Council of Thieves - Westcrown Lives! (Inactive)

Game Master dickie

Making Westcrown great once more!
A CoT AP PbP Campaign.


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The thread is open for business. Anyone who needs to take actions before arriving at the meet should feel free to do so. Play nice and have fun!


Male Human (Chelaxian) Bloodrager (Steelblood, Destined) 1; HP 12/13; AC 16, Touch 11, FF 15; CMD 16; Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +2; Init +2; Perception +4, Sense Motive +0
BR:
HP 14/15; AC 14, Touch 9, FF 13; CMD 16; Fort +6, Ref +1, Will +4; 2/6 rounds

A frown rests on Cato's face, its weight an old and familiar friend. His brow furrowed and eyes distant and unfocused, the thoughts in his head slowly churn. His hand absently reaches for a small, copper coin, its edges worn by time.

"Heads, go," the middle-aged Chelaxian intones in a voice of gravel, "Tails, no." He flips the coin through the air with a practiced flick of the thumb, then catches it in an outstretched palm. A dulled image of an imprinted head stares back at him.

Cato's frown deepens, but he surges to his feet. He walks across the room to where a dusty, underused suit of scale armor sits. With great care, he puts it on. It never hurts to be over cautious. The invitation was a great unknown, and he intended to walk into it prepared.

Cato walks towards the door, and hesitates. He turns heel and steps carefully over to a wall where his old greatsword hangs from a series of rungs. He reaches up and slings it over his back.

It never hurts to be over cautious.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Ranger (Divine Tracker/Urban Ranger) 2; HP 23; AC 17, Touch 13, Flat-footed 14; CMD 17, Flat-footed 14; Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +2; Init +4; Perception +7; Sense Motive +7

While rolling out a pie crust, Martino considered his mysterious encounter the night before.

"What did she mean, I owe her one? I could have taken at least one of those Dottari," he muttered under his breath. "I didn't even get a good look at her. I wonder if she's cute?" the teen mused.

"Mama, I'm going to need this afternoon off. I'm meeting someone after lunch," Martino called toward the bakery's front counter. His mother, who had just completed a sale, replied "She'd better be pretty, if she's costing me an employee for half the day. Yes, Marti, we've heard you grumbling about your mystery woman all morning."

With a put-upon sigh, Martino said "If she is pretty, I hope you never call me Marti in front of her. You know I'm too old for that now, Mama."

For the rest of the morning, Martino's hands performed their work automatically, while his mind focused on the upcoming meeting at Vizio's Tavern.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Ranger (Divine Tracker/Urban Ranger) 2; HP 23; AC 17, Touch 13, Flat-footed 14; CMD 17, Flat-footed 14; Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +2; Init +4; Perception +7; Sense Motive +7

Martino's intro scene: Saved by the Belle
Dottari. They rarely patrol the streets after dark, yet here they are in mass numbers surrounding your band of mischief-makers. Clearly, someone sold you out!

The sergeant, holding his torch calls out, "You there! Halt! In the name of the crown, you are under arrest for breaking curfew!" You and your friends immediately scatter into the night and while you hope they manage to get away in safety, you quickly find yourself cornered in an alley with two dottari bearing down on you.

From behind them, a shadow jumps. One of the dottari is pulled back into the night and two thuds reverberate down the alley. The second, the one holding a torch, shows obvious panic and flees. That is when the clouds clear the moon just enough for you to see a vaguely humanoid shape at the end of the alley. A woman's voice comes from the barely visible figure. "Your friends seem to have escaped, mostly, but honestly Martino, I think I can find you a stronger team if you want to play in the shadows. We aim to take back the night and could use your expertise. Since you now owe me one, I assume you will have no problem meeting me and my compatriots at Vizio's Tavern tomorrow afternoon at four." Before you can reply, a cloud covers the moon once more, casting the alley into near total darkness. By the time your eyes have adjusted, she has disappeared.


Inactive

"A debt of vengeance..." The phrase kept echoing through his head like a simple minstrel's song that you couldn't get out of your head. He closed the book and put down his quill. He would have to finish his most recent work later...when he wasn't so distracted.

He stood up from the table and walked over to the window, his hand reflexively stroking the small beard that he had begun to grow. He peered out at the sites, the hustle and bustle of the city, the glare of the sun off of the other windows, the...pawns, as they were, moving around the board without a clue.

