'A flash of light sends you crashing through the planes, echoes and images of creatures and areas you have never seen before greet you as you tumble through reality. As your body is ripped from the Material Plane, you are barely able to control your arms and legs as they bend and twist through what seems to be a blue-green wormhole. The colors and images all fade to black, before you are forcefully thrown into a room quite similar to that of the venture-captains of Varisia. The room is filled with Varisian artwork and wanted posters – mostly depicting tieflings and aasimars, and you recognize the text to be written in common. Behind a desk cut out of a type of oak you find strangely familiar, stands a tall and quite attractive, muscular man with his arms crossed – smiling evidently as you are thrown onto the floor. He wears a suit of dark brown high-quality leather, probably magical in nature, with matching boots and bracers. His hair is dark brown, shaved on both sides and slicked backwards – leading to a tiny knot at the back of his head. On his left hip hangs a remarkable dagger, and you can easily see that the hilt is fashioned with great skill. He applauds you as you get back on your feet and you notice the four adventurers you entered through the portal with scramble to their feet next to you.'
"Congratulations on being selected for your first mission, pathfinder-hopefuls! Welcome to Prism and the City of Door! I am certain you have many questions, but please – allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Jaren Crall, venture-captain of Door and an expert on this particular crossroad-plane. As you probably know already, Prism is a gateway to the other planes – travelers from distant worlds and realities pass through this plane in order to cross over to other planes. Door is inhabited primarily of Aasimars, Tieflings, Humans and Fetchlings – and just to be clear: this is not Varisia. You get into trouble in Door; there's not much I can do to help you - as the Triumvirate; a faction of high power and the main police-force in Prism – given power by our ruler: The Lady Dreamer – abide by strict rules. If you are arrested for a crime - whether you committed it or not – you can and probably will be sentenced to death. Mark my words: thread carefully." His emphasis on the word almost echoes in your head, perhaps you are just fatigued by the journey or perhaps there is more to this man than it appears.
"But seeing as how you’re all probably weary after the journey, I’ll not waste our time any further. In case you have forgotten, you’ve all been sent here to investigate the Planar-Plague ravaging Prism. Put in simple terms: you are to find out how far the plague has spread, who is behind it and if possible: halt the plague from spreading further. If you are unaware of the effects of the plague, allow me to elaborate." Jaren draws his breath, leans forward and places his left index finger into the palm of his right hand.
"The Planar-Plague is deadly, an illness of unknown origin that manifested upon the poorest inhabitants of Door and has now spread to at least a third of the city's population. At first those infected turned cold. Not their body-temperature, no – but they feel cold. It's hard to explain. Then a deep, guttering cough follows suit – and that's before the illness really settles. Next, the infected, depending on race and constitution, begin rambling. Not your every-day-doomsayer ramblings, no – they have a hard time constructing sentences that make any sense. Their minds deteriorate and some have even turned completely insane. Lastly, those few infected that survived for long periods of time flayed themselves and turned into some sort of shadow-creature. This, of course, makes us believe that someone either in league with or from the Shadow Plane is responsible – leading to your first assignment. Make your way to the Hanged Man tavern, ask questions but don't tell anyone where you are from or who you're working for – we are not a prominent faction in Door and unwanted attention isn't something we require. Furthermore, most of the races native to Varisia aren't welcome here, and most of them live in the City Within. At the Hanged Man, look for a man named Red-Jack, a notorious tiefling adventurer – known to hold information most people don't. You're on your own from here on, but report to me and no-one else; if you find something important. Now get going, we don't have much time."
'Jaren leaves through a door at the left side of the room, shooing you away with his hand before closing the door. There is a path behind you that leads out to the main hall of the building, followed by a small stairway and a large door leading out to the streets of the city.'
'As you step through the doorway leading out of the Lodge, a sun-like orb hanging low on the shifting sky greet you with its warm light. The sky itself is filled with different assorted colors; from bright orange to dark purple, adorned with a green smoke-like essence swimming across the colorful canvas. You find yourselves on the busy streets of Door, standing but a few feet from the entrance to the Lodge behind you. The sound of creaking, bellowing noises echo through the streets, and you notice how one of the structures slightly to the west of your position, change shape as the roof seemingly comes alive before it settles into a new form. All around you, busy creatures from across the planes scuttle, converse and stride past you, some headed west; towards a large open market you can barely make out; as the street bends a few hundred feet away. Others grab small (or even large) objects of interest from their backpacks, pockets and belt pouches before they disappear through fleeting portals, not unlike the one you stepped through to get here.'
