Fires burned proudly around the small village of Karpad, a community of tradesmen and peasants clinging onto the edges of Nidal. It is here within the shadow of the valley that dark and forboding danger looms on the horizon. It is the 14th of Pharast, and as Karpad shakes off the last touch of winter – much of its skies are still grayed from the past storms.
It is here where four individuals, hailing from distant lands have braved the perils of the roads to enter a barony of Nidal for their own reasons.
A sprawling group of citizens and guards had gathered for what looked like a public spectacle.
To the sides were several businesses – an Inn, a blacksmith's workshop and a carriage mark the boundaries of the main square. Straight ahead past a growing crowd was a nasty looking oak tree. It was leafless, bearing many marks of previous use. To its bottom was a wooden platform where several ropes hung forming a ceremonial institution – the hangman's gallows.
Coming out of the dreary blacksmith's workshop, Mavis was treated to a spectacle of human nature. Carnage. One of his actual favorites, to be honest. He let the doors of the smithy swing shut behind him as he walked toward the spectacle, curious about who, in fact, was the unfortunate man of the hour.
While he did this, he also sought out people that weren't merely deranged, pale, commoners. Special cases always tend to... show up... at these types of things.
As he walked closer to the crowd he mumbled some stark words to himself, along the lines of; "If they're trying to lower morale, they're doing a poor job."
It was unfortunate, but Shadrick wasn't one to be caught looking poorly. Even in this crowd he wore clothes of bright red, his favorite color, and had his crimson scythe on his person as well as his scale mail. An evil slum like this, he needed to be ready for a mugging at any time.
Or the ladies.
Definitely the ladies.
With that thought, however, he began to keep his ears and eyes on the matter at hand, and began to scan the crowd.
Gray the sky, gray the rain, gray the river he'd been riding beside all day except where it tumbled white over the gray rocks. Gray the dust coating his cloak and pony.
Does sunlight never bring color to this land? Torag's foot! Even the granite halls of Janderhoff are brighter than this Nidal. Even the people are grey! Their rulers drain them of life and hope.
He pulled his beard forward and glanced down at the thick brown carefully plaited braids. No grey yet. He laughed to himself, but it was a thin laugh.
Fearn led his pony along the road, thinking about the failed mission and subsequent choices , thinking about the manner of the folk he had met since deciding to ride down off the mountain. They were fearful folk. They'd been cowed and beaten and seemed timid. But he'd seen dogs made timid the same way that would bite when surprised, or thought themselves cornered, or because meanness was all they knew.
Fior and Daneka may have been right. This is no land for god-fearing dwarf. I should have turned back with them. I thought Torag ordered me on. But now the trail is so cold. Without Daneka I have to pray for a shred of gossip, a rumor, a glimmer of news about a tall dark stranger. Well maybe not so tall here. Hammer of Fire did I do the right thing?
New sounds, human sounds, roused him from his tired reverie. Another town ahead. This must be Karpad.
The few helpful people he'd met on the road had wanted him to be timid too. They'd been genuinely uncomfortable with any figment of courage. And perhaps in this land they are wise. A mouse can live where a bear can not. A little bit of him died as he drew up the leather cord holding his silver hammer of Torag and then slipped it down the collar of his surcoat.
Shrugging, he mounted his stout warpony. "Well, Hayna. Let us see what hospitality and news we can find."
Walking up the road toward town square, Fearn looked with a mixture of interest and disgust on the crowd assembled in front of the gallows. Disgust because hanging was not his preferred form of execution. When the final judgement was demanded, the dwarves employed a headsman, a headsman who knew his business and would be ashemed if he didn't finish the job with in one quick blow. One last mercy for the condemned. Interest because this was the first time he had seen Nidalese justice meted out. How it it be?
From his seat on the pony's back, Fearn identified the inn. He would have to bull through the crowd to reach it. He decided it would be better just to see this act through and approach the inn after the crowd dispersed.
