Round 1; Initiative 6
Status: AC 17/T13/FF14, HP 10/11, Effects: None; Saves: F2/R5/W1
Probable AoO on Thug 1 as he charges (10' reach with bardiche). I know Thug 3 just 5' adjusted
Bardiche Damage 1 -> 1d10 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
It got crowded real fast. Almost too crowded for this big axe. Dropping the leader should open things up.
Bardiche vs leader -> 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Bardiche Damage 1 -> 1d10 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Like I said ...way too crowded
With insufficient room to get a proper swing with the axe, Senjin takes a step back, (5' to O-6)
FA: AoO vs Thug 1
SA: Attack leader with 10' reach
FA: 5' adjust to O-6
Enemy Leader Will Save: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (6) + 0 = 6
Sorry, forgot to give you his saves. They are +2F/+6R/+0W.
As Alistair's magic reaches the leader of the group, he breathes it in deeply as he breathes heavily in exertion. He holds his daggers up, apparently ready to strike again, but does not strike. He simply stares at Alejandro as if looking through him. He sways slightly in his stance, ready to dodge attacks, but not moving to strike again.
Round 1, Initiative 12
Alejandro Endrin: 12/12 hp, 18AC/12T/16FF, +3F/+2R/+0W
SA: Attack vs. #4 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
With enemies in front of and behind him, and a helpless victim that he cannot move away from, Alejandro is in a tight spot. He brings his sword up, barely missing the neck of the nearest one of the thugs. The young nobleman barely dodges out of the way in time, the sword missing by less than an inch from his unprotected neck.
Elrith, you're up!
7 Erastus 4711
The city burned for just one night before the Hellknights stamped out the fires of insurrection. Rumors run rampant about the number of citizens killed. Some say it was dozens, others say hundreds, a few make talk of a thousand or more. The crown, officially wrapped in mourning, has made no statement. The city buzzes quietly with seething rage and discontent at the heavy-handed deployment of the Hellknights, but the citizens are too busy looking over their shoulders in fear to gather and protest. The city, normally vibrant and full of life, is quiet, still, fragile. Three days have passed as the residents begin to re-establish their lives and rebuild the damage from the riots.
Almost all of the city's people line the streets for King Eodred II's funeral, announced a day prior. With the king's body, so goes their hope for a peaceful future and stability. The people of Korvosa are nervous, simply waiting for another crackdown, or a coup, or a civil war. The commoners care not who is monarch, so long as their needs are met and their safety is assured. The nobles all eye the Crimson Throne and the new queen who sits upon it: Queen Ileosa. With her husband's death, the right to rule passed to her.
The young queen rides in a carriage at the head of the procession through the streets, just ahead of Eodred's body. The king's senior advisors, now the queen's, ride behind them, though the queen's bodyguard, Sabina Merrin, rides next to her. The captain of her personal guard, Sabina's dark-haired beauty and magnificent copper-toned plate armor make her a striking figure, though she is overshadowed greatly by the queen. Flawless and stunning, Ileosa's raven-black mourning dress only serves to augment her pale skin and dark red hair. While most Korvosans hate her frivolity, none can argue with her beauty. Her perfection is almost painful to behold, as if she were a nymph. While Ileosa looks down at her lap, only occasionally looking up to greet the people of Korvosa, Sabina scans the crowd constantly looking for threats.
Any threat would have difficulty passing through the columns of Hellknights that march alongside the Queen, a half dozen on either side. Their sleek black armor shines like obsidian in the morning light. With every group of notable citizens in the procession, a group of Hellknights marches alongside. The citizens stand quietly and still as the procession passes, trying to pay their respects while avoiding the steady, merciless gaze of the Order of the Nail.
Everyone in Korvosa has a story from the night of the riot, reflected back at them in the Hellknights' armor. In the crowd stand those who stood up to make a difference, separated during the riot but still burning to make a change. After answering the call for heroes to stand up in a warehouse along the docks, they saved noble and commoner alike from rioters and predators. Already, the people of Korvosa whisper about a group that acted as saviors - the sons and daughters of nobles speak of a group that prevented a religious war in the Pantheon and saved them from a mob that trapped them in a building and set it aflame, while the Shoanti are thankful that they were dissuaded from open revolt and a bloody Hellknight response, and the Varisians of Old Korvosa speak of a group that fell upon a band of hellions that was hunting them for sadistic pleasure. The people of Korvosa do not know that this group scattered after agreeing to meet on the mid-day bell of the Epochal Tower on the day of the King's funeral at the place of their first meeting.
Okay, if you're present at the funeral, please describe what you've done in the days since the riot and the procession from your point of view. It's great to have you guys back!
Lucadeno walks at the back of the family procession. His footsteps are measured. This is as much to highlight his crippled leg as it is to avoid standing near his father. Lord Jeggare eyes the procession and its trailing nobles like a hawk, watching for opportunities even now. It's a gods damned funeral, at least make a show of caring. I can hear Lady Farast from here, and her family are far behind.
The queen's carriage was two familes ahead and even the city's beautiful young queen looked the part. Treacherous curs that they are even the Arkona's look to be grieving appropriately, but Jeggare's don't shed tears. Lucadeno wasn't feeling particularly charitable. His leg was still in genuine agony, so much that his show of weakness involved very little acting. He stifled any expression that may have displayed the pain. Jeggare's don't wince.
It felt like a lifetime ago that he had met his other comrades in the warehouse. That night when he had arrived home battered and in great distress was still vivid in his mind. His valet had discreetly disposed of the bloody bindings beneath his crumpled, recovered finery. Lucadeno was daily thankful for the man, and his infinite discretion. Seemingly infinite, I mustn't forget.
The crowd was uneasy and tense beyond the Jeggare's honor guard of Hellknights. Lucadeno could see the pressure building up in the sway of the masses, in the wrongness of the silences, the harshness of the few noises. This city will burn again unless order is restored, unless justice is done and the people saved. We need prosperity and peace to save this city.
He looked forward with another concealed wince and remembered, with great chagrin, another of his father's nuggets of wisdom. Trade is power, trade is peace. Jeggare's do trade.
I'm very rusty! Here goes anyway!
Elrith has been quite busy these past few days between the death of the king and his funeral. First, she checked in on Myra and Laya, to make sure they were okay, and their shop hadn't taken too much damage during the riots. Strangely, she also finds herself searching the city at times, casually asking if anybody had seen Knuckles in the days since the riot. Sometimes, the astonishment that she actually seems to care enough to ask gets to her and ends up plastered all over her face.
Gather Information: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1
With that out of the way (whatever the result), she moves on to her most important task. With the various signets, sigils, and other identifying features she took off the bodies of the Korvosan youth elite they killed during the salvation of Old Korvosa in hand, she begins scouring the nicer parts of the city, gathering whatever information she can about those individuals. Specifically, she's looking for one or more of that number who might own a flat or small townhouse in the city (a secret one would be ideal) and don't have much in the way of local family who would try to horn in on such prime real estate, and as such, she attempts to track down local pub and brothel owners who might have known those men and recognize their sigil, all under the guise of being in the employ of their families, elders who are worried sick that their precious scions might have been hurt in the troubles.
Diplomacy to gather information: (taking 20 for a 19 if allowed, otherwise 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18
Bluff: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17
Observing, sensing, and sneaking are her strengths. Anything involving people are not, though those are nice rolls. Her normal MO is to observe a location for several days to ascertain the patterns of the occupants, and the occupants don't usually matter, save that they be rich. In this case, though, she's looking for a bit more of a long-term base of operations in a place no authorities, including the Hellknights, would think to look.
