Sammark notices the flicker and tries to regain his focus. Without his powers, he would have a hard time breaking out of the inhibitors.
Sam sighs in slight relief as he feels every cell in his body align to the internal drum of his mind. Though difficult, he can reach out with his thoughts and feel the currents of energy around him again. He focuses on the thrum of sonic vibrations in the air and attunes himself accordingly.
"Hey bird-brain, hold out your manacles," he whispers to Selvan.
After talking with Alister and Reaghar, Connor agrees to head to the Council Enclave's Southern Quarter in Adalantia City. On the way Connor sells his McIntyre-colors outfit (Noble's Outfit, 75 gp), and immediately uses the proceeds to rent a room at a flophouse next to the gambling district. One not too far from the docks.
Equipment: Poor inn stay (week) (2 sp * 3 * 7) = 4.2 gp
poor meals (per day) (1 sp * 3 * 7) = 2.1 gp
wine (pitcher) 2 sp
6.5 gp
Connor splits the results with the other two Humavians (exception for Reaghar), to give them some spending or bribe money for their efforts. Before they were forced to use the hidden gold caches, at least.
Alister gets 10 gp
Reaghar gets 10 gp
Connor goes to the innkeep that evening and asks if there's any work nearby, but he's looking for a job not too strenuous and where the employer doesn't care about criminal records (including "Being Stupid"). During the conversation he's going to let drop that he wished he had something that would keep him from getting beat up as badly next time he was "stupid". And that he was set up, and if only he could force the right people to tell the truth about that night.
To be "in character" Connor will deliberately stain his collar and sleeve with some wine, as if he doesn't care about how much he drinks.
Reaghar gladly takes the 10gp and will spend the same 6.5gp to get a room/meals/wine.
Reaghar will sit at a table . He will cast his glance about, looking at the other folks in the dive they'd come to. He takes a moment to flex his mental muscles, focusing his eyes on the way they tended to move. Who walked like a predator, who was simply a drunk, who kept moving their hand to confirm a concealed weapon was still there. .
As he looks around for something to wrap around his weak bonds against Selvan shrugs and doesn't bother to correct the halfer about the shape of his wings (big insectile black ones like a hunting wasp) and instead presents them to see what he had in mind.
Alys had been on the run for weeks now, hiding from anyone that looked like a bounty hunter or police. She wasn't even sure she was being hunted, but finding out would be bad, almost either way.
She'd ran without thought at first, flying as hard as her wings would take her, weeks on the run. Her clothes were dirty now, and ragged, her few bits of equipment well dinged up now from life on the run.
She'd finally found her way down toward Kintasa, the smaller of the two inland seas on the Big Island. She's sitting in a hole of a dive of a tavern in the port town of Maslatta. The town is a small port town owned outright by Clan Resalia. Most of the people in the tavern wield pistols on their hips, and she's had to pull her psiblade twice now to avoid being forced upstairs to a room for some 'fun' by a local.
As she sits at table eating, keeping a furtive eye on the rest of the room, a pale face suddenly drops directly into her view. A half-elf woman leans forward, grinning oddly. "Now Alys, let's not be moving more than an inch if we want to be surviving the next five minutes. There's a good girl." The half-elf tells her with a grin. White teeth show in her lips, which suddenly grow blood red as the psychoreactive skin she wears stops hiding her true appearance.
Like a dolphin pushing through the surface of the water, her features punch through the skin, her pale skin growing even more pale, her formerly black eyes turning a dark purple that seem to glow with barely restrained madness. Her clothes change from the same sort of dingy travel tunic that Alys wears to a jet black leather armor that is skin tight. Huge black feathered wings grow from her back. She throws her head back, eyes up, a look of rapture on her face as music begins to fill the air, and an over sized revolver appears in each of her hands. Each has a barrel over a foot and a half long, and the bore is easily half again as big as any normal revolver, as if each were chambered to fire shotgun rounds. The one in the right is long and sinister, black as night with silver trim, and it emits a funeral dirge as the girl begins to cry crimson tears of blood. The gun in the left hand is long and sinister, silver with onyx trim, and it begins to emit a wedding march in oddly harmonic counterpoint to the funeral dirge.
