December
Snowflakes fell fast that New Year’s Eve, too fast, racing at the earth like falling stars. Watching it come down like that, it was easy to believe what they were saying in the east, that such a punishing winter had to be the retribution of an angry god. Washing a glass, Viv Finner looked out the window of her closed-down, boarded-up pub and saw the snow still piling in the streets. It would be a long walk to her brother’s house tonight, she decided, so she had better hurry.
The Poison Apple Pub was a dive, but a popular one. A shabby, low-class establishment in one of the poorer districts a mile from the West Gate, it had a coterie of devoted regulars and reputation for not watering down the drinks. Everyone knew the man who owned the place, Trehan Finner, was a magus. They knew it as much from the twinkle in his eye and his perpetual smirk as they did from the fact that he could put a rowdy customer to sleep with a handful of dust. But no one seemed to mind. Most Gate Passers didn’t trust magi as a group, but just about everybody who knew Trehan Finner liked him.
When the City Council announced they hoped to appease the approaching army by handing all of the town’s users of magic over to the Ragesian inquisitors — the ruthless magus hunters known locally as the Scourge — in order to spare the town conquest by the Ragesian army, few people complained. But when the city guard came for Finner, the pub’s regulars were in an uproar. All over the district, everyone who knew the man could be heard loudly decrying the unfairness of it all.
Everyone, that is, except Trehan’s wife. Viv Finner did not cry when she found out her husband had been taken, nor did she panic. Instead, she quietly bundled up her children and took them to her sister-in-law. She told her eldest to be brave, and to take care of his brother, and told both her sons she might not see them for a little while. That done, the suddenly husbandless mother of two headed down the Emelk Way to the Chapel of the Aquiline Cross. She walked right up to the curate, announced she knew the Chapel was a Resistance safe-house, and asked how she could go about joining.
After hours of Viv’s refusals to leave or take no for an answer, the curate, a Knight of the Aquiline Cross named Buron Watcher, finally said that if she really wanted to help the Resistance, they did need a private place to meet a contact. Viv already knew Torrent, who was an occasional patron of the Poison Apple, and she volunteered her pub for the meeting. But if the priest had hoped that contributing her family’s place of business for the night would be enough to satisfy Viv, he was disappointed. On the way out of the temple, she stopped and said, “After the meeting, I’ll be back for another mission.”
Though her pub was closed, she had taken the meeting so seriously that she’d gone back and cleaned it up until it was as nice as it had been the day she and her husband bought it. Every glass was polished, every corner swept, even the rags were washed and bleached. Viv imagined brave fighters of the Resistance coming here, making plans to fight back against the monsters who had taken her husband away. Such champions, she had determined, would get the best of everything if she could help it. Finishing the glasses, Viv stole a glance at the melting candle she had lit when she’d started and realized how late it was. Time for her to get going. She planned to be long gone before Torrent arrived. She bundled herself up against the cold, lit a lantern, blew out her candle, and let herself out the back door.
On the way out, she paused and looked around the lantern-lit interior of the pub. Had she done everything? Was it all be suitable? Then she remembered what kind of place it was. It was local watering hole; not much to look at, but tended with love by its owners and loved equally by its regulars. People came here to laugh, to cry, to recollect, to tell ludicrous stories to old friends and hear their approbations or derision. They didn’t come because the wood was polished, they came to drink with people they liked and trusted and share with them the joys and woes of being alive.
It was, she decided — as she locked the door and vanished into the snow — a perfect meeting place for heroes.
As midnight fast approaches, the six of you make your way towards the Poison Apple, having been charged by whatever contacts you may have to seek out a Resistance member named Torrent. Although you know next to nothing of her mission, you've been told to place your utmost confidence in woman. Other than that the instructions were simple: make your way to the pub before midnight and knock five times on the alley door.
Out of the dark and claustrophobic tangle of buildings the Poison Apple suddenly appears. The pub is a two-story building attached by a rooftop bridge to a neighboring house. The door and windows are boarded up, and the curtains drawn. A notice has been posted on the front door:
Trehan Finner, owner of the Poison Apple Pub, has been taken into temporary custody under the protection of the city guard, until such time that he can be questioned by representatives of the Ragesian Empire, and found innocent of hostile collusion. The Poison Apple Pub is hereby closed until further notice.
