'Keilaantara and Marcus' combined efforts to unravel the mystery enshrouding the puzzle box eventually leads to a fortunate series of events. Keilaantara twists one of the deep lines carved into the surface of the glass-like square object, while Marcus turns some of the interlocking plates at what obviously seems to have been at the correct moment. A creaking grind of plates and gears spew forth from the item, before the puzzle box opens and reveals a single, deep red gemstone.'
'Red-Jack seems startled at first, but quickly comes to his senses. He stands up and takes a deep bow. "Greetings travelers, my name is undoubtedly Red-Jack - and it would seem that I am in your debt. Perhaps the bloodstone you hold in your hands would be payment enough for your.. heroic efforts to free me? And, perhaps you could indulge me in as to why such a fine group of adventurers would seek out the notorious Red-Jack himself?" The red-skinned man leans towards the group and lowers his voice to a whisper. "You aren't working for the Trims, are you?"
'At the bar, Rythari accepts Taurven's coin and pours him a frosty pint, with a perfect golden color and foam so tender one would fill ones bathtub with it. "Then I guess 'planelings' would suit you best then, traveler. Means you're fresh out of the portal, inexperienced in planar travel and not native to Prism."
Rythari looks over at the sobbing woman, then returns her attention to Taurven.
"Who, Lomari? She's not crying 'cause of something the half-orcs said - she's crying 'cause she's lost her heirloom key, you know - her personal item that allows her to cross from this plane and to where-ever her portal key leads. That half-orc probably made her cry since she can't afford to pay anyone for helping her, at least not after Valiar and his group of adventurers took her money and marched off into the night."
They got it open! Maybe this party was put together wisely. He notices the bloodstone and is instantly transfixed. He is unsure why, but the stone seems to fascinate him.
Ladder looks over the stone as closely as he can for this distance. The stone seems to be nothing special, but it could buy him a new great sword. He
Ladder watches as Red-Jack introduces himself. He glances at Andren sitting nearby. Of all the people to not overhear our instructions.... Ladder motions to Rythari, Is there a private dining room we can use?.
Upon hearing there is, Ladder thanks her, hands over a silver piece beyond his tab and hurries over to Keilaan and Marcus, mug still in hand. This is not the place for this conversation. I got us a private room, let's move to there. Ladder will motion to Tarial and Taurven at the bar to follow as well as he heads up to the private dining area.
Nodding, Tarial pushed aside her plate and the dregs of her meal and hoped down from the stool to follow the Dwarf. She was pretty impressed that the others had managed to get the box open. So far, it was interesting - her own skill with languages had helped with guard, and there own skills with the box. Maybe the Pathfinders did know what they were doing. Someone had to, of course. Maybe it would be possible to find out about this plague...
Still, there was a great dealt to process in the inn. There primary goal this plague, but in her experience helping other people usually helped herself. A better reputation was more likely to get aid than no knowledge and threats, and having some friends in Door would not be a bad thing. Now all they had to do was get jack to talk a bit.
Jack nods and takes the lead, already climbing the stairway as Ladder pays for the privacy. Upon reaching the second floor, Jack leads the group towards the western edge of the balcony surveying the lower level, through a door - into a well-lit dining room. The floor is carpetted, red with golden markings - and in the middle rests a large table with accompanied chairs, well crafted and of good quality all.
The room produces its own lightsource, a candlestick senterpieced upon the diningtable, though light from the chandelier outside sneaks inside; through large glass windows aligned on the southern and eastern walls.
Jack takes a seat at the end of the table, directly opposite of the doorway leading into the room, his back towards a window leading out into the darkness. The flickering light in front of him dances across his red skin, portraying him more like a devil than a man.
"Very well then, travelers - this room should suit your needs for privacy, I am sure. But before I answer any of your questions, then perhaps you could sate my curiousity and answer the one I asked you first." His tone is calm, collected and precise - generously accompaning his hand gestures and soft yet cunning smirk.
