Absalom in Shadow (InnRoads) Chapter 1 - In my Time of Waking

Game Master Song of Chiroptera

Everything about Drogan makes me think he doesn't do "sick" well. It's hard for him to get there, so he doesn't quite know how t handle it. He wouldn't object

A terrible splorch of a noise bubbles up from within the dwarf. His face turns a shade or two paler.

[ooc]"Go for it, Lad. I'm te see this apothecary. Iffin I make it to 'is shop in time te g..."[/b]

Drogan vomits on the ground at his feet.

"Torag's bloody beard! Will it ever stop!?"

"Nosa, stay with us for a bit. Help us get our cures and then I would like to go with you and Drogan at least to make the delivery. We have several sick dwarves among the caravan. The dwarves are stalwart allies, we may have need of them."

Is the caravan master going to pay for the cure of his folks?

♜ Inspitah | Day Five
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Late Afternoon | 85°

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The dust of the road clings to the party and the wagons and the animals. Amid the gathering, Climber makes his way to the lead and dusts off his clothing. ”If ya dinnah ‘ave the pox, be seein’ ta the wagons n’ animals with me n’ Thromi. The rest of ya go ta McCree’s n’ get clear.” He motions for Karl and Nosatrub to step forward and leads them to the back of one of the wagons. With a meaty fist he thwaps one of the barrels. ”Get this ‘un, put to ya ‘orse n’ trade it in with McCree. He’ll deal fer it ta remove the stink off. This will co’er the lot o’ mah lads, or I’ll put mah boot in ‘is arse for a tip.” Climber rubs at his bulbous nose and eyes the sky with suspicion. ”If ya plan on comin’ back n’ gettin’ yer pay from Fornholdt in Golsifar, I plan on dustin’ back west in three days.”

Inspitah carries with it a melange of odors; the sweat of the denizens, the animals that range from pig to horse to camel, the acrid smell of what most likely is a forge of some sort. In the distance that bends around the southeast corner of the palisades the off-key tones can be heard of minstrels plying their trade. Iago and Jabral nod with grins and strokes to the beard at the last, calling it a good omen that Glimmervest is in town.

”Terrible lil gnome, gotta voice like rocks on a slate,” Jabral chortles.

Iago adds, ”...but the bastard’s got a knack with findin’ the best pipe weed this side o’ bloody Brevoy, ‘e does.”

”Also means ya gotta follow tha’ horrendous noise ta find McCree’s place. Ya find tha’ gnome stranglin’ the cat, ya know it’s right.” Jabral punches Iago in the shoulder and nods to where others are gathering with Thromi to see to the cargo. ”Business firs’, brother mine.”

”Aye, ya bloody git. I’ll see ta business firs’.” They move off to do just that.

The denizens of Inspitah are a varied lot, but they all carry the look of merchants, mercenaries and highwaymen and the few Taldan military en route to the eastern forts. In all, 400 or so souls occupy the tent city.

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Those Going to McCree’s Tavern

The brothers Rockjaw are not far from the mark. Although faced with a winding path among various tents and ramshackle merchant shops, the constant of the gnome Glimmervest’s warbling is a clarion call easily followed. Just around the corner of the southwest palisade, a large pavilion tent has been set up with even a doorframe at the opening to brace swinging batwing doors. Seated on a barrel, tapping away at a pair of cowbells and other percussive “instruments”, is Glimmervest Cedarback. To say he’s singing is to say the stink of the tanners just a hundred yards south of Inspitah creates a smell.

But no one can knock his enthusiasm. The orange-haired gnome waves the approaching group forward but as they get closer, he holds up a tiny hand and says sharply, ”Sickies ‘round back, drinkies thru the front!”

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All Others: If you want to roam the tent city or do some investigating, let me know what you’re looking for and I’ll happily oblige. If you all want to add some color to this place, feel free to riff off of what I’ve got so far. Be creative!

At the rear of the cart.

Karl offers Climber his hand now that they are around back and away from his employees.

"Thank you Climber. I hope I didn't overstep myself out there on the road. Things started developing and decades of training, drill and command took over. Without your knowledge of the route we wouldn't have been so well positioned for the attacks. Your folks afforded themselves well. I am sorry for the losses along the way."

"I hope to return with you and my men in three days, but I want to be honest with you. Events may be out of our control."

Climber accepts Karl's hand and explanation. "I suspected as much, lad. Between ya n' that half-elf ya got askin' questions..." The grizzled dwarf shakes his head, hooking his thumbs under his belt. "Ya sskin' for it innah school. Mind wha' ya say n' do. The teachers up there are a nasty bunch. Kids, well, ah ne'er heard the good in them younglings."

Before he turns to go he spa to the side. "Keep light with ya at all times. Tha's why them Demgazis light the torches n' candles. Ward off the dark, lad. Ya can ask the locals, but I hear o' a thing that runs the hills below the school, innah woods."

Phedron helps with the animals for a bit. After they are sorted, he does take the time to browse the tents. Any scrolls or similar items he will stop to peruse. He also seeks out some blank parchment and other materials to make scrolls before heading to the school.

Any magic scrolls here?

Phedron roams the assorted tents and inquires within one particularly colorful one. Patchwork canvas of blues and greens and yellows make up the establishment of one Vacla Goldenleaves. A gnomish male who's arcane dabbling lean on the direction of naturalists and scribners. Known for his strong accent and for sending dozens of missives to his "true love back home", Vacla is renowned for his scroll writing and his long white hair.

