Laya politely declines when they offer her a seat, and remains standing. She looks sympathetically at Jom. "Were you and Mister Flynn close?" she asks.
While Calatin looks for bloodstains in the rubble, Erodel carfully moves around the worst of the rubble searching for any sign of the cause of the collapse.
Erodel perception:
Calatin Perception:Tylluan Perception:
Erodel finds several foundation stones in that corner which seem to have split right in two. Tiny cracks web the outside, while larger ones run through what used to be the interior of the rock.
Calatin andTylluan find no blood-stained rubble.
What, no bloodstains at all? That begs the question: was the watchman even killed here at all?
Calatin will make arrangements to get the body back to our base for further examination.
As Calatin is talking with some Watchmen guards about the arrangements, a small group of nervous-looking individuals come up to him.
"Uh, excuse me, uh, officer?" one of them asks uncertainly, "We were wondering. How much longer until we can start looking through the rubble? My store is pretty much toast, but some of my inventory may still be intact and I need to get it to safety before looters rob what little I have left."
Laya politely declines when they offer her a seat, and remains standing. She looks sympathetically at Jom. "Were you and Mister Flynn close?" she asks.
Jom nods vigourously. "Not really," he says. "We just knowin' each other for a year now. He was a good bloke, though. Paid his rent, did the dishes, good drinker...I gonna miss him so bad! He had no cause to go dying like that!" Jom starts sobbing, blowing his nose on a grimy hankerchief.
Finderal rolls his eyes. "Oh, for the gods' sake, pull yourself together. Yer an embarrassment!"
"Thank you Mrs. Rumblemountain, that will be all for now. We're going to join our colleagues at Irefoot Hall, perhaps we will meet again." As they leave the collapsed building Markiv speaks to Heward, "I'm curious about those missing papers, we'll have to keep that in mind. For now I think it would be best to find out what the others discovered and look for those marks at the hall."
Heward's jaw hangs a little as he looks at Markiv. "Papers?" After Markiv explains he means the missing blueprints, Heward nods, "Right. It would be good to know if the market blueprints are missing too. " He frowns, " And to know if any more are missing. "
"The Watch are keeping an eye on things, but it will probably be all right for you to access your stuff once I'm gone... but, please, can I tap into your expertise - if you find anything unusual, or anything missing that ought to be there, would you be so kind as to let me know?"
Calatin tells him the address of the offices.
"Of course, uh, officer. Anything we can do to help. My name's Rav Kinmin. I own, well, owned the Cherished Chelish."
The group turns to go, but Kinmin turns back. "Do you know if Mr. Flynn has any family? We all want to help out any family he might have dealing with this loss. Mr. Flynn was a good fellow."
The City Watch retrieve the body of Mr. Flynn and carefully load it onto the coach.
Lunchtime has come and gone and Calatin's tummy is no doubt protesting. Do the two of you wish to stay for more investigating here, or make your way back to headquarters with the body?
Laya politely declines when they offer her a seat, and remains standing. She looks sympathetically at Jom. "Were you and Mister Flynn close?" she asks.Jom nods vigourously. "Not really," he says. "We just knowin' each other for a year now. He was a good bloke, though. Paid his rent, did the dishes, good drinker...I gonna miss him so bad! He had no cause to go dying like that!" Jom starts sobbing, blowing his nose on a grimy hankerchief.
Finderal rolls his eyes. "Oh, for the gods' sake, pull yourself together. Yer an embarrassment!"
Finderal continues. "Look, we sort of knew him. I mean, we done shared this pad for awhile. I know he's from Sandpoint or Turtleback, or one of them little sleepy villages, came here looking for work. He was getting in some trouble with the Gallowed trying to suck him into that sort of life, and he weren't having nothing to do with that, so was real glad when he got the job at GW. He were a good guy, honest and real friendly like, so it's too bad he got whacked. If you catch the son of a b&%$# that did it, let us know, and we'll come break his face for ya, and if it were just an accident or something, that'd be too bad too. He didn't deserve to go out in no accident."