Around the bar, people stop talking as the music fills the air. Several suddenly look panic'd, and begin to run for the windows and doors. These are the first people to die. The woman begins to whirl in place, her feet stomping out a dance in her heeled boots that somehow matches the mixed tempo of the two guns. Her wings whirl around her, black feathers peeling loose to fill the air in a flurry of black snow as the two guns begin to bark thunder in time to their songs.
The black gun belches for an evil black bolt that takes the fastest of the people moving, punching through his torso and sending his insides splattering over the front doors of the tavern. The silver gun belches out an equally loud roar and takes a woman in the breast, blowing her chest open as she tries to leave through the back door.
Things quickly go insane after that. People draw weapons and begin firing at the whirling black winged woman, but she spins and dances killing someone with every shot, and firing one shot every second. Bullets whizz past Alys's head, one thunks into the table next to her hand, sending splinters into her arm. Even with that pain, she can't move. Her body trembles from fear and adrenaline and anger, but it doesn't move.
The woman's massive revolvers never seem to run out of the cursed ammo, and in less than 20 seconds, everyone in the tavern is dead, or slowly dying from their wounds. The black haired black winged woman comes to a stop in front of Alys, and slowly bows, holding her weapons out at right angles from her body, bloody tears flowing steadily down her face. Outside, there is no sound, as if everyone in range of hearing that horrible symphony of sound and death had raced away in terror.
The two guns vanish as the woman finally stops moving, and the sound vanishes. She unlashes a backpack from her back, a large black affair that she sets down heavily on the table Alys sits at. "Good girl! It would have been awfully inconvenient if you'd moved. I'd have had to kill you, and that would have been a pain." She smiles sweetly, licking at the blood that drips down her face. She's spattered with blood from her nearly 20 victims. The tavern's floor is coated in a rapidly expanding pool of blood, and she seems to be happier than a school girl who's gotten a new pony for her birthday. "Mmmm, now you stay right there while I clean this up." She winks playfully, and then grabs the head of the person sitting at the next table, and looks at his face. "Oooh, Marvillin 'tel Mintakia, he's worth 400 gold." She pulls a wicked looking mithral blade off her hip and hacks his head off in one blurring movement. She drops the head into the black backpack, giving Alys a view of the man's still open eyes before it vanishes into the leather backpack. Alys only realizes she can move when her hand goes to her mouth in horror.
Connor, Reaghar and Alistair head into the Southern Quarter.
The place is very low rent, and the building architecture is bizarre to say the least. Short to medium sized buildings, all built in unattractive squat blocky shapes. And no balconies or landing pads on the roofs. Instead, you have to go to the bottom of the building to go inside. The streets are twice as wide as you really need, and due to the layout, it's a dangerous place to fly around. Much easier to walk between buildings.
The district doesn't have very many inns, but the trio find a boarding house that will rent them a small stuffy room that's not big enough to spread your wings in for about what they expected to pay for a hotel. The boarding house requires one week in advance. There is a communal restroom on each floor. The most annoying part is they are assigned rooms on the top floor. Normally that is a good thing, close to the exit. However, in this upside down building, they have to climb four flights of cramped stairs to reach their rooms.
The boarding house doesn't offer food itself, but it has a deal with a tavern 3 doors down where boarding house residents can eat cheaper. There's a 10% discount off the food if you eat there. The food isn't great, but it's not poisoned or rotten either. Just substandard.
The trio draw some attention as they sit and eat. Not many winged folk here, a lot of half-elves, humans, half-orcs, and other surface dwellers here. Even a few halflings, like the woman in the corner playing on a mandolin and singing to earn some coppers. The trio are the only three winged in the tavern, and it's a very odd sensation indeed to be the only flighted people in a place.
The waitress is friendly, but not overly so. She's a buxom half-elf with blonde hair and green eyes. Something about her speech suggests she's not from Atalantia originally, and she doesn't have the stooped sullen posture most half-elves from Atalantia adopt toward winged folk.
As Reaghar looks around at the inhabitants of the tavern, he begins to pick out those with weapons (everyone), those who walk like predators (about a third), those who act like prey (about a third). The other third are just people who are aware enough that they don't stand out as prey, but aren't actively being predatory either.
One person does stand out as not fitting neatly into Reaghar's piegonholes. There is a one-eyed, nearly purple skinned, elf with an eyepatch. He exudes nothing of a predator, and yet, there is a palpable aura of death about him. None of the patrons go near him. It doesn't appear a conscious decision either, they simply find that other paths are better. He wears what appears to be a military uniform of some type, although the rank and insignia chevrons are gone. Only the cut and style remain. He is reading from a book while he eats.