When Phedron enters the many-colored tent, he is stricken by the various aromas swirling within the interior. Add to that the heavy accent of the proprietor, the first few words of exchange take a few moments. But it's not long before business is discussed;

Available Scrolls & Sundries

• Scroll of Entangle (25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Mage Armor (25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Break (apg, 25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Erase (12 gp 5 sp)
  
• Scroll of Mount (25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Silence (150 gp)
  
• Scroll of Inflict Light Wounds (25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Jump (25 gp)
  
• Scroll of Bleed (12 gp 5 sp)
  
• Scroll of Stone Fist (25 gp)
  
• Scroll writing materials (kit) (50 gp)

Over the course of discussions, you wonder at the gnome's accent, finding it somewhat familiar. It hits you as you survey the available materials...his accent matches that of the paladin Nosatrub. Could this gnome also be from Ustalav?

"Greetings Vada, I have interest in some of your wares. What do you have in the way of scrolls?" Sorting through his current inventory, he selects a few as well as supplies for making a few of his own.

Phedron purchases the scrolls of Break, Stone Fist, Jump and Scroll materials kit (total 125g).

Now having established a relationship with Vada via the exchange of resources, he takes the opportunity to get a local take on the school.

"Vada, you're a learned Gnome. Is there much magic to be had up at the school?" he asks, as innocently as he can. "I've heard it's an odd place, but being so close..."

Vacla checks the scroll cases as he eases the ones not purchased back into their shelves. He tsks sharply at the mention of the school, his Ustalavan accent making his next few words more ominous. "Vhat business does this vun have vith such a place, eh? They do not pay Vacla, nor take interest in fine skills he provides." The gnome draws himself to his full height, all of 4 feet and shakes his head, lip curled. "Rich nobles send their mici copii suportabil to learn their lessons, then they return home to pappa and mama like good little babies. Bah!" He slaps a hand down on the counter in front of him then stabs a thumb at his own chest. "Vacla knows vhat is really going on in that black boned școală de întuneric! It is rich people's, playing at secrets, putting nose where nose does not go. Bah!"

He juts a chin towards Phedron. "You look for magic? Is this vhat interests you, eh?" Vacla wipes his face abs smith's his white locks in a mock attempt to calm his nerves. "Certainly, Vacla knows of magic things at school. At school and under school. This...yes, it is under that interests you, no? Vacla has map if half-elf desires. Lead you to place under school." He pauses and eyes Phedron suspiciously.

"The place under the school? Did you make this map?" he asks, watching Vacla's body language and expressions.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22

Karl presses a hand to his abdomen. With the other he gestures and herds the others around back.

"We carry a pox from being bitten by death dogs. Let's get on with getting a cure for it, then we all shall get a drink for good measure."

Drogan's cheeks swell for a minute before he gulps with a wince.

"Aye. I'll back everything the lad just said! 'Specially the part about the drinking. The Lucky Drunk owes me one for this."

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Phedron

The gnome strokes his chin and chuckles softly. "You think Vacla sell map to place he does not know? Do you think him imbecile?" He steps over to another shelf and withdraws a different scroll case. [b]"Vacla goes to place many times in past. Vhat it had before for Vacla, it no longer provides. But such a knowledge as getting to do secret place beneath...well, Vacla knows it worth more than copper, yes?"[/ooc]

Phedron watches the gnome bring the scroll case over to the counter and place between them. To the young half-elf's trained eye, it seems Vacla is selling legitimate information. But he also gets the impression that he'll want more than just coins to just hand over the map. Beneath the bombastic exterior, Vacla is weighing Phedron's character just as much.

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Those seeking the cure...

Agidor nods agreenent to Marsh and Drogan. "That's the way, lads. Let's get the 'How's your father' done and the first round is on me."

Lead by Marsh, Drogan and Beckett, those stricken with the wormpox make their way around back of McCree's Rest. Glimmervest Cedarback watches with a lick of the lips as the group leads their horses by his place in the barrel. He misses a beat or two and it's clearly because of the keg of ale strapped to the saddle of one of the horses.

Next to the heavy canvas wall separating the sounds of drunken men and women from the alleyway, there stands a small shack of perhaps 400 square feet. Scrawled in rough characters of common and dwarfish announces the location as McCree's Potions and Ointments.

The door stands open, blocked by a crate full of empty jars and flasks and broken decanters. Inside the group can make out an older dwarf, bald pate and a white beard gesturing with four stubby fingers. "No more than four at a time. What have ya got, n' where did ya get it?"

Phedron lets silence linger between them for two breaths before continuing in a hushed tone. "More than copper? Possibly. What is it that you seek?

"Wormpox from being chew toys for death dogs. Not a highly recommended activity, not one I will willingly participate in again. Luckily it's only a day old. I'll send in the first three and myself."

Karl becons three of the carivaneers in first. He intends to be the last to get the cure.

"Step lively now."

He sets the cask on the counter.

"Climber sends his best, literally and figuratively, but warns you not to ask for a tip or he'll come round and deliver it personally."

Karl gives a wheezy coughing laugh.

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Phedron

For the first time since entering the store, Vacla allows his gaze to drop. He rests both hands on the scroll case. "There is one Vacla searches for in school. Artist. Studies buildings of type like that school. You help Vacla find the artist, and you give me 10 gold, then map is yours."

