly on his back without even a murmur; he is more reluctant to give up his holy symbol, even though his armor and shield still clearly proclaim his faith and allegiance. But there is nothing to be done about it.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"I am here for my fair cut," Loric tells Cressius as he begins to rattle on about authority and power and other things that interest him not. Closing his eyes and pulling his meagre cloak around himself, he breathes two streams of hot breath out from his nose. "That is all. Let us walk before our toes fall off."

And walk they do. A grueling trek through a city where ruined storefronts freshly looted greet them on the side of the road, and homes with windows boarded up before or after they were broken stand as tiny fortresses against the civil unrest. A city at war with itself. The words repeat themselves over and over in Loric's mind, a carousel unable to stop.

The mantra is a welcome distraction from the biting cold. For once they begin the ascent to the castle, the thick overcrowded buildings on either side no longer shield them from the bitter wind, flapping Loric's cloak around himself. His teeth chatter and his feet protest, his old spear haft now serving true its purpose as a walking stick to keep him steady. In a rare moment of material envy, he wishes he had heavy furs as the Shoanti woman did.


At the summit, he waits with his eyes closed, though he fears that his snow-covered eyelashes may freeze them shut. His hand holds to the haft of his spear jealously as they are asked to disarm. It has been a constant companion. "May I keep my walking stick?" he asks, speaking up with a strained voice unused to rising above a soft whisper.

[roll0] Persuasion
[roll1] Adv if anyone else provides Help

If they are unconvinced, he will turn it over. His fists are only marginally less deadly anyways, but they don't need to know that.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease hands over his weapons readily enough, then passes his guitar as well. He does not volunteer that his voice is all the focus he needs for most of his spellwork, rightly fearing that they might gag him. If he was anything at all, Crease was abhorrent to being gagged.

[Amnestic]

The sergeant nods at two of his companions to move forward and cross the boundary between you. The guards - wrapped in cloaks as thick as they're allowed - bring along two large storage boxes sufficient for all except the largest of your weapons. "They will be stored in a room inside the castle away from the elements. The Korvosan guard would not damage another's property without just cause." Though the tone is placating, there's an edge of irritation. It's not helped any by Loric's attempt that falls flat. "Every other day we've got some upstart mage or priest trying the 'walking stick' trick. I'm not snowblind, you can walk fine." The soldier in front of Loric beckons a little more aggressively than necessary for the weapon to be handed over, and only inclines his head the very slightest in thanks when it's done.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio stays quite silent when the group is confronted by the Korvosan Guard, even trying to avoid making eye contact with them - they might know each other, maybe even worked together and he feels quite ashamed of what he has become now. When asked, he surrenders his weapons without trying any trick; in the end, these people are just doing their job, a job he had once as well and he knows all too well what it means to have to deal with civilians who just have to make your day harder because "reasons".

[Amnestic]

With your weapons and any casting implements safely secured without issue, the sergeant visibly untenses, even if only slightly and barks a quick order to open the gate. You're lead - escorted, some might say - inside by a contingent of soldiers armed with spears and heavy crossbows. Their poise is one of nervousness combined with relief. As your group passes the threshold into the castle the sap of the wind falls away. Though it's hard to call the castle warm, the torches that light the way and the thick stone ensures enough heat insulation that you're markedly more comfortable. Alas, what greets you is not a flat plane or perhaps a nice reception waiting room, but yet more stairs. They trail upward along the side of the castle, passing under a gatehouse archway, but rising up another three entire floors - and castle floors with high ceilings are rather larger than the residential buildings of Korvosa proper. If the stairs affected the armed and armoured guards they don't show it, but they didn't have to walk up the pyramid in the freezing cold. If anything they seem relieved for the chance to get their muscles working.

After a devastastingly tiring slog step over step you arrive to the third floor of the castle, in what appears to be a cloakroom, furnished with wooden wardrobes, benches and other accoutrements for visitors to leave their heavy traveling gear behind. There's one person waiting here, and from her stance and movements as you enter she's clearly been waiting for you. Despite the safety of the interior of the castle she is decked out in full plate armour, save for the helmet that sits on a bench nearby. A falchion rests comfortably across her lower back near horizontal - an unusual position for a sheathed blade. Her red hair is short, left in a pixie cut style, though there's very little sense of the fey about her. Most notably however is the crisscross of scars across her left cheek the stretch up across her eye and nose, no doubt made with a bladed weapon. Rather than diminish her beauty, the scars instead seem to draw you in, granting her a physicality instead of the ethereal nature that nobles prefer to aim for.

She gives a curt nod, before introducing herself. "Sabina Merrin. I'm told you've something that belongs to the Queen. Is this correct?" How or when she was told isn't clear, but it seems the Sergeant sent a message between Creissus' introduction and your ascending of the castle proper. She doesn't mince words, with each word being delivered with utmost effiiciency. When she takes a look at the brooch in Creissus' possession, it brings a smile to her face - small, barely creeping at the edges of her lips, but noticeable for those paying close attention. With a nod and a gesture, she addresses the guards. "You can go, these heroes pose no threat to the Queen." A quick salute - impeccably uniform in nature from the guards - and they march back the way you came, leaving you alone with the knight. "Despite the recent news, the Queen will want to hear from you - and reward you - herself. Before we see her, please confirm how you would like to be introduced - name, title, accolades and the like."



There may have been a famous witch by that name. They're unlikely to be the same person, but you never know with witches.



Sabina Merrin is Ileosa's right hand and bodyguard. Rare indeed are the occasions where Sabina is not with her Queen when they're not within the safety of the castle walls. She earned her position with near peerless strength and skill with the blade, and holds the respect of those under her.



Sabina was originally part of the Korvosan Guard, but owing to her incredible skills with the blade, ferocity in a fight and beauty, the Queen requested she be discharged and instead reassigned to serve her directly. Sabina accepted eagerly, and is without a doubt Ileosa's most staunchly devout servant. Though Ileosa's reign is legitimate by law, there's little doubt that the respect in soldiers that Sabina inspires contributes greatly to the Korvosan Guard's willingness to serve Ileosa after Eodred's passing.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 10 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

"Well met, Lady Merrin. You may introduce me as Creissus Walrun Ornetto, Fourth of his Line, of the Citadel Hill Ornettos. My thanks for allowing me my full name and title." Crease has a Cheshire cat grin splitting his features, and he shot a superior look at the doubters who said the Queen would not meet them in person. He notably forgot to add that he was FORMERLY of Citadel Hill, and more recently of common room floors, the benches at the Bard's End, and whatever lad or lady's bed felt like sharing. He took a moment to add a modest spritz of cologne from a crystal bottle, being careful to not fill the cloak room with the strong scent and choke out his allies and guide.





Crease is being careful not to spritz enough to offend anyone, but I think it would be far funnier if he failed to do so, don't you?