During the funeral procession itself, Elrithrathiel is (naturally) ensconced someplace high up, on a rooftop, that affords her a good view of the proceedings. She's been there since early the previous evening, knowing that the Hellknights on the ground would have been out in the pre-dawn hours restricting such access. As the queen passes in her carriage within bowshot, Elrith coldly contemplates whether or not the city would be better or worse if she were to put arrow to string and make the shot. Leaving her arrows in her quiver, lest she be tempted to all sorts of naughtiness, she lifts her bow and sights along her fingers, imagining the shot, feeling the play of the breeze on her cheek. With a simple breath, she releases the string...
Non-attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
...and smiles, imagining the arrow flying true to pierce the breast of the Cancer of Korvosa. She can almost see the minions scrambling below as their queen toppled from her carriage. So vivid is the image that she quickly checks her quiver to make certain she didn't actually just accidentally assassinate the Queen. Finding all things well, and the queen's carriage calmly making its way out of sight, she shakes her head, scolds herself for her foolishness, and waits out the few hours it will take for the Hellknights to clear the area around her of pedestrians.
She eagerly thinks ahead to the meeting with the other "saviors" of Korvosa. Strange to actually enjoy working with a group, but damn if it didn't feel good to actually do some good for people that night. And, of course, get a few decent kills in as well...
@Elrith, earlier - Elrith has some luck at a brothel, the manager too busy trying to recruit her to object to the amount of information he turns over. The brothels recovered from the riots rather quickly, though their patrons seem to display more secrecy than normal. She finds out at the House of Clouds, one of the floating dens of sin in Old Korvosa. Part of Eel's End, a set of moored ships owned by Devargo Barvasi and run by the Spiders, a gang of thugs and vice-peddlers that controls most of the seedy trade in Old Korvosa. Elrith barely glances at the whores who lounge about the swaying ship, some only somewhat conscious from the drugs being sold openly. What she finds is that one of the rings belongs to Darvayne Amprei II, the son of the Chelish ambassador. By his description, he was the ringleader of the group, the one who ended up with her arrow through his eye socket. The manager, Halvaro, cajoles and begs her to lend her exotic elvish beauty to his collection of beauties, and promises her patrons of wealth and power. Between his petitions, he tells her of Amprei's predilection for Varisian girls and his secret townhome in Old Korvosa that he would bring them to for extended hirings. While it's certainly not fine quality, such an apartment would surely not be one that his father or any others would know about.
@Elrith, now - The elven sniper stands on the rooftop with the slope of the hill that the Academae sits upon behind her. The procession began on the northwest side of Castle Korvosa and will loop around the Crest Circle (circling the Academae and its hill completely) until it returns to Domina Square for Eodred's funeral. She has picked a spot with good elevation in the Heights, not far from the Temple of Asmodeus across Crest Circle West.
She is so focused on the parade below that she doesn't notice someone come up from behind her until he speaks. "That's rather uncharitable, Elissariel." For a brief moment, her heart jumps both in surprise and the hope that it was knuckles. Which of the two emotions shames her more is something for her to debate later. She turns to see Chantsmo Jope, the owner of the Trapper's Hole, standing on the rooftop behind her. He takes a few steps and takes a look from her vantage point. "I was just looking for a better view when I spotted you. I used to be in the Sable Company, so from above is the only way that I know how to watch anything anymore."
@Lucadeno Leonardo subtly offers a hand of support to his younger brother, glancing forward at their father to ensure that his attention is focused elsewhere. "Brother, you could have taken a horse or a carriage or something. People would understand."
Walking on Leonardo's other side, Lysander scoffs. "Father wouldn't. He would rather see you stay at home than shame him by riding like a woman." The middle of the three sons of Lord Jeggare, Lysander is not as dashing as the eldest but widely considered the most dangerous. While he did not take to the family business as well as Leonardo (though still better than Lucadeno), he is an excellent warrior with a bright future in the Korvosan army. He scowls a bit, his mood evidently as foul as Luca's. "If Lucrazia were here, even she would walk. Perhaps you should have waited at home with her."
Did we give a name to Luca's comatose sister? If not, see above. If so, ignore above.
Senjin sits on the roof of the academy. He can't see the procession from his perch, but he can track the escorting hippogriffs soaring over the crowd, marking the progress through the city. Classes cancelled since the riot, his duties have been light. Today, he helped see off Sergeant Fristwell and the other instructors who were serving as honor guard. The cadets were positioned along the procession route, dressed smartly in thier formal uniforms.
Not a student, Senjin did not join them. Nor did he feel the need to watch the dead king roll by. Mourning the dead King will not fix what's wrong with the city. And honoring the new Queen, even less so. He still burns thinking how quickly the city was turned over to the Hellknights...like they knew the hour of the King's death. Not that the Sarge wanted to hear it.
He looks over at the nearest roof. Two nights ago, he had to wait there. The school was in lock down. He had to crouch on that roof until he spied Saberwing overhead. A sharp whistle brought the great beast about, as Fristwell was returning home. The Sergeant landed beside him giving him a hard look. Saying nothing, he waited until Senjin mounted behind him. The NCO flew him to this very spot.
Senjin was caught unaware as he was roughly deposited on the roof. "But why here? Why not land in the stables?"
The Sergeant did not look at him, he merely growled, "You didn't show too much sense being out there tonight. Show some now and get cleaned up before reporting to the stables. Running the roofs with a pretty elf doesn't get you off from your duties. Just tell me you weren't out there getting sliced up over a girl."
It seems the Sarge didn't really want an answer, for he took off immediately sailing over to the stables.
Over the next two days Senjin spent all his time in the stables grooming the mounts and oiling leather equipment. With no classes, he had the place nearly to himself. The Sergeant made an appearance each day, but seemed determined to avoid the young stable hand. Senjin's depression mounting, having saving anf lost his heritage, he did not want to think that he lost the trust of the Sergeant as well
It was not till today that thy actually spoke as Senjin readied Saberwing. In a low voice meant for just the two of them, "Sarge. I want to explain about the other night..."
But Fristwell held up a hand to stop him. "I took you in from what I assumed was a hard life on the streets. A chance at a new life, I was at a loss as to why you would throw that away to be back running the streets..." He sees the protest building on the young lads face but continues, "But then I started to hear the stories...a near Shoanti attack on the palace, turned aside by a young tribesman...kids rescued from a burning hall...woman and children saved from a vigilantly mob....It got me thinking that it was too bad one of my students didn't have the initiative to accomplish these deeds a man could be proud of. And then, there I find you, sitting the whole thing out on a roof at the school. A wise choice, not to get involved."
Not entirely following, Senjin interjects, "But you saw me, Sarge. Down south. Right after the Hellknight arrived, seemingly at the exact moment of the King's death. And then I.."
But the Sergeant cut him off as he mounts and takes the reins, "I did not see anyone or anything familiar that night. My report backs that up. I did not add to the report your involvement in waiting on the nearby roof for a ride to the school. See that I don't have to."
"But you saw the Hellkni..."
"What I saw and didn't see are no matter of concern to the wise student trying to get back in the school. The wise student also knows not to ask pointed questions that impune his monarch's honor." And with that he was off with a sharp snap of hippogriff wings.
So for now Senjin sits on the roof. An occasional peice of cheese he throws to the jetting psuedodragon overhead. If he is wiser, knowing what he knows, he knows now to keep his head down and not cause trouble for the training facility. But he also wonders if he ever gets to go beyond these walls again, might he meet up again with the young priest that healed him, the ex-guard he fought beside, the arcane student with her magical touch, the intense Elf he carried in his arms and was rewarded with a kiss, and the beggar who wasn't a beggar....where was the wisdom in that?
I don't think we had named her.
Some bile rises in Lucadeno's throat at the thought of their father parading Lucrazia through the streets. Old angers rise quickly in the bile's wake. I'll find out who cursed you sister. I'll teach them things even Chelaxian devils don't know. I swear it.
