Chris, I'd like to find a silver ring of comparable quality and size to get an estimate on the value of the other one.
I'd also like to hit up my contacts at Calistria's Temple to see if there is any reliable information on what happened. I know it's early, but the devotees work very late, and the little death might have loosened a few tongues (among other things! hey-o!)
Okay, so we are back at Zellaras house, yes?
We can each get our share of the loot and plan our next step.
Gaius fences all goods except for the Silversheen. He pockets it for emergencies.
Then at Zellara's Gaius gives everyone their split of 290 GP, but gives a slightly lighter pouch to Odric (265 GP).
'Twas a shame. I fancied the ivory statuette of the demons, but it turned out to be the most valuable piece. No matter. One day perhaps I'll be able to afford a life sized variant. Here are your shares. A pleasure doing business, Gentlemen. Now... Shall we go to the palace and inquire about our finders' fee?
Let's get on our way. I'm eager to see what all the bruhah is about.
Ferox, I too would be interested in procuring a cure potion or two. After that Inquisitor, if you want to be our point man on returning this brooch to the queen...
handle animal
I know a reputable potions dealer. I'll pick up a couple myself.
I'll buy two CLW potions.
Odric looks at the smaller pouch of coins with a disappointed sigh.
Regarding the silver ring, the "loot" was the rightful property of a fellow victim of Lamm. I think its value should have been subtracted from the overall total before divvying up portions.
Odric feels uncomfortable confronting his new acquaintance, but feels it is important to set some boundaries nonetheless.
Gaius, would you care to deduct the cost of Kip as a child slave from my cut as well? I mean, we took him from Lamm and returned him to his family in much the same fashion as the ring I returned. Perhaps Gramps' value should be removed from Thorgrym's share too. It seems to me we could have sold those two and gotten a bit of coin for them, so perhaps it would be fair to the group to account for that. Grym and I would accept it and do without if it means we can continue to do good and serve the cause of Justice.
After having been so generous with his potions for the survival of two members of the party Odric thought perhaps some additional coin would have been allotted to him, although he doesn't verbalize that thought. He certainly didn't expect to be paid outright for the potions, but the reduction for doing right by the ring's owner hurts him a bit.
As a group we had talked about the possibility of establishing a small fund in order to offset healing costs or other party overhead. Odric turns to the other members of the group, Does anyone else think we ought to do that? Because I think it could prove very useful, especially if we plan to adventure together for a while. If at some point we decide to part company, I trust we are all men of honor and can divide it equitably. What say you gentlemen?
Grym picks up three healing potions while at Morkeleb's reputable dealer. He stashes two of them in his pack and gives the third to Odric to replace the one he graciously gave to a comrade he barely knew.
Assuming Grym had time this morning, he went over to Kip's house. He told Kip that Gramps was a survivor of Lamm just as he was, and Gramps needed someone responsible to look after him. If Kip felt he was that person then he could have the dog as a companion to help watch over his father's brewery. The ranger gives the boy a small pouch of copper pinch and a few silver to make sure Gramps will be well fed for a while. He solemnly tells the boy he will be checking up on Gramps to make sure he is okay.
Ferox buys four healing potions while at Morkeleb's dealer. He quaffs one right away.
Potion of CLW:
He stashes the other three in his backpack.
Odric begins walking towards the palace, with the pricey brooch safely tucked inside his belt pouch.
Gaius looks quizzically at Odric.
You... Didn't return the ring. You were conned, and you traded it for whisky and far less gold than it's worth. You got an equal share of the spoils and squandered part of it. I fail to see the problem.
Justice? Justice is no cause of mine. If there were any real justice in this world, I wouldn't be who and what I am. I seek riches, security and the pleasures of this life. Sometimes in that order. As for your, "group fund", I'll happily contribute to expenses of a mutually beneficial arrangement. If my price is met. At the moment, I'm only coming along to get my cut of the reward for THIS brooch.
