Defense of Brookside

Game Master caster4life

Mel, Khaz, and Harold proceed.

Garick:

Garick determines that Jonathan Davis has been working as a clerk in the treasury for twelve years, he frequents a pub known as the Dripping Quill, he never travels out of Bannerhold, and he has a strong distaste for celery.

Janus:

You arrive at the park designated for the haring with Nelly carefully disguised as a large dog. There is a large grassy area, about four acres, fenced in with keepers patrolling the fence. There is a line of men and a couple women with leashed dogs. Unfortunately, most are not standing far enough apart and their dogs are barking, sniffing, and growling at each other. One large gray dog holds himself apart with perfect discipline, however. His master doesn't even keep an eye on the dog, apparently not concerned about what the dog will do.

Satisfied that he knows where to go next Fyrtor will head back to Mel's apartment to discuss what he's found and kill time until later in the afternoon when he'll go to stake out the bar.

I understand that time is passing, just let me know if/when I join back with Mel, Khaz and Haruld. If there's no one at the apartment when Fyrtor gets there he'll go wait at a park until around 3 pm when he'll head to the bar (or whenever would be appropriate for an early quitting time)

"Not going to trick me, hallus." Harold, still muttering, starts to walk through the room, keeping his eyes off Melia and Khaz. "Y'made a mistake. Reaps knew I was there, but would'a called me Hal."

Slightly unnerved, Kazador began making some tea. ”Ye seem...eh...high strung. How about some tea while ye fill us in. What’ve ye been up to, lad?”

Mel smacks her forehead. "Of course. He doesn't recognize us."

Making sure the curtains and doors are closed, Mel takes off her hat. The image of a perky blonde human woman fades away, leaving the narrower planes of Mel's own face, her dark hair and the tips of her ears tucked beneath a scarf just as they had been when they rescued him from the mirror.

"Look, it's me," she says. "Perrin and I helped you out of the mirror, right? And this is Kazador -- I know you met him, at least briefly. Last we heard, you'd gone off to become a forester. Did you ever reconnect with your wife and daughter? Ah, Sheila and Margie?"

Actually, Nelly is simply reduced. If anybody asks, she's a Wolfdog with a bit more wolf than dog in her. Mainly because playing dress-up would annoy her and because I would need to maintain that appearance henceforth.

Janus, also not needing to keep an eye on Nelly, tries to gauge the opposition. Most seemed basic and undisciplined enough. Not even competition for Nelly on a bad day, in a group. The one dog and it's master, however, seemed to share a bond similar to his with Nelly.
That will certainly make things a bit more interesting.
He takes a short walk, also to verify that the line, indeed, is for registration, or, if not, finding where to register Nelly, then waiting with the others. Not wanting to draw too much attention to his companion just yet, he gives Nelly leave to wander around a bit, or lie down in some grassy area if not all of it is fenced off.

"Really?" Harold is stunned at Mel's revelation, then nods to himself as if realising something. "Huh. 'New Friends'. Why're ya... Oh, you're huntin' Reaps too. 'N you knew 'bout the Reaps signs 'cos I told ya. Bypassed the traps and got the cloak." He freezes for a second "You worked out it was cursed? I figured some Reaps bastard'd be usin' it."

He takes off his bone-framed glasses and cleans them on his shirt - leaving them more smeared than before if anything. "Well, here's the thing. No-one leaves the Reaps. Sheila and Margie, they're safe - s'long as the Reaps think I'm still in that hole. Soon as they know I'm out, they'll pounce."

He nods in the direction of the Bishopric "Bishop helped me out, told me how they were goin'. Offered to let me see 'em. Decent sort for a vicar. I figure I gotta deal with my problem 'fore they find me - or find out I'm gone." He smiles grimly "Good news on that is no-one's goin' in to check. Bad news is they're like to be keepin' a watch on me family."

"So... yeah, bishop sent me out to do penance under an old mate of his. I uh... ran away. Came here, picked up a few old caches, called on some old friends, tryin' to put a crew together to take down the Reaps. This was one of my main stops in my deliverin' days, so I know it pretty well, and the Reaps presence is pretty thin here now so it's a good place to start." He hesitates and looks up "I'll do m' penance once it's safe for Margie and Sheila."

"Wait..." he looks suspiciously at Mel "Are you a hallus? Thought I was gettin' better, but it's a suss draw, you bein' here. Makes me wanna check the cards."
Sowly, hesitantly, Hal reaches out a finger to poke Mel. There's plenty of time to see the ground in grime, and the black residue caked under the broken nail.