Lunchtime has come and gone as Heward and Markiv make their way towards Irefoot Hall. Stop for a bite to eat?
"Your friend seems extremely upset for someone you only sort of knew," Laya says to Finderal. "Does he upset easily?"
She goes over beside Jom and pats his leg in what she hopes is a comforting manner. "You nodded yes when I asked if you were close," she says, "but then you said you weren't close. I'm a little confused. Can you clarify? It's very important that we know all the details so if he was murdered, we can bring his killer to justice."
"Your friend seems extremely upset for someone you only sort of knew," Laya says to Finderal. "Does he upset easily?"
She goes over beside Jom and pats his leg in what she hopes is a comforting manner. "You nodded yes when I asked if you were close," she says, "but then you said you weren't close. I'm a little confused. Can you clarify? It's very important that we know all the details so if he was murdered, we can bring his killer to justice."
"All the time," Finderal says.
"Clara-what?" Jom asks. "What do ya wanna know?"
The City Watch retrieve the body of Mr. Flynn and carefully load it onto the coach.
Lunchtime has come and gone and Calatin's tummy is no doubt protesting. Do the two of you wish to stay for more investigating here, or make your way back to headquarters with the body?
Calatin and Erodel make their way back in the coach with the body. As you make your way around the back to the loading bay for bodies, Calatin spies a quaint little pub on the corner he has never tried, and () Calatin suggests popping over for a bite of lunch once the body is unloaded. It's a simple matter of getting one of the wheeled metal tables, bringing it to the rear door, loading the body onto it and wheeling Mr. Flynn into the cold room. Mrs. Brigglespan informs you that no messages or visitors arrived while you were out (nor any other party members).
Lunchtime has come and gone as Heward and Markiv make their way towards Irefoot Hall. Stop for a bite to eat?
"Markiv, I'm getting hungry. You know any good places out here? I don't get uptown much."
If Markiv doesn't know any, Heward will steer them into the first likely (not too expensive) spot.
Awgin stands impassively by the door while Laya speaks with them.
"Well, you gave me two answers to my question whether you and Mister Flynn were close," Laya says. "Basically, I just want to know which one is correct, or if they are both somehow correct, then how that's possible. Oh, and if you could point us to any belongings of Mister Flynn's that he has here, we need to see those."
"Well, you gave me two answers to my question whether you and Mister Flynn were close," Laya says. "Basically, I just want to know which one is correct, or if they are both somehow correct, then how that's possible. Oh, and if you could point us to any belongings of Mister Flynn's that he has here, we need to see those."
"Oh, well, I guess we weren't that close. I mean he only lived with us for a year. Is that a long time?"
Laya shrugs. "Not long for an elf, I suppose, but usually a significant time for other people. So, could you point us to any of Mister Flynn's belongings?"
Laya shrugs. "Not long for an elf, I suppose, but usually a significant time for other people. So, could you point us to any of Mister Flynn's belongings?"
Jom nods and takes you through a ratty curtain into a sparse sleeping area. A small bed holds a single dirty blanket, and a small trunk contains a few changes of simple clothing. Jom fingers a few of the items wistfully, tearing up as he picks up a shirt. "You'll find who did this to him, won't you?" he asks.
You don't find anything unusual or of significance.
Lunch sounds good to Calatin... the body's happy to wait I'm sure!
The Cenotaph Arms is a quaint little bistro/pub with a small sidewalk patio in front, serving all the foods and drink you'd expect to find at a typical establishment of this type. Walking in, you are struck by the warm, homey feel of the deep cherry wood tables, chairs, and bar. A muscular but aged and balding half-orc leans at his ease behind the bar, casually polishing a glass, while two decently-clad serving girls sit at a table in the corner. Being a bit after the lunch rush, the tables are mostly deserted.