'The street stretches east for about two hundred feet, where it is blocked off by a massive, obsidian wall – stretching far into the sky, at least three times as tall as the largest house you can see from where you are standing. As your eyes return to street level, the voice of an old man catches your attention.' "..For he has come to bathe us in his Shadow, to swallow the cities and bring darkness to the land once more - and with it we shall be forgiven for our past sins and ascend.." 'the old man continues his sermon from an elevated platform, surrounded by a small group of humans, tieflings and aasimars. Some of them nodding in agreement as the man rants on, while others break away - shaking their heads in disbelief.'
'A group of heavily armored guards standing on the other side of the street notice how your group is taking in their surroundings - and approaches you; their silvered armor reflecting the solar-orb's bright light in their stride. One of them unhooks his helmet, revealing a face almost completely void of color. As he places the ornate headpiece under his left arm, he speaks in a calm but stern tone.'
"Mgooga eeeaen naemootamm oot Bnoomp, blootalootsm."
Ladder notices that dwarf was not on the list of races in the Prism. Not for the first time he thinks that this might not be worth the risk. He retracts the thought, anything is worth the risk in his situation. The comment that not all races are welcome sets him on edge again.
Outside as the guards approach ladder reaches for his sword on instinct before stopping his hand short. He frowns at the others, hoping they can understand the odd language. Better them than him, he would just trip over his own words anyway.
Not a lie, as such, but not the whole truth either. Tarial wasn't too certain that the people here would be very pleased by the idea of outsiders coming to investigate there problems - she knew she might not be inclined to have people nosing about her business. Even if they were trying to help. Tarial was more concerned about the plague spreading back to Golarion than in Door, at least for now, but she wasn't interested in seeing the place suffer either.
Although...she wasn't exactly enjoying it so far. Something felt...wrong. Like her skin didn't fit. She could feel Khala moving on her skin in adgitation, too. Worse, she'd noticed a tattoo she'd never had before had before. It was worrying, and disconcerting. She'd have to ask the Venture Captain, when she saw Crall again. She'd heard there might be side effects to planar travel, but...
Glancing over at Ladder, she murmurs, "He's just curious as to what we're doing. Seems to to be the local watch, or the equivalent." She grinned, fighting down the remaining queesy feeling in ehr stomach, and continued.
Ladder nods in appreciation at the gnome. wait, was gnome one of the okay races. Too much information to remember all of it;couldn't he have written it down for us?
The sergeant notices how Ladder clutches his hand for a blade, then addresses Tarial in a much sterner tone.
"Eeeae beaelg ge ball ge baab eeeaen bag et oo laoomd oot gda moogee, blootaloots. Atsat gdneaesd gda gooootgag mpall et gdoom eta, Oo namestoota oo gboonk bdat Oo maa eta. Ook eeeae boomd, eeeae poosdg sag oo gamatg bnooma ken doop gebt oog gda poonbag - Oo bteb Doonbat booeem seeg petaee ken gboontsat mlootsam."
The guardsman's eyes move towards the lodge behind you, then locks his eyes on Tarial once more.
"Oo saeamm eeeae'na boogd Mnooll gdat. Dnpbd. Mgnootsa poot, gdoog eta. Oo oop Gnooaeptsoonooga mansaootg Noolgdoon, ootg Oo oop teg dana ge lamgaena eeeae et deb gda maemgepm ek Bnoomp ookkamg eeeae en eeeaenm. Ook eeeae dootsa chaeamgooetm, Oo oop maena mepaeta gebt oog gda Dootsag Poot moot dalb eeeae."
He points towards the marketplace to the west.
"Oog'm etsan eeetgan, mpoomb goon oot gda pooggla ek gda poonbagblooma - moot'g poomm oog. Eeeae pooee na et eeeaen booee."
Miserable language, Keilaan thinks. The bleeding tongue of chaos -- shifting grammar; endless, contradictory vocabulary. There's a reason I never learned it. Glad someone managed, though, if the Watch speaks it...
Having taken in the oddities of their surroundings, Keilaan reaches for a scarf to blot her forehead, then jerks to a rigid stillness, staring at her hands. The strange, green scars of her passage run -- some of them -- all the way to her fingertips. After a moment, she snatches at her buckler, using its polished surface as a makeshift mirror to inspect her face. She tucks it away again, while a litany of what must be curses falls from her twisted lips.
Tarial smiled at the sergeant. Or at least, her lips moved and her teeth were exposed in an approximation of a smile. It was a good thing Ladder had no idea what was being said - a brawl with the guard would do them no good. And frankly, she didn't feel up to it.
She listened to Keilaan, but it was one of the tongues she didn't speak yet. Still, she didn't look unduly amused. It was hard to tell, exactly. Others were odd sometimes, though. They never seemed to have the sense of right of a proper Gnome.