Kagan makes his way to the Poison Apple without any particular hurry in his step. Better to be late than noticed, he thinks to himself as he draws the collar of his longcoat up further. The fur lined leather is scant protection against the biting wind which is howling down the narrow alleys of Gate Pass. Kagan shivers involuntarily, sending a small shower of white powder falling from his matted tangle of hair and beard. He stops to read the notice on the front door of the pub, and growls despite himself. Leska. Gods I hate that b!%$@. Kagan smoothly spits a large gobbet of greenish phlegm onto the notice. He then glances around to make sure no one is watching, and ducks smoothly into the alley next to the Poison Apple.
Kagan shuffles carefully through rubbish tainted snow of the narrow passage, and stops at the rear corner of the pub, crouching down and peeking around first. He squints, wishing as he often did that the ancestors had given him better eyesight. Can't see much further than the tip of my own pecker in this s!#!. Steeling himself, he rises to his feet and slides around the corner. Guess if anyone tries to stop me, I'll have to kill them. He crunches toward the back door of the pub, his large feet leaving a conspicuous trail in the snow. Shrugging at the futility of his attempts at stealth, he knocks on the door with five quick raps. Then he bunches up his fists, and stretches his knees, ready to fight for his life if this turns out to be trouble.
Mule trudges down the snow covered road. Every step sink deeply into the snow, with the weight of his barrel on his back. Not good weather, sold nothing today, but got this errand maybe not a bad day after all. Good thing he left the donkeys at the inn, they wouldn't enjoy this. Now what the the place, that's right a picture of apple out the front. Mule pauses looking around in the snow only discover he was already under the shingle of an apple. He pauses at the door so a moment before grunting "Thats right." to himself and heading around the side to know five times on the side door.
Sheyan makes his way through the city on a familiar route to the Poison Apple. You'd think a name like that would scare people away from a place that sells food. He chuckles to himself, keeping his hood up and progressing at a steady pace. He likes to keep to himself, but the cold bite to the air also warrants his up-drawn hood.
When he sees the sign about Trehan he mutters a choice orcish curse, wishing bad luck upon the men responsible before moving to the back alley. Upon seeing Kagan in the back prepped for a fight Sheyan laughs. "You are like a coiled snake. Do not worry, they would not have sent us into a trap." His common is understandable enough, but there is a harsh edge to it that suggests it was not a language he grew up learning.
"Kapa Siz kimsiniz?" Kagan says to Sheyan, whirling to face him. The many fetishes of bones, beads and dried flesh that adorn the bear hide which serves as his cloak clatter as he does so.
Gareth gets out of bed before midnight. His mother is asleep in the other room. Shouldn't wake her, he determines. However, he leaves her a quick note that he places over her empty shoes. He figures, She'll find it there, if she must. On the note are the words, 'I may have found a way'. He leaves the house through the front door and latches it behind himself. As he turns, he takes a deep breath of the sharp winter air. Grandfather, I hope this would make you proud, he says to wherever the spirit of the old man now rests, and he takes his first steps.
The more than brisk breeze musses Gareth's hair, and the snowflakes catch in it and begin to melt until the cold defeats the warmth of his own body; they begin to freeze. Oblivious to the temperature, he walks through the street with an excited spring to his step, the new snow giving way with a slight crunch with each movement. The air is thick with snow and the night is dark, so it is difficult for Gareth to see very far ahead with his only light source coming from the few houses whome's occupants are not yet asleep. Yet, he remembers this place. He only visited a few times with Martyn, but he knew the way.
Not wanting to draw any more intention than he must, he turned directly down the side alley of the Poison Apple Pub, not noticing an unusual shape at the front enterance. The alley is even darker than the street, and Gareth's eyes have not had time to adjust. He stops as he sees two hulking figures speaking a harsh language to each other, unsure of the motives behind their presence. They may be here for the same reason I am, thinks Gareth. He smiles and greets the two, leaning towards the idea they are allies. "Uh... Hello good...uh...sirs," he says somewhat quietly with a smile on his face and his right hand raised
Kagan glances back and forth between the many figures as two men also manifest out of the swirling snow. Getting pretty crowded back here. Who are all these people? Seeing that none of them are holding weapons the big orc relaxes a bit. "I guess we're all here for the same reason? I hope they hurry up and open the damned door. Not only are my b!$$*@~s freezing, we're liable to draw attention hanging around like bunch of grapes," he says in his gravely voice.