Something tells me, today will be different...

He moved to pack his supplies, ensuring his book was placed in the pack, along with his kits. He sheathed his dagger in his boot as always. He methodically strapped on his armor. He placed his compass in one belt pouch, his coins in another belt pouch, and tied the third pouch tightly. He grabbed his father's bill and left the apartment. He would patrol the streets until it was time for this...meeting.


Male Human Cleric 8 | HP 59/59 | AC 21 T 11 FF 20 | Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +11 | Initiative +1 | Perception +6 | Channel 4/4 | Inspired 1/1 | Liberation 8/8 | Rebuke Death 7/7

Elsewhere in the city, bloody hands move with surety over a gashed head. Black thread stitches the wound as damp cloth wicks away blood. A white bandage is wrapped over the scalp, tied under the jaw, pressing down on the wound.

"Make sure he doesn't sleep until after supper. Have someone check on him in the middle of the night and wake him up. Give him some clean water and make sure he can speak. If so, let him go back to sleep. If not, bring him back here," says the young medic. He rinses his hands in a basin of pure water, then puts the bloody bandages in a bin for cleaning. He gives a gentle smile as the injured man, bearing the truncheon-marks of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, is helped out of the cramped establishment by his concerned and thankful wife.

When they have left, Rurik sighs heavily and turns to close the door. He puts a bar across the door, then slips through the back into the storeroom where he keeps the pots and poultices and bandages of his trade. From one ceramic pot he pulls a slightly rusted shirt of mail, which he slides awkwardly over his head and belts before he puts his physician's apron on over it and a cloak over that. Then from a box of splints he picks up a bundle of long wooden sticks; secreted among them is a scimitar in a wood-lined sheath. He hoists the bundle, then pushes aside a mostly-empty box and pushes the bundle out through a small hatch in the wall, into the back alleyway, and follows behind it. He reaches back inside through the hole and grabs a rope handle on the side of the box, pulls it back into place, stands, and wends his way through the city's streets, avoiding guards and nobles and staying on the edges of crowds.


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

He stands and contemplates after the strange encounter "Hmmm... Whippoorwill" he nods to himself and then surges forward approaching a set of cupboards

"Map" Tanrov rummages through the cupboards til he finds a small map of the city..

"Now where is Vizio's Tavern... around here I think"

He gathers several pieces of equipment, including strapping his Earthbreaker across his back..

"Off we go then and see if we can find this place.... A Divine Call... hmmm..

Tanrov strides out of his shrine to Pharasma and goes looking for the Tavern.


The exterior of Vizio's Tavern is a mix of fresh paint and broken windows. It looks as though it is slowly undergoing renovation. Ramshackle shutters cover both broken and the few intact windows, while the door appears to be of recent construction. In contrast to other buildings in this rego, or district, it seems to be in excellent shape. A painted sign hangs from a nail in the door and states in the Common tongue, 'Under New Management'. Smoke drifts lazily from the chimney stack, and the smell of roasted chicken hangs in the air.

Inside reveals worn furnishings and a new bar front, continuing the feel of a building in the midst of renovations. A tall human woman with short dark hair is busy behind the bar cleaning a total of eight mugs, eight plates, and eight sets of eating utensils. She looks up with dark brown eyes as you come in and nods curtly before returning to her work. She seems attractive, though she bears a jagged scar running down and across her left cheek, a single imperfection on an otherwise lovely peasant woman's face.

Whoever happens to be first to arrive, i.e. the first to post that he has entered, finds the bar empty other than this woman.

"Please take a seat. Can I get you a drink? Dinner will be served after the other guests have arrived."


Male Wayang Bard (Shadow Puppeteer) 1 AC: 17/Touch: 12/Flat: 15/Darkvision 60ft./Init: +2/Perception: +1/Sense Motive: -1/Fort: +0/Reflex: +5/Will: +2

The Wayang had a nagging feeling in the back of his head as he returned to his late father's house, trying to make sense of what had happened after his last performance. It wasn't the usual feeling that he was getting shorted on his payment, however, as it usually was, but of the encounter that happened afterwards. He just couldn't make out how he felt about it, and it was obviously troubling him. Why was that figure there? Who was she? What did she mean by saying they wanted to change the city's course? What did he have to do with it? That wasn't to say he was against changing the city for the better, but a young Wayang like himself certainly couldn't offer that much to any sort of cause. He had just hoped to eventually earn fame and fortune as a dramatic actor like his adoptive father before him.

