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Your boots squash with fetid water as you plod through the Puddles. A thick fog hangs in the air, seeming almost to caress the flesh with an unnatural chill. As you stand outside the Soggy Piper in a foot and a half of brackish brine, you try to recall what was so damned important to demand your presence in the half-flooded slum during Absalom’s rainy season. You remember your meeting at the Lodge just a few hours earlier with your Venture-Captain, Adril Hestram.
A bear of a man with only a few teeth remaining in his head, he motioned you into the meeting hall with a casual wave of his grizzled hand. The human captain outweighs most of Absalom’s half-orcs, and though a layer of beefy blubber coats his frame, those of you who have tangled with him in the Lodge sparring ring know that beneath this thin veneer of fat lies nothing but solid, steely sinew. Adril’s wild beard wags to the ponderous shake of his massive head as he examines a scrap of ancient parchment on the table before raising his eyes to greet your gaze and speaking:
"Come in then, friends, and thank you for answering my summons so swiftly. The society is in need. An old and quite penniless historian, a bespectacled wag-beard by the name of Yargos Gill has recently made a discovery in an old archive that we have a great interest in obtaining: an ancient codebook, left behind in the wake of one of Taldor’s many failed attempts at invasion. This several-hundred-year-old text would prove an excellent addition to our collection, and must be preserved."
"Yargos makes his home in ‘The Puddles,’ Absalom’s poorest district, suffering from a well-known reputation as a haven for lowlifes. Following an earthquake ten years ago, parts of the Puddles now rest below sea level, resulting in frequent and untimely flooding. Those who can afford not to live there—don’t."
"The district is the stomping ground of pimps, harlots, addicts, knifers, and hoards of unseemly derelicts. It’s never been a kind place, but recent reports reveal some new nameless terror on her waterlogged streets. Several persons claim to have seen cloaked, skeletal-like figures marching through an unnatural fog. Ill tidings indeed. Tracking down Yargos is now a priority - lest some yellow-toothed thug cut him down, or one of these strange wraiths carry him beyond the pale. Find him, fellow Pathfinders, and find the codebook. Your exploits will be recorded in the Chronicles if you succeed."
The memory fades as a fresh deluge of cold seawater rounds a bend in the lane and assaults your knees. After searching for Yargos at his favorite eatery, the Soggy Piper, you learned you just missed him. According to the Piper’s staff, a gang of dangerous young tattooed toughs arrived ahead of you. They grabbed Yargos and several of his friends from their dinner table and dragged them to a nearby cliff at the edge of the Puddle District. The watch was called, but they will arrive too late, as they often do in the Puddles, when they bother to venture there at all.
It is early evening, the first Wealday of the month of Desnus, an old man is about to face some awful fate at the sea cliff known as Torsen’s Maw, and you are no closer to finding the codebook Adril sent you for. Looks like it's time to hustle!
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Brayne's forehead puckers and eyes squint in disgust with every tread across the mud filled lands. "Garduk, do you remember the time we were forced into the wilderness for days? Why does this feel worst?" He complains and groans to his fellow Pathfinder.
Unusually pale, striking, and well groomed, the half-orc Brayne dons fine clothes that are weathered, and slightly ripped at the hems strongly suggestion a noble upbringing. Even more bizarre, is that he walks with a limp and mutters to himself so often, it's almost as if he has conversations under his breath.
Speaking aloud,"This codebook better be worth the effort, and at least have some sort of magical value... Well of course it should be, my clothes are utterly destroyed and you're not here to sort it out!"
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A tremendously tall and well built human sloshes his way through the tide, with far more grace than expected from a man his size. His usually shinny breastplate appears dull with the lonesome light and cloud cover, making the adventurer seem even more out of place in the squalid surroundings. On his hip rest two kamas, connected by a strong chain- though the way Ischell carries himself, he seems just as dangerous unarmed. The human is Sir Ischell de Ivocus- though you would not be the first to think the title 'Sir' unfitting (or even simply made up).
"I didn't sign up for this, " he says, punctuated with a long, drawn out "man!"
Listening to Brayne next to him- Ischell glances about the party- seeking eye contact to confirm that it is Brayne, and not him, who is crazy.
He trudges on, trying not to let the conditions get in the way of his eternal optimism. "Rain and Sun, Ups and Downs. Gotta roll with it, dudes. Just gotta roll with it. he recites-more to himself than anyone else.