Swallowing her bile, she replied;
She nodded to the others. "He says we can go on to the inn. It's just over there, in the marketplace, in the middle. He says we can't miss it." She glanced over at Ladder. "And if someone called Harken wanders over with a bag of gold, tell him to get stuffed. This place has issues." Of course, Cheliax back home did slaves, too. But they worshipped devil. And Katapesh, but they worshipped money. Then again, the seargent was speaking Abyssal and wearing a very shiny helmet...
With a last nod to the guard, Tarial headed towards the direction of the Hanged Man.
Waiting for the patrol to march out of earshot, Keilaan thoughtfully pulls out her buckler again, propping it on a windowsill of the Lodge while drawing out a pair of brass-and-iron wands from her pack. Glancing at her companions, she begins binding her hair up and back, into a bun which she secures by thrusting the wands through its bulk, peering at her reflection and muttering in between asides.
"Well... my thanks for dealing with the Watch, and I hope that that..." she grimaces, pauses, then shrugs and continues "... well, call it a language -- isn't the usual patois." Her hair dealt with, she turns fully to the others, smiling broadly -- which twists her scars into new not-words.
"Ghastly, aren't I?" she chortles; "Which I guess is all to the good -- I'll fit in well enough here." Sniffing the air, she adopts a thoughtful pose. "I don't suppose any of that lecture was directions to a food stall? No matter, we can always follow our noses -- is anyone else hungry? A snack on the way to the Hanged Man wouldn't be amiss."
She adjusts her gear, hefting a pair of backpacks and an old, battered harpcase into a pile against the Lodge wall. "I am Keilaantara 'Marukh -- call me Keilaan in the short form; I hope we needn't stand on formalities? And I really AM hungry, despite" she gestures vaguely at the sky, the street, the strange folk "all this. Let's find some food, and perhaps a porter..."
Taurven rolls out of the worm-hole, a dagger clenched in his off hand. He spins to face the shadow thing, but there is only a blank wall. The portal is closed, the dreadful, nebulous creature is gone. For now, at least.
Gathering himself together, Taurven faces Venture-Captain Crall. As the man begins to speak, Taurven realizes that he still clutches his dagger in his pale fist. Reluctantly he puts the knife away, and gives his attention to Jaren's speech. The thing from the worm-hole tugs at his thoughts, but he puts the idea aside, surely the foul creature cannot follow him here.
Outside with the others, Taurven lets the gnome do the talking, though he speaks Abyssal. (Taurven had spent a summer, in Absalom stalking a retinue of clerics. They had been priests of Asmodeus, and Taurven had picked up their church language, before he decided the risks outweighed the rewards of robbing them.)
"Maybe they have food at the Hanged Man." Taurven doesn't feel real hungry right now, and he feels like he is missing something important. The rogue keeps looking at the ground, around his feet.
Stepping close to the Dwarf, Taurven tells him, in a low voice:"Seems your folk have a market value here. I'd keep it sharp, if I were you."
Marcus glowers at the guard."Interesting, a poor reception indeed. Well, we will just have to see how this goes. My name is Marcus Teric" Marcus smiles at the sound of sermon. It seems to be a wonderful sermon. Marcus looks to see what symbols were being used.
Ladder gives the human a shocked look. He just manages to keep his voice down. "Like slaves!" He calms himself to a normal voice "They'll have fun taking me. I'm Ladder by the way, thanks for the tip." Ladder sticks out his hand.
"No problem. Best we stick together, and watch each others backs here." Taurven casts an anxious glance over his shoulder. "I'm Taurven. Once a street rat. Now a Pathfinder."
Taurven grips Ladder's hand in a firm handshake.
"It's okay, I use to be a human." Ladder stumbles, pauses and then laughs. "I uh, shouldn't be so, sorry, I shouldn't make fun of your race. "
"I don't know what all the fuss is about," Tarial replied as she walked, "You can't be that much different. You're all not gnomes, after all." She grinned. She knew a lot of non-Gnomes didn't feel comfortable being lumped together as a group, but it always helped to point out they weren't that different. After all, they weren't Gnomes.
"I'm Tarial, by the way. I like setting things on fire, so they sent me here because they didn't want to burn down Absolom. More." She giggled slightly. "So now I'm a Pathfinder."
Glancing over at Keilaan, she added, "Personally, I think you look fine, but I'm told I have odd tastes." She gestured to the extensive series of tattoos covering her body, smiling a little as she felt the magical power thrumming through the lines of ink. Although the new one still made her feel odd.