He forces his face to be calm. He knows he won't fool his brothers, but he must pretend for the crowd. Lysander certainly can't act. One of the few talents he lacks. The thought of Lysander among a troupe plastered with gaudy make-up brings a sudden smile, quickly stifled to his face. His brothers, again, are all that notice.
Leonardo raises one eyebrow, and Lysander turns his scowl towards his frail brother. 'Not at all dearest kin. The show must go on, lest one break a leg, and draw a curtain and such.' His brothers look at each other quizzically and Lysander rolls his eyes.
'Brother,' Leonardo begins, enunciating with the great care he often uses when off guard. 'I don't think that I'll ever truly understand what goes on in your head.'
My humor is never appreciated, whatever happened to non-sequiters. Lucadeno continues to try and forcibly brighten his spirits and achieves a blank expression.
'I had a stroll down to the docks before the riots and investigated your problem. You needn't worry, it seems like some fool who found gold in an old ruin decided he was going to be as much a hero in Korvosa as he was in the hamlet he came from. He's trying to set up an alms house for the poor. Great idea in spirit, but it won't last a week without investment.'
"It's El-" she starts, so caught up in chewing herself out, that she almost reveals her true name. "I mean, yes. I'm impressed. Most humans can't remember even the simplest elven names for more than a miute, let alone pronounce them properly. You are quite skilled at stalking, to sneak up on me so well."
She glances down below as the queen's carriage disappears from sight. "Charitable or not, the whole city might have been better off had I actually put arrow to string," she says, half to herself. "Things are going to get very bad, very soon, here in the city. You might want to think about retiring to the country, teach some farm boys how to take down a deer or something."
Alistair returned to his flat following the events after the King's death. He spent a day there letting things cool down and recovering. He wouldn't be expected to report to work until after the funeral procession, and then of course, he would have a lot of work to catch up on. Morvius is probably going to push all of his extra work on me too... During this time, he also prays to Milani.
Alistair finds himself staying towards the back of the crowd where it is difficult to actually see the procession, even for one as tall as himself. Here he can focus on listening to the whispered conversations that take place. Far from the action (and more specifically, the Hellknights) is where he would most likely find people being open about their opinions. This is where he hears of the good deeds that were done by the unknown heroes, his companions.
Alistair keeps to himself, listening to the rumors floating around and keeping an eye out for anyone he would recognize, especially those he fought alongside. He is dressed in normal clothing, having left his armor and cloak behind. The only equipment he has are his dagger and his spell component pouch. Today, he is Alistair, a tax collector's assistant. For now, Amycus must be hidden until things calm down a little. But they mustn't calm down too far. The recent events, the Hellknights, all of it... This could be the spark that was needed to ignite the flames of rebellion. Korvosa is almost ready.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
Diplomacy (for Gather Information, if necessary): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28
Lucadeno's Bluff 1d20 + 8 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 8 + 5 = 16
Leonardo's Sense Motive 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Leonardo nods as he listens to his brother's report of the warehouse. He seems to take what his brother says at face value, to Luca's delight. Leonardo and he have always been evenly matched in terms of Luca's ability to weave stories and Leonardo's ability to tell what was truth and what was false. As children (after the accident), they would frequently play a game they called "Truth or Falsehood" together. It was their father's idea, a way to hone Leonardo's skill at the negotiating table, but it had the unintended consequence of making Lucadeno quite skilled at lying.
I now have a character sheet on HeroLab for Leo. He is an Aristocrat 1/Expert 2.
Luca practically sees the gears turning in Leonardo's mind as he digests the information. "This could be something we could turn to our advantage. Thus far, the Arkonas," he pauses to spit (subtly) at their name, [b]"have cornered the market in terms of charitable goodwill in the city. With everything that's happened, it would be good for us to spread a little wealth. I'm certain that we could likely find a way to make it profitable, maybe as a recruiting center for dock labor. Considering the rate that a few of the merchants are trying to rent our boats to get their valuables to Magnimar, we could use the extra hands. Did you get a good rapport with this philanthropist? You could make the offer for our family's support, starting at, say, another 10,000 gold. What was his name, by the way?"
@Senjin The cheese-loving pseudodragon lands in front of Senjin. Barely the size of a cat, it's been tailing him for a few days since the night of the riots. Its purple scales shine in the light of the morning while its tail whips back and forth slowly. "Cheeeeeessse?" He hears the voice in his head again, seemingly of the only Common word the tiny dragonling knows. He holds out a piece of cheddar in his hand. The psuedodragon darts forward, then stops inches from his hand and freezes. It looks down in the direction of the door, startled by something. It leaps forward to grab the cheese in its claws and takes off with its prize.
Senjin hears the sound of the stable door opening and closing. Knowing that all of the Sable Company is out in flight for the funeral, he decides to investigate. He walks across the rooftop to the open square that they use for takeoffs and landings. He looks down to see Blake Conroy, dressed in the fine formal uniform of the Sable Company, as the young man puts a saddle on one of the older hippogriffs normally used just for training. He sniffles and wipes away a tear as he tightens the straps and prepares the beast for riding.
@Elrith Chantsmo laughs softly at her suggestion. He takes her off-guard when he responds in fluent (for a human) Elvish. "Jeg lærte av alvene ved Kyonin, både hvordan å snike og hvordan å sikte mine piler. Jeg var en rytter av Griffins men det var ikke alt. Dine folk var alltid snill mot meg. Jeg praktiserer ikke tungen av alvene så mye som jeg gjerne ville, men jeg finne en måte å praktisere de andre ferdighetene som jeg ble lært." He smiles softly and returns to Common. "At this range, you would have to factor the wind in far more than anything else. An arrow would need to be fatal, as you would only get a single chance. From this range, that's nearly impossible to do. You'd have to be very lucky or very good." He takes out his own bow, a truly fine-looking longbow with faint elven runes etched on its body, and draws one of the arrows from her quiver. As he deftly places it in the bowstring, it hums with a low resonance. The runes light up enough to read, saying 'May the release be final.'
He points to the Temple of Asmodeus on the other side of the street. "The closest tip of the star." The spot he mentions would be easy enough to hit from close range, but this is well over two hundred yards away. He aims high and releases the arrow with a breath. They watch as it floats high above the procession, seemingly drifting on the wind, and buries itself on the exact spot he stated. He turns to her with a smirk, though it seems to her to be wistful rather than congratulatory.
@Alistair Alistair hears more rumors than he can count. It seems like all of the city's citizens, especially those in the lower class not privy to more official reports, has their own theory or account of the night of the riots. He hears stories from all sides of the city - stories of the Hellknights quelling the rioters with violence, of heroism and hate in the common folk, of the nobility barring their gates to those in need, of the gangs taking an opportunity to clash with each other, of a group of men and women who roamed the city saving those that they could. He hears people longing for a way to gain some say in their future, but terrified of speaking out.
He listens to the people as they talk, though. He slips into the background, adept at seeming like he isn't paying attention. The people of Korvosa, thinking that their words are secret or that their unobtrusive listener is a sympathetic ear, speak as freely as they are going to in public. He stands behind a pair of tieflings talking lowly between themselves as they watch the queen's retinue pass by. The first of them scowls when he sees the Hellknights. "We should join the Bastards. You think that they're going to let our kind live? We need their protection."
The second tiefling, himself probably able to pass for human if he grew longer hair, shakes his head. "It's not safe. They're thugs. They're common criminals, and we're better than that."
The first responds to these concerns with a hissed whisper. "They're going to be able to protect us! They're taking over the old temple to Aroden tonight. They're gonna have a place for us! Do what you want, but I'm joining up." The two tieflings storm off in different directions, split by their separate opinions.