"Information sir, pure and simple." Marcus stares into the Tieflings eyes, standing for all the world as if he had answered the question definitively.
"Rest easy; we do not work for the 'Trims' -- indeed, speaking for myself, given the nature of our erstwhile employers and the fine care they have taken to see us here" the sarcasm fairly drips from her voice in this last phrasing "I am tempted to say I am freelance." Keilaan glances about the group, and continues. "However, Jaren Crall instructed us to seek you out, and -- for the moment -- it is to him, and through him to the Pathfinder society, that we owe allegiance."
"While I am tempted to accept the token payment of yon' bloodstone -- despite the common nature of the gem, it does, in fact, reside among my favorites -- I will say that I would have tried to aid anyone so tangled in compulsion. Was it a matter of ignorance, or malice, do you think, which landed you in such straights? That is, would the person or persons who 'gifted' you the box have known it to be a peril, or had they passed it on innocent of its ill-effect?"
"However... the payment I think we -- as Pathfinders -- would more happily accept must be, not polished stones, but the service of your polished tongue; what information you might possess, regarding the beginning, course, and range of the plague which -- pardon the repetition, plagues Door, and Prism, itself. For, you see, that is the root and center of necessity which has brought us to this place, your aid, and the hospitality of our hosts."
Keilaan leans forward with some hint of eagerness about her, looking intently upon Red-Jack. "I do not imagine that Crall would send us seeking you were you not reasonably well-informed: what can you tell us, sir, in regards to the Planar Plague?"
to examine the bloodstone with Detect Magic -- just in case.
Jack bides his time until Keilaantara has said her piece, listening intently to her words. He bites his lip several times during her dialogue - most prominently when she mentions Crall.
He leans forward in his chair, his left hand resting on his thigh.
"You're all working for Crall, are you? Hrmph. Good man, though somewhat.. Stubborn.. But I degress. That particular puzzle box is known throughout the planes as Tildrin's box of puzzles, usually trapped with meager spells - not like the one this was trapped with. Word reached my ear that Harken, one of the.. cruder slavers in Door, had one of these boxes for trade - but it would seem that I have been duped. You see, I have been tracking a murderer - a Kyton, through several planes - and I believe he is hiding somewhere near Door. These boxes usually contain powerful scrying scrolls, perfect for finding those whom wish not to be found. Alas, it would seem that someone did not approve of my.. Curiosity.. on the matter.."
Jack pushes himself slowly away from the table, rises from his seat and walks back and forth while scratching his chin.
"As for the Plague, well.. I don't rightfully know too much about it. Sure, I pick up a few things here and there - but as for this particular conundrum, I am quite blank."
He halts in his path, lowers his arms - a smile manifesting itself on his face.
"But I might know someone that would."
Ladder drinks the rest of his mug while Red-Jack talks and then frowns at the cup when it is empty. Well, at least this place is like our own plane. A bunch of helpless people that need the help of the Pathfinder society and not a lot true leads to go on. He does give Red-Jack a little credit though, that was a powerful enough spell to enchant anyone. Of course, this sounds a setup to help him get Kyton. Oh well, I'll bite. The plague can't be too pressing, right?
And who would this person be?
Jack's smile turns to a grin as he leans over towards the dwarf, the light flickering across his face.
"Ihren Taldrisair would know, what with her guild being the biggest in the city and all. Her district got hit the worst, or so I hear."
He takes a few moments to collect his thoughts, as his fatigue is clearly creeping in in him.
"Now you didn't hear anything from me, but she's bunkered up real nice at the Innards, though you might find yourselves stepping on a few toes if you head up there. I'd watch my back real careful-like if you do go out looking for her, that place is crawling with cutpurses and what-not."
He resumes his posture and heads back to his seat.
Taurven takes his ale and heads up to the private room with the others.
He listens carefully then asks Red-Jack: "A Kyton, you say? Some of the sell-swords below where talking about a Kyton. One that the Trims have a reward out on. Would they be the same person, perchance?"
