Falling Expansion; Inter-City Intrigue (closed)

Game Master RealLifeCorn

Night’s dark tendrils begin to drape themselves over the Crysta'ahl, the capital city of Elensafier. The glowing of an infinity torch is the only thing that keeps the room alit. It’s dank and freezing below-decks in the small boat that’s moored on the edge of the Minlow river far below Crysta’hal, and the wood flooring creaks as another gust of wind blows through.

Though the PC’s all would have liked to have been enjoying themselves down at the celebrations at Hescoy Hamlet, they have been all invited to a meeting by a lieutenant of the Silver Eagles. The fact that you are in a drafty ship below the city and not in one of the brightly-lit rooms of the Silver Eagle headquarters does not escape your attention, but rather it seems very odd.

As Balthasar was checking in with his higher ups to be able to take some time off, he was pulled aside by Gurt Helmfer, one of the lieutenants of the silver ravens, and told that there was one more task that he needed to accomplish before he would be allowed to leave. Even after pressuring the man for more information he only said in his usual brusque way that he would explain more at midnight in the small boat the PCs are in right now. Gurt also asked Balthasar for some recommendations of adventurers outside of the Silver Ravens, who could be trusted for this task as it would not only be dangerous, but he also suspected that there were those in the silver ravens who could not be trusted with something like this.
Recommendations were given, and the following day each of the PCs found a small bag of 5 platinum and a note within detailing that they were to meet at midnight within one week on the ship named the ‘Tími morðingi’, or ‘Time Killer,’ If your character speaks halfling.

Sena arrives early at the "Time Killer", always worried about being late due to her condition she often starts her day in the wee hours of the morning. It takes her nearly an hour to prepare for the day alone after all, not to mention how long it takes to GET anywhere while blind. The kindness of strangers is all you can really rely on.

Now however, after a half hour of wandering the docks, Sena sits below deck on the supposed "Time Killer", adjusting her bandages and chittering with her little song bird. Or so she hopes... Really not in the mood to fight off kidnappers today, or any day really.

Balthasar frowned as he went through the docks, Maul at his side. Though it was late enough for thieves and cutpurses to be about, none would think him a valuable target even without the wolf by his side. After all, he was one of the tallest men in the city, built like a statue, and armed and armored like he was out in the wilderness and not the capital city of Elensafier.

This was highly irregular. In his time with the Silver Eagles, missions had been up front and well-supported. Briefings never occurred outside of HQ, and were always carried out by members of the group. He didn't know what was up with this, but he knew one thing - something was very suspicious.

Finding the boat, he boards it, his boots pounding across the deck. Locating the deck door, he opens and tromps in, Maul growling at the accommodations but following him down regardless. Upon seeing Sena, his voice booming, he says, "Sena! How have you been?"

Sena yelps at Balthasar enters the room with a shout. Fumbling the roll of red bandages she was using to wrap her left arm. Picking the roll back up and stowing it in her backpack, Sena responds with a subdued "W-who's there?" Clearly anxious.

Are we still part of the group of friends from Hescoy Hamlet? Essentially, do we know each other?

Are we still part of the group of friends from Hescoy Hamlet? Essentially, do we know each other?

I was wondering this as well, I was waiting for a discussion thread to be up though.

The kasatha glided along the docks, balancing on the edge of their wooden planks and making great leaps as space demanded, in equal parts honing his skills as showing them off to himself. He tried to avoid notice as he moved, stealth being his profession as well as his pleasurable craft.

He spotted the destination ahead, and took in a few short breaths. New employment meant new opportunities to hone and practice his most sacred arts, and feel once more the ecstasy of the kill.

Micarlin tapped his scepter along the ground and balanced his head on the glowing, red stone clutched there. His armored coat swayed as he walked into the party that his past friends were hosting. Several other interesting people were there, but left once they were given a small bag. Some man in uniform and all that. Preferring to sit in the middle of the room and tell the old friends his sorrows over a few pints of booze.

Then the uniform man came to him and he gave him that kinda face when someone interrupts your story, "Sit your b%%~$-ass down and wait your goddamn turn." Anyway, wrapping up the story he let the man in uniform slide him some plats and invite him on a ship. This received a set of raised brows from Micarlin, and he told his table that he had to leave for business.