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Sabina Merrin. Scipio has never met her, but back in the days when he was part of the Korvosan Guard she was the kind of person he looked up to. Even though he seriously doubts Merrin has ever heard his name - let alone about his dishonorable discharge - there's still a completely irrational fear of being recognized by someone he once (and maybe still does) admired. So when it's his turn he says with barely more than a whisper "Scipio Arquetius. No titles." like a schoolboy who didn't study for the exam and hopes no one would really hear him. Whatever shame Scipio may feel right now is however surpassed by the sheer disgust of having to smell Crease's cologne (and that look doesn't help either) - the former watchman wrinkles his nose and coughs, but the presence of Merrin seems to stop any grievance he has against the noble.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 20 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Sabina Merrin? There had been tales of her pursuit and capture by the Hellknights, they had tried to interrogate her, but before they could remove her tongue she spoke an abyssal incantation, invoked her patron's name, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke and brimstone. Surely this couldn't be her, though he quickly averted her eyes, lest it were. In a clipped tone, he responded, "Viscount Marcillus Praecus Aquillonius, House Eriabor, formerly of Cheliax." Best not give the witch his real name, it was said it could be used to exert influence over ones mind, and if he was going to lie to a member of the Queen's Court, it had best be a practiced lie.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

"Factor Podgan, of the Bank of Abadar," he says simply. Other than the odd coincidence, the name means nothing to him, but he shows her respect regardless, intimidated by the palace.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


If Shadi was apprehensive when the group made their ascent up the side of the great pyramid and were forced to give up their weapons, she is positively on edge as they are escorted into the depths of Castle Korvosa. A part at the back of the woman's mind is always counting the number of guards in each room and corridor they pass, looking futilely for exits among the stark and forbidding masonry. The return of the stairs are a welcome respite from her restiveness, as she is too busy making sure she stays upright and forward facing. It will not do to look weak in this place - more than any hunting ground in the Plateau, here there are predators.

And before long, the group finds themselves face to face with one. Shadi sizes up Sabina the moment she claps eyes on her; the easy fighting stance, comfort walking around in full plate, and the battle-scars all scream 'champion', yet she has also heard the name associated with a witch. Surely this cannot be the same woman? Although she has little experience with witches in general, from what she's heard in the past they are not too far removed from the shamans of her homeland, few of whom are known to wear that kind of heavy armour. Then again, stranger things have happened.

"Shadi, who was Skoan-Quah." The words are out before she can stop them. She neither blinks nor breaks the woman's eyeline, and the name is spoken with terrible serenity.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Bereft of his staff, Loric feels restless, fingers flexing and balling at his side. He reaches up and rubs his opposite writes for want of something to occupy them. The cold stone is a comfort, when it takes the place of snow, ice and bitter wind. Passing by the torches on the stairwell upwards, Loric reaches up and brushes his fingers near the flame, feeling the warmth glance across the numb digits. Alas, no time to stop and warm himself by the fire.

The soldiers here all carry themselves with discipline, and when they arrive at their destination the reason why becomes clear. Merrin's reputation precedes here, even among the Thieves' Camp outcasts. A symbol of all the power and authority of the crown. Is she also a warrior, he wonders to himself, looking at the woman's battle-scarred face. The distinction between the two is subtle. Not all soldiers have faced real war.

"Loric," he answers plainly, a single word crouched among the honorifics and titles of those around him, even the stoic Scipio possessing a family name. Once, he would have introduced himself as the tanner. Perhaps he will again. But here and now there is a limbo there, a place between the warrior and the tanner, an impure mixture. So the hollow name will stand alone.

[Amnestic]

If Sabina finds your strange band of individuals amusing or curious she doesn't show it, nor does she give anything more than a curt nod and perhaps the hint of a raised eyebrow in response to each of your introductions. "Very well." She turns to an otherwise unremarkable door on her left and beckons you to follow. It opens smoothly, clearly maintained, and you're lead into what could only be the throne room. It's longer than it is wide, leading up the length to the throne itself. The tall vaunted ceiling leads to a number of stained glass windows at the far end, past the throne, depicting past kings and queens. Crimson tapestries hang along the other walls. It's pristine, clean as anything could be and a far cry from the rotting hovel that was the fishery, but it also feels remarkably empty. There are no trophies, or grand works of art, save for those forcibly installed into the windows. A roaring fireplace offers light and heat to the hall, and a red silk carpet provides a gently arching path to the throne's base.

The throne itself is a black metal construct, adorned with similar crimson cloth to the overhanging tapestries and comfortable red cushions. Sat upon it is a woman, who could only be Queen Ileosa. Beautiful even in mourning. Her brown hair is tied up into a simple yet elegant style of hoops and braids, and she has foregone her usual ostentatious styles for a plain black mourning dress and veil, behind which her hazel eyes regard you She wears no jewellery, nor adornment. Were it not for the quality of the cloth and tailoring you could mistake her for any grieving woman you meet on the street, albeit one possessing great beauty.

True to her word, Sabina loudly calls out your names and titles (true or otherwise) in order as you enter, before accompanying you in the walk towards the throne, stopping a good fifteen from the seat of power in Korvosa. Sabina gestures for the brooch, not allowing you to progress further, and takes it, crossing the distance to stand beside her monarch and hands it over. Ileosa gently holds the object, running her delicate fingers over the ornate craftsmanship and jewels with reverence. When she speaks, it has the weight of a ruler behind it, but softened by emotion that she can't hold in.

"This brooch was stolen from me some time ago—I had not expected to see it again, truth be told. A dearly cherished gift from..." She trails off, unable to complete the sentence. "And yet, here on my darkest day, you come before me with kindness. The return of this brooch is much more than an honorable deed. It is inspiration. It is hope. Tell me, how did you come by it?" There's no threat in her question, it's not an accusation that you did the deed. Instead, it seems raw curiosity, perhaps on the journey that her precious object took before finally returning to its rightful owner.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Even she has to concede that the throne room is beautiful, yet it is somehow colder to her than the snowy expanse outside. Where are the friends of the dead king, other members of his family? She cannot imagine laughter here even on a better day, and for a moment she is struck with something like sentiment for the woman sitting on the black spiky chair ahead of them. How lonely must it feel, to be trapped here for days on end while one's people ranted and raved and called for your head?

Yet it would be a betrayal to bow before an invader queen - even a mourning one - so Shadi does not. Instead she meets Ileosa's gaze and speaks the truth plainly and in an unvarnished way.

"We hunted a man named Gaedren Lamm, who used children to steal from people and sold drugs down at the docks with no resistance. Together we killed him and burned his fishery to the ground. The brooch was with a lot of other stolen things in his camp. We thought we might get a reward for returning it to you."

[Amnestic]

"There is a charm to one who does not...what's the phrase, beat around the bush? It's a quality I see too little of." There's the hint of an affectionate glance shared between Queen and Knight, but it could just as well be a trick of the flickering firelight. If she holds any opinions about the Shoanti - and no doubt she does, everyone holds some opinion in Korvosa - she keeps it to herself. There's no glare of hatred or gaze of approval at the so-called 'savage', she observes Shadi as she does the rest of you, with the measured neutrality that comes from years of being queen and years more being a noble. "If what you've said is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, then you have done the city a great service in ridding it of this Gaedren Lamm. A vile creature such as that pollutes our city. I love Korvosa, as my..." She holds again, just for a moment, "...husband did before me. To see his death tear the people apart as it did last night is the last thing he or I would have wanted. Korvosa now stands at the precipice of disaster wrought by the riots, and I hope that with the aid of stalwart citizens we might avoid more death and destruction. Of course, I would not expect you to go unrewarded, for the return of my most precious heirloom, nor any future service."