Slightly dazed, Mel allows him to poke her shoulder.

"... cursed?" she says, faintly.

If I rolled a nat 20 I would still fail both of those DCs by lots.

"Y'haven't put in on have ya?" Hal looks worried "Did mister Perrin put it on? Is that why he's not here?"

"Ah, it shouldn't be too bad. I had a few strands of pugwampi hair woven in. Soaked the whole thing in a bath of blended rainbow-toad and crushed bees. Button 's carved from the bones of a ghoul. We'll burn it, put the ashes in a silvered container, and bury that in holy soil. It'll be fine." Hal does his best to be reassuring.

"So, ya got any leads on the Reaps?" he shakes his head "I'm drawin' deuces."

"I'm wearing it now," Mel says, glancing to the bright green cloak about her shoulders. "But I changed its appearance with an illusion, just like my self. I didn't want some Reap recognizing it." She tugs at her sleeves and the cloak changes colors to its original and more prosaic brown.

"What exactly does this curse do?" she asks.

Hal stops, hesitates, then explains. "Folks'll look for a curse with magic, miss the simple stuff. Bees'll smell it and sting. Gremlins'll smell it and curse. Ghouls'll smell it and come huntin'. Burn it 'cos bees hate smoke. Wrap it in silver 'cos gremlins hate silver. Bury it in holy ground 'cos Ghouls hate holy ground. Rainbow-toad locks the smell in. Camphor covers it a bit, stops moths eatin' it."
"Can fix it though. Got an old cook-pot? We can burn it in that. I've got enough silver coin to maybe coat the inside of it first. Then I'll nick down and stash it in the graveyard. You'll be fine. Might want to take a long bath, though. With soap."
"Meantime..." He reaches into his belt pouch and fossicks around, finally pulling out a tiny cord set with minature brass, silver and bronze bells. "Gremlin bells. Here you go."

"I am sorry." Hal looks down "Kept thinkin' some Reaps' goin' ta end up with it. Was just a cloak magic'd to look important. Shoulda left well enough alone." He sighs "I owe you one. Another one."

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

"Thanks," she says, accepting the bells. I ... don't think that matches up with what I remember about curses from my Introduction to Arcana class, she thinks.

"I'll have my wizard friend take a look at it," she says. "Maybe we can find a way to lift the curse without destroying it."

"So you came looking for Reaps, did you?" she goes on. "I spotted a few in an alley not far from here a few days back. Probably no one terribly important to the organization, but they're definitely active in the area."

Harold looks confused "You wanna keep it?"

His face lights up as hears that Mel has found Reaps. "Great! So ya are looking for 'em."
He thinks for a second "Fair's fair. I've got a lead on a hideout. Best I can work out its in a linen shop. Respectable area, up on the hill. I was startin' ta stake it out, try to work out who was comin' and goin'." He shrugs "Then this came up."

"Bin huntin' rumors o' who's workin' with 'em. None of the descriptions agree, 'cept for a couple with a particular ring."

Kazador sipped his tea, watching the exchange with some confusion.

”S’ppose we are working together. Best to know what each other can do. So, Harold. Besides for curses and ferriting out clues, what are yer skills?”

Harold looks over at Kaz for a while, then shrugs. "I'm a Hedge. Sold cures 'n' curses, charms 'n' comforts to places that don' have wizards and prophets. Sold books, 'n speciality stuff. Did a bit of smithin' for those places that needed a smith and didn' have one. More 'n a little alchemy. Ended up knowin' a bit of everythin'." he indicates his gear "Still had me old kit sittin' around. Picked it up when I got out of the mirror."

"But for this, it's my old side job that's the kicker. Ya know I used to be in the Reaps. I did deliveries, mainly. Smugglin'. Supplies and information. Carried messages, did some hagglin', even some recruitin'." He looked Kaz up and down "Not a fighter though. I use to be halfway decent in my younger days, but that was a long time ago. Never liked it even then."

During his effort to gather information

The cries of hawkers and the clatter of passing horses rose over the general drone of people chatting and working as Fyrtor moved through the city gathering information on Johnathan. While gathering such information was hard work a lot of it was waiting and walking which gave him time to think. Though he was not truly alone, surrounded by the people of the city as he was, it had been rare that he wasn't in the company of one of his new companions for many weeks now. He felt their absence. Fyrtor had been used to traveling alone before joining the party, missionary work was often a solitary toil, but in his heart Fyrtor loved people.

I hope Turion and Nelly are doing ok at the haring. If they get discovered... The Viscount's hatred of elves is not uncommon, one caught 'cheating' at something like that is going to be in a LOT of trouble.