Even if Red-Jack doesn't trust the Trims, he may still do work for them. At any rate, discovering the relationship between Red-Jack and the Triumvirate is not a bad idea.
'This is our best chance to question this Tiefling, while he is punchy from lack of sleep.'
Taurven hits Red-Jack with another question. "This Taldrisair. What's her angle? Why would she be willing to help us? Or, more importantly, what can you tell us about her, that will help us secure the information we need from her?"
Taurven doubts that Taldrisair's main motivation is altruism.
Red-Jack tries to keep up with the bombardment of questions hammering down upon him. You notice how he's struggling to stay awake - but he manages, and sighs heavily.
"A group of sell-swords were talking about a Kyton? After our little.. seance, I will have to speak with them myself. Perhaps.."
He ponders for a moment, then shakes his head and points at Keilaan.
"Clever girl, scarred one. As I was saying; Ihren used to be one of the most prominent members in the largest Thieves' Guild in Door. As far as I know, something happened once the Plague struck the Innards, and the guilds' been causing a lot of trouble for the Trims on the outside ever since."
He quickly retrieves some parchment and a pencil from his belt pouch, and begins drawing what resembles a map.
"You see, the Innards is a walled-in district - inhabited by those afflicted with the Plague, the thieves guild and the cloister of shapeless shadows. Oh, and the pleasing plane tavern, great place for getting your teeth knocked in! Anyway. Everyone who ever knew Ihren, knows that she's a tactical genius, a skilled thief and a kind-hearted soul - but rumor has it, not anymore. She's been hitting the other gangs as well as Trims outside her walls - and she's taken control of the whole district now. With eyes and ears all over the city, how could she not know about the plague."
He leaves the piece of parchment on the table, then rises once more from his chair, wearily - and rests his back on the wall near the window with both arms folded over his chest.
"A drink would be magnificent, my dear. I will be speaking with the half-orcs myself, before long. As to how and what you should do with Ihren once and if you find her, I cannot tell you - as I never knew her, I know of her. I have drawn you a map, and answered your questions - it is up to you, how you decide to solve this little, puzzle box of yours." He grins broadly.
"The eastern gate would be the closest one to the tavern, though I do not suggest entry by night. The mention of Crall's name should be enough to get you inside."
Tarial held up her partially drunk cider and shook her head. "Thanks anyway, but I'm still good." She turned her attention to Red-Jack. "You look exhausted, so I should probably mention now that the inn keeper is getting rather...iffy about your bar bill. You might wanna deal with that before you head to sleep. Being dragged out of bed and dumped on the street is never much fun, after all. They always seem to aim for the gutters."
Ladder immediately nods to Keilaan's offer. This group was put together well; they are thinking of questions I would not have thought of.
He sits up a little straighter at the mention of Ihren being a tactical genius. Maybe I can learn something? I wonder if tactics on this plane vary from our own. Ladder grabs the map from the table and starts looking it over, paying only half a mind to the continuing conversation.
Jack nods towards Tarial, then once again stands up from his seat.
"I believe I have some.. unfinished buisness to attend to. I will leave you to.. whatever it is you're set to do. I am weary and I believe it is time for me to retire. If you have any more questions - I'll be down in the main room in the morning."
Red-Jack places his right hand on his chest, takes half a bow and leaves the room. He proceeds down the stairway, walks over to the bar and pays his tab. He spots the half-orcs, then pulls out a chair and takes a seat with them.
Taurven's eyes dart around the room, his hand goes to his dagger. A sheen of sweat forms on his brow. Then Taurven seems to relax. Whatever was bothering him is gone. He takes a long pull from his ale.
Getting up from the overstuffed chair he had been sitting in, Taurven begins to examine the room. There is little reason to believe he will find anything, but Taurven is not the sort who gives up without trying.
Alright, my time to shine, planning and execution.