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For this I gave up a cozy chair in the Archive by a warm fire and a stack of books? Rain like this enough enough to make me miss the snow.
Responding to Brayne, he barks out a harsh chuckle. "Of course I remember! I went to all that trouble to hide my spellbook ... somewhere ... and what did we find on the first day? Somebody else's spellbook! I bet they were surprised when they got there and realized it was gone. It wasn't very impressive, but whoever it belonged to, they did have an interesting way of inscribing enchantments." He pauses for a moment. "Oh, you meant it was uncomfortable, didn't you? Right. That too. But I agree, this is worse. Except we'll sleep in our own rooms tonight once we finish the job."
Garduk grimaces, the deep scars that crease both cheeks stretching painfully. He might be trying to smile, but for anyone who has not met him before, it is impossible to tell. The tall, scrawny half-orc is dressed in stained, second-hand clothes, scorched in places from fire or acid, suitable for travel on foot, a bandolier with various vials and flasks slung across his chest, wands jabbed through loops on his belt for easy access. A dagger, billy club, and a couple of pouches hang from his belt as well, and a crossbow is slung over his shoulder along with his with his pack.
As the party begins slogging towards Torsen's Maw, he clears his throat, and begins to speak. His voice is gravelly, and thickly accented with a combination of Skald and something rougher.
"Hrm. This is going to take a little longer than Venture Captain Hestram thought. As usual. I suppose we may as well introduce ourselves?" He pauses for a moment to make sure his cloak is secured and protecting his pack from the worst of the rain, and pulls his hood down a little farther to shield his eyes from the water dripping off of it.
"I'm Garduk. I'm a student of the arcane, I guess. Mostly self-taught, but I've been working in the Archive since I got to Absalom and the Master of Spells has insisted that I use some of time there studying with some of the other wizards who work there."
As they continue trudging along, he pulls a wand from his belt and taps himself with it, muttering something quietly. Through the murky water, pale white glow appears around his sodden boots, then quickly expands, rising up from the water to cover his legs, his torso, arms, and finally his head, then disappears
He wiggles the wand at Brayne, offering to use it on the unhappy aristocrat as well.
Garduk nods at Harry, Ischell, and Vasily. "Brayne and Kulga, I know already, but I don't think I've met any of you before. Where are you from? Have you been in Absalom long? Know anything about the Puddles, or Torsen's Maw? What did you do to convince the VC to put you on a cushy job like this one?"
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"Orignially from Taldor. The name is Sir Ischell de Ivocus- but don't call me sir. Sir is my father. I never really fit in with the elites, ya know what I mean man? I left the businesses and estates to my brothers- and somehow found my way to the temple of Irori. Dudes there took good care of me and I understood what had been pulling at me all those years- the call toward enlightenment."
Ischell smiles broadly, until he quite startlingly remembers that its gloomy and rainy. "Stuff like this builds character, man. All of it is an experience to guide us, and in each thing a lesson for us to learn." he says, as though it was the most profound thought. His silence feels as though an expectation of others offering agreement or praise- and when it doesn't come he changes the subject to avoid anymore awkwardness.
"I see you use a fair number of wands. Would you mind keeping hold of this? I can use it sometimes- but dude, it's pretty hard."
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Kulga's stormy expression matches the weather perfectly. After tersely introducing herself, she wraps a simple cloak over her armor, and more importantly, the rather threadbare finery she wears beneath it. "Nasty weather for it."
"I've got plenty of character already," she grouses, "I just hope Yargos doesn't waste our time once we save him."
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A Sylph who somehow manages to look grey and grumpy even for a Sylph trails behind, his duster billowing behind him in winds that aren't there, ignoring the muck and damp that might hold it down.
Names Harry. Friends call me "Hotshot". Used to knock the lights outa folks for calling me that, but it grew on me.
Other than his billowing duster, he also carries a object across his shoulders wrapped in wax paper to protect it from the weather and grim. He pulls a bit of the paper off, revealing a musket underneath.
If ya haven't seen one before, this is my musket. Just stay out of the way of where ever i'm pointing it and expect a lot of noise, but it does the job.
As Kulga speaks, Hotshot snorts in agreed annoyance.
You and me both sister. I'll be able to double check his docs most likely...
He pats a book at his side as they move.
I got a noggin for book learnin'.
Those familiar with arcane stuff see that it is a heavy spellbook.