As he put away his things, though, he just knew that he had to at least check it out; anything that said they would make Westcrown a better place had to be worth at least a listen to. The hour drew nearer, and so Mimazaran made his way over to the specified location of meeting, Vizio's Tavern. He had performed there once before, albeit in disguise as a Halfling, so he knew the way. He of course kept an eye out for trouble, keeping a hand on the dagger he kept under his outfit; he had never once had to draw blood with the blade, but he knew that he could never be too careful.

Upon approaching the building, he felt that donning a magical disguise would hurt his chances of learning the truth, since he was approached while in his mundane form, having been lucky to perform as his natural Wayang self. Still, rather than fully take a chance, he attempted to sneak his way in, clinging to shadows so as not to stir a fuss with any racist drunkards; he knew that there would always be at least a couple, especially nearing so close to the evening.

Stealth: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29


Mimazaran enters the tavern unnoticed to find it completely empty except for a single woman fussing with dishes and running to the kitchen to check on the cooking food.

The human woman cocks her head in curiousity after returning from the kitchen. "Funny," she mutters to herself, "Thought I heard the door."

She carefully scans the empty room.

GM Roll:
Janiven's Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

She shrugs and returns to her work.


Male Wayang Bard (Shadow Puppeteer) 1 AC: 17/Touch: 12/Flat: 15/Darkvision 60ft./Init: +2/Perception: +1/Sense Motive: -1/Fort: +0/Reflex: +5/Will: +2

Taking in his surroundings, Mimazaran concluded that he was, indeed, alone with the barkeeper. Perhaps that "new management" wasn't by choice, but he didn't really care enough to think about it for long. He had to wonder what she meant by "other guests," but he figured that he wasn't the only one approached. Her voice seemed familiar enough from his encounter earlier that day, so he slid his way up to the counter and took a seat. He didn't say a word, though, figuring that words would be left for when the others arrived.


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

Tanrov strides into the room, weary just in case this is some sort of ambush.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17 Tanrov also takes in the ladies features and form, is she the one that delivered him the message?

"Thankyou good lady I will have that drink, Your scar tells me that the Lady of Graves has determined it is not your time yet, may you not see her countenance for many seasons"

Tanrov site down at the table, leaning his earthbreaker on the table beside him.


Inactive

Garidan wandered the streets for a while, one hand always resting on his pouches. He stopped to speak with a few of the locals, inquiring into the past history of this Vizio's tavern.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
Diplomacy (gather information): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
Hours: 1d4 ⇒ 3

It always paid to know what you were getting yourself into, although knowing never seemed to stop most men. He spent a few hours asking up about the current owners, the previous owners, and the deatails of the change of ownership. Garidan had been called a great many things in his time, but foolish was not one of them, at least, not yet.

His curiosity sated, for now, and his appetite growing, he finally entered the tavern. He paid no mind to the patrons. His shear size, uniform, and reputation seemed to keep most at bay. He took a seat at the bar and produced a gold crown. "Start me a tab my dear. Dinner, something hot and a bottle of wine. Whatever I don't spend, you may keep my dear."


Male Human Cleric 8 | HP 59/59 | AC 21 T 11 FF 20 | Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +11 | Initiative +1 | Perception +6 | Channel 4/4 | Inspired 1/1 | Liberation 8/8 | Rebuke Death 7/7

As the afternoon wears on, a man in simple garb arrives as well. He is carrying a bundle of planks and has a backpack that smells of herbs and ointment; under his traveling cloak he wears the apron of a healer, complete with the not-quite-fully-faded bloodstains common to the trade. He seems tired as he moves to sit in a chair near a window. When one of the proprietors notices him, he asks simply for ale, nothing more, and seems to slouch in his chair as if he's already had a long day and just wants some time to rest.

Scarab Sages

Male

Shortly before the fourth bell of the afternoon, a young man wearing a sturdy-looking coat entered the tavern and took a seat at the bar. He placed a few silver shields on the counter and said "Beer, please. What's on tap this afternoon?"


