DM Crispy's Curse of the Crimson Throne (Inactive)

Game Master Bill Dunn

Salvator looks like he's about to say something in response to Firdall's question about where he can be safe, but then he looks stricken. "I... I... I don't know." he finally manages to stammer. "I... Vencarlo! He'll know. Get me to Vencarlo Orisini. He will know a safe place to go."

"Vencarlo is who we were looking for when we found you." Tiadora replies, a hint of frustration entering her voice.

"Know any of his haunts?" Wednesday adds, looking at the scared painter.

Firdall shifts again then responds, gesturing to himself,

"If nothing else, my friend my have a few ideas. We can find him and ask him if we can't think of anything else.."

Looking at Salvadore. Firdall thinks for a minute, then rummages in his pack, producing a slightly squished, but still fresh sandwich wrapped in a cloth napkin, and a bottle of rum, which he offers to Salvadore.

"Here, have a swig and something to eat. When we are done, we'll get you a bath and a change of clothes, maybe from your place, if it is still standing."

"In the mean time, we should probably pack. Sal, anything here you want to take with you? We can get your older paintings on the way out"

Salvator reacts to the questions about Vencarlo with a more dismayed look than before. He doesn't even react to the sandwich and rum offered to him by Firdall.

"You can't find Vencarlo?!?" a look of dawning horror grows on his face. "Oh, no! No, no no, no, no! Oh, it's my fault." He clutches at his lank hair. "Stupid! Stupid! Oh, gods, I've killed him! Oh, no! No!" he says as he breaks down in sobs, clearly extremely distraught.

Tiadora frowns at the panicking artist. "What exactly did you do?"

"Inhale, then exhale," Wednesday tells the man.

Salvator takes a few shuddering gasps and then a torrent comes out. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know! I couldn't keep Neolandus hidden forever so I took him to Arkona. I thought they'd be able to hide him, but then Vencarlo told me that Arkona couldn't be trusted. So he must have gone to see if he could get Neolandus back. But that means if he's missing they probably did away with him. But I didn't mean for that to happen! I didn't know!" he sobs again.

A dark expression crosses Tiadora's features. "It sounds like we need to have a word with Arkona then."

”A couple of them in fact. Sharp and pointy.” Wednesday adds.

"Neolandus? You mean the King's Seneschal? I thought he was dead or imprisoned. What was he doing with you?

I don't mind dropping by the the Arcona Mansion and see what we can find Neolandus and Vencarlo if the rest of you are up for it. Sal, do you want come with, or we can find you somewhere safe to hide out until we come back?"

"Yes! Yes, that's him. Neolandus Kalepopolis. He's been a patron of mine for a while, even a friend, but I never expected him to show up at my flat - and not like that! He was bleeding and hurt and really sick. He said that the Red Mantis was after him. I did what I could and hid him a few days. But I can't defend him from assassins! I thought the Arkonas could so I took him there. Glorio Arkona is another patron of mine. I thought it would be alright. I eventually told Vencarlo about it and that's when he got mad. He told me they were a lot more dangerous than I thought. He was really mad at me and that I may have Neolandus's blood on my hands." Salvator sobs again. "But I wanted to save him!"

Firdall smiles and pats Salvator on the head.

"Ahh now there is a true emotion worthy of capturing in a painting."

"Well what's done is done, and it looks like you have volunteers to help see what can be done." Firdall says, pointing at the rest of the group.

" of course, I'll help too, I could never resist a bit of mischief.

So, let's be about it then." Firdall hands the sandwich to Salvator then checks out and searches the small room to the north (on map, unless we already searched there.

"Is Arkona loyal to the Queen? If not entirely then Neolandus might still be alive. If he's useful as a pawn or bartering that is." Wednesday muses aloud.