There's a high-pitched whine, and the elvavian's manacles crack and one breaks loose. They were already old and damaged, and the additional sonic disruption made one of the hinges on the left wrist manacle fail, bits of brass falling to the floor of the boat.
The guard behind draws his short sword. "Hey you! You can't esca..." He trails off, his upraised sword pausing in it's slash toward Sammark. "But.." He seems confused because Sammark's bonds are still intact, and hesitates in trying to kill the half-elf.
The other guard, turns. "Kill the halfer! He's... still chained?" The other guard also sounds confused, his own sword half-drawn.
Alys stares at the woman in shock for a few more moments, before she regains some of her composure. Her thoughts wander toward the possibility of drawing her mind blade, but what would that accomplish, other than getting gunned down by this demon woman?
Alys puts her hand flat on the table locks her gaze on the woman's eyes and and tries, desparately, to speak in an unimpressed tone, which quickly transforms into hysteric shouting: "Who are you, how do you know my name, what do you want from me and what was all this about, WHY?!", she cries as she makes a gesture encompassing the entire room.
The woman giggles playfully, then begins to walk amongst the corpses. She sometimes takes out a sheaf of papers and looks through them while studying a corpse. Sometimes ripping clothes open to look for birthmarks. Under her breath, as she chops off heads to put in the backpack, she mutters. "100 gold... 50 gold... oooh, 300 gold..." Each severed head goes into the backpack. The waitress get's kicked a couple of times. "Worthless! Why couldn't you have murdered someone?" The elf complains, spitting on the corpse. She ignores all of Alys' questions until she's done decapitating half the tavern corpses.
She then grabs a plate of blood splattered fried chicken off one table, and a bottle of meade from behind the bar. She sits at Alys' table, and offers her a blood splattered chicken leg. "I needed to talk to you in private, and there was money here to be made." The elf says, perfectly reasonable her tone of voice indicates. When Alys declines the food, the elf shrugs and tears into the chicken leg, washing it down with meade straight from the bottle. "Do you know you're currently worth 750 gold pieces? Your clan wants you alive though. You're only worth 400 gold dead." She explains matter of factly. "Of course, if your father doesn't wake up from that coma, or if he dies, those prices will go up and reverse I'm sure." The woman grins, showing off teeth that look more like a sharks than an elvavians, triangular and white, perfect for biting into things, like the chicken leg she strips clean to the bone. Chewing, swallowing, and gulping down more meade, she continues. "So, I'm kind of torn. I can make a decent profit turning you in now. Or I can hold you until the geezer kicks it, and make more. Or I can take your head, go help the geezer along, and sell your head for more after he's dead." She throws the bone at the waitress's corpse and grabs a chicken breast, ignoring the blood on it as she tears into it. After another round of swallowing and meade, she grins that predatory grin. "Or, you can take advantage of the Guild's new recruitment policy. I swear it's a once in a lifetime offer. Good pay, great dental plan."
Alys considers her predicament for a few moments. If her father is alive there might be a chance for her to redeem herself, but that means surviving this... encounter. After this display there is no doubt the woman would see to her father's death personally if she had to.
Alys puts her elbows on the table and leans her forehead nto her palms, staring down at her plate: "And... I suppose what you've done here is... 'guild work'?"
Disappointed that his talk with the innkeep was so fruitless, Connor will first concentrate on the food and the entertainment at the tavern. That 10% discount will be split as a tip between the elfavain waitress and the Halvavian singer.
Pushing back his plate, Connor leaded back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Well," he drawls to Alister and Reaghar, obviously not caring if someone else in the room overheard him, "I'm at a loss. Where are we going to find jobs? I guess I was lucky to keep my jewelry tools, but nobody on that side of town will even look at me now. And my part-time job during craftsman school is out of the question."
Inside, Connor's upbringing was the only thing not letting him stare at all the Wingless. Surface humans, half-elves, and even half-orcs! Thick, heavy brutes unable to fly. Any Clan prejudice would be deadly here. Still, how did these...people live with nothing on their backs but clothing? Connor tried to remember if he had ever seen Wingless doing anything but menial labor in Clan holdings, and his mind returned no relevant information.