Circling the group of citizens that have taken interest in the hanging to be, Shadrick is disappointed to find that no one in the immediate gathering stands out. No women of supple make, and the guards seem bored to literal tears.
Guards.
"Hmm... Placing a hand on his chin. A thought to ask directions suddenly crosses him, but he waves it off as it is nowhere near his time to meet the baron.
Followed by lengthy amounts of cheering and jeering at the spectacle, Shadrick finally manages to pick a person out of the situation, but it's not one he was particularly expecting. He notices, far in the distance, coming toward this particular direction, a Dwarf.
He seems rather armed. Nidale is bad for it's shady people, but he seems more prepared to banish Zon Kuthon from the area himself. Ever intrigued, he approaches the man, knowing full-well he can't be from this morgue of a city. He approaches the Dwarf, waving an excited hand, putting almost his full body into it.
Fearn gazes around the square. He notices the waving man and turns to see at whom the man is waving. Seeing no one, he draws the obvious conclusion and nudges Hayna in the ribs to start her walking toward the man.
As they approach he sizes up the man. Red mail. At least he's not gray. Big. That scythe could be nasty. I wonder how they applied the color that it's held up with use. Doesn't look like a magistrate. I wonder what he wants.
About six feet away Fearn reins in his pony. "Did you want to speak with me, sir?"
Kast was clad in his full regalia as Priest Jeroi Kee of Pharasma come to heal the dying and bury the dead. Or so it seemed to the average eye as he rolled into Karpad in his cart.
Hearing the question he stops flailing about, and a grin covers his face.
"Ah, well that certainly depends, doesn't it? You're one of the few people here that seems aesthetically interesting, and I can't help but be bored with the current events. What brings you to Nidale?"
He says, getting closer to the man in question. He extends his hand at the end of the sentence, looking for a handshake.
Nicola weighs himself heavy on his cane as he takes a slow, thoughtful path through the crowd, eager to find a place to rest yet more interested in letting his senses take in his surroundings. The fire is warm and he takes a moment to inspect its depths, glancing to the slumbering creature on his shoulder. Austus cracks an eye to stare at him but it glazes over, the firelight twinkling in its black depths as he sleeps, tongue lolled stupidly between long fangs.
Truly a noble creature.
He limps forward, turning a watching eye to the village smith and the inn before proceeding towards the crowd. They look hungry, he thought. A man in red with a wicked weapon congratulated a dwarf on his dress as Nicola passed, and he stopped to stand idly beside them.
To make certain of his judgment, he turned a head towards the men and asked "Pardon me, strangers, but do either of you know what's going on here?"
Withdrawing his hand suddenly as he was talked to as well, Shadrick notices the Varisian with an animal of sorts draped on his shoulder asking him a time-old question.
He takes a moment to inspect the man, who, almost, stood out more than he did.
"Oh, this?"
He spins around, enjoying his current good luck, taking a good look at the growing crowd of citizens, noticing their ever-growing blood lust. It gave him great joy to see such Hedonism, but he wasn't going to make a point to tell them that.
He quickly turns to the man, pointing at the scene.
"That, my good sir, is what you would call a Hanging. Quite special here in Nidale, I would say. My impression is that it's supposed to keep the lower-class lemmings in fear, but.. eh.. it doesn't seem to be doing that. This village is quite carnal."
Few townsfolk took notice of the scene that was developing before them. They had stood for what seemed like several minutes when curses murmured through the crowd.
Greetings young ones I am Priest Jeroi Kee of Pharasma, do you require healing for this plague or are you interested in assisting me perform my work?
Fearn was shifting his crossbow from right hand to left preparatory to the offered handshake when the new interlocutor spoke. He twists to see the new addition to the conversation. He has nothing to add to the warrior's assessment, so he nods politely to the new man while frowning as he parses the warrior's tone and semantics.