At the word 'freezing', Gareth begins to realize just how cold it is outside. He begins to shiver, and the shuddering dislodges some of the ice from his hair. In his excitement he must have forgotten his coat. "Or F..f...f..reeeeze to d..d.death...," he manages to stammer.
"No coat, boy? Did you get robbed or are you just dumb?" Kagan asks the lad bluntly. C'Mon, what's taking so long? he thinks, before reaching out a gnarled hand to pound on the door five more times, this time with a little more force.
"Well it is f!@*ing cold. But you know I like a good winter night if you know what I mean. Are you all here to help as well?" Mule asks with more cheer than the night or the nature of the activities deserve.
Kallant pensively approaches the Poison Apple. He unconsciously moved the new gold school ring on his right ring finger through a fur-lined glove against the grip of his walking stick. His thoughts were full of changes in his life: the marching army toward the gates of his home; his rushed graduation of his school; and his imminent mission for the Resistance that his family supported. He gave little thought to the wet snow mounded in the streets and swirling in the air, because his layers of hand-me-down clothes kept him warm and dry.
His farewell at his warm home had been a family affair. Everyone helping him, equipping him, and giving him something to remember them. The party was a somber substitute to the usual New Year’s Eve festivities. To him, it was a blur with no time to become emotional about the mission. He focused on where his father’s friend Torrent had sent him and the path that he would take to get there. He did not want to be late. Too many people were counting on him.
After he pushed out the door, Kallant arrived at the guard check point without realizing it. Fortunately, his brother had arranged for the guards to be on break warming themselves by a fire instead of noticing who passed the gate. Through the gate, he tried to watch for trouble, but quickly became distracted by heavy thoughts.
The crowd in the alley beside the Poison Apple surprises him. They do not look organized or even together, so they would not be spies or magus hunters. As he enters the alley, an orc knocks the code on the door causing Kallant to breathe a misty sigh of relief. He gets in line waiting for the door to open like a good school boy, quiet and patient.
From one of the pub's second floor windows a woman's head pops out rather suddenly. "Calm down, calm down, will you! Just been making sure the coast is clear! Be down in half a click!"
Moments later, the alley door swings open to reveal a tall, tanned woman sporting a rather distinctive shock of short s&#+e hair. Twirling the holy symbol of the Sea God around a leather cord on her wrist, she invites you inside. "Thanks for coming, and please, help yourselves to a drink while we wait for the others. Just because we're about to go to war doesn't mean we can't celebrate the new year." As you follow her inside she snatches a mug of beer up of the table and takes a healthy swig. "I'm Torrent, by the way."
The darkened pub is mostly empty now, its many tables and chairs pushed to one wall and covered with sheets. A single table sits in the middle of the room, with enough chairs for all of you. A small oil lamp and a keg sit on top of it, along with several mugs. At the back corner of the common room beside the bar, a staircase leads upstairs. The windows and door facing onto the street are closed, and you know they have been boarded up from the outside. On the wall behind the bar hangs a bronze bust of the former emperor of Ragesia, Drakus Coaltongue, a regal, aged half-orc with a scar cutting diagonally across his face. You and Torrent are the only people in the room.
"Sheyan." He extends a hand. In addition to the firedrake tattoos on his face, there are kraken tentacle tattoos on his arm. Clearly a devout of the four primordials. He looks at the growing crowd. "So we were all invited. I suppose this is no small job than." As he mulls it over there's a spark of wisdom in his eyes that most orcs lack.
His thoughts are interrupted by the woman letting them in. Sheyan gives a respectful bow of his head, right fist pressed into his palm. "Thank you for your hospitality. Some light mead perhaps since we're working?" He sits and enjoys his drink, raising his glass to the new year. "To the Festival of Dreams, long may it be."
Kallant follows the line into the pub and stamps his sturdy leather boots free of snow upon entering. As the last in line, he shuts the door against the cold. He removes his gloves while approaching his father’s friend Torrent and shakes her hand in greeting. ”I’m glad to see a familiar face,” he squeaks before heading toward a sheet-covered table along the wall. After setting his gloves on the table and leaning his carved walking stick against a chair, he first shrugs off his heavy over-cloak wet with snow then a full leather backpack. Both he sets on the table.