With the last of a mug that Micarlin tossed over his shoulder at the tavern, he wiped his mouth clean with his armored sleeve and tapped his scepter as he walked, casting eyes over his shoulders. Twirling his scepter up, he ascended the ship plank board and hefted the bag of coins in his hand, tucking it into his coat for safekeeping.

Once on the ship, he eyed those that came before them, "Well ain't this the damn'dest thing. All these mother--" Seeing the blind lady on the ship, Micarlin quiets and let's that statement go. Shaking his head, he moves to spend 15 minutes thinking things over, mulling over this information. Familiar people from the party, paid to go onto this ship...He stared out into the night sky, watching the city go about its business. He was near the gangplank, arms crossed on the ship, scepter at his side.

Micarlin fills in his level 2 slots with Ironskin and Hanspur's Flotsam Vessel. I'm pretty sure everyone can easily be friends of friends, as we were each invited to the party. And there's no one that's not noticeable in this group!

Flinchy observes the boat for a few minutes before entering, seeing one or two of the others arriving. He was naturally nervous about strange notes and stranger locations. Furthermore, he really didn't like boats. He hoped the meeting place was not indicative of a waterbourne journey. Then again, the pay seemed good enough incentive.

He hears Micarlin's shortcutted statement, and enters shortly after, smile plastered on his face. "Greetings, friends." he says more as a generic greeting than necessarily from any true familiarity.

Micarlin wrapped his fingers on the railing of the ship, clearly in thought. The back of his coat was decorated in a pattern of skulls with swirly symbols around them. It looked to be a Pharasmian coat, but modified and tailored.

Grunting a response to the kasatha, he ran a hand along his short white hair, "I'm getting too jumpy. Drank too much of that hard, dark mead, all week." The blind lady went downstairs, then some guy went after her. Shaking his head, he only smiled into night, "Shit man, that's some smooth and fast moving."

Ommin shuffles his way towards the gangplank of the ship. His hair is disheveled and his clothing ragged. It has clearly been a very long time since he had even so much as seen a decent bed, and he bears a vacant look in his eyes. He stops abruptly as he notices Micarlin leaning on the railing, "It seems tonight the winds have blown me towards old fellowship. It's good to see a familiar face after all this time." His voice carries a slight dusty rasp to it as it struggles across the distance from the dock. He trudges up the gangplank onto the ship with slow, deliberate steps and proceeds onwards to the door leading below decks, "Are you planning on coming down, or were you going to stay up here all night?"

Micarlin click-clacks, one finger having a metal claw attached to it and the railing offered some perfect beats. Nodding his head along to the rhythm, he may have been startled out of the musical trance, "You wise, ass, crackah. Shit man, spook a man out of his beats; what is wrong with you?"

Of course, this man Micarlin gets up and moves to look over Ommin, offering to bump his fist, "A friend of a friend, of a friend. Your ugly ass is hard to forget and you're making me look younger all the time. Respect." But Micarlin smiled as best he could and greeted Ommin with a warmer tone than usual.

On going downstairs, "Aye man, they're rolling the furniture over and under down there; some blind broad and this loud, shouting bard are down there and they're busy, you dig?" Holding up his hands, "I ain't gonna get in trouble with no large handed bard and his broad! They don't need me down there; I'll be right here, catching some free air." There was a brief moment of silence, where Micarlin whipped out a small journal and wrote in it, "Shit, that was some sick rhymes."

Sena, decides that if the man who shouted at her wants to explain himself, he will follow her upstairs for some fresh air. The insides of a ship aren't the nicest place to spend a day. Sena comes up from the ships innards just in time to hear the dope ass rhyme leave Micarlin's mouth. "OH! Ah, I swear it's not like that... I was just, tending my bandages and he came in and... n-nothing like what you said." She says, holding her hand over her nose and cheeks to hide her painfully obvious blushing against her abnormally pale skin. A moment after Sena rises from the bowls of the ship and defends her reputation a small bird flutters out after her landing on her bow slung across her back. Tweeting and spreading its wings out, it speaks, loudly in contrast to its owners subdued, almost wispery voice. "Not what you said! Nope! Nope! Nope!"

