Hamathin falls in line with the others.
Olladra's Ladle is in Torchfire, a mildly insalubrious portion of Lower Menthis with cheap theatres catering to the less rarified taste, struggling artists (and artistes) and the moderate amount of vice that comes with a bohemian crowd. At this time of day it is pretty tame, and just has a scruffy air.
It also means that the local bars and pubs have pretty good music, and the Ladle is no exception. A group of intense-looking humans and half-orcs occupy a stage in the ill-lit dive, coaxing rumbling beats from large, bowl-shaped drums and overlaying it with haunting flute music in the traditional Shadow Marcher style (Benedetto in particular nods appreciatively).
The clientele in the place are a mixed lot - mostly humans but with a number of halflings, shifters, gnomes and so on mixed in. Most look somewhat unconventional, as might be expected in such an area. People chatter as they consume bowls of noodle soup or fried vegetables, and a broad-chested dwarf serves behind the bar.
Sense Motive, Spot (1d20=5, 1d20=7)
Blissfully unaware of everything around me except for the music, you can notice, that the tip of my right foot is moving in sync with the drums. "Nice joint."
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Sense Motive (1d20+1=5)
Sense Motive (1d20+1=5)
Colvare also like the place, and the music, hood still raised he stands nodding, and foot tapping, neither quite in time to the music, or eachother.
The "music" and the crowd combine into an assault on Hamathin's senses; it is all he can do to follow the lead of the others.
Rayne, normally in his element in such a place, finds himself distracted by the task at hand. He turns to Mirra and speaks "Well, we're here... now what?"
Rayne, normally in his element in such a place, finds himself distracted by the task at hand. He turns to Mirra and speaks "Well, we're here... now what?"
Spot: 5+7 = 12 We all rolled great.
"Well lets find ourselves a table and start asking around I guess."
The changeling nodded and began casually flirting with one of the more inebriated women present.
(Nice rolls - in the end.)
The party begin working the room. After a few minutes they gain a definate response - a pair of flinty-eyed halflings quietly confront Rayne and Mirra.
They stand with legs apart and tattoed arm across their chests, but say politely enough, "Sir, Miss, please don't bother our customers. The management would like you to leave."
The pretty brunette Rayne was chatting to begins to explain that she wasn't being bothered, but is silenced with a glare.
for DM:
Shagraat notices the undercurrent of activity in the room. Do the guards seem to regard me as one of those that are supposed to leave? Or do I stick out even more than my new posse?
After the warning from Shagraat, Colvare keeps tapping and nodding, trying to to draw any attention to himself, but at the same time, trying to spot any pattern to the people being asked to leave, and those staying.
Rayne raises a perturbed brow. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that the management of a social club frowned on social endeavors. This fine lady and I were simply enjoying one another's company. I'm sorry if my good-natured conversation offended anyone."
The changeling glared. "I'll buy a drink if I must, but if your management wants to take issue with me over nothing, then you tell their asses to come down here and take it up with me in person." He flashed a wicked grin at the halflings, bringing his frightening mien to the fore.
The halflings wither slightly under Rayne's fierce mien. Looking uncertainly at one another, one finally says, "Er, wait here." This one disappears into the door that Shagraat noticed earlier, and is gone for a few minutes. He eventually returns and says, "Follow me."
He leads the group through the door. Inside, in a large dark room, people sit around tables, playing cards or rolling dice under the gaze of more watchful halflings - either croupiers or security. They look up curiously at the party as it passes through to another door, and a stair going down. After a short corridor, the halflings usher them into another large room. This one has a stone floor covered in sand, and a gallery around the edge, now empty. A large door, opposite the one the party entered, is closed.
"Wait here," mutters the halfling, and heads back out the door the group entered.
(Search and Knowledge (Local) checks.)
This one has a stone floor covered in sand, and a gallery around the edge, now empty. A large door, opposite the one the party entered, is closed.
"Wait here," mutters the halfling, and heads back out the door the group entered.
Hamathin looks around the room, then, if it is possible with his pallor, blanches.
"People, be ready," he murmurs. "This is looking like an arena -- and one that's been used."
Search, Knowledge (Local) untrained (1d20=1, 1d20=18)
"Ah'm always ready."
Did the halfling close the door we came through as he left the arena?
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Search, Knowledge:Local(untrained) (1d20+1, 1d20+0=[17, 1], [11, 0])
Colvare notices the door closing, and takein what Hamathin says with a nod.
He grins as he takes down his hood, revealing his tattooed head, and rolls up ups sleaves.
Mirra takes a quick look around as the halfling leads her through the door.
A well-dressed, carefully groomed halfling of middle age, plus two more tattooed midget thugs, steps out on to the gallery above the fighting pit. Rings glint on the hands of the leader as he gazes down at the party, his hair oiled and slicked back, while his two associates carry crossbows.
He adjusts the cuffs of his expensive suit, sneers at the party and asks, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "So, a bunch of strangers turn up in my establishment asking questions, and when asked nicely to mind their own business and leave, turn beligerant and demand in no uncertain terms to talk to the management. I dislike people displaying a lack of respect to my employees, as I consider it to be disrespecting me. But I'm generous at heart, so here I am - the management. I've introduced myself - maybe you would do me the courtesy of doing the same and explaining why you are in my place snooping around."
Shagraat is not a talker unless he has to be. He scans the gallery above. How high is the lowest handhold he can spot? Does the arena wall look climbable?
Nice. We're fish in a barrel.
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Know: N&R, Know: Local (both untrained) (1d20 0, 1d20 0=[17, 0], [10, 0])
Colvare steps forward, adressing the man in the gallery, dripping sarcasm, he utters "I will be brief, as your time is obviously valuable. We are looking for a student of the university. Our business with him is our own, and you operations are of no interest to us."
Know: N&R, Know: Local (both untrained) (1d20 0, 1d20 0=[17, 0], [10, 0])
The halfling glowers down, his thin veneer of civility cracking.
Urthona turns to Colvare his face aghast. While having his back to the halflings he looks to Shagraat and makes a nearly unnoticable movement with his head and eyebrows to the Emporium. Then he folds his hands before him and braces for the eruption of violence.
I hope Rayne and Mirra can cool these hotheads down. More Rayne, he brought us into this mess, he'll bring us back out of it...
"Talk nice, pretty human," Shagraat mumbles quietly, gazing at Mirra. I'm not provoking combat when we're at such a disadvantage.
Hamathin steps in. "What my human companion is saying is that we are looking for another human. We have no business with you halflings, so you need not worry about us."
Mirra's mind races as the situation quickly degrades. Mirra steps between the halfling and the rest of the group, "OK obviously we are trying to avoid any conflict here, so how about you just let us out and no one will get hurt."
Rayne raised his hand towards the others, scowling at them. "Shut up, idiots. Let me handle this."
The changeling's demeanor altered dramatically, as though a switch had been thrown. A genuine smile swept across his features as he tilted his hand respectfully towards the glowering halfling.
"I am working on behalf of very important people at the University who have a particular interest in someone we have heard on good authority makes his presence here with some degree of regularity. We seek a simple audience with this individual, a man named Harmal. All we have are a few questions. Nothing more. Might you know where we could find him?"
"Harmal? Never heard of him."
"Harmal? Never heard of him."
** spoiler omitted **
Sense Motive (1d20 3=14) Nope.