Suddenly a third stranger contributes to the conversation and Fearn twists the other way to see him. "I am Fearn Keniv, Father. I've just reached town and have heard no news. What plague are you talking about?"
A plague? Perhaps this is an opportunity to share Torag's light with these people.
Nikola draws a spiral over his chest at the introduction of the Pharasmin priest. Plague?
"Thanks for the lesson," he tells the red-haired man. "I'll keep it in mind not to cross the 'lemmings' around these parts, then. I'm already half-crippled," he punctuates his sentence with a shake of his cane, "don't know what a short hop off of a gallows would do for my knees."
He turned his attention back to the Pharasmin, eager to learn if he was here to say prayers over the bodies-- and whose bodies they might be. The dwarf had him in conversation, and so he waited until it was possible to ask-- "Pardon me, Zřízenec*, Father-- do you know who's being hung tonight?"
*Varisian: "Undertaker"
Shadrick can pretty much tell when he's insulted a person of higher moral standing. Whether he enjoys it or not depends on the situation, but, for this moment, it was a mix. He did, however, feel the need to apologize to the Dwarf.
"Ah, my good dear Keniv, I do apologize for my choice of words. However, in my defense of the matter, spending a few days in this place will make anyone bitter toward the races."
That went for most people, of course. For the good natured, this place was a dreary, gray, place of agitation and revolting habits.
For Shadrick, however, there was the occasional lady friend that showed interest in him, as they should. He was disappointed to find that there weren't many of the... more charismatic races in the village. He missed the sweet succor of the usually-reclusive Tieflings of the big cities.
As he thought of this, he was bowing to the Dwarf apologetically, even throwing an arm behind his back for good measure, as was proper.
From this position, he looked over at the crippled man.
"In response to that question, though it wasn't aimed at myself, I'm afraid the lynchings are usually random, from what I've seen.
He said as he leaned back to his usual, proper stance.
...
"Ah, my good dear Keniv, I do apologize for my choice of words. However, in my defense of the matter, spending a few days in this place will make anyone bitter toward the races."....
As he thought of this, he was bowing to the Dwarf apologetically, even throwing an arm behind his back for good measure, as was proper.
An apology, and a proper bow? This is a very polite man. Fearn fins himself a little annoyed that his high-backed military style saddle prevents him from swinging down and bowing in return. Best to be gracious in the face of civility.
"Think nothing of it, sir. I do not not often get a chance to practice the Taldan tongue, and may have had trouble translating your comment. Forgive me for not dismounting to greet you. This saddle holds me as securely as a set of stocks."
...From this position, he looked over at the crippled man.
"In response to that question, though it wasn't aimed at myself, I'm afraid the lynchings are usually random, from what I've seen.[/i]
He said as he leaned back to his usual, proper stance.
"A lynching, you say? You mean this gathering is not lawfully constituted? Where's the local magistrate?"
Jeroi turned his head abut and spotted the dwarf, and could tell instantly that he was a paladin. Only a paladin had the "stance" and of course look of complete divine arrogance.
GM making a knowledge (local) check
Jeroi examined the rest and sized them up, and asked a question of himself. Useful pawns or to much trouble to be worth it?
You seem to be a capable bunch would you perhaps want the blessing of Pharasma? As I might be able to protect you from the plague...or at least give you a cure for it.
He looks back over at the dwarf after scanning the scene once more
"About as lawful as a murder in a back alley. But, given where we are, I can't be sure.
After stifling a chuckle, he looks at the priest who's openly claiming to be a member of Pharasmas's church. The faithful of Nidale, from what he's gathered, are rarely open about their religious beliefs, and even fewer actually worship a god of good. If they did, it was... futile, to say the least.
Still, no sense in calling his bluff at the time. The Dwarf would have him by the head if he openly accused a "priest" of such a noble deity. He smiled at the situation, but said nothing of it, interested in seeing how long the ruse would last.