He grabs his walking stick for confidence and surveys the room. Kallant has unkempt brown hair and a recently trimmed, full beard. Both features unsuccessfully hide his teenage youth. He fidgets with his clothes, because they were not his own, except for his small clothes. Over a woolen tunic and breeches, he wears a hard leather, multi-pocketed belt.
Kallant is not relaxed enough to celebrate. While watching Torrent for the signal to sit at the table, he studies the chairs around the table to predict who will sit where.
"Here, here!" Grinning, Torrent raises her glass to Sheyan's toast and then transfers some more beer to her lips. "From one peer to another peer, there's a decent toast if I've heard one!"
Turning to Kallant she smoothly gestures to one of the seats and invites him to sit. "You're the student of Gabal's aren't you? Lighten up, friend, talk of serious matters shall come later." Before waiting for Kallant to make a move, Torrent tops off a mug of beer and pushes it towards him.
Arklon Coldblood is an imposing figure in the darkness of midnight. No cloak can hide the towering half orc's heavily muscled frame, standing close to 7 feet tall, his bulk increased by the shaggy mammoth hide armor he wears. Flashes of scarred grey skin are visible as he strides down the darkened streets, unconcerned by the frigid wind that was a pale shadow compared to the raging blizzards of his homeland. The long hilt of his falchion protrudes over his right shoulder, it's sheathe the only thing holding the flapping cloak close to his body.
His stance shows a total lack of concern even as he walks through the shadier districts of the city, almost daring any pickpockets or street toughs to harass him. As he approaches the meeting place, some dive called the Poison Apple Pub he thinks, "Finally, the resistance is actually having me do something."
He steps into the alley, approaching the door just as someone seems to be closing it. He sticks a boot in the opening and says, "One more," his voice deep but smooth. He maneuvers his bulk through the door, having to stoop to avoid catching the hilt of his blade on the door frame. "I am Arklon," he says, stroking his clean shaven jaw, "pleased to make your acquaintances."
”Yes, I’m Kallant, one of Gabal’s students.” He replies a bit disappointed that Torrent did not recognize him. He accepts the mug of beer and raises it to Torrent in gratitude while maintaining eye contact. After he takes a swallow and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, he sits at the chair to which Torrent had directed.
The young wizard analyzes the behavior of these orcs, Sheyan and Arklon, introducing themselves upon entry. They seem to be professional and to have experience with these missions. Glad someone here has experience with this stuff, Kallant thinks to himself. He nods toward them when they make eye contact.
Mule follow the others in and after carefully putting down his barrel he joins the others at the table. Smiling broadly at the other and nodding at each in turn he says "Hello Torrent, hello Sheyan, hello Kallant, hello Arklon." and then smiling to the large orc and smaller human who coming through the door he continues "And hello friend and friend. I am called Mule... Like the animal. This must be a big errand they want us to do, to ask so many to do it."
When the door opens Garteh feels the flow of warm air, or at least not as cold air, even from where he stands. The last of the ice begins to melt off of his now ridiculously positioned hair. Why was I so impatient? he wonders to himself. As soon as he can, he walks quickly into the comfort of the pub.
The words of the woman are nearly lost to him in his rush for warmth. He hears on offer of drink and notices a keg and a group of mugs on a prominent table, and he immediately approaches. Once his container is full, he begins to wonder the room, searching for the warmest location. He finds a suitable position and stands there to take in the sight of his new allies. He comes to the hasty conclusion, These people look like a good lot! He waits as he warms up with his drink.
As everyone settles in and gets a drink or two in their hands, Torrent grimaces and straightens in her chair. “Another year gone. I guess it’s time to get down to business. The city’s in trouble. The Ragesian army is marching on us, and will be here by tomorrow. Before then, we have a mission.
I used to study at a magic academy to the south, called Lyceum. They’re good people. So when word reached them about Ragesia’s ‘Scourge,’ they sent out messages calling for anyone fleeing Ragesia to come to them. They want to stand against the Ragesians, and the Resistance wants their help. We just need to get a message to them.
Normally we would have sent something by teleporting courier, but something strange is going on with planar magic. The last courier who teleported into Gate Pass, rumor is that he showed up burnt to a crisp. Not that I have that sort of magic anyway, but if we’re going to talk to Lyceum, we’re going to have to go overland. And that’s a problem, because the city’s walls are sealed.