Micarlin stuffed the journal away and looked to the blind lady who was coming up the stairs and then down at the water, quietly speaking to himself, "Now I just made myself a fool. Ain't ever gonna get no luck with no woman." Straight up truth! Since he can't take back what he said, he's just gonna go back to watching the waves roll against the ship.

Ommin chuckles quietly at the exchange, "Ah Senna, it has been a while. Good to see you as well. Do not mind the man. We all have our curses, and someone had to be the fool." Ommin pats Sena gently on the shoulder as he passes, the skin on his hand dry and callused. A warm breeze can be felt ruffling the carefully arranged bandages just slightly as he enters the ship's interior.

Usually at this time of night there's not a soul about in this corner of the docks. Not a soul except all the PCs and the creaking boards ahead at the unlit end of the boardwalk that denote someone walking toward the ship.

Micarlin swore under his breath when Ommin left for the bowels of the ship. That left him and Sena and he bobbed his head with his inner words And I sure ain't gonna say shit. Someone was coming up though and Micarlin squinted his eyes at the up and comer. It was either someone from the parties or maybe their patron in all this.

One way to find out is, "Who goes there, mother--" Micarlin looks over his shoulder at Sena and back to the gangplank, "Soothsayer, you better have something nice to tell me, I ain't in no mood for playing nice. I won't settle for corn and rice; I'll take the whole, bloodied steak and I'll scarf it down all by myself, make no mistake! Soothsayer."

A tromping dwarf with a cloak wrapped about himself to keep against the cold strides into view, and looks up to those standing above him onboard.

I thought you'd all be waiting below-decks AS PER request. He grumples offhandedly as he stomps on to the ship and toward the door that leads to the cabin where Balthasar is waiting.

Micarlin has his coat open, bare chest to the cold air. He leaned on his scepter and watched the dwarf ascend and gave an off-hand shrug, "I got nothing to do down there and I got nothing to do up here, in equal measure." Walking after the dwarf, he eyed Sena's bandages and shook his head as he descended the stairs.

1d20 + 10 ⇒ (3) + 10 = 13

The door enters to the inards of the ship, bringing with it a cold blast of wind and Grumpy the dwarf (recognizable as Gurt Helmfer). Without a word he marches himself over to a barrel on the side of the room and grounds himself atop a barrel, looking down upon the other occupants of the room coldly.

Is this all of you? He gruffly intones to Balthasar.

"I doubt he left any pieces of himself at home. The rest of us are complete, also, except maybe Sena,and of course, Micie, who's never been quite all there." he twitches with humour, and possibly with anticipation of getting hit for being a smart ass.

A tall, muscled man with a somewhat greyish pallor boards the ship. His hair is black and his eyes are green. Notably, he has slightly elongated canines and several tattoos, including one on his face. He is bare-chested, and otherwise dressed in simple clothing. He inclines his head in greeting, though his eyes dart about, clearly suspicious of the circumstances. He shivers in the cold night air.

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Per: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30

Sena trundles down the stairs behind the group with a sure footedness not often seen of a blind person. "I-I'm not sure if we're all here... Isn't that y-you're job to know? I do not know who all you asked to come." Rubbing her hands together to get the coldness out, only a moment later realizing she hadn't greeted the man yet.

Sena begins to go into a bow, then, remembering she's not at the monastery anymore, turns it into more of a curtsy with her robe. "Pleased to meet you Sir, I am Sena Drovely, and good too see all of my old friends again as well. It took me a moment Micarlin, but no one on in the world talks quite like you do, and hearing that jogged my memory of the rest."

Sight based perception check, not even gana try.

Micarlin stood near the edge of the stairs, eyeing those here. Placing his scepter in front of him and his hands on the red gem. He stood waiting and only looked away from the group as Sena descended the stairs. Micarlin adjusted his boots on the floor, "I talked too much over that heavy drinking then. /And/ I drank too much and I spoke too loud." I don't remember shit. Except that Ommin fellow. It took a moment of thought, but he rubbed at his temples with a hand, Did I try to pick up the blind b+@~!? It's all foggy.

With a grimace, "I hope they were good memories. Jerry needs to stop giving me free mead."