"Of course, what do you think the I am, some psychopathic murder hobo?" She says, sounding slightly offended. Standing up, she moves to the man who had moved first to flee the tavern. She drags him up by his collar. "This is Salvani 'tel Resalvia. This dog shtocker decided to set up his own guild. No rules, just murder anyone for any reason." She spits in his face and drags the corpse to the bar, where she begins to gut and dismember it, defacing it and making a mess. "We ungh... stupid idiot... we can't have every moron with a gun.. ugh... starting up a guild whenever and wherever can we?" She finishes dismembering him, and begins to place his body parts around the room, fussing with them. "So, it was my job to send a message. He was running his new guild out of this tavern." The woman turns a bright smile on Alys. It's marred by the blood dripping from the corners of her mouth. "You were an entirely fortuitous finding! I had no idea you were down here. You're on my list of potential recruits for a new guild Community Outreach program. You have no idea how happy I am I don't have to track you or one of the others down." She smiles happily as she takes great care in setting the dead man's head on the exact center spot of the bar, his open eyes staring at the entrance to the tavern. "Really, I think this outreach thing is nothing but bat guano, but Daddy says it's good to make friends with the Council, when we can." She shrugs. "I'd just kill them if they got in my way, but Daddy makes the rules. So, what do you think? Good pay? Good dental plan? Go to new places, meet new people?"
I would never have presumed the "hobo" part. Alys thinks to herself. She stares at the womans sharp toothed smile as she considers what has rapidly been turning out to be her new job for the foreseeable future. She eventually drops her arms and leans back, sighing in defeat, looking down herself to the blood-drenched ground. "Can I skip the dental plan?"
Just to clarify things. There is currently no combat, as the guards have hesitated, and are unsure what to do. Selvan is free, and his powers no longer inhibited.
Selvan and Sammark have one round for surprise, no need to roll initiatives as they are the only two acting this round.
Reaghar wil ask the waitress what's up with the purple guy.
"Eh, shaddup," Sam said eloquently. "Get 'em bird-boy!" In the confusion, he stands and loops the chains binding him over the blade of his captor's short sword and twists it to the side, hoping to grab it and pass it off to the more muscular of them.
Larissa looks pouty. "You don't like my teeth?" She asks, sounding a bit petulant. But then she shrugs. "Your loss. No, you can keep your boring square teeth if you want." The elvavian stands, and proceeds to walk around the tavern, with a small round monocle in front of her eye. She stoops and picks up various items off people, from guns to rings to amulets, dropping each one in her backpack. When she's done, she finally picks up her leather pack, slinging it around and under her wings, the straps sliding up her arms to her shoulders. Like all Atalantian packs, it rides low on the back, near the kidneys, to leave room for the wings to function. Despite the near dozen severed heads in it, no blood drips from it. Most likely then a Backpack of Holding, with it's own pocket dimension. "Ok, now, let's get cleaned up. Can't be seen in public like this." She says aloud, although whether she's talking to Alys or herself is debatable. Her psychoreactive skin shudders, and the blood on her sheds itself off, like water off a duck. When it's done, she looks perfectly clean. Alys of course, has no such skin to do her cleaning, so the elf reaches behind the bar and drags the soapy water bucket the barman kept for cleaning the bar over and plants it on the table with a thunk. "Here, you clean up, and if you want, you can rob them of whatever they have on them. You look like you're broke. You might want to check the bar, I'm sure he has a box to make change with." The elvavian walks to the door, before pulling 3 crystals out of her pocket. She spits on each one and tosses it on the floor. Before it hits, the crystal morphs into a copy of her, complete with backpack and wings. "My butt's not that big, is it?" She asks plaintively, of the third duplicate, which shrugs in response. "I'll be back, I've got to go kill some more people and gather some more heads. You've got 10 minutes to steal.. or salvage, if you prefer... whatever you want from the tavern. I got all the good stuff, but you can whatever is left." The quadruplets then all four exit the tavern in a burst of feathers. Outside, dirge and wedding music can be heard faintly, along with the cursed roar of the elvavians enchanted guns. Other gunfire is heard too, the more conventional type.
Reaghar wil ask the waitress what's up with the purple guy.
The waitress looks at Reaghar, then at the odd elf, pales, and leaves.
Pushing back his plate, Connor leaded back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Well," he drawls to Alister and Reaghar, obviously not caring if someone else in the room overheard him, "I'm at a loss. Where are we going to find jobs? I guess I was lucky to keep my jewelry tools, but nobody on that side of town will even look at me now. And my part-time job during craftsman school is out of the question."