Making sure her mouth isn't hanging open like some gmomish school girl, she manages to croak out, "A fine shot. Why is it again that you thought you'd need me to teach archery classes at your shop?"
Ah, Elrith. Ever the charmer!
As Senjin watches, he is amazed...crying?. I didn't think that bastard had the ability.
As he continues to watch, he sees the twisted strap just under the far side of the saddle. Conroy isn't in the proper frame of mind to pay attention. Not that Senjin would miss him, but the saddle tearing free could hurt hurt old Redclaw. He calls out,"Conroy!...Blake, wait!"
Senjin moves to the corner of the building and drops over the edge, grabbing hold of the clay drain pipe. Shimmying down, Senjin calls out again as he approaches his fellow stablehand before he takes off. "Blake! You got a twisted girth strap. Let me fix it, before you take off." Senjin leaves all the sarcasm out off his voice that is typically there when the two of them quarrel. Instead there is a tone of concern, whether it was for rider or the mount, was unclear.
Anything I can roll to see what I know about the Bastards? Alistair isn't trained in Knowledge (Local) unfortunately.
The Bastards are planning to take the temple of Aroden tonight? Alistair isn't sure what to think about this revelation. After all, he's been waiting for people to take action for quite a while now. But if it is premature, the any rebellion could be quashed instantly, demoralizing everyone else. And if they succeed, what plans do they have for the future? He mentioned "his kind." Alistair is all for equality among the minority races, but not at the expense of the freedoms of the majority.
Alistair resolves to look into this further. Perhaps I can find out more information if I follow one of them. Making his decision, he starts to follow after the Tiefling who seemed to be interested in joining the Bastards, trying to remain unseen.
Stealth: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Alistair is not wearing his armor at the moment.
@Elrith Jope Chantsmo slowly returns his bow while looking off in the distance. He watches the wealthy and noble citizens follow behind a king who they would miss only because of the consequences of his death. He looks back up at Elrith with a sad smile. For a moment, he seems far older than her, but he smiles and seems to snap himself out of it. "Elissariel, I hope to see you again. I do still have need of a good archery teacher. Things will get back to normal sooner or later, and the need for self-defense will probably make business pick up. Tell you what: I'll up the pay to a gold crown per lesson, and throw in some of my old bows from time to time. You look like someone who could use a good bow to go with the arrow." He puts an emphasis on the last word with a glint in his eye and bows to her, making his way off the rooftop back to wherever he came from.
@Senjin The young, proud Chelaxian nobleman pushes Senjin away from him. Unprepared for it, Senjin loses his balance briefly and takes a few steps back. Conroy wipes his eyes with the back of the fine formal uniform sleeve and spits at the Shoanti. "Get away from me! You think that I don't know how to do this? You think I'm not fit for the uniform?" He walks towards Senjin with a growing anger in his voice. "You think that you're better than me? You think you can just look down on me and tell me I'm not good enough?" He advances and balls a fist at him in its white glove.
Unarmed Strike vs. Senjin 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
> Damage 1d3 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 (nonlethal)
Blake Conroy: hp 12/12; AC 12/12T/10FF; +3F/+2R/+0W
Conroy hits Senjin hard, a direct hit to the nose that causes blood to spurt out. Senjin goes back onto his heels, rocked by the hard strike. The Shoanti is stronger and taller, though, even though the new Sable Marine got the first hit.
Presumably you are also unarmored. Since neither of you have weapons, it's all unarmed non-lethal damage that doesn't provoke.
"I'll take it," she blurts out before the man leaves.
As soon as she's alone, she adds, "Why did I just do that?" to a passing pseudodragon.
Once it's safe, she heads down from the roof, and towards the warehouse for their meeting. She's so distracted, she almost forgets to make sure she isn't being followed.
Senjin wipes at the blood on his face. "Dammit, you idiot! I was trying to help. Whatever you got going on, I don't want Redclaw hurt in the process." Having nearly died other night, he was in no mood for this. The real enemy is out there, not petty squabble in the stables
Conroy has no idea what he is facing off against. Flashes of burned kids, marching Hellknights, torches flickering at the Pyramid, sadistic attacks in the slums....all these burn fresh in Senjin...And he thinks this is about him?
Convoy is half-blind from his tears. It will almost be too easy, but that doesn't mean Senjin won't enjoy it. All the rag from the other night come boiling forth. As Conroy comes in to follow his initial swing, Senjin unleashes an uppercut so powerful it nearly lifts young aristocrat off his feet, and leaves his water-filled eyes struggling to focus. In his best impersonation of Sergeant Fristwell Senjin growls, "Stand Down Cadet!" .
Favorite Enemy Unarmed Strike Power Attack-> 1d20 + 5 + 2 - 1 ⇒ (19) + 5 + 2 - 1 = 25
Favorite Enemy Unarmed Strike Power Attack Damage-> 1d4 + 4 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 2 + 2 = 12
Status:HP 5/11, AC 13/13T/10FF, +2F/+5R/+1W
@Alistair Alistair uses his practiced abilities to avoid being spotted by the tiefling as they walk from the procession towards Jeggare River. The majority of Korvosans attends the funeral, but some still mill about elsewhere. Most of the city's businesses remain closed in the wake of the riots. Alistair has heard more than one rumor saying that the Queen plans on issuing a declaration making it a requirement to conduct business at usual - her motives changing depending on the rumormonger. Some say she wants to be able to shop unfettered, while others say it is to not disrupt the tax income from trade. If there's any truth to it, Castle Korvosa hasn't issued any dictums yet. He notes that the shops of Eodred's Walk, normally bustling with patrons, remain closed except for a few dedicated merchants repairing the damage. Only one building, a bowyer by the look of it, remains wholly untouched.
Citadel Volyshyenek looms over their destination with its gray slate walls. A few Guardsmen stand on its battlements, clearly a skeleton crew with the majority of their members at the procession. The tiefling takes a sharp corner away from the Citadel, heading north along the avenue. He passes the block that houses the warehouse that he is supposed to be at during the next ring of the Epochal Tower's bell. His lead ducks into a small rundown tavern with a barely-visible sign calling it the Bailer's Retreat.
@Senjin Blake Conroy sits up after Senjin's powerful blow lays him out on the rough dirt-and-hay floor of the stables. He wipes his face, blood and dirt ruining his uniform. He puts his face in his hand for a moment, shoulders heaving in a silent cry. He looks up at Senjin from the ground. "He's dead. My father. He came into the house and found some men in there. They..." He composes himself with a ragged breath. "They stabbed him to death and looted the house. I found him too late."
He is silent for a few long moments as he stares blankly at his hands. Senjin doesn't dare interrupt. When Conroy speaks again, his voice steadies. "That's what the Guard tells me, at least. Too many people died, and they're overwhelmed. His murder won't be solved, they told me. Most of the deaths that night won't be. I tried to get him resurrected, but the wealthier nobles started hoarding the necessary offerings. Even if they weren't, he had heavy debts which the Church of Abadar immediately paid even before he was cold. All I have left is enough to pay for a new 'griff. Fristwell told me that they need all the men in the air they can get, so here I am." He laughs quietly, a bitter sound with no humor or mirth at all.
'Arael, I do believe. An Iomedean, a harmless enough sort, well-meaning if naive. That's a clever stroke Leo, I wish I'd thought of it myself. The Arkona's play the game with the public sickening well, and it'd be a good idea in these times to improve relations with the city people. The last thing we want to is a repeat of the other day. Probably bad for trade, or something?' he sends a small wink to his brother and turns his eyes back to his father's back. Lord Jeggare doesn't notice his youngest son's regard, he continues to watch the crowd with stern eyes.