It looks like we have a lot of options. Duty and Red-Jack points us to Ihren, unfinished business points us to the Kyton, curiosity points us to Harkin, and good-will points us to Lomari. That means we have considerations, and decisions, and regrets to make. So, Ladder puts the map back in the center of the table, where to first?
"I for one would say we should deal with the problem we have been contracted to."
"As big as some of the other issues are," Tarial added, "No one seems to be dying from them. This disease is lethal, and all it takes is one traveller carrying it back home for our families to be affected. Everything else can wait." Tarial had no interest in seeing the plague wracking her home.
Keilaan slips downstairs, places her order at the bar and, while a tray is being assembled, strides to the party of Varisian half-orcs.
"Hail and well-met, fellow travelers; it was surprizingly sweet to hear a voice in Varisian cant."
She leans forward onto their table and drops her voice. "There is another guest here -- an inhabitant of the city -- who has an interest in any information you might have about a particular kyton; you have a chance for profit, should you inform him. He will be here, in the common room, on the morrow. You may have noted his repairing upstairs with my companions. He seems well-informed of persons and events in Door; I do not know how long you have been here, but if information would serve you better than coin, he is still at least worth a conversation."
Glancing to the bar, Keilaan offers a shallow bow to the half-orcs, and concludes her speech thusly: "My name is Keilaantara; I wish you well upon your journeys. I have yet to establish an address here in Door -- yet know yourselves welcome once my shrine is a going concern." She produces a Pharasmite holy symbol from within a fold of her tunic, and spreads her empty hand in a pose of benediction. "May the Lady's patience grant you long years before you visit Her vasty halls."
to impress the half-orcs with the proper fear and awe before a representative of the goddess of death.
Neither strolling nor scurrying, Keilann tucks away her holy symbol, and picks up drinks before returning to the meeting, smiling absently as she crosses through the crowd.
Ladder smiles as Keilaan enters and accepts of of the mugs. "Ah, thanks Keilaan. We were just deciding our next move. We can find Ihren, find the Kyton, or help Lomari. Marcus and Tarial think we should find Ihren first, as that is the most pressing problem. Your thoughts?
'As Keilaantara produces her holy symbol from within a fold of her tunic, most of the half-orcs bow their heads in respect towards her. The largest half-orc, the one previously talking to Lomari; stares straight into her eyes as she speaks - unflinching in the presence of a Pharasmite. He seems somewhat annoyed, but allows her to leave their table without incident.'
'Most of the patrons have either left or retired to their room as night settles its grip on the city. Red-Jack, the Half-Orcs, Lomari and Rythari are still to be found in the main room - but the entertainers and other drunkards have either been thrown out or left the establishment on their own volition. The two fetchlings bouncers seem delighted that night has finally arrived, and have moved outside to enjoy the darkness.'
"I find I agree with the others, Ladder," Keilann says as she sets down the tray. "Ihren seems to be, first, in possession of knowledge we need, if we are to pursue the Pathfinders' mission here. And, second, in desperate-enough straights to, perhaps, share what she knows with us, strangers to her organization and city. Recall that her distrada has been hard-hit by the plague; think, too, that the Trims have been burdened with an abundance of activity on her borders. She must be sending agents out-ward in search of resources which are in short supply within the Innards. I surmise that she may well need a group such as ours to provide her with deniability on such gathering tasks. It would not take much, I imagine, for the Trims to resort to a burning-out purge of an "infested" distrada, if the inhabitants cause them problems beyond the plague."
Keilaan gathers empty mugs and glasses, setting them on the tray and then placing the tray near the door. "We ought to inquire about passage to and from the Innards; how much of a quarantine is in effect? Are persons allowed in at all? Once in, are they permitted to leave? We may need to cultivate some of the Trims, as distasteful as that sounds." She grimaces, producing an astounding twist in her facial scars, and then shrugs before continuing. "I think we'd all do better to sleep this night than to dive into investigation; best to be sharp. And -- this is a wild guess, I admit, but I feel it in my bones, that, given the shadow-nature of the plague -- I, for one, would feel better about exploring a plague-ridden desmenes in daylight."
