The Turning Wheel - a Zeitgeist PbP

Game Master karlprosek

PCs are members of the Royal Homeland Constabulary in Flint, protecting king and country from threats foreign and domestic during a time of rampant technological upheaval.

Map of Current Scene: No current tactical map.
The City of Flint

Campaign site
Seized Evidence Tracker

Zeitgeist Player's Guide


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With the recent influx of foreign technologies and therefore foreign influence, King Aodhan ordered the formation of a new government agency to protect the traditional identity of the Risuri homeland. Within a decade this mission had morphed into investigating significant threats to the nation, particularly those involving technology. Today the Royal Homeland Constabulary (sometimes called the Risuri Homeland Constabulary, especially by foreigners) uses a combination of investigators, spies, and warriors to root out, undermine, capture, and if necessary kill any groups who endanger Risur.

Though most activity occurs in Flint, officially the Constabulary’s central chamber is based out of Slate and headed by Lord Viscount Inspector Nigel Price-Hill, who was a commander in the Fourth Yerasol War. His Lordship’s greatest success as director was presiding over the apprehension of a group of Drakr necromancers attempting to animate undead dragons in the Anthras Mountains.

Regardless of where they are based, agents of the Royal Homeland Constabulary have broad jurisdiction throughout the nation, and enjoy mild immunity while overseas when acting in an official, acknowledged capacity. The Flint directorate stays busy thwarting arms smuggling, industrial espionage, and the sorts of magical and monstrous threats once handled by plucky self-motivated “adventurers.”

These are their stories.


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

"This is coming out of your deposit, you know!"

Mrs. Thames was clearly upset about the acid scarring in the surface of the kitchen table. It wasn't Jaelynn's fault that the woman (who insisted that she was not Jaelynn's housekeeper) had once again randomly "popped up" from downstairs, to the flat that Jaelynn - or, more accurately, Jaelynn's fiancee - rented from her, and, in a misguided attempt to "tidy up a bit," had removed the ash-coated copper plate onto which a complicated array of glass bottles, tubes, and other equipment had been set to deliver a series of incredibly concentrated, magically conjured drops of acid. It was hardly Jaelynn's fault that Mrs. Thames had removed the plate at almost the exact moment the acid drops had been released from the nozzle dangling six feet above the table.

To be fair, one could say that Jaelynn might've warned Mrs. Thames, but, in point of fact, Jaelynn had set up the experiment three days ago, and had, quite frankly, moved on to other things. Why she would have wasted any further effort thinking about when the acid was due to arrive, when there was a timer set up in the other room to remind her of the fact, was quite beyond her. And, in fact, the timer had gone off - rather loudly, come to think of it - just moments before the acid had been delivered.

The fact that Mrs. Thames had been startled by a perfectly normal alarm-clock going off (as they are designed to do, after-all), which startlement had caused Mrs. Thames to turn her head violently, slip from the stool she'd been standing on to reach the table (Mrs. Thames being a halfling, of course), send the copper plate flying (which, of course, had scattered ashes all over the kitchen, as well as shattering a number of glass instruments), and knock the table askew, just as the exceptionally high-concentrated acid droplets had been released, was clearly not something that could be blamed on Jaelynn. In point of actual fact, if anyone had cause to be upset, it should be Jaelynn, as Mrs. Thames had clearly ruined the experiment.

Jaelynn wasn't actually upset, however, as she'd already known the acid would appear, as concentrated as it was, when it did. Of course she'd known it would, because she'd designed and enacted the experiment herself. Waiting for it to actually happen was a mere formality.

No, the acid was boring. Had been for days.

Far more interesting to Jaelynn Vance were the patterns she'd noticed in the movements of the workers at the Flint shypyards. More specifically, in the effect those movement patterns had had on the traffic during her travels home from the RHC headquarters. The fishmonger on Cross Street - the one who usually had four top-end fillets available at half-past five each day when she came by - had only had two available at the same time, each of the past three days. Which, when combined with the fact that the cloth merchant on Brick Street had finally sold the complete bolt of that gods-awful blue wool she'd had on special for a month, and that Jenny and Margurite - the prostitutes who worked the corner of Cross and Brick streets - hadn't been out leaning against the streetlight pole as they normally would be when Jaelynn walked by at that time of the evening, meant something.

It meant that the shipyard workers - at least, the supervisors who lived in this part of town, as actual laborers would never be in the area of town Jaelynn lived in - were getting off of work earlier, and had been paid a bonus of some kind. Which meant some project or another had been completed - or was about to be.

Jaelynn was far too junior a Constable to be kept "in the loop" as to what projects were on the go at the shipyards, but she had other sources. And really, it wasn't terribly difficult to put pieces together. Seriously, how did the ministry expect to keep secrets at all, when iron was in short supply at the blacksmiths in town (had been for twenty-seven days), there had been a surge of pine and oak planking being delivered from the lumber mills to the shipyards three months ago, and now there was a shortage of high-end foodstuffs available in the mid-level restaurants in Flint. Clearly, a new warship was being built, was very likely to be nearly finished, and a number of nobles were probably planning to attend the vessel's launch in...

"Six weeks!"

Jaelynn turned away from the window, wondering idly how Mrs. Thames could have accurately guessed the time frame. Or even known that a ship was even being built, frankly.

"Six weeks, it's going to take me to get a new tea service ordered in, I said! On account of you destroying my last good set with those sound-thinga-whatsits, and me having to have the new one ordered in special from Danor, with an anti-magical coating on it."

Jaelynn frowned. "Sound-thinga-whatsits?"

Oh. Right. Those.

"Mrs. Thames," Jaelynn said, brushing an artfully errant lock of orange bags out of her face as she turned, "those 'sound-thinga-whatsits' were an experiment in smaller, more focused, rapid-delivered sonic evocation bursts. They did exactly as expected. Shattered ceramic teacups and saucers at a range of thirty paces. You needn't spend an exorbitant amount of money buying "magic-proof" items from Danor. Anti-magic coatings wouldn't have prevented a perfectly normal reaction to sonic disturbance. Really, Mrs. Thames...." Jaelynn paused, finally registering in the scene before her.

Mrs. Thames stood in what was left of the kitchen, her curly hair - having come free of her cap - flopped wildly around her head. The halfling's prominent nose - as well as the rest of her face - was coated in ash dust, and her skirts were soaked in what Jaelynn surmrised were the magical reagents that had once been in the now-shattered glass tubing. A silver serving tray rested on the floor, its load of pastries scattered beside a fallen stool, broken glassware, and several burnt holes in the floor, a number of which were still smoking.

"Are those blueberry scones? Oh, and you may wish to get out of those skirts, before they explode."


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

"You're joining the WHAT?!" A deep, loud and surly swiftly silenced all the other conversation in the bar as it exclaimed this with utter disbelief. The tavern quiets for a few moments and all eyes turn to the man that all had considered a sad drunken sack for a while. His voice was much stronger then it had once been, and while he still enjoyed beer and mead immensely it was no longer an obsession, meaning his words were hardly slurred at all.

The man everyone turned to face was not that man, drunken and slovenly as he had once been, but the man now known has Carl had never been pretty. The surprise evident in his features gave them a slightly uglier twist to go along with the scars across his face. "Are you a mad man?! Working with them is one thing but joining them?!"

The man he was speaking to, and the reason a large part of the crowd slowly turned their eyes back to their drink, was busy making the other half of the noise that cluttered the tavern. Clicking and whirring could be heard every time he twisted his wrist, and despite Carl's yelling his good friend Anthony managed to keep focus on his task before him. "You heard right. Susan made the offer yesterday. Good pay, good opportunities, potential grants for my research. How was I supposed to turn that kind of offer down?"

Despite Carl's clear aggravation, Tony seemed unmoved by the mans bluster, sensing from his years of experience that there was more to his actions now then just what could be seen. "I never met a man willing to go into their ranks and I'll tell ya why. They dive into your head. You know that right? No sane man willingly lets another into his mind. No other safe place in the world but that, I learned, and I thought you had learned to when you lost your shop."

Anthony frowned and looked up to Carl, pausing in his work for a moment to study the man. The sight of his drunken friends face magnified a hundred fold by his special goggles nearly made him jump and the engineer spent a moment slipping his goggles onto his forehead instead. "I learned something important a short while after that. Trusting friends is the only way to get by. I trust Susan, and if she says its safe, its safe... Besides, they already gave me the scan."

A look of horror crossed Carl's face as Anthony pulled his goggles back down over his eyes, but when the engineer was no longer looking it changed from anger and frustration, as well as disgust, to fascination and curiosity. Anthony had no way of knowing how much of the portly mans expressions were an act, but he trusted that beneath it all was the kind man that had been showing him how to defend himself. "What was it like?"

Anthony set aside the screw driver in his hand for a much smaller one, one that looked to the naked eye liked a needle. He stuck it into Carl's arm, then turned. The clicking he heard was good and seemed to please the engineer. In a slightly distracted voice, he replied, "Invasive. Painful. Terrifying. But if it's honestly got the success rate they tote then I'm more then happy to subject myself to it. Besides, they already gave me a lesser version of it when I started as a consultant. Wasn't quite as... probing... but I was better prepared this time."

Carl nods slowly, his eyes thoughtful now as he studies not the needle in his arm but the engineer working on it. He was more cunning and wise then he was often given credit for, though it was only a few years ago, when he met Anthony, that Carl started to use that quick mind of his and dust off the cobwebs. The crowd around them went on speaking of their own lives, giving the pair a privacy that was hard to find even in the most secure of rooms. Every face here was familiar, if not exactly kindly, and Carl knew em all. "Still think you would have been better off trying out for the military. They give grants too, and usually the stuff they have to deal with is pretty straight forward. You realize, you never faced the worst of it as a consultant right? That Lass, Grey, she was always protecting you from the worst."

Anthony pulled the needle out after one more turn, then shut the hatch on Carl's arm. He spent several moments with the regular screw driver securing the hatch in place and then pulled back, coming to rest on his knees. He lifted the goggles off his head and watched the arm. "Alright, lift it up and go through the motions. One through five, each function, and see how it goes. And yes, I know. I know most of them still think of me as wet behind the ears and compared to even their next newest recruit I probably am... but it's a chance... A chance to rebuild... help people... and maybe get closer to my dream."

Despite Carl's tendency to argue with most of what Tony said, he did not resist the order to lift up his prosthetic. The thing was a marvel, and while extremely crude and lacking in the magic that could make it articulate, it was still incredible in the old mans eyes. Perhaps more so for what it could do, all on its own without magic. He raised his arm and twitched his shoulder one way, then another. Anthony had originally found three ways that Carl could twitch the muscles in his shoulder without practice. He found two more with the help of a local healer. Together, the pair had crafted a prosthetic arm that could close and open it's hand, bend the elbow all on it's own, move forward, move back and finally lock into place for certain tasks. Carl tested them all as he replied, "Military'd give ya that, lad. All this R.H.C. business is going to do is leave you with a knife in your back. I don't like it."

Tony smiled as the true motive for his whining finally surfaced. It was true. The R.H.C. played dangerous games, but the fact was those games were part of what called to him, those puzzles that he would face on the job. Anthony watched Carl move the arm, studying each control mechanism in it, each gear through the open lines, until he was satisfied it was all in working order. "Say Carl, why don't you tell me again how you broke the arm I made you this time?"

Carl flushed and looked away, grumbling something to the affect of 'you damn well know how'. Carl had once been a great man who had fallen quite far. Since meeting Anthony, the portly individual had started to dust off more then his brilliant mind. This was the third time in as many months Anthony had repaired Carl's arm after what was likely some kind of brawl, and always for the same reason.

