GM Bigrin's Giantslayer (Inactive)

Game Master bigrin42

"Maybe there's some hint in his room where he is?"

If allowed, she'll go look in Omast's room.

"Come on," Molly says to the others. "We got out of him what we could, now we need to close ranks."

The heterochromatic girl waits a moment for the others to get ready, and then sets off for the barracks at a dead run. She knows the way there from her visits to her cousin, Jenk. She readies her crossbow while she runs, however, which is something she had not felt the need to do on any of her other visits...

Mariana seeing much of the rest of the group, follows suit. Upon not finding their goal, she mutters something to herself under her breath then goes back to smiling and looking about. When the night begins to fall, she opens the Wayfinder at her belt and activates it, the light of a torch radiating from it. "I doubt we are that lucky, Vashta...And I know luck is often on my side..."

"Gorum grants us light," says Storn as he taps the hilt of his greatsword, casting a light spell upon it.

He looks around, grumbling. "Of course he's not around. Wait - nobody has seen him all day? Does he have regular patrol duties or jumping jacks or whatever militia spend all day doing? That's unusual, right?"

Quill yields to Yelena once they enter the barracks.

"Maybe we should check a few of the drinking halls to see if Omast is there," Quill suggests. "If not, do we want to go to someplace else, either now or tomorrow morning."

When Yelena pointed at the room that was assigned to Frum, Vashta didn't stand on social niceties. She barged right into the room and began to poke around. The others were a little taken aback at such forwardness, but stuck their heads in as well.

The room was untidy, and smelled strongly of drunk. There were no bottles or puddles of vomit, but the room reeked of old alcohol and putrid sweat. Clothes were tossed into piles on the floor, and the bed was rumpled and unmade. There were no obvious signs of where Frum might be, but Yelena's and Quill's observations about taverns certainly seemed to be backed up by the evidence here. If not in the Ramblehouse, perhaps Frum is at The Killin' Ground sampling some of Rabius Clarenston's moonshine.

Checking the duty roster scrawled on a blackboard by the barracks door, Yelena sees that Frum has been marked out the last three days and the next two, with Cleanup scrawled beside his name.

Would I know what "Cleanup" means?

This is why I don't sleep in the barracks!

Quill wrinkles his nose at the odors, having avoided living like this in his time in Trunau. Quill will take a quick look around for anything of interest before removing his nose from the malodorous area.

1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25 Perception

"Well, let's go to the Killin' Ground and check there. Then maybe rendevous at the Ramblehouse to plan next steps?"

Unless there are objections, Quill will go to the Killin' Grounds, looking for Omast.

How far am I from the barracks?

Everyone has regrouped at the barracks

Yelena - Probably not

"Lemme check if my cousin's here," Molly offers. "Maybe he can tell us some more."

Jenk was propped up on his bed, reading a copy of Hommel and Brekka, one of Rodrik's best-known plays. He looked up as Molly came up with a sad smile. "Heya cuz. You shouldn't be here, you know. It's for militia only. Oh, hey Yelena, I didn't see you back there. What's going on?"

"Been murder done, cuz," Molly replies, enfolding Jenk in a brief, rough hug -- just like when they were children together, who brawled as much as they played. "And someone tried to have the lot of us murdered as well for investigating! We're looking for a fella by name of Frum, to get some answers. You know much about him?"

Molly plunks herself down on the bed right next to Jenk, her arm across his shoulder, and casts a brief, meaningful glance at the others.

Bluff to pass the unspoken message 'Don't strong-arm my cousin': 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16

Yelena grabs her longhammer from her bunk and joins Molly. "We need to find Frum. He may be connected to Rodrik's murder. Do you know what "Cleanup" means on the duty roster?"

"Yeah, I heard." He indicated the play he was reading. "Bad business, that. You part of the crew Kurst said he was putting together? Figures you'd set yourself down in the biggest batch of trouble you could find. What d'you want Frum for? Haven't seen him today, but he was chatting about those White Swords with Patrol Captain Grath, Roddy's father, yesterday. He was pissed about how they couldn't be removed, and how they had no clue who could be painting them. I'd guess cleanup had something to do with them, but I don't know for sure. If he's not at the Ramblehouse or The Killin' Ground, I don't know where he could be."

"Thanks." Yelena checks the board to see who else is assigned to Cleanup with Frum.

"Well, we didn't seem him at the Ramblehouse, so I guess it's The Killin' Ground, then. Let's hope it doesn't live up to its name," Vashta observes drily.

She prepares to follow Quill to the drinking establishment.

Yelena notices that no one else is on Cleanup with Frum. She also notices that Frum's task is written in different handwriting than everyone else's.

SHeeesh I go to work and there are 15 posts while I'm there...good gods. That being said: What color were the alchemical blades that the assassins had? Also: I never saw an answer on whether they simply dissipated or if they returned to liquid state. Please and thank you on both, most importantly the former.