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

Psst you posted with the wrong alias


Male Wayang Bard (Shadow Puppeteer) 1 AC: 17/Touch: 12/Flat: 15/Darkvision 60ft./Init: +2/Perception: +1/Sense Motive: -1/Fort: +0/Reflex: +5/Will: +2

The Wayang quietly observed the four others as they walked in, not surprised to see that most of them were human. The first one that walked in, however, clearly was not human, but most likely one of the very many Tieflings among Chelish society.

Arbitrary Knowledge(Planes): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

He could only guess, however, and just left it at that assumption; he most likely would find out soon, anyway. Most of the ones that walked in seemed to want to take up the offers of drinks, but Mimazaran was never one to handle alcohol well; he wasn't even really considered a man yet in his own race's society. "Water for myself," he said, he voice rather nasally and raspy, which certainly attributed to why he rarely spoke during his performances. He looked around at the others once again, and certainly wasn't shocked to realize that he was the shortest one among the group; he was rather used to that by then. Coughing a little to clear his throat, his voice sounded a little less raspy the next words he spoke, but not by much. "I doubt drinks and a meal is the real reason we're meant to be here, though," he then said, not just to the barkeeper, but to the rest of the group, as well. "Should we perhaps be introducing ourselves, if we're meant to be some sort of group? I shall start by introducing myself, then: I am Mimazaran, proud Wayang, adopted son of Victor Statham, famous dramatic actor before Chelish society's abhorrent stigma of my kind--and any non-human kind, for that matter--drove him to an abrupt and sudden death. I follow in his footsteps of acting, earning what little I can, hoping to prove that I, as a non-human, can provide just as much quality as my late father did."


Tanrov Shadow-Graxt wrote:
"Thankyou good lady I will have that drink, Your scar tells me that the Lady of Graves has determined it is not your time yet, may you not see her countenance for many seasons"

"Uh, thanks? Can I get you something to drink?" She does not seem to know how to react to that, but understands you mean her well.

She does not seem to match the woman you saw.


Garidan the Glacier's Legwork:
Vizio’s was a place where merchant guards went to relax, gripe about their employers, and look for more work. Several months ago, however, the Vizio patriarch passed away, and the surviving family moved out of Westcrown to go live with kin in distant Corentyn.

The new owners are reported to be a human woman and an elf male. They seem to be taking their time getting the place reopened, however, almost as though they have more important things to do.

One of your informants also lets you know, "The Rack has taken an interest in the place lately. They were asking around about the elf and mentioned the name Penumbra, but they seem to be keeping their distance for now."

Garidan the Glacier wrote:
"Start me a tab my dear. Dinner, something hot and a bottle of wine. Whatever I don't spend, you may keep my dear."

She smiles and leans over the table, showing her cleavage in that flirty serving girl manner while scooping up the coin and setting down a dusty bottle, "Food will be out soon, sweetie, but we can call this a tip."


The young woman gives Rurik a warm, demure smile and brings a mug of generic ale.


Martino Barzelli wrote:
"Beer, please. What's on tap this afternoon?"

Yup, wrong alias. Changed it in quote :P

"Oh, we have a selection of the finest swill known to the rego!" she proudly announces with a smirk before setting down a mug of what you assume is top shelf swill and swiping the coins away.


Mimazaran wrote:
Arbitrary Knowledge(Planes): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

To the best of your knowledge, he is indeed a tiefling. There is something slightly different about him over your typical tiefling, but you can't put your finger on what exactly.

At the request of water, the barmaid looks slightly perplexed, as much by the request as the sudden appearance of the strange, short person that she seemed to have overlooked before, then ultimately decides to cut some of the normal ale down with as much water as possible. "I wouldn't trust the water on it's own. Not very clean in this part of town," she whispers to you when she brings the mug over.


She retreats behind the bar and pulls a threadbare tablecloth out of a cubby. Moving two smaller tables together, she unfurls the cloth over them and begins to arrange eight chairs around them.

