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GM Birch33’s Urban Campaign (Inactive)

Game Master Birch33

An urban campaign for two PC's


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HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"Guess that makes you Caius, nice ta meet you as well. Guess we have somewhere to be and a time to be there now... that's somewhat reassuring. Guess we have the rest of the day to relax. Wanna do anything special? If not, I have a shop to put in order again. But I'm willing to do whatever if you've somewhat else in mind," Torr says after reading the note.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Dropping the Caius character, Fawkes stands and looks pensive for a moment while he ponders the question. "No, I can't say that I have any plans. We'd best tend to the shop and get it operational. Mayhaps you could teach me a thing or two about alchemy while we're at it. Mark me, I don't think I'd be of any use in the production, but I might make for quite the salesman if I knew the first thing about what I was selling."


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"Sounds good... I can teach you a few basics while we reorganize and we can go from there... Somehow I think you could sell swampwater to a goblin if you set your mind to it." He chuckles.

"Well, these are reagents and they go over here. You can tell what they are by these marks here. You don't really need to know what the marks mean unless you're really interested, of course. These over here are catalysts and are marked this way... They go over here. Important not to mix them up... This is where we put finished items like alchemist's fires, and sunrods and the like... I see he didn't leave much of anything, but that's okay... simple things like that I can make and they are the staple goods."

Torr goes about moving things around with Fawkes' help, putting them in the right places, which Binn's boys probably didn't know or care about.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

"Swampwater to goblins? Well, that's easy. You just have to tell them that they seem to have a problem with horsewater in their swamp, and offer up your own swampwater, making sure to point out that not only is your water horse-free, but that if they inhale deeply, it even smells a bit like pickles. Goblins love pickles for some reason. Mark me, pickles are a tasty snack, but it takes a goblin to truly appreciate a pickle." Following Torr's lead, Fawkes manages to make himself as useful as possible without understanding the organizational scheme. He tries to pay close attention to where everything goes, separating the symbols in his head. "Do we sell reagents, catalysts or material components, or do we keep to selling finished alchemical products? And do you gather the reagents yourself, or is there some sort of supplier?"


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"I think we should keep to selling finished products... there isn't a lot of profit in selling the components, especially not around here. Just have to have time to make the finished product, that's the only issue. Some things I may have to gather myself, since I have no apprentice, but others are simply easier to purchase. Except for the most expensive things, which Pedrach took with him, we're pretty well stocked with a lot of things. And a lot of finished products don't require those expensive components. So hopefully, there should be enough here to make at least one or two month's rent off sales of product and still have enough left to buy what we need to make more. I will probably need to take a complete inventory to be sure of course. But that can wait til tomorrow or whenever there's time."

Torr looks around at the now-organized shop and workroom and sighs. "I hope I'm up to this. I know I know this stuff, but I've never had to run the shop by myself before. Well... I guess you never know until you try, eh, Fawkes?" He manages a smile, then shrugs.

He peers outside, and notes the position of the sun. "It's getting later in the day. Maybe we should change and get ready for this meeting we need to attend. I don't know about you, but I'm going to change into something more... I dunno... non-descript?"


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

"I don't know how to tell you this, but nondescript isn't going to be easy for you. What do you think Jake Blacklee would wear? As long as we look like run-of-the-mill thugs, we'll have the run of the mill!" Fawkes pauses for another moment in thought. "Do you think it would be harder to run a mill or an alchemist's shop?" Shrugging, Fawkes heads to his room without waiting for an answer.

You seem to be ready to fast-forward, and I am too.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

yeah, a ff is fine with me - sorry I've been afk for a while and missed your post til now.


You arrive at the inn at the prescribed time. It is in a run-down part of the area - but then around the Shingles it's all run-down. What's different is the amount of levelled buildings around here, as if properties have fallen so much into disrepair that they've been allowed to literally fall apart. It's quite likely that that process has been speeded up by people helping themselves to various parts of the derelict properties.

The inn is typical for the area. It's warm, has a lively atmosphere and is somewhat pungent. The typical local probably washes less often than they celebrate their birthday.

