"Good points. Lead the way; I'm ready for anything. Make sure Kadesh stays within croaking range, so he can warn us of ambushes."
"Getting into the establishment without causing alarm may be difficult for most of us. I am quite competent at stealth but not subterfuge. Perhaps I can find a window to get in off the main floor if the need arises. Remember, we need to give Vaisyrharath enough time to discern Trinkis's actual location. In any case, I will be shadowing the main group from the rooftops most likely as they approach."
"The gambling hall is mostly underground in some old cellars that have been knocked together. There are several public entrances but they are all at ground level and all guarded. I don't doubt there are secret entrances as well around the neighbourhood but we haven't been here long enough to find out where they might be," says Sal.
"That said, Joord is expecting us," adds Marrius. "We're going to bargain for Trinkis so we'll get in. Getting out again, with Trinkis, might be harder. A show of force might be more useful as a bargaining chip. I can't imagine Joord really wants a fight in his gambling hall, it would be bad for business."
"I understand, stealth is unnecessary. I can work with that. Let us be off then."
Gil reaches Badside, an older district by the river. The buildings here are mostly wood rather than stone and suffering in the tropical climate from rot, storm damage and termite attack. Rickety tenements several storeys high are squeezed between sagging warehouses, and the streets and alleys are choked with mud, filth and rubbish. Beggars call for alms and grubby urchins run about in packs. Following the instructions he received, Gil walks into a run-down laundry. Workers stir mysterious-looking vats filled with water heated by fires underneath – the temperature is stifling and the air filled with steam. At the end, a thug stands by a door.
“Whadyawan?” he grunts.
Gil is accustomed to dealing with this sort of low-life and with a brief display of insouciant bravado she is past him and down the stairs beyond. At the bottom is the gambling hall.
The ceiling is low and the room itself very large, the drooping wooden roof supported by a forest of flimsy pillars. Lit by flickering lamps it is hard to make out its furthest reaches, and even at this time the place is busy. Gaming tables are spread out in profusion – card tables, dice tables, even a few more exotic games – scattered around the room and disappearing into the gloom, surrounded by hard-faced punters and led by croupiers of both sexes. There is a bar at one corner and servers move amid the action bearing aloft trays of drinks. Others, more alluring dressed and clearly selling other services, saunter between the tables. One table towards the back sits on a raised dais. A few humans seem to be sitting there and standing close by are four armed and armoured lizardfolk who scan the room watchfully.
It is hot and humid and walking through the city is stickily unpleasant, but still filled with unusual sights, sounds and smells. As they thread their way through a market they spy a trader selling caged pterodactyls. They caw and nip at passing strangers while across the street a priest of the Silver Flame proselytises to largely indifferent crowd. A few lizardfolk shoulder through the throng, their reptilian faces inscrutable. Finding their way around is quite easy as the city is planned on a grid pattern and the stone buildings all look quite new. Newthrone was established quite recently as a refuge from the Last War and its architecture is a strange mix of the different styles from across the Five Nations – a Brelish tower here, a Cyran cupola there, Thranish stained-glass windows coupled with Karrnathi gothic and Aundairean flourishes – rather than having a distinct style of its own. The air is similarly filled with a mix of accents.
They reach Badside, an older district by the river. The buildings here are mostly wood rather than stone and suffering in the tropical climate from rot, storm damage and termite attack. Rickety tenements several storeys high are squeezed between sagging warehouses, and the streets and alleys are choked with mud, filth and rubbish. Beggars call for alms and grubby urchins run about in packs, but all steer clear of a large group of armed and capable warriors. Following Marrius, they walk into a run-down laundry. Workers stir mysterious-looking vats filled with water heated by fires underneath – the temperature is stifling and the air filled with steam. At the end, a thug stands by a door.
“Whadyawan?” he grunts, though the number of the group give him pause.
In his cabin, Vaisyrharath continues to meditate on Trinkis’ hat. On deck, Valentis paces and scowls. Now dressed in her armour, her axe is replaced by a greatsword strapped to her back. She prowls tensely by the rail, looking toward the direction in which the others have left.
