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Curse of the Crimson Throne by GM SnowHeart

Game Master SnowHeart

Hardcover edition of the CotCT campaign run by GM SnowHeart.
Link to Maps and Handouts

Initiative:
[dice=Brin the Baker]1d20+1[/dice]
[dice=Quinlan]1d20+4[/dice]
[dice=Gregor]1d20+6[/dice]
[dice=Kalem Darkborn]1d20+2[/dice]
[dice=Bashiel Eland]1d20+1[/dice]
[dice=Ilsa]1d20+2[/dice]
[dice=Varor]1d20+6[/dice]
Perception:
[dice=Brin the Baker]1d20+0[/dice]
[dice=Quinlan]1d20+6[/dice]
[dice=Gregor]1d20+8[/dice]
[dice=Kalem Darkborn]1d20+4[/dice]
[dice=Bashiel Eland]1d20+4[/dice]
[dice=Ilsa]1d20+2[/dice]
[dice=Varor]1d20+2[/dice]


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Gregor:
Days have gone by looking for Tom. All without any more success than what Gregor had at the beginning. A hunch. Gaedren Lamm.

Inquiries have led to the same tentative conclusion. Rumors about children being abducted. Taken into service. If you'd crossed Gaedren, they said, he may very well have taken your child. And the only thing worse than being kidnapped was to be found useless. Oh yes, there were rumors of that, too.

Then, one afternoon, as you head down the street wondering how you're going to continue to pay for food while your pursue what has happened to your son, you shove your hands into your coin purse to count the few goins you have left... and discover something else entirely.

A harrow card. On one side, the Rabbit Price. On the other, a note.

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You have a few hours before then.

Quinlan:
The last few days have not been... easy. There's been the itch, scratching in the back of your brain, under your nails, twitching in your heart. How long has it been since you kicked the habit, and still the shiver pulls at you?

Just last night, one of your lovers tried to give you some. It was strange, not because you'd never done shiver with a lover before, but because this one had always been clean. And now that you looked, you could see the early signs of addiction. When you asked where he'd gotten it, he sniffed with indifference, "From an urchin, one of the Lambs. Who cares, come on!"

You know what the Lambs are, but they'd always been sneak thieves and pickpockets. That they were now being used as dealers?

As you gather your things to set out and try to track down some information about the Lambs and their master, something slips from one of your pouches. A harrow card!?

On one side is the Wanderer. On the other, a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You have a few hours before then.

Brin:
It's happened again. The nightmare. Funny thing, they don't only come at night. It's night and you're walking down one of the streets in Old Korvosa. Or is it North Point. No, it's the docks. All of them? A laugh. Like bells in a spring wind. Cammeile. You smile and move faster, eager to see her. You've a surprise you want to share with her. She'll be so thrilled. What a great feeling to be in love.

You know what's coming. You try to tell yourself to not feel so happy. To wake up. Something. Anything. It doesn't help. It's like you're watching yourself from inside your own head, unable to control your own actions. Screaming but with no voice.

The laughter leads around a corner and into an alley. It becomes disembodied. Sinister. There, laying in the alley, dead... blood pooled and drying around her body. You collapse, sobbing, and the laughter shifts again. Coming from all around you. From the walls of the buildings. The bricks of the street. Crushing you.

Waking in a panic, you realize -- again -- it's in the past. But you now have a name to go with the laughter. Gaedren Lamm. But you've never been able to find a location or other lead.

As you get ready for the day, you lift your pocket scarf and notice something left underneath it. A harrow card. The Joke, and on the reverse side, a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You've several hours until then.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

Quinlan, known as simply Quinn to his closest friends, spent the day lounging in his cousin's Academy, half-watching with admiration while the students worked up a healthy sweat. The flashing blades and impeccable physiques, both male and female, were distracting to say the least. Still, Quinlan found time to gaze down at the book in his hands and read passages between his people-watching. He wasn't, perhaps, gleaning all he could from the book, but he did manage to retain most of it for later contemplation at least.

First and foremost among the bodies he was watching was that of his cousin, Vencarlo. The man was incredibly blessed with a perfect body and a sharp mind and wit to complement it. The swordmaster was entrancing.

Quinlan sighed and turned his attention back to the reading at hand. "Early History of Korvosa: Chelaxian Origins and the Growth of Independence", a dry and rather verbose volume that, while ultimately factual, failed to engage his interest fully.

Eventually he closed the book and his eyes. His thoughts meandered back to the previous night. A night tussling between the sheets was all well and good, and his partner last night, Rath, was quite adept and skilled. Quinn was still bothered by the fact that Rath, always so clean and clear-headed, had tried to get him to take Shiver with him. Distressed over Rath's new addiction and his revelation that one of Lamm's children was his dealer, Quinn had left early, both unsatisfied. He hoped that Rath wouldn't hold it against him and he'd walked the streets for a few hours last night, seeking leads into where he could find Lamm, make this madness stop.