Ever since their emperor died, the Ragesians have been trying to show that they’re not weak, and they’re marching an army in our direction, since the mountain pass we’re in is apparently ‘strategically valuable.’ Either way, a few idiots on the city council want to negotiate with the Ragesians, and rumor is they’re going to invite a group of Inquisitors into the city to look for ‘magic users who are hostile to the empire.’ They’ve sealed the gates of the city so no one can get out, to make sure they look like they’re cooperating, and only military personnel can get in or out. We’re going to have to get out of the city, and I’m open to suggestions as to how. Once we’re out, I can get us safely to Lyceum, but before we get ahead of ourselves, we have a mission tonight.
The short version is that we’ve got to meet a contact — a gnome named Rivereye Badgerface — in about an hour at a guarded depository about a half-mile from here. He’s carrying a case of vital military intelligence which he stole from the Ragesian palace, and the heads of the Resistance think that it needs to reach Lyceum. We’ve got to get that case, get out of the city, and get far away from here before the idiot city council lets the Ragesian Inquisitors in. Once that happens, the odds of us escaping are —“ she finishes off her mug of beer in one long guzzle “— slim.
I know I’d love to stay here and fight against the Ragesians, but I’m no soldier, and this mission might be more important. Worst case, you get away from the Ragesians and we can part ways a few days down the road. Best case, you can come with me to Lyceum, and we come back with an army of our own to drive off the Ragesians. But we’ve got to act fast either way. Are you ready for this?”
Sheyan nods in acknowledgement, settling down with his drink to listen. "Good, I am glad there are others resisting this tyranny." He frowns at the disruption of magic. "I hope that is not a tactic of our foe. That level of power would bode ill." He goes to rubbing at his short beard. "Need to sneak out...hmm..." He gives a nod at the end. "I would wish to fight, but I understand the necessity for this mission. I am ready." He gives a sly smile. "Only military personnel eh? What would we need to appear official?"
Looking down Mule mutters quietly to himself for moment "Army going to arrive tomorrow. Need to go long way to ask favour of mages, can't use magic so we need to go by foot. Only army can get out of gate. Need to get, to get... something from gnome... case from gnome then go before army arrives. What about donkey, the coming army might eat them, got to get them out too, or sell them. Only army get out maybe we join army to get out. Do army uses donkeys?"
Mule then looks up "Could we join the army to get through the gate?"
Kallant misses the bells signaling the start of the New Year but hears something more interesting. Oh, Torrent’s a mage. Wonder if we could compare spellbooks. Kallant dreams a bit of the prospect of new spells and then wonders about the planar disjunction before she reveals that the Ragesian army arrives tomorrow, which shocks him back to the reason that his family had prepared him for the mission.
At the need to escape the city, Kallant thinks of his family’s sheep ranch outside the city’s walls. With his brother’s help with the guards, they might be able to reach the ranch, but then what? He would not know how to pass the mountains. These thoughts swirl in his head mixed with uncertainty of his company.
Finally, Kallant clears his throat and offers, ”My family has a ranch beyond the walls, and my brother is a city guard. He arranged for the guards at the gate that I passed getting here to be on break, but I don’t know how he did it. I also wouldn’t know how to cross the mountains even if I could get us to our ranch.”
After quickly finishing his drink, Gareth looks towards Mule. "Joining the army would take too long. It is not an instant process. I know because they are still doing my paper work..." He begins to pace back and forth. "And, of this gnome, how did he get such an important piece of intelligence?" He looks at Torrent for an answer. "Oh, I have yet to make myself known. I am Gareth." He slightly waves to the group.
"We don't need to actually join the military, just make the guards at the gate believe we have."
Mule nods at everyone comments knowing that soon one the smart people here will come up with a solution, he mumbles quietly "after all at least one of them is a mage and you have to be smart to be a mage".
"Kagan," says the fur-clad orc, breaking his silence. As the others socialized and poured drinks he remained standing, just inside the door with his back to the wall, watching them. He remained there the whole time Torrent was giving her briefing. Now he strides up to the table and into the light. "Kagan Stronghand, they call me. Trust me Sheyan, you don't want to fight the Inquisitors. Those evil bastards would gut us all like river trout without breaking a sweat." Looking around at the crew, his eyes seem to grant the most respect to Arklon. "How many of you have actually killed someone before?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. At least a few of the fetishes hanging from Kagan's skin appear to be dried up elven, human or orcish ears, making it pretty clear what his own answer to that question would be.