Once the ceremony ends I'll have to claim ill health in order to escape further family duties such as standing and nodding politely. Father would probably prefer to only have his two successful sons around. I mustn't be late tonight. How will I explain the funding to Arael and the others. They know I'm no ordinary beggar, but acquiring 10,000 gold over three days from a powerful noble house is sure to draw questions I can't easily answer. Perhaps a half-truth. I think I know just the one.
Where does the procession end? One of the temples or a royal burial ground? The meeting is at sundown? What time is it now? Sorry for the delay, it was a busy birthday weekend.
Senjin walks over to Red Claw. While he readjusts the strap, he offers his condolences without looking at Blake. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. Take that as you will, with both of us with busted faces. It was like an asylum opened that night...This city claimed my father as well...years ago...I think Korsova makes orphans of everyone eventually."
The saddle secure. He turns back to the cadet. He walks over and offers to pull him up. "If the Sergeant thinks there might be trouble, maybe I should head out there too. Not sure I would be allowed on a 'griff, so I could head out on foot."
Late as always!
Before the procession
Alejandro scrubbed the traces of soap lather from his cheeks, before washing his hands clean. He stared deep in to the mirror, sighing softly. The night of the riots was till vivid in his mind. He had done things he never thought he would ever do. But he had made his peace with it... At least for the moment.
'One step at a time old boy... One step at a time!' He sighed, wiping his face clean, before moving to the bed and beginning to slide in to his dress uniform. He may not be considered active, at this moment in time, but he deserve to wear the uniform just as much as any other man.
Slipping on the polished breastplate, and belting on his sword, he took one last look in the mirror, before heading out the door.
'I really have to speak to Luca today... After the funeral!
During the procession
He kept to himself as the procession moved through the city, keeping his eyes peeled for any of his old unit, or the new group he had found himself in company with. He had spotted Luca earlier on, but the man was surrounded by his family and Alejandro felt it would not be a good time to bother him.
He had spent the last few days, since the riots, staying low. He had made too much of a scene of himself, to risk going out in the ensuing upheaval. He had confined himself to his apartments, and had spent his time sharpening his weapons and polishing his armor, all the while trying to puzzle out what exactly was going on.
'Like I came to any decisions though...'
Settle in, folks. This is going to be a long post.
@Lucadeno, @Rica, @Alejandro The funeral procession continues uninterrupted through Crest Circle, making the long loop around Korvosa's central hill of Citadel Crest. The campus of the Academae looms over the hill with its thick walls of black marble. Brought over three hundred years ago, the school's renown has grown beyond measure to be one of the most impressive in the entirety of the Inner Sea. Wizards from across Avistan come to Korvosa to study at the Academae, especially in its focus on conjuration. Many of the citizens of Korvosa do not take pride in the Academae, despite its prestige and the income that comes with it. Many rumors float as to what occurs behind the high walls of the secretive school. The frequency in which the students summon devils gives the entire school a sinister reputation - the occasional "accidental" influx of Hell's legions, the last of which cost Lord Volshyenek Ornelos his life in the year after Aroden's death, does not dissuade this reputation.
The procession slowly makes its way to Domina Square on the northeast side of the great pyramid upon which Castle Korvosa rests. Named after the imperious, legendary mother of the mourned king, Domina Square is packed by hundreds of citizens. Thousands more make their way from the streets lining the processional route to watch the funeral of the King from afar. Castle Korvosa, set atop the cyclopean four-sided sandstone pyramid, provides a backdrop as the Queen and the rest of the procession arrive. The black marble castle, which has taken on the somewhat architecture popularized by House Thrune of Cheliax in the previous century, stands over the plaza with an air of quiet menace.
The assemblage of nobility, magistrates, and luminaries provide a clear glimpse into the complex political workings of Korvosa. Much of Korvosa's success is due to the strict legalistic framework that provides checks and balances to ensure that no tyrant shall arise. None of the previous kings were beyond reproach, but still strong enough to ensure that the noble families did not gain enough strength to tear Korvosa apart (as nearly happened when House Ornelos destroyed House Viamio in the Cousins' War).
Amidst the monarch's retinue, behind the nobles but amongst the forefront of heroes and villains in the city's popular imagination, are the magistrates that make the city function. The 23 magistrates (appointed by the monarch) perform all delegated duties and keep the city-state's complex legal and bureaucratic systems functioning. Garrick Tann, the Magistrate of Commerce, is one of the most reviled men in all of Korvosa. Responsible for collecting the taxes from the citizens, including a high property tax that angers the landowners, a vice tax that angers the law-abiding middle class, dock taxes that anger shipowners, and gate taxes that anger everyone. He also regulates the city's finances through a small army of tax collectors and clerks. Additionally, earning him no friends anywhere, it is his responsibility to break nascent unions from forming. On the other side of the coin, the Magistrate of Expenditures, Syl Gar, is one of the most beloved men in Korvosa. Courting his opinion and friendship can mean the difference between getting one of the city's lucrative contracts and being shut out completely. The merchants and nobles ensure that not a day goes by without some gift, though the strict anti-corruption legal strictures.
The leaders of the city's two military orders, Commandant Marcus Endrin (a cousin of the sole surviving member of the primary branch of that ancient noble name, and thus not a noble himself) of the Sable Company and Field Marshal Cressida Kroft of the Korvosan Guard, stand at attention in their full dress uniforms. The two have long been friends (and some rumor that they have or are more than that) and their respective companies work seamlessly together. Still, their legal loyalties do not align as their personal loyalties do. Kroft and the Korvosan Guard report to the monarch, while Endrin and the Sable Company report instead to the seneschal of Castle Korvosa.
The seneschal is one of the most powerful positions in Korvosa, second only to the monarch. Should the need for it arise, the Seneschal has the legal right to become even more powerful than the monarch in times of crisis stemming from the position's technical control over Castle Korvosa and the pyramid it stands upon. Though it has never been used, he has the power to close and seal Castle Korvosa - inside and out - regardless of the king or queen's presence inside. The current seneschal, Neolandus Kalepopolis, has been in the position for 47 years and has spoken openly of retiring soon. The Field Marshal of the Guard has the right to name the replacement seneschal, which means that most people have already accepted Marcus Endrin as his eventual replacement. Cressida Kroft's friendship with him only serves to further this belief.
Clerics and priests from the city's major religions stand in the processional, the rancor at the Pantheon on the night of the riots forgotten. Darb Tuttle, the Archbanker of Abadar, is one of the most powerful men of the city thanks in large part to the Bank of Abadar's large financial footprint. As most contracts and almost all the loans and deposits go through the Bank of Abadar, they (and, by extension, the Archbanker) are the largest creditor of the city. Most of the noble families worship Abadar, at least publicly, in order to stay in good standing with low interest. The head of the Church of Pharasma, Bishop Keppira d'Bear, is a quiet woman who fulfills her duties dutifully and without issue. She is responsible for securing the Gray District and for signing off on the notice of final death required to pass an estate to the next heir. Representing the Church of Asmodeus is Archbishop Ornher Reebs, who gained notariety in the city and in the greater following of Asmodeus when he ascended to power by sacrificing 13 (willing) virgins close to thirty years ago. His rash act dedicated the Temple to the King of Hell and sealed its place in the Cheliaxan-based Church of Asmodeus, though it set off a large riot and a generation-long mistrust of Asmodeus in the city. Most people of Korvosa tolerate the Asmodeans rather begrudgingly despite their oath of loyalty to Cheliax itself. Despite this, Archbishop Reebs's divine power is unquestioned. Most people simply go the other way when seeing him to avoid falling prey to his cold wrath.