Jeroi turned his slightly to the dwarf and said "tis a sad day for the folk of Karpad, I can see just from being one day in this town that many are turning into ghouls in spirit if not in flesh."
Emerging from one of the side streets was a burly looking man. About him was a suit of studded leather armor with vestments of his office – an embroidered sword piercing an eye laid upon lavender dyed cloth. 2 other men followed suit – similarly fashioned with menacing clubs at their sides towing a particular long and heavy chain where three smaller and darker beings were attached.
The captives barely showed any effort as their pale skin bore large bruises and cuts. Being forced upon the gallows, where a rope had hung for each fetchling, the crowd broke into uproar.
The leader of the group blew a sharp whistle that he kept tucked within his attire.
“Oii!!!! I SAID OII!!!!!When Lucien Groy tells ya to can it, HE MEANS IT!!!” he proclaimed while garnering control of the crowd. His lackeys had given stern looks to the crowd, adding to their leader's call.
“We finally got 'em! And about time too!!!” he roared out with maddening excitement as members of the audience joined him. “Fer too long have our own have been disapearrin' with no trace – yet dese damn shadow pups grow each day! Argus the cook, GONE! Erica and her baby brother Calin, GONE! And even yet, my own flesh and blood – Oyla, HAD BEEN TAKEN TOO!!”
Letting his ire excite the crowd, he had stood silent for a moment letting his words fuel the growing hate.
“But today ladies and gentles, we're gonna make an example of dese curs from the Shadow Row! Karpad ain't gonna stand silent! Sources tell me that these mangy beasts are responsible for not only my own daughter's death several of the town, but also this horrific plague - turning our own into spell components for their shameful witchcraft!"
He had let out a cackle, puffing out his large chest.
“But I'm not the captain of the guard fer nothing. With de Baron holed up in his manor, its we, the Town's Watch that will look after yall!.”
Lucien has said while reassuring the crowd.
“We's gonna have ourselves a lil hangin.” Looking to the crowd, he had hoped a religious official would help with the preparations of the ceremony.
Rather startled by the new sequence of events, Shadrick turned to see the prisoners. He wasn't particularly interested in the merry-making of the main guard. He'd seen plenty of public humiliation, and he found lynchings distasteful.
One thing still bothered him, however. Fetchlings? He didn't know much about them.
"Fetchlings? That is... strange. Don't they keep to themselves, usually?"
Turning people into spell components... is that possible? Great. Am I going to get run out of town this quick? Then again, maybe this is what I'm here for...
Failed!
Nikola taps his cane against the earth for a moment, listening. "Sounds like trouble."
2. Lucien appears to be lying, if not misinformed. The swelling of his hands and dilated pupils suggest that he's desperate and upset.
My fellows we have a problem, these fetchlings could supply us with valuable information about the plague. Which as a healer I need, dearly. We must save them for without knowledge of this disease I cannot create a antidote.
Even in this sort of situation, Shadrick can't help but admire the exotic aspects of the Fetchlings. They'd be quite a catch, provided they hadn't been so badly beaten. Even in his own rituals, Mavis wouldn't wound himself so much.
Looking over at the Witch, Shadrick catches the concentration in his eyes and his concern.
What do you think of this? I don't know much about the magical arts, or anything, for that matter, but this doesn't seem to sit well.
Shadrick says this with his arms crossed, which is a great contrast into comparison to his usual flamboyance.
Even in this sort of situation, Shadrick can't help but admire the exotic aspects of the Fetchlings. They'd be quite a catch, provided they hadn't been so badly beaten. Even in his own rituals, Mavis wouldn't wound himself so much.
Looking over at the Witch, Shadrick catches the concentration in his eyes and his concern.
What do you think of this? I don't know much about the magical arts, or anything, for that matter, but this doesn't seem to sit well.
Shadrick says this with his arms crossed, which is a great contrast into comparison to his usual flamboyance.