Vincent moves towards the blind woman to help her until he realizes that she doesn't need it. "Sena?," he asks incredulously. At mention of old friends, he gives each of the others a much closer look. He is familiar, though no longer the gangling youth that you once knew. "It is Vincent," he says quietly, mostly for Sena's benefit.

"Ah! Vincent? I thought I hadn't heard you yet." Sena turn's in the direction of Vincent and likewise gives him a curtsy as well. "It's good to see you. I must look a might bit different from last we all meet."

Vincent finishes moving to her side, very lightly touching her elbow to let her know he is there. There is a mischievous, playful quality to his voice as he asks her, "Shall we resume our old rivalry, Rich Girl versus Orphan Boy, again, and see what trouble we manage to find as we did in our youth?"

Holy crap y'all were busy while I slept.

Sena yelps at Balthasar enters the room with a shout. Fumbling the roll of red bandages she was using to wrap her left arm. Picking the roll back up and stowing it in her backpack, Sena responds with a subdued "W-who's there?" Clearly anxious.

"Sena, it is I, Balthasar! I know this reunion was supposed to be in Hescoy, but a mission from my superiors delayed my journey, and they asked for the best adventurers outside the Silver Eagles I knew, so you were one of those I recommended. I'm sorry to have delayed you."

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Balthasar nods to the dwarf, "Indeed, this all of them. Tell me, what was this about?"

Sena smirks at Vincent's attempt to keep her aware of his presence. "I would like that, though I don't think a rivalry with a blind, albino girl is a very fulfilling one, and I can tell where you are without you touching me you know... everyone breaths." With that Sena lets out a relived sounding sigh, letting her shoulders stoop and her posture relax. Seemingly letting it sink in that she's with friends. Except for one.

"Y-yes, What Balthasar said. I would imagine this is about as many people as will fit here. So what is it you want of us?"

Waving his hands in frustration, Gurt grunts out angrily. Can you SHUT your gops for one moment! I can't even THINK with all your jabbering. Having finished his spiel for the moment, the dwarf drags his hand down his face and groans. Why do I have to deal with imbeciles

Gurt Helmsfer ignores the lot of you for a moment as he attempts to pull something from his pocket without opening his cloak. It gets stuck and he sighs as he pulls off his cloak in order to withdraw an ornate yellow-spiraled candle and set it next to himself on the barrel. Now that Gurt's cloak is off from his body it reveals a tunic darkened in splotches that looks like dried blood.

With quick movements, Gurt lights a match and the candle before dropping the match on the ground, where it sputters out. It's easily noticeable that this candle is not giving off light; strange.

Gurt looks up to the expectant faces around him and absentmindedly starts braiding his beard. You obviously all have questions, and if you want them answered then you need to just be quiet. Hmmmm where should I start? Well, King Howard DIED just last week.
Having finished with one braid, he goes onto another.
I know it’s far-fetched, but I myself saw him in his final sleep when the queen sent for me. They don’t want to let out the news just yet for obvious reasons: The barons that make up Elensafier have long been envious of the crown, and I expect that this would leave the whole country in a civil war. The barons aren’t the only ones with a mind for power though. The Queen herself has confided in me about conversations her contancts have overheard conversations that link Prince Dakron ‘the noble’ or whatever they call him, with a plot to kill his older brothers, Henrick and Bodwin. The Queen is scared, and she thinks that her husband died by no natural means, though at the moment she has no way to prove it. She has tasked me to find a team of people that can take care of this problem discretely and efficiently
Gurt looks Balthasar in the eye. I chose you, and I’m putting my trust and reputation on the line for the rest of you. Got it?! he says, moving his head from side to side in order to better see the faces of all in the room. Once he’s satisfied that he likes what he sees, he relaxes for a moment and pulls out a rolled piece of parchment and a canvas bag, tossing them at Balthasar’s feet.
Your task is to execute the rebellious prince Dakron before he spreads more disarray in the kingdom while it is now at it’s weakest. You are to take the skyship named ‘Duncan’s Ferry’ and ascend to the upper city. Show the man that parchment and he’ll take you up there. Do not read it. If the man sees the seal broken he likely will just lock his door..
Once you get up there, you must get to the temple of the Dawnwhright, as that’s were the little bugger has apparently taken to sleeping at. He’ll doubtless have some sort of defenses erected including guards, and you should either bypass them… or hell, just run really fast.
Once you complete the task, then put the prince’s head in the bag. There’s an enchantment that if you look into it you will see an empty bag, and you’ll only realise there’s something there once you stick your hand in it. Take the bag back to the sky ship and present it to the captain. He’ll take you down to the docking bay, where you’ll be on your own. You’ll each receive pay within a week. Any questions?

