Curse of the Crimson Throne - Mongoose Legend (Inactive)

Game Master Chris Parker

Gaedren Lamm. Three syllables to either give you a cold sweat or a white hot fury. This man has ruined many, many lives. He may have ruined your life, or the life of someone close to you. The Guard know all about him, of course, but good luck trying to get something done about him - he knows where all the bodies are buried, so to speak. If anything is going to be done about him, someone's going to have to take the initiative...

Right, here's the gameplay thread. If you would all like to tell me what you would typically be doing, I can get things started. There's no need to start together - you'll all meet up soon enough.

Working his way through the market, chewing gingerly on a hot piece of unidentified meat on a stick, the Varisian finds another of his race selling breads and pies to the tail end of the lunch crowd. He greets (and addresses) the other in their native tongue. "Ho, Cousin! I have been in this town for longer than is traditional, but I am trying to find out what has been happening to our brothers and sisters, why they have been vanishing. The local family has given me a name, but I am having trouble finding out much about him. When the crowd thins a little more, can we talk about this Gaedren Lamm?"

1d100 ⇒ 67

The Varisian merchant pales slightly at the name. "That's a dangerous name to be saying aloud - he's a nasty piece of work. I think word's probably gotten out that you're looking for him; I got given this envelope and told to give it to the first man to ask me about Lamm. I'm guessing it's yours?"

He shows you the envelope. It has your name written on the front.

Jarl takes the envelope and looks at it. "It appears so. I should probably read the contents . . .. Is there a tavern I should be able to sit at nearby? I would be happy to buy you a drink to help you get past carrying this, if you want."

The merchant nods his head towards the far end of the street. "There's one around that corner; The Horse and Hounds. I'll probably be there tonight, if you want to get me that drink then."

"Thank you, Cousin. If I don't see you tonight, I'll see you around." Jarl provides a traditional parting before heading for The Horse and Hounds. As he approaches the tavern he drops the stick, then he looks not for the adventurer's table in a defensible corner, but for a table with plenty of light so that he'll have an easier time reading the provided letter. "A thin ale, please." After he's received the ale, and taken a sip, Jarl opens the envelope and examines the contents . . ..

Korvosa, it has been a long time since I last set food in this place. Last time I was but I child. Last time Lamm left me for dead after beating me. But not this time. Revenge shall be mine.

Walking down the streets, a bealtiful and young woman, using a set of linen armor with a chain bresplace.

I remember when I was a Dancer and Empty in those streets...
Aproaching the first merchant she sees and then saying "Hello good sir. Have any news to tell a traveller? Just got to the city, years since last I set foot here. And do you know if there is any studio nearby that a Pincher could rent?" she says with a smile.

"Of course, young madam," the merchant replies. "There's a little place just around the corner. Little old lady named Mrs. Baker owns the place."

"You are most kind!"she says with a bright smile "per change you know were someone can get a job here?" then, as if she'd just remembered she says "ah, I've heard a name said before, someone told me if I wanted a good paying job I should go for Lamm, but the person who told me this did not seem very reliable. You know something of tis Lamm?"

Balian wakes up and rolls out of bed, his "g'mornng" left unacknowledged by his wife. She was like that a lot lately, ever since their older daughter was kidnapped. Balian got dressed and walked out of the house, knocking on the door of their neighbor, an old half-elf whose name Balian couldn't pronounce. She said her name meant Sunflower in some language Balian didn't speak so he called her that. After making sure she was watching the child still at home (and being reprimanded for being distant with her when he spent his time chasing their missing daughter) Balian makes his way to the main barracks of the Korvosan Guard. There was something that needed to be reported, though he had... not gone through typical channels.

Balian walks into the barracks. His uniform was left at home, so he was in civilian clothes. He walks to the back to the sergeant's office. Based on the time of day, it would probably be Sergeant Blackwhistle on duty. Fantastic. Blackwhistle was not a bad man or Guard per se, but even by Korvosan standards the man was a stick in the mud who never deviated from procedure.

Sergeant, before you tell me there hasn't been any progress on the disappearance of young children, I would like to point out that I have made some progress. I have a name: Gaedren Lamm. Don't ask how.