"This job is a chance to help people..." Anthony stood tall, patting the mans shoulder gently, and started pocketing his tools. "It's a chance to reach my dreams too, but my dreams are also, in the end, about helping people. I want to better my nation, just like you once did, and just like you try to do now... one mugger or cut throat at a time."

Carl grumbles some more and eyes the floor for several minutes. Despite his propensity for drinking while he did anything, his beer mug remained untouched since the conversation began. Even now, he did not reach for it. Finally he looks up to Anthony and says, "Promise you'll be careful."

Anthony laughs and pats the man on the shoulder again, then turns to leave the bar. He had to get his armor and report for duty in an hour, and he didn't want to be late for his first day. Over his shoulder he says, "Now Carl, you know I don't make promises I can't keep."


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Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

Mere inches apart, the two combatants maintained their locked gazes, each trying to stare the other down. Silent and unmoving as they had been for many minutes, neither willing to concede to the other.

And then the cat blinked.

"HAH!" exclaimed the man triumphantly as he scooped up the cat and scrambled to his feet. "Again you are losing," he said in a surprisingly gruff voice for a person of such small stature. He carried the cream-colored feline towards the kitchen corner of his tiny living space, scritching it affectionately as he went.

"Was good effort, though. You are deserving treat."

A knock at the door changed the pair's destination.

The young lady at the top of the stairs blinked at the brightly garbed man who had opened the door, her voice momentarily lost in surprise.

"Da?" prompted the man after several beats.

"Oh... excuse me, I'm looking for a mister..." she paused to refer to the note in her hand. "A mister Terksfor?"

"Tergsvor," he corrected a bit sourly. "Ralfael Tergsvor. Da, is me. You are wanting what?"

"Sorry. 'Tergsvor.' Got it. I'm Aimee Lund, I'm supposed to watch your... cat." The last word was spoken as her eyes fell on the animal he held with one arm. "Oh, is that him? He's adorable!" she fairly squealed as she bent over to get an eye-level view.

"Her," he corrected again, somewhat more sternly this time, as if he were losing patience. "Da. And is no point trying that," he added, having misinterpreted her intent in bending over. "Very good at staring, you will lose contest."

"Uh... okay," she said in confusion. She offered the back of her hand and, once sniffed and approved, petted the cat gently. "What's her name?"

"Cat."

"Yes," she confirmed, barely suppressing a giggle at the obvious foreigner's tenuous understanding. "Your cat, what's her name?"

"Is Cat."

She straightened up again and gave him an odd look. "I know she's a cat, what's her name?"

The man studied her solemnly for a few moments. " 'Lund' is married name, da? Maiden name is being 'Abbott,' maybe?"

The girl blinked in confusion. "What?"

He closes his eyes briefly and gives her a head shake and a wave of the hand. "Is not important. From another time, another place."

Ashun so mothav túke me!" he said firmly, then held the feline out towards her with both hands and spoke slowly, as if to an imbecile. "This is.."

He pauses, as if struggling with a concept, with inserting an unfamiliar word in an unnecessary place. "ekh... no... 'a'... cat. Cat's name is Cat."

She looked at him, then at the cat, then at him again. "Your cat's name is... Cat."

"Da!" he said triumphantly, pulling the feline back to him and petting it.

"Why..." she asked slowly, "would you name a cat 'Cat'?"

"Why would not? Is practical. And descriptive. You would be naming your cat 'Dog' maybe?"

She sighed in frustration. "Alright, this is Cat. You need someone to watch her?"

"Da," he confirmed, relieved to finally be getting to the point. Why were people always so difficult! He never had these problems with Cat. Or with Lizard, or Bunny, or even the rented horse he rode in on... whose name he never got. But people were always irritating.

"Da," he said again for emphasis. "Am having job now with RHC. Reporting for maybe first field assignment today. Will be here and not-here depending. Cat is needing attention and care when I am not-here. Best is you stop by every day. See me here, can go away. Otherwise come in, feed Cat, play with a while, da? Only, not staring; will be too depressing for you, blink too soon. Cat is always winning except against me. You are understanding?"

Her eyes flicked to the cat and back to the man once more. "I... the important part, I guess. Tend to your cat every day you're away."

He leaned back to pull a key off the wall. "Da, is correct. Here is key, am trusting you." As she took the key he held onto it firmly for a moment, eyes narrowing as they cut through her. "Not to be making me not-trusting you. Will not be liking me when am not trusting you."

She swallowed hard as she finally received the key. "Y... yes, sir. I won't let you down."

"Good," he said as he pressed a silver coin into her palm. "Now be going away, still have knife katas to do before briefing."

The last was said unceremoniously as he closed the door firmly in her face.


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4

Aziel sighed. It was neither a happy sigh, nor a sad one, but a bit of both; bittersweet, perhaps, as she liked to think of her people. They too, she mused, would enjoy sitting in the sun with a glass of good wine, replete with a good meal and smoking a thin cigarette of monk's leaf, listening to the Dockers mock the mucketi-mucks in their twisty little philosophical parables.

On the other hand, they would also enjoy good company, which was a claim she couldn't make.

"Didn't you hear me, devil? You don't belong here, eatin' and drinkin' with real people. Piss on off back to Danor!" The hulking man bent over her small taverna table, his thick knuckles compressing with his weight. Aziel had plenty of time to consider the brute as he turned his head to see how his friends were appreciating his great wit. Calloused hands, thick muscles; clearly a laborer of some kind, likely a dock worker in this neighborhood. More interesting to her was the tattoo on his arm; a veteran of the Yerasol war, much as she was. Perhaps he was a Docker now, or at least fancied himself one; his crude manner, however, suggested to her he was not. And even if he had been, she could never let a challenge like this slide. Not here. Not if she wanted to stay.

But it was better, she reflected as she leaned back and blew smoke from her nose, that he was not a Docker. It would be so awkward for her to continue to attend their festivities if he had been.

"So? What is it you expect me to do? Break into tears and say to you, wah wah, I will go home right now, do not beat me up?" Aziel mock-rubbed her eyes with her fists, the cigarette still jutting from one of them. The look of disgust she gave the man when she lowered them could have been directed at an open sewer. "You think I will jump in ze harbor and swim to Danor now because of your horrible breath, no? Comme un enfant, a été votre berceau bercé trop près du mur?* Imbecil," she said crossly, reaching for her glass.

The man, who had turned back to her with a nonplussed expression when her acid tone had registered, slammed his paw down to trap her arm with a triumphant grunt. Plucking the cigarette from her hand, he crushed it out on her hand. "You got a smart mouth, devil. You know what a smart mouth is good for?"

"Alors. Why don't you tell me?" Aziel sneered, revealing a row of razor teeth.

Visibly changing his mind about what he had been going to say, the man scowled at her, jerking her up to stand. "It's good for getting smart-asses hurt," he snarled in her face, pointing at where the cigarette had fallen away from her hand.

The two regarded her unblemished skin for a long moment, as did the now-silent Dockers watching. Then the man carefully released her arm and stood very, very still while she counted out the coin to pay for her meal.

"Apparently, a dumb mouth is also good for getting, how you say, dumb-asses hurt. You are not ze only one to survive ze war, mon grand singe stupide," she growled, drawing her rapier before withdrawing her tail, and the dagger it held, from the man's family jewels. "But I see you are ze only one to survive with no brain. Get out of here, and have a litter of children as stupid as you. Or stay, and never have children again. Je m'en fous."

This time, the idiot left with his friends, muttering promises of reprisal that likely would amount to nothing as he went. It was well; she hated having to justify assaulting a citizen to those pig-headed RHC interrogators. If she was going to turn on her new country and overthrow Risur, you would think they would realize she wasn't going to do it from the bottom up, she thought sourly, looking at the sad remains of the last of her monk's leaf.

"Thank you for a lovely afternoon," she told the tavernakeeper, taking note of which of the Dockers was grinning, amused by the altercation, and which seemed to sympathize more with their countryman. Work, work, work. Next I will become a Risurian myself, all cold and dry, with no wine at lunch.

"You know we would have stepped in if he'd gotten real rough, luv," one of the Dockers called from across the taverna courtyard, raising his tankard with a grin. Darkin, sometimes informant. She quite liked his graffiti; his style was improving steadily, much better than that Wallace with her depressingly sombre tones. Not terrible in bed. Besides, he had been one of those who laughed at the ignominious departure of the oaf. So, she laughed and tapped her goatlike horns with two fingers in salute, already in a better mood as she made her way back to headquarters. Lunchtime was over. Time to prove she'd really turned her coat, and do good works for the RHC.

Common:
*As a child, was your cradle rocked too close to the wall?

Just in case you guys find this useful and didn't know it was there: Theme feats on d20pfsrd.


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3

Shane woke up on the floor next to his bed. Moments later, he heard “ding … ding … ding…” near his head. In the dim light he glanced around the room, startled for a moment by the unfamiliarity of it all. He found the source of the dings, his new pocket watch. He had set the alarm feature. He fumbled about until he found button near the stem that silenced the alarm. Next he attended to the room. It was, of course, his new apartment in Flint. He thought back to an earlier time when he had felt the same panic at being in a strange place. This time he know how he had gotten there, a steamship voyage along the coast from Shale to Flint, a new assignment in a new city.

Shane sat up on the floor. Two years living as a stevedore and docker in Shale had gotten him used to sleeping on a floor with only a layer of old blanket underneath. The bed in his new place had proved too soft and each night after going to sleep in the thing, he woke up on the floor. Rising gracefully from the floor, he headed for the kitchen and put a kettle on the kerosene stove and prepared a strainer with coffee, some cinnamon, cloves, and chocolate, and set it in his old metal cup, ignoring the much nicer ceramic mugs provided in his furnished apartment. Of all the old comforts he had done without during his assignment in Shale, he missed his morning coffee the most. The smell reminded him of his parents who had died years ago and the taste reminded him of his time at the academy.

While he waited for the water to boil, he picked up his guitar and strummed some chords absently. He hummed a melody and his mind began experimenting with lyrics of a new song inspired by his thoughts of his parents. “Long ago and far away, taken …” He paused, started again, “Long ago in a foreign land, tears and rage still …” He changed the chords and gave the melody more minor intervals, “Long ago and far away, they took what they could and left me to pray.”

The kettle whistled and Shane set the guitar down to attend to his cuppa. “I know, I know, it’s s*%#, but I never promised I’d make a good docker, just that I could play the part.” The faint Highlands brogue he had long suppressed had begun to creep back into his voice. He pondered why he continued writing songs he’d never get the chance to play. A part of him liked being a docker, liked how the young faces looked at him with admiration, if not for his lousy playing and songs, at least for saying what they thought was true. More than a few of the young women had slept with him mostly out of sympathy for the indignities he claimed the government had visited on him, all lies of course, to draw out those who would try to recruit him into acts of treason or rebellion. He loved the intimacy when it came, but felt guilty for illiciting it with lies.

Cupping his hands around the steeping hot drink, he shrugged. “It had tabe dun. Fer King and Country, an' all…” He believed that, but a distant part of him admired the commoners who struggled to eke out a living and wanted a better life for their children. That they blamed the government for their problems, of course, was typical thinking for the lower classes. But they did usually mean well. Maybe it was his parents’ way of thinking. Though well off, they often complained about the injustices they thought the government visited upon the poorer classes. They didn’t trust that the King had to do what he did for the security of the country. Their deaths, sadly, proved how wrong they were, but too late to allow them to change their minds.