Glorio isn't known to be particularly loyal to the queen. He's known to be more of a genial presence in the public eye than his father had been - notably the way he makes the rounds of the slums of Old Korvosa, handing out candy to children and coins to their parents. His younger sister Meliya is the more public of the two and she's closer in age to Queen Ileosa and with beauty to rival. Rumor puts them as rivals, at least on a rhetorical, passive-aggressive insult level.

Firdall changes back into the form that Salvador would know best, then wanders out into the hall and checks on the door across the hall. He listens for a second, and checks it for traps. If He doesn't hear or find anything, he'll open the door.

Perception Traps: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (18) + 15 = 33
Perception Listen: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30

Salvator shakes his head and sniffles, "I don't know if Glorio is loyal to the queen or not. He seemed agreeable enough when I asked him to keep Neolandus safe. I pray he stayed that way. I just want to get out of here - to get away from here."

He looks about and gestures at the three paintings. "If you will look into Neolandus's safety, you can have those. Pilts doesn't deserve them, that's for sure."

Meanwhile, Firdall finds no sign of danger on the door across the hall. The chamber beyond seems to be a storeroom - packed with crates, boxes, and barrels. It looks like some have been opened and at least partly rummaged through as some colorful clothing and costuming is piled about some incompletely closed crates.

"Thank you, I'm sure they will make some collector somewhere very happy," Wednesday absentmindedly comments as he watches the expressive man wander back off.

"Well, pack anything you want to take, and we'll escort you out once we've swept the building. I don't want you running into any more trouble."

Firdall will then advance and so a quick search of the storage.

Perception Find concealed objects: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (6) + 13 = 19

A quick look about and riffle through boxes nets the Great Firaldi a jewelry box. It is unlocked and opening it reveals what appears to be mainly costume jewelry. A quick glance suggests that most of it is worth silvers at most, though there may be a find or two in there amid the gaudy brooches.

The final chamber on the floor and accessible through the hallways appears to have once been a storage room. It now sits mostly empty and a reason why is easy to determine... part of the room has collapsed, leaving it partly exposed to the outside. Peering through the corner where the wall and part of the floor has collapsed into the rubble below, it appears that another serviceable exit from Pilts's Palace has been found.

So is that building explored, or is there another floor? I see a staircase.

Yep, the building is explored. Those stairs head down into the first floor rubble and are actually impassible.

"Alright, we might as well get the hells out of here. I'm pretty sure we've stripped the building of any secrets it holds." Tiadora says heading toward the exit.

"Yep," Wednesday quips as he heads with Salv and the others towards the exit.

"So where to? Drop Sal off at his place, then head to the Arkonas? I think we checked out the Vencarlo house already, but we could swing back there if you want."

"Is that where you want to go?" Wednesday asks Sal.

Salvatore glumly answers, "I really want to get away from here. But I do need to get a few things in my flat before I leave. It isn't far and I would feel much safer if you came there with me." He looks up and down the street. "I would be surprised if Pilts gave up so easily. But, maybe you really did put the fear of death and damnation in him..."

Sure enough, the mayhem inflicted mainly by Tolenn and Wednesday seems to have suppressed trouble in the immediate area.

Firdall claps Salvadore on the back and says, "Well, we'll escort you there, and then find you somewhere to hide, or a way to get out of Old Corvosa. Lead the way!"

Firdall then helps carry some of the better paintings that we recovered.

"If someone tries to mug you I'm gonna laugh," Wednesday tells the carefree looter as he tries to carry out some of the paintings.

Rolling her eyes, Tiadora joins the others in heading out of the area.

Firdall replies airily, "In polite society, it is considered rude to abandon a gift, and I am certainly leaving them here for Pilts, he is not worthy of them!

Then in a more normal tone, "Besides, if we are eventually heading over to the Arkona Mansion on a diplomatic mission, it might be best not to go empty handed."

"Valid points," Wednesday admits. "Doesn't diminish the silliness of scene."