A very odd looking creature sitting at the table next to Connor's happens to look over. She's a bit like a wingless halfling, but not exactly. The oddest thing is her eyes, which are solid black, and her pointed ear tips which are rimmed in black scales. She looks at Connor for a moment, as if looking through him, then smiles. "Well, what can you do? There's day labor in the central square, but you need to be there first thing in the morning. If you can heal, there's a couple of clinics that are always looking for healers." Her mouth smiles, and Connor can see her mouth is full of small needle sharp teeth. "There's also jobs as hired muscle, not sure if you'd be good at that, but your tasty looking friend would be." A forked tongue flickers out to lick her dark lips as she looks at Reaghar. Her eyes turn back to Connor, and she grins impishly. "If you're right out of prison, I'm betting you were popular in there, most people like those feathers and eyes of yours. There's several brothels you could get a job in. I know a couple and could give you a recommendation."
The moment Larissa and her duplicates leave the door Alys pulls herself up from the table and makes for the back room with the water bucket. She is surprised how long she could swallow the revulsion from the grisly scene. Maybe the shock and the fear have kept it supressed until now.
For now she needs to get cleaned up, but she will not take anything from the dead... well, perhaps there are some decent clothes to be found, at least for the time until she can get a new proper outfit.
After cleaning up quickly, Alys heads back out and up the stairs, doing her best not to look at the dismembered corpse spread all over the room. As she arrives upstairs she enters each room carefully, knocking on the door and calling out, if any survivors happened to be hiding here. Inside each room she searches wardrobes and cupboards for clothing.
The first two rooms have nothing in her size, or even for females. The third room, however, seems to have belonged to the red-haired woman that the Assassin said was worth 400 gold.
There are several expensive outfits in the woman's MW backpack (two courtier's outfits) as well as a good serviceable traveler's outfit.
After changing into it, Alys no doubt feels better. Also in the pack is a compass, a journal, an ink and pen set, a weeks worth of trail rations, 100 feet of spidersilk rope, and two crystals that seem to be psionically charged, both small and weak.
EDIT : Forgot to mention, she doesn't find anything useful in the other 3 rooms.
"The central square, you say?" Connor responds gruffly, his ears turning red at the other suggestion. He crooked an elbow, thumbing a fist pointing at Reaghar. "I owe these guys for keeping me from being dog meat at our, ah, 'municipal involuntary rehabilitation project'. I'd rather stick with them for now." Connor actually turned in his chair at the table to better see the strange female. "How's the central square different from the docks? I don't mind getting dirty, but I do mind breaking my back lifting boxes." he asked the pale-haired girl or woman.
"Oh, the central square is where anyone who needs day labor in the Southern Quarter pays a crier a few coppers to yell out and find some people. Could be anything from moving things in a warehouse to carpentry work, sorting fruit, things like that. The docks you have to go through the Teamster's Guild, and have a card and be payed up. Well, that or hire on with some smugglers or pirates, who'll pay you to move their stuff. But you gotta be able to work without opening your mouth. Oh, and the Teamsters will gut you if they catch you at it." She says brightly, but she seems to be paying more attention to Reaghar than Connor, although it's hard to be sure since it's impossible to tell where her eyes are focused.
The fresh wardrobe manages to calm Alys a bit. She decides to take the other outfit and the traveler's clothes as well, just in case and then looks at the remaining items in the backpack. Oh what the hell, she will not be needing this anymore. Alys thinks as she fills the remaining items into her own backpack and finally stuffs her old clothing, folded in a bed sheet in there too. I'll wait out the remaining time here. I really don't need to see the bar more than I have to., Alys thinks as she sits down on the bed and starts leafing through the journal she found.
"I'm no more a bird than you are." Selvan answers matter of factly before vilently addressing the still armed and confused guard.
If hit target is entangled for five rounds. MAy make strength check as move action to break free. The DC is 16.
"They pick up hired muscle down at the docks too? Might be a good place to head towards if we have two job opportunities. I don't mind smuggling, and keeping the mouth shut ain't a problem either. I ain't worried about teamsters either, if the money's right."
Selvan rears up, his hands free, and slams the confused guard behind him, sending the guard tumbling over the side of the boat. The guard falls, but his wings pop out and he begins trying to recover.