Discarding the coffee grounds, Shane left the coffee on the table and opened his apartment door. Next to the door, as promised by Mrs. Arkenson, was a small bottle of milk with a wax paper cap. A stray cat had gotten in a hall window and was attempting to get past the cap to the cream within. Shane pried the cap off and let the skinny thing lap what it could from the bottle before pushing it away and closing his door. He had enjoyed looking after the strays near his shack in Shale, but he knew he couldn’t keep a pet now, not with his new duties possibly taken him away for weeks at a time. He wondered how his favorite, a female he named “Annatiel” after a childhood girlfriend, was doing without his feedings of table scraps. That made him think of Annatiel herself. Again he wondered what had become of her.

After enjoying his coffee, he set two buckets of rice out into the apartment gardens and spent some time pounding his fists into the hard grains. It kept his fists conditioned and calloused and provided a good upper body workout. He followed this with a good hour of katas that included a fair amount of acrobatic leaps, rolls, and pivots. He thrashed at imaginary opponents, letting go of all his thoughts of the past and focusing on the moment.

Back inside, he considered his appearance. As an undercover RHC agent gathering intel on what the dissidents of Shale were plotting, he did not have to worry much about what he looked like. His hair was still long, down to his shoulders and it had been a day since he last washed it, so it was looking better than it usually did. It had been three days since he had last shaved and his brown beard was a shadow along his sharp jawline. His clothes were no longer the rags he pretended were all he could afford in those days. But he had chosen a loose fitting plain white shirt and grey slacks rather than the fancier garments the clerk had tried to sell him. He’d dress up if the assignment required it, but he no longer admired the well-taylored swells who wore the latest styles on their way to their cushy jobs. Some of the bohemian lifestyle had rubbed off on him and he was now most comfortable in simple clothes. He did like that they no longer smelled of stale sweat and wood smoke.

He checked the disposition of his hidden weapons, a knife in his boot, lockpicks in his other boot, some shuriken in hidden pockets of the vest, a sling under the waist line of his pants, and sling bullets along his boots, appearing as ornamental buttons, mostly hidden by his pants. He grabbed an apple and some cheese from his larder, tossed them toward the door, somersaulted across the floor in time to catch them, and stood next to the door. He opened the door, paused a moment, as if expecting someone might rush in an attack, he peered cautiously out before stepping soundlessly out into the hall. "Mornin' Mrs A," he said cheerily as she eyed him with a puzzled look from the other end of the hall. Humming the tune he had been working on before, he headed off to HQ and his first day with the new Unit 11.


Inactive

Konstantin was dozing peacefully as the ship pulled into the dock. It wasn't until most of the luggage was already unloaded that one of the workers noticed him and gave him a rough kick in the side. "Chto, Chto? I am awake." Blinking a few times, he remembered that he was just arriving in Flint, that he was pursuing a Gypsy friend, and that he was likely to die there. "Bah. Am born soldier. Will die soldier. Is nice symmetry." He mutters to himself, stretching out before tightening the robe over his round belly. With a cheerful smile, he adds "At least this time dress code more comfortable."

Stepping from the ship with barely a bag worth of possessions, and a Tome of Eschatology under one arm, Kostya begins walking in roughly the right direction of the Royal Homeland Constabulary office, wondering if he would arrive early enough to surprise Ralf. It saddened him to remember how the two had left things, and now they would be working together. Shaking his head at how strange the world was, Kostya continues walking up the street, muttering to himself about the RHC and their mission to find and capture spies and groups. "Is silly name." he decides.

As he walks, he begins making a checklist of things to do now that he had arrived in Flint. "Okay. First am checking in for debriefing. Then find place to stay. Then find game of Junta. No. Junta first, then housing." He pauses to weigh the options, and then shakes his head. "No no. I am doing all wrong." He mutters, then breaks out in a wide smile. "Tea first. Then Junta... with Ralf, then place to stay. Hopefully near hot springs."

Remembering where he was walking, he sighs and waves his hand dismissively. "Debriefing in there somewhere."


The rumor was that Unit 11's offices used to be Serial Crimes' lockup before they put in the new anti-magic cells in the basement. It was plausible- the windows were high, small, and barred, and the wood floor had suspicious scars at regular intervals- but ADI Delft denied it whenever someone mentioned it in his presence. He came out of his office now- a box of thin wooden walls with cheap glass windows at the far end of the space- thumping his cane along in front of him, whacking desks and chairs as he walked into the middle of the arrangement of desks paired back to back.

"Alright, constables, listen up!" Assistant Detective Inspector Delft had been a constable for nearly two decades now, though his field career had ended when a mimic took a chunk of his leg fifteen years ago. He was an affable man, a good manager who trusted his people to do their jobs. This was his first command, and any possibility of his rising up the ranks rested squarely on the shoulders of the constables in that room.

"We're going to a party today." In his off hand he carried a small clay pot, which he lifted to his chin so he could spit a thin stream of tobacco into it. Chewing tobacco was an odd affectation, with smoking cigarettes so common. The smell of tobacco had soaked into the wood of the office from years of tobacco and monk's leaf cigars and cigarettes being smoked in this room.

"You may have heard about the RNS Coaltongue." It would have been hard to miss, the way the tabloids were trumpeting Risur's impending dominance on the seas. They had also been speculating about who exactly would get to attend the exclusive on-board gala with the king and his sister.

"You will be coordinating with Flint PD to make sure the reception of dignitaries and naming ceremony goes off without a hitch. We're expecting close to thousands of people to show up to see the king. A few hundred are going to be allowed close enough to actually see and hear his Majesty. You'll be screening those allowed across the bridge to watch the speech."

"You've got a few hours til you need to be on scene. People are going to start showing up soon, but nobody's going to be let across the bridge until just before the dignitaries start showing up. It's FPD's job to corral the mob. You'll need to be there an hour or so before they start letting people through the last checkpoint."

Delft spit another brown stream of tobacco into his spittoon. "Questions?"


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4

Aziel had only just sauntered in before Delft gave the unit their assignment. In her short time with Unit 11, she had grown rather fond of the ADI; he could be very kind, and was friendly in a businesslike way, though he had the same distressing tendency as most Risurians to place far too high a value on punctuality. Still, she suspected he may have delayed his little speech to allow stragglers like her to arrive. Une boulette douce of a man, really.

"If we are not to let undesirables through, zat will rule out half ze city," she laughed, her smoky voice low. "Who zen is welcome at zis party? Politicians, merchant kings, noblemen? Already ze undesirables become desirable, no?"


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

Jaelynn looked up from where she'd been lighting small fires in the trash basket with her finger. She tended to do things like that when she was bored. And since she'd figured out the whole RNS Coaltongue thing weeks ago, and been doing nothing but paperwork and background checks in the mean time, she was bored.

She considered the newest announcement for a moment. Finally, she must have decided that she wasn't going to write it off immediately as being a waste of time.

"Do we have a list of undesirables?" She carefully didn't add an editorial comment. She'd learned that those didn't go over so well with Delft.


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

Anthony was there, of course. He didn't want to be late on his first day. Still, it was rather odd to be inside the building, not as a consultant, but as an agent. They let him walk in rather simply after he flashed his badge, where normally he'd have to wait at least a half hour for Susan to come down and vouch for him. Didn't matter that he knew the guards at the door by name or vice versa either. But now... he was one of them. Perhaps it was a bit disappointing that his first assignment wasn't actually going to be a case, especially given his experience, but Anthony listened patiently to his new bosses words, relaxing in one of the chairs that had been set out for him and the others of Unit 11 for their first briefing.

When two others of his unit spoke up, Anthony found himself looking over each of them for a few moments. His mind raced ahead, picking up details his eyes only barely noticed. The goat horns and tail were obvious on the first woman, but the stains on her fingers from smoking were less so. And the weapon she had told Anthony more then it would most. A fascinating angle on the design she had chosen. The latter was a bit harder, more erratic, at least to his sensibilities. The attempts to set the trash can on fire didn't help. But both of their questions were sound, even if one did come with a bit of personal opinion.

"What sort of equipment will we be given to keep anyone overly eager from entering the premise? Is it safe in assuming you have some non-lethal gear prepared for us?" The moment Anthony asked the question he realized he had an idea for a new design, and quickly made a mental note to himself to look into it at a later date.


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

Apologies for the delay, I wanted to coordinate something with another player before posting.

Pre-Briefing:

Ralf's gaze quickly skimmed across the occupants of Unit 11's bullpen as he stepped inside. A few constables at their desks, some standing and talking, one idly lighting fires in a trashcan. No Delft yet, so...

His eyes snapped back to a dwarf standing near Delft's office. A dwarf with a long, white flowing beard. A dwarf that looked entirely too familiar.

Ralf's eyes narrowed as he strode rapidly towards the now-smiling apparition. "Alright, da, very funny, am laughing-ha-ha," he announced loudly and grumpily, not happy to be the butt of a practical joke. "Am admitting good job though, who is making illusion?"

Reaching the dwarf, he swept his arm right to left, intending to pass it through the illusion. Instead, his open hand landed on a beefy upper arm and abruptly stopped there.

A moment passed as Ralf's mind struggled with the reality shift. Then his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.

"Kostya? Is really you?!" he asked in amazement as he grabbed the other shoulder with his left hand and tried to shake the dwarf... a completely ineffective procedure. "Is good seeing you, da! But... you are doing what here?"

"Questions?":

Da, stand at velvet rope, check list, turn people away. Amria! he thought somewhat bitterly. Not the reason he'd traveled all this way and trained for so long! Still, it was his first... "mission," if one could call it that. Despite himself, he chuckled at his own disappointment. Was expecting what, lead invasion force to Danor first day? Small steps!

He listened to the questions the other constables were asking -- all sound. Nodding at the fighter's question he added, "Da. We are being allowed to use what methods, also?"


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3

By the time the briefing started, Shane was decidedly edgy. It started with his walk across the city to HQ. Flint was not the quaint provincial city full of charming artisans that was Shale. Shane had found a reasonably priced apartment in a section of town southwest of Central District. It was about an hour walk, although carriages for hire could cut that time by half.

Shane didn’t mind the walk or the time. Once in the Central District, however, he had to weave his way through a moving thicket of carriages, bicycles, and a few constructs that resembled metal spiders. The air was already thick with the acrid smells blown west from Parity Lake factories and by the time he reached the RHC headquarters, the view of the Cloudwood peaks was completely lost in the haze, a slightly disturbing kind of non-magical illusion, making an entire mountain range vanish.

Near the HQ, Shane noticed along most streets a metal tube as thick as his wrist running about 10 feet above the street. He was startled by the hiss of something from behind rushing toward his position. Instinct caused him to duck and roll as the hiss continued past him and down the pipe. This gave those who witnessed it a hearty laugh as Shane dusted himself off and realized it must be the pneumatic tube system of message delivery. His docker experience kicked in and he bowed, tipped his pocket cap, and held it out in mock expectation of a donation.

Entering the RHC headquarters made him queasy, an instinct from his years as an undercover agent. He felt naked walking right into the building, letting everyone who cared to watch know of his affiliation with the organization. Inside, he asked various people where the Unit 11 offices were. Sensing a newbie to harass, he was directed all over the building by people who had no idea where the new office was, until he stumbled upon it when someone inadvertently directed him true. He exercised considerable control in greeting his new team, discovering he was (apparently) the only natural born Risuri in the room. He had a lot of experience working with tieflings, elves, and dwarves, plus foreigners with strange accents and with treating them as equals. He politely shook hands with those who offered and introduced himself, but wondered at the strange collection. It was a far cry from the mostly human Risuri cadets at the academy.