Salvator leads you to a section of the Old Dock neighborhood not far from one of the burned wooden bridges that used to link Endrin Isle to the mainland. The small building he approaches is a decrepit affair that has a slight lean to it. Various subdued sounds of life can be heard about the street and from the Shingles above, far more subdued than before the traumas of the plague and quarantine.

There don't seem to be any particular dangers involved in getting to his home, but when Salvator reaches the door, he fumbles about in dismay. "I... I don't have my key. It would figure, wouldn't it?"

But almost as if someone were waiting in the house for the sounds of people arriving (because they were) the door is flung open and a high-pitched and perky voice calls out, "Salvator? Is that you?"

The question is almost immediate followed by an exclamation of joy and a torrent of talk. ”It IS you! Oh, thank Zon you’re alive. I was soooo worried that something really, really bad had happened to you, especially once I heard that dreary, old actor had his men kidnap you. But now you’re out and free and these must be friends of yours. I’m Laori and I’ve been looking for this man for some time.”

All of that more or less said in one breath by a cheerful looking elf with dark hair and eyes and a wardrobe that doesn’t seem to match her perky demeanor - she wears spiked chainmail and there’s a spiked chain hooked onto her belt.

Oh goody, another one. Wednesday bitterly thinks even as he puts on a hollow smile and introduces himself. "Pleased to meet you miss Laori, I'm Wednesday."

He makes sure to keep both Sal and the woman in his field of view, mostly to see the artist's reaction.

Didn't figure Wednesday would need to make that check given his previous interactions and experiences.

*clunk* *clunk* *clunk* Firdall carefully sets down the paintings in the hall and leans them against the wall.

He then turns to look at the newcomer.

"Hello there, it is always nice to meet another friendly face... "

Firdall voice trails off as her words sink in and he takes an appreciative look at Laori.

knowledge(any): 1d20 + 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (20) + (2) + 6 = 28

Fridall gives a reappraising glance at Salvatore, then gets ready to cast a healing spell in case the new girl gives Sal a hug.

Salvator's jaw drops when he sees Laori. "I.. I..I don't know this woman," he stammers. "How do you know me?"

"Hiya, Wednesday!" Laori beams at Wednesday's introduction. "Thank you ever so much for spiriting Salvator from a dreadful fate at the hands of a washed up actor. You have done the art world a great service."

Responding to Salvator's surprise, she says, "Why, Salvator, everyone knows you. Your brushstrokes, your vibrant color! Oh, you clearly show the signs of such an exquisitely tortured soul! And that's why I'm here. *giggle* I want to know what inspires your art. How do you paint such beauty?"

"Ahh, it seems your fans are everywhere." Firdall remarks to Salvadore walking up and clapping him on the shoulder. Continuing in a low whisper "but you might want to be careful of this one, she seems to worship Zon-Kuthon."

Turing to Laori, "Sal seems to be in something of a slump recently, but I have a few of his pre-slump works here if you want to have a look."

Meanwhile Firdall keeps an eye on the Girl, and tries to figure out if she is telling the truth, or if this is just an act.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (4) + (6) + 3 = 13

"Hi YukioLaori," Wednesday beams back, while making sure he didn't step away from Salvator or let his fan get too close. "So, is the rest of the church worried about their favourite artist or was this a benevolence on your behalf?"

When Firaldi offers up the paintings he quickly adds "Works in progress, quite a treat I'd say."

Smiling at Laori, "So, what can you tell me about yourself? You seem pretty ... chipper for someone that appears to be a follower of Zon-Kuthon."

Hi, Wade!

"Oh, no, Salvator's work is reasonably well known about Varisia, but not that far outside of it yet. Though there are some of us a bit more interested in the arts who like to keep our eyes open for masterpieces that are clearly inspired... and inspirational." She starts looking through the paintings and is quickly drawn to one of them.