He sighed and opened his eyes again. If only... he thought, then banished the desire to the back of his mind for now. Musn't really go there. Not now. Not unless... until... oh if only, perhaps someday. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, realizing they only surfaced because he was tired and distracted.

He untangled himself from the pretzel he'd twisted into while reading and watching the sword practice and stood, closing his book after marking his place and leaving it untended on the table. He wasn't worried about any of the meathead swordsmen and women stealing it. He planned to walk outside, glad for the opportunity to stretch his legs and walk about a little, easing his muscles into renewed activity.

As he stood, he noticed the rectangular card slip out of his pouch. Curious, as he'd no such thing in his pouch that he knew of, he bent and picked it up, flipped it from one side to the other a few times. A Harrow card? I know no Harrowers, and Rath couldn't have placed it there... could he? would he?

He looked over at Vencarlo and pondered whether he should tell his cousin where he was going at sunset. It was just a few hours away. He stopped in Vencarlo's office and wrote him a short note.

"Going to have a Harrow reading at sunset... I'll probably see you tomorrow. - Q"

He went for his walk, bought something being hawked as roast squirrel on a stick, though he suspected it was rat. Still it was tasty, marinated well, and he picked up a glass of wine to drink with it as he wandered. He found a place to sit and watch the Harrower's place for the last hour til sunset... across Lancet street and down the road a short way. He finished his street meat dinner and wine, cleaned his hands carefully and pulled a book from his satchel, something far more interesting than the dry history tome he'd been reading, and alternated between watching the address and reading until sunset neared.


male Human 1st lvl Witch (gingerbread) | hp 9 | F+3 R+1 W+3 | AC 11/11/10 | Init +1 | Perc +1

Brin held the Card in his hands for a few moments turning it in his hands pondering. Where did it come from, did anyone know his secret? .. Brin looked at monster.. "Did you see anything you Blob?" Cookie shook his head a chocolate chip falling down its face as if a tear. The blob of course never spoke, but he knew he watched. Brin smashed Cookie flat with his fist. shouting "DAMN YOU." leaving the mess behind. Cookie slowly started forming himself back up. "Stay Here, let no one see you." Brin said quietly.

So brin got ready for work, slowly putting on his baker hat. His mind numbed by tonight's events. Sure it was a little early to get started, but it would give him some time to get focused. Brin walked down the street to the shop glad that no one was about yet. His thoughts only on his love. He wasn't there for her. He never was there when she needed him. There was always his business to think about.

Brin then started going through his routine, cutting strips of meat to put into pies. knotting and kneading the dough to make bread. And slowly a smile started spreading on his face. Then a whistle, then a grin, by the time the doors opened.

"Good morning Bob, how are you this fine beautiful day?"
"How's the wife, Bnifey"
"What a lovely Dress your wearing today Mrs. Markov."
" You want some of that goose meat pie? same as yesterday."

All the time thinking what this night might bring. Maybe a playmate for cookie?


Kalem:
The sun doesn't really shine through the windows...not this far down in the street, the old buildings crammed in on each other, the Shingles ascending even further above. But still, a trickle of light manages to filter through and play across your eyelids, pulling you back into consciousness.

Marcus.

Hmm. It's been at least a week since your first thought turned to your brother. A bitter memory, watching his body swinging at the end of a rope.

Gaedren.

Mm. The familiar rage that followed the feelings of loss. This path is so worn there may as well be ruts.

You begin to go about your morning ablutions when you look up into the polished metal that serves you as a mirror and wedged into the corner is...a Harrow card!? Where did that come from? It's a picture of the Big Sky and, on the reverse, a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You've several hours until then.


Tiefling, Bloodrager (1), HP (12/12) AC (16/12/14), Fort (+3) Ref (+1) Will (+1) +2 vs divination spells Initiative (+2) Perception/Sense Motive (+4) Diplomacy/Intimidate(+8) Bluff (+9) DR2/silver

Kalem lost track of time as he walked the familiar path. Roads that might as well have been made by his boots. Streets that he knew by heart. People and their misery which was so familiar that both had become invisible. He shouldered past a child, knocking the boy into a wall. The kid was going for the pockets of his cloak. He knew because he had failed to do the same many a time when he was the boy's age. He knew that he should have been working. That Nicolas had a shipment of the chew coming in and that it had to be sold. But his heart just wasn't in it. Instead he kept pulling the tarot card out. Was it a trap? Someone trying to lure him in? But if it was then why not just take him in his sleep? Was it real? And if so how did someone both know about him and get it without him knowing?

It all felt so wrong, but like a moth to a flame he couldn't resist. Eventually he returned home and rooted around in the crawl space within the small apartment that he called his home. He pulled out his lammelar leather armor and slipped it on. Small rectangular 'plates' of rawhide covered it. It was inconspicuous enough to wear outside, but tough enough to stop a knife. He also slipped on his cestus, a spiked leather glove good for bashing in teeth and tearing flesh, and picked up his hammer. It was originally made for knocking down walls, but he found that it was just as good when used on idiot thugs moving into his territory. And finally he pulled his robe and hood over the armor and his face.