Torrent looks Kagan up and down coolly, eyes lingering on the fetishes. "Although I understand it's necessity as a last resort," she says as she rests her hand on the hilt of an exquisitely crafted battleaxe hanging at her waist, "It's better for all of us that we avoid killing all together. The city guards are still here to defend Gate Pass, and no matter what their orders say some will absolutely be an asset when the Ragesians arrive." Demeanor still calm, she turns away from Kagan to address the rest of the group. "I don't care what kind of killers you are, in fact I'd be perfectly glad if none of you had ever drawn a drop of blood in your lives. It'd at least keep your thoughts from jumping to violence so quickly." Without so much as a glance back at Kagan, she then sets to answering what other questions you have.
"In any event, posing as guards isn't a bad plan but I can tell you that it's been tried before. The inter-city gates are simple to cross as long as you don't go waving any magic around but once you tried to leave the city there'd be at least a dozen high ranking officers checking papers, asking for references and generally poking their noses to far into our deception. I'm not saying it can't be done, but we'd need help. A high ranking member of the guard or even a noble friendly to our cause."
"The gnome happens to be an interesting story. The sorcerer was a spy from Lyceum, acting as a servant in the imperial palace for Kreven, second-in-command of the inquisitors. His normal contact here in Gate Pass — Peppin Tallman, a human wizard from Lyceum — would occasionally pass along information to the Resistance, but a week ago that contact was found dead. Through magical communication with his spirit, we've discovered that Tallman was scheduled to meet Rivereye, as well as the time and place of the meeting, but the identity of Tallman’s killer was unknown. My worry is that someone else is after the case, and that Rivereye might spook when he sees Peppin isn’t there."
"As for your offer to let us use the ranch, I thank you, Kallant. However, I have a much clearer plan as to what we will do outside the city. I can tell you more if you like, but for now let's focus on the task at hand."
"What if we were to capture some guards, stealing their uniform and papers? We wouldn't hurt them beyond a good thump on the back of the head. That or we'll need to pull some political strings."
When Kagan asked the group whether or not they had killed anybody, Gareth's head sunk a bit. Will his expectations of me change if he knew it were true? Would he accept me? Of course I have always imagined slaying foes that would stand against my friends, but I have never done it. Only have I been trained to fight, but I know I could not stand by and let my fellows get hurt!
His head lifts as he comes to this conclusion, just in time to hear the answer to his question. Yes, that does sound convoluted. You said we must meet this gnome...Rivereye inside the city walls? We could collect the information and decide on a way out from there. Although, I would like to leave this pub with a plan."
To the side he whispers, "I wish I knew where Martyn is..." Then, he fully realizes the meaning of the ornaments Kagan is adorned with and visibly gags. "Why... Are those from...? I mean, they were your enemies right?"
"You misunderstand me, Torrent. I have no enjoyment for killing. I asked so that I could convince these green bucks that fighting our way out isn't an option. Is there any way under the walls? Sewers, tunnels? We could try to contact the thieves' guild. They'll want gold, but I'd hazard to guess that they come and go as they please." Kagan replies. He then looks to Martyn. "Aye, they were my enemies. It's no easy thing to take a life, and once you do there's no going back. Don't be in a hurry to get your hands bloody lad." Kagan looks down at his own hands. "Unless you don't like sleeping," he mutters under his breath.
Pensive, Torrent considers Sheyan's proposition. "Even with guard uniforms, all patrols leaving the city would need a commanding officer with them. Unless you've got wit enough to fool the gods - posing as a commanding officer would be difficult under the close scrutiny that would follow. A politician behind our cause would be ideal, if only..."
"But yes, thankfully, Rivereye is still inside the city walls. I too, would be loathe to leave here without a plan, but timer placed on us by the advancing Ragesians means we may have to improvise."
"As for you Kagan," Torrent cracks a kind grin as she lifts her glass a little, "I'm glad we see eye to eye. As much as I hate to use violence, I can't deny I'm glad to have you serving the Resistance." After another sip of beer, she continues. "We've certainly looked into whether or not the thieves have some means of passage from the city, but so far our contacts there have turned up nothing. If anyone would know about sewer exits it would be their glorious leader, Rantle. However, even with his celebrity status, the sight of him has been scarce these days."