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Garduk accepts the big man's wand with a scar-twisting scowl. Do I look like some kind of priest? Does he think I'm going to patch up his wounds when he...
Garduk stops just as he is about to thrust the wand back at Ischell and correct whatever misimpression the Taldan might be under about the kinds of magic Garduk does - and does not - study. He looks more closely at the wand, turning it over slowly in his hand. He holds it up next to his wand of mage armor and his scarred cheeks twitch as though trying to force his mouth into a smile.
"This is careful work for such a simple spell. You picked this up at one of our lodges, right? I think I know the craftsman. It, what, makes you -- " Garduk spreads his arms for a moment as he thinks about the effect this spell would have on a bruiser like Ischell -- "it embiggens you, right? Transmutation isn't my focus, but of course, I can use this for you. Just let me know when." He tucks the wand into one of the open loops on his belt.
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Vasily stands in the rain hood up, eyes darting from place to place, missing nothing. "Name's Vasily." He says, with a clear hint of the Varisian about his accent and his looks. His olive skin and dark hair mark him as from those people even if he didn't speak. "I can getcha in places others can't an' I can getcha out 'gain too. Nimble with a blade an' can move quiet-like when t'need is on me. Sometimes, Society work takes...finesse. That's what I specialize in."
After the Soggy Piper turns out to be a near-miss, Vasily says to the others, "Looks like we missed 'r man, here. An' we weren't the only uns lookin' fer 'im. This codebook must be t'real deal. Reckon we head fer this Torren's Maw an' fin' t'rube an' his book..for someun else does."
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After a bit more mumbling to himself, the devilishly handsome half-orc turns to address everyone, "And I am called Brayne, I did grow up most of Taldor, but originally am of a small Manor up in Ugawa Highlands. Pleasure to be with your company although I could not say the same about being in this place." He expresses giving another look of disgust as he steps in a big puddle.
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In the time that Garduk has spent in Absalom, he is fairly acquainted with the various districts. And hence, he is not particularly surprised by the extremely run-down condition of the Puddles district. After the massive earthquake in 4698 AR, the whole district dropped below sea level at high tide, causing flooding and erosion. Naturally, the more well to do fled the region to better preserved or restored districts, leaving behind the destitute, prime for criminals to move in and take over. As for Torsen's Maw, Vasily knows that is a sea cliff where the Puddles District borders the Absalom Bay. He is familiar with the way and knows it is not far.
Youth street hoodlums are a dime a dozen here in the Puddles district, many spotting various tattoos as a gang identification. However, the Piper's staff distinctively recalls seeing tattoos of hounds on the arm of one of the thugs, and he swears he saw the tattoo moving! Garduk has heard faint rumours of a recent gang that spot programmed tattoos. Could this be the same gang? That they could afford magical tattoos hint of the power that they have consolidated.
The newly formed team of Pathfinders trudged their miserable way through the wretched drizzling rain. Despite the short distance, your boots are soon caked with stinky mud, and the ground sucks down each of your step as you plod south towards Torsen's Maw. Thankfully, in less half an hour, the dilapidated wooden buildings clear somewhat, opening into a cliff that overlooks the Absalom Bay. Finally, Torsen's Maw. And your quarry are ahead.
Six brash young toughs covered with tattoos of vicious, snarling dogs are prodding four terrified older men off the edge of a cliff into the sea. The prisoners are shackled together in a line with heavy chains, which shall surely drag them to the sea floor in short order should they tumble from the cliff’s edge into the churning waters below.
One of the toughs spot you approaching, and calls out to you, "On your way! You see nuthin'!" The group of elderly see you, and start calling out to you as well. "Save us! Help!"
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Harry rips the wax paper off his musket, throwing it in the air to be caught by the winds around him. He holds the gun level, and his eyes flash with power as his gun seems to shine softly.
Time to wake up Odigo.
With that he dashes to the side...
And gives a small growl of annoyance as the bullet flies past.
Next one won't miss! Let' the men go or we'll end the lot of you!
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Ischell moves forward, picking a location with his back pressed up against a large boulder. He sets his feet, and turns his attention fully on the yellow thug now directly facing him. In a blur, the Kama in his right hand lashes out at the gang members shoulder- followed by a strong pull striking the blade back across the enemy and returning to Ischell's hand.