"My instructions said to wait for four adult human males, one adult tiefling, an elf, a human woman, and..." she heads back to the bar and pulls a piece of parchment out from beneath it, "'Either a short gray-skinned person, a halfling, gnome, or human child.' I think he falls into that category," she indicates the wayang, then proceeds reading from the note, "'The elf will likely be last to arrive. Dinner may be served when the other seven are present.'" The woman then proceeds to lay out plates and utensils, otherwise ignoring everyone.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Ranger (Divine Tracker/Urban Ranger) 2; HP 23; AC 17, Touch 13, Flat-footed 14; CMD 17, Flat-footed 14; Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +2; Init +4; Perception +7; Sense Motive +7
Tanrov Shadow-Graxt wrote:
Psst you posted with the wrong alias

Oops. Sorry, all. Maybe that'll teach me not to post at 3 in the morning!

Intrigued by the woman's statement, Martino glances at each of the other patrons in the bar. Although he tries not to stare, his gaze lingers longest on the probable tiefling and the self-described Wayang.

"Pleased to meet you, Mimazaran. I'm Martino Barzelli. I work in a bakery on Macunado Street."


Inactive

"Ma'am, are you the new owner of this establishment? Word has it that it was recently taken over my a human woman..."


"Oh, no. Arael is the owner. I'm not on the records, more like a silent partner and manager. I'm Janiven, by the way," she tells you with pride.


Inactive

"Your instructions seem to mention a very specific clientele. This sounds like it's going to be a private...closed door affair, then. Can you tell me, will Penumbra be joining us tonight?" He waits to pay particular reaction to Arael and the mention of Penumbra.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20


"Yes, she will...Where did you hear that name, though?" her eyes widen at the mention of 'Penumbra'.

You sense no deception, only honest surprise.


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

Tanrov carries a Shoanti Earthbreaker and has a klar strapped to his belt. He wears a cloak of skins and furs and has leather lamellar. Basically he looks like a strange Shoanti-tribesman tattoos and all.

Tanrov remembers he needs to pay he takes out a coin to pay for the drink and food and flicks it to the lady.


She attempts to catch the coin in mid-air, but fumbles and drops it. She looks down for a moment and sighs before recovering her composure and smiling warmly at the Tiefling.

"Thank you, but really, the food and drink are on the house tonight, within reason. Penumbra," she stares at Garidan when she says the name, "was specific that I was not to over-serve, but to make everyone comfortable."

Despite the tab being covered, she still picks up and pockets the coin.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Bloodrager (Steelblood, Destined) 1; HP 12/13; AC 16, Touch 11, FF 15; CMD 16; Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +2; Init +2; Perception +4, Sense Motive +0
BR:
HP 14/15; AC 14, Touch 9, FF 13; CMD 16; Fort +6, Ref +1, Will +4; 2/6 rounds

A tall Chelaxian man with greying hair and a long-faded scar over his left eye lumbers through the door to the tavern in full armor, with a greatsword slung over his back. He pauses to acknowledge the serving lady with a slow, warm smile and slight incline of the head. "Nothin' for me," he says in a soft bass. "Yet," he adds with a nod.

Cato casts a curious look towards the table filled with various unfamiliar individuals. He gives each an appraising glance - just short enough to avoid being rude, but long enough to take them in. He walks slowly, cautiously, over to one of the open chairs, but waits before sitting down.

"So," he says tersely, running a gauntleted hand through his beard. "Why am I here?" It is unclear if he asks the question of the group, or if he is merely talking to himself.


"Oh, good, I was worried the chicken would dry out," Janiven wipes her hands on a bar rag and retreats into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two large serving bowls of spiced chicken and diced potatoes.

"I will go inform Penumbra that dinner is served and retire for the evening. Or afternoon, whatever, she wanted me out of her hair," The young scarred woman announces before heading back to the kitchen.


Male Human Cleric 8 | HP 59/59 | AC 21 T 11 FF 20 | Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +11 | Initiative +1 | Perception +6 | Channel 4/4 | Inspired 1/1 | Liberation 8/8 | Rebuke Death 7/7

The nondescript healer's eyes flit across the room, appraising the people there, as if he's looking for someone specific. Perhaps a woman in a mask? But he also seems nervous, like a wolf that has scented a trap.


After about five minutes a woman wearing form fitting dark gray leathers enters. She is a few inches shorter than Janiven, with long, straight, black hair. Whereas the woman you spent the last fifteen minutes or so with was flirty and common, your mystery woman has a serious disposition and moves with the grace of a trained dancer. Without a word she sits opposite the head of the combined tables and serves herself.

Only after taking several bites does she finally speak. "Don't just stare at me. Eat. I am famished and we have much to discuss."