OOC: As per previous posts, Gaius is carrying the brooch. He would never let an investment slip so far from his control. Especially not to the smelly drunk.
I stick my neck out for nobody.
So we are heading to the palace right?
The silence hangs in the air for a moment. After an eternity, Gaius laughs and looks up at the heavens.
He strides over to Odric, and without a word, begins to adjust the straps on his armor and the hang of his baldric and cloak. After some basic adjustments to Odric's attire, Gaius wrinkles his nose and draws forth a bottle of cologne. He starts to dab at Odric, then sighs and empties the small vial over Odric. Afterwards, Gaius hangs back and seems to consider Odric for a moment.
I... Apologize. A life in the shadows often means that when the sun does shine through, it can be blinding at first.
Gaius holds up the exquisite brooch and makes a show of putting it in Odric's belt pouch.
Next time... Make sure you mention Gaius Lirsiiv as part of your tales, so that I may share in the glory.
He looks Odric in the eyes.
I always get my cut.
Gaius smiles and turns to the group as a whole.
Alright. I'm done being a prissy child. It happens now and again. Come friends, let us away.
And with that, Gaius heads off for the Palace.
Morkeleb is watching this exchange with an unreadable expression.
Alright. I'm done being a prissy child. It happens now and again. Come friends, let us away.
Indeed. It's not clear exactly what Morkeleb is referring to--the "prissy child" comment? "Let us be away?" The apparent resolution of the moment's drama? Odric's slightly improved odor? Who can say . . . but he grips his staff and falls into line toward the back of the group, heading toward the castle.
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The journey to the palace starts off with perhaps the seeds of cohesion finally being planted. By now Korvosa is awake and the intangible pall has descended even more heavily than when you left last night.
It is Gaius who first notices that on the way, next to no guards are patrolling the streets. Soon Ferox's ears pick up the sounds of an angry mob a few blocks over.
Before you can react without anything more than confusion a drunken guard literally spills into you, landing on his back after a bounce of of Odric's belly. The guard is a thin man, handsome if cleaned up, but for now is dishevelled and smells like stale beer and sweat. He stumbles to his feet:
gud shurs. Ye shud leave while the gettin's gud. Tis a dark *hic* day in Korvosha. He breaks down into a shuddering sob before he continues. wordsh gotten itself out. The king. The king has been assassinated.
He colapses on Grym, leaving behind a bit of vomit. Pleash shurs. I need yer help.
Ah, I suppose that would explain the dark mood of the city. But you surprise me, sir. Isn't one such as you loyal, not to the person upon whose head the crown sits, but the crown itself? Why are you in such a state? This last is said with clear sarcasm and a strong tinge of disgust.
And why plead help from the first strangers you happen to bump into??
I glance at each of the rest of the group, making sure everyone has their wits about them and are paying attention for possible ambushes or other tomfoolery.
Odric having been in similar straits before himself adds, And how can we help sir? You seem to me to have partaken of quite a few libations, and as I have done so myself I know those are taken either in celebration or as an escape. 'The King is dead' and 'long live the King' and all that, but the assassination of the King wouldn't be a source of celebration but for a wretched traitor. As a guardsman, you are certainly not traitorous scum. This leads me to believe you are a patriot and are drinking for despair. What more can you tell us sir?
He double checks the security of the Brooch in the his belt pouch as inconspicuously as he can.
[ooc] Sleight of hand
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The guardsman seems to respond to Odric's sympathetic stance. It doesn't take much effort to realize that it's been many nights since this man was sober....and bathed. His troubles predate the devastating news.
I ruined my life. I pu-pu-pushed my love away, maimed my fencingmaster, disgrashed myself. And now all of Korvosa will fall. Haven't ye been to the palash. It'sh rioting in the streets, the guard is overwhelmed. It'sh going to shpill out here. I've got to make it to the shitadel. Pleesh good shurs. help me there and toss me sho that I can deliver word and then die in disgrash.
As if on cue, you realize that the guardsman may be right. The sounds of rioting approach. Smoke rises from many places in Old Korvosa and by the palace.