"I suppose that's so -- food at the inn, I mean, Taurven" Keilaan replies. "Marcus; a pleasure. Likewise, Ladder and Tarial -- and thank you, I guess." Suddenly blushing, she looks to the gnome woman and stammers, "Oh, goodness, that's rude. I'm sorry. Just still a little... well, I'm adjusting to my 'new look.'"
Sighing, Keilaan puts on one pack and shoulders the other, carrying her harpcase in one hand.
"And if we go directly to the Hanged Man, I can maybe bespeak a room and drop off my wardrobe" -- this, shrugging with the shoulder of her second pack. "And the sooner we find Red-Jack, the sooner we can begin our investigation..."
"And, uh, were there any specifics out of the patrol-leader's speech I really ought to know?"
Standing with her burdens, Keilaan readies herself to stumble through the market, keeping her free hand near the dagger sheathed at her back.
'As your group turns slightly around the bend, you enter into a gigantic open marketplace. Bustling with life and activity, it is a sight to behold. Stands, open shops and cages riddle the area – containing items, weaponry and creatures you have never seen before. A large claw-like hand extends out of one of the cages as you pass by, where a massive shadow-creature lunges after Ladder and roars fiercely as it cannot reach its prey. It scuttles back into the darkness as a burly ogre cracks his whip and hisses towards the monstrosity.
Multiple voices are heard buzzing through the area and a group of entertainers contribute to the noise with a rather enchanting melody. A man dressed in clothes colored in bright pink to deep orange, wearing something that resembles a lion's mane around his neck, sings out to passers-by; trying to lure those inclined to lighten their coin purse towards his stand. Multiple paths lead to and from across the market and the streets are filled with people, creatures and cretins of all sorts.
Past a few stands to the northeast, most of them offering fruit and meat; stands a cruel-looking duergar wielding a vicious-looking whip, haggling in discontent with a nobleman. It would seem that the discussion concerns the price for a grim-looking dwarven slave standing firm behind them. Around the dwarf's neck hangs some sort of shackle, fastened to a chain leading to a large pillar - where multiple half-orc, dwarf and halfling slaves sit huddled about, many of them riddled with scars.
Somewhat out of place in the middle of the marketplace - stands a large, well-kept tavern, easily able to hold over a hundred patrons. Above the entrance, a massive double-door cut from fine oaken wood, hangs a crooked sign, reading; 'the Hanged Man'. Outside, a couple of drunkards are about to clash – before a group of the same silver-armored soldiers you encountered prior, break up the argument and send them on their way. Meanwhile - a large, muscle-bound Shoanti woman stands leaning at the doorway, shaking her head at the two brawlers before she proceeds inside the tavern.
Other stands offer games, some of whom you find familiar – promising coin to those inclined to wager some of their own. The marketplace is buzzing with life, coin and obvious danger – ready to be explored by those that have the time and gold to spend.'
Passing through the market, Keilaan is more lost in her own thoughts than in the place itself.
This is not what I expected... but then, the dreams are always cryptic. I suppose I should wait until I know more before deciding that I got it wrong... or right. Pharasma knows a plague like this is certainly typical of the sort of thing they draw me to.
As the group strides past the slavers' quarter, her thoughts turn to Ladder; hoping that Dwarven honor can deal with walking PAST a fellow-Dwarf in chains without untoward action.
Glad none of my countrymen are to be seen in shackles. And, at least humanity seems welcome enough here. It must be trying, knowing that many will assume one to be property, or prospective property. She looks at the scars on the slaves, then glances down at her own scars; in addition to their odd coloration, her own scars seem old, despite their new-minted redrawing of her flesh. We are all slaves, to one master or another, really... if to nothing else, to our own desires.
I wonder, will his odd humor survive this city? Will any of us emerge unmarked -- hah! -- from this sojourn?
At the threshold of the Hanged Man, Keilaan stops a moment as an idea springs into her occupied mind. I really must find a way to gain an audience with this 'Lady Dreamer;' perhaps it is only a naming, a title... but possibly... If she is so named for CAUSE, she might be able to interpret some of the nightmares that have brought me here...
Well, here we are. Let's see what waits within..."
Ladder introduces himself to the others when prompted though he stays quiet otherwise. When they are passing the dwarf slave, Ladder glances at the dwarf and keeps walking. After a few steps he stops, looks back at the dwarf and feels for his money pouch. He sighs, it sounds awkward coming from a dwarf. "I need a drink" Ladder hurries ahead of the others and bursts into the inn, just catching the door handle so that it doesn't bang into anybody.
Tarial winced as she saw the slave Dwarves. She winced again at Ladder's reaction. It had to be hard. If there were gnomes in that line there would be melted chains and burning slavers already. She was half tempted, but the Pathfinder Society frowned on setting fire to people for legal trade, even slavery. There might be another way. Holding the plague cure to ransom in exchange for an end to slavery had a nice ring to it.