The half-orc puts his rag down as you enter and carefully places the clean glass on a shelf behind him. "Hey, there. Good afternoon and welcome to the Arms," he calls over jovially. "What can we get you? My name's Bartimus. Don't recall seeing you folks in here before."
The two serving girls cut off their conversation to come over, all smiles, to take your order.
Lunchtime has come and gone as Heward and Markiv make their way towards Irefoot Hall. Stop for a bite to eat?
"Markiv, I'm getting hungry. You know any good places out here? I don't get uptown much."
If Markiv doesn't know any, Heward will steer them into the first likely (not too expensive) spot.
No fried pastry shops, and not too many places that Heward thinks he could likely afford. Oddly enough, given the poshness of the new-money neighbourhood, there are street vendors hawking all sorts of foods from meat pies to fried pastries and beyond. Most of their clientele seem to be working class folks who clearly do not live in the neighbourhood, many wearing work clothes in varying states of griminess.
Once your lunch is finished, you continue on your way to Irefoot Hall, arriving just after two that afternoon. Several City Watchmen stand guard as a perimeter, holding back a small crowd of gawkers, and several individuals are picking through the rubble, looking for inventory. Irefoot Hall doesn't seem to have suffered as much damage as the West Naos Market; this damage is much more concentrated, so much that one corner is completely destroyed, while the other is almost perfectly intact.
Now that they know what to look for, they easily find evidence of the same kind of damage as the Market: foundation stones split upon from the inside, with the indentations that look like fist marks in the stone.
Sense Motive
Awgin helps Laya go through Mr.Flynn's belongings.
Once done. "Thank you for your help gentlemen. If you can think of anything else that might help us to catch whoever did this, send word to the MSI headquarters at (insert address here)."
The old man walks directly towards the guards, lifting the new badge and not pausing for a reply. Once they've found the marks in the collapsed area he speaks up.
"Mr. Wallas, we seem to have found a common thread. I just don't understand what kind of material its made from. As soon as the others arrive we should ask if any of them recognize these markings," Markiv straightens up from inspecting the marks. He takes a closer at the surrounding building mumbling, "If this was caused by someone...I wonder if they are getting better at it. I'm going to look around. See if the standing parts of the building show these signs as well. I might be wrong, perhaps what caused it was simply weaker this time."
The old man walks directly towards the guards, lifting the new badge and not pausing for a reply. Once they've found the marks in the collapsed area he speaks up.
"Mr. Wallas, we seem to have found a common thread. I just don't understand what kind of material its made from. As soon as the others arrive we should ask if any of them recognize these markings," Markiv straightens up from inspecting the marks. He takes a closer at the surrounding building mumbling, "If this was caused by someone...I wonder if they are getting better at it. I'm going to look around. See if the standing parts of the building show these signs as well. I might be wrong, perhaps what caused it was simply weaker this time."
Heward Perception:
The two of you search other foundation areas, and find no cracks of anykind. Whereas the previous building had cracked foundation stones all around the perimeter, this building's damage is concentrated in the northwest corner.
Exterior: What used to be a grand, single-storey stone building of pale golden marble is now a partial ruin. The northwest corner of the building is a pile of rubble, and several other spots of the slate-tiled roof are sagging dangerously.
A: This used to be a grand entrance hall, all of the local businesses with entrances along the walls, identified by carved mahogany plaques. A classic piece of sculpture sits in the centre of the room, with benches provided for resting and viewing the art. Several expensive oil paintings line the wall, clearly for sale before being ruined by dust. The northwest walls have collapsed, leaving mounds of debris.
B: Madame Ivana’s Boutique is a shambles, her inventory destroyed. While most of its walls still stand, the silks and dresses have been completely coated in marble dust from the collapsed walls and ceiling.
C: The Cherished Chelish has sustained the most damage from the collapse. Many fine antiques (furniture, art, jewellery) lie in pieces or mangled beyond recognition. Gaps in the ceiling let in beams of dust-laden light to highlight the destruction.