He knew that he had to go, even if he suspected a trap. Because the alternative was a lifetime of wondering and regret. And he could bear death better than that.


Male Halfling HP 11/11 | F+3 R+7 W+4 | AC 19/15/15 | Init+6 | Perc+8 | DD+7 | CMB -1; CMD 13 | Halfling, Unchained Rogue 1

Gregor walks lost along the streets hes walked a thousand times. He knows every alleyway, every little hole to slip away from chasing guards, but now he walks with out purpose prowling the streets for his son for anyone that would listen.

He steps aside all the depthly as the long legs swept past him, reaching into his pocket to see how much he could eat tonight it would be another rough night on the streets but he needed the money to pay of guards and criminals for any information. Lamm. He had heard all the rumours of Lamm's little Lambs, it made him sick his little Tom being turned into something he never wanted for him.

Placing what little coin he had left in his pocket he felt it something that wasn't there before, instinctively he went for his nicked dagger turning to look behind him, scanning the street for anyone that could have sneaked up on him. Happy that no one was there, he skulk off to an alleyway to pull out the card.

A harrow card with a rabbit price? His stomach churned as he read it, a feeling of bliss maybe someone will help finally. But that was quickly replaced with miss trust, Could it be Lamm wanting to finally end him? He narrows his eyes turning the card around checking every inch of it and rereading it a dozen times. He knew the address, and no matter what it held in store it was a break it was something he could run towards some purpose. Now he wasnt lost now he knew where he had to go.


Bashiel:
It was hard to drag yourself away from your mother this morning. The healers have indicated her legs may not set properly and the Bank of Abadar charges more coin than your family can afford. The watch has been sympathetic, but there have been stirrings of unrest lately. The king has been in ill health and people are anxious about his gold digging wife taking the crown. It's been impossible to give you more time off to care for your mom. But, you tell yourself, she has something for the pain.

As for Gaedren, even with the resources of the Korvosan Guard at your disposal, you've found no clue as to where he may be. You know he moves his hideouts periodically and any of the Lambs who've been caught are always too terrified to say anything. And they always go back to Lamb after being released, yet shake any tail placed on them. Finding Gaedren has been an impossible task, particularly when you still have your regular guard duties and now an infirm mother to care for.

As you make ready for the day, you pause briefly to consult your holy book, to find some words of comfort or reassurance in it. Odd. There's something in the book, making it predisposed to open to a certain page as you flip through. A Harrow card!?

It's the Paladin, and on the reverse side is a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You've several hours until then, and your shift will be over.


Ilsa:
The Shingles may not be the safest place in Korvosa, but it was one of the few you could feel the sunlight on your face. You just had to watch out for the imps and chokers. Still... it's worth it.

As the sun began its slow climb across the sky, Ilsa sighed, shaking off the last of her dreams, made her way down to the street and went to her shop. Back in the shadows and gloom, the old thoughts came back. Gaedren Lamm. He'd already taken Ilsa's sister and newphew. Now Briget, too? And who knows what was happening to her. The Guard was sympathetic but useless. They told you flat out they'd been looking for Lamm but only had so many resources and he was well hidden. They'd let you know when they found something.

Arriving at her shop, Briget makes ready to open for the day, retrieving the lockbox and unlocking it for the day's transactions. All is as it was the night before.

When the first customer arrives and pays, Ilsa opens the box a second time...and finds. Harrow card!?

It's the Unicorn. And on the reverse side, a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Sunset. You've several hours until then.


Varor:
The Dawnflower and her faith have been good to you these last thirty years. It started as drudgery -- cleaning, laundry, attending to the priests and priestess -- frequently in forced silence (to give you time to contemplate your misdeeds). It started with you feeling a mix of relief at having avoided a noose around your neck, but gradually resentment built.

And then... it was washed away. You'd realized the tragedy of the life you'd lived, accepted the guilt of your deeds, and in Sarenrae you found forgiveness. One thing led to another and just recently you were fully accepted into the faith as a priest of the Everlight, redeemed and reborn both in mind and purpose.

Yet the last few months have been troubled. Certain dreams teasing at nightmares. Anxiety where there should be peace. Shadows that once held contemplative warmth now could be home to something cold and sinister.

And then, late in the morning, while tending to one of the many gardens in the temple, you found something. There had been no one else nearby. It was quiet and peaceful, a time of contemplation. Tend to the soil, turn, retrieve some flowers from a basket, plant them in the soil. Repeat.

But then, when you turned, atop the flowers was... a Harrow card!? You looked around but there was no one to be seen. How did it get there? The card was that of the Midwife, holding aloft a tiefling babe just born. On the reverse, a handwritten note:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Strike at him? Justice? These were concepts you were once quite comfortable with. But now?

At sunset, the card says. You've several hours until then.