Gathering her robes around her, she walked into the inn behind Ladder and headed to the bar. She;d buy the dwarf his drink, given half a chance. Of course, she was assuming she could actually reach the bar...
'As you enter through the massive double-doors leading into the Hanged Man Tavern, you are greeted with the bittersweet stench of ale and stale sweat. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, illuminating the room with hundreds of candles within lantern-like sockets – and you quickly come to pity the one whom has to light all of them every day. The walls are dressed with many, beautiful paintings – some depicting the cities of the Shadow Plane while others show images of vast plains and forests native to Varisia.
A group of tiefling bards stand at the southwestern edge of the tavern, producing a catching tune one could easily find oneself whistling to. Next to a lit fireplace burning bright purple - about fifteen feet from where the entertainers are standing - sits a ruggedly handsome man with deep red skin. A pair of horns rise from his forehead, and his dark brown hair covers the left half of his face. He wears a suit of red leather armor, covered with a gray overshirt made from valuable fabrics and a brown belt hangs from his waist carrying a shortsword encrusted with gems. His red, demon-like tail beats gently to the entertainers’ tune echoing throughout the tavern, and his golden eyes are set in stone towards a puzzle box he is holding in his hands.
At the eastern end of the tavern stands the Shoanti woman you noticed before, tending the bar. She nods towards your group as you enter, while pouring a flagon of ale for a half-orc dressed in a suit of scale mail armor. He throws a few pieces of coin onto the bar, before proceeding towards a table surrounded by more half-orcs dressed as he is. Before he reaches the table - a woman with chiseled, dark gray skin and angular features; that make her look almost like a statue brought to life; manages to get his attention – but she is quickly dismissed and begins sobbing.
Dozens of tables are spread around the tavern, and quite a few of the patrons are enjoying games of arm-wrestling or cards. A particularly vicious-looking aasimar can be seen besting a chelaxian at the former game, and after he wins the test of strength, the chelaxian stands up and reaches for his sword. Unfortunately, for the chelaxian, the aasimar draws his blade first and ends him before another blade is drawn. A voice rings across the room hailing from behind the bar, bellowing forth from the Shoanti woman: "By the gods themselves, Andren – how many times do I have to tell you; take it outside!"
The Aasimar bellows back towards her: "Come now Rythari, we all saw he was reaching for his blade. Now what's a nice guy like Andren Mier going to do but defend himself? Tell you what; next round is on me – put it on my tab."
As the other patrons cheer at the promise of free ale, Rythari shakes her head – though one could almost make out the contour of a smile trying to force its way onto her face. The chelaxian is picked up and carried towards the door by two fetchling bouncers and forcefully thrown into the street. "Better watch your step at the Hanged Man, planelings." one of them mutters towards you, as they walk back into the tavern.
On the other side of the room from where you are standing - sits a wide, carpeted stairway branching upwards to the eastern and western side of the tavern. The balcony surrounding the second floor reveals several rooms for rent to the weary traveler.
As Tarial and Ladder walk over to the bar, Rythari leans over it and smiles broadly. "Welcome, travelers - to the Hanged Man! What's your poison?"'
Ladder smiles, relaxing a little;at least this place looked mostly normal. " I'll take whatever that guy's buying, pointing to the aasimar, " and also a mug of whatever your strongest drink is. "
Ladder accepts the drinks and offers whatever payment is necessary. He takes a long draft of the ale and really starts to relax, which causes him to remember his journey through the portal. The demon takes the forefront in his mind and he reruns the conversation the end of the conversation in his head:
You understand the terms then dwarf? You die and we take your soul in service to hell. I kept a straight face, but lying to a demon is always hard and he caught on. You're going to try to get out of it. It doesn't matter, there is no escape from this deal. Be on your way and take your gains. The demon waves a hand and I feel a surge power flow through me. The surge fades but a glimpse of the power remains.
Escape. He didn't see that the deal is the escape. Ladder bursts into bordering hysterical laughter, though it lacks the normally deep tones of his voice. Best to not trust a demon to keep his end of the bargain.
"A drink would be sufficient." Marcus says to the bar keep.
Marcus will look over at the dwarf when he starts to laugh. A look not of curiosity but merely one of acknowledgement of a singular event. Impassive eyes stare out at the bar, gauging the individuals as his gaze passed over each in turn.
As Marcus gazes around the room, he notices that most of the patrons within are busy with either their card games, arm-wrestling or drunken discussions. Your keen eye notices a few things of interest though, as the aasimar who defeated the chelaxian does not hold the physique required to win as abruptly as he did.