Ileosa nods at Sabina, who taps her gauntlet and mouths some words. Another door in the throne room opens a few moments later, and two plain servants usher themselves in, carrying a silver-inlaid chest between them which they set down in front of you, open, and then immediately leave without a word. Inside the red-velvet lined container are fifteen small gold ingots, each imprinted with the royal seal of Korvosa. Pogdan is all too familiar with these, and knows that each ingot on its own carries the equivalent value of 100 gold coins on its own. The chest itself is likely worth perhaps fifty gold coins on its own, should you wish to part with that also. The Queen graciously allows herself to stop speaking for a moment to observe your reactions to the reward.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Brought before the monarch of this diseased city, Loric lowers his head and displays token reverence. Then he regards them both with tired, wary eyes. When Shadi speaks openly of their vigilantism, he tenses somewhat, but the Queen's reaction is not what he would expect of the Chelish woman. The Hellknights' brutal traditions being his foremost knowledge of that land and its people.

The understanding and the honeyed words do not soothe him, but he lets the tension drain out of him. She wants something from them, and so they are safe for now. A ruler can always benefit from those who can be made to do the dirty work, then be discarded after all is said and done. Something he knows very well.

Insight on the Queen
[roll0]

Nothing about the man's stance or eyes shifts as the chest of gold is brought out before them. Even one of these bars is more gold than he has possessed in his lifetime. Neither his life in his home village, his military service, nor his time here at the tannery have been great sources of wealth. But this god of commerce that men have made, this gold, has never held his fascination.

His share will supply him with his needs for a long time, however. So far be it from him to complain.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease's eyes bulge in a frog-like manner as Shadi relays to the Queen EXACTLY how they came across her brooch, and a bit of red floods into his cheeks, but after a moment's breath his features go back to a honored, gracious smile. Inwardly, he is screaming and ranting at the savage woman's lack of decorum and good sense, but outwardly he is simply silent. When the Queen seems to respond well to this uncouth description of their dirty deeds, he assumes a look that quietly states "this was my idea all along." Similarly, when the chest full of gold ingots comes out, Crease's eyes stay on the Queen, no matter how much he wishes to run his fingers over the gold and cackle. It simply wouldn't be proper to gloat. Instead he speaks up, feeling his silence only hampers their cause. My Queen, we are honored by your generosity and your desire to reward us for what I'm sure any of us would have done for free. Still, it would be unbecoming to turn down your reward, as it was hard fought. But tell me, as I am intrigued by your wording- you mentioned potential future services? Is there some other way we can assist the crown? He fidgeted with his signet ring with one hand before continuing. If further tasks could restore some of the honor lost by House Ornetto, I would risk my very life to raise mine and my sister's esteem in the eyes of the Court and prove that not all Ornettos are... deviants most foul.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 20 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

The cavernous throne room threatened to swallow Aubin whole, it's austere nature, highlighting the opulent nature of it's furnishings, and the throne itself, such a majestic, intimidating structure, housing so beatific, and fragile, a creature as the Queen herself. Once introduced, the former Hellknight bowed low, with a practised grace, used to the etiquette of the court, and he held his position until given leave to rise. He was, in fact, grateful, for the low position of the bow, when Shadi, in typical fashion, did not honey her words in an attempt to curry favor, and quickly admitted to the Queen, that they had, in fact, committed grievous sin and crime, which could well be punished by death or imprisonment.

This admission, however, was uncharacteristically ignored, even praised as duty, a fact which Aubin had argued with Scipio himself, prior to setting the rotten fishery alight. He watched as the chest was brought out, and while his eyes flickered back and forth, calculating the value of the reward, he realized, the rich do not get rich by giving away wealth, the brooch was surely worth twice the reward, and this all display. He sighed, as his assumption was proven correct, the Queen indicating further work, further reward, for their continued service. Unlike Shadi's, these words were honeyed, for she could easily have demanded service, even as repayment to avoid imprisonment for the crimes committed night's previous. She was a dangerous woman, more so than the witch she kept in her employ, and so Aubin remained silent, respectful, allowing his foppish companion, to fall over himself in an attempt to elevate the status of his fallen house.

[Amnestic]

The Queen's lips turn into a slight smile at the offer, though it's hard to call it a warm smile. 'Relieved' is likely the closer term for it. "As I said, the city - we - sit upon a precipice. Should we stumble and fall, all of Korvosa may burn. Untold numbers will perish, and we are in need of those who can and will help. The Korvosan Guard are stretched perilously thin. Their leader, Field Marshal Cressida Kroft, will know more about the state of the city and how you can assist, if you wish to." She pauses for a moment, before continuing. "This isn't a Royal order. Though it is...now within my power to do so I would rather those serving the city do so of their own will. Be it for gold, prestige, a powerful friend, or simply love of our city, however, I will ensure that those who serve receive the rewards they deserve in this difficult time. Be assured that if you do aid the city, I will watch your actions with great interest." Each word seems chosen as if she knew exactly how the conversation would flow before you even walked in, though perhaps that is simply the air she projects as a defense mechanism. Chelish politics are cutthroat (often literally), and Korvosa is little different in that regard.


Ileosa's posture is perfect, and she leaves nothing to be picked up upon. There's no nervousness, no twitches or telltale signs of deception. Her movements are that of someone tired, but nevertheless deliberate. What fatigue she displays appears more emotional than physical.




Field Marshal Cressida Kroft is a guardsman through-and-through, rather than someone who got their position through bloodline or monetary donations. If Sabina has the respects of the guards for her fighting prowess, Cressida has it for her keen sense for the flow of criminality and knowledge of the streets.



Alongside her Guard duties, she was - until her promotion to Field Marshal 6 months go - a part time adventurer, which has given her a reputation among some as being willing to stretch the law or skirt regulations (which, ironically, she now sets) when the needs are great. She's also not afraid or concerned with hiring adventurers, being well familiar with their habits and styles.



Her promotion 6 months ago came as a reward by the King himself, in recognition of her service in singlehandedly uncovering a plot to poison hundreds of guests at a feast, and being the spearhead that drove the criminal cultists from Korvosa. Though originally she planned to decline the position, she decided she could do more good if had the reins of the Guard. The increase in duties has meant that she spends far more time stuck behind a desk though, and has essentially had to put all her time into the Guard, and no longer adventuring.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio grimaces at the Shoanti's admission of their collective crime, but the Queen's response make him frown in confusion. They acted like vigilantes, yet were praised and rewarded; and the reward is being eyed by the former watchman with anticipation - that gold would carry him through the harsh winter of Korvosa without having to go hungry even for a day.

But as he said earlier in the morning, there's was a good chance the Queen would ask them to act so that her rule would be strengthened; worst of all, she asked them to report to Marshal Kroft - a woman he knows all too well and he's not so keen to meet again. But he's wise enough to keep his mouth shut, doesn't make any kind of promise to the Queen and leave Crease to perform the customary bootlicking every time one meets a royal.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Looking upon the Queen, in her perfect posture and stone face, Loric can see the strain beneath. Like all who lead, she wears a mask. To appear at once more and less than mortal. To appear to be an inviolable truth. This is what it takes to make men follow, to make them die for you. To make them kill for you.