So by the time ACI Delft gave what seemed the barest introduction of their mission and calmly asked for questions, as if clever and capable agents could divine the rest, he was well off balance and deferred asking the initial questions that came to mind. Finally after a few others posed questions which the ACI seemed to ignore, Shane asked, “Since we canna’ possibly tell a genuine invited dignitary from a would-be infiltrator, I assume we’ll be mostly muscle ta prevent the unapproved from slippin’ in. Who’ll be designatin’ guests ta be let through?”

In the back of his mind, he was also wondering if he could manage a quick shave with his boot dagger. He wasn't groomed for working with the rich and famous.


Aziel Charbonneau wrote:
"If we are not to let undesirables through, zat will rule out half ze city," she laughed, her smoky voice low. "Who zen is welcome at zis party? Politicians, merchant kings, noblemen? Already ze undesirables become desirable, no?"

Delft grunted and nodded. "A damn sight more than half. Can't be more than a hundred, two hundred people invited to this thing. They didn't give me a guest list." He spit a brown stream into his little spittoon again. "Need to know, you know." The DI didn't look or sound particularly happy about it.

Jaelynn Vance-Saerpheni wrote:
"Do we have a list of undesirables?" She carefully didn't add an editorial comment. She'd learned that those didn't go over so well with Delft.

Delft made an equivocal gesture with his head. "The usual troublemakers- pissed-off dockers, crazy elves." He glanced at Ralf and Jaelynn. "No offense. The bad ones, I mean." He sucked on the tobacco tucked into his cheek for a second.

"For this thing... we'll probably see primalist activists, too. None of them are happy about the shape of things to come. This is just the tip of the technology iceberg. And maybe hardline war-vets. There have been rumblings that they're angry the Navy used a bunch of tieflings getting the thing built."

Background checks to see if any of the PCs know more specific information about those groups, please.

Anthony Dawson Zeitlin wrote:
"What sort of equipment will we be given to keep anyone overly eager from entering the premise? Is it safe in assuming you have some non-lethal gear prepared for us?" The moment Anthony asked the question he realized he had an idea for a new design, and quickly made a mental note to himself to look into it at a later date.

Delft laughed suddenly, nearly coughing out his tobacco. "That's a good one." He shook his head and spit. "If you can get through all the requisition forms between now and..." The DI put the spittoon on the nearest desk and pulled a steel watch out of his pocket. "...well, in the next six or seven hours," he slipped the watch back into his pocket, "then more power to you. But my advice is be ready to take what you've got on you."

Ralf Tergsvor wrote:

He listened to the questions the other constables were asking -- all sound. Nodding at the fighter's question he added, "Da. We are being allowed to use what methods, also?"

Delft nodded in Anthony's direction. "As far as stopping problems? Nonlethal methods only unless there's some legitimate, lethal threat. We're expecting troublemakers, not assassins. As far as identifying those threats..." Delft shrugged. "Do what you do. Keep in mind, though, that this is the King's party. You make a big mess, disrupt the ceremony, cause a riot..." He shook his head. "It wouldn't be good for any of us."

Shane Sangster wrote:
“Since we canna’ possibly tell a genuine invited dignitary from a would-be infiltrator, I assume we’ll be mostly muscle ta prevent the unapproved from slippin’ in. Who’ll be designatin’ guests ta be let through?”

Delft spit again. "Dignitaries will be arriving by carriage. Let the carriages cross the bridge. Screen the crowd for troublemakers, let a few hundred onto the bridge and into the square to hear the speech about an hour before the speech starts."

The ADI raised a questioning eyebrow and looked at the team. "You've got til this afternoon. Prep, research, scout, take a nap, eat lunch, have a drink, do whatever you need to do. Main thing to remember is we don't want anybody to disrupt the ceremony. That means troublemakers or us. Other questions?"


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

"Just one," Jaelynn said, seeming to have completely missed (or ignored) the significance of Delft's earlier glance-and-edit, "Do we know who our liaison with the FPD is? Or do we get to show up and flash badges around and be all bossy?"

It wasn't entirely clear which option Jae was pulling for.

EDIT to include: Background Check - Knowledge of Groups: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11 (Assuming Know:Local, using BoE/KiP Background) WOW! People gather in groups? Who knew?


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused
karlprosek wrote:
Background checks to see if any of the PCs know more specific information about those groups, please.

Hmm... well, I suppose the covert, underhanded, scheming elements of his culture imply Ralfael would naturally soak up details of things and people around him -- whether looking for marks, or avoiding being taken. Sort of a "streetwise" or "Knowledge (Local)" equivalent:

Slippery Sort: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3

"Sir, do we inspect the carriages to see if the occupants are legit?" Looking down at his plain clothes, "Also, do we dress to impress, to blend in with the locals? Do we want the people to know we are RHC?" As he finished the last question, he lifted his shirt-tail to reveal his badge on his belt. Shane deliberately did not ask if the group would have to wear uniforms, hoping he wouldn't have to wear the kind of monkey suit some police forces employ.

karlprosek wrote:
Background checks to see if any of the PCs know more specific information about those groups, please.

streetwise: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4

Whew, this "z" in place of "th" thing is aggravating. How about everyone just assume she is z-ing her ths to some degree.

"If they do not know at least some of us are RHC, we may have a little trouble convincing them we have the authority to keep them off the bridge," Aziel pointed out, perched on the edge of Jaelynn's desk with her arms crossed. "On the other hand, we may have more luck finding real troublemakers undercover. Some of us in uniform, the rest plainclothes, yes? To, how you say, cover all the bases." She lit a cigarette in Jaelynn's trash fire, the thin roll held delicately at the end of her long tail. Plucking it out and taking a pull, she waved her hand to encompass her new unit.

"I suggest messieurs Shane and Anthony be in uniform," she said, blowing a thin stream of smoke. "They will be very convincing, getting the citizens to stay out one way or the other, yes?" Noticing Shane's look of discomfort at her suggestion, she added, "We want them to listen to reason peacefully, no? You look very, how can I put it... Risurian. This will ease their objections, I think." She shrugged. "Or Monsieur Muscles there can throw them into the harbor. That is not harm!" she insisted to Delft.

Not sure what kind of roll would help (I could argue for either), so I'll roll both her background skills:
Soldier: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Connoisseur: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15


Wow. Yeah, not great rolls there. Might want to spend some time Gathering Information.

Ralf had heard lots of new songs and poems on the corners decrying the King spending tens of thousands of pounds on a single ship when there is rampant unemployment and children fighting dogs for scraps in the streets (in the Strand, the Lake, and Pine Island, anyway). Even the working dock workers were angry at the treatment they'd been receiving recently, as the push to finish the Coaltongue on time had led to round-the-clock shifts and several accidental deaths. He had heard there was a push to organize an official dockers' guild to improve conditions and pay, led by a charismatic old sailor named Thames Grimsley.

Jaelynn Vance-Saerpheni wrote:
"Just one," Jaelynn said, seeming to have completely missed (or ignored) the significance of Delft's earlier glance-and-edit, "Do we know who our liaison with the FPD is? Or do we get to show up and flash badges around and be all bossy?"

Delft chuckled. "There'll be a sergeant or officer there. I don't know who it will be. Just look for the policeman with the most braid on his shoulder and gold on his hat. Be as bossy as you want, just remember that there are only a few of you and probably several times your number of them. And you'll all be outnumbered about a hundred to one by the crowd. So you might want to think about keeping the coppers friendly." He shrugged and spit. "But it's your call."

Shane Sangster wrote:
"Sir, do we inspect the carriages to see if the occupants are legit?" Looking down at his plain clothes, "Also, do we dress to impress, to blend in with the locals? Do we want the people to know we are RHC?" As he finished the last question, he lifted his shirt-tail to reveal his badge on his belt. Shane deliberately did not ask if the group would have to wear uniforms, hoping he wouldn't have to wear the kind of monkey suit some police forces employ.

Delft spit. "Do I need to tell you how to dress, Sangster? I'm not your mother. Wear what you think will be most effective." The ADI made another equivocal gesture in response to the other question. "As for searching the carriages... well, it does sound like good policing. On the other hand, some of those carriages are going to contain people like the Duchess, like PM Lee. People who aren't accustomed to being questioned by the likes of lowly blokes such as us. I'm not going to say no, but our tasking says to keep the crowd from getting unruly. If you feel that the carriages need to be searched for security's sake, that's your call."

Aziel Charbonneau wrote:
"I suggest messieurs Shane and Anthony be in uniform," she said, blowing a thin stream of smoke. "They will be very convincing, getting the citizens to stay out one way or the other, yes?" Noticing Shane's look of discomfort at her suggestion, she added, "We want them to listen to reason peacefully, no? You look very, how can I put it... Risurian. This will ease their objections, I think." She shrugged. "Or Monsieur Muscles there can throw them into the harbor. That is not harm!" she insisted to Delft.

The DI nodded agreeably. "Sounds like good planning to me. Just don't start a riot." Further questions were met with some variation of "it's your call". Delft trusted the team to take care of things and didn't seem to have all that much information at his disposal. It quickly became apparent that he was almost as in the dark as the rest of his Unit.


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

Knowledgeable Tony: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14

Anthony listens to the others talk and for a few minutes says nothing. They all raised good questions and brought up important ideas or good plans, and that impressed him. His silence likely didn't do much for them but despite the fact that he had already met this group a couple times before he really didn't have a handle on them. When Aziel, the pretty woman with the complex gun, spoke Tony grinned just a little. "Am I Monsieur Muscles? I suppose I've had worse nicknames."

His burn scars across his left cheek twisted a little with the smile, but even the garrish scars didn't really diminish Anthony's good nature and friendly smile. He had earned them from the fire that had taken his shop and nearly his life and so long after he hardly even carried the weight of it anymore. A nightmare here or there, that was all. His eyes look across the others, curiously, and then they turn to the DI. "One last question and I should be good, sir. Is it odd that you would be told so little about a job like this?"

If the lack of info was typical, Anthony would let it go. He wasn't about to rock the boat about information they could easily get on their own, and it could easily be any number of things. Departmental rivarly between the coppers and agents, higher ups pulling favors to have some R.H.C. there, or several other instances. But if it wasn't, he'd have a couple questions for whoever they ended up dealing with at the crowd.

He turns to the rest of the Unit and says aloud, "As far as your plan goes, Agent Aziel, I certainly don't mind dressing up a bit. I've got a little experience dealing with crowds... admittedly -questioning- crowds, but still. And I'm not unaware of my stature either. I would suggest a way to communicate, or someone to run messages between us, in case anything comes up though. Someone within our own Unit if preferable."


Inactive

Pre-Briefing:

Kostya waited outside of Delft's office, looking around the Unit 11 bullpen, and wondering if he had made a huge mistake. Wondering if he was too old to be of much use. If he would even be able to protect Ralf if the time came. Pushing such thoughts of his head, he noticed Ralf walking up towards him, and froze, unsure of how the younger man would react to seeing him.

An amused smile spread over Kostya's face as Ralf tried to move a hand through him, and he laughed heartily. "Da, is really me." His smile began to fade, and he clasped Ralf's arm. "I am wanting to apologise for fight. There is no dishonour in admitting mistakes, and I have made many in life. I am being here now to help."

Before the two men could continue their conversation, more people began flooding in, and the briefing began. Kostya listened and cheerfully looked around at the other recruits.

"Questions?"