Quinlan wrote:
He found a place to sit and watch the Harrower's place for the last hour til sunset... across Lancet street and down the road a short way. He finished his street meat dinner and wine, cleaned his hands carefully and pulled a book from his satchel, something far more interesting than the dry history tome he'd been reading, and alternated between watching the address and reading until sunset neared.

Give me a Perception check and, if you're trying to blend in a bluff or, if hiding, stealth.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

bluff to watch but not LOOK like he's watching, you know - sit casual: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11


Quinlan finds the appointed location to be a humble structure sandwiched into a neighborhood of warehouses, food processing facilities and other places of an industrial nature. This is West Dock, to call it a "neighborhood" of the Midland District would be generous. Quite frankly, it stinks. But, it's also the lifeblood of the city where men and women work every day, turning the gears of industry and helping the city prosper.

As for 3 Lancet Street, it appears as more of a residence than business, yet you do see a small wooden sign nailed to the side of the door, faded with age but with the unmistakable carving of a fortune teller's Harrow card. This is definitely the place.

As far as you can tell, though, 3 Lancet Street is the one location in West Dock that isn't doing much business at all. Nobody enters. Nobody leaves. Drapes are drawn shut over the only window.

As you sit there, reading your book, you catch several curious glances, but they seem to convey mostly expressions of befuddlement. A little before sunset, an old crone toddles up to you, a few hairs growing from a wart on the side of her face and a bad rash covering one of her hands. Her clothes are worn and tattered and there is an unwashed stench about her.

"Alms for an old war widow? Take pity on those less fortunate than you." She holds out a palsied hand expectantly.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

Quinlan lofts a brow and looks her over, wondering if she is truly as old and infirm as she appears, or if it's all a scam,
perc: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22 (unless that's what I already rolled for)
but he says nothing if he does notice anything amiss about her, and puts a few coins in her hand. Here you go, grandmother... take care and may you garner comfort from them...

-5 sp, leaves him with 9.5 gold remaining


Male Elf Cleric/1 1d8+1=Hit Points: 9/9 Initiative: +6. Perception +4 Speed: Walk 20 ft. AC: 17 touch 12, flatfooted 15. Saves: Fortitude: +3, Reflex: +2, Will: +4.

Varor takes the card and the note and show it to other priests and priestesses of the temple asking for their opinion on the matter and informing them of his desire to extend an offer forgiveness and help to his once friend.

As the time for the meeting draws near Varor understands that only he can make this decision. He gathers up his personal effects and heads off to meet with this mysterious person who wants to pay back Gaedren.


The woman eyes the coins, paws at them for a moment with her free hand, then pockets them. She starts to walk away with nary a word, then stops, looks at you out of the corner of her eye, and says, "You're lookin' at Zellara's place. What do you want with her? Not lookin' to make trouble, are ya?"

She appears truly old and the maladies afflicting her appear real enough. She smells of the processed fish and other waste that goes through, and the stains infect every part of her clothing, hair and nails. Judging at least by appearances, this is no scam.

You can give me a sense motive, too, if you like.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

sense motive: 1d20 ⇒ 8

"You're very astute, grandmother, and you have good eye, I was perhaps watching ... um Zellara's? ... place... you mean number three over there, right?" If she indicates yes with an answer or a nod, he goes on. "I was hoping to speak with her, though we don't know each other... yet. What can you tell me of her? Is she nice? Is she pretty? Is she young? Are her readings accurate?" He watches the old woman with a gentle smile.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

Bashiel pocketed the card with an intense frown. The search for Gaedren had been weighing heavily on him and he felt that he had been failing not only his parents but Gregor as well. All of Gaedren's old haunts had turned up empty, cleared out professionally, with no hint of where the criminal had gotten to. Every day since his agreement with the halfling, he had poked his nose about the streets and alleyways, asked questions around the Shingles, and kept current on information in the Guard.

Nothing. Not one inkling of where the man had gone.

~You still aren't thinking like a criminal, boy! The rotten fellow is covering himself. He's using what loyal underlings he has to brush away the dirt of his footsteps. Like a rat in his warren. You'll have to smoke him out!~
His Uncle Marosetkh was in his element, delivering a familiar speech that would likely end in advice to engage in some nefarious and dangerous scheme. Bashiel tuned him out.

The card is a lead, but not a pleasant one. Anyone who has legitimate cause to accuse Lamm would have come to the Guard, and the knowledge they claim would have helped us track him down. Instead, they leave cards and cryptic statements. A criminal then, motivated by revenge maybe. Gregor was a thief, but he was motivated by a noble cause. This one on the other hand...

His speculation was cut short by his arrival at the Guard offices. A long day's work awaited him. Before beginning, he borrowed some ink and parchment from the offices and jotted a short note for Gregor, informing him about the Harrow Card note and detailing the time and location of the meeting. Folding it up, he located one of the young messenger boys and passed him 2 silvers along with instructions to search the streets for a halfling matching Gregor's appearance. After an admonition to the boy to earn the value of those two silvers by dedicating his afternoon to the search, Bashiel donned his gear and began his shift.