Loric's mask broke a long time ago. All that's left is the tiredness he sees lurking behind her eyes. Can she see it in mine? At once, he feels both respect and sharpened caution. This is a dangerous woman. He takes care not to make any pledges or oaths to her cause. While her strength is clear, her rightness is yet to be seen.

Raising a hand towards the chest of gold bars, he looks aside at the others in his group. "Fifteen. There are six of us. They do not divide evenly," he points out.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi nearly blinks in surprise when the Queen of Korvosa does not throw them all in the dungeons for stepping up to clean out her gutters of oathbreakers, murderers, and thieves. It wasn't exactly what she expected the royal would do, but she'd assumed some ill-graced display of ingratitude was in store for them. So to not only be paid a compliment but also literally paid in gold has the Shoanti stepping back to reconsider the grieving woman before them.

To make them feel like they owe the crown… it is a clever move, so she must have some plan in store for them. Maybe her Merrin witch has seen them coming and cast a spell on the bars so that they can be tracked? Or she is reading their minds right now? Or maybe this Ileosa is what she seems? The Queen is absolutely impossible to read, which is distressing in and of itself. Sparing a glance at the others, she notes their shared bewilderment at the development, and stifles a laugh when Loric asks to divide up the metal.

"Payment is payment. We can trade these in for coin; I will then accept my sixth of the gold and be on my way." There is no mention of any 'future service', for Shadi has no desire to do one thing more for the monarch sitting on this crimson throne. In fact, she has given serious thought to where she even wants to reopen Plates and Plateaus when she’s been paid. Certainly she will have the coin, but with the city tearing itself apart she might be better off finding a less chaotic place to try a second hand at destiny.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease nearly died on the spot as the others began speaking of breaking up these lovely ingots and changing them in in front of the very Queen who was beneficent enough to give them to them in the first place. Well, not literally, but he always favored the metaphorical to the literal. He did take a moment lo look away and roll his eyes at the gall of these peasants and barbarians, covering his face as he does so. When the moment passed, he returned his view to the forward position. Bowing low, he said Thank you for your generosity, my Queen. I feel we may have overstayed our welcome, but in parting I hope you know that your wellness is in my thoughts, and I feel flattered that ours is on your mind as well. Are we dismissed, your Majesty? He turned to the others. Would one of you be so kind as to carry our prize? I know a place where it is likely we can... make change... He shivered, recognizing the necessity of it but dreading the actual practice.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"I think some should be donated to the orphanage. It will be a hard winter with new mouths to feed," Loric speaks again, with a suggestion this time. Slowly, he turns to look at Crease with eyes sparked with mild irritation. "Gold is heavy. Each should carry their two at least. Those who carry the difference should have more say in where it goes," he explains slowly how weight and merit works, his tone a jab at Crease's laziness without actively insulting or demeaning him in front of the Queen. There is more fire in his words than there was the other night, more than the hollow echoing voice that rarely spoke.

Once given leave, Loric empties his bag of the more delicate of its meager contents and carefully slides his two gold ingots inside, spreading the weight so as not to tear a hole in his bag. Wanting to ensure the orphans get back something of what Lamm took for them, he silently 'volunteers' to carry a third ingot. Then he replaces the rest of his things and holds the bag from the bottom to further guard it against tears and damage.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease, all smiles, speaks quietly, his voice expertly pitched so as NOT to carry much further than the group. Far be it that I would argue bread out of the mouths of orphans, but I do deign to disagree with you as to the value of the act of schlepping the ingots. But it is not proper to have a disagreement in front of nobility, let alone royalty, so let us leave it at that for now. We can discuss how the gold is parsed when we visit the money changer. Crease then picks up an ingot in each hand, carefully stacking them in his bag, before pointedly taking a third while glancing in Loric's direction and adding it to his bag as well. He struggles for balance for a moment when he straps the bag on and stands, but adjusts his center of balance after but a moment.

[Amnestic]

The Queen nods at Creissus, though her eyes haven't stopped watching your reactions to the gold. Nor have Sabina's, though her gaze is more of a wary hawk than Ileosa's scrutinising assessment. "I bid you good day then, Shadi who was Skoan-Quah, Creissus Walrun Ornetto, Loric, Factor Podgan, Viscount Marcillus Praecus Aquillonius and Scipio Arquetius. I hope to hear more of your names in the future." There's no stumbling over the names, nor hesitation. She perfectly repeats them back to you - though she omits the full length of Creissus' introduction, it seems unlikely she hasn't already committed it to memory as well. "Sabina, I will retire to my chambers. My grief has...drained me. See our guests out." Her final direction is softer than how she spoke with you, though it's not clear if she's doing so because of the topic, or because of the person it's directed towards.

Sabina gestures towards the door you came from, and you're lead out with your reward. The knight again taps her wrist and silently mouths some words, before guiding you back down the stairs you came from. All in all your meeting with the queen lasted but a few minutes, and the journey there was far more time spent than the actual interaction. You don't need to ask for an escort from the castle back to the city proper, one is provided for you, with a fresh six guards waiting alongside the dozen already expected at the gate. Why it's provided goes unstated, and if asked for Sabina waves it off the question as standard procedure.


Though she gives little away here, the abruptness of her answer indicates that's not the only reason you're being given an escort, though she simply ignores any further questions about it even if pressed.


The guards take you as far as the base of the pyramid, before turning right back around and heading back up. If they have any complaints they don't vocalise them, at least not to a ragtag group like yourselves. They have enough discipline to keep their complaints away from prying eyes and ears, even as their clanking forms march back up the pyramid's snow-swept slopes.

Creissus' moneychanger, the closest one that has the facilities and funds to deal with 1500 coins worth of royal-seal-stamped ingots, is located in the Gold Market, a short journey southeast back the way you came. Helpfully this will likely also be a place you can offload your myriad of treasures and trinkets. Even in this weather, people still need to do trade. Perhaps coincidentally this puts you also on the road towards the Guard's citadel. You don't get far however. Barely a few minutes after you start your path towards the market hear a loud voice break through the windy snow. Off the (mostly deserted) main road, down an even quieter sideroad, is a small assembly of people. On the ground, peering up at the crowd, is a young man in his mid-20s. His unshaven, stubbly face and tussled short auburn hair indicate he's not taking the best care of himself, though his manner of dress tell you he's probably a nobleman of some sort. Spots of blood drip from the man's nose, dripping down onto his burgundy-coloured doublet.

The six, all on their feet surrounding him, are a far cry from the slim and trim form on the ground. They all have the muscles and dress of those who have lived and bled hard physical labour. In their hands are a variety of 'weapons', if they can be called that - chunks of wood as improvised clubs, shovels, and chair legs. The voice you overheard belongs to that of a burly young woman with greasy strings for hair framing her round face. She jeers, her booming voice cutting through the cold. "Bet’cha never worked an honest day’s wage in your life, eh, Queen’s Man? M’brother had his arm crushed," she holds out one arm, pointing the shovel directly at the young man's face, for emphasis. "by a barrel on the docks when he was younger than you. Never raised a mug with that wrist again. Wanna know what that feels like?" Her question is met with encouraging shouts. Even so close to the Castle they don't seem to fear any repudiation from the guard or Hellknights. At least not currently.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Trudging down the heavy slope with the weight of the gold in his bag is no easy task, but nor is there any easier way. So Loric carries it down in silence, apart from a few grunts of effort when he has to stop from tumbling down the dangerous slip and slide.