The barman greets you. He's a red-headed hafling with rosy cheeks and a leathery skin. "Evening gentleman, I ain't seen you in these parts before. What's your poison."


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Torr dresses in as nondescript a fashion as he can, in brown clothes, not too clean, typical for the area. He wears a hooded cloak, keeping the hood up to hide his scars as much as possible.

Before leaving the apartment, he'll bring up a salient point. "Perhaps it would be best if Caius did most of the talking, since you seem to have a gift for it. Doesn't mean I won't talk, just if there's more to do than just listen, you should speak up. I got the impression from Binns our job is to listen and remember what we hear, but there might be a little talking required."

Once he's outside and on the way, he'll try to 'get into character' as Jake Blacklee, a local lowlife and nothing more. He will keep his mind on the task at hand and put the events of the past day behind him for the time being.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Once inside the tavern, Torr turns a glare on the halfling for a second, licks his lips for a second as if tempted by the offer of a drink, then softens his expression. "Ain't been in here before. We've come for a private-like meetin'" He turns his gaze for a brief second to the patrons around him before turning back to the halfling at the bar.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

"Well now hol' on there, Jake, no need t' be so ru'e abou' it." Turning to the bartender, 'Caius' grins amiably. "Like 'e said, we're 'ere fer a mee'in', but I'd be 'appy t' sample some of your wares. One mus' be sure not to refuse such 'ospitality, Jake. I'll 'ave some wine; I'm feelin' a bit fancy tonigh'." Turning away from the barman, he nudges 'Jake', looking about in appraisal. "'s a nice place, this is. I coul' get used ta mee'in' in places like this! 's much be'er than the usu'l spots. It don' even look like there's a choker 'angin' abou'! 's even got lights! We're movin' on up, we are, Jake!"

AFAIK, at least one of you is from the UK, so I beg your forgiveness in advance for what may be an incredibly inaccurate dialect.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

It's not me... I'm from sunny california! :)

"An ale then," he growls out at the halfling, since 'Caius' encouraged him to order. "Nice, warm, yeah, could get useta a place like this."

He admits even to himself, This place isn't near as bad as I was expecting from the surroundings. It's warm and inviting inside. A little out of our way, but I'll have to remember it. Could be handy to have someplace else to go besides the usual local tavern.

He takes a moment to look around at the other patrons, not exactly taking the time to size them up exactly, just getting a general impression.


As soon as the barman has handed you your drinks, he smiles conspiratorially, winks and says, "So you're here for the meeting eh! Follow me then."

He comes out from behind the bar and leads you to a door at the back of the inn. Opening it, you see it leads on to a set of stairs. You go up to the first floor, where he opens a door off a small corridor. He ushers you in, where you see a large table with a dozen chairs placed around it.

"You're first here. Make yourself comfy and I'll send one of the girls up with some more drinks."

The barman sweeps out of the room and a matter off seconds later, a hafling barmaid enters with a tray containing a bottle of wine and a pitcher of ale. "Gents..." she curtsies and without waiting for a reply, she's left the room.

The room is plain and windowless. The table and chairs are the only furniture to be seen. At least it's warm!


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

"Y' 'ear that, Jake? She called us 'gents'! What a classy wench! D'you thin' it'd be polite t' wait fer th' others, or d'you thin' we can start drinkin'? That wine's lookin' quite tasty!"

As he keeps up the act, Fawkes seems to be acting less and less, the character becoming more and more real. Again, the half-elf takes on a sort of different countenance without really changing. His clothes seem a tad more rumpled, his hands seem just a bit grimier. His fiery hair looks just a little less washed, a bit more matted. But the excited grin doesn't change one bit, as if a reminder to the world that there's still a wily Fawkes underneath it all.

Prestidigitation, naturally.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"So, who's polite?" He helps himself to a drink without waiting for others to arrive. He pours some wine for Fawkes as well as his own ale. "Taste away... Didn't expect we'd be the first here. No reason ta waste any time waitin' though."