--------

As the sun dips down to touch the horizon, Bashiel makes his way through the streets, still decked out in his Guard armor and with a weapon by his side. His stride is energetic, filled with renewed purpose after days of dead ends. His eyes dart towards the door of 3 Lancet street and then to search the street for his partner in this matter.


Down the street, Bashiel sees an old beggar woman panhandling a young man sitting on a weathered bench reading a book. A few rays of the sun continue to shine down, striking just the right angle to light up the street... it doesn't improve the view. Slop and what ought to be sewage slowly stream down the gutters towards the Jeggare, occasionally forming foul smelling puddles. A flock of imps suddenly take flight overhead, cackling madly as they twirl about before heading north towards Old Korvosa and Osiris only knows what else.

There is 3 Lancet Street. A humble abode in an environment of industry, as if the warehouses have grown up around it. The door is closed and the window dark, drapes pulled shut.

Feel free to give me rolls if there's anything specific you're trying to do.

For his part, Quinn has trouble deciphering the old crone's true motives though she doesn't seem to acting with deceitful intent. "Young? Heh heh." She coughs a bit, phlegm coming up to lips before she wipes it away. "Prettier than me, I s'pose. But she got nothing for you, boy. Lost 'er son a few years ago, murder they say. Tore her up inside. Ain't been right e'er since."

The crone kicks at something on the street only she can see. "Ha'n't seen her for days... but you be good to her." She gives a hard eye to Quinlan. "Ya might 'ave a bit o' the sun in ya, but the boys 'round here 'ill break e'ry bone in yer face if you do Zellara wrong. She's suffered enough." With that, she ambles off down the street, shuffling past the guardsman with a grunt and a grumble.

GM rolls:
Old Woman's Bluff: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

Quinn nods and swallows hard... then answers softly before she leaves. "I will treat her well when I see her, grandmother... thank you." He goes back to dividing his time between his book and watching the door of #3 until sunset or some other distraction.


male Human 1st lvl Witch (gingerbread) | hp 9 | F+3 R+1 W+3 | AC 11/11/10 | Init +1 | Perc +1

As the sun sets Brin carefully closes shop and makes sure no one is around. He gathers some "special" candies poison on the Green candies gathers up his seldom used dagger and heads to the appointed place with a basket of treats. Only stopping by his house to get "Cookie". Looking both ways he will pass by the appointed place a couple of times. just to make sure there are no look outs, and then doubling back to make sure no one is following him. Getting ready one of his candies in his hand he heads to the place. With Cookie looking out of the basket also.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 7


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

perc: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16

Quinn notices the baker cruising the street and casing #3 as he makes multiple passes by the address... he perks up and puts his book away. It's almost sunset anyway... might as well get closer.

He rises and approaches the address, checking up and down the street for anyone else watching the place besides Brin. Whether he spots someone or not, he heads to #3 and reaches for the doorknob, opening it as if he was just another customer, which in this case, in a sense, he is... having the mandate of the invitation in his pocket.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

Bashiel crosses his arms and leans up against a building to take some weight off his tired legs. The street looks like any other, maybe even better than some down in the poorer districts. No sign of the informant. A hoax? Once Gregor is here we'll find out.

He stretches to relieve the stress of the day's work and makes no effort to hide that he's keeping an eye on the house and surroundings.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

When he sees Quinlan suddenly get up and move towards the house, he frowns, and then raises his voice. "Excuse me sir. Are you the owner of this house?"


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

"Owner? me? no." He looks at the fellow in the guard uniform and frowns slightly. Haven't done anything illegal... nothing to get nervous about. "I have an appointment here..." He points to the signboard. "Harrow reading." He shrugs. "I'm a bit superstitious. It's not a crime these days, is it?" He pauses just outside the door.

"By the way, I'm Quinlan... who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

DM:
Ilsa looks at the harrow card and note in stunned silence and can hardly get rid of the customer fast enough.

She looks at the note again and reads it four, five, six times.

Is this another dream? A nightmare?

She pinches herself--hard--and it seems she is awake.

Is this some kind of joke? What am I supposed to do? I'm a simple shop girl!

She sets the note aside and looks at the harrow card again. Unicorn? What does it mean? Generously offering up that which is sought? Is that right?

Not knowing what it could mean, she thinks about the possibilities.

What would I even do if I found this guy? Turn him over to the guard? They said they couldn't do anything. I'd get myself killed! I'm sure this Gaedren is surrounded by plenty of muscle. Would I make change for them? I don't have any skills--just my nightmares!

There had been that time a customer tried to cheat her out of a platinum and she had glared at him. She thought she saw an image of herself appear right behind him. Or the time at night when she was so scared and wanted light so badly, and the book at the side of the bed had begun to glow.

What have I to lose? I have nothing to live for! It said there would be others...