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With a flourish, Harry reveals his magical boomstick and fires a shot but it does little more than sending a loud explosion that echoes through the Puddles district. Kulga decides to take on the thugs head-on, literally. She gets into position and rushes straight at one of the thugs. He is caught by surprise and slams into the one behind him . That sends the green-shirted one flying off 35ft down into the dark waters below, but the orange-shirt one manages to catch himself on the ledge, dangling over the edge precariously. Ischell focuses on the yellow-shirted one. The first swing of his chained kama flies too high, but the second one collects with a solid hit into his chest, not only slicing a deep wound but also pushing him back.
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Vasily moves to a corner of the battle, striking out quickly against a foe who is still flat-footed with his rapier. "I doan know what t'hell is goin' on here, but this caper's 'bout t'come t'a bitter end." The finesse rogue looks on with admiration as Kulga just brute forces one into the sea, leaping into the mass of bad guys.
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Before the purple-garbed thug could get his footing, Vasily is already in his face, his deadly rapier puncturing right through his heart. He falls to the ground without even a whimper.
"Let 'em go?" the blue-shirted one sneers at Harry. "Whatever ya say..." All this while, he had his hand firmly grasping the rather scholarly-looking man at one end of the chain link. With a sharp yank, he flings him over the edge of the cliff. "Yelp..." the old man croaks before he disappears. This starts a chain reaction, dragging each of the subsequent ones over the edge as well. The final man, more stocky then the rest, throws himself onto the ground in a bid to slow his fall, but the combined weight of the other three pulls him inexorably over as well. Amazingly though, he manages to grab onto a piece of jutting rock before he goes over completely, keeping the other three from falling the into the sea. He moans terribly from the effort of holding up the dangling weight though - it doesn't look like he can hold on for long!
His dastardly deed done, the thug giggles to himself and moves up towards Vasily. "You took down one of the War Hounders! You are going down next!" In coordination, the thug in red moves to flank, and swings his spiked gauntlet at the rogue. Vasily, however, proves too quick on his feet and ducks under the blow.
Meanwhile, the yellow-shirt one eyes Ischell's swinging kamas and while he wishes to take revenge, decides to go after those who have yet to act. He rushes towards Brayne and slams his gauntlet against his side. The clumsy strike does not appear to do much damage, however.
The thug at Kulga's feet attempts to climb back up, but the rocks crumble under his feet. He almost loses his grip and catches himself just in time. That still leaves him hanging precariously in front of the she-dwarf though.
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If I can double move and still make a strength check:
Seeing the falling victims, Ischell chooses to let the yellow thug go, instead rushing to the edge of the cliff. He reaches out and grabs the last of the captives- throwing his weight into stopping their inevitable descent. ”I got you dudes. If you can grab the cliff, pull on three!
If he cannot move and pull
Seeing the falling victims, Ischell chooses to let the yellow thug go, instead rushing to the edge of the cliff. But his armor holds him back, preventing him from reaching the hands of the remaining survivor. Turning, he sees Kulga cliff side with the orange gangster. His kamas spin as he whips them towards the figure clinging to the cliff.
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Harry growls as the man pushes his captives off the cliff.
Your gonna pay for that... Time to show you why they call me Hotshot.
With a flash of speed, harry moves quickly past his teammates, lifting up his gun at the blue garbed thug. Suddenly, the rifle begins to crackle with electricity as his eyes blaze with a similar white light.
BURN.
(+3 if opponent is wearing or wielding metal)
(+3 if opponent is wearing or wielding metal)
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"Stand back Garduk!" Brayne yells as he begins his transfiguration into his demonic form. The half orc grows in size as his face distorts slightly into a monster, likewise he nails deform and extend to create claws. Appearing out of thin air are tiny wisp in the forms of bats that surround the now monstrous Brayne. "Rrraarrhh."
Relying on his new found rage, he turns on the attacker with all his power, but appears to be out of control.
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"The War Hounders?" Garduk shakes his head. "You needed a special name for a group of cowards who murder old men and fall like... " -- he looks around, trying to think of the right word, but all he can see is the unceasing downpour and the raging sea beyond the cliff -- "like rain when you face opponents who aren't in chains?"
At Brayne's warning, Garduk quickly steps to one side, jamming one hand into one of the pouches at his hip. He barks out a phrase that crackles with arcane power, and rubs a small bit of wax paper smeared with butter between the thumb and index finger of one hand. The ground under the thug in the red tunic glistens with an oleaginous coating, causing the rain to bead on the surface before running off.