Do-Waya is striding along the waterfront, singing (Singing: 1d100 ⇒ 38) "The Ballad of the Triton's Daughter and the Fisherman, a traditional, extremely filthy Shoanti folk-song. He is almost in tune.

While he is the appearance of nonchalance, his mind is roiling: he did not imagine that there could be this many people in the world? How is he to find this Gaedren Lamm who casts such a raging shadow across the Spirit World?

But old Valzahk had foreseen that this would be the quest that would see him come fully into his shamanistic powers, and so here he was: footsore, hungry, and completely lost.

Catcher

The merchant shakes his head. "The name rings a bell, but I can't think where," he answers. "I'll ask around; one of my mates might need someone to help mind the wares. What name should I give them?"

Balian

"Ah, you again," the aging sergeant replies. His face falls as Lamm is mentioned. "Gods, I was hoping you wouldn't bring him up."

His voice lowers in volume and he continues, "Fact is, we've been ordered not to pursue Lamm. Not sure why. Much as I'd love to nail the old sod, our hands are tied. Best you grieve for your kid, get back on duty soon as you feel ready, and pretend we never had this conversation. Best for all of us, you mark my words. There's a letter for you, by the way; no idea who sent it."

The Sergeant hands you an envelope with your name on it.

"The name is Catcher good sir. I appreciate the help. Now, let me get a place to stay before the night falls..." She thanks him once more and then She goes look for a Studio to near the university (cheapest place in the town.)

Balian raises his hand like he's about to slam it into the table, shakes in barely controlled frustration, and manages to calm himself down.

It's not his fault. Orders are orders. You've given that explanation to many people before. He thinks to himself, though he's still visibly upset.

He takes the letter. I don't suppose you at least know who dropped it off? Some kid given five coppers, maybe?

He opens it.

Catcher

The merchant nods. "Good idea,"

As you head through the town, you eventually reach the area of town you're looking for. You feel the sensation of a hand entering your pockets, but when you look around, you see no one around who looks like a typical dancer.

Do-Waya Taan

As you wander around, you could have swore that you saw a flicker of movement in the shadows. Almost like a person watching you.

Balian

The sergeant shrugs. "No idea. It was waiting on the desk when I signed in."

Attempt a Perception test to see if anyone is taking more than a usual interest in this hick from the wilderness.

perception: 1d100 ⇒ 57.

Marada sprinted down the narrow alley, dodging urchins and debris in equal number. Skidding around a corner, she almost upended a goodwife carting a basket of laundry to the neighborhood fountain, "Many pardons!" she called out as she continued on her way, smiling at the grumbling fading behind her.

As she ran, her breath blowing out through puffed cheeks she thought "I really need to train more, one day I may need to run for my life! Not just to track down another lead on Lamm!"

This thought brought her back to the livery stable she was running from at that moment. She'd cornered one Sordred; a friend of her's had told her he'd been bragging about doing a job with one of Lamm's closest confidant's. She'd leapt at the chance to glean some information about Lamm's organization. Using her charms she'd lured the idiot into the stable where she'd quickly had him pinned to the rough wall with the point of her rapier tickling his adam's apple. He'd spilled his guts readily enough after that, she'd left him with a nice goose egg on his forehead for his troubles.

Now , Marada found herself running for the docks to catch the tide. The confidant was sailing for Veldraine on the Serpents Kiss; her best chance to penetrate Lamm's web of lies....sailing away.

So lost in thought was she, she almost ran into the back of a wagon collecting nightsoil. Nose wrinkling from the stench, Marada waved to the wagon master as she ran past, emerging finally within sight of the Jaggare River and the ships sitting at dockside.

Turning north, she ran for the dock the idiot had said berthed the Serpent's Kiss.

Her heart dispaired as she saw the ship she sought slowly turn into the central channel , only 100 feet away, but it may well have been 100 miles.

Hands on her knees, gaining her breath, Marada ignored the catcalls from the stevedores loading and unloading the ships docked nearby, her eye's on the ship disappearing into the haze.