He opens the case and withdraws the map, unrolling it on the counter. It is hand drawn for sure, but where aspect and ratio might not correspond, flowing writing explains direction and distance. The map is by turns both pleasing to the eye and possessing a strangely disquieting accuracy.

"Can you tell me more about this person? How long have they been there?" Phedron asks evenly. Proceeding to an even more hushed whisper, a whisper barely audible, he continues "I wager you understand the nature of my interest in the school. You also likely know the foul trail that lead to the school. What is this artist is of that ilk? Do you know a cure? Do you know anything more of what this is all about?"

Phedron's countenance grows intense and focused, his eyes boring into Vacla.

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Phedron

"Vacla seeks his wife, Divora. An artist, a sorcerer such as I. It was her and I for the Inspitah, we follow nobleman from the Zimar, who a vorbit prea mult...uh, how you say this...he had running of mouth? This is saying?" He waves it away and continues. "This noble speak of object falling from sky many years ago. He and others like him, part of...colectare ascuns...a circle of people looking for such things. Like fools in Numeria." He studies Phedron at length, licking his lips and coming to a conclusion. "You do not ask same questions. Not like others who come to Vacla..."

He wipes his hands thru his hair and sighs heavily. "Vacla and his wife, we get noble good and drunk, he speaks all. Others like him go to Demgazi, they want this thing from sky. Vacla and Divora see place to make money, so we follow him. We are not welcome for the Demgazi, but we make place here for the Inspitah."

"Divora, she curious of this thing. The noble, we follow from Zimar, he say him and others get job...work at school to put inside...uhm, to get inside." Vacla reaches under the counter and retrieves a flask and two glasses. Into them he pours a clear liquid smelling strongly of alcohol. The gnome takes a drink and pushes the other glass to Phedron. "My Divora and I, we work with local dwarves and begin map of hill beneath school. Then we pay Wisterix. If other noble such as one from Zimar comes, let Vacla and Divora know. We sell map and information." He finishes his glass and pours another. "Like Vacla, say, precious Divora curious of thing. She go to school, get job as healer for rich brats...That 4 months go by now. No word. No letter. And Vacla too well known to be allowed in to school."

His hands begin to shake. "You speak of disease? I know nothing of such things. Perhaps mark on little brat necks is this you speak of? They come to school loud, they leave quiet. But it is mai bătrân...the person or people that bring them...Vacla think they are part of colectare ascuns. I see them come to the Inspitah, act as strangers, but they come to Vacla, look for map, they are acquainted."

Vacla downs his third drink. "Vacla told a large group arrive in school before we arrive in the Inspitah. Then they leave. That is what Vacla knows. Will you help him to find his Divora?"

Phedron takes the offered drink and imbibes slowly, listening to Vacla's tale. As he concludes and inquires if Phedron will help, he thinks for several moments before answering,

"Yes. Yes, I will look for Divora. I have to tell you that you are right about the mark on their necks. It is a sign of something. These people are changed. I don't know it's madness or an illness or... something more obscene. I will look for her, but I can't promise what I might find. We have yet to find any of those enslaved by this madness that seem to be able to shake it loose. Still, do you have a trinket or memento that I could take with me? Something of your or important to the both of you that she may recognize? Also, these... colectare ascuns... do they go by other names? Are they a guild? Like the Pathfinders?"

Finishing his glass, he waves away any more. This conversation doesn't encourage him but casts a further shadow on the journey ahead.

Lovin this.

Ditto from me. Loving the back and forth Mr Phedron. My only regret is being unable to post faster. (work)

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Phedron

Vacla pours a fourth and drinks it down and places his hands flat on the countertop and exhales, the tremor gone. ”Vhile there is charge of gold for map, there is more than monetary debt between us.” He hops down from the stepstool upon which he’d been standing and retreats to through a tent flap to the back of his store. After a few moments he returns with a vial made of silvered pewter, inlays of silver and polished brass forming a sigil of branches and tiny stars. On the end of the vial is a screw on stopper. ”Valca’s Divora vhere this scent, treasure from home in Ustalav. Vacla find smell is strong vith magic and memory.”

For Phedron, during a pause as Vacla stares with longing and love down at the vial, the half-elf wizard recalls that the scrolls he’d purchased from the white-haired gnome had their individual scents. For example, the Stone Fist scroll had the scent of granite dust worked into the paper.

Vacla holds up the vial to Phedron, hints of govalciucs and lilacs (flowers) wafting between them. Along the side there are finely crafted words in what must be the gnome’s native Ustalavan. ”Phedron take. Perhaps precious Divora will know you stand for her Vacla…” There is a pain in his eyes. ”Vacla vill hold onto hope that vords of Phedron vill not apply to his precious Divora.”

The act done, Vacla blinks back the two jewels of tears welling in his eyes and changes his tone. His voice is thick with emotion as he speaks, but it clears over time. ”Colectare ascunes...is Vacla’s name for foolish people coming to school and searching hill. They play at guild-time…so, da, they can be like guild. But more like little children passing secrets back and forth, they act one way, be the noble...be the farm person...but all have cuvant ascuns...how you say, secret vord?” He swirls his little hands in circles as he searches for the right turn of phrase in Common. ”If to be pretending...you and I share ascuns...uh, a secret. Ve go avay from one another, but no matter distance, ve both know secret. Then ve come back to same place, ve meet, ve share secret once more plus vhat ve learn as we are parted. This make sense, da?”