While across the room, behind the Aasimar sitting close to the middle - you notice the red-skinned man's puzzlebox. It seems to be an intricate device, built with interlocking plates and gears of some sort. Not unsolvable, but difficult to unlock - you are sure. Someone with a keen mind and the skill to use it could be able to figure out how to open it.
Next to the bar, the hulking woman seems a bit ragged. You notice how her clothes seems to be fabricated from expensive materials - but the holes and tears makes it appear more like a beggars robe than a nobles clothing.
Lastly, you notice Rythari casting glares at Andren, the aasimar she bellowed towards earlier. There's a glint in her eye that isn't apparent when she's looking at any of the other patrons within the tavern.
'The taverns is busy today, and as you gaze around the room, you notice a group of adventurers sitting around one of the tables close to the half-orcs. You overhear some of their conversation: "..I don't care how much the Trim's are paying for that Kyton bastard, he's dangerous - and you ain't dragging me back out through the wastelands to find him. We're better of heading back to Varisia.."
The four orcs all dressed in scale mail armor seem to have a decent discussion going, and by the looks of them - they appear as experienced travelers.
Two humans, both Taldan in appearance, sit with Andren at his table. The man on Andren's left wears what resembles a nobleman's attire - while the other is a heavy-set man dressed in pale clothing - staring into his flagon as the other two seem locked in conversation.
The rest of patrons seem to be the commonwealth; some nobles and traders, but mostly your average city-folk - here to sate their thirst. You don't notice anyone having the characteristic cough Jaren mentioned.
You do notice that the light outside has started to fade, and the night is slowly preparing for it's next shift.'
"A room first, please -- and a bath. All else to follow."
Keilaan digs into her beltpouch for a handful of gold coins, sliding five of them across the bar.
"Inform me when I've used this up, and I'll have tea sent up to my room." She pauses, then adds "Thank you."
As they cross the great square, Taurven at last realizes what he is missing. The realization sends a chill through his bones. When his demon finds him, it will be wearing his own shadow.
The rogue stops for a brief glance at the caged shadow creature. If that is a relative of the thing he had encountered in the planer flux, then it is related, in the way a spider monkey is to a man. This thought bring no comfort to Taurven. He is certain that the caged creature is more than a match for his limited skill.
Such speculation is hardly useful, Taurven moves along toward the Hanged Man. An unlucky name for a tavern, if ever there was one.
When Keilaan asks about what the guards said Taurven tells her: "Typical city watch. They just wanted to mind our business for us."
Taurven steps into the Tavern's dark interior. He lets his eyes adjust to the shade, then gives the place a close scrutiny.
Tarial glanced over at the laughing dwarf. That...doesn't sound good. It wasn't exactly unexpected, after the slave market, but it didn't bode well for the man's ability to cope during a fight. Maybe he was just fragile after the trip through the portal. She knew she still felt pretty rough. But, unless he started being a problem, she'd have to wait for him to ask for help. Until then it was his business.
As tempting as it was to grab a bath and follow Keilaan, Tarial wanted to get the first part of the job done before she decided to relax. This wasn't much fun of a place. Belatedly, she remembered she wasn't meant to mention the Society, and had done so with the Guard. Well, honesty was usually a sound policy with them, but still, not a great start.
"A light meal, please, and something plain to drink" she asked. Hopefully getting something into her gullet would make feel a bit better. "I'm also looking for a friend of a friend who I think can help me. A Tiefling by the name of Red Jack. Would you mind telling me a little about him?"
She was still feeling off, and it wasn't her best effort, but she might be able to get a bit of information.
"A light meal it is, lass." The large woman leans backward and firmly state Tarial's order towards the kitchen. "Will only be a minute or so."
With Tarial's mention of both friend and Red-Jack, Rythari leans closer - changing her tone to a whisper.
"Oh, so you're a friend of a friend of Red-Jack, are you? Well, perhaps you could get him to Rythari gazes across the bar towards the red-skinned man, and smirks for a second - before she leaves to collect Tarial's food from the kitchen and serves it to her. It is a simple dish; fish cut in small dices on a bed of salad, topped with raisins and a thick, green dressing. A flagon of pear cider is served alongside the dish.
"To be honest with you lass, I don't rightfully know Red-Jack too well. He's been here for a while, trying to solve that puzzlebox of his. I know that tiefling bastard is good for a lot of coin, seeing as how he's been an adventurer most of his life. Andren told me he's been to the Shadow Plane and even briefly the Abyss, but who knows what to believe anymore. I don't know how well you know him, but if you could convince him to pay the coin he owes me, I'll let you stay the night free of charge."
