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Damvorak considers chasing down the muggers, but sees that some are more interested in the four legged foe than the two legged.
Ahh well, I'm sure they won't be back to kill us in our sleep.
Frustrated at the combat, Damvorak takes out an oily rag and rubs down his staff restoring some of it's natural shine.
"We'll get them next time I guess."
"So who's next on our list. If the opposition is already hassling us so, we'd best move quickly before they cover their trail."
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Sad Rock beams a smile at Copperbuttocks, happy that the dog is un-dead.
"Wake up, lil' goggie," Sad says, trying to keep the dog calm when it does wake up. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
If the dog is awake and not currently angry, Sad will offer it some food while trying to make a friend.
Wild Friendship check
The pug-nosed dog stirs, one eye opening then another. It lets out a low whine as it struggles against it's many cracked bones, crushed by the oread's massive club.
Spotting Sad Rock, it bares it's teeth and attempts a low growl, which then degrades back into a low whine as the canine tries to stir unsuccessfully.
With the rescued dog limping along behind Sad Rock, the Pathfinders resume their investigations and head towards Cayden's Hall and the shop of Rialla Barleyhusk.
This brick building is fronted by two large, many-paned glass windows and a large sign that reads, “Mercantile, Curiosities, Unique Items, and Magic—Bought and Sold Within.” Inside the store, the shelves are lined with all manner of goods, crafts, and artwork both domestic and foreign.
A halfling clerk sits on a large stool behind a human-sized countertop.
Spotting the six of you entering, she practically does a backflip as she races up to Damvorak and gazes up into his eyes with a radiant smile, breathing hard and flush with enthusiasm.
"Good day sir! Welcome, welcome! How could I possibly assist you, today?"
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"Yes, yes, my dear lady, I'm afraid my friend here Ramli is right, we do come for information," Damvoraks eyes linger over the fine magics lining the shelves "although your shop is very tempting."
"I understand you witnessed a mugging recently? It seems that someone has been impersonating Pathfinders and trying to steal relics. We're here to root out the evil-doers and get the objects back that they stole."
"Perhaps you could honor us with a little story of what happened." Damvorak smiles broadly eager to hear such a story.
Rialla, catching sight of Harrol peeking out from behind the half-orc, sidesteps to get a better view of her fellow halfling.
Her smile continues to radiate like the light of Ramli's deity through the shop, and her excitement is palpable.
She has no trouble relating what she knows in one, long breathless speech.
"That poor man who was attacked - he looked a right mess, he had an arrow in his side, and he could barely walk. I sat him down and started to bandage him up! Then all of a sudden the Graycloak was there and asked if I had a potion to fix him up. I said I could patch him right up because I took a class from Berntuck’s Fine School of First Aid. That Graycloak gave me the nastiest look and said the Graycloaks would pay full price for the potion. Well, I knew the master had some peppermintflavored healing potions that weren’t selling very well, so I ran back to get the potions and before I could even get to them, I hear the injured fellow gasp really loud. ‘Hurry!’ the bossy Graycloak said, so I ran back as fast as I could, but when I got there, he was already dead."
Drawing a long breath, the first in several moments, Rialla gives Harrol one last pained smile before she walks back behind the counter and climbs onto her stool and sighs.
"I was too slow."
Despite her long-winded account of events, you sense there may be a little more than Barleyhusk can share.
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Thorel finds hirself largely disinterested in the affairs of the mission, so delighted is ze with the wares of the store. Hir butterfly wings flutter as ze titters in front of a naked figuring of Caeden, whose proportions are beyond those of mere mortals. Ze takes out hir journal and arcanely inscribes on yet another foldpage.
Rialla smiles sheepishly in Harrol's direction again as Ramli and Damvorak continue their inquiries.
"Oh no! I didn't see any attackers... And, umm..."
Barleyhusk stammers out her next thought.
"It was, err, odd that he didn't survive. It, umm... must've been poison I guess?"
Rialla taps her temple deep in thought before unleashing another flurry of excited words.