Ladder nods in agreement, looking at Taurven. "If we're running a democracy here than our votes don't matter all that much, but I would still like to get your thoughts on the matter.
Keilaan shoulders her harp-case, and then pickes up the tray of used glasses. "Right, Ladder, finish up will you? Or carry your own mug down, eh?" She points at his drink with her chin, hands full. "I'm going to speak with Lomari, and find out what I may of her plight. I've no objection to aiding her: being stuck in this place, in this time, without the onus of a Mystery to draw one, well... it can't hurt to find out how to identify her missing key, and keep eyes out for it."
Keilaan returns to the common room, depositing the empties at the bar with a nod to Rythari. She appropriates a chair near to Lomari, and checks the tuning on her harp before beginning a delicate, mournful tune. She does not sing, but the ballad she plays is an elven tragedy about an elf-maid lost, far from home.
to evoke sorrow and melancholy.
After playing for a time (or interrupting her music, if Lomari seems about to go), Keilaan turns to the tear-marked woman, and inquires softly, "Hello; I am called Keilaan. I have heard somewhat of your loss, from friends. I can promise little, but as I am to be here for some uncertain time -- if you might tell me of your key -- what it looks like, where it was lost -- I may at least add my eyes to the search, while I am here. It costs me nothing to be alert; indeed, I rely upon my vigilance: adding a thought for your lost talisman should not, I think, cause me difficulty." She looks to Lomari, eyes wide in her face, the picture of innocent interest.
"Again... I have business of my own, here in Prism, which may take me far from Door, and I cannot claim to be a power here (or anywhere). I may find no hint -- but, if you will tell me the what and the where of your key and its loss, I will, at least, look."
Ladder nods at Keilaan's comment. When she departs he turns back to the others, "That one cannot sit still. Let's hope she is a bit more disciplined in a fight. Sorry, I didn't mean to ask a question of you and then interrupt. Please go ahead, Taurven."
'Lomari's chiseled face shifts slowly, taking its time to address a slowly growing joy at someone willing to talk to her. She speaks slowly, her words strong in pronunciation and tone.'
"My humble greetings, Kei-laan. You play your instrument with skill, I am sure. My name is Lomari. What you have heard is true. What I have lost is mine by right."
'A tear manifests itself in the corner of her eye and it is quite obvious that she is struggling trying to hold back her tears as she speaks.'
"Will you help me? It is a small heirloom, a bracelet made from gemstone – and the key to my journey home. I cannot afford to pay you for your efforts, as I have already spent what coin I had left to stay here - and to hire a man named Valiar to aid me. I haven't seen him or his group of adventurers in a ten-day, and I fear they have either perished in their quest or fled the city."
She takes some time to gather her thoughts, before she continues.
"I used to live in the Innards, or well – the City Within for someone of.. your stature. I had a little house and a shop set up, earning honest coin. When the Plague hit I managed to escape, and slipped past the Trims standing guard at the gate. As I kept to the shadows, a golden-haired woman passed me by, snatching my belt pouch like it was her profession. My bracelet was in that pouch. Please, I have nowhere else to turn!"
She breaks into tears once more, but manages to regain her composure.
" I agree..." Taurven yawns. "I'm gonna see if the kitchen still has anything, this late. Then to bed for me. We can visit the Innards tomorrow."
Taurven heads downstairs to bother Rythari about some chow, as well as ask about a wake-up call for 5:00 AM.
These tasks accomplished he heads off to bed. It will be a short nap, but Taurven isn't really too excited about sleep. That shadow thing from the planar passage would just love to catch him sleeping, Taurven is sure.