Ladder moves on to his stronger drink, keeping his ears on the conversation but alternating his eyes between Andren and Red-Jack. He pulls his dagger out of his sheathe a few times, trying to gauge his speed versus the assimar's. He doesn't have much to the conversation though, so he'll let the gnome keep talking.
Eyeing the meal with interest, Tarial tucked in. Still, she had followed the women's gaze over to Red-Jack himself. Maybe paying the man's tab would be a good way to get into his good books and get a free bed out of it. Two birds, one stone and all that. Although somehow she doubted appreciation and gratitude were high on his list of personality traits.
Swallowing a bite of fish, she asked, "Dare I ask how much he owes you?" She took a sip of cider to clear her palate, hoping that the bar bill wasn't astronomical enough to make her spray it across the bar. The last time she'd done that there had been a little too much in the way of fire and doom once it hit a candle, even for her.
Rythari leans backwards for a moment, one arm around her waist with the other resting upon it while her hand gently pets her chin. She looks up and ponders for a second. "Let's see, there's that mug of ale he bought the other day, 5 days lodging - a few glasses of wine.. about 10 gp if I'm not mistaken. Now don't get me wrong, I'm doing quite well for myself - so it's not about the money. It's the principle of the thing, I'm sure you understand." She smiles kindly at Tarial, and her mood seems to be improving with the talk of coin.
"Tell you what, I'll let you in on a little secret; that puzzlebox he's trying to solve - now, bear in mind that he's been sitting in the same chair ever since he rented a room here five days ago - trying to unlock that thing. Well, rumor has it that the puzzlebox is cursed, Harken gloated about selling 'the notorious' Red-Jack a cursed item last time I was at the market. I'm not sure, but I think he's being forced to solve that thing against his will. Now, you didn't hear that from me." Rythari smiles and winks towards Tarial, before she moves on to deal with another patron at the bar.
Cursed? Ladder turns and Casts detect magic, looking at the inn in general but being sure to include the puzzle.
'As Ladder casts his spell, several items reveal magical auras inside the tavern. Andren's belt emanates a moderate magical aura, and a lesser aura from his armor.
Red-Jack's puzzlebox has a dim aura being largely overshadowed by the strong aura hailing from his sword - which emanates, without a doubt, the strongest aura inside the tavern.'
Ladder will focus on the puzzle.
Ladder will nudge the gnome beside him and whisper in her ear. "Check out the magical signatures in the bar. The puzzle is definitely magic and Red-Jacks sword is off the charts. I'm know they have some auras but I'm not knowledgeable enough to identify them. I'll help you try to figure them out though."
Now knowing who he has been looking for in this crowded den of iniquity, Marcus will walk boldly up to Red-Jack."Hello there sir. I am Marcus Teric, and I and my compatriots have been sent here to seek information that you may possess. May I sit with you sir." Marcus waits quietly for a response.
Barely noticing Marcus approaching, Red-Jack's eyes stay locked on the puzzlebox he's holding in both hands while he mutters: "Hmm..? Yes, yes - go ahead." You notice how he seems to be struggling with the item, spending long periods of time in silence before he twists the interlocking plates decked across the square container carefully. His hands are somewhat shaking, and it is apparent that the man has been deprived of sleep for days.
Taurven listens to the conversation between Tariel and Rythari, but does not give it his full focus.
He follows Marcus over to the Tiefling, then decides to follow up on a tidbit of conversation he had overheard.
Walking back to the bar he asks Rythari, What is a Trim? I heard those people talking about it. I'm new here, so I'm all wide eyed and full of curiosity."
Taurven indicates the group of adventurers near the half-orcs with his chin.
"Having trouble solving the puzzle? Mind if I give it a try?" Marcus sits expectantly next to Red-Jack.
Tarial nodded to Ladder and grinned. Her own Detect Magic picked up the same things as Ladder had. That sword must be worth have the city, she thought to herself, with the number of spells on it. How could someone get a sword like that get suckered by a cursed puzzle box?
"I'm afraid I haven't got a knack for working out magic auras, yet," she murmured to Ladder. "I'm more the 'set things on fire then blow them up' kind of spellcaster, I'm afraid. Give me some time and I can brush off the abilities but for now..." She shrugged and apology.
Turning to the inn keeper, she added, "So you think he's stuck trying to solve the puzzle? I hope one of us is clever enough to solve it then." She glanced over at Marcus trying to deal with Red-Jack and his puzzle. "Looks like we have a contestant."
'As Ladder focuses on the auras around the Tavern, he notices that the aasimars' belt emanates a moderate transmutation aura. Red-Jack's puzzlebox's dim aura hails from enchantment - though it was probably stronger at the time it released its energies. The strong aura from Red-Jack's blade is undoubtedly evocation.'