"Iamtrainedintreatingpoison, of course! I picked up the skill in a night class. I took it to meet eligible halfling men, a friend of mine claimed that sometimes good honest clerics take such classes at night, but I'm afraid all the other students were either married, or had taken a vow of chastity. It was most unfortunate, but it's very difficult to meet good men in the city, you know? My cousin got lucky when she met her husband taking a class in Minkain glass-blowing. She's quite exceptional at it now... blowing stemware, that is."
Rialla gives a nervous smile to Harrol, again.
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"Well, I'm sure you'll meet someone if you learn to blow, eh?" Ramli says, barely suppressing a laugh.
He quickly turns serious again, though. "Poison. Seems odd if you only wanted to steal something to go to such efforts to kill the courier," he muses.
Thinking a moment, he asks the halfling, "Can you describe the Greycloak?"
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Sad Rock, finally confident that this part of the mission was going well, excuses himself from the store.
"Finally, someone not think Sad Rock monster," Sad mumbles happily on his way out to see his new goggie-friend.
Sad sits down, pulls out some rations, and tries to think of a name for his new friend.
Cog? No.
Moblyd? No.
InnCon? No. That silly name.
Calumney? No.
Fartsy? Maybe.
Sad looks around the immediate area, looking for a place to buy a training harness (10gp).
Rialla gives Ramli a long look, not fully comprehending his joke, but quickly resumes talking once given the opportunity.
"Oh, the Graycloak? Let me see, let me see, I need just a moment to remember, hmmm, ahhh, yes, I have it! Yes, she was, a, umm... tall, dark woman. That's about all I remember. She left kind of abruptly, it's not like we had a lot of opportunity to talk, although it's not like I didn't try talking to her, in fact I was about to ask her if she knew any eligible, young halfling bachelors that she might be able to..."
Rialla continues for some time, providing little additional information about the ambush or the Graycloaks, but providing much about her ambitions for her personal life.
**
The mangy dog looks up at Sad Rock and winces as the large oread approaches, having lived a life where it was used to a heavy hand. Once it sees the oread intends only to be friendly, its tail wags meekly before it lays on the ground and submits. He has no trouble finding a training harness from a nearby merchant stall.
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"Oh. That's quite sad, that is." Harrol sighs, thinking it's expected of him. Not sure of what else to say he scratches his disheveled hair and manages to return a sheepish smile to Rialla. Pleased with his progress, he spends another several minutes examining the floorboards, clutching his holy symbol for comfort as his ears burn bright red.
He clears his throat, trying (and failing) to mask his country drawl. "I wouldn't know nothing of no bachelors, miss. Least, I suppose I am..." he says, pausing as he examines the unfamiliar thought from some dusty corner of his consciousness. "-ahem-, er... Excuse me a moment, miss." he says, trailing off and hurriedly pulls the others aside.
**
"Let's examine what we know, shall we? I'm getting terribly confused." the Halfling says, sitting on a nearby stool and joining in the huddle. "This courier fellow was mugged, poisoned, and left to die. The Greycloaks chased the bandits off and recovered the Holy Shard of Iomedae's Lance. Though given that it was sold by that tight-lipped crook Jarid, I think we can write that one off..." he says, trailing off.
"These same bandits made another mugging, and then they attacked us in the streets. So... how do we find the bastards? We've one more witness to talk to, with nothing else to go on. I suppose there's nothing for it..."
**
He teeters up toward the counter again. "Miss... Miss Barleyhusk? We're looking for a Friar Horace. Do you know him?"
Rialla appears elated once Harrol takes point in conversing with her.
"I had hoped you'd say that! Of course, I don't mean asking about some friar, but that you were an eligible bachelor. Youknowwedon'thavemanyofourkindherethatare!"
Barleyhusk fans herself in excitement.
"I can direct you to where I believe you could find a friar, but you'll have to promise we'll at least try a nice dinner once you're done with all your investigating!"
"I'd try Erastil's Alehouse, it's not far, it's just..."
Rialla provides directions, winks at Harroll and even manages to give him an affectionate punch on the arm before you find yourselves back in the streets chasing down your last lead.
Erastil's Alehouse is a thriving brewery and alehouse run by monks of Erastil. Located near the edge of the Avenue of the Hopeful, it's currently a challenge to enter, with a mob of followers of a would-be-god crowding around the entrance hoping to catch a glimpse of the future godling drinking a swig of ale.