D: Not so much a store front as an office, Leaps and Spells won’t be in business again any time soon. Invoices, receipts, and travel logs lie strewn about the floor, mixed with the pungent odour of exotic arcane material components.
E: All That Glitters is certainly not glittering now. While debris crunches underfoot, shafts of light from windows sparkle off of colourful gem stones mixed in with the dust and rubble.
F: Taking the least amount of damage, Kovesna’s is practically untouched by the collapse of the building around it. Thick dust coats the pieces of gold work, but a bit of polish and elbow grease (and maybe a new wall), and the gold seller could be back in business.
The map can be found on the website.
Sense Motive 1d20+1
Awgin helps Laya go through Mr.Flynn's belongings.
Once done. "Thank you for your help gentlemen. If you can think of anything else that might help us to catch whoever did this, send word to the MSI headquarters at (insert address here)."
"We will, officers," Finderal says.
Jom follows you to the door and as you turn to leave, he reaches out and picks up Laya in a giant bear hug with more sobbing. He puts her down fairly quickly and goes inside. As the door shuts, you hear Finderal yell out, "Unbelievable! Get a bloody grip on yourself! You're a complete embarrassment!"
It's about two o'clock and lunch has been skipped. Where to next?
To get some lunch.
To get some lunch.
There are plenty of cheap places to be found in both the Marches and Lowcleft, that aren't quite as scummy as the venues in Rag's End, or you can aim to get back to headquarters and eat there.
My vote is back to base, but if Laya wants to stop somewhere else, that's ok too.
My vote is back to base, but if Laya wants to stop somewhere else, that's ok too.
Heading back to base would allow the two of you to meet up with Calatin and Erodel, also (not that you know that, although getting together to compare notes is a reasonable goal at this point). Mrs. Brigglespan could easily point you in the direction Calatin and Erodel went for food.
...
"Mr. Wallas, we seem to have found a common thread. I just don't understand what kind of material its made from. As soon as the others arrive we should ask if any of them recognize these markings," Markiv straightens up from inspecting the marks. He takes a closer at the surrounding building mumbling, "If this was caused by someone...I wonder if they are getting better at it. I'm going to look around. See if the standing parts of the building show these signs as well. I might be wrong, perhaps what caused it was simply weaker this time."
....
Heward replies, "Ward." Seeing Goldroth's momentary loss at the nonsequitur, the watchman continues, "My friends call me Ward."
Then he returns to the subject matter, "You're right. Those marks look the same to me. But whatever brought the building down might not have been weaker. It might just have been better focused. While you check the structure, I'm going to have a word with some of the neighbors; see what they heard. Could take a while, see if you can find me when I'm done."
Heward actually has some words with the Watchman in charge at the scene first. Have they interviewed any bystanders? Has anyone come forward with information?
After that he will follow up any leads the W-I-C gives him, or start at the nearest building and go door to door. He will try to keep things light and friendly at all times.
After a brief intro, his questions will focus on
- Did you see or hear the collapse?
- He will ask for a description of the event and anything unusual just before.
- He will ask if they noticed anything unusual at all last night.
- Whatever answers he gets he will give them his name and the address of the unit and ask them to contact him if they think of anything.
Some diplomacy rolls:
, , ,,
...
"Mr. Wallas, we seem to have found a common thread. I just don't understand what kind of material its made from. As soon as the others arrive we should ask if any of them recognize these markings," Markiv straightens up from inspecting the marks. He takes a closer at the surrounding building mumbling, "If this was caused by someone...I wonder if they are getting better at it. I'm going to look around. See if the standing parts of the building show these signs as well. I might be wrong, perhaps what caused it was simply weaker this time."
....
Heward replies, "Ward." Seeing Goldroth's momentary loss at the nonsequitur, the watchman continues, "My friends call me Ward."
Then he returns to the subject matter, "You're right. Those marks look the same to me. But whatever brought the building down might not have been weaker. It might just have been better focused. While you check the structure, I'm going to have a word with some of the neighbors; see what they heard. Could take a while, see if you can find me when I'm done."