Something occurs to Vacla and he slaps a hand down on the counter causing the glasses to shudder and clink and the flask to tip over and spill its clear liquid. ”Mâinile reci mă ia!" He shouts in his native tongue and pulls a rag from under the counter to wipe up the spill. As he does he states, ”Vacla almost forget. He must be to the checking of Phedron’s character, no? Now that Vacla know this vun’s shape, he can share one last thing.” The gnome tosses the rag aside and pours the remainder of the flask’s contents into his own glass. That done he hops back down from the stool, taking his glass with him and drinking it down. He tosses the glass in a high arc where it then comes crashing down into a stone circle fireplace, shattering into a thousand pieces. The vapor still lingering in the glass causes the flame to shudder and grow briefly. Vacla utters a single Ustalavan word that sounds like a salute.

Moments later he returns from the back of his shop with a rolled piece of what looks to be wax paper. Once back at the counter and unrolling it for Phedron to see, it’s more accurately tracing paper upon which a rubbing has been made with dark charcoal. ”Vacla, have three of this cuvant ascuns fools in shop last veek. They get into argument, push and shove two of these did, while third push them outside Vacla’s. But they leave behind book…” A devilish look comes over the gnome as he pats his hand on the tracing paper. ”Vacla too clever for them, take out paper and make with copy of cover. Vacla make for the just in cases, yes?”

Phedron looks down at the rubbing. The words are drawn in intricate and grandiose detail. For the briefest of moments, the half-elf thinks them to be in a different language. But Vacla chuckles to himself, the nigh overpowering smell of alcohol on his breath, and he turns the rubbing over for Phedron to see.

The image is an all too familiar one…

The Image

Nosa, uncomfortable in the tent city does not want to enter the tent with the others.

I will examine this place for a time he says to Karl and the others. I will return shortly and when you are ready we can finish our job

"Sounds good."

Karl pats the paldron of the Paladins armor.

"Keep your eyes sharp son. This place has long knives for us."

Phedron makes a sharp sound as he intakes air through his clenched teeth. He glares at the rubbing. "I shouldn't be surprised. Yes, I am aware of this book." he whispers, but stops short of admitting that there is one in the room with him. "It's a book that delves into the root of all this evil. I have been warned about reading it and pass that to you should one ever come into your possession. Some knowledge comes at a cost." he continues, paraphrasing Father Synoptera.

Beckett faces east, and falls to his knees, his back straight.

Silently he begins his devotions.

"Okay, start with these three here."

♜ Inspitah
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Early Evening | 85°

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Phedron

Vacla nods and rolls up the rubbing to store it away once more. ”Such warnings went unheeded when Vacla warned his precious Divora. But I thank this one for the advice.” The gnome sighs and gives Phedron a small smile. ”The sun will soon depart this day. It is time to close and to go and drink. Perhaps you join me at McCree’s, eh?”

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Nosatrub

The paladin of Iomedae moves off from the group, taking Marsh’s whispered warnings to heart. Inspitah lay before Nosatrub’s booted heels, a dusty tent city of foul-mouthed drovers and merchants and swords for hire. And with the sun setting in the West, chances are things will get even fouler. Amid the clanging of smithy and the shouts of hawkers, the predominantly human and dwarf denizens move about their business with the occasional halfling and gnome doing the same. Nosa’s armored form garners no few sideways glances and raised eyebrows. From his first few steps into the tent city, the paladin is keenly aware he’s among the better equipped.

From a pavilion to his right, Nosa hears the soft whistle and inviting call of a female voice. Her accent is heavy with the song of Qadira, but her complexion marks her as Taldan. ”If it is food and shade you seek, stranger, look no further than Fayra’s tent. Come, take your rest and cleanse yourself from the dust of the road.” She is garbed in the silk and cotton robes native to the area, a head scarf fringed with thin metallic shapes to reflect the setting sun. The woman bows slightly and waves towards the tent’s entrance which she opens. From inside wafts the enticing aromas of cooking meats and pipe smoke tinged with dried fruits and tobacco leaves. ”Will you not accept Fatimah’s invitation, stranger? The evening comes and rooms for rent will disappear faster than the sun’s light.”

From around the back of the tent, bearing water pails on a broad beam across his shoulders, a young man of some 14 or 15 years approaches. The woman at the tent flap, Fatimah, nods greeting and opens it further to allow the boy admittance. Once he passes, she glances back towards Nosatrub and awaits his answer.

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At McCree’s Potions & Ointments

The old dwarf behind the counter thumps his fist against the cask, giving it close perusal. Then he nods for the first group of afflicted to enter. ”Death Dogs ya say?” He wipes a handkerchief across his bald head and stuffs it into a pocket in his vest. ”Bloody business, those whelps. I take it some o’ Climber’s men dinnah make it?” At Marsh’s response he wraps his knuckles against the countertop three times and mutters a dwarfish oath. ”Tis a shame ta go that way, bu’ ya choose the life, no the death, eh lads?”

