Shrugging, Garra helps look for a suitable spot to hide and observe from.
Garra does in fact see one. And by the time you have hid yourselves, Damien Darhk appears. He's wearing red and black, and sits down on a bench, seemingly waiting for someone to show up.
Garra settles in and keeps an eye on Damien while the other seeks those that look like they are approaching the mage.
Kut will also attempt to assist the perception, ready to step out when needed.
Someone does approach Damien Darhk. It appears to be two people in black shimmerweave cloaks.
"Do you have the item?" asked Damien.
"It was hard to get," said one of them in the cloaks. " But raiding the charnel house was a little difficult due to the drahgr that the Blood of Vol has there."
"At least you have it," said Damien.
Garra feels her eyes widening and tries her best to not give away where everyone was hiding while she listens to see what else they might spill.
The group reveals an axe in a box with velvet. Damien picks up the axe. "Yes, the axe of Karrn, one of the weapons he fought with," said Damien.
"If you don't mind, boss, tell us about the Axe of Karrn?" asked on of his minions.
"Well, it was one of the axes that was used by Karrn when he carved out the first Karrn empire. This artifact needs cleaning and restoration, but it's definitely his magical axe."
"Why do you collect relics, boss?"
"All in good time," Damien said. "All in good time."
This is suspiciously convenient.
Garra waits for Damien to leave then proceeds to follow him.
Damien Darhk turns around to see you following him. He casts magic missile at your face. Two energy missiles hit you in the face.
Hearing the sounds of violence the direction his friend went, Kut starts running that way.
Garra cries out as the bolts slam into her. Knowing that another hit like that will leave her at the man's mercy, she ducks into an alleyway and hides.
As Kutishek rushes forward towards where Damien attacked Garra, Ilbryn takes a moment to concentrate before advancing as well. In his moment of concentration, he communes with the spirits of those who have died a bloody death at the hands of this man, as their spirits cling to him like a miasma.
"Looks like you've brought friends, missy," says Damien. He then rubs one of his rings and disappears before you three could do any damage to him.
Garra just spends a long minute sitting where she'd tried to hide, amazed that she was somehow alive.
"You ok Garra? We heard a cry of pain. Also what was that weapon that was passed off, it seemed important."
"N-n-no," Garra whimpers from her rather poor hiding place in the alley.
"Well get out of there and let Ilbryn take a look at you while we figure out our next step."
Garra limps out of the alley and rejoins the others. She's been hurt fairly badly and is gripping her right arm below the shoulder and favoring her right side.
"This ought to hold you together while we get somewhere safer.." he says, his hand wreathed in white-gold energy as he reaches to touch where her wounds were the worst.
Garra hesitates for a moment before letting Ilbryn heal the wounds in her side.
"Thank you," she mutters quietly as the pain in her side lessens.
Clouds from the west begin to gather, and the breeze is picks up a little. A storm is on its way. Besides that, it seems that your quarry has disappeared. He may seem to be more powerful than you think. He could have defeated the three of you, but he seemed more interested in securing Karrn's axe.
What do you do now?
As they head back (or just stand there), Garra does her best to relay what she overhead. She is more quiet and meek than normal, though. It appears that her encounter with the mage had shaken her badly.
"We need to know more about this axe, where would be the best place to find that information?"
"A historian, for sure."
"Don't we need to let our superiors know what's going on," Garra asks, missing Custos' presence.
"Certainly, but given that he could have gone anywhere, especially given the level of power and wealth of our foe, a bit of intel would be good. Our immediate superiors did not seem overly concerned with such arcane matters. And we needn't report every little thing as it happens. Though if most of us want to go back, I won't fight it."
"Can we get something to eat wherever we go," Garra asks quietly.
There are some eating establishments close by.
Some of the names are rather silly.
"Fine, food then info, then we report back what we know. Lets just make sure the place we eat can cook their meat to a proper rare."
"Just as long as my meal doesn't moo," Garra jokes.
"Then it is agreed."
Garra is content to follow, but when she walks past a small hole-in-the-wall called the Good Noodle and gets a smell of what's in its kitchen, she pulls the others over.
"Food! Good food," she tells them as she heads in. After ordering a giant bowl of noodles with grilled chicken, she's happy as can be.
A gnome-sized warforged enters the establishment, walking with the fast gait of anger. He's wearing a metal breastplate padded with rainbow-patterned fabric, and there are runes closely resembling elemental binding diagrams carved on the back of his hands, their intricate design too precise to be simply decorative.
Stupid bureaucracy, stupid knowledge hoarders, stupid, blind, stuffy robed old relics who call themselves researchers, stupid brawny monkeys with lard between their ears. Is there any way to conduct some research on my own without some idiotic sergeant screaming at me? Explore Xen'Drik alone?