Sammark, meanwhile, neatly disarms the guard facing him, and reverses the blade, holding the pommel out to Selvan.
The remaining guard's face turns hard, and he jerks a mace off his belt buckle.
The guard, getting the jump on the two prisoners, jerks a mace off his hip and with a roar slams it into the unshackled Selvan.
Unfortunately for the guard, he loses his balance, missing Selvan and slamming his mace into the wooden hull of the boat.
The woman grins wolfishly at Reaghar, and turns her attention to him. "My my, you certainly are a brave one. Most of the pretend males around here are scared of the Teamsters." She slips off the chair she was sitting on, and walks over to Reaghar's side of the table. She places her clawed hands on Reaghar's arm, and squeezes the bicep. She looks a bit disappointed. "Hmm, you need to work out more sweetie. Still, those dreamy red eyes count for a lot." She smiles up at the larger man. "Tell you what sweetie, you buy me a drink at Daumer's Dump tonight, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine who does some... creative importation.. for Clan Reville." She stands up on tip toe and gives Reaghar a quick kiss on the cheek. "Remember, Daumer's Dump, sundown." She winks and sashay's out of the tavern.
Alys doesn't find anything in the journal that she understands. There are some diagrams and what look like maps, but the language is written in a strange rune that she doesn't recognize.
By this time, there's a bang downstairs. "Alright Alys, murderers dead, let's go!" The cheery assassin sighs a bit as she sees that nothing has been taken from the dead bodies. "Shtock! You left everything! You didn't even take the change box!" She calls out from below, rather upset. Then she comes into Alys' room. "Oh! I see, at least you stole something. Excellent! So much easier if you're going to actually try!" She then leads Alys to the roof entrance. The tavern is a typical port tavern, entrances at ground and roof level, due to the influx of grubs on sailing vessels. "Well, off we go! Council Enclave Next Stop!" She calls merrily, and takes off at a rapid clip, making Alys struggle to keep up for the first hour. After that, she cuts back to a normal pace as the duo swoop and glide and fly through the mountains toward the island capital.
After traveling with the assassin for a couple of days, during which she alternately chatters about things as mundane as makeup and food, and as esoteric as where to shove a blade to cause the most pain before death, the elvavian lands on a building in the Council Enclave. "Ok, so, this is where you live. It's our new Outreach Offices. You are now officially the Assassin's Guild Head of Community Outreach." The elvavian says as she leads Alys into the building. The offices she leads her into are old, but servicable. There's an office with a desk and empty book shelves, 3 bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a meeting room. It looks like this might have been a small import/export business at one point. "Your keys..." She tosses the ring full of brass keys on the desk. "Your first assignment is to find whatever moron is smuggling magic items through the docks, kill them, and report in. Even the Assassin's Guild can't stomach Arcanists." The elf makes a face of disgust. "Who can get on with business when the city randomly explodes?"
She then sits down on a dusty old couch, her wings drapping back over the back of it. "Ok, questions?"
"Well, she seemed pretty interested in getting us as employees. Sounds better than the drudgery of moving crates."
Sam steps back from the fight and focusses his power inward. The air ripples in front of him.
"Come on, quit lying to yourself and get to killing," he says to Selvan, amused despite their somewhat dire situation.
"Don't tempt me into acquiescing to your request." Sidestepping the opponent and taking the sword in one swift fluid motion Selvan acts more on instinct than thought preferring not to kill the men who are mere dupes in a plot they had no part in he chooses to again push this man off balance and tip him off the boat.
Bull rush off.
Alys remained quiet for most of the way, letting Larissa talk at her more than to her most of the time, but she did have a few questions on the way "You still haven't told me your name. And how I deserved the... honor of this generous job offer?" - "Does the hunt down only criminals, or anyone somebody would pay enough for?"
Alys picks up the bundle of keys and pockets it without regarding it further, she sits down on the desk, legs crossed. There is probably no point in reasoning with the assassin, it will just earn me unnecessary scrutiny. Better just play along for now, Alys.
"I'm not a tracker, where do I start looking and once I neutralized the target, what does this report I would have to do entail? Also, do I have people; a team? And is there a good tailor around here somewhere?"
"Names are dangerous, it's easier to track something if you can name it." The woman says with the automatic response of a meme memorized early and often. "Within the guild, I am Deathnote." She dimples as she looks at Alys. "And you'll be... hmm... Purple Lotus."