He retrieves a set of spectacles from another vest pocket and sets to work. The next few minutes he fulfills all requests for a cure, clearing all present of the wormpox and providing the single warning that they should take their rest this evening. No horsing around lest the potions he’d applied ”...turn around n’ be done with ya.” Those who are part of Climber’s group, wave their goodbyes and make their way back to where their boss is staying at the Wisterix outpost. To a man, they offer their thanks and it’s clear friendships - or at the least, associations - have been forged among them for the past 5 days of harrowing adventure.

”Ya can find room n’ board a’ a few places in Inspitah. I got a pair o’ rooms for the lodgin’. Fayra’s got a few more.” He wipes his hands and steps around the counter, ushering everyone back outside. Once there, the last of the sun’s rays are peeling back from the sky. The old dwarf looks upwards and puts away his spectacles. ”Ya can come o’er to mah tavern. I’ll be servin’ up the spirits n’ ya can take your rest.” He closes the door to his Potions & Ointments shack, tucking a key into his vest and turning around to the gathered group. ”I’m Auger McCree.” He nods towards the side tent flap leading into the tavern but holds focus on the party, curiosity in his eyes.

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Linkah spies Beckett saying his devotions to the departing sun and slips in next to him. He kicks off his dusty shoes and squats down to his knees to follow suit. The little halfling takes in a breath and softly sings a halfling tune to Sarenrae. ♫”Whaddya know? Where do ya go? Guess we huddle by a candle till the light o’ tomorrow…”♫

Be wary my son. Tempation will come at you from all directions and in many forms. Evil is not always so obvious as a ghoul.

Nosa looks at the woman, and tries to get a sense for what she is about.

sense motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

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Nosatrub

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Fatima studies the knight in turn, big brown eyes like oceans of calm water. To Nosatrub, it seems clear she is drumming up business. Perhaps seeing him dressed in his resplendent set of armor, she thinks Nosa able to afford what is available in Fayra's Tent.

Beckett smiles at Linkah as he stands, briefly placing a hand on the halfling's shoulder.

Then he turns, toward the dwarf, with a smile which may not be entirely for show.

"Thank you Healer McCree. We'd be honored to take our ease with you."

The Inquisitor opens the flap and holds it for the group.

"Perhaps we can take the opportunity to become better antiquated. I fear that the pox did not allow us to make a very dignified first impression."

"I would love to add a few doses of medicinal spirits to ensure the cure takes hold. I think I'll do that, but first I've got to take care of one last bit of business."

Marsh nods to Beckett.

"I should be fine. If you guys want to get a head start save me a chair would you? A hot bath for old bones and a proper room would be a nice change as well."

Karl is looking for Nosa so that they can make their delivery.

Gold exchanged, goods stowed and vial secreted away, Phedron nods to Vacla. "Yes, that sounds fine. Some of my colleagues are there I believe."

Accompanying Vacla to McCree's, he introduces Vacla to the others as they come around.

"Where the hell is Drogan?! I swear sometimes having a bard around is like waiting on a woman, and where has the Inquisitor run off to? Come on people, we've got a delivery to make."

The dwarf emerges, wiping his face with a towel after spitting up something foul from his throat.

"D'ye think iss easy gettin' death dog bile an' vomit out of a dwarf's beard? A' don't bloody think so. So you'll wait fer me te do what needs doing or a'll put this physic through a dry run an' test mah returnin' strength with a smack te the back a' that pointed head a yours. Then again, tha' might ACTUALLY make meh sound like one a' yer women, Marsh."

Beckett walks in behind Drogan, smiling at the Dwarf's antics.

Then he removes his hat and makes an exaggerated, sweeping bow at Karl.

Nosa nods at the woman

Another time perhaps.

He turns and heads back to the group, hoping to find them healed. Eager to get to the delivery.

Karl smile fades a bit when the dwarf mentions "one of his women", the the greying warrior simply puts a hand on the dwarfs shoulder.

"I am just weary and eager to be about our business. This illness quieted you so, it seemed like it had been weeks since I suffered your sharp tongue. Lavios will have to see to himself for a bit. Let's see to finding Nosa. He may have surpassed me in arms on the battlefield, but some worldly experience is what's needed to keep yourself this side of the dirt in a den of stinking evil like this."

"I didn't drag your rotting carcasses through the desert to die on the doorstep of our enemies. I'd rather die inside, at least it's out of that blasted sun and dirt."

"Keep your torch and pitchfork ready Mr. Beckett. Heh heh."

Karl gives Beckett a fatherly slap on the back and steps into the evening comings and goings looking for a certain young armored knight.

♜ McCree’s Tavern | Inspitah
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Evening | 75°

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At McCree’s Tavern | All Players

The scene opens on the tent settlement of Inspitah, a mass of canvas and wood and some stone fastened to the southern wall of Demgazi. Sweeping in low along the tops of pavilions and shingled shacks the wooden palisades of Demgazi keep her citizens secured from outsiders and the mercenary ilk common to the her tented lamprey. Torches and lanterns light the cobbelstone and dirt streets of Demgazi, some source of illumination on every corner. Men and women with hooded gazes move quickly and efficiently to ensure every one is lit.

Leaving behind Demgazi we sweep over the thick foliage of Ederra Forest that separates the town from the hills to its north. Past the dark canopy of cyprus and pine and maple we ascend granite hills that raise up St. Antoinette’s Academy. The dark stone bulk of the school is formidable, black against the spectral hill, the school’s lofty pinnacles and towers grasped at the evening and welcomed the stars above it. Strangely grim and austere, St. Antoinette’s seems less a school and more a gothic battlement.