To Ihren it is. Ladder motions to taurven, I think I will follow his lead. Ladder walks out quickly before anyone can press the matter and brings the rest of his drink to his room with him. Tomorrow i get to meet a tactical genius, The excitement overwhelms his recently sorrowed nights.
Marcus will quietly follow his companions to grab a bite before turning in for the night.
"Well, since everyone is fleeing into the night," Tarial added and hoped down, "I'm going to head up to bed and get some sleep." Hopefully for free if Jack had paid his bill as he was meant to. "I'm going to grab a nightcap and head to bed."
She headed back to the bar and ordered a whiskey mead and directions up to her room. "So did Red-Jack sort out his bar bill?" Tarial grinned.
"He did, well done lass. The rooms have already been arranged for you and your group - breakfast will be on the house as well!"
Rythari smiles, clearly pleased with the tab paid and the debt settled.
'Lomari seems to be getting weary, but remains to give Keilaan another clue towards her bracelet. "Oh, Valiar had a scar running from his left chin, up t’ward his nose. I think he fought in the war. I hope he's alright." After she finishes her sentence, she takes half a bow in respect to Keilaan - before she retires to her room upstairs.'
'The night passes, and as dawn rises the next morning - the sound of a waking city can be heard through open windows. Some wagons rolling down the streets, a beggar or two waking and start their groggy rounds - merchants and traders arrive to arrange their stands for the day and the like. The sun-orb's radiating light performs its morning dance as it reaches for the open sky.'
'Moments after Taurven wakes this morn, a ruckus can be heard coming from the market outside. As you peek through your windows, you see a large group of slaves rounded up near Harken's pillar, only to be dragged away in chains by a group of Triumvirate soldiers. A couple of Trims are trying to get something off of the pole-like pillar and as your eyes grow accustom to the light outside, you can see that a short and rather stout humanoid has been impaled upon the sharp edge at the top of the pillar.'
'The common room only holds a few patrons this morning; Lomari, Rythari and a small group of townsfolk, clearly shaken by the murder. You overhear a pair of them discuss the incident;
"..of course the slaves did it, they where there! Who else would do something like that to Harken?.." Rythari seems unaffected, though a bit distant as you make your way down the stairs. She smiles and greets you when she does notice you, and extends her hand to show a table prepared for the group in the middle of the room.
"Please, sit! I have whipped up a little treat for you today!"
Cold non-alcoholic drinks, salads with chicken and tomatoes, eggs and other treats have been skillfully prepared for your enjoyment this morning - and after serving you - Rythari leaves you to your food and wanders off to tend the bar.'
Keilaan comes down to breakfast armed and armored, in the vestments of a cleric of Pharasma.
Smiling over the food, she greets the others of her group with information: "Well, in all likelihood, our business with Ihren runs in the same step as the possibility of aiding Lomari." She quickly relates the story she had of Lomari, the theft of her gem-carved bracelet, and the description of the thief.
"So, watch for a golden-haired, lady thief; I will -- should our dealings with Ihren go well -- inquire as to the chances of retrieving the bauble. We still need to find out about quarantine regulations on the City Within. Mmn, pass the dressing, will you?"
After confirming that Red-Jack had paid his bill (and sorted there bill out too) Tarial headed up to her room and prepared for bed. As she readied herself she stopped and saw her figure in the mirror. The new tattoo - the one that had appeared as she came over - was emboldened on her stomach. She frowned a little, tilting from side to side. The tattoo was odd. Five wavering flames, arrange in a circle to make an odd looking star.
Slightly more worrying, she was pretty sure there had been some tattoos on her stomach already...
Shrugging, she finished undressing and slipped into bed. Whatever was going on wasn't going to resolve itself overnight, not by her worrying at it, and sleep could only make her feel better. Besides, she was tired. She always had been easily drained, even as a child.
~~~
The next morning Tarial wakes with a yawn. The open window lets in the confusion outside and Tarial quickly wraps the bed sheets around herself and peeks outside. She lets out a low curse at the sight of the dead man nailed to a pillar. A dead man was not how she wanted to start her morning.