To hell with all of them, at this point I'd rather be an independent contractor. I don't need them telling me how to swing a sword. Master told me that he used to hire sellswords in places of this kind...
Climbing over a stool, he addresses the publican. "Good morrow, sir. Am I mistaken in believing that this is the kind of seedy underbelly location where one may find, amidst unsavory figures, lucrative work opportunities, both in money and knowledge? I would be interested in such an endeavour. Should I jot down a note detaling my qualifications? Or would I need an official document by House Sivis?"
Dead serious, he stares at the tavern owner, not realizing the verbal blunders he has just committed.
"No it is not," said the publican. "We serve students of Rekkenmark Academy here. If you want sellswords, you go to Sharn, which is more than two thousand miles away from here."
Garra, hearing the tiny warforged is looking for unsavory people, does her best to hide in the seat she'd taken. Her smile is gone as the almost forgotten "deal" she'd made was brought back to the forefront of her memory. She looks at the barely touched bowl of noodles and chicken as her appetite suddenly vanishes. Then it hits her, the bottled up terror from that night she met that strange man and was given the choice of serving him or dying on his lieutenant's blade, the fear that she would die when Damien had tried to kill her, and that gnawing tension that she'd felt when she first arrived all return from wherever they had gone to. Her shoulders hunch under the tension as she begins to silently weep. One of her hands reaches up in an attempt to hide her tears.
Kut sits at the table with Garra, keeping quiet while he sees how this works out. He hadn't spent much time with many of the students not in his group, and interacting with new people didn't always go so well for him.
"A student! Yes, yes, I am indeed a student. And- wait, you are not the one who spoke."
Tower turns towards the new arrival, his zirconium eyes slightly shining, and unleashes a barrage of words. "Oh. Hello, thank you. I seem to have chosen the wrong words, I am not looking for independent contractors - that is to say, sellswords- rather I was looking to become one. Temporarily, of course. You know, after the Treaty, most warforged have been left struggling for a purpose, since they were made for war and found themselves in a peaceful world, but I have a purpose already, because my master was a fine purveyor and dealer of knowledge, always looking to push at the limits of what is known, and freely spreading what he knew. Finest gnome the world ever knew, he brought me to love the quest for new discoveries."
"But I may be digressing. The point is, I enrolled in Rekkenmark to improve my mastery over might and magic, weaving the two together in order to be best effective at my job, that would be a bodyguard and warden, although I was basically a librarian for a time, before my Master was conscripted. Interesting days, he taught me the basics of conjuration diagrams, thaumic flow and releasing runes, like this, you see, there is a rheev for opening a conduit, the zhul markers for Fire and the discharger is a simple haal linked to my ghurla." He raises his left hand, pointing at a convoluted diagram carved upon it.
"I beg your pardon, I am digressing again. Long story short, there will be no magic classes for me in the foreseeable future, since according to their programs I should be first taught basical weapon and tactical skills, and combat spellweaving is an advanced course, only for the later years. Therefore, I thought that I could use this time to expand what I know through experience, where I am not chastised because I set on fire the training dummy instead of stabbing it. I remember that Master used to outsource resource collection, information gathering and similar jobs to less experienced fellows, as a sort of compensated training, and I believed that it would be the best way to improve my skills."
The warforged's motor mouth pauses for a moment. "Was that understandable? I am often told that I am not the best speaker."
Ilbryn watches the show, amused. He continues to eat.
"Talkative, eh? Is that wrong? My Master used to talk at all times, thinking out loud, making calculations and so on. Perhaps it is a gnomish thing, not so common here. I will try to contain it, if it is unpleasant. And you say I should trust in the academy? But what of the lost time that might be used for the betterment of myself? For hunting down secrets, stealing secrets from Nature, wrestling against the universe itself for a single, splendid drop of understanding? Should I just be bored for months, while I am taught things I do not need and kept from pursuing my interests?"
He makes a buzzing sound, as close as anyone lacking lungs can get to a sigh.
"But going to Sharn is unfeasible. So, unless anyone is looking for company for intriguing endeavours, I am afraid that I will have to adapt to this life. Perhaps I should look for other academically-aligned souls? Oh, but I have not introduced myself. My name is Tower, I never understood whether it was some kind of joke or not. Some call me "the Tiny", and I am quite confident that that is indeed a joke."
"Boredom as a test? What a terrible thing to do! But I would really be interested in a worthy cause, as a chance to better myself together with the world! What shall we do, Master Dolos? Protect the weak? Vanquish evil? Retrieve lost treasures?"
"Help the city watch find out who is behind the Band of Shadows?" asked a city watchman who was listening intently the whole time. "The Band of Shadows is a thorn in our side. We don't know who is leading the band of Shadows, and we need to find out."
Kut whispers to his friends, "Was that guy we were watching in charge of the Band of Shadows?"