Heward actually has some words with the Watchman in charge at the scene first. Have they interviewed any bystanders? Has anyone come forward with information?
After that he will follow up any leads the W-I-C gives him, or start at the nearest building and go door to door. He will try to keep things light and friendly at all times.
After a brief intro, his questions will focus on
- Did you see or hear the collapse?
- He will ask for a description of the event and anything unusual just before.
- He will ask if they noticed anything unusual at all last night.
- Whatever answers he gets he will give them his name and the address of the unit and ask them to contact him if they think of anything.
Some diplomacy rolls:
1d20, 1d20, 1d20,1d20,1d20
...
Questioning the Watchmen, Heward learns that they have not interviewed any witnesses, as they had been instructed to wait for the MSI people who would be doing that, except that the MSI people had already been here and not interviewed anyone. His job is to stand guard, not talk to people. As for anybody volunteering information, there was some crazy, stinky homeless guy ranting to everybody he saw about giant snakes, but the Watchmen ran him off.
Going door to door does take awhile, but the area, being somewhat industrial and mercantile, doesn't have a lot of people who were around during the wee hours of the morning. As he's making his way back with nothing to show for his questioning, he hears the crashing sound of falling junk coming from a nearby alleyway. Peering around the corner of the building, he sees a man with a hand cart rooting through garbage. The man’s black-and-grey hair and beard are both so long, filthy, and tangled that it is impossible to tell where one stops and the other begins. What little of his skin you can see is filthy, and his entire body gives off the aroma of sweat, garbage, and sour wine, as does the collection of garbage he pushes about in his rickety wooden hand cart. He looks up at you looking at him, moves to interpose himself between you and his cart and shouts out, "Stay away! This is my stuff! You can't have it!"
Going door to door does take awhile, but the area, being somewhat industrial and mercantile, doesn't have a lot of people who were around during the wee hours of the morning. As he's making his way back with nothing to show for his questioning, he hears the crashing sound of falling junk coming from a nearby alleyway. Peering around the corner of the building, he sees a man with a hand cart rooting through garbage. The man’s black-and-grey hair and beard are both so long, filthy, and tangled that it is impossible to tell where one stops and the other begins. What little of his skin you can see is filthy, and his entire body gives off the aroma of sweat, garbage, and sour wine, as does the collection of garbage he pushes about in his rickety wooden hand cart. He looks up at you looking at him, moves to interpose himself between you and his cart and shouts out, "Stay away! This is my stuff! You can't have it!"
Heward cradles his halberd in the crook of his right arm and holds up his left hand with the elbow bent. "Easy, sir. I don't want your stuff. I just want to talk. Are you the man who came to the Watchmen near Irefoot Hall syaing that you'd seen giant snakes?"
Heward keeps about a horselength and a half away. He doesn't want to spook the old man, and even though he's confident he could take an ill-fed geriatric without trouble, he's seen enough Watchmen who have been hurt during routine encounters. It's best to be safe.
Diplomacy
The dirty man puts the junk he was holding into his cart and moves a bit closer to Heward, for all appearances as a stray dog sniffing at a proffered morsel of food.
"I might be. Could be, could be. My memory's a bit foggy though. Hunger and all. Clouds the mind. Maybe if I had a bite of something fine to eat, I might be able to remember better."
We'll go where Mrs. Brigglespan directs us to.
The dirty man puts the junk he was holding into his cart and moves a bit closer to Heward, for all appearances as a stray dog sniffing at a proffered morsel of food.
"I might be. Could be, could be. My memory's a bit foggy though. Hunger and all. Clouds the mind. Maybe if I had a bite of something fine to eat, I might be able to remember better."
Heward mentally rolls his eyes. Great. This might be the guy; might be some bum trying to cadge a meal. The things I put up with for Magnimar. He considers his small pile of gold stashed at his parent's house. Cheap enough. And if I think he's lying, I'll bring him in for vagrancy or maybe as a threat to public health.