Coming to the mouth of the alley, Loric looks aside at the scene, and the wealthy man being beaten in the street. He has no particular affection for the rich. Indeed, the appearance of these working class tormentors inclines him to believe that he is some good for nothing who deserves no less. He observes quietly out of morbid curiosity, making no move to interfere.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease makes sure to bow before turning to leave the Queen's chamber, showing all necessary reverence to the leader of the city. When it comes time to descend the pyramid, he sincerely regrets letting his pride goad him into carrying three ingots. By the time they have made it to the bottom he is sweating, panting, and felt more at risk on the descent than he did with arrows flying in his direction in Lamm's fishery. He requests a brief break, but eventually gets moving again.

When he sees a band of ruffians assaulting a man in clear noble garb, he makes a snap decision. If he lets the rabble get away with this, he invites this behavior to propagate. Who knows? Maybe next time it would be him. Or Anoria. No, this ended now. "What are you vandals meaning to do to this man? Has he wronged you in some way, or are you merely venting your rage on a vulnerable target?" Crease stepped forward and put his hand on his rapier. "Answer true, or you may find yourselves dealing with more capable quarry."





Intimidation at [roll0]. Even if no one else will help, Crease is standing at the lead of a group of armed and armored folk. Until someone contradicts him, he has a measure of threat to deal with as currency.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio has made pretty clear he doesn't have much love for Crease and he certainly doesn't look like someone who lives surrounded by wealth and privilege; yet when the so-called "noble" intervenes to avoid an assault against one of his peers, Scipio steps in wielding his crossbow - still not loaded, not pointing at the lowlives - but sending the message he's willing to employ violence and giving more weight to Crease's words.
Sure, he might not have love for Crease or any folk with a title, but the former watchman doesn't seem to tolerate such lawlessness, such blatant defiance of the social contract that should keep Korvosa's streets safe for everyone, not just the ones with the most weapons.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 20 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin had been numbed into silence during the audience with the Queen herself, certainly farther than he thought Creissus' ambition would take them. However, the Queen's acceptance of their capital offences, and subsequent offer of aid caused the former Hellknight much concern. Was the city, truly, in such desperate need of ... he looked to his companions, to himself, covered in soot and ash, and back to the Queen ... unsavory enforcers? Her Korvosa's guard must surely be hard pressed, and Hellknights already walked the streets. Given what the man endured the previous night, having faced his personal demon, in Lamm, only to come, fully, to the understanding that one's demons cannot be slain by a nights work of blood, fire and ash, then what, truly, was he doing here? What did he hope to gain from his allies ambitious plot to extort money from the Korvosan coffers, and yet, when the chest arrived, the golden glow of wealth and reparations his breath caught in his throat, his mind raced at the possibility. Still, slowly, he walked forward, selecting a humble two ingots to place into the leather satchels meant to carry smokepowder and cartridges, sturdy, well stitched things. Bowing, numbly, he backed away, cursing his own greed, he should decline the gold, he had no need of it, it would not fill the chasm that threatened to tear him in twain. Meek, mouselike, a cowardly addict, he hovered at the periphery of his group, slowly as they retreated, under guard, exiting the flickering, torch lit corridors of the Castle, only to face the numbing winds, sleet, and snow.

Carefully they descended, securing his arms as they passed, again, beneath the gates. As they walked the streets, to a money lender their esteemed, and ambitious ally, claimed to know well, they came across a scene of violence and confrontation. Itself a symptom of the powderkeg that Korvosa had become with the death of it's Patriarch, King Arabasti II. It was a fire that threatened to explode, and acts such as these were sparks that could well cause the end of the city he had come to call home.

Cressius did an admirable job of projecting his voice, Aubin merely stepped shoulder to shoulder with the shorter man, opened his great cloak, and placed a hand on the butt of his pistol. "Listen to the fat man, you've got beds to get home to, better than the Pharasmins taking you to the Cathedral in the mornin', yea?" He looked to the burly woman, "And you? You sure you want to continue on this path, leave a brother with a lame wrist to fend for himself in the storm that's comin'? Go home, and go in peace." An inhale, "But do it quick."

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

As they make their way to the moneychanger, Podgan finds his moment to speak quietly to Loric.

"I quite agree that the reward should be used to support the children. Someone must take responsibility for them, and this windfall came from the same act that freed them... it seems fit to me. But we must remember that each of us have our own reasons to be here, and our own conceptions of honor." He looks around at the disparate group. "All that binds us together is a crime. But the same crime. We must not judge each other too harshly."

Other than that he is quiet, as quiet as he was through the audience. His heart goes out to the fragile young queen, but he is not an adventurer by trade, and he can see more than one of their group is reluctant to get involved in any further work on her behalf, so what is there to say?

When the violence breaks out in public, Podgan is dismayed, but not nearly as shocked as he would've been a day or two ago. It seems as if the good order of the whole world has broken down at the same time as he succumbed to revenge. This, he knows, is called the pathetic fallacy; the belief that you are the main character of the world, and everything that happens happens for your moral edification or reproach. Priests are especially vulnerable, they warned him. But a cleric must remember that he is just a moment in another person's story, again and again, and rise to that moment, not try to weave their needs together into a cloak to fit himself.

Podgan ignores the attackers; he is armored and possessed of supernatural gifts from his god, accompanied by a host of warriors, and they are poor and confused and adrift. There is an injured man here, and he has a job to do. He moves to kneel beside the nobleman and check the extent of his injuries.

Medicine check: [roll0]

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

The gnome's words do not have any outward effect on Loric's demeanor, as they walk through the frozen street. His face itself seems frozen, set in an expression that looks like cinders. An anger struggling to break out of the apathy of the ashes.

But the gnome's words do reach him. And for all his hot air, the nobleman carries three ingots down the pyramid. No easy task. A task he foolishly underestimated. A task he has completed nonetheless. It is enough to earn Loric considering Crease's opinion come the time to decide where the money shall go.

Only when Podgan steps forward to examine the victim's injuries does Loric walk alongside him, prepared to defend the cleric should it come to violence.

[Amnestic]

The loud woman at the head of the group turns to your group as you approach, immediately focusing on Creissus. It only takes a moment for her to grasp the situation though - you're better armed and armoured than any of them. "Fethin' bluebloods." She spits in disgust, in an impressive feat of salival projection, at Creissus' feet a fair distance away. The globule lands mere inches from his shoes, but the splatter is already freezing over. "See how quick they are to 'elp each other, but want us unhear' and unseen. Outta sight, outta mind, ain't it? Come on lads, lets go before milords change their minds."