Fyrtor shook his head pushing back his worry. No they'll be fine, Turion's no fool, and neither is Nelly. She's a sly one that one.

Fyrtor absent-mindedly stepped around a man who stopped suddenly in front of him.

I wish Brolin was here with us. He'd have been right at home doing all of this. Though I suppose we're muddling along well enough. Khaz and I managed to gain the Viscount's trust without too much trouble. Khaz is more well spoken than I'd realized. Maybe here, he's away from painful memories, and so he doesn't hold himself back.

Mel learned quite a bit too. I don't know if she realises it, but last night she cast a spell. She's changed somehow. She's always impressed me, few people really live their faith like she does, apparently she's impresses Ostara as well. Could I help her learn to channel the power she's been given? It's probably not the same though, drawing on the power of nature isn't the same as being a divine vessel.

Realizing he'd been walking lost in his thought Fyrtor stopped and asked a man selling pies for directions. He bought a pie as well. He bid the man farewell and as he turned the corner he took a bite of the pie. Beef? Mutton? He couldn't be sure through all the spices, but it was good.

Look at me. When I first got to Helm I constantly felt like there were eyes on my back, someone always watching me. I'd jump at every driver's curse. Now I'm buying street food and I don't even know what it is.

I suppose that's a good thing. I need to get more comfortable in cities. The people in cities are still just people. They need Sarenrae's light as much as anyone else, more probably, and they need people to remind them of their ties to the earth. But I should be careful. I can't let myself get so comfortable I get myself into trouble. Or well more trouble, We've got trouble enough as is.

Such were Fyrtor's thoughts as he slipped in to another inn to order a drink and ask some more questions.

"A ring, you say?" Mel asks. "Would that be a ring bearing the image of a falcon, by any chance?"

Hal looks quizzically at Mel. "You heard the same rumours?"

"I heard that a man named Jonathan Davis had a late-night visit from a man wearing a falcon ring. Shortly after that, Davis had a lot more money to spend on luxuries. He appears to have been embezzling funds from King Stephen's treasury, but there are indications that he's not working alone. Do your rumors have anything further to add about that?"

"It hadn't occurred to me that there might be a Reap connection. We were interested in him for other reasons."

Harold narrows his eyes "That a test, or a question?"

He pauses for a second, thinking "Other reasons? Not just huntin' Reaps?"

"A question," Mel says. "I thought perhaps you might have heard something I had not."

"As for the other reasons -- certain factions within King Stephen's court are pushing hard for a war with the Concordat. We're here to figure out who and why and how so that we can put a stop to that. I'm more than happy to cause trouble for the Reaps in the process, especially if they're connected. Which seems likely."

Kazador took a sip of the tea which he had made, while the two talked. ”Aye. War is a nasty business. Ain’t good news for anyone on the continent.” He put the cup down, as it was still too hot to drink. ”Glad Mel is here to figure this stuff out. She’s a right sharp one, she is. Worth listening to.”

Mel smiles. "Thank you, Kazador."

Hal made a reverse whistling noise, sucking air through his teeth. "I thought takin' out the Reaps was ballsy. You're playin' nobles games. N'wonder ya changed ya face."

"Hmmm. Gimme a minute." Hal moves over to the table and sits down. He juggles his staff while rifling through pockets on the clothing underneath. "Here somewhere". After a moment he pulls out a tin flask. Screwing up his face he fumbles a small red rock into the mouth of the flask, stuffs in some sort of green powder from a twist of paper at his belt, then takes a long pull.
He stands there, eyes closed and mouth full for a while, slowly swallowing the liquid and ignoring the world. Finally he stops, shudders, breathes and coughs. "Vile stuff." he mutters.
Producing an old tin cup he pours himself a generous measure of tea from the teapot and swallows the scalding liquid, shuddering again - though in relief. He peers deep into his teacup, muttering to himself.

"Yes. Also, Bannerhold doesn't seem like a good place to be an elf right now."

Perception vs DC 34: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (12) + 18 = 30

Perception vs DC 32: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (20) + 18 = 38

Mel has no ranks in Spellcraft, which is trained only, so she cannot roll those latter checks.

Mel watches this peculiar performance, brow furrowed. After the first thirty seconds he spends staring blankly into space she hesitantly waves a hand in front of his eyes.

"I don't think he's seeing us right now," she tells Kazador.