Getting up, she drops the sheets and starts to pull on clothes when she spots the tattoo is gone from her stomach. She grins, and does a short twirl - stopping once she spots it again on her back. "Well...that's just odd." The venture captain was going to get an earful when she saw him next, but at least she felt better, if somewhat concerned.
Shrugging, she finishes getting dressed and heads down. As she approaches Tarial hears Keilaan ask for the dressing, and passes it as she sits herself. "Good idea at that. Multitasking always makes things quicker. So...do they regularly decorate the city with dead people nailed to columns, or is this a special occasion?" She pulls a plate to herself, and takes a bite. "Seriously, there was someone impaled outside. It was totally not the way to wake up. Ooh, eggs." The gnome grabs one and starts to crack off the shell with her fingers.
"Is Harkin really that inept? He let his own slaves do him the off?" Taurven steps up beside the two bystanders and joins in their conversation. "Maybe he sold someone a worthless slave. Or maybe he has some ruthless competition.
Taurven waits to hear what the two onlookers have to say about that.
Keilaan leans back in her chair, sipping tea, and watches Taurven work the onlookers, nodding thanks to Tarial for the dressing. In quiet tones, she asks, "It was the slaver, yes? While I grant it is a grisly greeting for the dawn... I think it no more than he deserved, and certainly no less. To spend a lifetime profiting from misery. High time he met a painful and -- one hopes -- permanent end."
She swirls her fork along the curve of her dish, glancing aside again to see how Taurven fares (or, perhaps, to avoid seeing the reactions from her companions at the table to her severe proclamation). "Ah, blast and damn... I suppose I should see to my putative office --" she gestures at her garb " -- and perchance interrogate the Trims."
Rising, Keilaan stretches and spins, snapping up her club and buckler. After affixing the polished shield to her forearm, she pulls her holy symbol out of her vestments, and strides to the door. Pausing for a deep breath, she allows her face to fall into a solemn mask before stepping out and crossing the square towards the pair of watchmen attempting to remove Harkin from his final post.
Approaching the Trims, she bows, and addresses the corpse:
She kisses the symbol of Pharasma and centers it upon her chest, addressing the men who struggle with the body. "May the Lady's patience grant you long years, before you grace Her vasty halls. Has the deceased kin, within the city, to see to his burial?"
I hope this works... goddess knows I'm not actually a priestess; but, by the Bones, she should support my ruse, as well-acquainted as we have been, throughout the years.
to assume the dignity and hauteur of a priestess of the death-goddess.
"Harken? Inept? Sounds like you don't know Harken very well, do you lad? 'The Varisian man shakes his head while looking at his companion, before he addresses Taurven once more.
"Harken's an old gladiator, won his freedom in the Grand Arena many years ago- or so I heard. Those slaves of his, those he tries to sell at the market; many of them are wild gladiators - refusing to follow orders or inclined to kill each other given the chance to do so. They killed him all right, there's no denying that - but I wonder where they got the weapons?"
'He look over at his companion again and they both seem quite lost in that particular trail of thought.'
'Leaving the Tavern through the main entrance, Keilaan spots the group of slaves passing by, chained at the throat, hands and feet - scuttling after a group of Triumvirate soldiers. They look menacing and somewhat content - but as Keilaan is about to turn towards Harken's pillar, one of the dwarven slaves in the back of the line gives her a strange, sorrowful look.'
'Keilaan continues towards the pillar and performs her ritual to Pharasma before addressing the Triumvirate soldiers. Some of the soldiers seem uncomfortable in the presence of a Pharasmite priestess, while their sergeant on the other hand; a broad-shouldered tiefling with several broken teeth; seems quite displeased.
"Hold your tongue, priestess. How dare you address a Triumvirate Sergeant in the common tongue?!" He clenches his fist, clearly angered - but calms himself as he takes another look at Keilaan. "Bah, you planelings are all the same. This body belongs to the Shapeless, whether he has family or not. Get the wagon - we're moving this corpse to the gate! Move along, priestess."