The strength of the individual noble houses, both those of official title and those who simply have the means to live as the true nobles, has waxed and waned over the centuries. House Vaimio and House Porphyrian, for instance, were torn out of the city in vicious internecine rivalries with House Ornelos and House Arabasti, respectively. The remaining Great Houses still compete for power with each other incessantly.
House Arkona, whose greatest rival is House Jeggare, is a story of great success coming out of almost nothing. An ancient noble house of Cheliax, the Korvosan branch of the family was nearly bankrupt until they made one final desperate trade mission to Vudra. The mission was a wild success, opening up a trade route to the exotic nation that remains in existance. They used their newfound windfall to re-establish themselves, though they have never abandoned their palace deep in Old Korvosa. The current Lord of House Arkona, Glorio Arkona, has dedicated himself to feeding and housing the poor. On the other hand, most people in Korvosa rumor that he also controls most of the city's organized crime, but most of them are willing to look the other way so long as crime is not out of control and the needs of the poor are met. Glorio has no children or siblings, and thus his name would pass to his cousin Melyia (of the Cheliaxan branch of the family) should anything happen to him. Many people fear that happening, for she is as cold and cruel as he is warm and generous.
Their rivals, House Jeggare, is likely the wealthiest family in Korvosa. Some estimations place them at owning, in whole or in part, one full quarter of the city. Their wealth is to the point that they are independent of the Church of Abadar, though Lord Jeggare maintains good relations with the Abadarians. In many cases, should the King (or Queen, now) or another noble family want a more discreet line of credit, they often call upon the Jeggares.
House Endrin, while once powerful and wealthy in the city, is a single man now. Alejandro Endrin recently became the new Lord Endrin, though he has no one to rule. His cousins (though not Marcus) look forward to inheriting the noble name that he currently possesses. The family has produced most of the city's military leaders for years, and remains close with House Jeggare despite the almost-crippling loan that Alejandro's grandfather took out to care for the poor. The two houses are linked as well by marriage, as Alejandro and the Jeggares share a common anscestor of Waydon Endrin, the legendary founder of the Korvosan Guard.
House Ornelos remains a powerful force by nature of its control of the Academae, founded by Lord Volyshenek Orenlos and currently helmed by Lord Toff Orenlos. The imperious archwizard is known to be capable of conjuring the greatest of devils and binding them to his will. Known as a profoundly talented magical duelist, Lord Ornelos oversees the Academae's teachings.
The final of the Great Houses is House Zenderholm, which controls much of the legal apparatus. Lady Mulsanne Zenderholm, the current widowed leader of the House, is known to have great sway with the judges and magistrates of the city, many of whom are related to her. The one relative that she has no control over is the inflexible, intractable Zenobia Zenderholm - called the Hanging Judge.
Beyond the Great Houses, several dozen minor untitled Houses - Bromathan, Leroung, Hismar, and their ilk - fill the remainder of the entourage. Many of them jockey for power and remind anyone who will listen that House Aribasti, the house of the current royal line, technically also lacks an official Cheliaxan title. Most of them are affiliated one way or another with the Great Houses, but a few straddle the line between two (or more) houses. These minor houses are treated as pawns in the games between the upper nobility, though some of them have enough wealth to fund small armies of their own.
Luca files into place with his brothers at their father's back, the liveried servants in neat ranks behind them. The nobility's shroud of Hellknights remains in place like a heavy black cloud, a reminder of tumult still building in the city.
The rogue's gallery of the rich and powerful fills the square under the oppressing shadow of the Castle. I wonder how heavy some of my fellow nobles feel moving through the tortured city. It had been all serious faces and bluster since the riots but almost no-one had acted decisively except, much to Luca's chagrin, House Arkona who had been active in Old Korvosa by all reports.
His father had cemented his interests, minimised damage to his profits, ensured the continuation of trade and the rebuilding of important jetties and wharves. But the populace didn't see the work of the Jeggare, they only see a family who won't go hungry and spends more on belt buckles than most families have ever had at once.
We need change. We need to be aware of the people, or more trouble will come, and it will be worse. The Queen needs to put her grief aside and be a leader for this city.
Luca spots Alejandro, the man looks small without a retinue sandwiched between other great houses, but that seems to faze him not at all. Tonight we will all meet again. I'll need to get Alejandro on my side first.
Once the procession fills Domina Square (and as the Hellknights push the commoners farther and farther away to allow them space), Queen Ileosa Arabasti stands before the people of Korvosa. She raises her hands, causing the lace sleeves of her beautiful black mourning dress to hang freely. Even from the back, her beauty stuns the onlookers. Clearly, Eodred II was a man of some taste, and it's easy to see why he would have given up his harem for her. Her voice sails clearly though the crowd, apparently augmented by magic; she does not need to strain her voice, which is melodious and lovely as she is beautiful. The spell's power makes her voice clearly audible anywhere in the city. "My citizens! Seeing you here, mourning my husband, gives me hope! I love Korvosa, as my husband did before me. His death has shocked and saddened the city just as it did me, and we have gathered here to say goodbye with heavy hearts. The love he had for the city is his legacy. We must not see his legacy destroyed! Korvosa stands on the precipice of disaster by those who do not deserve the title of citizens - these riots cannot continue! In my husband's memory, this is a time of mourning, and I hereby decree that those who disturb his peace shall be exiled from the city!" Shocked murmurs rise through the (non-noble) crowd as people begin to worry. Her voice drops to a sympathetic lilt to comfort their fears. "Do not fear, for only those who would tear this city apart for their own gain will feel the sting of this punishment. It is not with hate that I make this proclamation, but with love for Korvosa! The good men and women of this great city must be protected from undesirable elements."
She lets this settle through the crowd a few moments before continuing. "Friends, while this is a time of sadness and mourning, it is also a time of joy. Your King and I were waiting to make it known, but this city needs hope. The Curse of the Crimson Throne is broken!" People gasp when she announces this - no sitting monarch has ever produced a living heir while king or queen of Korvosa. Only Domina Arabesti, who brought her adult son with her when she arrived from Cheliax and claimed the crown, ever passed the throne to her heir. "Life grows within me! Hope grows within! I am with child. The King lives through his child that grows within me!" The crowd applauses - some tepidly, some wildly - at the news. A ripple of hope rides through the crowd like a current.
Queen Ileosa kneels as the Archbanker of Abadar and the Bishop of Pharasma approach her. The Archbanker holds a crown in hand, apparently newly-fashioned for the queen. It is not a traditional crown of gold or silver, but rather looks crafted of dragonbone. It comes to a high point in the front, with the three-headed chimera that symbolizes House Arabasti (a creation of Queen Domina, as they had no formal seal without formal nobility) atop its crest. She takes off the simple gold crown that Eodred had placed upon her head when he married her and hands it to an attendant. The Bishop of Pharasma nods his assent, signifying that Eodred's time is passed and that it is Pharasma's will for him to remain beyond the veil. With the legal formalities out of the way, the Archbanker solemnly places the crown upon her head. Queen Ileosa stands and turns to the crowd, which kneels before their new monarch. The Archbanker, silent until now, announces her: "Korvosa, Queen Ileosa is crowned in the eyes of the gods! Long may the Queen reign!"
Alistair carefully followed the tiefling to the Bailer's Retreat, a tavern he hasn't been to before. It's a rather rundown, small tavern, which usually means it is home to lowlife's and ruffians. However, the occasional hole-in-the-wall tavern can actually be a gem of a place, with good strong ale and friendly folk. Given the reason Alistair has made his way here, he expects this particular tavern to be more like the former.
As Alistair makes his way to the tavern entrance, waiting a few seconds so that he does not enter immediately behind the tiefling he has been tailing, he hears Queen Ileosa begin her speech. Alistair stops a second, to listen to the speech, hoping to find some hidden meaning in her words. As the Queen begins to speak of those who riot, his stomach sinks. Suddenly my job has become that much harder. Who would want to join my cause when there is the threat of swift retaliation and exile?