"How much does Joord pay you, buddy?" he growls. "The answer is this - not enough to f!%~ with us. Go take a lunch break while we chat with Joord. If not, I'll take that cute little nightstick of yours and break every bone in your body before ramming it so far up your ass that it'll tickle your tonsils."
A certain amount of time after the Away Team leaves, Pierce begins to ward himself against certain spells.
The ceiling is low and the room itself very large, the drooping wooden roof supported by a forest of flimsy pillars. Lit by flickering lamps it is hard to make out its furthest reaches, and even at this time the place is busy. Gaming tables are spread out in profusion – card tables, dice tables, even a few more exotic games – scattered around the room and disappearing into the gloom, surrounded by hard-faced punters and led by croupiers of both sexes. There is a bar at one corner and servers move amid the action bearing aloft trays of drinks. Others, more alluring dressed and clearly selling other services, saunter between the tables.
One table towards the back sits on a raised dais. A few humans seem to be sitting there and standing close by are four armed and armoured lizardfolk who scan the room watchfully. Marrius nods, "That's Joord over there."
Mintash has a look of disappointment as he passes through the entry that the doorman didn't look the least bit intimidated.
"If that's Joord then he knows we are here too. Want to keep him waiting to annoy him? And to let him know we aren't frightened of him either I guess? I haven't heard from Vaisyrharathe yet so we need to by him some time to finish his 'seeing' anyway."
Away team:
"Captain, a pleasure to see you! I understand you have the money you owe me."
Wastin' away again in Meditationville,
Searchin' for my lost gnome in a cell
Some people say there's a goblin to blame...
"But it is quite simple," interrupts Joord, "We agreed forty thousand. If you cannot provide me with forty thousand gold, then you forfeit both your ship and your pilot. That was the arrangement."
"And I can get you that. But we need to do a job to get it. And for that I'll need both the ship and Trinkis."
"So you propose to take both your collateral and your ship and just fly away on this 'job'?" replies Joord. "And I am expected to simply trust you will return at the end of this with the money you owe me? Do I look stupid to you? Or are you simply trying to insult my intelligence? Did you think that some sort of show of force might intimidate me into agreeing to this?" Joord snarls angrily and the lizardmen move almost imperceptibly, their reptilian faces inscrutable as they study the adventurers. "Well, it's fortunate you all seem to be here - it saves me the effort of throwing you off what is now my airship."
Not yet, though I am narrowing the search. I will pass on the message
Starting with the Captain, each member of the away team receives the following telepathic message.
I am still searching for your pilot.
Gil suggests telling your host that this is not a show of force, but a demonstration that there really are customers for the job.
Away team:
Away team:
There is a sudden eruption, a psychic roar that tears through the gambling hall. Unaccustomed minds feel it as sound and flashing lights but those with more discipline realise that the effect is purely psionic, affecting the brain directly without interacting with the senses. But that isn't much help as the sensation is having iron spikes driven into their skulls makes everyone in the room clutch their heads.
As the sensation ebbs there is silence in the room for a moment. Then there is a hoarse scream as Joord reaches up and plucks out one of his own eyes.
There is a sudden eruption, a psychic roar that tears through the ship. Those unaccustomed feel it as sound and flashing lights but those with more disciplined minds realize that the effect is purely psionic, affecting the brain directly without interacting with the senses. Vaisyrharath can feel this as a mental blast wave rolling across the whole city. But that isn't much help as the sensation is having iron spikes driven into their skulls makes everyone clutch their heads.
And, because I'll be in touch with the Away team,
Away team:
; I get another +2 if the effect comes from an aberration.
Who are still standing?
Shaking his head clear of the psycic assault he immediately thinks a message to Vaisyrharath while dropping into a combat stance.
Gil feels the assault, but her mutable nature gives her an edge. Even as she realizes that she’s thrown off the attack, she is evaluating what she should do to maintain cover. Seeing many around her clutching their heads and falling to the ground in agony, she follows suit.