"Turning a person into spell components is like crushing a diamond to make glitter-- hard work, requires too much effort and ruins something beautiful."
He weighs on his cane for a moment, then speaks to the weasel on his shoulder, inviting it into the sleeve of his coat. It takes him up on the offer and climbs inside, disappearing into the jacket. "I think the sheriff there is in over his head. Perhaps he's let himself go too far, and can't go back? In either case, I'll go let him know." Nikola begins to hobble forward, but turns back to ask: "If anyone would like to follow me, I'd appreciate the assistance, but only if you won't mind the songs they'll sing about us if this turns ugly."
Nikola limps his way as far into the crowd as he can get, politely excusing himself through until he's as close to the front of the crowd as he can get. He glances back, hoping someone's come with him.
The appearance of an official did much to quell Fearn's apprehensions, until the Captain opened his mouth. Could this be justice? One thing is certain. His lord is incommunicado and he is making decisions above his authority and too emotional to judge clearly.
Sense motive Croy,
"I don't think I like it at all." Fearn pulls a quarrel from his quiver and loads it unto the slide of his crossbow. Then he nudges Hayna in the ribs. The pony begins a slow walk abreast the limping man toward the guards and the captives. As they step forward, he asks the limping man. "What's your name, friend?"
Shadrick considers his options. The last time he was physically wounded was... roughly 14 hours ago. He could use a fix, and at the very worst that could happen in this situation, he could garner some attention and gain some renown.
One thing in particular he learned is that the people don't care much for the baron, which is a shame, considering he has business. None of their business to know that though.
He sees the weasel go into the man's sleeve and makes it a point to follow him up to the crowd, making sure to keep his hand on his belongings.
"I just want to point out that I've only known you for minutes at best, and you're already one of my favorite troublemakers. Ha ha! I'll trust your judgement on this."
While guiding himself by sticking close to the crippled man, it dawns on him that he's very poor of dexterity, and though he can turn a lovely phrase, he doesn't have that "Aura" when it comes to being the source of attention.
"How's about you tell me what you're planning on saying? I don't feel like being next on these ropes. That's not my fondest way to go, good sir. At least, not in a backwater village like this."
Jeroi moved quickly to reach the front of the gallows and make his point.
making a bluff check for rumormonger the dc I believe is twenty since this is a large town, I think.
People of Karpad! Once there was a day when we actully held trials for the accused and had those such as myself, a proud and loyal priest of Pharasma to judge them with spells of truth seeking. Now I see that all law and decency has fled this town!
These fetchlings did not commit the crimes this so called "captain of the guard" accuses them of. Indeed I believe him to be the man who has been behind all the disappearances! With the Baron's withdrawal to his manor it would only make sense that without his restraint the "captain of the guard" would seek to make his enemies disappear!
He even has the perfect scapegoat! After all if he had accused humans of these crimes you would all demand judgement by a court of law! But sense they are fetchling this miserable excuse of a law man has used them to cover up his own crimes!
People of Karpad! Remember that you are subjects of Nidal and are beholden to the same laws that all citizens of Nidal must uphold. Here the laws of Nidal are not being upheld, nay they are being tarnished!
So I ask that all of you do what is right and let the noose rest upon the neck of the man who has committed all these crimes,Lucien Groy!
"I don't think I like it at all." Fearn pulls a quarrel from his quiver and loads it unto the slide of his crossbow. Then he nudges Hayna in the ribs. The pony begins a slow walk abreast the limping man toward the guards and the captives. As they step forward, he asks the limping man. "What's your name, friend?"
"Nikola," he responds. "Wise idea to load arms. Yourself?" He glances to the red-haired man after, expecting an introduction as well.
Nikola also makes sure to turn back to the priest of Pharasma: "The captain might listen to a priest over a fortune teller, if you don't mind, zřízenec."