But the most intriguing piece of news is that the Queen is with child. Alistair cannot believe it. No King has produced an heir, as far as Alistair knows. Was it all coincidence? Or has the Curse really been broken? Or perhaps it is not really Eodred's child at all... Surely she wouldn't lie about being pregnant, as it would become apparent in a few short months.
As the sounds of cheering and applause fade, Alistair finally enters the tavern. He looks around to see if the tiefling is still here or has moved to some back room as well as to see if there are any other tieflings in the room. Then he heads over to the bar to order a drink and asks the tavernkeeper what he thinks of the Queen's news, hoping to determine his general attitude about the state of affairs.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
@Senjin Blake goes from saddened to angry in the flash of an eye. "I don't need your help. I never did! I'm a Sable Company Marine now, paid for with the blood of my father! You're just a horse-loving savage!" He plants on foot in the stirrup and hoists himself atop the hippogriff with ease. "Just get back to watching the stables." With Senjin put in his place, Conroy spurs his new mount (a temporary one, surely, until the next group of hatchlings grows of age) up out of the open-roofed stable. He soars south, away from Old Korvosa and towards the procession.
@Elrith The pretty elven woman slides through the city, unnoticed by most amidst the rebuilding. She picks a route that she knows will bring her past the Time Stop. As she walks, she notices the population of Korvosa as they try to settle into some level of normal even while their former monarch is paraded with the rest of the nobility. While plenty of the common folk turned out to see the procession, there are many who couldn't be bothered to go, whether because of a need to work or an opportunity to take advantage of the situation. She notices at least two sloppy petty thieves inside expensive townhomes on the east slope of the Heights and scoffs at their shoddy and primitive methods of breaking and entering (with an emphasis on the breaking). She peeks in at them, but neither of them are anyone she knows - which means that they aren't worth knowing.
The halfling owners of the Time Stop are too busy repairing the damage to notice her. The rioters smashed up the entire store, breaking all the clocks (apparently being too busy or lazy to simply steal them) and the window. As glass has been in short supply since the riot, and a generally rare commodity in good times, the gaping hole in the front of their store is simply covered in a wood panel that may or may not have once been a halfling-size kitchen table. Myra Undermountain stands on the roof, trying to repair some of the thatch damaged by what looks like thrown rocks, while Lara walks in and out of the shop bringing gears and broken clocks to a pile of refuse in front of their life's work.
Sorry for neglecting you. I don't want to get too far ahead of everybody else with you.
'Well that tears it... We need to find some way to remove her from the throne WITHOUT killing her or locking her up... A baby? Lovely... Just what we need!" Sighing inwardly, Alejandro stares about himself for a minute, before catching sight of Luca again.
He gestured to the man low, shielding the motion from the rest of the Jeggares, he hoped. 'We REALLY need to talk now...'
@Alistair Alistair opens the door as quietly and surreptitiously as he can. As soon as he opens the door, he knows that his initial assessment was right. The few men (all men) drinking inside the bar before mid-day all look as if they were just released from doing time at Citadel Volyshenek a few blocks away. The bartender, a rough-looking half-orc (or maybe a full orc) wipes down the wooden bar with a dirty rag. He gives Alistair a look but says nothing when he tries to speak to him. He clearly doesn't give the slightest damn about Ileosa's news, or her regency. He passes a rather cheap-looking liquor in an even cheaper-looking mug towards Alistair, then resumes his attentions to the bar.
The tiefling that Alistair followed into the bar goes and sits down next to a small group of men in a corner. A few of them share similar devilish features - horns that jut out of a hooded cloak, a tail that swings below a chair, and the like - and must be tieflings. He seems to speak mostly to one of them, one whose prominent horns make him look far less human than devil. From here, Alistair can't hear what they're speaking about in hushed tones, but their body language tells him that they're itching to do something. He has seen it many times in students at rebellious cafes, the desire to be doing something rather than simply talking about it. The leader of the tieflings, though, sits with an easy confidence. As Alistair watches him (with some level of stealth, he hopes), he knows that the tiefling is not anxious, but rather confident. Whatever the others long to do, this one knows that it will occur.
No worries. I'm not feeling neglected at all. One of the downsides of having a character who likes spending large stretches of time in solitude...nothing to post about!
Elrith stares in shock and dismay at the destruction of the a Time Stop. All thoughts of the queen and the upcoming meeting flee from her mind as she takes in the very real and tangible repercussions of the violence of several nights back. Without so much as a word, she steps into the shambles of a shop, leans her bow against the wall next to the door, and begins helping carry ruined inventory out to the refuse pile. Her eyes fill with tears and shame every time one of the halflings looks at her.
Lucadeno listens to the Queen's speech with sharp interest, more awake and intent than he has been since the day of the riots.
She puts on a good show, but its all very political wording. I wonder how much love such a young headstrong woman could have had for poor doddering Eodred.
Luca almost gags however, and coughs unsubtly to cover his shock when she announces the exile. This won't do at all. She'll just turn neighbours against each other and foster ordered discontent. She needs to make overtures while having the Guardsmen visit the worst of the offenders in a manner that suggests business as usual.
His train of thought is broken when she announces her pregnancy however. The repercussions of the broken Curse are enormous. Korvosa will finally have an uninterrupted line of heirs, a true monarchy. It could only threaten the balance with the Magistrates. It's one thing after another, this situation becomes more tense by the moment.
He glances at his father. Bad for business no doubt.
At this juncture Lucadeno notices Alejandro signal towards him and he nods at the man, as the nobility to begin to mingle and gossip. Lucadeno can hardly smother the smile as he sees the scene, identical to that on any dock full of fishwives.
He hobbles a circuit through the crowd, making pleasantries and nodding in faux courage when asked how his leg was faring with all the walking. He eventually arrived near Alejandro.
'Grand tidings cousin. We are to blessed with a royal lineage as everlasting as the pride of our fair city.'
Bluff to send secret meaning.
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
This means trouble. We'll have to proceed carefully.
Alejandro bows his head slightly when Luca arrives beside him.
'That damn leg... How does he stand it? It does do alot towards the sympathy vote though...' Alejandro smirked, catching the eye of two young women, who were staring at the back of the young Jeggare, with admiration.
'Or maybe that is the money...' Alejandro patted Luca on the shoulder and smiled.
"Indeed! Praise the gods. May they give the Queen and her whelp many many years of good health!" His voice, tuned for Lucas ears only and so bland and empty, clashes with the open, happy grin on his face.
"Lets get the hell out of here as fast as we can. We need to speak, in private!"
'About why you were at that meeting the other night, for one thing...'
Sense Motive -> 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13
<pppt> Senjin spits out the last of the blood from his cut lip that seems to have stopped bleeding. He mutters, "Stupid fool. I was only trying to help." And he realizes how important the other night was. I can never help as the Shoanti stableboy. There will always be fear and resentment..and hate. But that night I helped...I made a difference. And I would have saved your father Conroy, despite what you think. But he knows Conroy is right about him being the stableboy. Having the Sergeant like him is one thing, having Conroy's money to by a hippogriff an becoming a marine is a completely different matter. Crime didn't pay that well, at least without the drugs it didn't. Some how I think 'trying to help' pays less.
Senjin sets to cleaning up the stables and preparing for the Hippogriff returns. Food and water made available. Stalls cleaned out. Anything he does now, he knows will mean less work later when he hopes to get back out on the streets and find out the Streets reaction to today's event.