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Those of you with sharper hearing hear a twang coming from down in the waters, follow by a scream of pain from one of the old men dangling down below.
Ischell moves towards the dangling men, but he is just too far. Instead, he shifts his attention to the thug hanging beside them. Good thing, too, for the thug is just about to reach out to the stocky old man hanging on for his dear life to yank him off. Ischell's flying kamas interrupt that thought. His first swing misses the thug, slamming into the ground beside him, but the second swing lodges the blade deep into his back. With a scream of agony, he faints and falls down into the abyss of the dark waters.
Kulga only has eyes for the struggling elderly men, of which at least one whose screams of terror pierces through the night air and another is moaning. She stows away her axe, and manages the grab the trembling arms of the one right at the edge just before his grip slips. He stares at her with horror-filled eye and implores, "Don't let go! Don't let go!" Looking over the edge, she sees the thug she sent over earlier treading water, holding up his crossbow, as well as the last elderly man with a bolt stuck into his back. He is still conscious but just barely.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Pathfinders focus on the remaining thugs. Harry moves into the thick of action, sending a crackling bolt towards the thug in blue. With Vasily in the way, Harry has to be careful with his aim, and the bolt seems to go too high. Unfortunately (for the thug), he happens to raise his arm up at the wrong time. Drawn by the metal gauntlet, the bolt strikes the outstretched arm and courses through his body into the ground. This sends him into violent spasms as he collapses into the ground a badly charred corpse. At the same time, Brayne transforms into a demonic-looking creature, and simply rips his the yellow-shirted thug into pieces. Garkduk summons a greasy patch under the feet of the remaining thug, but before his feet slips under him, he manages to grab the tree trunk for support and stays on his feet.
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Wasting no time, Ischell opts to sheath Kamas and races to help Kulga with the prisoners. Stepping up to her side, he now notices the enemy treading water with his cross bow.
Before turning all his attention to the hanging captives he yells out "Dude with the thunder stick! Can you come deal with this guy?".
Grabbing hold of the man's other arm, he attempts to time his pull with Kulga's. "Sorry man, this has got to be wickedly uncomfortable!
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Vasily has heard rumours of a new upcoming street gang which had adopted a war hound as their symbol . Being new, there is little that he, or anyone for the matter, knows about them, except that their rise to notoriety has been rather meteoric.
The red-shirt thug looks ready to flee after seeing his companions fall in rapid succession, but Vasily doesn't give him the chance. With a quick thrust, Vasily punctures his chest with his rapier. The thug coughs out some blood before fainting away.
The sole thug floating in the water has little clue of the ill fate befallen on his comrades, or he likely would have fled with his life. He quickly loads his crossbow and despite the bobbing up and down, fires a second shot with unerring accuracy. The bolt puncture the 4th man in the neck, and although missing his throat or major artery, severed a vein. Blood starts flowing copiously down his body and the poor man falls unconscious. The elderly man just above him hears the thud of the bolt and looks down. "Yargos! He's killed Yargos! You bastard!" He calls out in defiance, even though he is likely the next target.
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Harry dashes forward, side stepping the grease slick left behind as he runs up the edge of the cliff.
One "Thunder Stick" coming right up!
He looks down at the man in the water and gives a grin.
I almost feel bad. Almost.
Lightning crackles along the barrel and he fires again.
(+3 if opponent is wearing or weilding metal)
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The thug who is still treading water looks up, and sees the business end of the barrel pointing at him. "Wait, what..." but before he could complete his thought, Harry fires yet another crackling blast straight down, like shooting ducks in a barrel. The electricity sizzles throughout the thug's body, sending him into spasms so violent that you hear bones cracking. The spasms die shortly later, and the thug sinks quietly into the dark waters.
With the thugs defeated, you face little interference in pulling up the four aged men onto solid land. One of them collapses on the floor still whimpering from his close brush with death. The other two, disregarding the manacles and chains still binding them, quickly crowd around the unconscious scholarly looking man. The stocky man quickly presses down on the wound on his neck trying the stem the flood of blood but to little avail. The other turns to the Pathfinders and beseeches, "Please, do something! Yargos is going to die!"
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Garduk flexes one wrist, and a wand pops out of his sodden sleeve into his hand. He glances sideways at Ischell, then shrugs. Might as well find out now if we're going to have a problem. He taps the wounded man with the wand and mutters the command word - "Regenate!" - to activate it.