You drink and wait. You wish you could open a window as it's getting very hot in the room.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

'Caius' fans himself with a hand, pouring another glass of wine. "'s gettin' a bi' hot 'n here, don't you think, Jake? Don' get me wron', it's be'er than mos' o' th' places we been lately, but there ain' even a fire goin'! I's bloody swelterin', i' is!" A bead of sweat falls slowly down his face as he talks, punctuating his point. At the last, his tongue licks out and catches the salty droplet.


As the warmth and alcohol both comfort and overwhelm you, you find yourselves fighting the urge to sleep until…

Torr:

The courtroom buzzes with nervous anticipation. Dozens of eyes, from the crowd behind you and the jurors’ box across the aisle, focus on you. The expressions range from contempt to pity, but there is no forgiveness in their faces. The magistrate slams down his gavel repeatedly and snarls for silence. The murmur of the crowd relents as the stocky magistrate draws up to his full height, smoothing a silver beard with one hand as he sets down his gavel and focuses on you with shining green eyes. “Jarbin Mord. For the brutal and savage slaying of your own wife and six-year-old boy, it is the verdict of this jury, with which I concur wholeheartedly, that you shall hang by your neck until dead. May the gods take mercy on your blackened soul.”

Fawkes:

A clack of wood on wood is followed by a whip crack of rope drawing taut. The crunch of vertebrae echoes off the walls. A man’s booted feet twitch freakishly as his last breath rasps from his ruined throat in a choking death rattle. You suddenly realize the man is you, and you look down in horror at your own twitching legs. The crowd jeers with delight and laughs as you rasp your last.

Slowly, the dream fades away as you return to consciousness, but the sight that greets you is almost as disturbing. The dying grey light of sunset peeks through slits in boarded windows, barely illuminating a yawning courtroom replete with pews and a towering bench covered in cobwebs. A shadowed mural on the domed ceiling above depicts Abadar with his golden breast-plate, locked in mortal combat with Norgorber, Calistria, and Asmodeus, holding the trifecta of evil at bay. You find yourself in a jurors’ box, and you are not alone. In the other chairs, figures stir in the darkness, each emerging from troubling dreams into a new nightmare.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Torr looks down at himself as if unsure of who he is as well as where he is... He slowly looks around at the others in the juror's box before turning his attention to the larger scene around him, those things that lie outside the box. Who and what am I sharing the box with and how did I get here? They all look like they are wakening from a dream, same as myself... What's going on here? I am ... was... somewhere else, doing something else... and now I'm here in a jury box? Am I still dreaming? Is this just another phantom vision?

Are we aware enough of ourselves and where we were to think that maybe the drinks were drugged? Because that is my first thought and perhaps Torr would think of it as well, IF he's aware of the recent past while in the midst of the 'dream.'


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Frantically, Fawkes scrambles for his throat, checking to make sure it's still there. He pants heavily, his heart racing. I haven't had nightmares in years! And certainly never anything like that. Calming down, he looks around the courtroom he finds himself in. The fading mural above seems oppressive, the dingy, shadowed room confining. Suddenly realizing just where he is, he gasps in horror, covering his mouth to muffle the sound. No! Take me back to the dream! Rip my throat out! Tear me limb from limb! Just...anything but jury duty!


As the effects of what was obviously a sleeping draught start to wear off, you are able to better take in the scene. 

Rows of dusty benches, several askew or knocked over, are lined behind a waist-high partition separating spectators from trials. A dusty wooden jurors’ box, rickety from generations of termites and time’s cruel fangs, stands against the south wall. A high bench covered in muslin rests against the east wall. Two thick tables once stood facing the bench; now one has been smashed to kindling. A smaller table rests against the south wall.

You count eight people other than yourselves in the room – all of whom are similarly shaking off the grogginess of whatever potion was used to induce sleep.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"What the... ?? Drugged?" Torr looks around the room at the surroundings and the others in the room with them then over at Fawkes. "Whatever it is we've gotten into, I fear it's not good... I'm sorry I got you into this."

Torr struggles to his feet and stands swaying as he shakes off the effects of the drug as much as he can... His first thought is to look for exits, as well as at the other eight people.


You each take in the eight people around you as the strained silence continues.
 
The first is a large man with a broad, strong face and tousled mass of wiry dark hair.
 