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26

"Well, this is certainly... unexpected."

Ommin takes a minute to think it over, pulling at his tangled beard, "I've never quite done anything like this, but my talents certainly make me capable of assisting in the operation. Speaking of talents, it's been a long time since we have seen each other. I'm sure we've all changed greatly, I know I have. I've got a great variety of magical capability. Not much that is directly harmful, but a number of spells to cause confusion or disorientation in the enemy ranks or strengthen my allies. What do all of you bring to the table? Be quick about it, I want to get started on this as quickly as possible."

1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Taking a seat on a barrel and eyeing that candle, Micarlin sucked in a breath, "Shit son! Some street niggas up and ended the old man? Haha, no wonder you drag my sorry ass out of drinking the day away."

Stepping off of the barrel and sparking some red energy from the scepter, Micarlin gives some nods to the room, "I'll put these dogs down if the money's fly enough. Make 'em into bread and get fed on the their raggedy, dead asses." Adjusting his coat and popping the collar, he picks up his scepter and gives it a classy twirl, "You better believe I'm gonna make 'em hurt. I'll steal their goddamn hearts, make wish they were dead. Then kill the motherf&$*ers and their mother-f&**ing-friends." Slamming his boot into the ship, he walks around his section of the ship, obviously enthusiastic by this kind of job.

He may have even forgotten that Sena was in the room in his excitement, clapping his hands and rubbing together, hahaa!

Micarlin's spell focus is debuffing and save or wish for death. Instant death, slow death, jello-death, undeath, snake-death.

Sena jostles the bow that hangs on her back. Speaking in a non-whisper for the first time tonight she says "Despite how I've become, I've substantially improved in archery. I can also cast some spells, though they aren't very potent. My condition does hinder my range somewhat, but I can still perform rather effectively. I'm not used to things like this, but this man sounds like a danger. It is probably best that he be removed." Sena nods her head in approval of her summation of her ability's.

What is the common perspective on each member of the royal family?

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

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"I have some magical skill and can handle myself in a scrap, but I am not certain this is the use to which I should apply my abilities. One shady meeting under the city in a rundown ship with an ill-tempered dwarf and we're going to assassinate the youngest prince of the realm for a crime he has not committed, all supposedly under his mother's orders? Has no one ever heard of a confidence scheme before?"

Micarlin's smile became a steady, brow-beating frown, "You saying this motherf$+!er is trying to pull something? Trying to ruin my reputation or frame me for killing some high-riding castle man?" Trying to frame his mother and then get power? What the hell was the angle then.

Sitting on the barrel and rubbing his upper lip in thought, he stared through the dwarf. It came to a moment where he shrugged, "I don't give, a single, mother-f%@~ing shit about the royal family. B!!*%-ass niggas can cut each other and they don't need some washed up, drunk-ass, street-nigga to do it for them." To the dwarf, he pointed his scepter at and the dwarf exploded, just kidding, he didn't explode, "Tell me straight. This prince do magic? Who the f$$% is that candle for? And how much is the Queen paying?"

Sure, the others may have looked at him oddly, but he shrugged, "I ain't got nothing better to do than drink my drunken ass to sleep in the dark days I f+@+ing put myself in, shit. I don't give a flying f$%$ if it's a trap as long as I can end some mother-f&+%ing lives."

"Tksk." The kasatha's mouth made a clicking sound familiar to his old friends, a nervous tick he seems to be unable to rid himself of. "Such profound profanity, Mica. You've changed a bit since we last met. But Vince brings up a good *tksk* point. Sealed parchments and secret assassinations could land us in *tksk* very unpleasant circumstances indeed. As for what I can do, I'd rather show those I *tksk* trust than tell in front of those" he looks at the dwarf "I do not know."