Untrained
You cannot make an untrained Knowledge check with a DC higher than 10.
Kagan nods, shrugging in a disappointed fashion. "You don't happen to have any ideas do you? Only a fool would have called us all here with no plan whatsoever..." Kagan says to Torrent. She seems keen enough to shoot down anything we've suggested. Is she holding something back from us?
"Kagan speaks sense," Arklon says, having remained silent but focused through the earlier portions of the conversation. "As they say in my homeland, 'Though the mountain called duty is a heavy burden, one should not seek to lighten it by embracing death.' That is to say, rushing into combat with a superior enemy is foolish."
The large half-orc warrior ponders for a moment and continues, "As to how to escape this place... I would say that is a question for after we retrieve this intelligence. 'If you chase two hares you'll catch neither.'"
He is quiet on the subject of experience in battle, allowing his scars to speak for him on that front.
"Have I killed someone? Did Janes die? Did the man trying to hurt Timid? I don't know. Helios will know he'll tell me if I did right." Mule continues to mumble to himself quietly. "One of these people knows an officer who would let us out. Do I know an officer? How would I tell if they are an officer if they weren't in uniform, I could know lots or none." Raising his voice Mule asks "Is anyone friends with a commanding officer who would let us out?"
Kallant's mind starts spinning trying to think of a way out of the city. He attempts to keep an ear out to the conversation. Kagan's question about killing pauses his mental gears for a few seconds.
After Mule's question, Kallant blurts out, "Torrent, you need a politician? There's an eccentric councilman called Erdan Menash. I've heard that he is sympathetic to those acting under the banner of 'heroes.' How about him? Do you know him?"
Kagan nods at Kallant's words. Maybe he's not as worthless as he looks.
"That sounds useful," Kagan says.
"Erdan... now there's a wild card. I haven't heard much about him but I've passed by his residence many a time." As Torrent goes quiet for a few moments, so too do the bells temporarily cease their celebration. "It seems that currently, our two best shots at exit are either as the city guard or through the sewers somehow. I'm unsure as to what kind of help Erdan can offer, but being a councilman he can definitely throw his weight around somewhere."
Kallant continues to ponder the new information and marvel at the compliment from the tough looking orc Kagan.
Mule continues to listens with out anything to add until he looks up at the celling and says "Maybe our new friend will know someone. "
Kallant's recollection jostles the same knowledge loose in his mind. "I have heard of this man as well, Kallant," the half-orc says. Upon hearing Mule's vague question, Arklon replies, "You speak in riddles, Mule. What are you on about?"
"The other member of our party coming from upstairs." Mule answers.
Gareth looks towards the stairs, curious of who Mule might have heard coming. Great! Another ally! I'm meeting so many new people. How will I keep track of them all if they need me? Better make sure I don't pick favorites. This rush of thoughts goes through his head at the mention of a new party member.
Not knowing when the unknown person will appear, Gareth decides to ask an important question, "Will we make arrangements to leave before visiting the gnome? This way we will have a quick way out."
Kagan raises one eyebrow at Mule's revelation, before looking to Torrent for confirmation. Uh oh...
At Mule's words, Torrent's eyes dart towards the stairwell as her hand makes it's way to the battleaxe at her side. "I wasn't expecting anyone else..." she hisses, drawing her axe. Putting a finger to her lips, she feigns as if continuing the conversation, while bending down to pick up her shield as well. "Yes, arrangements will have to be made...
All of a sudden, distant muted thumps fill the air, like the sound of ripe fruit landing on a house.
Gareth:
Kagan:
Kallant:
Mule:
Shayan:
Torrent:
Gareth was not expecting trouble in his own town. He believed he would be safe until the Ragesians arrived. He only brought his greatsword with him. He had hoped to impress the Resistance contact with the fine piece he had managed to buy. It seems he may have to impress her with it in another way.
Gareth draws his large sword from the scabbard on his back as he steps a little way towards the staircase and steps into a defensive stance. "Do not worry friends. I will defend you with my life if I must," he says quietly.
A fire lit in his eyes that had never existed before, for it had never before had the fuel to burn; it had only the spark.
AC 10+3(Dex)+2(fighting defensively)=15