She looks around the simple consignment shop. It wasn't her store really--she ran it for an old miser. She would be fired if she left early, that was for sure. Running to the front door, she puts a 'CLOSED' sign on the window and looks around.

There was a suit of studded leather on consignment. It would fit, though be maybe a little more form-fitting than she was used to. There didn't seem to be any weapons, but for a sap and a dagger. Quickly undressing, she puts the old armor on, grabs the weapon, and starts stuffing items into a backpack. She runs to the counter and takes any money she can from the money bag, then leaves the store.

Sunset? she reads in the note again and swallows hard. Not if I can help it! I'll go early!

She runs a hand through her long dark hair. Her face looks exhausted but determined. Locking the door behind her, she rushes off toward 3 Lancet Street.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

"Bashiel Eland. And don't worry, I'm not on duty right now." Bashiel extends a hand. "If you don't mind, could you tell me who owns the place? I'd like to talk to them after you're done." Bashiel briefly pauses to think.

If it is sundown, the occupants are expecting me. In the rare chance that this is a trap set by Lamm... this poor fellow could be in danger.

"Actually, I should warn you. Whoever is inside this place right now is related to an ongoing investigation with two cases, an attempted murder and a kidnapping. While I'm not certain right now, they may turn out to be dangerous."


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

"So if you're here in uniform, talking about an investigation... but you're not on duty? Mind if I ask what brings you here this evening? I have an appointment, but I was told others would be here... "

He considers a moment, head tilted to one side as he thinks, not sure how much to reveal. "Are you here seeking justice? perhaps of a personal nature?" He purses his lips as he watches Eland carefully, observing every nuance he can of the fellow's expression and body language.

sense motive: 1d20 ⇒ 1 LMAO

... but the half-light of sunset bothers his vision.. not light enough OR dark enough to see by, and he misses any important clues Bashiel might reveal.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

Attempting to judge if Quinlan is as clueless about this situation as Bashiel himself, or if this response is an act.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Bashiel beckons Quinlan away from the door. "For myself and another. If you're also here to seek justice against Lamm, then we have that in common." Bashiel moves back to the other side of the street, his gaze moving between the house and Quinlan "In my line of work, you learn that mysterious invitations to dark alleys, or" Bashiel nods at the house "unusually well darkened houses, are rarely simply for a chat. Especially if there are bosses like Gaedren Lamm involved."

"The message I received did mention there would be others, so it bodes well for its honesty that you are also here. I'm inclined to enter right now and see the truth of it, but I'm waiting for a friend of mine that's also interested in what this house's occupant has to share."

"If you'd like to wait, there is safety in numbers... besides, if you're willing to share what brought you here, I'd like to hear it."


Male Halfling HP 11/11 | F+3 R+7 W+4 | AC 19/15/15 | Init+6 | Perc+8 | DD+7 | CMB -1; CMD 13 | Halfling, Unchained Rogue 1

Gregor rounds the corner to Lancet Street just as the sun is setting. He stayed away from the street before not wanting to tip anyone off and holding himself back so he didn't just run in there before the message told him too. Bashiel was the smarter one the one that would find his son.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

He glances down the street, spotting the house numbered 3 wincing as the spots two people outside stepping aside to get a better look he moves forward slowly. Letting out a deep sighs as he spots Bashiel at the door but is still unsure of the man he's speaking too.

He lowers his shoulders and moves forward to introduce himself. "Bashiel" He says moving forward with a hand held up to get the large man attention. He quickly eye's up the man standing next to him. Could he be the one who called us here?

"I'm glad you made it my friend, who would this be?" He nods to the other man, an untrusting edge to his question.


Ilsa, if you arrive early, I'll assume a lot of this is playing out in front of you. Offer a bluff or stealth check to see if you go unnoticed, or if the others see you as they assemble.

As Varor arrives in West Dock, the sun has just begun to set. Workers are leaving their warehouse jobs for a drink or to head home. The streets are busy, though not mobbed, with the thrum of the crowd washing over you. A fair lesser amount of traffic is on little Lancer Street, where you may notice three men (two humans and one halfling) exchanging pleasantries. One of the humans is in the uniform of a guard.

I think that means we're just waiting for Kalem to dot in to this thread, but everyone else should feel free to enter when the like, or continue to chat out here.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

"Well, Bashiel, I was sent an invitation to be here... at sunset, and I was told there would be others here as well... So you received the same message, I presume?"

When the halfling walks up, he smiles and his fingers twitch as he stifles the impulse to ruffle his hair like a child's. Don't be silly, he thinks. this is no child, but a halfling, and probably a formidable one who is friends with at least one city guardsman.