As the events begin to sink in, your senses sharpen. The world slows down.
DM: would we be able to see another guardsman, or a contingent of them?
Grym steadies the drunken guard with a hand and wishes he still had Gramps or another dog about to help clean the disgusting vomit from his cloak. He makes due liberally dowsing it with a water skin. He'd rather be wet then dirty. Grym then dumps the rest of the water skin over the drunken guards face.
Intelligence roll
Grym looks to the other members of the group. I think we should help him get to the citadel. That should at least put us in a good light to those in authority. But there is alot of chaos, will there be anyone in charge even willing to take the time to speak with us over the hmm... special item we have?
If there is anyone in charge, I'm confident that we'll be able to convince them to speak to us--perhaps as friends.
Morkeleb gives the slightest smirk of confidence.
Grau, isn't it? I'm Thorgrym the tracker, you might not recognize me with out my dogs. I remember doing a track for you a while back. We are going to help you. You will make it to the citadel. Quickly now, lets go...
Unless anyone is protesting, the ranger heads the party off in the general direction. Grym is keeping a hand or arm on Grau as he needs it to keep him walking a straight line. As much as possible the party keeps to the streets and alleys that avoid the rioters.
perception roll
Well, I think it's pretty unlikely we'll get rewarded for the treasure's return this day, all things considered, but . . . *shrug*
I fall into step toward the back of the group (but not in THE back) and keep my eyes peeled.
Perception:
Odric readies the Eagle's Headed pick and keeps a sharp lookout for signs of trouble. He positions himself before Grym and the guard with a ferocious looking weapon in one hand and a torch held high in the other.
Gentlemen, if we look formidable and can present Grau as sober-ish, being that he is a Guardsman, a known swordsman of repute and that he is apparently allied with us should discourage rabble from accosting us. Morkeleb, I think you're right, the Item ought to be kept under wraps while this turmoil persists. Let's refer to it as "The Sandwich" in public if we must.
Odric's sense that danger could lurk around any corner in the form of an opportunistic looter, an angry mob or some authority bent on restoring order through the strenuous exhibition of force sets him on edge. He travels the middle of the street, with Grym, Grau and Morkeleb. He abbreviates his warms-ups, given the flaming torch and the danger, but wisdom and experience tell him this could lead to bloodletting. And bloodletting is best done by those who have prepared their major muscle groups with vigorous exercise.
Odric is toying with writing that down as a motto or a quote or something. He refrains because he feels it is cumbersome and lacks pizzaz.
Let's make haste to the Citadel! Grau, can you fight?
While walking, in the silence among his friends Odric tries unsuccessfully to rephrase his imagined quote about bloodletting and physical fitness. Lost in thought he discards several variants. Perhaps one day he'll get it right.
As the group advances, Ferox falls back and follows after the others at an inconspicuous distance, ready to act if trouble presents itself.
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The trip to the Citadel is indeed a bit harrowing (so to speak.) On two occassions a mob is avoided (once in the front and once in the rear.) Word is beginning to spread, and Korvosa is beginning to riot: shouts, fires, breaking windows, and graffiti spread like fire.
The city seems divided. You pass in equal numbers citizens who lament the fallen king, fearing the new queen and people glad that the lame and powerless Eodred has been replaced.
Grau seems near inconsolible. He repeats his mantra of "it's all over" nearly the whole way there.
Citadel Volshyenek is an imposing structure. When you arrive it's locked up tight. Here it seems is the antidote for anarchy. The guard is moving in a disciplined rush to get feet on the street. Orchestrating it is a beautiful woman of Cheliaxian stock. She wears red plate armor, clearly custom built. Her long, black, arrow straight hair cascades over a figure enhanced by the armor. It covers he insignia, but she is clearly the top authority by the gate.
SERGEANT GRAU! she bellows in a mildly masculine voice. You, citizens. What are you doing with my guardsman. Bring him here and present yourselves!