Back within the canvas of Inspitah, the sun finds its rest behind the hills to the north west, the last remnants of pink and orange hues descend into black and are replaced by the subtle glows of lantern poles and braziers linking the walkways of Inspitah. Even more so, the glow of street lanterns and other sources of light can be seen over the walls of Demgazi. Mixing with the cacophony of mercenaries and drovers and merchants, a gentle song rolls down from the academy on the hill above Demgazi. If one bends their ear just right they can make out the soft tones of a children’s choir singing a mournful melody. But the noise of the locals seems purposed to drown out the song.

Karl Marsh has little trouble tracking down his armored friend, Nosatrub, spotting him as he turns away from a large wood and tent structure bearing the signage; “Farya’s Tent”. A dusky woman of clearly Qadiran descent is smiling at the departing form of the paladin, returning to her duties of brooming the entrance. Soon her face is covered up as more patrons approach.

Both Karl and Nosatrub, intent upon making good the delivery of the Urghosh in their charge, seek out Borrs Stoneheel. It’s not long before they’re given the name Stoneheel Mining Co. and a location of their tent of operation. However, once they arrive, they find that it is closed for the day’s business. An old woman selling travel-worn boots and satchels is affable in telling them that the Stoneheel brothers are on their way to McCree’s to take in the evening.

So it is now we find our party of heroes gathered once more, dwelling within the cavernous common room of McCree’s Tavern. The venerable owner of the establishment has pushed together a pair of long tables to ensure all can be seated. He finds particular delight in Linkah Merrywater’s fanciful practice of Cassomiri curses when it’s found he and Glimmervest Cederback are not exactly fans of one another. The party is also joined by Vacla Goldenleaves, owner and proprietor of a scribner’s shop and apparently a gnome of many talents and sources of information. Nosatrub is quick to note the gnome’s thick, Ustalavan accent.

Auger McCree, as befitting a dwarf of his station, moves among the crowds and makes small talk and even thumps a few patrons before they get out of line. While well advanced in years, the old dwarf seems quite able to the task. He also makes a point of noting for the party just where Borrs Stoneheel and his brothers are seated.

Okay, take it away. Feel free to fill the pavilion tent with any sort you’d like. Flesh it out as you want. It’s generally a rough and rowdy crowd, but there’s a general friendliness in the place that speaks towards their shared businesses. Phedron, you’ve got quite a tale in Vacla there, so have fun passing the info along. Let me know how you want to approach the Stoneheel brothers or if you want to invite them to your table.

At the Table

• Karl Marsh
  
• Nosatrub
  
• Drogan
  
• Phedron
  
• Beckett
  
• Lavios
  
• Agidor
  
• Linkah
  
• Vacla Goldenleaves

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Denizens of Inspitah

• Auger McCree (Dwarf) | Owner of McCree’s Tavern and Potions & Ointments
  
• Glimmervest Cedarback (Gnome) | Doorman to both McCree’s properties
  
• Vacla Goldenleaves (Gnome) | Scribner of Scrolls & Tomes, Ustalavan, white-haired and knowledgeable
  
• Fatimah Belzi (Human) | Co-Owner of Fayra’s Tent (tavern & inn)
  
• Climber & Co.
  
• Borrs Stoneheel (Dwarf) | Recipient of the Urghosh, Owner of Stoneheel Mining Co., stubborn and pragmatic
  
• Trudo Stoneheel (Dwarf) | Brother to Borrs
  
• Handt Stoneheel (Dwarf) | Brother to Borrs

Assignments and Reminders

• Contract with Wisterix Bros (Hittlebriar) to escort caravan from Golsifar to Inspitah and back again. Payment is 200 gp per man | It is a 5 day journey each way
  
• Contract with Corg Hornsplitter to deliver a masterpiece Urghosh to one Borrs Stoneheel in Inspitah for 100 gp per man willing to sign the contract
  
• Investigate Demgazi and the school overlooking it
  
• You possess a letter of introduction from Father Argus to one Dr. Anthea Davies, the Dean of St Antoinette's Academy
  
• Phedron holds a linguistic’s tome titled “Languages in Dreams”, given by Father Syntopera back in Cassomir
  
• There is an apothecary in Inspitah who runs the only tavern in the tent city. He is a dwarf named Auger McCree. He may have the expertise to deal with the Wormpox.
  
• Climber will be departing back for Golsifar in 2 days time (26 Lamashan)

Beckett orders himself a drink, and feigns taking a sip.

"As foul smelling as ever... but it is prudent to look the part."

Discretely, Beckett starts some conversation with some locals and tries to learn more about St Antoinette's Academy.

Drogan looks to the Stoneheels. They seem of thick, dwarvish stock, forged of iron and fire. Certainly he'll have words with them, but there is time before they travel on. He has been too long with the dust and blood. Travel is a blessing of the Drunk, but too much of even the best things of life can weigh a man down.

The air around the gnome is refreshing. The fragrance of old books and long days smoking pipes clings to every inch of him. It is a fine balm to his soul.

"Iss been many a day now since I've been able te sit down with a fellow man a' words and parchment. Would ye mind if I have a seat fer a moment?"