'Rythari chuckles in answer to Taurven's question, then addresses the man. "You sure are fresh out of the portal, aren't you? Well, a 'Trim' is one of the Triumvirate soldiers, like Andren over there." she gestures toward the Aasimar in the middle of the room - before she turns her attention over to Tarial.'
"To be honest with you, yes - I think he is. Now I don't know much about curses and what not, but he sits there day in and day out trying to figure out the puzzle. Barely speaks a word as well, usually just nods or mumbles. Gives me the creeps, it does."
'At the other side of the Tavern, Red-Jack's mind seems entirely preoccupied with the puzzlebox in his hands - Marcus can barely make out a faint whisper muttered from the tiefling's mouth.' "Please." 'Once Marcus retrieves the puzzlebox from Red-Jack's hands, his golden eyes follow Marcus' every move - his eyes still locked on the box. The box has several thousand possible solutions, as each of the interlocking plates bend and twist into new settings. Marcus spends some time trying to solve the puzzle, but quickly realizes that this is a test of intelligence - better solved by one of keen intellect rather than nimble of hands.'
'As Keilaantara descends down the stairway - she acquires the attention of some of the armored half-orcs, but as they grow aware of her scar-ridden face and body, they quickly look away.'
Ladder looks back and forth between the magical objects in the room trying to peice together exactly what is going on here. This shouldn't be this hard to figure it out, so why is it taking so long? more memories return from the conversation with the demon.
Oh yes, I forgot something. You get the strength you so desire, but i get the intelligence you dismiss so casually. Consider it an anti-escape measure. You've dismissed intelligence before, let's see how much you miss it now. The feeling changes and something is drawn out of his body and sent to the devil. The memory ends with the demon laughing.
After a while of sitting quietly, ladder leans over to whisper to Taurven and Tarial. I think I've pieced some of this together. The puzzle had an enchantment on it that is compelling red jack to solve it. Somebody must have wanted him out of the way for something. Ladder becons Rythari over and includes her in his next clandestine message. Do people know that Andren is cheating at arm wrestling? And how powerful is he; he just killed a man wuth no consequence.
You recognize the puzzlebox as Tildrin's Box of Puzzles - an item of unknown origin that usually sports some sort of trap. These boxes usually hold potent magical treasure and are known to be scattered across the planes.
Rythari smirks as Ladder finishes his sentence, clearly impressed by the Dwarf's keen eye and aptitude - she leans over the bar once more and whispers.
"Of course he's cheating, I'm well aware of that - seeing as how he's already told me. You see, I know Andren quite well - and even though he's a reckless and somewhat careless bastard at times, he's not half as bad as most of my clientele. And seeing how much coin he spends at the Hanged Man, I can't afford to lose him as a customer, now can I? As to your question, no - I don't think anyone else knows that he is."
She pauses for a moment, looks up to see if anyone is listening in on their conversation, then continues.
"Now, as to how powerful Andren is, well.. I don't know how well you know Prism or the noble houses native to this plane - but there's three families you really don't want to mess around with; House Gral, House Mier and House Bralesh. Andren, over yonder - he's one of the Aasimars from House Mier - the most prominent family in Prism; those ruling the City of Fleeting Dreams to the south of Door - you know, the Lady's family? Surely you've heard about the Lady Dreamer? Anyway, him being both a Triumvirate Captain and a member of House Mier and all, allows him to do pretty much as he pleases - at least here in Door."
Ladder grumbles Well, there goes my plan to win his belt; I'd rather not make an enemy like that after I just arrived. Ladder leans back, watching to see of Marcus gets hooked on the enchantment as well.
Keilaan pauses on the stair, casting her gaze around the common room; seeing her companions gathered at the tiefling's table, she points her steps to join them, nodding to Rythari in passing. At the table, she settles her harp (in its case) in a chair, remaining standing, herself.
"Forgive my delay in joining you; after our passage, I felt the need for a bath most strongly." She looks at the box in Marcus' hands, then to the presumptive owner thereof. "Would this, then, be the Red-Jack, I assume?"
to hunch Red-Jack
hunch
to plumb the puzzle-box
Taurven decides there is no reason to lie about how long they have been in Door.
"I haven't spent a night here yet, ma'am." He tells Rythari. "I'd be happy to learn all you can tell me about this place."Taurven lowers his voice. "Like what's the deal with those half-orcs? Do they make all the ladies cry, or just that Gray one?"
Taurven grins. "And if you could pour me a pint it would be greatly appreciated."
Taurven sets a silver Weight on the bar so Rythari knows he can pay for his drink. The coin bears the stamp of Absalom.