Grym has been keeping a hand on Grau as he needed it. So the ranger helps Grau foward to present himself before the authoritative woman.
Grym only speaks if prompted, he would prefer to have someone else speak for the party. But will respond with the following things...
Thorgrym of Bridgefront.
I've met Sgt Grau before working for the guard. He asked for assistance getting back to the citadel.
Sense motive roll
Field Marshall Kroft! Odric the Stout at your Service. Odric bows deeply and courteously. The good Sergeant Grau has enlisted our aid in returning him to his appointed duty. As citizens of Korsova, we are at your disposal in any way we might be useful on this night of chaos, upheaval and disorder. Please madam, do with us as you wish, I am at your service, however honor dictates I maintain my watch over Sergeant Grau until relieved.
Odric, while presenting a rough exterior can demonstrate excellent etiquette when the situation demands it. A virtue gained from years of listening to tales of the virtuous told by the unvirtuous. With a polite gesture, Odric indicates the mob, his weapon and his willingness to lend a hand.
Ferox presents himself to the woman. His Key is clearly on display. Ferox tips his hat to the woman, then pulls the brim down to protect his eyes from the midday sun. The pain from the crocodile bite allowed for only a fitful rest the previous night. Ferox is quite glad that the alchemist was open for business this morning, considering the chaos in the rest of the city.
Ma'am. I have not spoken with others of my order today, having just recently learned of the death of the King. I am not aware of their deployment in the city at the moment. If I can be of any assistance to you now in returning order to Korvosa, I am at your disposal. I will let my companions speak for themselves in offering their aid, but they are a capable bunch if you require the help.
Grym simply nods in agreement with his comrades words.
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You do recognize the field marshall. She beckons for you to join her. An inquisitor of Abadar seems exactly what she's looking for. Without a word (but with a quick battery of hand signals) she calls forth a pair of guardsmen barely old enough to be considered adults. They lead Grau away. She literally pulls you aside, he hand on Ferox's arm and crooked smile in Odric's direction.
Gentlemen, it is true, the King is dead. I can't share with you any details - as we have an investigation involving all the might and magic in Korvosa. What I can tell you is that the city is rioting, and it's divided on their feelings. We've got all hands on deck and as of this morning, we've calmed the city down.... mostly. I'm stretched to my limit though. I am authorized in times of emergency to use volunteers , and this includes a stern look at the Abadaran, to assist in keeping the peace. What brought you to the citadel anyway? It can't be just Sargeant Grau....
At the Field Marshall's question, I give Ferrox a nod, clearly meant that I'm OK with him telling her our reason for being there.
No. Not just Grau. For each our own reasons, we came together to confront a local low-life by the name of Gaedren Lamm. Yesterday, he met his end at our hands. Among his possessions, we found a brooch.
Ferox gestures to Odric to produce the brooch for the Field Marshall.
We were given to understand that it was stolen from the Citadel. We were on our way to return the brooch when we stumbled upon, or more accurately, Grau stumbled upon us. It was serendipity that we all were headed here.
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First bit of good news I've heard in two days, and two pieces at that!" Lamm was scum and an open sore on our city. The queen has been.... inconsolible. I daresay that having this brooch returned may be just the catalyst to snap her out of it.
The path to the castle is clear. Let me give you a letter of introduction. That is indeed her majesty's brooch. Take it and go. If she doesn't spend too much time pinning roses to your chests come back and see me. I have an idea.
The field marshall snaps her fingers and yet another aide-de-camp produces parchment and ink. With a confident hand she signs her name and gives the paper to Ferox.
Go, the sooner we have a functioning monarchy, the better!
Morkeleb is pleased--only slightly visibly, but by now the more perceptive of you know he tries to keep a poker face--that he was right in the assumption that the gain from returning the brooch would outweigh the monetary gain for fencing it. He looks around at the group, and gives a slight, but firm nod. Good choice. Let's get to the queen, shall we?
We shall!