♜ McCree’s Tavern | Inspitah
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Evening | 75°

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At McCree’s Tavern | All Players

Vacla Goldenleaves grins broadly at Drogn's offer. "Vacla do this for musical dwarf, yes? We talk books and things. What is of interest, eh? Are you like this one?" the white-haired gnome waves towards Phedron. "...do you seek knowledge cunoștințe interzis? Uh, how is said...secret knowledge? Or perhaps to learn songs of my homeland to beat into drum and make sing-song?"

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At the Table

• Karl Marsh
  
• Nosatrub
  
• Drogan
  
• Phedron
  
• Beckett
  
• Lavios
  
• Agidor
  
• Linkah
  
• Vacla Goldenleaves

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

Denizens of Inspitah

• Auger McCree (Dwarf) | Owner of McCree’s Tavern and Potions & Ointments
  
• Glimmervest Cedarback (Gnome) | Doorman to both McCree’s properties
  
• Vacla Goldenleaves (Gnome) | Scribner of Scrolls & Tomes, Ustalavan, white-haired and knowledgeable
  
• Fatimah Belzi (Human) | Co-Owner of Fayra’s Tent (tavern & inn)
  
• Climber & Co.
  
• Borrs Stoneheel (Dwarf) | Recipient of the Urghosh, Owner of Stoneheel Mining Co., stubborn and pragmatic
  
• Trudo Stoneheel (Dwarf) | Brother to Borrs
  
• Handt Stonheel (Dwarf) | Brother to Borrs

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

Assignments and Reminders

• Contract with Wisterix Bros (Hittlebriar) to escort caravan from Golsifar to Inspitah and back again. Payment is 200 gp per man | It is a 5 day journey each way
  
• Contract with Corg Hornsplitter to deliver a masterpiece Urghosh to one Borrs Stoneheel in Inspitah for 100 gp per man willing to sign the contract
  
• Investigate Demgazi and the school overlooking it
  
• You possess a letter of introduction from Father Argus to one Dr. Anthea Davies, the Dean of St Antoinette's Academy
  
• Phedron holds a linguistic’s tome titled “Languages in Dreams”, given by Father Syntopera back in Cassomir
  
• There is an apothecary in Inspitah who runs the only tavern in the tent city. He is a dwarf named Auger McCree. He may have the expertise to deal with the Wormpox.
  
• Climber will be departing back for Golsifar in 2 days time (26 Lamashan)

Beckett's eyes narrow as he takes in the crowd, glancing at a table:

That lot... Rumors and tales of St. Antoinette's. May be truth about it, but they don't know anything but the gossip. Can pick that up anywhere.

His eyes fleet past a second table:

More stories. Troubles with trade. Rumors. Any mid-level merchant can likely confirm. Not urgent.

Then he look toward the door at the departing form of a human and half-elf.

What's this? Could be nothing. But were they listening to the stories of the Academy? Sudden exit. Maybe nothing, but won't have a second chance. Yes. Them.

Beckett sets his cup on the bar and heads to the door with as much speed as possible without drawing too much attention. He tries to catch the eye of at least one of his companions and nods toward the exit.

Karl sat fidgeting as Drogan happily chatted up the gnome and Nosa sat silent failing to make the delivery for some reason. The old warrior wanted to be done with shuttling and delivery services, the responsibilities weighed on him as he took those obligations and oaths seriously.

His eyes wandered and caught on Beckett.

The young man had set his cup down and was making a break from the bar.

The boy isn't stepping like he just needs to make water. Something's up.

Beckett turns and makes eye contact.

. . . S%** . . . It can never be a quiet night sitting at a table ever since he passed through Ol'Kreig's batwing's.

Karl silently gets up to follow, purposely bumping the halfling as he moves.

♜ McCree’s Tavern | Inspitah
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Evening | 70°

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At McCree’s Tavern | Beckett & Karl
(...and anyone else taking notice)

Linkah lurches as Marsh bumps into him, causing the halfling to tip his beer. ”Oy, leave it out, huh? Ya eyes goin’ soft, Marshy?” He glances up at the veteran and instantly stuffs his the scathing rebuke on his lips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and hops down from his seat to follow Beckett and Karl. But he pauses, turns back to the table and grabs up the tankard, frothy beverage lolling over the brim, and then follows along. ”...jus’ in case that wanker Glimmervest comes back, eh? Seems tha ale nickin’ type.”

Beckett is a little further ahead, determined pace setting him for the pavilion’s exit. So focused is he that he nearly knocks down the gnome Glimmervest Cedarback as he’s returning inside from his duties at the entrance. Though he doesn’t impede progress, Linkah slows his pace long enough to give the gnome the evil eye.

”Sod off, ya halfer.” Glimmervest grinds out.

”Your mums was a pony, ya poor dumb wanker…” Linkah replies and follows Karl and Beckett out into the night.

Outside, the temperature has finally lowered to more affable levels, owing in no small part to the winds coming down from the large hill to the northwest. And although darkness should rule the night in a place so rustic as a tent city, the standing lantern poles and myriad of flaming braziers provide nearly as much light as a populated city street. More than enough light for Beckett to spot the lanky human and his half-elven companion.

Karl is able to follow his line of sight and spots a thin, lanky human with a receding hairline and a pony tail. He’s garbed in tunic and jerkin and tanned breeches, the colors of browns and greys and greens, A forester if ever Karl had seen one. The second figure caught in Beckett’s sights is a half-elven man dressed in similar fashion. Where the lanky forester walks and appears the part, the half-elf seems to be playing at it. As they pass through a pool of lantern light, it’s clear that the half-elf’s clothing is fairly new. There is a touch of frustration from the second man as he attempts to match the stride of the first.