"Da, why is office not having tea? Is no way to run business."

Knowledge Check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

As the others discuss their plans, Kostya does little to chime in. "I am being not dressed up. Will instead play role of lost old man. No one in mood for making trouble after answering many questions about city."


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

Pre-Briefing:

"Shesti! Is nothing to apologize. You are phuro, like familia. Am understanding worry! Words in heat of moment are just words. But what..."

Their conversation interrupted by Delft, Ralf gave Kostya a "wait a moment" sign, clapped him on the shoulder one more time, and took a seat.

And was rather surprised when the dwarf sat down next to him, as if also attending the briefing.

Here... to... help?

"Questions?"

Kostya Tarasov wrote:
"I am being not dressed up. Will instead play role of lost old man."

Uncharacteristically, Ralf laughed.

"You are lost old man, Kostya," he said with a similarly uncharacteristic smile... something none of the others in the room could recall ever seeing. "But very dangerous lost old man. This part, they will not be knowing. Until is too late."

Reaction Roll: 1d100 ⇒ 18 Ouch.

But then the smile rapidly faded and he leaned towards the dwarf. "What is this," he hissed. "You are retired from military and not gavver. Why this talk about going on mission?" He glances at Delft, wondering why the DI hadn't objected to Kostya simply being in the room during the briefing.


Inactive

Kostya laughed along with being called a lost old man. "Is true." he replied, with a wide smile.

When Ralf leans over to whisper, Kostya whispers in response. "Shhh!" Kostya scolds, with a touch of playfulness and a mischievous look in his eye. "Others talking. Be showing respect."


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

Ralf sat back in his chair, feeling properly chastised. The old dwarf hadn't meant it that way, of course. But he was right, and Ralf held Kostya in higher regard than he did most of his own clan.


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

Jaelynn had, of course, given the dwarf a good looking-over before Delft had come out to brief them. Her brain filed away what she'd surmised from her observation, and a few additional notes as she saw his and Ralf's interactions.

Just playing the part. What would a Active Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 tell her about Kostya? And what would a Knowledge:Local(Dwarves/Drakr): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21 lead her to infer from said observations?

But she made no comment on her observations. Aziel's plan seemed sound, and the dwarf had made a good point about clothing selection. Which brought up one of her own.

"I could go either way," she said, "but I will be out of uniform. It's easier for me to..." she grimaced a bit, "befriend the 'crazy elves' if I am not in uniform, and since this" she wiggled her fingers, "doesn't work so well on most elves, I suppose I'll just have to win them over the hard way."

She frowned, briefly.

"If we go now, and agree to meet at the bridge in... three hours? That should give us a chance to change clothes, grab a few things, and maybe do a little looking into who might be making trouble. And it should get us there at least two hours before we would normally be expected - which would give those of us in plainclothes a chance to get a better feel for the crowd before the mad rush for the bridge. It would be preferable to pull any troublemakers out of the crowd before everyone is crammed together at the bridge, yes?"


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4
Anthony Dawson Zeitlin wrote:

When Aziel, the pretty woman with the complex gun, spoke Tony grinned just a little. "Am I Monsieur Muscles? I suppose I've had worse nicknames."

His burn scars across his left cheek twisted a little with the smile, but even the garrish scars didn't really diminish Anthony's good nature and friendly smile.

Aziel returned his smile, not seeming put off by the scars at all. Her smile, however, displayed a mouthful of razorlike teeth.

"No one has called you this before? Ah, but now, you see, you are in the macho company of the RHC! You fit right in, d'accord?" She raised her arms and flexed her biceps, laughing delightedly with the cigarette still dangling from her mouth.

When he brought up running messages, she nodded her agreement, poking a finger at him. "Yes! If we have many FPD to command, maybe they can be used for this?"

Jaelynn Vance-Saerpheni wrote:

"I could go either way," she said, "but I will be out of uniform. It's easier for me to..." she grimaced a bit, "befriend the 'crazy elves' if I am not in uniform, and since this" she wiggled her fingers, "doesn't work so well on most elves, I suppose I'll just have to win them over the hard way."

She frowned, briefly.

"If we go now, and agree to meet at the bridge in... three hours? That should give us a chance to change clothes, grab a few things, and maybe do a little looking into who might be making trouble. And it should get us there at least two hours before we would normally be expected - which would give those of us in plainclothes a chance to get a better feel for the crowd before the mad rush for the bridge. It would be preferable to pull any troublemakers out of the crowd before everyone is crammed together at the bridge, yes?"

In the brief time she had known Jaelynn, Aziel had come to know her well enough to be disconcerted by the idea of her befriending anyone so easily. Alors, who is to say. Maybe most elves are like her. Perhaps the point was rather, that she hadn't known Jaelynn long enough to see how she did it.

Clearing the expression from her face, she shrugged. "The argument could go either way for me as well. In full sight, I may draw out any angry veterans. Undercover, I have friends among the Dockers, and could go and see if there are any rumors of new faces. Maybe I will do both, no? Go undercover first, and if it is blown, then go to the front and play the target."

She slapped her shapely thighs and rose to her feet. "In three hours, then. Is there more to know?"

Gather info among the Dockers: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

Jaelynn smiled and nodded at Aziel, and then the rest of the group.

"Oh yes," she said, as if just remembering something, "I can prepare a spell that lets me whisper to anyone within... call it one hundred feet, perhaps a little more, and let them whisper back to me. It is not perfect - the FPD runners will help, but I will prepare it. It would seem useful."

She'll also do some research when she gets home. Call it flipping through the pages of the local gossip rags and newspapers. Using Know: Nobility to see who the higher-ups have pissed off recently. Know:Nobility: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20 Hopefully, that would give her an idea of who/what to look for. She'll also go with her red hair, and the "walking outfit," complete with parasol (no rapier or billy-club)

Edit: Prepared spells list updated


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

"This is big event," said Ralf when there was a lull in the discussion. "Crowds draw Dockers wanting money. Am thinking to perform knife dance." He glanced at Aziel. " 'Undercover' is word, da? Unusual catches eye; expected is ignored."

"Is excuse to circulate. And cannot juggle knives in thick crowd, is excuse also to be on tables and railings, so better view of people."

"And," he added pointedly, "is excuse to have weapons at hand."


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3
ACI Delft wrote:
Delft spit. "Do I need to tell you how to dress, Sangster? I'm not your mother. Wear what you think will be most effective." The ADI made another equivocal gesture in response to the other question. "As for searching the carriages... well, it does sound like good policing. On the other hand, some of those carriages are going to contain people like the Duchess, like PM Lee. People who aren't accustomed to being questioned by the likes of lowly blokes such as us. I'm not going to say no, but our tasking says to keep the crowd from getting unruly. If you feel that the carriages need to be searched for security's sake, that's your call."

Shane kept eye contact with Delft and did not react to the remark about his mother. After Delft finished he said, "Understood, sir! Didn't want to show up mufti and find everyone else in the suits." As Delft moved on to other questions, Shane thought, No chance I'll mistake ye for my maw. She ne'er had tobacco spittle running down her chin! After giving an inward chuckle at this, another voice rose up from somewhere deep and dark: Yer maw was murdered by Vekeshi terrorists, which is why ye are here, so listen up and haud yer wheesht!*

Aziel Charbonneau wrote:
"I suggest messieurs Shane and Anthony be in uniform," she said, blowing a thin stream of smoke. "They will be very convincing, getting the citizens to stay out one way or the other, yes?" Noticing Shane's look of discomfort at her suggestion, she added, "We want them to listen to reason peacefully, no? You look very, how can I put it... Risurian. This will ease their objections, I think." She shrugged. "Or Monsieur Muscles there can throw them into the harbor. That is not harm!" she insisted to Delft.

Shane raised his hands to indicate he had no objections. "Monkey suit it is."

Anthony Dawson Zeitlin wrote:
He turns to the rest of the Unit and says aloud, "As far as your plan goes, Agent Aziel, I certainly don't mind dressing up a bit. I've got a little experience dealing with crowds... admittedly -questioning- crowds, but still. And I'm not unaware of my stature either. I would suggest a way to communicate, or someone to run messages between us, in case anything comes up though. Someone within our own Unit if preferable."

"I may look an easier target next to Anthony," Shane said, for at 5'8" and 145 lb, he certainly did not look formidable. "But that just works in my favor. And I've chucked a few neds bigger than me inta the river."

*Highlander, spoken by Shane's grandparents:
Shut your mouth!


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

This was certainly a unique group. The razor sharp teeth from the pretty woman toting a gun did catch Tony's eye, but rather then being put off he seemed mildly curious. Any time he did glance at her, his eyes tended to fall to the piece on her hip instead, as if he were mentally taking it a part and putting it back together again. The rest got just as much of his attention though. Of the group, the old Dwarf surprised him the most here. Anthony had only a few dealings with dwarves, and they had been a couple smiths he had been working with on a commission, but they had never seemed the most pleasant of sorts. This one, however, seemed quite calm and relaxed.

Tech Investigator Listening: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

When the dwarf starts talking with another, the man named Ralf, he re-positions himself a little to hear all the whispering, catching the echoes off a wall next to him rather then leaning into their conversation. Their familiarity with each other surprised him, but he decided it was better that way, with trust already forged between a couple of them. It was, after all, a very eclectic group. They would probably run into a few kinks before they found out how they meshed together.

To Aziel, he gives a nod and a broad grin. Standing at 6'3, and weighing at about 250 with mostly muscle, Anthony knew he wasn't exactly the smallest man in the city. Still, hearing it joked about wasn't something he was used too. He found the confidence the woman displayed endearing. "It's a good idea. If I'm in uniform I could be a good deterrent to any who might want to start a fight. Between my size, my armor, my shield and my hammer I think people would rather move on calmly then start something. And if Shane can handle himself as well as he says then we'll have a surprise in store with him. I will need to pick up a sap or the like before we meet up, and I would suggest others get similar gear from the markets if you can."

The Child 'Prodigy' Memory Check: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

To Jaelynn, Anthony gave another curious look first. 'Definitely an arcane spell... I think I even know the one she speaks of... whisper was it? Or message? bah, it's been so long. Still...' His thoughts trail off after a moment, and he forces himself to shake away the disquiet that steals over them with the knowledge that he was dealing with one like his folks. "That spell is quite useful. Perhaps you can find a way to link up with the copper units as well. No need to do more then a person in each. If you can run down a line and get every units attention simply by whispering within a hundred feet of them, should danger start, that'd be a great advantage to a quick response. I can't remember though, does loud noise interfere with the spell?"

And then finally to Ralf who, moments ago, had made Anthony smile at the familiar way he had dealt with the dwarven man. He was frowning now though. "A knife juggler would be more of a danger then not in a large crowd, not to mention knives aren't exactly non-lethal measures. Perhaps a performance that doesn't require sharp instruments near a mass of people?"


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3

After Delft left, Shane mingled with the other agents on the team and asked what they knew about the Primalist and the War-Vet factions. Sensing most of the others knew little more than he did, he said, "I'll check with the organized crime and tech crimes units to see what they know. Maybe the library files have some history of the groups. I'll read what I can and share it when we meet."

gather information: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

After his research, he slipped out and down the street to a barber, where he got a shave and a haircut. Glancing in the mirror as the barber finished, he had to admit it looked pretty good. He returned to HQ to change into his uniform. He stopped off at the work-out room and practiced some rolls and attack combinations to see how he would have to alter his methods to allow for the bulky coat and heavy boots. He strapped his temple sword on his back to keep it from getting in the way when he did kicks and rolls. He did not intend on using it anyway. It was there for intimidation purposes. The odd curve of the blade made people think it was perhaps magical. It also gave would-be attackers a false sense of security, thinking he'd have to draw the sword before being able to defend himself. By the time his fist drove into the attacker's jaw and his arm got twisted into a painful lock, the knowledge that Shane did not need the sword was of little avail.