She wolfs down her meal in a near instant, glancing toward the door between bites. As soon as she has consumed everything on her plate, she stands and locks the door, then returns to the table.

"What I am about to say is going to shock most, if not all of you. In fact, the Thrice-Damned-House of Thrune would consider it outright treason, and we all know that treason in this nation is a higher crime than murder. Regardless, I love this city and have no wish to watch it continue to rot and die. Yes, we have peace, but at the cost of our souls. We have shadow creatures stalk the night. We have all lost loved ones to the cancer inflicted on society, or from outright betrayal. Some of us are second-class citizens purely because of an accident of birth. We have had property stolen from us. We have been forced to keep our beliefs in the darkness, when the sun should shine bright! Westcrown is not only her buildings and canals and docks and history—she is also her people. Westcrown is our friends and neighbors, our mothers and fathers, our siblings and cousins, our sons and daughters! With but a small group of supporters and dedicated brothers and sisters, we can earn the trust and admiration of those people and make the law work to protect them and the city, rather than the other way around!”

As she nears the conclusion of her speech, her voice becomes louder and her eyes focus on something distant, as though she can see the future before her. As soon as she finishes, she looks for the reactions of the assembled guests.


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

"The lady of graves does not view these shadows as anything but a perversion that need to be stopped and I shall do my part to make this place peaceful where she can be shown proper worship in an orderly city"


Male Wayang Bard (Shadow Puppeteer) 1 AC: 17/Touch: 12/Flat: 15/Darkvision 60ft./Init: +2/Perception: +1/Sense Motive: -1/Fort: +0/Reflex: +5/Will: +2

Being small in stature, Mimazaran couldn't eat as much as the others around him, so he only took half a portion of chicken and just a few potatoes, eating them slowly as the woman came in and started to eat herself. It was hard to tell whether or not she was the same woman that had approached him previously, but there was a good chance that, if she wasn't, she was closely related to the incident. One thing was for sure, though, was that she was a much more ravenous eater than himself, gulping down her meal as if she were swallowing it whole. He instinctively looked over to the door the few times that she did, thinking that she may be expecting the elf that was mentioned a few times to enter. That thought was changed to her thinking authorities might come in when she instead got up to lock the door.

As she spoke, he shuddered as he thought of the Thrice-Damned-House of Thrune, not keen on the idea of thinking about them and what they would possibly do to a Wayang such as himself; all he knew was that demons would probably be involved. Shaking away those thoughts, he listened to her, noticing that she was getting louder and more passionate as she went on, feeling a little pressured by her. He froze up when she mentioned how loved ones had been lost to the cancer of Chelish society, and he thought back to his adoptive father, and how he had taken his own life. "It's true..." he said quietly to himself as he thought about it.

The small, weak Wayang certainly seemed to have some sort of fire stoked in him as he continued to brood about his past, then looked up when the speech was over. The Tiefling seemed to think that the "Lady of Graves" didn't like the shadows about the city, which Mimazaran, himself, found comfort in the shadows, but the shadow creatures were certainly not of the shadows themselves, that much he knew. He looked around the table at the humans that were sitting there, still not knowing a single one of them; none of them seemed to want to share anything about themselves, except for Martino, who gave only the briefest of descriptions of himself.

His gaze then fell upon the woman in front of him, and his dark, beady eyes looked into hers. "So, where do I fit into all of this?" he then asked, his raspy tone seeming to indicate that he, indeed, shared her thoughts and wanted to be a part of what she had in mind.


Mimazaran wrote:
His gaze then fell upon the woman in front of him, and his dark, beady eyes looked into hers. "So, where do I fit into all of this?" he then asked, his raspy tone seeming to indicate that he, indeed, shared her thoughts and wanted to be a part of what she had in mind.

"Well, that is the question you are all likely asking yourselves," she replies, surveying the room with her dark eyes. "You, specifically, Mimazaran, are a talented thespian and skilled in manipulating shadows of your own. And Tanrov is an expert at seeking out the heresy of undeath, which the devils in Cheliax often use or ally with. Cato is one of the most impressive warriors the common man of Westcrown has seen, according to my elven friend. Martino knows the streets better than any Order of the Rack Hellknight. Garidan has a sharp mind and serious arcane potential, as well as another specific advantage he may wish to keep to himself. And since trouble is bound to occur in the defense of the citizens, Rurik's healing skills will prove invaluable."