A monk stands at the entrance blocking the path of some of the more aggressive followers who are trying to squeeze into the alehouse.
As you all approach the main entrance, a rather rotund monk with a ruddy complexion smiles and shakes his head.
"I’m sorry, my friends, but the Alehouse is a over-full at the moment. There's another alehouse just down the street, right over there..."
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Harrol manages a terrified nod before somehow finding his way out onto the street. "Inheritor save me, everything my mother said about city girls..." he says, dizzily. "I mean, they don't teach us how to... how to deal with that in the cloister! I'm... I mean... oof" he says, running face-first into the belly of the enormous month.
"You!" he shouts, pointing an accusatory finger and eager to be changing the subject. "You're Friar Horace!"
The rotund monk spares Harrol a concerned look while waving away and denying entry to another group of despondent patrons.
"Nay, I am not Friar Horace, young lad. Is there something I can assist you with?"
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"We're Pathfinders. We understand that Friar Horace witnessed the mugging of one of our couriers and we're trying to track down who might have done it. Is there any chance we can see him tonight?"
These religious folks are all alike - all fixated on food and drink! They should follow Nethys - the true source of power.
Turning away yet more would-be customers, the rotund man once again returns his attentions to the persistent Pathfinders at his doorstep.
"Hrmm. Look, the alehouse is full, but if you're not trying to get inside, perhaps I can arrange something..."
The man scratches his head and large stomach alike as the sound of music and laughter echoes out into the street.
"Wait around back, and I'll ask Horace to meet you there."
Turning, the large man waves at another of the bouncers, "Finnitus! Get your half-orc arse out here, I need to go ask Horace something!"
Dim light reaches into the alley behind Erastil's Alehouse, and it takes several minutes before the back door opens and a man steps out to meet you.
Friar Horace is a thin, precise man with a hawkish nose. His description of events is precise and to the point.
"Aye, I saw what happened; they attacked that Pathfinder right over there," the friar says as he makes a curt gesture to a patch of dirt in the alley behind the alehouse.
"They were wearing gray cloaks, but I don’t think they were guards. Your friend was holding her own, but then someone shot her from that rooftop."
He makes another precise gesture pointing to a building across the alley.
"I called out for Brothers Ellis and Freel and grabbed my staff, but by the time I got outside, it was all over. We were able to help your friend back into the alehouse and Brother Freel went to fetch the Graycloaks.
"I didn’t see what happened to the relic your friend was carrying — they must have grabbed it while I was getting my staff. When Brother Freel tried to follow the thugs, he found their cloaks discarded at the delivery entrance to the bakery. After that, things open up to the market proper and it’s almost impossible to follow anyone out there."
Thorel can still spot tell-tale signs of the struggle - some crushed garbage near a wall bearing a bootprint and several small drops of blood likely from the victim.
Ramli feels that Friar Horace is indeed a good man, and he had every intention of fending off the attackers once he reached the alleyway.
Friar Horace overhears Harrol's question and does his best to add his thoughts.
"I don't think these folks were *the* Graycloaks. I'm not sure why they'd drop all their cloaks as part of running away. It was right by the bakery door over yonder."
He gives a doorway some distance down the alleyway an indicating nod.
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Sad Rock looks from face to face as each person speaks, trying to keep up with the conversation.
Finally, he pulls on Damvorak's cloak to get his attention.
"Who are Greighcloaks?"
"The Graycloaks are sort of the local police. A non-religious group of lawgivers to help maintain peace over the religious here. A good group of folks I think."
Damvorak too tries to aid the searches...
While searching the roof, you find an unused arrow between two roof tiles.
The arrow's tip is coated with an unusual, viscous liquid.
While searching about this entrance, a small scrap of paper is found tucked between two bricks.
It cryptically reads:
Barnel - Noon, Pitview Pub.
The Pitview Pub is a moderately popular tavern in the Ascendant Court.
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After aiding Ramli with the searches (not sure that I found anything, but Ramli should have I think), Damvorak shrugs.
"So what now? Should we go back to that shopkeeper and try more persuasive methods? I think we need to be careful we do not tarnish the reputation of the Pathfinders of course, but I see no other course of action."