Walking toward the docks, Shane's feeling of being fully exposed again distracted him like a rock in his shoe. He had spent so much time blending in and pretending to hate the RHC, that now that he was parading through the city in full dress uniform and RHC badge gleaming on his chest, he felt like a man wearing a meat suit in the main pit of the dog pound. He drew on his training to bring full awareness to the moment, without internal commentary. Breathing deeply from the bottom of his chest, calm began to replace the agitated waters of his monkey mind. As Shane remembered his martial arts trainer lecturing about the monkey mind, he chuckled. Monkey mind in a monkey suit!

Despite his attempt to quiet his inner monologue, he found himself thinking about the odd group that was now Unit 11. Anthony seemed a regular guy, albeit a very big regular guy. Most big guys Shane had known, however, were not that bright, but Anthony seemed to always be thinking. The contraption at his side made Shane wonder what it might do. He had heard of technology that some agents used for various purposes from fighting to gathering evidence. He made a mental note to ask him about it when they met up at the bridge.

Ralf and Kostya evidently knew each other from some other time. Probably an interesting story or two there. Both had very non-military attitudes. Ralf did not express himself eloquently but had a sharp mind, including strange powers of healing comrades and sometimes harming enemies at the same time, if Shane had understood his broken common correctly when he had asked Ralf what he did. He had never heard of any such magic, but if the RHC had accepted him, he must have something potent to offer. Kostya, judging by the religious symbol he wore was some kind of religious cleric or caster. Shane had expected a member of Clergy to supply the healing and divine blessings to aid the unit. He had never been completely comfortable with the Clergy, but whether Kostya would be better or worse would have to play out, perhaps later today.

Aziel and Jaelynn were mysteries wrapped in enigmas, topped off with guns and magic. They seemed unusually sharp and perceptive, so they'd probably handle themselves well. Although Shane trusted that the screening procedures the RHC used ruled out any possibility that they were disloyal or spies, Shane had lived so long viewing tieflings and elves as the enemy, it would take some time to erase his prejudices and look past their horns and pointed ears.

As he reached the bridge leading to the docks, he glanced around at the crowd to see if he could spot his comrades.


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused
Anthony Dawson Zeitlin wrote:
"A knife juggler would be more of a danger then not in a large crowd, not to mention knives aren't exactly non-lethal measures. Perhaps a performance that doesn't require sharp instruments near a mass of people?"

Reaction Roll: 1d100 ⇒ 9 Hoo boy.

Eyes narrowed, Ralfael stared at Anthony a good long while before responding. "Dagger through heart, sleeve pinned to wall. Lethal, nonlethal is depending. Am happy to demonstrate skill if doubting abilities, 'man-sewer-mussels'; stand against wall!"

A touch on his arm and Ralf glanced back to see Kostya shaking his head ever so subtly. With a sigh and less confrontational tone he added, "But, you are having point. Will bring also nonlethal." Softer voice notwithstanding, the last word fairly dripped venom.

The sad thing is, he's really not that good at knife throwing. :o/


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4
Shane Sangster wrote:
After Delft left, Shane mingled with the other agents on the team and asked what they knew about the Primalist and the War-Vet factions.

Veteran's knowledge: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 Are these rolls affected by our abilities in any way? I've just been rolling them straight. Not that it matters just now under all this dicebot hate... :P

Aziel left the meeting satisfied that her "new" unit was quite capable, rather than the collection of career-ends and halfwits she had been afraid the RHC would stick her with. True, Jaelynn was quite intelligent and good at piecing seeming trivia together into a complete picture, but she could have been a fluke, or have pissed off someone higher up the food chain. It was a great relief that all the members of the unit appeared to have their heads screwed on right. And an even greater relief that none of them seemed overtly hostile toward her.

This means I must do my best to earn their respect in return. Perhaps the RHC mindbender was satisfied with what he found in my head after all. I take back half of the things I thought about him, and his mother.

Once home in her loft, she tucked her pistol into a less conspicuous place and covered it with a loose jacket. A handful of ammunition and firedust pellets went into her pocket, and her bandoliers went onto the nearest chair. The rapier there was little she could do to disguise, but then she was hardly likely to be the only one in the crowd that was armed. She examined the sap she had picked up critically, then nodded and tucked it into her jacket as well. Her badge was pinned to the inner lapel of her jacket, and she twirled a little to ensure that it would remain hidden unless she turned the lapel out. Checking that her daggers were in place, she lit another cigarette and saluted herself in the mirror with dry humor. Voila. The humble civilian yet again. At least this time, I am not fleeing the authorities.

She took a slow, meandering route to the harbor, stopping here and there on the promenade to sample wares that the inevitable merchants had put forth in stalls, and always keeping an eye out for potential troublemakers. She only had to flash her badge twice at the FPD officers doing the same before deciding that slipping deeper into the crowd, easing around the Dockers. She also looked for her companions in Unit 11. Ralfael shouldn't be hard to miss. If he is as good with those knives as he sounds, I may have to throw him a coin, she thought with an inward chuckle.

Basically she'll circulate through the crowd. I'll roll another check to find trouble if that's admissable?
Soldier's eye for troublemakers: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16 +2 if we get ability boosts?


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

When Anthony was certain there was little more left to discuss with the others, and he was satisfied with their replies, the man stood and made his way out of the building and toward the Marketplace. He couldn't help but think about the group as he did. Save for Raff, all of them were quite polite, and even Raff showed with his interaction with... Kostya was it? Raff showed himself quite capable of being friendly when talking to the older man. The others had all made their own impressions on Anthony too, since joining the Unit really, but he felt like the group wouldn't really be a group until they started working together in truth. This mission was perhaps a blessing disguised as grunt work. A simpler mission, one with a chance of danger and a chance at none, for them to learn cohesion.

Anthony didn't realize he was in the marketplace until he very nearly ran into a shop along the side of the road. He took a breath to dust away the cobwebs in his thoughts and moved about looking for someone selling saps. He wasn't in uniform yet, either, so while he shopped he casually asked a couple questions here or there about the event going on, who was going to go, and if he should be worried at all himself. That last one often got a chuckle from the shopkeeps rather then anything else. Anthony was big enough that he didn't really need to worry about much, or so they thought. Tony guessed none of them had ever seen a mob in action, which was probably a good thing. Still, shopkeepers tended to hear things when the customers forgot they were there.

Tech Investigator: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22

After finally securing not one but two saps, Tony heads home with the information, however much of it he had gathered, and his two new acquisitions. Rather then head up the stairs to his apartment when he reached the building, the man turned downward toward the basement beneath the complex. Anthony had an apartment on the first floor, but he also rented out the basement as a workshop. Funny thing was that the apartment still cost more for some reason.

The workshop was extremely organized, but still cluttered. The walls were lined with different designs, blueprints and notes. Some of the stuff was almost too fantastical to consider, but some of the devices that were showcased were things Anthony had come across while working as a consultant. The blue-prints were his way of reverse engineering different devices in a way he could show Susan, and it often worked, either letting him rule out something as a possibility or discovering a new invention someone had created. There was a very large workbench on one end, and tools hung above it on hooks of all varying shapes and sizes. In the corner was a cot for long nights sleeping and the rest of the floor was free of furniture, though not decoration, as the scuff marks from various devices could attest too. As for the ceiling... well that hole wasn't his fault anyway. Thankfully the apartment above his shop was actually his.

The first thing he did upon entering was grab his tools, pull up his goggles and fling on his apron. He slaps the contraption that had been hanging from his belt onto the workshop table and starts his work. It didn't take long for him to perform the modifications he wanted too, but despite the fact that he still had two hours left to meet his Unit, Anthony ended getting lost in an idea he had. By the time he was done, his small contraption looked a little bulkier, he was missing a sap, and there was a new piece of paper with sketches and notes hanging from the wall of his workshop. The first of what might be many pieces of paper devoted to an idea he had been struck by.

Grinning, satisfied at a good hours worth of tinkering and thinking, Anthony hangs up his apron and heads upstairs the old fashioned way and starts to pull on his uniform. His apartment was sparse, uncluttered, lacking in decoration, and save for a hole in the floor (still not his fault) it was uninteresting. It hardly had anything at all that Anthony could call his own. A couple chairs, a cot that wasn't as nice as the one downstairs, and the usual trappings of an apartment. Oh, and his clothing. He wasn't so savage as to keep more then a set or two of clothes in his workshop after all. It was clear which of the rooms he spent more time in.

Unlike his work, this seemed more of a chore. He didn't dislike the uniform, not really, but between all the buttons and the fact that it was too tight around his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his... okay it was too tight everywhere! Between those two things, the uniform really was a bit of a hassle. He finally managed to get it on, maybe stretching it a little to ease the pressure on his body, and then he suits up in his other half of the uniform.

The breastplate he had slipped on much easier then his dress clothes. It bloody well should have, he supposed, considering he had made it himself. It even bore the mark of his creation, three gears overlayed by a hammer three finger widths wide, on the back of it where he had branded it into the metal. On the front he hooked on his badge, clasping it to a slightly newer addition to the armor. Then over one shoulder he threw on his shield, and on his left hip opposite his contraption he hung his hammer and sap. Ready to go, Anthony heads out to meet the others at the bridge.


Anthony Dawson Zeitlin wrote:
His eyes look across the others, curiously, and then they turn to the DI. "One last question and I should be good, sir. Is it odd that you would be told so little about a job like this?"

Delft shrugs. "I agree it doesn't seem the best way to do things, but I'll be honest and say I don't know. I've never been on this end of things before. And this is kind of an odd duck- not exactly a protection detail, not exactly subversive group infiltration. The RHC doesn't usually do crowd control. That's why FPD is on the scene. My guess is that somebody high up- Governor Stanfield or maybe PM Lee- called in a favor and got the RHC pulled in last minute."

-----
Over the next few hours of research, between reading papers and gossip rags and talking to contacts within the RHC and on the street, the team identified four primary sources of threat. First, dockers, angry at what they see as abuse and neglect by those in power. They tended to be burly men in working clothes, though the street performer types had been steadily re-defining 'eclectic', mashing together anachronistic fashions with modern technology. Haha, now I can't get the idea of dockers (the performer types, not the actual dock workers) as Brooklyn hispters out of my head. And so that's how it is.

Second, Primalists —believers in the old druidic faith— angry at all the new industry. They tended to wear sandals, clothes made of natural fibers, and wear their hair in 'back to the earth' styles, either long and loose or in dreadlocks, and often incorporated flowers and plants into their outfits along with druidic religious icons.

Third, agents of the fey terrorist known as "Gale." Experts at hiding in plain sight, these elves and half-elves would be the hardest to spot. Up close, though, they might be detected because their religious rituals required impeccable grooming and cleanliness while the clothes they wore to fit in were usually less fastidious.

Fourth, war veterans who might target the ship’s tiefling designer. War vets came in two flavors- either in their late 50s or early 60s or in their mid- to late-20s- but either type typically looked to be in better shape and more dangerous than the usual commoner, even the dockers.

Tell me if I've got any of these wrong. Shane and Tony in uniform at the checkpoint, Aziel circulating in the crowd, Jaelynn trying to get in with any dockers in the crowd, Ralf doing his street performer schtick. What's Kostya doing?