"I just want to point out that I've only known you for minutes at best, and you're already one of my favorite troublemakers. Ha ha! I'll trust your judgement on this."While guiding himself by sticking close to the crippled man, it dawns on him that he's very poor of dexterity, and though he can turn a lovely phrase, he doesn't have that "Aura" when it comes to being the source of attention.
"How's about you tell me what you're planning on saying? I don't feel like being next on these ropes. That's not my fondest way to go, good sir. At least, not in a backwater village like this."
"I'll talk him into seeing reason. Turning a person into a spell component requires very powerful magic-- magic I dare to say you'd only find locked in the tallest spire in Ustalav or buried under years of sediment in far-off Varisia. I don't think a magician who could turn a person into pieces and parts for magic would get picked up by the guards, hear? And I also don't think that person would do it to begin with-- most you can get out of a person you can whittle yourself or buy at the market. It smells like a lynching."
Nikola pauses, raising a hand to one of the men at the gallows to get his attention. He turns to his companions and, as an aside, says under the din of the crowd: "If that fails, I'll scare him so badly that he will wish that the gods would turn him to stone."
As he sees the situation unfold in front of him, he can't help but think that this might end up rather poorly. Renown is perfectly wonderful and all, but that's in the villages where they reward the do-gooders. Not kill them.
"Ah ha! Well said, I believe, but I can't help but feel this publicity will cause rather poor moments in our future. That being said..."
He reaches down and puts his hand on his whip and removes it from his belt, carefully making sure that it is easy to unwind. It wouldn't be the first time he's cut his fingers on them, but that was what the gauntlet was for.
"I've got a good 15 feet of reach, and I don't think they can see the whip if I stand in the crowd, provided things get... like I expect."
He turns to the Dwarf, and says.
"I have a dark feeling about our priest here. Not of him, but what he may have just gotten us into. I'd suggest you get up there. We'll settle this with words as fast as we can, but, the witch claims the fetchlings to be innocent."
Before Jeroi speaks:
"Nikola," he responds. "Wise idea to load arms. Yourself?" He glances to the red-haired man after, expecting an introduction as well.
"Fearn Keniv."
"Oh, my apologies. My name is Shadrick Mavis. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
He said, tightening the grip on his whip.
Fearn watches with surprise as the Pharasmin dashes past them to the gallows. He listens with approval to the first sentence or two and then doubt quickly erodes the approval. He's as bad as the captain. He'll substitute one lynching for another.
...
As he sees the situation unfold in front of him, he can't help but think that this might end up rather poorly. ...He reaches down and puts his hand on his whip and removes it from his belt, carefully making sure that it is easy to unwind. It wouldn't be the first time he's cut his fingers on them, but that was what the gauntlet was for.
"I've got a good 15 feet of reach, and I don't think they can see the whip if I stand in the crowd, provided things get... like I expect."
He turns to the Dwarf, and says.
"I have a dark feeling about our priest here. Not of him, but what he may have just gotten us into. I'd suggest you get up there. We'll settle this with words as fast as we can, but, the witch claims the fetchlings to be innocent."
***
"Oh, my apologies. My name is Shadrick Mavis. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
He said, tightening the grip on his whip.
The dwarf notes the red man's preparations.
"Pleased to make yours. I'll try to shut the priest up before he stirs the crowd up even more."
Fearn kicks Hayna harder and the pony pushes through the crowd toward the gallows.
"Good people of Karpad! I understand you've suffered loss and disease, but hanging these poor wretches will do nothing to salve your hurt? Nay! It will make things worse. What will the baron do when he discovers the captain has set up his own court and ladles justice with a malevolent hand? I say the baron will punish him and all who helped him.
Nor will hanging the captain on the face of a few words from a well-meaning, but distraught priest help your plight.
Hold to the law lest ye be punished. Let the baron judge wretches and captain!"
Diplomacy
The captain must die or at the very least be exiled from Karpad with the symbol of law breakers. If that is not done he will only continue to abuse his power. Nor is a trial needed for the judgement of Lucien Groy the crime he has commited is here for all to see.