A warm yellow and orange glow flickers into life at the worst of Yargos’s wounds, then spreads to cover all of his injuries. Over the next minute, his bleeding slows to a trickle and stops, and the deepest wounds close completely.
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Seeing the condition of Yargos, Ischell reaches for his own wand- only to be beat to the draw by Garduk. Watching the wounds heal slowly, an uncomfortable feeling washes over the Paladin. That aint natural, man, but he is able to shake his disconcertment.
In an effort to avoid watching the infernal healing process, he quickly finds Harry. "Thanks, dude! What was it you called that thing before? A muskik?..." A pause allows Harry to correct him, if desired, before Ischell continues. "Either way man, that thing is gnarly!"
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Harry spins his musket and settles it over his shoulder.
Musket. It is rather "Gnarly", though most don't act like mine does.
He pats the weapon in the same way most wizards might pat a familiar.
Odigo here let's me channel spells through the barrel as well as steel. Got the name "Hotshot" for the amount of times I exploded the gunpowder in my own face perfecting the technique.
He gives a wickedly sly grin.
Course, name took on a different meaning once I started shooting lightning bolts.
He looks down at the man healing slowly.
He blinks a few times and checks the book on his hip before nodding.
Infernal Healing. Good spell... patches up the wounds, AND you gotta kill devils to get the blood necessary for the initial casting. To bad about the sulfur smell and the nasty glow, but it's temporary and fades in a minute.
It's clear that he's, without saying as much, trying to assure his new paladin friend about the safety of the strange spell.
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Yargos' friends clearly care not what kind of healing the Pathfinders are administering, for their delight seeing their friend's injuries recover is evident. The two puncture wounds gradually close, and soon Yargos eyes flicker open.
"Thank... thank you. It seems you are our saviour." Yargos thanks the Pathfinders in an unsteady voice that is slowly but surely regaining strength. "But how did you know about our predicament?"
The stocky man sighs a sigh of relief upon seeing Yargos awaken. Looking wryly at the Pathfinders, he raises his manacled hands. "Not that I don't appreciate the rescue, 'cos I do! But uh... can you do something about this?"
Gear x5, x6 if you dive into the water to retrieve the sunken ones
Also, you notice all of them bear a programmed tattoo on the left upper arm, an animated tattoo of a Nessian war hound pack fighting among themselves.
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While Vasily and Fulgar tend to the manacles, Kulga simply begins the interrogation. "We're here for the Taldan codebook. You're just lucky they like you over at the Soggy Piper or we might not have made it in time."
Grabbing one of the thugs by the arm, Kulga drags his tattoo into the flickering light for a better look. "Distinctive. Any idea why they wanted to drown you all?"
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The locks to the manacles are poorly constructed and Harry pops them open in a jiffy. The stocky man stands up and stretches, relishing the feeling of freedom. He reaches out his hand. "The name's Samchar. Retired watchman. Glad that you came around when you did." He turns to introduce the rest. "The snivellin' one is Ilmn, a soap worker, and that's Tashen. He works at the Soggy Piper. And Yargos Gill's the one who got a second lease of life. He calls himself at military historian, but all we see him to do is read books." He then turns to Yargos. "That the codebook you were telling us 'bout? Think they can help? Certainly better than us four old fogeys."
Ilmn and Tashen stands and thank the Pathfinders profusely, but Yargos stands somewhat back. He looks conflicted as he looks at each of you. "Look, not that I'm not grateful, 'cos I am. But the entire city is in peril and I am clearly way over my head in this. And the watch ... they ... they just laughed at me!" He cast an accusatory glance at Samchar, who shrugs and mumbles, "Hey, you've got to admit you've got a rather tall tale there."
Yargos merely snorts in reply and turns back to the Pathfinders. "So I need to know - what do you want the Taldan codebook for?"
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Garduk raises an eyebrow at Yargos's statement that the city is "in peril."
"We were not told specifically what the leaders of the Society intend to do with it," he growls. "We were told that there are strange wraiths roaming The Puddles in addition to the usual dangerous lowlifes like these. Is that the peril you mean? Our Venture Captain seemed to think that you might be targeted because of the book. Tonight." He looks around at the bodies of the tattooed thugs. "Looks like he was right. And he would not have sent us out into a night like this if he did not think it were important. Probably."
Garduk throws up his hands (and regrets the gesture immediately, as the rain runs down into his sleeves). "If you have already tried the city guard, what have you got to lose by working with us?"