CotCT 5e IC

[3SecondCultist]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter 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]

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 - 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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.

Spoiler: OOC

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(1d20+2)[8] 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.

Spoiler: DC8 Medicine on the Head

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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.

Spoiler: Loot

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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

Spoiler: DC18 Int History check on Dagger

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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

Spoiler: DC15 Int History on Brooch

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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 - 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]

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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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]

Loric the Tanner 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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter 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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

(1d20+7)[9] Persuasion, just for the fun of seeing how convincing Crease can be.

[Bunny Commando]

Scipio Arquetius - 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]

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]

Aubin D'Ambrosio, Hellknight deserter 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]

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]

Shadi, Who Was Skoan-Quah 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]

Creissus "Crease" Walrun Ornetto IV 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 - 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."