The second is a small man with poor-quality white makeup that cakes unseemly on his brow and cheeks. He wears a jester’s motley which is stretched tight over his hanging paunch. As he opens his mouth, you see several of his teeth are broken.
 
The third is a very beautiful woman who favours bright red lipstick and wears a figure-hugging gown of red silk that accentuates her considerable curves.
 
The fourth is a rosy-cheeked, slightly portly old man dressed in threadbare finery with a broad handlebar moustache, a frayed top hat and a monocle.
 
The fifth is a fearsome looking half-orc.
 
The sixth is a tall, sturdy man, with more white than black hair on his handsome face.
 
The seventh is a thin woman with an athletic build.  Her beauty is accentuated with  pouty lips and  auburn hair that  she wears in a topknot.  Her figure hugs her tight, low-cut dress.

The last is a grizzled dwarf.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

After taking in the sight of the eight others, Fawkes tries to break the ice. "Did everyone have a nice nap?"


As one, the remainder of the people regard Fawkes. As if a spell is broken, low muttering breaks out amongst the group, although you are both excluded from the discussions.

You can only hear fragments of the conversations - as everyone appears to be talking at once and the effects of the drug are still affecting you.

A soft woman's voice says, "Here again, it can't be."
A gruff male voice, "If I find out who's playing tricks."
A high-pitched male voice, "It's no coincidence. It's been ten years to the day."


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes turns to look at Torr, giving him a quizzical look and a shrug. In a low voice, he asks, "D'you think this is part of the plan?"


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Torr shrugs and looks at Fawkes with the same sort of confused look. "Seems we are part of something ongoing..."

He turns to one of the others and tries to get their attention. "What did he mean 'ten years to the day?'... Has this happened to you before? I'm sorry to question you, but this is my first time. What's going on, exactly?"


The muttering stops and the group stare at you both.

The dwarf is the first to respond, his gravelly voice echoing around the room. "Beggin' your pardon, but who are yous and wot you doin' 'ere? These folks," he gestures to the other seven, "Well, I may not be so keen to see 'em but I knows 'em. You twos, I ain't never seen before."

The group now eye you suspiciously, even with a little hostility.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes' eyes dart back and forth between Torr and the crowd, remembering his instructions: 'Listen much, say little.' No choice but to go with the flow. Picking his character up right where he left off, he looks right at the dwarf, leaning forward in an over-exaggerated display of sizing him up. "I ain' never seen you 'afore neither, I wager." Standing back up straight, he assumes a hunched standing posture. "I'm Caius. Who're you? I think I gots a right t' know you as well as you me, and seein' 's how we're makin' introductions, meet me partner, Jake."


The dwarf eyes you suspiciously. "You're wearing well Caius, not only 'ave you lost twen'y pounds since I last saw you, you've lost twen'y years too! I reckon we're looking at the reason why we're all here. Spit it out before we knock it out of yer."

The remainder of the group are now giving the pair of you hostile looks.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Confusion and suspicion cloud Fawkes' eyes, until he lights up with an idea. Looking back to Torr, he grins excitedly. "Jake! It's 'appened to us this time! I always thought Pa was jus' full o' it!" Looking back to the others, he re-introduces himself. "I s'ppose you mus' think I'm me Pa. If'n you knew Caius Twining, he was me father."

Bluff: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Oh s##&.


The dwarf shakes his head. "T'ain't for me to says anyone's telling tales but Caius is black...and a hafling to boot."


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes blinks, keeping a straight face. "I was adopted."

Bluff: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Just can't win. But that's alright.


You can see the dwarf's face getting redder and redder. "Adopted...adopted," he bellows, "Caius is no more black than I am and 'e's taller 'an you. Start telling the truth afore we start gettin' physical like."


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright, just calm down. My name is Fawkes, and my associate here is Torr. We were sent in place of Caius and Jake. We don't have any details; we were told to just shut up and pay attention. At this point, I think you all know a sight more about all this than we do."


The tall man with the white flecked hair steps forward now. "Sir Rekkart Cole at your service. We are, and Caius and Jake were...jurors in this very courtroom. But that was ten years ago, when it was still a functioning building. Why we are here now, is a mystery to us all dear boys."


