Lightbringer keeps quiet during the conversation with the Inquisitor, seeing that Rodergo has things well in hand, content to play the dutiful warforged cohort on the chance that this man is prejudiced against his kind. But all goes well, and Lightbringer bows low as he leaves. “May the Flame keep and guide you,” he says before striding out.
“Friend Janosz speaks wisely,” Lightbringer says to Rolund. “I will not suggest that you remove your armour, but some discretion may be in order. No one, except if they have succumbed to the lure of evil, should be ashamed of who or what they are, but in hostile territory the wise soldier wears camouflage. Wearing a heavy cloak or robe may smooth your way here, as it did for me during our journey through Droaam.”
“That is interesting,” says Lightbringer. “Your business is your own, and to some degree your strategy may work. However, I counter by saying that your armour draws attention to you, and makes it more likely that people will notice you. A concealing cloak will hide your features as well as the detail of your armour.”
The party march into Aruldusk. A smallish city sitting on the edge of the lake, it was in the front line between Thranish territory and Cyre. Although other places have suffered more, the combination of the trials of the recent war and being situated on the border of the Mournland have clearly taken their toll.
Above the city squats the cathedral of the Silver Flame, more fortress than place of worship, its grey stone flanks weathered. In the streets, many of what should have been elegant town houses are boarded up or turned into flophouses or soup kitchens. Beggars are thick in the streets, all pleading for alms from passersby. Groups of unemployed men stand on the corners, and they eye the party balefully, especially Rolund. Even the sunshine seems weak, possibly a residual effect of being barely a few miles from the mists of the Mournland.
A crowd of men gathers behind the party as they walk towards the river front. The streets here are relatively narrow as they enter the dockside area, a warren of run-down houses before the quayside is reached.
Then, up ahead, another group blocks the way ahead. Men of various ages, carrying knives, clubs and gaffs, stand menacingly. An older man, maybe fifty with scarred arms bared and holding a club, seems to be leading them. Between this group and the one behind there doesn't seem to be any easy escape, except perhaps for a few narrow alleys about the width of a man's shoulders.
The man scowls and spits on the ground. "You've got a lot of nerve, Karrn, to come here," he growls.
"F&&% it. This won't turn out well." Janosz starts desperately eyeing boarded-up houses. "We can't have a big ol' free-for-all in the street, or the inquisitor will change his mind real fast. We need to find a place where we can bundle most of y'all into the tent - Basher, Bor, Ezreal, Lightbringer and, most importantly, Rolund. Gil, Rod and I can get a boat."
“The tent is a fine idea, and something we should have considered earlier,” says Lightbringer, watching the approaching mob warily, but making no move to draw steel. “It appears too late for that now.” The ‘forged turns to Rolund. “This was the type of notice I was hoping to avoid. We will not harm these people simply because you were too stubborn or proud to show discretion. We need a diplomatic solution here. Flamebearer, can you mollify them? Janosz, can you spy a way out if he cannot?”
Cassandra says conversationally, but loud enough to be heard by either group, "Aye, he does have nerve. Or something else. And that should give you pause about what that something else might be - that leads him to believe that he could do such a thing. In broad daylight, he dares to walk. Why might that be?"
Intimidate Aid Another
In a lower voice, "Thoughts, Ezreal?"
A silver pulse goes through Lightbringer’s eyes and the Flame symbol carved into his chest as he looks at Rolund. He does not add his voice at this stage, but makes a mollifying gesture to Bor and Basher, indicating that they should not draw weapons or drop into combat stances. He makes sure that Ezreal and Rodergo are positioned so that if the crowd charges in they will not be caught out unprotected.
Rod'll walk up to the "leader."
He speaks softly.
"Sir...I will let you go because your heart truly is in the right place.
BUT: if you and this (casts his eyes over the hooligans) rabble choose to interfere with my sacred duties any further, rest assured that...."
then he stares at the youngest squirty kid there;
"you there....I've seen you before. How long have you known that at least one of your grandparents was a werewolf?"
intim: untrained.
That's +2.
"You're in the way."
"You want to walk through us, friend?"
"We have swords and heavy armour; you have some table legs and an old shirt."
Some of the mob look cowed but the the leader is unimpressed. "No, friend, we have the Flame."
"Aye, he does have nerve. Or something else. And that should give you pause about what that something else might be - that leads him to believe that he could do such a thing. In broad daylight, he dares to walk. Why might that be?"
"Your accent - it's Cyran." He calls to the mob. "Karrns and Cyrans - this should be good, boys." There are nasty laughs.
"Sir...I will let you go because your heart truly is in the right place.
BUT: if you and this (casts his eyes over the hooligans) rabble choose to interfere with my sacred duties any further, rest assured that...."
He turns to Rodergo. "Father, you walk with evil. We don't see your kind here down here too often, and maybe you're on kissing terms with King Kaius in Flamekeep now. But here, we know what the Karrns are like. We've had their troops through here on the docks or at the walls, killing our children and womenfolk. We don't forget even if you do.
"So we will let you go. And your Cyran friend - there's precious few of them these days as it is. But your friend with his undead armour, he stays. The world won't miss another death-worshipper, and not in Aruldusk."