The mid-day bell rings from the Epochal Tower, signalling that it is halfway between the day's start and its end. The king's processional and funeral, complete with Queen Ileosa's coronation, has been over a number of hours. The massive bells of the tower atop Castle Korvosa call out to the citizens of the city. It is one of the few things that the rich and poor have in common - knowledge of the time, thanks to the massive clock tower. The greatest equalizer in the city is that every person, no matter their station, is subject to the passage of time.
And for Korvosa, time is running out.
In a small, crumbling warehouse in the West Dock ward of the Midland district, three people anxiously await those who will liberate the city. Three days earlier, in this very warehouse, they hatched a plot to inspire the citizens of Korvosa. Today, with the Queen's warning still echoing in their ears, they press onward with their plan.
Okay, let's get this plot-ball rolling! Make your entrance into the warehouse if you so desire.
Shortly before the appointed time, Elrith excuses herself from helping the halflings, promising to return another day to continue the efforts. She pauses to glance at Jope, who watches her from his doorway. She affords him the briefest of nods, before heading off into the crowds. She doubles and triples back several times throughout her journey, ensuring that she's not being followed, though mostly out of old habits than an actual belief she's being tailed today.
Elrith, the "Arrow" arrives twenty minutes before the bells chime, hiding atop a pile of old crates across the street from the warehouse, feeling the ancient building out, determining whether or not the place is safe, feeling for a trap. Not sensing any Hellknight presence (or that of any other authority), she casually makes her way down the block, a couple streets over, then back in a circling route towards the warehouse from behind. Slipping through the side door, she makes her way cautiously towards the trio, wary even once she recognizes them.
Arael, the attractive and charming leader of the group, immediately comes up to Elrith and begins smothering her with attention. From Zellara, this elicits a bemused smile. From Janiven, his actions bring rolled eyes and disapproval. Arael's bright eyes shine upon Elrith, making her think that he really did inherit the best parts of both his human and elven heritage. "I'm not surprised that you are the first to come. The only thing that could match your beauty and skill with the bow is your dedication to justice. When Jan told me that your criminal suppression group," he emphasizes the words used by the Gull with a grin, "had already arranged this meeting, I was so pleased. All the others have fled our cause following the riots, but your example will get them to return - hundreds more, until the cause of freedom moves the hearts of all the men and women of this city! And it begins with you, Arrow."
Senjin is ready as the first of the Hippogryphs comes back to the stables. Most of the instructors and senior students don't give him a second look as they are tired and want to quickly get out of their dress uniforms.
He tries to keep his face down as he grabs the reins from Sergeant Fristwell's mount, but the old NCO is observant enough to know something wasn't right. He grabs Senjin by the jaw and lifts his face up, letting the sun shine down on the bruised and swollen lip. "Which of the old beasts did that to ya? Must have been in a right cantankerous mood, cause I saw Conroy sporting a matching set. A stables problem I should know about?" He gives Senjin that hard and knowing stare.
"Nothing a stableboy can't handle." Sanjin is quick to answer, trying to pull free.
But the old Sergeant holds on a moment longer. "If it were just two of my stable hands sporting shiners I wouldn't give it much mind, but Conroy has....received a commission. I wouldn't expect him to have stable accidents from this point forward, so be careful. I think you get my point, correct?" For emphasis Fristwell moves Senjin's jaw up and down in mock agreement. He finally lets go, and lightly taps Senjin's cheek, "Good boy. Now see that all is put away today. Once the beasts are tended to, you can have the remainder of the day off. Although I would just stay close to the school, as the Queen announced a program of curfews and banishments for troublemakers." The Sergeant watches as Senjin efficiently assists each rider in turn helping guide the mounts to their stalls, and as he heads for his chambers he half-jokingly reminds himself to check the gates tonight for another straggler in need of a job now that their was a vacancy. Little dos he know his words have sparked his young stablehand into a determined state to get out and find what the mood of the street was, and what his trouble making accomplices knew of the Queen's plans
It was hard but rewarding work rubbing down the gryphs, many of the great mounts giving him appreciative nips with their breaks. He leaves no task undone, for he knows if he is off to get into trouble tonight,he dos not want to come back to trouble here. As a last task he grabs a couple of hay hooks and a coil of rope. Late hour returns would be best if he didn't have to wait for a ride to get back into the academy. The hooks lashed together can form a crude grapple giving him access to the roof, and from there it was an easy matter of reaching his room above the stable.
He gathers these supplies and his weapons into a old rotted canvas sack that he tosses off the roof onto a nearby roof, a distance too far to jump, but swinging the sack about builds enough momentum to send the bag unceremoniously to the nearby landing. He hurries down and out the gates and up into the network of roofs to collect the sack. Recovering his weapons, he stashes the bag with its rope and hook for later retrieval.
He makes his way by rooftop as much as he can. Near the warehouse, he sets out a watch from above and behind the building. He knew no activity would be present at the front entrance, so he sets a careful vantage. Seeing no activity, he sets off to climb down. He decides to make a quick pass of the door, and is surprised to find it unlocked. Cautiously opening it, he hears voices...familiar voices. He can immediately tell that not many are in the building, but even still he ties his old rag across his face, just for that small measure of safety. Finding his way past the stacked crates he enters the cleared space with four figures arranged in it. He nods to the three, to the other he greets with a gruff acknowledgment that slightly cracks in his throat, "Arrow."
Elrith smirks at Arael's obvious flirtation, though unconsciously smoothes down her hair as well. Then, without warning, she grabs him by the lapels, and plants a giant, passionate kiss on his lips. Several seconds later, Senjin's announcement of arrival gives her a start and she shoves Arael away.
Recovering her composure, she turns to the half-elf and says, "Figure since I'm apparently single-handedly fulfilling one of your lifelong fantasies, I should fulfill another," with her typical sarcasm in full swing.
@Elrith & Senjin Arael grins broadly when Elrith kisses him, apparently quite pleased. "Oh, you're just starting a new one with that, now that I know how much fire and passion exists inside you." He winks at her, letting his charisma wash over her in a flirtatious wave.
Janiven watches with some disapproval. She looks over to Senjin as he enters. "I'm glad to see that somebody with some sense came. Those two are a little busy. You seem the practical one in this group. You seem to have had some hard lessons in your life, which is good for our purposes. Eventually, we're going to have to make some hard decisions, and you seem like the kind of person able to make hard decisions."
Glad for an excuse not to watch the flirting Senjin focuses on Janiven. "I have lost both family and friends to what is wrong with this city. I choose to keep fighting rather than give in. It has been hard...both living and watching corruption and pollution strip away the better qualities of those around you. I would be a fool to think that I haven't been changed by it too, but in my case, every time I am left for dead, I come back stronger...as was the case the other night...and I got the scar to prove it." With a quick look to Arrow and Arael, he resists the urge to lift his tunic and chain shirt to show the long pink scar running across his chest. But his arms show enough scars from his time in the streets and the stables, and his crooked nose a badge of betrayal.
Alistair hadn't spent too much time at the tavern, choosing instead to focus on his own meeting later in the day. He would, of course, alert his new companions, Can I call them that yet?, to the actions of the Bastards of Erebus.
Alistair walks into the warehouse, dressed in his usual cloak, covering his armor and weapons. He pulls his hood off as he recognizes the individuals within. Not everyone is here yet. Or perhaps this is all who dared to come.
"I would say good day, but..." He leaves the rest of his statement unsaid and walks forward to shake arms with Senjin and Arrow, who he fought alongside and now feels a certain kinship with. Arrow, perhaps because she is wonderful shot, something Alistair has been aspiring to, and Senjin because his heritage makes him something of an outcast in Korvosa, much like the Varisian portion of Alistair's own heritage. Senjin likely spent time on the streets or in an orphanage, like Alistair as well. Just another commonality between the two of them.
I can't remember if Alistair knows anything about Senjin, but I figured he could guess that he must have grown up on the streets.