Tell me paladin is this what you want? To see a breaker of the law go on his merry way? Do not think that this man can be kept imprisoned either for where there is a corrupt captain of the guard there must be inevitably corrupt guardsmen supporting him. The ones surrounding him right now are just as guilty as their captain, for they have done nothing to stop this atrocity!
While sitting and watching the idle conversations between 2 "righteous" men, Shadrick can't help but worry about something. The Sheriff may be taking justice into their own hands like he is, and Mavis isn't even sure of that. Perhaps... Perhaps maybe... Hmm. He can't help but wonder what the mayor is doing in response to this craze.
He looks over and studies the last whereabouts of the sheriff.
While looking and trying to find out where the lyncher has gotten off to, he gets smacked in the face by one of the roaring members of the crowd.
The captain must die or at the very least be exiled from Karpad with the symbol of law breakers. If that is not done he will only continue to abuse his power. Nor is a trial needed for the judgement of Lucien Groy the crime he has commited is here for all to see.
Tell me paladin is this what you want? To see a breaker of the law go on his merry way? Do not think that this man can be kept imprisoned either for where there is a corrupt captain of the guard there must be inevitably corrupt guardsmen supporting him. The ones surrounding him right now are just as guilty as their captain, for they have done nothing to stop this atrocity!
Depends on what Cy rolls for your disguise, then? I don't know what your disguise bonus is, but it's +2 to from that, so I'm thinking I fail.
"So you're saying that you wish everyone in the town to hang... themselves?"
Nikola makes sure his voice is loud enough to hear, but he's brusk. He laughs once, dismissively. "The sheriff... the guards... The guardsmen's wives and children should be held accountable for hosting such monstrous men in their homes as well-- and no doubt, we should hang the men on the gallows a second time for daring to associate with these men?" Nikola breaks into a laughing half-grin.
"Let's calm, strangers, before we spit words we woukldn't want spoken back to us. You're propositioning that we flip this hanging on its head, then? What law have they broken besides, eh, ignorance? I'm not sure you really mean what you might be saying-- perhaps the evening's events have fatigued your mind?" Nikola makes sure that the insult is veiled yet pointed.
Nikola approaches the guards who no-doubt stand between him and the sheriff: "If you gentlemen don't mind, I thought I'd lend my expertise to Sheriff Croy and my expertise to this so that we can avoid something altogether unpleasant." If the guards allow him, Nikola will join Croy atop the gallows, his hands open and inviting.
Pretty sure that might not work out...
Nikola shoots a glance to Mavis. I hope you can pull an old cripple out of a fire with that whip, he thinks.
If able, he approaches the Sheriff to inform him of his mistake with the spell components, hoping to talk him down.
Guards for the love of Pharasma I ask that you take your duties seriously and depose your captain of his rank and throw him into prison. If you will not do that then I am afraid you will learn that we of Pharasma's priesthood are more then capable of inflicting death in her holy name.
Fearn stands up in his stirrups and throws his support behind Nicola's speech.
"Listen to this man for he speaks sense. Let there be no more talk of killing today. No more unfounded accusations. Would any of you wish to be tried on the bare word of one man and condemned by the judgement of that same man? 'Tis a farce of justice. Let cooler heads prevail. Let the three accused stand before the baron and the captain present his evidence." Fearn draws a deep breath. This next sentence feels almost like a betrayal, but it appears to be the best tool at hand. "The baron rules by Zon Kuthon's decree. It is a contract forged long ago and bound in chains. Will any of you dare to break, dare to even disturb by a touch, a link of that chain?"
Torag forgive me. I speak but the truth.
Shadrick had seen glorious orgies. He had seen things men only dream to be on the receiving end of. He'd tasted things that played coy with the human tongue. He had been tied up and whipped for hours. He cut himself to ribbons every night. He had done a lot of things in his eventful, charismatic life.