Odric is well pleased with this turn of events. To finally be a part of something important, something momentous and to be an agent of justice, with a letter of introduction from the Field Marshall herself, heading to meet the Queen...
Sitting on a barstool just days ago, these were all just drunken imaginings to Odric. This is real, and he is savoring it!
Morkeleb, you are wise and I have found my faith in you well-founded. You give good counsel and are fearsome in a fight, in your own wizardly way. I feel like I've met a man I might consider a true friend in time.
As he walks, the big man sucks in his gut a bit, pushes out his chest and tries to look as heroic as possible. the gleaming eagle's head hanging by his side is prominently displayed, not so much as a threat, but as a symbol of his manly readiness for violence. Also he thinks it looks amazing and fearsome, and he wants to show it off a bit to the wealthy lords and ladies of the palace.
Why, Odric--you seem positively giddy. Let us see if your prediction holds.
Morkeleb uses Odric's quasi-heroic strut to keep himself as unobtrusive as possible--not actively hiding, to be sure, but simply keeping a low profile and calm demeanor.
Ferox gives a slight shake of his head at Odric's enthusiasm.
No good deed goes unpunished, he thinks. He recalls his last letter from Iselda. She and her sigh girlfriend had taken to drinking male troll piss, expecting to grow hair on their nipples, and bragged of their their greater machismo.
Ferox tightens his grip around the paper the Field Marshall handed him.
We'll return as soon as we can, he tells her.
With that, he follows after Odric and Mork to the castle.
Grym is bouncing back and forth between being happy and sort of excited that they are going to see the Queen and then being down right nervous at the prospect of making some sort of mistake of manners while in the Queens court. He keeps a close eye on his comrades ready to bow or kneel or whatever at there prompting.
He recalls his last letter from Iselda. She and her sigh girlfriend had taken to drinking male troll piss, expecting to grow hair on their nipples, and bragged of their their greater machismo.
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...The trek to the castle is mercifully uneventful. Still the soaunds of rioters clashing with the guard assails your ears, but the action never gets in your way. As a terrifying testament to the power of whatever mighty overlord ruled this land thousands of years ago, Castle Korvosa’s long shadow looms over the city. A magnificent achievement of architecture, the castle walls and spires rise high into the sky above. The entire structure looms even higher for its ancient foundation—a Thassilonian ruin in the shape of an immense flat-topped pyramid. Although one corner of this impressive foundation has fallen into ruin, the additions built onto the sides by eager and talented Korvosan masons have created one of the most recognizable landmarks in all of Varisia. Castle Korvosa can be approached from all four directions—ramps or stairways allow access up the sides of the pyramid to the courtyard surrounding the central structure. Normally, petitioners to the monarchy such as yourselves would approach from the Great Ramp, wait in the Public Courtyard to speak to the Korvosan Guards on duty, ad hope for a chance to be heard. In these frantic times, the Castle itself has been locked tight and bristles with pikes and crossbows. Guards meet you at the base of the ziggarut foundation.
Halt in the name of the K..Queen. These are dark times citizens, and you have no business in the castle that will be attended to today!
Field Marshal Kroft says otherwise, good guardsman. I nod toward Ferrox, who holds the note.
After Ferrox hands it to them . . . May I assume that we should see Her Majesty without delay?
Knowledge (Engineering):
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The guards converse with themselves for a bit before returning their attention to you, Truth be told gents, I'd have let you in without the letter. We're under orders to send in any trustworthy looking group bearing weapons. Those weapons, however, will have to be left behind. I don't think that's a wise decision, but orders are orders.
A group of obviously nervous guards armed with heavy crossbows and swords escort you up to the castle. As you reach the top of the pyramid and the wide stairs curling up to the castle’s third floor, where the Crimson Throne awaits, you are greeted by a beautiful woman dressed in magnificent full plate armor—the queen’s handmaiden, bodyguard, and closest companion. She introduces herself as Sabina Merrin. Sabina: “Greetings. They tell me you’ve something that belongs to the queen. Is this correct?”