Male Human Cleric 8 | HP 59/59 | AC 21 T 11 FF 20 | Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +11 | Initiative +1 | Perception +6 | Channel 4/4 | Inspired 1/1 | Liberation 8/8 | Rebuke Death 7/7

Rurik takes a large swallow of ale and pauses for it -- and the words -- to sink in. Then he says flatly, "We don't even know if this is a secure location to meet. Assuming for the moment that it is -- because we're all hopeful and we all want a better future -- how does a small handful of people change the status quo for an entire city? I help poor people and the injured one at a time, but that's not going to change an entrenched power structure and an entire culture."

"What I'm saying is, how does this work?"

He glances toward the exit.

"And how do we know this place isn't going to be overrun with shock troops in about thirty seconds?"


Male Human (Chelaxian) Ranger (Divine Tracker/Urban Ranger) 2; HP 23; AC 17, Touch 13, Flat-footed 14; CMD 17, Flat-footed 14; Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +2; Init +4; Perception +7; Sense Motive +7

"Wait a second! Breaking curfew is one thing. Overthrowing the Queen and her House is another thing altogether," Martino said.

For a moment, he imagined the bakery burnt to the ground, and his family rounded up for torture and execution by the Asmodean Inquisition.

"Just how far do you want to take this? I care about Westcrown, too, but starting an open rebellion sounds like suicide to me."


"No one said anything about overthrowing the Queen, I want to make that clear first!" Her voice is firm and clear. "Martino is correct, an open rebellion would certainly be suicide."

She faces Rurik for a moment, clearly finding his question to be quite important, "We would have a few minutes, not thirty seconds," you can almost see a hint of a grin when she says that, "I know this because the locals would alert us to a dottari patrol or Hellknight force long before they came knocking on our door. You see, I am sort of a proof of concept of our plan."

She points to the kitchen. "If they do come, we have an exit, an escape route into the sewers in the back room. There are a handful of safehouses my partner and I have setup, all accessible from the same tunnels. Make no mistake, if not today, then next week or next month, they will come for me."


"How does a small band change the status quo? By setting an example. By showing the citizens that we don't need the vicious Order of the Rack. We can investigate the presence of the shadow beasts and try to kill or stop them. We can bring to justice those bandits who bribe the Rack and dottari and the goblins they can't be bothered to drive off. We will protect the innocent and strike fear into the hearts of those who would suck this city dry."


Male Human Cleric 8 | HP 59/59 | AC 21 T 11 FF 20 | Fort +9 Ref +4 Will +11 | Initiative +1 | Perception +6 | Channel 4/4 | Inspired 1/1 | Liberation 8/8 | Rebuke Death 7/7

"All right, this is actionable on some level. Yes, a small group might be able to investigate and stop the shadow beasts, when the dottari don't seem to care. It is arguably vigilantism, which I'm sure the Order of the Rack would be happy to charge people with, but protecting people is a meritorious cause."

As he speaks, Rurik stands up and he walks slowly toward the woman, punctuating his comments with the occasional hand gesture and body language.

"I think you might be overstating how much goodwill that will get among people at large -- I think that taking care of a small number of shadow monsters is not going to move people to rise up en masse against the status quo and throw the city into turmoil that could cost them their livelihood -- but that's for later down the road. Today, yes, we can make a difference. And we should. But you'll need a better plan in the long term if you want to convince other people that they should rally to the cause."


Male Human (Chelaxian) Ranger (Divine Tracker/Urban Ranger) 2; HP 23; AC 17, Touch 13, Flat-footed 14; CMD 17, Flat-footed 14; Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +2; Init +4; Perception +7; Sense Motive +7

"In that case, count me in!" Martino said, with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips.


Inactive

Garidan stands and walks over to the locked door, leaning his back against it. More of a personal additional precaution than anything else.

Garidan speaks slowly, pausing for extended periods of time in between sentences as if to punctuate his points.

"If you wish to improve the quality of life within this city, then I will help however I can.

We speak as if this conversation alone is enough to warrant justification for our trials and executions...as if they need reasons.

Simply existing in this city is enough to get you condemned to death...or worse.