"I would be Quinlan, Quinlan Orisini. A pleasure to meet you... both. It seems there are three of us. Shall we go in?" He reaches for the door.

pausing to give Ilsa, Varor and Kalem a chance to post some kind of intro/action before entering


Male Halfling HP 11/11 | F+3 R+7 W+4 | AC 19/15/15 | Init+6 | Perc+8 | DD+7 | CMB -1; CMD 13 | Halfling, Unchained Rogue 1

Gregor nods at the mans introduction and begins to warm to him looking him up and down once more before reaching into his pocket and producing the card, showing the message quick and then the picture. "It would seem we all have that in common. I'm Gregor Step, if you're here for same reason we are I can see us becoming quite friendly." He looks back behind him not wanting to be overheard. "Maybe we should take this talk off the street." He gently pockets the card again.

I agree with Quin on the little pause, I don't want to rush off and pressure the others.


Yup; I think it's a good idea. I asked folks to commit to at least one post per day. Expecting more in order to keep pace would be unfair.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

Bashiel gives a smile as Gregor approaches and introduces himself "Glad you're here Gregor. It looks like my letter wasn't needed, you received a card of your own. You didn't happen to see who passed it to you?"

"Quinlan, I received a similar card to what Gregor showed. Very unusual, even suspicious. But I'm loath to abandon a possible lead." Bashiel nods at Gregor and Quinlan's suggestions. "I suppose we should find out what merit there is to this invitation."

Waiting a bit sounds good to me.

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

Ilsa arrives early and watches as the others congregate.

What are they doing? One of them appears to be a guard...maybe the guard found something. I guess it's safe...

The fact that the others kept looking in her direction means her hiding spot had not been very well-selected.

Here goes nothing...

The attractive, tired-looking young woman in used and slightly-too-tight leather armor approaches the assembled group. Her dark hair is worn loosely to her shoulders. She doesn't appear armed, except for a sap hanging from a belt. She carries a small backpack, as well.

"Umm...good day," she ventures. Her eyes look like she hasn't slept well.

"I'm wondering if you might help me. I received a note that said I should meet here. I'm sure it's some kind of joke--an unkind one at that--but I felt compelled to come. Are any of you here for the same thing? Did one of you send it?"

stealth: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

FYI, I haven't read anyone's previous posts to this point to stay in character, so I have no idea of anything that has happened to this point except DM posts.


Tiefling, Bloodrager (1), HP (12/12) AC (16/12/14), Fort (+3) Ref (+1) Will (+1) +2 vs divination spells Initiative (+2) Perception/Sense Motive (+4) Diplomacy/Intimidate(+8) Bluff (+9) DR2/silver

With night falling Kalem made his way to the rendezvous point. When he sees Bashiel his guard instantly went up. The man was in uniform...was this a watch raid? But when he overheard Ilsa he steeled himself. If there was even a chance that this was legitimate, he had to take it. Approaching the group they could see that he was armed with his modified sledge hammer, and that he looked big enough to use it.

"Evenin'. If this is a joke it's a poor one. I take it you all received this as well?" With that he held up his tarot card.


Male Halfling HP 11/11 | F+3 R+7 W+4 | AC 19/15/15 | Init+6 | Perc+8 | DD+7 | CMB -1; CMD 13 | Halfling, Unchained Rogue 1

Gregor smiles at Baashiel. "No but it was appreciated my friend. I didnt see who could have passed it to me, they must be very good at moving around undetected maybe a magic user.."

Before the three of them can enter the house an attractive young woman and a tiefling approach the group. "More that have been summoned, we're getting a proper party together here." He takes out his card and shows the two others. "We all got them and I pray this isnt a job, it's my last hope." He stops himself again checking the street. [b]"We were just about to ender maybe we should all head in and we can talk a little more discreetly.


Tiefling, Bloodrager (1), HP (12/12) AC (16/12/14), Fort (+3) Ref (+1) Will (+1) +2 vs divination spells Initiative (+2) Perception/Sense Motive (+4) Diplomacy/Intimidate(+8) Bluff (+9) DR2/silver

"Right you are." Kalem took a deep breath and then went for the door. The best way to face the unknown was to just get it over with, after all.


GM Rolls Perception Checks; DC 10:

Brin the Baker: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (10) + 0 = 10
Quinlan: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Gregor: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Kalem Darkborn: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Bashiel Eland: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Ilsa: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18

Brin:
As he makes another pass, Brin sees the growing number of people but also notes... is that light behind the curtain?

Quinn:
Perhaps it's his perspective having reached for the door but, as Quinn turns back to talk with his new acquaintances, he realizes there is light inside 3 Lancet Street, shining underneath the folds of the drape covering the window.

Ilsa:
As she walks up, Ilsa notices there is a source of light inside 3 Lancet Street, showing from beneath the drape covering the window. Yet no one has entered or left. Perhaps the host is waiting?

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

Isla pulls her cloak tight around her as evening begins to fall.

"Look," she says, pointing at the house. "It's getting dark out, but there's a light on inside. Can we go try the door? I don't want to be out here after dark," she says apprehensively.


Male Human Paladin (Ghost Hunter) 1 | AC:16 T:11 FF:15 | HP: 11/11 | F+3 R+1 W+1 | Init +1 | Perc +4 | Active Status:: (Shield Stowed)

Bashiel measures up each of the two newcomers. "If you're both here looking for information on Lamm, then we all share a similar goal. I would, however, like to know your names if we are all involved in this mess."