The painting depicts a handsome man in the process of peeling away the flesh of his arms as if he were taking off a pair of gloves. Underneath, his arms are muscular and covered with glittering blue scales. The man’s expression is one of delight, yet his eyes are empty pits of blackness. Half seen in the shadows beyond him are thousands of humans impaled on towering wooden poles erected in the shadow of an indistinct shape looming on the horizon—perhaps a castle, maybe a mountain, but likely something more.

Laori's eyes widen and her voice becomes a bit more breathless. "Whoa, hoh, ho! Look at this one here! It's incredible! It's almost like he could walk right off this canvas. And those brilliant blues. A Salvator Scream specialty. Oh, my Zon! This is amazing work, Salvator. Absolutely stunning!"

Laori laughs at Firdall's observation about her chipper-ness, "I admit, I'm a little different from the rest of my fellows. They're much gloomier Guses than I am. But I can't help it. The pain, the suffering, the baring of the soul's torments for all the world to see - it's all just so exciting! I suppose that's what drew me to him and it's what keeps me going."
"Oh, but pish! You don't want to know about me and all that, do you? Salvator is WAY more interesting. I have got to know where you get your ideas. Have you seen a man like this one before?" she asks, indicating the man with the empty pits as eyes.

Salvator sheepishly answers Laori, "I, uh, no. I've never seen him before. Not in person, no. I... I dreamt of him. I have all sorts of dreams, nightmares mostly. When I wake up, I have to get what I saw down on canvas. So... my dreams, actually. The dreams I, er, had..."

Tiadora studies the pair in silence.

Sense Motive: 1d20 ⇒ 6

"You dreamt of him?" Wednesday starts as he looks over the painting, occasionaly glancing down at his arm with all the symmetrical crisscrossing scars. "Ones like you can be quite refreshing, though." he says as an aside to the Kuthonite, though just as dangerous, he kept from saying that part aloud as old phantom pains ran through the arm.

"So you take your nightmares and seal them with paint, so that others can have them instead... have you not been having any bad dreams lately?" Wednesday asks as while still looking at the painting with Laori.

Firdall takes another look at the picture, then points to the man in the picture, and speaks to Liori, "He certainly makes an impact. I noticed that you seem to recognize him. Who is he?"

Salvator glumly responds to Wednesday, "Not the same dreams, but still bad ones. Just not ones that I feel the need to put on canvas. They're bad, but they're all fleeting now. Nothing sticks anymore. I no longer have anything to work with."

Laori points at the painting. "I've never seen the man before, but that castle in the background is something I have heard about. That's Scarwall and it's important to the history of my faith. Several centuries ago, a mercenary captain was sent from Ustalav to fight the orcs of Belkzen with his troops. He did well enough that he built a fortress to rule part of the orc lands himself rather than return to his patron. That fortress was Scarwall and it was dedicated to the glorious worship Zon-Kuthon... so of course there were all sorts of beheadings and impalements," she adds cheerfully.

"I think Scarwall and," she indicates the other two paintings from Pilts's bedchamber, "the subjects of these paintings mean that you are blessed, Salvator! Blessed by Zon-Kuthon himself!"

Of the other two paintings, one depicts a thin humanoid draped in shadows standing between huge dolmen - his eyes are a piercing blue - so brilliant as to almost glow. The other depicts a rugged mountain range standing over a desert under a harsh blue sky - a quartet of tusked camels ridden by tribespeople race across dunes made of tiny skulls.

Laori enthusiastically points out, "See! That first one is Zon-Kuthon! And the second one is of events described in Umbral Leaves, Zon's most holy text!"

"Who was this Mercenary?" Wednesday asks Laori before turning to Salvator. "Have you tried a different style, or maybe talk with some Desnans? Kuthonites would certainly give you encouragement but that might not exactly help where you're at right now."

"And what event would that be, Miss Laori?" Wednesday adds a second question to enthusiastic Kuthonite.

Firdall contemplates the phrase "Blessed by Zon-Kuthon" and shudders.