Turning she melted back into the throng of people, momentarily hearing someone singing a naughty Shoanti ditty, a bit out of key but with great enthusiasm.

Humming the tune brightened her spirits a bit as she made her way back to her apartment

Do-Waya Taan

It definitely seems rather odd.

Maranda

As you get into your apartment, you discover an envelope lying on the nearest table. It has your name on it.

Do-Waya starts to look around for a hostel or inn. He'll need to seek the advice of the spirits, and he'll need privacy for that.

Personally, I don't see this character as being literate, given his background, but I guess the GM will make the final determination on that.

I'm assuming everybody is literate - it's easier that way, and will make more sense later.

Do-Waya Taan

Eventually you find an Inn; The Good King's Spear. The image on the sign... is not a spear. It's quite rowdy in there at the moment, but there's a sign there offering bed and breakfast at reasonable prices.

How much for a room? Do-Waya wrinkles his nose at the close air inside the common room, so unlike the Sea Caves, freshened by the coastal breezes.

Do-Waya Taan

"One silver a night; half again if you want breakfast in the morning," the inn keeper replies. In spite of how rowdy the place is, the man seems to keep a clean place.

Surprised, I'll search my pockets and see if there's anything missing. I must be getting soft, I should have been able to see the dancer from miles away, I know how they act, I was one myself...

Assuming that nothing is missing other than coins.

Looking at the place she choose, nothing fancy, bit old but clean. She ask the owner "Hello Sir, I would like to rent a studio. Nothing fancy for I just got in the town."

Pass the man a silver coin and follow him up to the room.

Catcher

There's nothing missing. In fact there's something been added - an envelope. It has your name on it.

Do-Waya Taan

The man leads you up to your room, and directs you inside. Once you're inside, you discover an envelope on your table. On closer inspection, it has your name on it.

Surprise, surprise.

It seens things have been changing.In my time, one would steal, not add something to one possession.

"Good sir, is there any studio avaliable? Else could you point me to a good inn?" she says again to the owner.

I latch the door, and, if possible drag any available furniture in front of it.

I'm going to attempt Spirit-Walk, to communicate with whatever spirits might have brought me this mysterious message, and to be sure there isn't a curse-spirit attached.

spirit-walking: 1d100 ⇒ 25.

So that costs me a Magic Point, and means I'm in 10 minute trance.

Seeing the envelope on the table, Marada freezes, eyes scanning the room, noting that all windows and doors were locked and intact.

Sidling over to the table, Marada crouches and examines the envelope without touching it.

Perception(43) 1d100 ⇒ 40

If you need to some time to figure out exactly what, if anything, I learn from the spirit realm, that's OK: I'm signing off for tonight..

Catcher

"Yeah, we have a studio. It'll cost a silver a month; three months deposit up front," the landlord replies.

She gives him the three silvers and then one additional while saying "Here it is good sir. The name is Catcher. I would really like to be informed about the news as they appeared.".

Once she gets to her room, she will remove her amor and weapons. Sort her possessions pick up her leens put it and then look at the envelope searching for clues spending more time than one would. Let's see what this is....

Perception: 1d100 ⇒ 26 Total: 91 (46 Base + 25 Lens + 20 double time)

She then she open it and read its message.

Walking down the street people just sort of moved aside. They didn't make eye contact, they didn't even seem to notice they were stepping out of his way. It wasn't the black tabard of his uniform. That symbol was recognized for it's protection of the city. The wide brimmed leather hat covered the hate in his eyes. The unkempt facial growth was untidy, but most folks didn't notice it. It was the aura of quiet menace. It was a bubble that pushed out from himself to keep others away.

Rendil's information had finally opened a door in the blind alley of his personal investigation into Aula's murder. He finally had a name; Gaedren Lamm. A corpse walking. He couldn't believe he was still heading in for his shift, but as the old man had put it, She ain't growing colder, lad. Your revenge is frosty as it gets. Let it reveal itself to you.

He was rounding the corner to the square. The Sable Company was on the far side. It was a market day and the business was brisk. People were thronged throughout the wide open plaza and he reflexively rest his hand on his rapier as he waded through press of bodies.