Inactive

I'll also circulate in the crowd, annoying anyone who looks dangerous with patented Old Man Ramblings.


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11

Spinning her parasol and looking every bit the pretty, well-dressed young woman out to enjoy the spectacle, Jaelynn made her way through the crowds, smiling at anyone who met her profiles. Her eyes cataloged clothing, build, hair-color - any possible details (she hoped) that
might mean someone she was looking at was a probable threat to disrupt the festivities. She kept the majority of her attention for men dressed in Docker fashions - at whom she would smile invitingly, until she had decided they didn't look like a threat, at which time she would abruptly turn and move on to the next one - and other elves. The elves, she would examine closely for anomalies in their dress and hygiene, or for symbols of druidic faith.

Jae will try to befriend (briefly) Dockers or Elves - anyone (aside from the veterans - she's confident the others can handle them - if nothing else, Aziel should be a magnet for any resentments from that quarter).

If/when she spots a likely-looking suspect, she'll use...Doh! I just realized that I pulled her cantrips list from an incomplete source, and it doesn't have Enhanced Diplomacy on it. That would explain why I didn't have her prep it. That'll need to go on her "To-Do" list, ASAP.

OK, without ED, she'll have to do things the hard way. She knows she isn't likely to be able to Charm wood elves (Karl, have you decided whether High Elves are Lightbringers or Eladrin yet? If the former, she has a much better chance of using magical enchantments on them. If the latter, well, we'll need to figure out why she's different, I guess.), so if she meets one who looks troublesome (hopefully her Active Perception (+9) will work here. If not, it's only +6) she'll try to be actually diplomatic and friendly (I think her Diplo with Elves is +7, based on the VM background) until she's satisfied whether they're trouble or not.

But her primary focus will be Dockers. With what she's been reading lately, they seem like the most likely threat source to her. Her diplomacy with them is probably lower, unless they're willing to discuss logic or philosophy (+5 if not, +6 if so), but if someone seems like a serious threat, she's got Charm Person up her sleeve.

Is it possible for her to use Know:Local and/or her Active Perception (+9 for either one) to spot the tell-tales on people she comes in contact with? Dockers hiding knives - or other signs of fighting - would seem to be right up that alley, as would obsessively neat elves with otherwise messy clothes, etc. If there are too many targets for that to work, I'd totally understand.


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

After the briefing, Ralf headed back to his tiny flat -- conveniently near the docks, since that both fit with his cover and was a more affordable area. On the way he surveyed a couple of market stalls looking for something "nonlethal" to appease Zeitlin. But there was precious little to fit that description.

"Bah!" he muttered as he threw a sap he'd been hefting back on the pile. "Am not practiced with any of these. Better to use hanbo gently."

As he walked away, he laughed at the image of "gently" whacking someone with a big stick. Then he looked at his hands. "Or just use fists." But that was more for the likes of Kostya, even Anthony. He sighed as he second-guessed his practice to date... and not for the first time. "Should be finding attack powers," he mused as he trotted up the stairs to his place.

A grab for his end-blown flute and walking stick-like hanbo, a quick scritch behind Cat's ears, and it was back out the door and off to the event venue. He wanted to be there early to scope out the area and watch the flow of people arriving.

Finding a centrally-located table, he leapt atop it and pulled out his flute, attempting an old tribal melody to see how badly things might go.

Performance Heritage (as Perform (Wind)): 1d20 + 1 - 1 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 1 - 1 + 4 = 7 Gah!

As he'd expected, what came out wasn't very appealing. The Komuso flute was a challenging instrument to begin with and Ralf played for meditative, not entertainment, purposes. More significantly, he played in solitude. Already there were enough people around to distract and unnerve him.

Da, am truly great and powerful mental master, he thought sarcastically. Cannot even play flute in crowd. Control self before controlling others, dilo!

He put the flute away in disgust and started to pull out his juggling daggers... then thought better of it. Best to let the sting of this failure fade a bit first. Instead, he began a smooth, flowing kata (think of something along the lines of Wu Shi Tai Chi Chuan) on the tabletop, using its movements and turns as an opportunity to survey the crowd as he simultaneously tried to center himself.

Slippery Sort (as Perception): 1d20 + 1 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 4 + 2 = 9

Wow, tone-deaf and blind at the moment. Off to a great start on his first assignment!


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

Anthony walks over to the bridge and after a few moments spots the shorter and thinner Shane, standing there waiting for him. He smiles a little and walks toward the man, his stride long and confident. He always felt that way in his armor. When he reaches the man, he raises a hand as a lazy sort of wave and says, "Good to see you. The others may already be setting up in the crowd. What do you say to going to find the officer in charge and coordinating with him?"

Tony turns his eyes, in particular, to a man performing an odd sort of dance atop a table of all things. He recognized Ralf and wondered for a moment. Then his thoughts are dragged away from what he was seeing by the growing crowd. After a moment of considering it, he nods to himself and pulls the odd and small contraption off of his hip, setting it down on the ground. A single press of a button caused it to spring to life. Metal unfolded, gears spun, and slowly a very thin looking humanoid shape formed out of the metal that had been there. The device was a rarity normally, but Anthony's particular design made it even more so. A purely mechanical, non-magical, Simulacrum.

When the device stretched to its full height it stood at Anthony's waist. On one arm a miniature shield seemed to be attached, and on the other a sap, with a hammer resting on a hook on its waist. It on it's almost doll like forehead was Anthony's symbol of craftsman ship, three gears overlayed by a hammer. On its chest was makeshift armor, almost appearing to be made out of scraps, with a small badge much like the one Anthony wore to mark it as an R.H.C. agent's property. There was a slight ticking sound whenever it moved, but otherwise it ran rather silently. Anthony watched it for a moment or three to make sure it was in working order, and then he turned to Shane again. "Sorry, Scrapper moves slowly, so setting it up here rather then at home means I saved a bit of time carrying it. You ready?"


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3

Early or late: 1d100 ⇒ 74
Shane arrived at the bridge ahead of schedule, but already a crowd was forming. FPD had the bridge blocked and a few officers stood around. Knots of people had formed at the spots that afforded the best view of the warship poised to splash into the bay. Those spots were down the quay from the bridge to the prime viewing area next to the ship's launch spot, where the king would be speaking. That meant that the only people gathering near the bridge would be those interested in seeing the dignitaries arrive. That might make it easier to spot trouble-makers, Shane hoped.

Shane introduced himself to the FPD officers at the barricades, noting the authenticity of their badges, checking their boots as well, knowing that imposters often don't have regulation boots. All seemed in order. The police left him there to push some onlookers back off the road down which the carriages would arrive. Shane began to scan the crowd, hoping to catch sight of his undercover colleagues.

Espionage Training: 1d20 + 4 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 3 + 1 = 16

It didn't take long to spot Ralf dancing (or something) on a table. Next he found Jaelynn's shock of red hair shaded by a delicate parasol. Aziel's graceful form strolled by--hard to miss a tiefling even in a crowd. Here and there scowls and whispered comments trailed behind her like the smoke from her cigarette. Kostya drifted in and out of view, talking to a docker.

Not long after, Anthony sauntered up, impressive in his spiffy armor, shield over his shoulder. He suggested we identify our FPD contact. "That would be Biggleswade, the portly one bumping 'is gums with that click o' lassies down the way." Shane was about to stroll that way when Anthony began setting up his portable contraption. "Beezer! What in the ...?" The tangle of metal and cables rapidly transformed into a miniature humanoid construct, complete with small shield and a sap. "Crackin' li'le thingee, that! Can't wait to see it crack a head or two! I dare ye to have it goose Biggleswade."


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

Anthony chuckles a little and shakes his head. Jokes and the like, even practical ones, weren't beneath him at all. But while he wore the uniform he wanted to act professional. "Maybe on my day off I'll get Scrapper to do something like that. For now we have a job to do, and so long as Scrapper is nearby it'll help me do that."

The small construct started following Anthony at his direction, though it seemed to need a little assistance as they walked through the crowd to navigate, it managed. Not to mention most people got tended to avoid something made of metal and walking on its own naturally, even if it meant stepping a few feet out of it's way. The badge probably help keep most people from worrying about it, but still. Anthony followed Shane to whoever there contact was, eager to get started tonight.


The crowd had started gathering around mid-day, so even showing up a couple of hours early meant wading through hundreds of people milling around Royal Square. The bridge was completely blocked off for now. Rumor in the crowd said it would be opened up an hour before the speech, but for now the public had nothing to do but gather. In the early afternoon it had a festive atmosphere, with hawkers selling treats and noisemakers and toys for the kids and a score of other things and aggressively eclectic docker musicians and poets and sundry other performers declaiming and performing wherever they could set up a soapbox and a hat to toss coins into.

By the time the constables were supposed to arrive, Royal Square and the side streets leading to it were awash with people, with only the 10 foot wide strip down the middle of the square open for the dignitaries' carriages to arrive. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of people there to see the King.

Rolls:

1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22
1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22
1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

Moving through the crowd near where one of the streets spills into Royal Square, Jaelynn spots a rough looking docker with bruises on his face and a dagger concealed under his vest. He isn't partaking in the festivities and is pushing firmly through the crowd to get close enough to the checkpoint to be assured of making it through when the police open up the bridge.

In spite of the crowd around him jeering at his poor performances, Ralf spotted another docker with bruises on his face who seemed less than happy to be at the gathering. This man was also pushing through the crowd to get close to the checkpoint.

Shane spotted a third docker loitering near the checkpoint barricade, pushing against the crowd to keep his spot. He had bruises on his face from a recent fight and a dagger on his belt, half hidden under his jacket.

Aziel spotted Thames Grimsley in the crowd, the charismatic old docker trying to organize an official dock worker's guild. He was leaning against a building scanning the crowd like he was looking for someone.

Map of current scene, also linked on the Campaign tab.

The blue strip is a 10 foot wide lane marked off by ropes with a few FPD patrolmen keeping people out of it. Each blue dot is 4 FPD patrolmen. The black lines are metal barricades set up to restrict the crowd's movement through the checkpoints.


tiefling fighter 2/gunslinger 1, HPs: 28/28 - AC: 17|14|13 - For:+5 | Ref:+6 | Wil:+0 (+1 vs fear) - Init:+4

Aziel was pleased to see a few of her unit taking their places (though she was less pleased to hear Ralf's music. Remind me never to attend a Drakr concert.) Trusting that the others were also in place as the time they had agreed to arrive came and went, she slipped through the crowd toward the periphery, expertly avoiding the feet of those who might have "accidentally" stepped on her sinuous tail.

She strolled slowly over to Thames Grimsley, her manner casual. "Monsieur Grimsley! It is a pleasure to see you today! It is a beautiful day to celebrate Risur, non?" she said with a smile as she leaned against the building beside him. She gave him a coquettish look over her shoulder, her golden eyes inviting. "Are you going to show us your art, you old scoundrel?" Her tail looped lightly about his heavy worker's boot, the tip twitching playfully. "Or are you only here for business? Work, work, work," she pouted, "you Risurians do not know how to enjoy life. Where is the soul, where is the fire?" She shook her fists imploringly, then took out another thin cigarette from its brass case, offering him one as well.

I don't know how well-known it is that Aziel is with the RHC - it isn't something she brings up herself in her free time, but she hasn't tried to hide her visits to the headquarters.