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Torr listens quietly to the exchanges and contemplates that very question... why are we here? Binns set us up for this for some reason, what could it be? was an injustice of some kind done? does someone want to avenge that perhaps?


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes turns his attention to Sir Rekkart. "Maybe it has something to do with the events of ten years past; in fact, it seems the most reasonable place to start. What happened then?" His eyes go wide as his mind races with the possibilities, and he begins gesticulating wildly. "Was it a murder? It was, wasn't it? A high-profile case, the high priestess of a secret sect of Norgorber, dead on the steps of courthouse! Killed by her own acolytes, offered up to her foul god in a cruel twist of irony!" Fawkes stops to catch his breath, and he realizes that he's gotten very, very carried away. Shrugging weakly, he tries to recover. "Or maybe it was... tax fraud?"


Sir Rekkart glances at the remainder of the people gathered. "Not much to say really. We tried a man and found him guilty of murder. It wasn't really a difficult case - it all seemed pretty cut and dried to us all. Not sure what else there is to add?"

Sir Rekkart looks to the other faces for some sort of approval and receives a few nods in return. Once more, all eyes are on the two of you.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes frowns in disappointment. He was so hoping for a tax fraud case. "Well, I suppose there isn't much else to do but sit and wait for something to happen. Did you all end up here the same way ten years ago, or is the drugging an innovative addition to the experience?"


As silence falls again, you are struck by the sun setting in the west, the last slivers of twilight painting the courthouse blood red as darkness creeps closer. This places the time at approximately six o’clock. It’s been almost a full day since you arrived at the inn.
The silence also allows your ears to hear the building’s lament as it audibly groans as the wind blows. You are filled with a sense of sadness for the courthouse - its pillars’ surfaces run with cracks and fissures like so many burst veins. The doors sag in their archway like the drooping eyes of a madman.

Local knowledge and/or Bardic Knowledge check please


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Almost 24 hours? how long were we knocked out by the drug? This place is ancient and falling apart... Where are we and why the hell are we here?

know local: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21


Torr:

You remember the old take of the Shingles Courthouse which wass haunted by the vile spirit of a brutal murderer who was the last man to swing on its gallows.
Jarbin Mord killed his wife and son with an axe, then he swung from the very gallows he tended as executioner for ten years. A band of adventurers led by Father Kelgaard of the Church of Sarenrae braved the courthouse five years ago, but only one of his band survived— a burly human named Grisom Twin-Axe, and his mind was shattered by the harrowing experience.
You recollect that Mord’s trial was swift, held amid the chaos of the abandonment of part of the Shingles after an earthquake collapsed several blocks of the district. Little evidence was brought forward in his defence, and his execution was carried out at sunrise the day after the guilty verdict was reached.
Many whisper that Mord did not kill his family, but rather was framed for the crime and wrongfully executed. They say his tormented spirit prowls the courthouse, yearning for justice.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"Fawkes, we may have a little problem here... like a vengeful spirit looking to right a wrong. Not sure how the drugs and all that were arranged by a spirit, but here's the deal. The executioner for this very courtroom, Jarbin Mord, was found guilty by this very jury of murdering his wife and child with an axe. He was executed the next day, but he might not have been guilty. He might have been framed. It's rumored he haunts this very building looking for that wrong to be corrected. Perhaps that is our purpose here, maybe just to get the jury to see the wrong in what they did, maybe to catch the person who framed him and see justice done, I don't know. But there is a mystery here..."

Torr concludes his uncharacteristically verbose speech and grows silent again, looking out over the other jurors, wishing he could read minds. Did they all convict unknowingly or was one (or more?) of them 'in on it' and aware that Mord was framed? Who framed him and why? Was it because he was the executioner here? Did he execute someone who was in fact innocent like himself? WAS he even innocent? Aaaah, too much! Stop!


As if a switch is flicked, the group suddenly become animated. Once more, many people try to talk at once and for the first time, people get up out of their seats and start to move around the courtroom.
The dwarf addresses you both, “You don’t fear lads, Old Tablark’s seen more ghosts than these walls ‘ave rats. Nothing to quake about. We’ll send this foul spirit a’packin’ or me clan name ain’t Hammergrind!”