The market is pretty crowded, but very few people manage to bump into you. As you head into the office to sign in, a marine named Marcus calls over, "Ah, Jak, there you are!"

You in uniform yet, or do you get changed in the Company building? Entirely up to you.

Do-waya Tan sits on the edge of the thin mattress, staring at the letter, like it was something pulled up in the nets from a deeper and fouler sea: all sharp teeth and eyes on the ends of stalks.

Finally, after muttering a brief cantrip to ensure that the wrath cauling the letter would not stain him, he picked it up and gingerly tore away the envelope.

Looking over, Jakthion meets Marcus' eye. "Marcus. You waiting for me?"

Wrote in my first post that Jakthion is in uniform. :D

Sorry; didn't notice that bit.

Jakthion

"Yeah, some woman walked in; asked me to give you this," Marcus replies, pulling an envelope out of his uniform.

Crouching before the letter, Marada quickly stood and rushed to her bolt hole, containing much of her material wealth.

Sith a sigh,she saw that it was untouched. Returning to the letter, she frowned down upon it "Where did you come from?"

Crouching once more, she snatched up the letter and with a practiced ease drew a dagger sliced the letter open and returned the dagger in one smooth motion.

Holding her arm out, Marada tipped the letter on its side to allow its contents to spill out upon the table.

No worries!

Taking the envelope, he mutters, "Thanks."

He opens it and begins to look through the contents.

I'm here less than a day and he already know I'm back? Dammit! 'Tis is a trap, but 'tis also my best chance of learning something.

I don't know what time is it, but Catcher will go to the place at once.
But I'll not enter the place, I'll instead hide and keep watching the place to see who enters and who leaves.

I'm afraid that this will be my doom, should I call for help with the militia? But what could I say? No one will belive me.

She will try to cast: Bandit's Cloak (52) 1d100 ⇒ 1 wow a critical success! Lucky!
Feeling blessed in her endeavour, Catcher will then use her footpads and hide to observe the meeting place.

I still don't know about how tests are done in this system, If there's need to roll for Stealth and Perception they have the following values now: Stealth: 81 \ Perception 46

This time, it will be you on a garbage dump.

Slipping the card into his pocket, Jakthion looks around for Marcus, hoping to find out more about the message.

Marcus is still there.

Balian mused over his options briefly. If it was a trap, he would have to fight his way out, and it's not as if he had any option of NOT going to investigate. He had to follow every lead, simple as that.

So Balian went home briefly, put on his armor and gathered his weapons. He strapped his large shield to his back and went outside. He decided if there was going to be a trap the most obvious way to foil it would be to get there a bit before the trapper would expect him and stake it out.

3 Lancet Street. Sunset, should be in about two hours.

Catcher, did you go there early as well, or are you going there for sunset? Balian, I'll need a Perception check.

Perception(20): 1d100 ⇒ 3

This can only go well.

I just need it for later. Still, it was a critical success, and a pretty high one for you, so...

Actually, I should have read Catcher's post a little closer... Also it wasn't a critical success; I thought that 20% of the skill was a critical, not 10% *facepalms*, making it a success, but not a very good one.
1d100 ⇒ 15
1d100 ⇒ 9

Catcher remains unobserved in her hiding spot, but does in fact notice someone else arrive to watch the place. With what intent? Who knows...

Do-Waya asks the barkeep for directions to Lancet Street.

He then makes his way to the waterfront (this is a port city correct?)

He spends sometime meditating upon the dance of the fading sunlight on the surface of Gozeh's realm; matter of fact, he spends a little too much time in his little revelry, and will be hard pressed to make this rendezvous before sunset.

Marada reads the letter a number of times, then sits down on the floor, tapping her chin with the edge of the Harrow card.

So, either Lamm's sussed me out and has set an elaborate trap for me, or he's successfully pissed off someone with some impressive surveillance abilities; to know such about myself and others."

Sighing again, she checks the time "A couple of hours....hmmm, these others...I wonder what Lamm did to them..".

She gathers up her gear, slipping her chainmail shirt over her head for extra protection, then secures her front door and takes a circuitous route towards Lancet Street