Bashiel's gaze lingers on Kalem as the man seems to immediately rush for the door and a frown crosses his face. "I am Bashiel, the two here are Gregor and Quinlan." He waves a hand at Gregor and Quinlan in turn, and then points at Kalem. "Since this fellow here seems so eager to enter, I suppose we might as well go in."

Judging the truthfulness of Ilsa's answer: Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Judging the truthfulness of Kalem's answer: Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

Ilsa looks at Bashiel, not unkindly.

"I'm Ilsa," she says. "I'm just a shopkeeper...I've never done anything like this," she says nervously.

She seems sincere and frightened.


Tiefling, Bloodrager (1), HP (12/12) AC (16/12/14), Fort (+3) Ref (+1) Will (+1) +2 vs divination spells Initiative (+2) Perception/Sense Motive (+4) Diplomacy/Intimidate(+8) Bluff (+9) DR2/silver

"Kalem. We've met before, watchman. Over a friendly game of cards. I doubt that you'd forget my face. Anyways, enough talk. Feel way too exposed out here."


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

Quinlan opens the door and steps into the room, whatever might be there... and peers around in the light, expecting to find someone, perhaps this Harrower, Zellara. "Hello? Zellara?" If nothing bad happens, he'll step further into the room, giving others space to enter as well.

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

Ilsa follows closely after the others. "Zellara? Who's that? Do you know who lives here?" the young shopkeeper asks.


hp: 10/10; AC 15 ff 12 t 13; fort 2, ref 5, will 2; bab 0, melee 0, ranged 3; CMB 0, CMD 13; init +4; perc +6; insp 7/7; harrow pts 2/2; daemon-spawn tiefling investigator/1
skills:
bluff 5, diplo 5, disable 9, escape 3, know arc 8, know dungeoneering 7, know eng 7, know history 8, know local 7, know planes 8, know religion 7, perc 6, spellcraft 7

"Grandmother in the street told me it belongs to Zellara, the Harrower, who I hope is the one who sent these cards we all seem to have... this is her place... not sure if it's her home too, but it's where she does .... whatever it is she does."


Quinn opens the door into 3 Lancet Street, followed by Ilsa, Gregor, Kalem and Bashiel. The interior of this small, humble home consists of a single cozy chamber filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice. The aroma comes from several sticks of incense smoldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke gives the room a dreamy feel.

The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling human hearts, and another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall, hooded figure shrouded in mist, holding a flaming sword in a skeletal hand. A few wall mounted lanterns provide light, fueled by oil reservoirs large enough to burn through the night.

Several brightly colored rugs cover the floor, but the room’s only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throw cloth and several elegant, tall-backed chairs. A basket covered by blue cloth sits under the table.

Atop the table is a small, handwritten note.

The Note Reads...:
"Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please, have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you.

An image of the note has been placed on the Google drive.


If you open the basket...:
...you find bread and wine. Judging by the texture, the bread may be a little stale but still perfectly edible, and the wine is a common vintage. Nothing exceptional, but pleasant enough on the palette.

This is an opportunity for the assembled characters to sit and relax until we have everyone from the party present, at which point I'll begin the next part. I currently have Brin outside and Varor en route.


Tiefling, Bloodrager (1), HP (12/12) AC (16/12/14), Fort (+3) Ref (+1) Will (+1) +2 vs divination spells Initiative (+2) Perception/Sense Motive (+4) Diplomacy/Intimidate(+8) Bluff (+9) DR2/silver

Kalem starts to go for the wine, but then thinking better of it, decides just to hold it up with a small smile.

"Could be poisoned. Still not convinced that this isn't a trap set by our mutual 'friend.' Anyone want to give this a try?"

The Exchange

Human Mesmerist 1 | HP 11/11 | AC 15; Tch 12; FF 13 | F +2; R +4; W +1 | CMB+2; CMD 14 | Speed 30 ft | Init +2 | Sap: +2 (1d6+2) | Perc +2

Feeling apprehensive but perhaps not as much as Kalem, Ilsa takes a piece of bread and starts to eat it.

"I haven't had dinner yet," she says nervously. "Sometimes I stress eat," she says with a mouthful of bread.

"At least there's plenty of light in here," she murmurs.


male Human 1st lvl Witch (gingerbread) | hp 9 | F+3 R+1 W+3 | AC 11/11/10 | Init +1 | Perc +1

Brin looks around one last time to make sure no one is watching the place. You never can be to careful he thought "Good evening Maadam, would you like some food?" after giving her "safe" food brin takes his pointer finger and places it over his lips. He then walks up to the window looking in he tries to listen to any conversation. "what do you think cookie?, should we go in?"

if cookie sees anything he will throw a chip at Brin, Cookies cant talk FYI

Perception cookie: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 10
Stealth: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

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