Ok sorry Turion. Here’s the haring.
The line is indeed for registration. Turion and Nelly wait patiently, more so than most of the owners and dogs standing in line. After a while, Turion comes to the registration table. ”Name and registration fee. Twenty silver. ” a bored middle-aged man with a scroll, quill, and purse states. He then explains the rules.
The master and dog sit inside a small tent and a wild hare is released into the fenced-in area. After the judge determines the hare has sufficiently hidden itself, the master and dog take their places at the gate (blue squares on map) and the dog may enter at the judge’s signal while the master must stay outside the fence. A series of small hourglasses will immediately be started, each lasting 18 seconds. Each dog begins with 100 points. For every hourglass that passes without catching the hare, the dog loses ten points. Catching the hare without killing it or marring its fur is a bonus of fifty points.
You’ll want to check the slide notes as well and make sure the map is clear to you. OOC, it takes a move action to make an active perception check for the hare. Most contestants have scent so they get the free action detection of the hare within their scent range. A breeze is blowing from south to north so Nelly can smell if the hare is within 60 ft of her to the south or 15 ft of her to the north. Mechanically, we’ll say you can immediately tell whether or not Nelly can scent the hare based on her demeanor. You’ll need to give Nelly instructions via handle animal. I’m going to call this a DC 20 push instead of the normal 25. If you fail to push her in a round, then I’ll decide how she acts. She won’t be strategic on her own but also won’t ignore an obvious hare. Does this all make sense?
The man finishes explaining and states ”And of course the victor receives 200 gold pieces.”

Kazador shook his head, eyeing the man warily. ”I trust ye.” He whispered. ”But this man? I can’t read him. Can’t tell if he’s wise or a fool. If he’s powerful or a charlatan. Insane or a genius...” she stopped, somewhat worried that they’d be overheard.

"He hates the Reaps," Mel says. "I think we can trust him to stay true to that motive. As for the rest, well, he does seem ... erratic. I think we should accept him -- cautiously. Time will tell."

"Look, I think he's coming out of it."

Sorry for my delay.

GM how long did my efforts to gather info take? I know it's usually 1d4 hours. I'm just wondering when I should cut back into the scene and joined the main part of the crew. No rush though. It's ok it it's not for a while still.

I don't want to keep you out of the action. Two hours and you're back now! I rule that Harold didn't show up immediately so you're back right whenever you post. ;)

Harold blinks. "Johnathon Davis. Works at the treasury. Mole under his eye. Not much chat about 'im. Not much about you two either - so you're good about keeping to ya cover."
"Bloody falcon ring he never takes off sounds like a noble - or wants to look like a noble. There's nobles'll work with the Reaps - but the King don't like it. As for war..." Harold shrugs "Most nobles'd love a bloody war."

Fyrtor knocks at the door to Mel's apartment still wearing his disguise.

Melia's apartment is good to proceed without me for the time being.

Janus: I think the action is to you. Do you have more questions about the haring or are you just waiting for me to narrate you to your turn, which I'm happy to do?

Mel turns her head at the sound of the knock on the door, and immediately resumes her disguise.

She opens the door, smile sparkling. "Hieeee! Oh, it's you, Fyrman. My, aren't we popular this morning! Come in, come in!"

She draws him inside and shuts the door behind him.

"Fyrman, this is Mr. Donaldson. Mr. Donaldson, Mr. Fyrman. Now, I have a very important question for the two of you."

She takes a deep breath, meets their gaze, and says:

"Who wants cookies?"

Sense Motive, Get a huntch: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (16) + 15 = 31

Fyrtor, realizing that Mel's doesn't seem worried, but noting that she is maintaining her disguise plays along. "Cookies?! I'd love some cookies!" He then steps into the room and greets Mr. Donaldson with an outstretched hand. "Hello, I'm Garick Fyrman, though most people just call me Fyrman. Nice you meet you."

He then turns back to Melia. "So Melia, what's this important question?"

"That was the important question, silly," she says. "I baked last night."

Profession (Chef): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

She produces a plate of sugar cookies and drops her disguise again.

"That long series of odd jobs has been standing me in good stead lately," she remarks.

"Now, this is Harold Donaldson. You may remember I told you about his long stay at the Cozy Badger, but I don't believe the two of you have met. He has, evidently, come hunting Reaps. I believe we could be useful to one another."

"Harold, this is another of my associates. I trust him implicitly, but I'll let him decide whether to share his true name. It may be easier to avoid slips if you only know him as Garick Fyrman."

Túrion hands over the 20 silver pieces while he listens to the rules. "Any other ways to earn or loose points? And does the time stop when the hare is caught, or when it is delivered to the handler? And for the bonus points, can it be knocked out or does it have to be conscious and afraid? That said, are there bonus points for catching the hare without my dog even touching it?", he asks his questions.