Spare me your speech, and tell me, what comes next for us.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Bloodrager (Steelblood, Destined) 1; HP 12/13; AC 16, Touch 11, FF 15; CMD 16; Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +2; Init +2; Perception +4, Sense Motive +0
BR:
HP 14/15; AC 14, Touch 9, FF 13; CMD 16; Fort +6, Ref +1, Will +4; 2/6 rounds
DM Dickie wrote:
"Cato is one of the most impressive warriors the common man of Westcrown has seen, according to my elven friend."

"Cato, by the way," he states to the group, giving an informal half-bow while seated. "Not sure I'd call myself a warrior, though."

DM Dickie wrote:
"How does a small band change the status quo? By setting an example. By showing the citizens that we don't need the vicious Order of the Rack. We can investigate the presence of the shadow beasts and try to kill or stop them. We can bring to justice those bandits who bribe the Rack and dottari and the goblins they can't be bothered to drive off. We will protect the innocent and strike fear into the hearts of those who would suck this city dry."

Although he makes a concerted effort to keep his face neutral, Cato's expression mixes surprise with hope. He appears to agree with the sentiments noted, and nods along as those around him speak in turn.

"Ah, the legendary shadow-beasts of Westcrown. Dusk-dwellers, night-terrors, whatsoever ya wanna call 'em," Cato frowns, and his brow furrows. "A dozen theories where they come from and a dozen-dozen more how to get rid of 'em. So where do we start lookin'?" Cato raises an eyebrow.


The woman opens her mouth to reply and is interrupted by a frantic banging at the door behind Garidan.

The muffled voice of a teenaged boy can be heard through one of the broken windows. "Penumbra! Penumbra! They've got Arael!"

The woman peers out the window and nods to Garidan indicating he should let the boy in.


Inactive

Garidan nods, unlocks the door, and opens it. He peaks outside while allowing enough room for the boy to enter past him. Once the boy is inside, Garidan quickly close the door, locks it, and braces himself against it once again.


Skills:
Perc:+15|Stealth:+10|Acro+9|Climb+10|Swim +9|SM+11|Sur+7|KN Arc/Dungeon +4|KN Plan/Rel+6|Spellcraft+4|Diplomacy+8|Intim+18|Disguise+5|BGS:Craft:Silver+4| KN Eng/Geo +2| Appraise +2|Sleight of Hand+2|Linguis+2
Inquisitor 8 (Sanctified Slayer) Trickster 2; HP:66/75|AC:21|T:12|FF:20|CMB:+11|CMD:22|Fort:+7|Ref:+3|Will:+8|Init:+6|Per c:+15 Spells 1=4/5 2=5/5 3=0/3 Mythic Power 4/7 Bane 6/8 Discern Lies 7/8

Tanrov surges out of his seat and takes his earthbreaker in hand.


Male Human (Chelaxian) Bloodrager (Steelblood, Destined) 1; HP 12/13; AC 16, Touch 11, FF 15; CMD 16; Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +2; Init +2; Perception +4, Sense Motive +0
BR:
HP 14/15; AC 14, Touch 9, FF 13; CMD 16; Fort +6, Ref +1, Will +4; 2/6 rounds
Tanrov Shadow-Graxt wrote:
Tanrov surges out of his seat and takes his earthbreaker in hand.

"Care," Cato rumbles. "They haven't seen fit to make laws against eating yet. Which is all we are doing. Not even sure if boy was followed."

Cato turns an upraised eyebrow to Penumbra and the young boy. "Who's taken what? Believe Janiven said Arael was the tavern owner. Why take him?"


The teenager coughs and pants, trying to catch his breath, "The dottari...I don't know why...Hellknights want him! Penumbra! I'm sorry!"

"They were chasing you, Morosino?" she asks calmly.

The boy nods and looks around apologetically. "I didn't know what else to do, I'm sorry!"

"It is okay, Morosino, but assuming we escape, I am going to want you to spend time with Mathalen. She will teach you how to keep your mind and breath calm in the future. Take a moment to catch your breath, then be ready to use the escape route like we practiced."

Penumbra squeezes the boy's shoulder in a reassuring manner then looks at the assembled group. "I am sorry for the poor timing, but it is best if we all depart as quickly as possible before we are seen."

She moves to the kitchen and opens a concealed trapdoor then looks expectantly at everyone. Morosino, still panting some, begins to climb down.

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