He steps closer to Balthasar "This man works with you, Balth?"

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Balthasar observes the dwarf clumsily struggle with the candle, as well as the dried blood on his tunic. He says nothing during the speech, merely listening as the Dwarf explains what has happened, as well as the mission. He picks up the sack and the parchment, then lets the others talk as he studies Gurt. He knew his skill, and he had picked the others for this, but there was something...off...about this. Balthasar had killed his share of men, true, but always in a fight or battle. He was no assassin, and he felt there was something they hadn't been told.

He raises an eyebrow at Micarlin's colorful attitude, "Does that include your life, Micarlin? I would think any such trap would result in our deaths, and you would be far less cavalier in throwing your life away."

Looking at Gurt, Balthasar says, "The problem with missions such as this is that you can avoid paying those you send by having them accused of the assassination and then arrested and silenced. It is best to have some assurances - preferably in writing, signed and sealed - from those who are doing the hiring. So, tell me, Gurt - do we have the assurance of the Queen that we will face no criminal charge from this action?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Seeing if I know anything about the Prince based on local events.

Ommin leans back in his seat, "They do raise some legitimate concerns, master dwarf. I'll go and do whatever I feel to be the right direction, but I assure you that I alone am no competent assassin."

For a moment Gurt just sits listening to the tirade that ensues after he's done speaking. He's finished braiding his beard now, so he looks back up to regard Micarlin, Son, you swear like a sailor and that simply will not sail. We're professionals here. You can it, or I'll can it for you.
The candle is so that if ANY of the information that I've been sharing with you all just now gets out then I know right where to look. Standard security measure.
Gurt points at the sealed scroll he previously tossed before Balthasar, There’s your proof RIGHT THERE. Nobody has the queen's seal except for the queen. THAT is the only way that you would have even been able to charter the sky ship at this late of an hour without holding a knife to the neck of the captain. I probably should have mentioned that the roll of parchment has the queen’s seal on it.

Let me explain some more Gurt says, his palms outstreched. When the King died in his sleep while he was still in such a healthy condition, and the only people in the bed chamber that entire night was the king's own bodyguard and the queen, and the only way into the room is guarded by countless fortifications, the obvious blame shines to the bodyguard. In order to not alert the man and any of his possible accomplices that she knew that anything was afoot, the queen decided to go private, choosing the Silver Eagles.

After several days of not finding any leads, we decided to bring in Jethro, the bodyguard, for questioning, but he would have none of it. Even though we arrived in force, he tried to fight us all, dying in the process. With him dead, we did the next best thing, and searched his bunk and talked to his bunkmates. The bunk said nothing, but with him dead, one of his bunkmates sung like a bird. Apparently the night before the king died, there was someone that came into the bunk room while everyone was asleep and woke up Jethro. The two of them had a conversation with tasty little phrases such as: ‘it is time for the task to be completed’, and ‘It will be done in Vicero’s name.’

Gurt clasps his hands in front of himself. Remember how I said that prince Dakron is at the temple of the Dawnwright? He’s been spending much of his time there apparently because he’s distraught over his father’s death. Now tell me, what God is the temple of the Dawnwright is to?

Insert a moment when I ask you guys to roll for knowledge history, and it bogs down the pace for a day or so

After a moment of silence he continues, No one? I expected more of you to know. It’s another name for Vicero,... or in other words: the god of human supremacists if you ask anyone that has a brain.

The dwarf sighs deeply, leaning backward and looking upward to the ceiling for a moment. This whole week has been insane. I wasn't going to tell you this before, but I’m just so tired of all this garbage.

Originally you were all being recruited as some extra security for the eldest in line for the crown, Prince Bodwin, but two hours ago when I went to check on the prince, I found him and his guards all murdered and lying in their own blood.
Gurt’s eyes get distant, I knew all those men that were there. When the bodyguard died it must have tipped off Dakron that we were searching for what he’d done and he must’ve accelerated his plans.
I rushed to the queen to let her know what happened, and she made the decision that we needed to deal with this problem at it’s heart. By killing the prince it will dissolve any hope that his followers have for succeeding in their plans.
Does this make ANY sense to the lot of you? he says, growling the last bit.

