The sun is almost set, and in the pale orange light, your troubles seem so far away, but only for a moment, and you are once again in the seedier districts of Altdorf.
Along the streets, the street walkers already lining up for the evening’s business. Make up is applied on all faces, for some to hide blemishes, for others to conceal their advance age, and still for some others to mask their extreme youth. Innocence is the first casualty in this cutthroat world.
You turn a corner and enter a cul-de-sac. At its end, you see a battered wooden sign of the Slaughterman. This is the place you tell yourself.
You enter and your senses are assaulted by the din of the common room. Even this early, a lot of regulars are already present to drown out their troubles.
Behind the bar, the barkeep, a pig of a man and with similar hygiene to boot, is wiping a cracked pewter mug with an equally-dirty rag.
Tavern wenches in dresses designed to show off their ample bosoms ignore you, they do not even ask you what you want.
You are looking for a man, a lawyer, someone named Arch Stanton.
Walking slowly and purposefully into the Slaughterman, the tall imposing figure with the wide-brimmed hat and the ruddy face takes a seat near the bar, and asks for a glass of water. His most prized possession, a holy symbol of Ulric, hangs clearly around his neck.
Walking slowly and purposefully into the Slaughterman, the tall imposing figure with the wide-brimmed hat and the ruddy face takes a seat near the bar, and asks for a glass of water. His most prized possession, a holy symbol of Ulric, hangs clearly around his neck.
The barkeep snorts upon hearing your request. He derisively asks, "Would you like some milk and cookies with that water?" and then he laughs. He makes no move to comply with your request.
The regulars who heard that joined in and laughed.
Albrecht stands up to his full height, ignoring the laughter and moving up to the bar and leaning in close to the barkeep.
Would you like a broken jaw to go with that broken nose you will soon be sporting Sir, or would you like to serve me my glass of water? he whispers menacingly...
Intimidate (untrained) check- 1d100 ⇒ 4
Edit: 1 degree of success if Intimidate is strength based, I believe it is but I don't have the rulebook on me.
The barkeep turns pale hearing the menace in your voice and the certainty of the violence that you promise. He places a glass of water in front of you. He then moves away from you to the other side of the bar as if nothing happened.
Thankyou for the water, kind sir! Albrecht says loudly with a chuckle, raising his glass to the barkeep before taking a large swig. Deciding against sitting after all, Albrecht leans casually on the bar and begins to scan the place carefully for any sign of Arch Stanton.
Upon entering the Slaughterman Istivahn straightens his clothes sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose slightly at the smells that assault his delicate senses. He scans the room for a second then proceeds to find a empty table to sit at.
The regulars do not find it odd that an elf entered their haunt, what with their addled senses very much burdened by the wine. You notice though that the serving wenches are ignoring you.
Kleo steps into the Slaughterman, wincing from a lingering hangover, trying to remember if he has spent a night drinking here sometime before. With a grunt he pushes to the barkeep and orders a pint of lager. Impatiently he tells the barkeep, "I'm looking for a man... Arch Stanton. Do you know him?"
Murghpaw; ahem <spit> stamps his way into the Tavern.
"Vell, dost any of you vine peeples; know where I kanst find zis lawyer; vhat vas his name....Stanton; Arch Stanton; I needs zome legasistic advice; eh; any of you vine peeples know dis man?"
"ach; Kleo; ist zat you? Wit two of us; vee vill zee vhat vee will zee here wit zeese seedly little men eh"
Ah; Zer Gut Man Rupert! Vell met. Yes, vee are in need of assistance; do you know ver Herr Stanton can be found? Vie are not unreasonable men, nor uncharitable if du canst help us; Ja?
The man Rupert looks at the barkeep who hands him a dusty old bottle. "My private reserve," Rupert says with a wink. He directs you all to follow him to a backroom. "All shall be revealed."
Giving a shrewd look to the back of the man and the room; I prepare for an ambush; tap my staff on the ground and give others a pensive look; then follow.
Kleo winces at the thought of another drink, but gives into temptation. Muttering something about "hair of the snotling", he gestures Rupert to pour him a glass.
After he takes a sip, he says "Okay then, where is Stanton?"
"Herr Stanton, will not be coming gentlemen," Rupert raises a hand to forestall any objections on your part, as he continues, "for reasons that will be made clear to you in a few moments, he must not be here."
"Will you hear me out? I can assure you that what I say shall be mutually beneficial."
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