"You made the list because you are uniquely qualified. For this position, we needed someone who was capable of killing, but still had enough scruples that she can pass for legitimate in public." Then she laughs. "The fact we can hold a sword over your throat is a major bonus too of course."
"If you want to become a bounty hunter on your own time, that's fine. I do it myself, as you saw. Helps with party funds. The guild specifically only kills people we've been paid to, or those with specific orders. Certain members of the guild are exempted from this restriction." She smiles sweetly, obviously indicating she is such a one. "You're exempt too, you can pretty much kill anyone you want. On the other hand, we don't break you out of jail or come catch you if they clip your wings and toss you off the edge either."
The assassin, looking bored, begins to count off on one hand, tagging a finger with each touch.
Index Finger - "If I knew where to look, I'd go kill them myself, and I'd be turning in your head for the reward."
Middle Finger - "I have no clue about the report, just write up something that looks official, I guess. I was just told to tell you to write up a report."
Ring Finger - "There are two... hmmm... I'd call them cannon fodder... But I've been told I tend to be to blunt and honest about people. They'll be escaping from prison any day now, I'm told. Once they're in it. Oh, that reminds me, I need to go kill a strix and dismember it in someone's apartment. I have just the strix to use to. And best of all, he's got a broken wing and arm so he'll be extra easy to dismember."
Pinky Finger - "You're in the bloody capitol of the world! If you can't find a tailor, you're an idiot." She huffs a bit on that last one.
Getting up, she makes her way to leave, and then stops. "Oh, I almost forgot." She goes to the wall, and pushes 3 knots in two different boards in a specific order. Part of the wall pops free, and she opens a secret door. "Storage room with emergency escape hatch. I have to go make a big mess in someones house. You make yourself at home, and see what you can find out. I'm sure tweedle dee and tweedle dum will be along shortly. Just have to arrange for them to find their way here."
Selvan provokes an attack of opportunity by attempting to bull rush, and the off-balance guard takes advantage of it. His mace comes up in an arc.
The mace crashes into Selvan's jaw. Bone shatters and blood sprays, and the elvavian is sent back in an arc that lands him in the boat, on his back, his face a bloody pulp. His bull rush interrupted, the guard is unmolested.
Meanwhile, Sammark activates his defensive screen. The tug puller cuts free of his straps and flaps off as hard as he can.
"Not that I saw, Raeghar. She's interested in you for the most part, not either of us. But the docks sound like a good idea, as does you buying her a drink. Sounded like she's got quite a lead, right there. If we've got the money for it, that sounds like our best bet. The docks ain't a bad follow-up, though, and I figure none of us're scared of the Teamsters too bad. We won't let 'em beat ya up, either, Connor." he says, grinning widely and slapping the smaller man rather hard on the back.
"Uh!" Connor grunted from the backslap. "Yeah, sure. As long as it's 'the job' we're looking for." he replied, his voice lower than before. Now that they had a lead, he didn't want to be overheard as easily. Connor finished the watered-down thin ale in his mug.
Wishing one of his companions was telepathic, and thus immune to being eavesdropped on, Connor continued using homonymic code and shared metaphor. "We're good for a week, I think, before we run out of coin. But we need a 'job' before we 'scrape the bottom of the barrel' . And I'd love to 'write back to my Clan' that I had a 'management position' this soon."
Connor pushed back the plate on the table. "So do you think we should go to this dive tonight 'dressed' ?" he asked, looking down at his wine-stained sleeve. "Because if I have to 'interview' in a bar, I'd rather it not turn out like last time."
My very own flock of jailbirds, how endearing..., Alys stands back up and picks up her backpack.
"You go ahead with your business. I suppose I'll take a look around.", with that Alys looks for a place where she can store her belongings, then leaves with combat equipment as well as her old clothing, to go look for a tailor who might be able to fix it make her a new set and then continue toward the docks to have a closer look at the situation there.
"Useless," Sam grumbled, and looped his chains over a nearby oar well, bracing with his foot he yanks as hard as he can. The chains give a satisfying pop as Sam is finally free of them.
For a moment instinct overtakes any misgivings about killing or the will to live. Striking out with the short sword in hand he seeks the mans heart as he buckles to his knees.
Autohypnosis
Attack
Damage
Crit confirm
crit damage
Then as the sweet taste of oblivion start to overtake him he falls to the deck himself.