Female High-Elf (Lightbringer) Arcanist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 12/12 | AR 7/9 | AC 11/15*; T 11; FF 10/14* | CMD 12 | Fort +0 | Ref +2 | Will +5 | Init +3 | Perception +8/+11
karlprosek wrote:
Moving through the crowd near where one of the streets spills into Royal Square, Jaelynn spots a rough looking docker with bruises on his face and a dagger concealed under his vest. He isn't partaking in the festivities and is pushing firmly through the crowd to get close enough to the checkpoint to be assured of making it through when the police open up the bridge.

Jaelynn's eyes narrowed at the sight, then she smiled. Spotting one of her companions, she "wiggled her fingers," and whispered.

"I have one. We're going to have a little chat." She gave a brief description of the man, and the intersecting street as well, then she pointed at her fellow "Eleven," and released the spell.

Not waiting for any reply (knowing full well that she'd hear it if there was one), Jaelynn instead made her way forward, and managed to "accidentally" bump into the man. As he'd looked to be in a hurry - and armed - she didn't mess about, and released her magic on him as she touched him, the close contact allowing her to exert her will, and (she hoped), making her charms even harder to resist.

"Oh, excuse me!" she said, voice light and airy, and then she gasped. "Oh my! You're bruised! I am so clumsy! I've bruised such a handsome face! My apologies! Please, good sir, allow me to buy you a drink to make it up to you! And, of course, with such an attractive face, I would be only too happy to have you stand next to me when the king gives his speech. My invitation to the reception allows an escort across the bridge, and I wasn't able to find one. Would you be willing to escort such a clumsy, brainless girl?" She stopped talking then, inhaled deeply, and held her breath, eyes wide, clearly awaiting his answer.

Yes, the ploy was obvious. But flirting wasn't really Jaelynn's primary area of study, and really, to her, most flirtations were that obvious. But then again, most people didn't see things the way Jae did.

If her magic worked, the flirting would be extraneous anyway. Simply smiling at the man should prove enough to convince him to stop and spend time with her. Just in case, however, she had brought her parasol down, the pink top behind the man. The delicate umbrella certainly wouldn't serve as much of a physical barrier, if the man decided to be rude, but it served as a mental cue, symbolically separating the two of them from the crowd, and reinforcing the idea that he should be focusing his attention on Jaelynn. She didn't flirt much, but she had studied social interaction techniques.

Cast Whisper to alert a friend - I'll let you choose who it'll be, though I think only Kostya and Anthony aren't already engaged, and I'd guess Tony will help Shane, and Kostya Ralf, so no biggie if she doesn't get help (although if this guy starts fighting, she's REALLY squishy...).

Cast Charm Person on her dude, spending an AR point to increase the save DC to 16.


Inactive

Kostya wanders around, waiting for something, anything to happen, and looking at the entire event with a mixture of amusement and boredom. "Bah. Is wasteful have all here. Nothing happening." He mutters as he moves between people, keeping an eye on the gangway.

Noticing from afar that Ralf had begun playing his flute, Kostya begins to approach with a large smile on his face, but as the sounds reach his ears, he quickly turns and heads rapidly in the other direction. "Only one criminal here, play like that." He mutters, surveying the crowd once again.


Male Human Vitalist 3
Quick Stats:
HP 26/26 (0 NL) | TW 7/7 | PP 17/17 | CM: 4/4 | AC 17; T 12; FF 15 | CMD 13 | Fort +5 | Ref +3 | Will +9 | Init +2 | Status: Focused

Am not performing for you, simpletons! Ralf thought caustically towards the hecklers. You are seeing hat for tips, where exactly?

He'd quickly given up any hope of centering himself in the rowdy environment and was working through the kata almost reflexively, studying the crowd rather than thinking about his movements.

His eyes kept returning to the route leading to the Royal Square... and the more he looked at it, the less he liked it. Path is too narrow and no escape routes. Is perfect choke point for ambush. FPD is needing better tactician.

Reaction Roll: 1d100 ⇒ 24 Haha, good ol' dependable paranoid Ralf!

His eyes narrowed as a disturbing thought occurred to him. Or tactician is very good and is involved with ambush plans.

He scanned down the lane towards the checkpoint, counting FPD officers as his eyes passed over them... and then his gaze jerked back to a man moving alongside the roped-off route. An angry-looking man. With a handy dagger. Taking a path of least resistance towards the checkpoint.

"Kata done," he declared as he crouched, grabbed his hanbo, and leapt off the table all in one smooth movement. "Make hole. Make hole! MOVE!!" he barked, pushing through the thickening crowd, trying to keep the angry man in sight.

I have no idea how to determine if he's gaining or losing ground on the guy. The intent is to get close enough to engage if necessary, but otherwise just follow. Hanbo is in hand, probably being used to whack the occasional attendee who doesn't get out of his way quickly enough.

Slippery Sort (as Stealth): 1d20 + 1 + 2 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 2 + 3 = 9 Har! Wouldn't expect anything else, what with him in that DayGlo outfit of his. :op


Fighter (Armor Master) 2
Quick Stats:
AC:22; Touch: 13; Flat 20 | Hp 28/28 | Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +0 | Scrapper

Anthony, having gotten together with the FPD, was not quite ready to deal with any situation that arose. Or so he thought. A fullscale riot would be dangerous of course so it'd be best to avoid anything like that. He saw the others in the crowd at various points, doing their best to deal with problem folk before they had a chance to cause trouble. Preemptive measures. He liked that. Tony began to appreciate the cunning of the agents he had been assigned to work with. At first he had been a little worried that he hadn't been assigned to Susan's unit considering they were the one's he had the most experience with, but the more he got to know these others the more satisfied he was with Unit 11.

Anthony chose to set himself up on one end of the rope entrance and have Scrapper, his construct, sitting about 20 feet away at the other end. Getting through a crowd was difficult, but by having Scrapper near the edge of the creations control range, Anthony could react more quickly to dangers on multiple ends. For a while, Anthony simply scanned the crowd, but when it continued to grow he found himself talking to more and more folk, politely turning away requests to let people in and directing them to the many shows being set up along the bridge.

He still tried to keep an eye out for his comrades though. Of the group he was probably the one most able to take a hit, having done so a couple times before, and Tony would be quite ready to do so again if someone decided to cause trouble.

Feel free to have the message come Tony's way, since it seems he's not noticed anything himself.


Aziel Charbonneau wrote:

She strolled slowly over to Thames Grimsley, her manner casual. "Monsieur Grimsley! It is a pleasure to see you today! It is a beautiful day to celebrate Risur, non?" she said with a smile as she leaned against the building beside him. She gave him a coquettish look over her shoulder, her golden eyes inviting. "Are you going to show us your art, you old scoundrel?" Her tail looped lightly about his heavy worker's boot, the tip twitching playfully. "Or are you only here for business? Work, work, work," she pouted, "you Risurians do not know how to enjoy life. Where is the soul, where is the fire?" She shook her fists imploringly, then took out another thin cigarette from its brass case, offering him one as well.

I don't know how well-known it is that Aziel is with the RHC - it isn't something she brings up herself in her free time, but she hasn't tried to hide her visits to the headquarters.

Well, let's see, shall we?

Know:Local check for Grimsley, DC 15: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 Guess not.

'Strolled' was more like 'pushed through the crowd as gently as possible', giving the docker time to notice her approach, and Grimsley smiled sardonically at Aziel. "Hey, it's the gunslinger girl. How's it goin', Aziel?" He plucked one of Aziel's cigarettes and pulled out a box of matches. "Thanks. Some joker splashed a bunch of us with water- appeared right out of thin air. Got all my smokes wet." He rattled the box. "Matches are alright, though."

The docker organizer took one out, struck it off his thumb, and held it out to light Aziel's cigarette, then his own. He took a pleased puff before answering. "It's always work for me, even when I'm playing the poet." He nodded in the direction of the checkpoint. "You come out here to see old Aodhan, too?"


Jaelynn Vance-Saerpheni wrote:
"Oh, excuse me!" she said, voice light and airy, and then she gasped. "Oh my! You're bruised! I am so clumsy! I've bruised such a handsome face! My apologies! Please, good sir, allow me to buy you a drink to make it up to you! And, of course, with such an attractive face, I would be only too happy to have you stand next to me when the king gives his speech. My invitation to the reception allows an escort across the bridge, and I wasn't able to find one. Would you be willing to escort such a clumsy, brainless girl?" She stopped talking then, inhaled deeply, and held her breath, eyes wide, clearly awaiting his answer.

Save: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (17) - 1 = 16

The man caught himself and put out a hand to steady the pretty elf woman. "Uh, no. I'm fine. I'm, uh, meeting somebody, though. Are you alright?" Jaelynn could tell by the man's lack of reaction that her spell hadn't taken hold.

-----

Ralf Tergsvor wrote:
"Kata done," he declared as he crouched, grabbed his hanbo, and leapt off the table all in one smooth movement. "Make hole. Make hole! MOVE!!" he barked, pushing through the thickening crowd, trying to keep the angry man in sight.

DC 25: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

The crowd was not inclined to let the street performer push through. Ralf shoved past a few people, muttering and shouts following in his wake. Eventually, though, people started pushing back. Ralf evaded most of the defensive pushing until he found himself facing a broad-shouldered docker who wasn't his quarry.

"Where you going in such a hurry?"

A glance over the man's shoulder showed Ralf that he had lost ground on his target and would soon lose sight of him altogether if he didn't figure out a way to catch up.


Male Human Monk (Kata Master) 4 / Rogue (Roof Runner) 2 HP TBD AC 19 T 19 FF 16 F 4 R 10 W 5 Perc 8 Init 3
Jaelynn wrote:
"I have one. We're going to have a little chat." She gave a brief description of the man, and the intersecting street as well, then she pointed at her fellow "Eleven," and released the spell.

The message spell, as I understand it, is limited to 1 recipient per level of caster, presumably 1 in this case. So if the message went to Shane, read what is hidden.

Shane's reply to Message Spell:
Shane started slightly at the sound of Jaelynn's sultry voice suddenly in his ear. "I've got a docker near the barricade, looks suspicious," Shane said at a whisper and felt a tingle as he sensed his message transforming into some palpable magical surge that shot off into the crowd. Then he called over to Anthony, 'Oy! Tony. Jae's got one. So do I!"

Shane not target of Message:
Shane called over to Anthony, "Tony! Spot me. POI," assuming Tony would interpret the letters as RHC slang for "person if interest" without the crowd making the same connection.

Shane sauntered casually in the direction of the bruised docker jostling his neighbors for position at the barricade. He watched him from the corner of his eye at little more than an arm's length away. While he waited, he scanned the others nearby, watching for signs of weapons, the odd combination of dirty clothes but clean body and hair, and listened for snippets of conversation to get a sense of what people were anticipating.

How many people in the crowd near the barricade show evidence of having any weapons? Is it only the one's we've noticed, or are knives, swords, etc., relatively common? I would assume we would not let anyone onto the bridge with weapons except those in the escort of the dignitaries in carriages.

Streetwise/Wis/Level: 1d20 + 3 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 3 + 3 + 1 = 13

Finally, Shane turns his gaze directly on the docker, studying him with obvious interest. Let's see if this Ned will make eye contact, he thought. Then he reached out and tapped the man's shoulder and said, "I'll bet a fellow with a beat-up face and carrying a knife to a speech by the king must have a fascinating story to tell. Care to share it or shall we talk down at the station?" Ready action to attempt to grapple him if he tries to withdraw.

Edit: In case you need a roll for the question asked, not sure if it should be considered diplomacy or intimidation.
streetwise/Cha/Lvl: 1d20 + 3 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 3 + 3 + 1 = 21

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