"All right then. Let's get you something to eat and you can tell me your story."
Heward looks around for the closest food vendor.
Diplomacy:
Sense Motive :
The old man sees Heward scoping out food carts and clucks his tongue. "Oh, no, young sir. I can't eat that stuff. Cheap food is hard on my digestion, you know. You wouldn't repay me for good information with a tummy ache, would you? That place looks like it wouldn't go straight to my bowels." He points at a nice cafe across the street, the kind that looks like a meal would set you back a gold piece or more.
As Markiv is looking about for Heward, he spots him coming out of an alleyway talking with a homeless man.
"Why, everything's good today, just like everyday. The fish is fresh, I just took a turkey out of the oven, and the bread came out just before that."
He continues with a hint of a tune. " The pies they are a-flakey, the beef smothered in gravy, and the ale is stout and true. The eels are well-kippered, the taters fried and chippered, all this and more we have to satisfy you."
He passes you a menu, which contains your typical fantasy tavern fare, as well as a few sandwiches and sides.
As Calatin is mulling over his choices, Laya and Awgin walk into the place.
"Excuse me a minute," the half-orc says. He goes over to welcome the new arrivals. "Good afternoon! Welcome to the Cenotaph Arms. Please have a seat."
The old man sees Heward scoping out food carts and clucks his tongue. "Oh, no, young sir. I can't eat that stuff. Cheap food is hard on my digestion, you know. You wouldn't repay me for good information with a tummy ache, would you? That place looks like it wouldn't go straight to my bowels." He points at a nice cafe across the street, the kind that looks like a meal would set you back a gold piece or more.
As Markiv is looking about for Heward, he spots him coming out of an alleyway talking with a homeless man.
The thought of hustling the man back into the alley and beating the information out of him trickles into Heward's mind, but he keeps his voice even,"Do I look like I can afford that kind of place? What do you think they pay us in the Watch?"
"Good day, sir. I see our friend over there. Bring some stew and bread to that table." Awgin points to where Calatin is looking over a menu. He then makes his way over to that table and takes a seat. "You have any luck?"
Laya follows Awgin over to Calatin. When she reaches the table, she walks right under it and out the other side. "They always make these things too big," she mutters. She pulls out a chair and climbs onto it, standing as usual.
Laya follows Awgin over to Calatin. When she reaches the table, she walks right under it and out the other side. "They always make these things too big," she mutters. She pulls out a chair and climbs onto it, standing as usual.
Laya feels a hand gently tap her shoulder. A serving maid stands behind her holding a strange contraption chair. "Excuse me, but could I offer you a more comfortable chair?." she presents Laya with a halfling-sized chair that ratchets up to the appropriate height for the table.
The maids bring you your food orders while Bartimus the half-orc brings you ale, wine, or something stronger if you prefer. Then, with no other customers to serve, he retreats back to his bar and strums lightly on a lute.
The thought of hustling the man back into the alley and beating the information out of him trickles into Heward's mind, but he keeps his voice even,"Do I look like I can afford that kind of place? What do you think they pay us in the Watch?"The old man sees Heward scoping out food carts and clucks his tongue. "Oh, no, young sir. I can't eat that stuff. Cheap food is hard on my digestion, you know. You wouldn't repay me for good information with a tummy ache, would you? That place looks like it wouldn't go straight to my bowels." He points at a nice cafe across the street, the kind that looks like a meal would set you back a gold piece or more.
As Markiv is looking about for Heward, he spots him coming out of an alleyway talking with a homeless man.
The man starts rummaging around in his beard, sratching his chin. "Suit yourself, officer. Don't worry about little old Tiberius. Hunger will take my memories. By tomorrow, I'll probably forget all about the man that was with the snake." He digs into his beard, pulling out a still-wriggling cockroach. With a shrug, he casually bites its head off and eats it.