There's little for Pogdan to do with the young nobleman. When the labourers leave, muttering curses under their breath, it becomes clear that the worst the man has is a bloodied nose, likely from a single strike. Nothing a cold cloth and time won't fix. With the aid of the rockgnome he pulls himself to his feet, stumbling only slightly before righting himself. Bloodied nose aside, his posture is fine. Prim and proper even. His hands lack the delicate waifness of a typical noble, instead being crisscrossed with scars, and even at a glance you can see the calloused palms that mark him as someone likely used to wielding weapons. "Thank you for your intervention," he says earnestly, pressing a head to his heart and bowing unreserved at your group. "I fear matters may have taken to the worse had you not arrived. I'm glad you were able to usher them away without needless bloodshed." He dabs a finger to his nose and it comes away bloody, but just smiles jovially instead of seeming concerned at the injury. "Well, mostly. Amin Jalento." He gives a second, shorter bow, at his introduction.



Jalentos are a type of pepper right? Are they pepper traders?


They're a small noble family.


The Jalentos are an offshoot of the far more notable Zenderholm family following a particularly notable falling out between the man who became then-head of the Jalentos and the then-head of the Zenderholms some 50 years past. They lack notable capital, influence or connections, and are in essence nobility in name only, propped up by memories of a bloodline.


Amin Jalento is the sole scion of the Jalento family. Though his parents have tried to conceive additional children, such attempts have failed. Word is that Amin himself is notable solely for his sword skills, having trained under the swordmaster Vencarlo Orsini for a time, and that his lack of acumen for political maneuvering will see what little holdings the Jalento have either absorbed or destroyed within a decade. Though they aren't the subject of much gossip, it seems Amin doesn't particularly care if the family 'line' dies with him, and he apparently has actively distanced himself from anything to do with nobility, which may be part of why his parents were so desperate for a second child.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan relaxes when he sees the man is largely unhurt. Just a scuffle, and it looks like the laborers will not suffer for it either. Altogether satisfactory. "I am glad we were here, for everyone's sake," Podgan says. "I am sure the poor souls would've regretted it, if things had gone further."

There's a tinge of irony to that remark, given that he recognizes the name.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


Shadi continues her trend of keeping to herself as the group wanders through the Korvosan streets. The two ingots she picked up for herself do not give her any strain, comfortable as she is in carrying heavy burdens. She muses darkly that perhaps she should have carried the whole sum of the treasure's weight, befitting the nature of the Harrow card given to her by a damned ghost. None of it is worth bringing up now, as she has already suffered enough wasted breath for one day.

Of course, the quiet doesn't last. They aren't even to the lordling's money changer - why such a role would even exist is entirely beyond her - when they come across yet another scene of burgeoning violence. Shadi is quick to step aside with Loric when the tanner moves away, her scorn for Crease readily apparent on her face but she contributes absolutely nothing to save the man on the ground. It is only when she takes note of his hands and complete lack of a fuss at the sight of blood that Shadi even looks at him twice. Her thick brows furrow at the name of his family, as she exchanges a confused look with Loric.

"Why did your parents name you after a pepper?"

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Scipio frowns at Shadi's comment, most probably not making immediately the connection between the noble's name and a spice; then he shares what he knows about Amin "We're talking with the lone scion of the Jalento - by the way, it's not a type of pepper - and student of the famous swordmaster Vencarlo Orisini. Word on the street says the fellow doesn't get along with his family and the Jalento are most probably due a hostile takeover soon enough."

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"That is a family name- I believe they are pepper traders," Loric answers when he turns and meets a similarly confused look from Shadi. Until Scipio corrects him, with the man's true identity. "Ah... I see."

Whether the man has been in war or is simply a practiced duelist, Loric regards him with a bit more respect than before. The scarred hands mark him as a man not unfamiliar with hardship and effort. "Why did they attack you?" he asks, rather bluntly.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease releases the grip of his rapier and lets it drop into it's sheath. Turning to Amin, he offers a small bow in return, not inclining quite as low as the "noble" with the bloodied nose. Creissus Walrun Ornetto the Fourth. But you may call me Crease. Formalities done, he extends his hand to shake the hand of the Jalento. You seem to have made an impression upon those small folk. I am glad they stepped down. Combat against misguided, untrained hooligans would be... unseemly. I trust you are all right? Crease gives Amin a quick up and down with his eyes, admiring him with something more than cold formality.

[Amnestic]

Amin tilts his head slightly at the question of his name, clearly confused, but once clarified by Scipio he laughs, the good nature of it clear. It's unclear if he thinks you're joking, or if he just finds the absurdity of the sincere questions funny, but regardless he's taking it well in stride. "That's a somewhat concerningly accurate summary of my life. It's nice to know I have a fan." He takes Creissus' hand warmly. It's a strong grip, but one that he doesn't press for supremacy or dominance as some might, instead matching its force to Creissus' own. "No permanent damage I expect, certainly nothing a lecture from Father and bedrest won't 'solve'." Loric's question doesn't disarm him at all, but his tone is more pensive than amused. "Heritage, I expect. I was just on my way back from the markets after arranging some purchases, and they jumped me. Luckily they liked to spend their time talking instead of getting straight to the pain." He sighs, somewhat apologetically. "It's my own fault for going out without my blade, but I'd hoped that staying unarmed would be a sign of good faith."

"Still, I won't have my rescuers go unrewarded. You've saved me from injuries, and it seems only right I do the same." He digs in a bag at his belt and tugs out two potion vials filled with a reddish-pink liquid, gives them a once-over to ensure they're undamaged, before handing them over. "They'd just get used to clear up scrapes and cuts from sparring. Hopefully you won't need them, but better safe than sorry!"


Assuming the gift/reward/generous donation is accepted, the party acquires two Potions of Healing (2d4+2).

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

"In my line of work, information is hard currency, sir." Scipio just shrugs like knowing so much about someone he met by chance on the streets isn't such a big deal for him; he doesn't seem so interested in the conversation, happily leaving Crease in charge of talking, but when a reward is on the table the detective's eyes gleam and he quickly comes up beside the nobleman so he could talk with Amin as well "That's very kind of you, sir." he somberly nods "But I would rather train with Master Orisini, so if you could put a good word for me that would be really appreciated."

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


"Walking around unarmed is foolish," agrees Shadi, "so it is your fault. You are lucky that they stepped in to save you when they did." The fact that she has just offered Crease even roundabout praise nearly causes the warrior to stop talking, but she muscles through the flash of nausea.

"Potions are useful, but there are only two here and six of us. I am no learner, but that does not add up. How will you pay the rest of what you owe?"

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

"He does not owe anything," Podgan says wearily. "A gift in return for kindness done is not the same as a payment for services rendered."

"As a healer, I have the most use for these potions. I can provide a share of gold equal to their value to each of you. Does that satisfy?"

He looks apologetically up at the nobleman.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

"The Factor is correct," Loric agrees. And as his intent was never to help the man, he turns away to continue walking - the thanks is not his to take or to share in. "Greed is unbecoming. We have places to go, as does he." Only coming to the corner turning back onto the main street does he stop and look back expectantly, remembering that Crease is the one with the directions.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

"I require no compensation. I did what I did to maintain the bonds of status, not for some base reward. If the Factor can use the potions, let him take them. Perhaps the orphans could use them to soothe childhood injuries." Truth be told, Crease would have accepted some form of payment out of practicality if something more substantial had been offered, but denying one gave him one more reason to look down his nose at the brutish Shadi woman, and that was worth more than a healing potion or two. "Goodbye, Amin Jalento. May your travels be safer and your fortunes be fair. Tell your family that the Ornettos wish them the best." Crease gives a wide smile and a tip of his hat to the handsome bachelor and move to follow Loric, doing his best not to slouch under the weight of his ingots. The prospect of reward put a bit more spring in his step, at least.