He had, however, not seen a Paladin attempt to calm a crowd by using Zon Kuthon's teachings.
A certain part of him wanted to call it a day right there. Nothing could potentially be any more exquisite than that. He could practically feel every single unholy creature that could be watching this unfold laughing.
That wasn't going to happen, however. Too much had gone too far, and he knew a bad situation when he was in one. He tightened his grip on the whip when the citizen that had hit him in the face looked over at him.
He felt the glare land accordingly.
He looked back up at the unfolding monstrosity of a sitcom and wondered what he would do. The paladin wasn't as charismatic as the charlatan, but, he would most likely have the crowd's favor, provided the sheriff actually felt the need to speak up and defend himself at some point.
He considered grabbing onto his scythe instead, and walking up to the gallows themselves and attempting his own proud moral stance. He decided against it, as he had a better view. He looked around, expecting another hand to hit him in the face, but then looked to see what the mayor was doing.
He can't seem to notice anything.
Mavis wonders how Lucien will react, but takes no chances, getting within 15 feet of the gallows. He'd try to hide, of course, if he didn't stick out like a sore thumb.
using message cantrip
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Ever looking at the scene, primarily focused on the priest, he notices something off. Truly off. The priest stops for a moment and starts to move his hands around accordingly.
While he's seen these minimalistic hand movements before, he still doesn't know what they do and is far from being trained in the ability to do so. The witch could probably determine them, but he's preoccupied with the unresponsive guards.
"This situation is going down hill..."
A scowl takes over his usually-charming face and he considers the thought of cracking his whip and dispersing the crowd to make room, as well as make room and get rid of the shenanigans, but he decides against it as the paladin would have his head. He would do it normally, provided he hadn't have brought his razor whip, instead of his usual "pleasure" whip.
Fearn looks around to see how the crowd and the guards react.
Lucien Groy's face grew a scarlet shade as he watched the conversation break out before him. Puffing, he waited patiently for the interlopers to stop before making his stance. Undoing the collar that had kept his neck protected revealed a bulging mass of cancerous growth. It seemed for a moment, that something had moved within the mass.
Appearing more like a boggard, the guard captain spoke up.
“Damn adventurers...always mucking things up.” Lucien added with a sigh. "I'll give you a little hint, I don't give a damn who you side with, dese are guilty f*#~s and vvVENGEANCe WILL BE MINE!!!!
Groy's two lackeys who stood behind him on the gallows shifted about nervously. By the time, the crowd was already in an uproar – some folks had taken towards throwing all sorts of items at both the fetchlings and the heroes () – tomatoes stained all manner of cloth, and even rocks found their mark.
Chants such as “KILL THE FETCHLINGS” and “DEATH TO THE INFIDELS” rang out as much of Karpad's lively stock had spoken their minds. It seemed like there was no point to reasoning.
The guard captain gave a hearty laugh, and looked down upon the pharasmin.
“I had truly hoped a Kuthite would proceed over this – not a pharasmin. I've no need of your service!” he bellowed out, eyes bulging as his frog like deamoner glazed over the mob. “This is a Karpad matter, and I will not let some cocky headed adventurers muck of true frontier justice, nay even a Dwarf! YOU CAN TAKE YOUR IDEAS AND LEAVE!!!”
Taking a 5ft step backward, Groy had brandished his light mace and broke the leg of a male fetchling, causing the shadowling to cry out – “earrRGHHHH”.
Giving a nod to his lackeys, a lever was pulled and all three captives were dropped bellow, dangling for dear life from their nooses.
The crowd crew into a cacophonous mess, as brothers and sisters had scratched, torn and bite at anything in their sight. It was truly chaos. The guards in turn also drew their weapons, though with shaky hands at the scene that had developed before them.
Initiative
Fearn raises his crossbow and considers shooting the rope hanging one of the fetchlings. Too far. He kicks Hayna closer to the gallows.