CotCT 5e IC

[purepolarpanzer]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah 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]

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 - 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter 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]

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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah 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]

Loric the Tanner 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 - 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Loric the Tanner 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.

Spoiler: Harrow Points

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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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter [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]

Loric the Tanner 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 - 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]

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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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.

Spoiler: OOC

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Stealth- (1d20+5)[20]

[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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan Quah 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."

Spoiler: OOC

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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.