[Amnestic]

There's a momentary flash of concern from Amin at Shadi's question, but the rest of the party defuses the situation before he can properly respond. "Alas, I find myself tapped out of anything else to offer. Perhaps if they'd jumped me before my market trip I'd have more to give." He shrugs his shoulders, letting the awkward moment wash off them with the motion. "But I can certainly put in a good word when I next see Master Orsini." He gives another light bow. "May we meet again under more fortuitous circumstances." With that farewell, the young nobleman turns and walks away with a light wave of his hand.

The rest of the journey to the Gold Market is, thankfully, quiet and uneventful. The wide open square (well, circle) is the largest market in Korvosa, and attracts people from all over the city on a daily basis for stands, stalls and tents. Around the edges of the market are more permanent fixtures that are usually for the moneyed or those who need additional security, including the money changer for your ingots, and those who buy and sell magical items. Though it's certainly more subdued on account of the snow, there's still numerous active stands, and there's a notable increase in heat compared to the previous streets from vendors offering fresh hot food to warm the body and soul on the cold winter's day. Thankfully, with the money changer inside its own heated building they too are open for business. Cold may keep some inside, but the call of coin means can overcome even the chillest of days.


Occurs to me that I didn't identify the wands previously.
They are a Wand of Acid Splash (DC13), 5 charges, 1d4+1 charges restored on a LR - 200gp value (So sells for 100gp)
and a Wand of Minor Magic Missiles. 1 charge to cast Magic Missile at 1st level, restores its charge on a long rest, no risk of breaking. - 200gp value.

Counting up the things already slated for sale, you have the following. Prices are now how much you'll get baseline.


Cigar Case - 12.5gp
Cheliax Ingot - 50gp
Gold Crown - 175gp
Kraken Scrimshaw - 100gp
Silver Ring with engraving - 75gp
Succubi Figurine - 225gp
Shell-Shelyn Symbol - 150gp
Fancy Shuriken - 100gp

Flail - 5gp
Kukri - 5gp
Dagger - 1gp
Leather Armour - 5gp
Chain Mail - 37.5gp
Longbow - 25gp
Arrows - 0.9gp

Total Sell: 966.9gp


Ingots will be exchanged at market rate, so they're the full 1500gp, which brings your subtotal to 2469.9gp, split six ways. Potentially up to 200 more if you sell off both wands too.

The market itself has every mundane item on offer, along with magical items up-to-and-including anything Uncommon rarity immediately available. Rare and Very Rare items can be special ordered, and will take time to arrive in the city (anywhere between 1d4 weeks usually, subject to change based on the state of the city). Legendaries are a no-go.

For the sake of my own sanity in not having to individually price up everything we'll use the Sane Magical Item Prices here (https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8XAiXpOfz9cMWt1RTBicmpmUDg/view). Anything not listed on there (such as Tasha's items) I'll put a price too if/when people ask for it. I'm also not necessarily against homebrew items you either have made yourself or find online if there's something cool+thematic you've been thinking of.

[3SecondCultist]

https://i.ibb.co/wz3Jgnb/Shadi.jpg
Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475174)
Human Stone Sorcerer
HP: 18/18, AC: 13
PP: 14, PI: 14
Active Effects: None
Conditions: None
Concentrating: —


It is to be exactly expected that the bard would take the contrary stance. Her desire to knock out a few of his teeth only intensifies as he smiles and tips his hat; she's learned a long time ago that men who look like him are the most dangerous when they smile. It could therefore be categorized as self-defense. But Shadi's frown evaporates when both Loric and Pogdan turn away, replaced by a look of puzzlement. Though she does not care overmuch about what the others think, she has assumed that at least the two of them have some sense of... well, sense. Was she wrong about them, or wrong to push the lordling to honor a life-debt?

Later at the market, Shadi deposits her pair of ingots along with the rest and silently looms over each transaction. It is not greed that drives her - she does not press the group for any additional coin beyond her share, readily gives up claim to either of the wands, and even tosses in a few token gold pieces into the communal 'save the children' fund - but rather a desire to ensure that the spoils are divided equally and she retains her share. The entire time, she watches every member of the group out of the corner of her eye. The causes they have spouted in the brief period of their association include charity, law and order, kindness, property, and good sense; she half-expects any of them to clear their throat and use their words to eloquently argue their right to claim more.

As if speaking of a thing can make it true.

When the trading is over, she has a heavy purse of trade bars and coins for spending. Wrapping them up with her other meagre belongings, the Shoanti stares at the rest of the group.

"Are we done then?"

Shadi will take her sixth of the gold - 411.5 gp - and keep 400 of it for herself. She'll give 11 gold over to Loric to help take care of some of the kids. She's also not going to press for the wands or take any gold from their sale.

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 14 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease takes his time perusing the merchants wares, but he doesn't buy much. There will always be time for more purchases later, and there is something to be said for having liquid capital to work with. Besides, he must send some portion of this to Anoria to secure her lifestyle (and prove to the Devuns that he wasn't a waste of flesh). He does, however, treat himself to another brace of crossbow bolts, as the weapon was considerably more lethal than his weakest spells. He also purchased something from a clothier's stall, which he immediately donned, relishing the feeling of velvet against his skin. After that he returned to the others.

Crease struck a heroic pose and issued a mental command, causing his new royal purple velvet cloak with a spotted white fur trim to billow dramatically behind him. "What do you all think? Does it make me look as dashing as it makes me feel?" He released the enchantment and turned to nuzzle the soft fabric. His old cloak, which was a bit ragged but perfectly functional, was gone. "It's exceptionally warm, and my wardrobe needed an update for this winter." He removes a small purse he'd purchased and extends it to Loric. "A portion for your orphans. I wouldn't have come into these funds if not for their dilemma, so I think you'll find I've been a generous enough that they may whisper a prayer for me if they see fit." Even in charity, it seemed, Crease thrived on recognition and attention. True to his word, however, it was a sizeable sum. In response to Shadi's question, Crease spoke up. "I daresay we've accomplished much together. If we are to part ways, I'd say that despite less than warm feelings for one another we should go our separate paths after an afternoon meal. It's a Varisian tradition my family was fond of in our business dealings. I'd also like to, in honor of our departed benefactor, do a reading of the Harrow for all of us using her deck. I think Lady Zellara would wish us to separate knowing some tidings of each other's possible futures."





Purchasing a small purse to hold 50 84 gp for the orphans, a cloak of billowing from Xanathar's, 20 crossbow bolts, a journal for Crease to scribble in, one page of stationary for a letter to his sister Anoria, and holding on to the rest. Crease plans on sending 75 gp to his sister, leaving him with 200 gp spending cash till our next windfall. I'll deduct the 75 gp now, but drop of the letter and the gold during downtime. EDIT- Studded leather armor for 45 gp as well, leaving Crease with 155 gp.