Sena listens intently to the dwarf's assurance of her companions. After he finishes Sena stands, grabs the for the sealed parchment and begins calmly walking towards the stairs. "I need to hear no more of this. If you'll come with me, come with me. If not... I need someone to navigate me there at the very least. I don't believe asking for directions to my query's abode is a very wise infiltration strategy. Stopping at the very first step Sena turns back and offers her hand, as a lady would, too whomever will take it.

"Lead me there if you will. It is time to quell evil from this world." She runs her fingers along the bandages on her outstretched arm. A slightly disturbing smile creeps its way across her face. "Just as lady Vildeis would."

@Balthasar you don't know much about the prince other than the fact that he's a Paladin to the church of the Dawnwright and that many people like him since he relates to them. He often is away for months as he leads patrols of soldiers to help secure the borders of Elensafier.

Also, Gurt seems to be avoiding your question

Micarlin was checking his coat pocket for his flask that was marked with Bad Mother F+#+er. Unscrewing the top and lifting it to his lips, he sharpened his eyes towards Flinchy. Pointing his flask at him, "I do /not/ call you Suzy, and I will not be called Mica. It's Micarlin, son." As for his life, he drank heavily and wiped his mouth with a sleeve and doesn't say nothing!

Tucking his flask away, he spat upon the floor of the ship and clacked his scepter as we walked after Sena, looking to the others with a wide smile, "Hope you wrote a valediction, sons. Because we gonna go get some regicide on our hands. That shit ain't ever gonna come off." He walked after Sena up the stairs, "Girl, let's go ride us this sky ferry."

He mumbled something about swearing under his breath in vague words and shaking his head, letting his hand guide Sena by the lower back because she's really tall.

Vincent whistles in surprise. "Now that is a lot more justification. Nine hells... Where is the ship, Duncan's Ferry?"

He walks up to the other side of Sena and takes her hand. "Milady," he says teasingly.

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Kn:History: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

An answer which explains everything but neatly sidesteps the question.

"It is understood, Gurt. We will do this, and will do this as quietly as possible." Balthasar thinks to himself, But we will also take the time to verify some of what you've told us. The queen could easily have been behind the king's murder, and killing King Howard's sons paves the way for her to take the throne.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

To see if I know anything about the queen.

"Let's go. We have much to accomplish tonight."

Balthasar leaves with the others, leading the way to the ferry.

Micarlin let's Vincent lead the blind lady once he comes up. He watches the streets as they go down the gangplank, thinking of some better spells now that the boat fiasco is done with. Spells to handle multiple targets and single targets, hmm.. Rubbing at his mouth, he shakes his head. Maybe they'll have time for him to change up and get ready for some r-r-r-regicide!

"Oh, my. And they say chivalry is dead." Says Sena right before giving Vincent a peck on the cheek in an equally teasing manner. she adds "Hope you can keep up when things get heated. They surely will tonight." Before allowing him to lead her up the stairs.

"I knew there had to be a good explanation in there somewhere. We'll see what we can do, have a good evening while we go and take a look at the challenge to come."

Ommin stands and wanders out of the room following his companions.

"Suzy? That doesn't even make sense. And, if I have the vernacular correct, *tksk* I ain't yer son. If you wish to be called by your proper nomenclature, perhaps you'll return the courtesy. Your name is Micarlin. Mine is Karolos. Perhaps we should start there." Flinchy says, following the poet as he speaks. He keeps an eye out for anyone watching or anything else suspicious.

Perception 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (2) + 12 = 14

As you leave, Gurt pulls out a pipe and lights it using the candle. Now that you're up on the deck again, you realize the weather has gotten worse since you've been in. The deck is slick with water, and rain is starting to pour down. It's not enough to be miserable, but it's enough to be fairly annoying to anyone that doesn't like rain.

There's nobody outside that any of you notice

Let me know where you want to go next

Micarlin lets the rain fall onto his head, soaking what little hair he had. Standing at the dock, he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at Karolos, "Yeah, let's start there." This mother-f$+~er.

I assume we're going to the ferry.