“We will not leave our Karrnathi companion,” speaks Lightbringer, looking intently at the leader of the mob, before turning his attention momentarily to Rolund, “as bone headed, arrogant and stubborn as he may be. If you face him, you face the Valenar beserker, the hunter from the Shadow Marches, the priest beloved of the Silver Flame, the two warforged, the minotaur, the mages. I do not think you will defeat us, but even if you do, at what cost? I have no wish to harm any of you, but if you fight us, it is likely that people will get hurt, it is likely that people will die. You have all lived through the Last War, and though you have all no doubt lost much, you have not lost everything. If you walk away from here, you will one day tell the story of the foolish Karrn who wandered through Aruldusk in his bone armour, who you told to be gone and who never returned. If you choose to fight, then may the Silver Flame save you. Those of you who have family, would you have your mothers and wives and sons mourn you over a foolish brawl? Those of you who have friends here, would you share ale with them tonight, or would you have them raise a glass at your wake?”
He looks down at the grizzled leader. “You are a Thrane, and a brave man. Few would stand against a band who like ourselves with only a tree branch and a few brave friends. I take you as a veteran of the war. Many of us were too; clearly it was what I was made for. We were on different sides, but we have put aside our differences, put aside old atrocities for a greater good. I did not have family to lose, nor anyone to mourn me if I fell, but even a warforged such as myself could feel the horror at battling the walking dead of Karrnath, and have no love for that nation. And yet I would stand beside this man. Not because I like him – today in particular I do not. But because, despite where he is from and the regalia he wears, he is a good and honourable man, who has stood at my side in battle against dragons, giants, lycanthropes, undead. War brought out the worst in all nations, but not all who were our enemies were evil.
“The Last War is over, the leaders of our nations strive for peace, the people who have endured such horrors pray for it. In Flamekeep the Speaker preaches tolerance and forgiveness. In time, old enemies can become allies. You may not listen to me, as I am just a warforged, but listen to your leaders, listen to the priests, listen to what the Silver Flame whispers in your hearts. The War is over, it is time to start anew with a better age. Do not risk this peace because you cannot leave the past where it is, because this stubborn but ultimately good and decent man reminds you of someone who did you wrong. Do not let us pass because we ask it of you, let us pass because it is the right thing to do. Or if not, make your peace with the Flame, for we must, regretfully and stupidly, fight.”
Janosz lets out a sigh of relief as the mob disappears behind them. "I still think the tent idea is a good one. There's no way anyone will let us hire their boat if we don't alter our appearance a bit. That means that the bones go, or that you hide out for a bit. And don't give me any of that 'they'll recognise my face if I take off the armour' crap; nobody here knows [iwho[/i] you are. But if you keep wearing the bone rig, they'll know what you are."
The crowd behind them parts but the looks remain ugly as the adventurers make their escape. As they head away, they see a large group of Thranish watchmen heading their way, armoured and carrying clubs and crossbows. They spot the party and hasten towards them.
"Halt in the name of the Silver Flame! You are all under arrest!"
"Oh, for crying out loud. Y'know, Rolund, I completely understand why you did whatever you did that earned you your exile from Thrane. Gods, what is wrong with these idiots?" Janosz steps forwards, pulling out his traveling papers. "What seems to be the problem? Our papers are in order, which the inquisitor will be happy to confirm."
"You are charged with Incitement to Riot, Breach of the Peace and Use of Necromantic Magic. You will surrender immediately."
There is the sound of hooves as a squad of armoured Thranish knights on horseback begins to make a bee-line for the party from behind the watchmen. They rein in their horses and the leader opens the visor of his polished silver helm. Cold blue eyes stare out challengingly.
"And you can add Heresy and Treason to the list, watchman."
"Incitement to riot,? Breach of the peace? Use of necromantic magic? What in the world are you talking about? We got off the train five minutes ago! And as you can plainly see, no incitement or any disturbance of any peace have occurred, and we haven't animated any zombies. These accusations are preposterous."
“Indeed they are,” agrees Lightbringer. “But it appears that those who claim to uphold the law in Aruldusk require little evidence to lay charges where Karrnathi citizens are involved. “
The paladin reaches slowly to his document pocket to retrieve his identity and travelling papers. “I think you will find that our papers are in order as my companion says. Also, Inquisitor Thoth will vouch for our good and peaceable intentions here in Aruldusk, as will Flamebearer Xativa here.”
"Good sir, we are on a mission, bound for the Mournlands. All we need is the rent of a ship and we will be quit of this place.
We are going to the Mournlands.
It's doubtful, don't you think, that we shall return from there...
save my good country some coin and I can guarantee you that we'll see to our own doom.
You know who we are. We don't riot.
If we wanted to we could have left that crowd bleeding in the streets back there. We didn't.
Just let us get out of your hair."
diplomacy +2 to Lightbringer's superior roll.
Looking genuinely confused, Gil adds, "Truly, the people of this city are well-protected, but there's no need to protect them from us. As Father Xativa says, we have been involved in no riot."
Diplomacy
Pretty sure their minds are made up and I think we've been set up. Might be best to keep my mouth shut more rather than less for a bit.