[TriciaOso]

https://i.ibb.co/x2FhQVc/Capture.png (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2475192)
Factor Podgan, Deep Gnome Cleric of Abadar
Level 2 | HP: 17/17 | AC: 18
PP: 14 | PIv: 13 | PIn: 14
Concentration: No | Active Effects: No

Podgan noodles quietly on the back of a scrap of paper, doing his own accounting as the funds are split up. Once he has his gold, he pushes 50 back to be shared among the others, the resale price of the potions.

"Master Loric, I agree your idea is a good one. I was, myself, an orphan enslaved by Lamm, long ago, and it was only by the mercy of the Church of Abadar that I was able to free myself. I thought killing Lamm would bring me comfort, but while I cannot and do not regret his death, I find... it cannot change the past. Looking to the future of those we liberated is a far more comforting thought."

"I would like to propose we create a trust in the Bank of Abadar for these youth, rather than pay the orphanage a lump sum. With... perhaps 500 gold held in trust, the expense to the orphanage can be defrayed by their annual dividend, and when they come of age, they will have a reasonable sum for a dowry or apprenticeship or whatever path they wish to pursue."

"I do not expect all, or indeed any, of you to contribute. We each have our own reasons to be here, and it would be foolish to expect us all to share a common attitude towards... well, anything, as I believe we've seen. But I believe we are all honorable beings, as we each account honor, and that anything we *could* agree on is surely the right thing to do."

It is by far the longest speech the Factor has ever made in your presence, saving perhaps Scipio.

"We have 108 gold so far, and I will contribute all that I have, but I do hope we can find the remainder among us?"

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474781) - HP: 17/17 - Conditions: None - Active Effects: None - Harrow Points: 1

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

Even though he doesn't seem animated by greed, Scipio takes his share of the gold with relief; the gaunt, pale appereance and the worn out clothes don't speak of someone living in wealth and the ample reward for having killed Lamm would certainly give him a bit of respite in the troubled times ahead. He throws a sideways look at Crease and his vanity, but apart from that he doesn't seem that interested in talking and making friends.

But when Pogdan talks, he listens. He scratches his head, a bit puzzled - it's apparent from his attire he knows little of how to manage his finances - but in the end he nods, completely on board with the plan "I'll match whatever sum you decide to put into this fund, sir." and while it doesn't take that much to understand that Scipio would certainly need the money, he seems to respect Pogdan more.

Would like to buy Alchemist's Supplies (50gp), Smith's Tools (20 gp), Tinker's Tools (50 gp) and maybe a Pot of Awakening, but I'm going to wait and see how much Pogdan is going to put in the "Save the Children" fund

[purepolarpanzer]

https://dtrpg-public-files.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/images/3367/117108.jpg

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2474817)
Human Bard
AC: 15 HP: 17/17
PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions: --
Concentrating on:
Bardic Inspiration- 1d6 3/3
2 / 2 d8 HD

Crease smiles at Podgan, reaching into his purse and carefully extracting more coins. "If your math holds true, Factor, a bit more today means my charity will extend for the rest of these poor waifs childhoods. As the poet Lainwright put it, "I am charitable on payday and spendthrift on payday's eve.". You've caught me at the right time. If there's official paperwork, let it state that the Ornetto family paid their fair share." He hands over enough to pay a full portion of this trust fund and considers himself paid up on charity for a lengthy future. Now he could be selfish with the remainder, he consoled himself internally.

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

As someone who has lived the life of an Osirian commoner and then an outcast on the fringes of society, a bank is an entirely new beast to Loric. And the Factor's words of trusts and bonds and dividends is an entirely new nightmare to wrap his mind around. Taking the gold bars from his bag, he hands all three to Podgan. "I am willing to offer up to half of my share if needed. I trust you to see it done correctly," he says, entrusting the task to the gnome who clearly knows much better than he. There is no sign of suspicion, or even care should the Factor attempt to swindle him.

While Podgan makes the calculations, Loric waits patiently. He watches Crease play with his new cloak with, for perhaps the first time, a small expression of amusement on his face. "In my homeland, we must wear light yet long clothes to cover us from the sun without drowning us in heat. They billow in the desert wind in a most satisfying way. There are no cresting sand dunes here in Korvosa, but perhaps you could find a snowy hill and appear like something out of a picture book."

The new clothing does make him consider something. After acquiring his remaining share, he purchases new, warmer clothing for himself and seeks out bundles of furs he can use to make his home warmer and more comfortable.

[Zero Prime]

https://i.postimg.cc/x88gwK5x/Crimson-Throne-Gunslinger.jpg
Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2476239)
AC: 15 | HIT POINTS: 20 | CURRENT 20 | HIT DIE: 2d10 | CURRENT: 2d10
INITIATIVE: +4 | PASSIVE PERCEPTION: 11 | PASSIVE INSIGHT: 13
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Aubin nodded silently at the departing nobleman, wanting little, and less, to do with the man's extortion, nor certainly wishing to draw the ire of a master duellist's pupil. Instead he contented himself with spending the Queen's coin, securing a great coat, one that duid not smell of bay water and soot, reinforced with worked leather and steel studs meant to protect, both from the elements and turn an attacker's blade from the wearers vitals. While at the leather worker's shop getting fitted he chose a bandolier of sturdy leather, that the keeper assured him was proofed against rain, sleet, and water. Pleased that it may protect smoke powder charges dry in the weather, he offered the coin he had. And finally, he found an alchemist's shop, wherein he bartered and purchased powder and shot for his pistol, as well as the specialized tools he need in the field to repair his pistol, it's firing pan or barrel.

Satisfied with his purchases he returned to the group, offering a share of his coin to the Factor, as they spoke of trusts and annuities for the orphans. "However," he spoke quietly, "I'd much prefer if I could procure quarters at the orphanage, even a grounds keepers shack would suffice." He shrugged his shoulders, "If a noble scion, and purported duelist is vulnerable to attack in the streets, how soon, then, will the most vulnerable among us, the children, have to endure such indignity? Korvosa is a powder keg, and I cannot escape the feeling my actions last night were a spark. So I'll do what I can to stop the fires spreading, even if it means working fir the Quuen's man." At this last he looked to his circled accomplices, "And you, what do you now mean to do, that our fortunes are not bound to the past?"

[RandomWombat]

https://i.imgur.com/kLCl2MG.png

Loric the Tanner (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2472551)
Human Monk/Ranger
AC: 16 HP: 18/18
PP: 13 PIv: 10 PIs: 13
Conditions: --

Now reconvening with those waiting to go visit the guard captain, Loric considers the question. What does he mean to do now? Assuming his actions that night do not return to bite him. Perhaps he would obtain tools to begin tanning leather himself... but not yet. It would draw suspicion.

Thought of the future has become an alien thing in his life of toil, drudgery and poverty. And that thoughtlessness brought with it a kind of peace, the kind of peace his heart both yearns for and recoils from. Tapping his fingers along his staff, he answers hesitantly, "I still must speak with a Varisian about the fortune teller's last rites. After last night it was too late to disturb strangers at their doors... and this morning, I came swift to meet with you." He nods. It is not a far future plan. But it is a next step for him. "Factor Podgan. Could you come with me?" he asks, looking to the gnome. "This money may also help the people in the shanty camp, if properly managed. We could consult some of the respected elders in the community."