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Roll Sense Motive!! If you’re result beats the given DC, have a peek.

Beckett, Karl and Linkah follow the pair through Inspitah’s winding avenues. Most of the tent vendors and other merchants are closed for the night or closing, but the pair continue on past all of them until they arrive at a shanty made of repurposed wagon parts. The forester knocks on the door and after a pause, it opens and admits both human and half-elf.

From inside, murmurs can be heard of more than just two or three voices.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----
Roll Perception!! If you’re result beats the given DC, have a peek.

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What to do now? Do you linger? If so, I need a Stealth Check from each of you. Also, narrate how your hiding your presence. Feel free to add flavor and context to your surroundings. You already have an idea of what Inspitah feels like.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

Karl's eyes work the pair over. It is obvious that the half elf is a pretender in his chosen garb. The lanky one was the genuine article, but why the pretense?

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

Karl presses his war against the ramshackle building and finds a good spot to listen from.

Stealth: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

The old warrior makes hand signals that he can hear the people inside and the others need to stay back and keep quiet. He hugs the building and wraps himself in his cloak blending himself in to the wall and shadows. A passerby might mistake him for a traveler without funds for a room, if they spotted him at all.

disguise: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

He listens intently trying to gain a better understanding of what's transpiring inside.

"I ken sing a song or two if ye like meh to. However, I'm looking for stories. New ones and old alike. A fine upstandin' gentleman such as yerself, sure you know the hither and thither about town. Road tells stories of strange mists and dark tidings not far from here. A gnome such as yerself probably has all manner of knowledge about the old ways most other folks forgot they should remember, am I right?

Drogan removes an old bit of cloth from his pouch. The last bit of finery from his archivist days he kept on him, bearing the seal of the Iron Archive.

"They may not keep records as deep as we do, but 'iss my guess you keep yer own histories around here, doncha? Iss the ones with an eye te the past that are firmly set when it comes round te repeat itself. The rest get tossed in the wind."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (10) + 11 = 21

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

Stealth: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (8) - 4 = 4

Beckett focuses on the pair, trying to discern as much has he can fro, their manner and movement.

I wonder what...

"Oooff!"

His foot catches on a gnarled root, and the Inquisitor stumbles, the pieces of his armor banging together as he regains his footing.

After regaining his footing, Beckett glances sheepishly toward Karl... then, red faced, moves away from him.

"At least one of us can be out of sight... Fah! Sneaking about... Not the way of the Inquisition...

♜ McCree’s Tavern | Inspitah
♜ 22 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Evening | 70°

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Night in Inspitah | Beckett, Karl & Linkah

The years spent dwelling in the shadows of Cassomir have granted Marsh an unerring ability to move quietly when the need comes calling. He slips into the shadows cast by the wagon-parts shanty and a neighboring tobacco monger’s tent and presses his ear against the wall, gathering intelligence. As he does so, Linkah - beer tankard still in hand - climbs into the back of a two-wheeled cart resting in front of the tobacco monger’s tent and crouches down, silent as a whisper. He grins broadly, sips his ale, and gives a thumbs up to Karl.

As Karl listens closely, Beckett makes his move to get within range to do the same. But the gnarled root of a small cyprus tree across from the wagon-parts tent grabs hold of his foot and catapults him forward as though possessed of a mind to render him awkwardly conspicuous! The inquisitor quickly masks over his folly and continues down the path, acting the passerby and not as the spy.

The shanty’s door bursts open, the shining moon above glints off a dagger’s blade. The lanky forester hisses for silence over his shoulder as he steps outside. His keen eyes spot and dismiss Beckett quickly, lingering only long enough to see the man continue on down the path. Then he sweeps his gaze around the side and into the alley and the shadows cast therein. He spots Marsh!

”Hey,” Carver waves his dagger at Karl Marsh, while his other hand goes to a pouch at his side. ”...move on. There’s no room here for loafers.” His hand emerges and he tosses a pair of silver pieces at Karl, the coins thumping into his cloak. ”Move it…”

The forester turns his head to the side, Karl can almost see his ears twitch at a sound from Linkah’s hiding spot. He glances back to Karl briefly and makes a “get moving” gesture with his dagger. Then he goes to inspect the cart. ”Oy, what’s this then? You stealing?”

In the cart, Linkah has managed to wedge open a barrel behind which he’d been hiding. He peers out from behind it and answers sheepishly. ”Can’t a halfer make a bloody quid, gov?”

Carver studies the halfling for a moment, eyes narrowed, but he sheathes his dagger and nods with a smirk. ”The better stuff’s in the third barrel over…” His whispered voice says with a color of amusement. ”Ferro is a bleedin’ arse o’ the first order. Take what you can get and piss off.”

The forester turns away from the cart and Karl and heads back towards the shanty…

What do you do?

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Relevant DM Rolls

Linkah Stealth: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (11) + 11 = 22 get into cart/hide
Carver’s Perception: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 8 + 1 = 27 (vs humans)
Carver’s Perception: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 8 + 1 = 10 (vs Karl’s disquise)
Link’s Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Carver’s SM: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6 vs Link