While waiting for his turn, Túrion makes sure to watch several of the other matches, trying to see if the layout of the place gives the hares a tendency to go in either direction from the entrance.(e.g. they may avoid the lake and go right, or head right for the undergrowth near it - or they may go straight to B-2, sinking an enemy battleship. I know that's only a rough estimate, but may give a hint as to wether to start clockwise or counterclockwise with the search pattern-)

He especially makes sure to watch how the other man who seemed to have a bond with his animal performs, since that seemed to be the most likely competition he had to outperform.
Of course, there was no accounting for luck. Some daft hare may hide right near the entrance, and some kids puppy may bring the shock-frozen thing back like a ball, without killing it, scoring the maximum points by sheer chance.
But that, and victory, hardly mattered. He was here to prove his skill with animals, and how perfectly he could train them, hoping to catch the attention of someone in need of such a trainer, army or noble - or both.
All good about the explanation. I'll remind you that I can attempt to push as a move action, and get a +4 bonus doing so. So I roll at +18, twice. If you want this to play a role, I am fine with keeping the 25 DC. However, Nelly DOES understand Sylvan, so knows what's expected of her, and has an Int of 7 which is well within player character dump stat range. So at least some basic skill in following established strategy would be expected(such as from a party barbarian "Hulk Smash" type.) if you take over - not smart search patterns but not utter retardage a'la Int 2 either -

Harold gets a good deal of cookie crumbs in his prematurely-white beard.

"Well Harold, I'm glad to meet you. Mel, can I speak with you for a moment?" Fyrtor then pulls Mel aside looking concerned. "How closely will we be working with Harold? Should I show him my real person like you?" Fyrtor whispers.

"Fairly close, I think," she says. "But I think that should be up to you." she says. "I showed myself because we had met before, and I decided it was necessary to clear things up to prevent ... misunderstandings."

Fyrtor nods and steps up to Harold, "It's probably best you know that like Mel I'm wearing a disguise." He then dismisses the spells he's using to hide his normal appearance. His sandy brown hair turns red, tanned skin grows more fair and brown eyes turn bright green. Then his crooked nose straightens out and his armor changes from well tanned leather to a thick dark brown cloth.

"You're the man who was stuck in 5he mirror right?"

"Yes, y'r reverence" Harold answers, nodding slightly while touching his brow. "Mel rescued me. 'N Perrin 'n Kazador. I owe 'em."

"No need for any of that Harold, I may not be it now, but I grew up a shepherd boy in a small town. For now Fyrman will be fine. So, you're a long what from Helm Harold. Why exactly are you here?"

Harold casts a glance at Mel, then answers. "Huntin' Reaps. Back in my unreformed days I used to ah... transport things between places - 'specially the capitals. Spent a lot o'time here, there's still folk remember Hal Blythe fondly - and a damn sight less Reaps than Helm. Good place to start."
"If you mean 'here' here - I planted a faked up cloak with a Reaps cache-sign. Figured whoever nicked it was in the Reaps. Followed 'em when they did, turned out to be you lot, though." Harold looks nervous "Might'a put'a bit of a curse on it, though."

"So the cloak Tu... Uh we found before, that cloak? Mel, are you ok? Harold, can you remove the curse?" Fyrtor then takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Setting that aside for the moment, Harold, why are you hunting the Reapers? You said you were one of them once, why are you hunting them now?"

Harold's dirty face vacillates between guilt and anger. "'No one leaves the Reaps'. I got in when I was young 'n dumb. Harmless adventure. I didn't do anything really bad - but it started to wear't me. Knowin' things I did helped them do bad things. I got married. Had a girl." by now his face is firmly fixed on anger "Thought the other Reaps were mates, that if I made it worth their while I could step out. They tricked me. Robbed me. Left me ta rot alone in a prison till I killed m'self."
The knuckles on Harold's hands go white around the staff. "It's not just revenge. I could let it go - if I could live my life - but soon as they know, they'll come f'r me and mine. It's me or them."

Harold trails off, then starts for a second "Happy ta remove the curse. Miss Mel here don't want me ta. Wants Perrin ta do it"

"I, I see... I'm sorry Harold. Maybe we can help, but we have important business we're are here for, more important than any one man's troubles." Fyrtor then looks at Mel again as if waiting for direction. "I did a bit of digging and learned a few more things about Johnathan. We might be able to find him this evening if we want to."

Kazador nodded, pleased to hear a motivation that made sense, though the story itself was anything but pleasant. Seeking such vengeance had a long and proud tradition.