'You quickly notice that the body has been beaten to death with blunt weapons - and that he was placed upon the pillar after he had already perished from his wounds.'
'The soldiers finally manage to push the body off of the pillar by using their spears to flip him off of the edge. The duergar crashes to the ground with a loud 'thump'. Two of the soldiers pick him up and throw him onto a wagon, then head off to the east. The sergeant and his men stay behind to watch a small crew of halfling slaves clean up the blood.'
Soon after he wakes, Ladder grabs the map Red-Jack had drawn, places it on the table in his room, and starts studying it again, plotting the best to to defend and attack the Innerds. He spends an hour there, analyzing, studying, and meditating on the issue.
Spells day 2:
0: detect magic, create water, spark
1: divine favor, shield of faith
domain: magic weapon
Ladder walks into the common room and tries to put his mug on the bar counter without Rythari noticing. He'll join Tarial at the table.
He nods in greeting. "You guys didn't happen to cure the plague while I was meditating did you? Is that where the others are? "
Morning comes to fast, as it has always. Sleep, a tattered patchwork of nightmare and near waking. Marcus rises to greet a new day. Shambling towards his pack; disheveled; broken; barely conscious; Marcus pulls forth a scalpel from his healer's kit.
Marcus spends an hour carving a pair of roses into his skin, this time he carves them upon his feet. The scalpel slowly winds its way through his flesh, never deep enough to cause any real lasting harm, just deep enough to draw blood and part flesh. After this Marcus takes the time to clean the small blade and looses himself in prayer to the great savior, all pain a shadow of the pain which he endures for the world, a shadow of what lies beyond beneath the cracks in reality. Renewed to the world by pain, and enured to it by the same; Marcus is ready to meet with his companions.
Spells today 0th Create Water, Detect Magic, Mending 1st Cure Lightx2, Domain Cure light
Heavy plodding steps, designed to place pressure on the roses cut into his feet, drag Marcus to the morning table. Marcus will sit close to his companions; he waits patiently for any interesting tidbit of information.
to hunch the dwarf.
Sneering back at the sergeant -- knowing her scars will ride the twist into something moderately horrific -- Keilaan nonetheless bows again, and hurries after the watchmen leading the slaves away.
Walking in line with the watch, a cautious distance from them (out of immediate reach of their weapons, in case she provokes aggression), Keilaan addresses the Trims.
"Forgive me the use of the common tongue; my scholarship has failed of the knowledge of the Abyssal. Will these slaves yet be sold? My Lady is capable of patience... but also of hunger; there is one, I think, She yearns to know more fully..."
Keilaan grimly puts on a wicked smile, suitable to one who practices dark rites and rituals, in hopes of explaining her interest in the line of slaves...
to present the appearance of an evil, hungry necromancer.
She jingles her coin pouch, and continues, "Surely, one of these, doubtless now condemned, would not be noticed as missing? I would trust you to see to it that the coin reached the... appropriate... division." She opens the pouch, displaying the gold within, and quirks an eyebrow at the soldiers.
This seems to be my day for prayer, Lady; forgive me the ruse, I beg, and let this work. Surely, the Trims are as venal and corrupt as any police force in Varisia? Nudge the balance in my favor, oh Weigher-out of Souls; I stand upon Your Scales this day, in the shadow of Your power, I doubt not. Hear and heed me, Lady, and I will seek out one of Your true priests, for penance and service to balance the debt. By my name, Lady, which You know as You know all our mortal souls.
Taurven shrugs, and heads back to join the others at breakfast. The murder of Harkin seems irrelevant to the plague. It is time to prepare for the venture into the innards.
Seating himself at the table Taurven loads his plate with a generous portion and begins to eat.
Taking a sip of the excellent, strong coffee, Taurven states out of the blue: "I wish I had some smokesticks."