He strides across the room, glaring around when a piece of the mural on the ceiling above breaks free from the ceiling with a groaning crack. The chunk of marble falls onto the small table on the south wall and sends the bloody axe that had been resting on it spinning end over end across the courtroom, sinking solidly into the wall of the jurors’ box.

Miraculously it misses everybody.


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

"Seems this spirit has more resources at hand than just tryin' to scare us. Since it missed, I suspect it has more in mind than simply killing you all... us all... whatever."

He turns and whispers to Fawkes. "Do you think Binns knew what he was doing when he sent us here, or just maybe controlled by this vengeful ghost? Either way it took some grand planning and coordination to get us here with the others. Not to mention getting the others here as well. What do you think?"

Torr sighs and examines the blood-stained axe closely without touching it.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes stares at the axe stuck deep in the wood, more in surprise than horror. "Well, that was suitably dramatic." In response, he ducks down behind the juror's box and confers with Torr. "I've no clue what to think, really. It doesn't seem like any of the others were aware of this 'meeting' except for us. Binns may be in on it, or perhaps we have more to fear from our mysterious benefactor than our dubious landlord. In any event, I'm sure Tablark's got everything under control. I've heard plenty of stories of haunted dwarven mines; he probably lives in one!"

Fawkes pauses to think for a moment. "Then again, Tablark sentenced the ghost to death, so he might not have it as under control as he might think. Mark me, the stories, at least the ones with happy endings, always start with righting a wrong. Or massages."

From his hiding place, he calls to Rekkart. "Sir Rekkart, it may be prudent to share the details of the case; it may not be as open-and-shut as you first thought."


The tall man draws himself up to his full height, his voice strong and unwavering. “In simple terms it was a double murder. Most gruesome. Mother and young son died by the same hand. And the murder weapon…”he stops talking and points to the axe now imbedded in the wood in front of you,”Was the executioner’s own weapon. The accused, Jarbin, was the groundskeeper as well as executioner of the courthouse. His lovely young wife and six-year-old boy were hewn to pieces in his attic apartment above this very courtroom. The evidence was compelling and we saw no alternative but to convict him. He was hanged from the very gallows he once tended. Due to the earthquake, the doors were locked tight the next day. As to how I ended up here – well it’s a mystery. I had my late-night cocoa as usual and awoke here. As surprised as you – well, perhaps a little more so.” His voice was calm and deliberate throughout - with no hint of emotion at the re-telling.

No sooner had Sir Rekkart concluded his speech than the group started to move from the benches they were sitting on. There are two exits to the room and the half-orc moves forward and opens wide the double-doors that signify the main exit from the courtroom. ”I for one” he says to no-one in particular, ”Plan to leave this place immediately.”

He strides from the room into what you can see as a large hallway beyond and then disappears from view. The remainder stare at each other, none venturing through the doors.


Male Half-Elf Bard (Street Performer)

Fawkes stands up from his hiding place to watch the half-orc leave the room. Thinking aloud, he rubs his chin absentmindedly. "I suppose if we are supposed to investigate, we'd likely have to leave the courthouse to do it, except that the courthouse itself is the scene of the crime. If we can't leave the premises, that's almost surely an indicator that the case can be solved without leaving. Or there's some other business here that we simply don't know yet. And if we can leave... that proves nothing one way or the other. What would Grishom Short-Sword do? He'd probably wave his sword around for a bit." Breaking from his thoughts, he glances around, pointedly looking for something. "Do any of you have a large sword? Really, any sort of blade will do, but it has to be big."


HP 13, AC 14 (T 12, FF 12), F+3, R+3, W+0, CMB 3, CMD 15, init +4, perc +4 human Barbarian(urban)/1

Torr cocks his head to one side, curious as to Fawkes' intent here. What good with a large sword do here?? We seem to be trapped in this courthouse until our task, whatever it might be, is done.

"Perhaps we need to investigate the apartment where the crime took place? and perhaps that is done through the other doorway - the one that doesn't leave the building?" Torr moves and opens the other door but doesn't move through it - just gazes through to see where it might go.

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