Light blue, and evaporated

"Are there any alchemists in town? Have these white swords been checked by an alchemist? I am curious..." taps her chin while she looks about the room for any last clues.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

"We asked at the House of Wonders and they couldn't tell us much. If it's an alchemist, she's doing this on her own and in secret."

"We asked at the House of Wonders and they couldn't tell us much. If it's an alchemist, she's doing this on her own and in secret."

Quill confirms this is a head nod, well remembering the time he waited for Vashta to blather discuss amicably with the proprietors of the House of Wonders.

Quill is ready to move on.

Yelena notices the different handwriting and the lack of an assigned partner. "Looks like we will have to do this the hard way. Anyone want to come with me to find Frum? We're going to have to go street by street."

"Unless he's at the Killing Ground. Let's check there first, then we can go street by street. Wagons often find the easiest path to their destination, and people aren't usually all that different."

It is full dark by the time you make your way to the Killin' Ground. The only bar in Trunau outside of the Ramblehouse, the Killin' Ground was a great way for the rough settlers of the frontier to kill time. The rotgut served here wasn't aged or flavored. It was there for one reason - to get drunk on. As you made your way inside the place, Yelena kept her eye out for Frum, but she was unable to see him.

The owner of the Killin' ground, Rabus Clarenston, came over towards the group, waving his arms in a negative gesture. "No way, Shuklov. You know the rules. Kurst said you were on a special assignment, and I don't serve 'shine to anyone on duty, or going on duty soon. You know that. Papa Grast made that real clear the last time."

"We en't here to booze, matey," Molly says, a brilliant smile on her face. "You got a moment to chat with us?"

"Make it quick. I gotta whole room of people here, looking for service."

Quill takes a quick look inside, then stands guard while others talk.

I hope Marigold isn't here.

Storn stomps along with the group and makes his way to take a look inside.

"I'm not militia," he says matter-of-factly as he looks around at the crowd.

Yelena waves her hand in a negative gesture. "Bar that, Rabus. We're not here for bub. We're trying to track down who put Rodrik in the dead-book. Have you seen Frum?"

Quill stands behind Yelena, his militia sergeant, and looks 'mean'...well, at least as mean as a young elf can look.

"Yeah, where is Frum?"

"I don't think Frum had anything to do with that business. He was four sheets to the wind when he came in here this morning. Blathered something about that graffiti and took off. I didn't give him anything but breakfast. You know I hold to the rules. I ain't cleaning the barracks jakes again. Think you're wasting your time. He's prolly holed up somewhere sleeping off his drunk. If that's it, I've got a business to run."

Yelena waves him off and turns to Quill. "I'm getting the feeling that our bubber Frum is going to get nicked before the morning comes. We need to stay peery while we look for him. Street by street, if need be. Are you with me?"

Quill shrugs. "Sure, but I don't want to go alone. I already got gakked once tonight."

Quill is happy to team up with someone and do some scouting.

1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26 Perception

"It's clear I'm needed if anyone gets hit anyways." Storn's voice is a low grumble. "Besides, I don't want to miss out on any fights."

As they travel Storn occasionally chants small prayers to Gorum to help Quill find soemthing.

Perception, Aid Another: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Casting guidance on Quill for +1.

"Master Rabus, do you happen to know if he has any places in particular he goes to sleep things off?"

The young bard smiles to him as she asks her question.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13 oh gods, Aids please...my rolls stink

"No idea."

Everyone walks the streets, looking between buildings and down alleys for the elusive Omast Frum, but there is no sign of him. Very few people are out on the streets after dark, and those few that were said they had not seen the man. A couple of fruitless hours' worth of searching left you tired, frustrated, and a little put out out.

It is now well after dark, and everyone other than those in the Killing Ground or the Ramblehouse are to bed. How would you like to spend your night?

Quill's eyes sag.

"I'm tired, frustrated, and a little put out...and not the good kind of put out, either," Quill clarifies. "Let's get to sleep and head to that cave on the morrow. Seems like our best lead, right?"

Quill looks around, thinking about what they know so far.

"Yelena, you can get us there? Should we pack lunches do you think?"

Vashta looks miserable as she rubs her feet after the long search and suppresses a yawn.

"The poor man's probably already dead, unless the assassins had as much trouble finding him as we have. Maybe the cave is the best bet. Tomorrow morning? I have to prepare my spells, but we should strike early while the snake's still in its nest. Perhaps meet one hour after dawn at the Ramblehouse?"

"Convincing the town guard to let me truss up Mr. Blonde and use him as a guide shouldn't be too difficult. Gagged and bound with a lead-rope should ensure he doesn't do anything stupid. That sounds like a fine plan. If someone who is sleeping at the Ramblehouse could place an order, they could probably pack us some bread, cheese, and cold cuts. Everyone, try to get a good night's sleep. We go hunting tomorrow morning." Yelena waves them farewell, and heads toward her parent's home.

Quill nods at Yelena and runs home, not only to pack and prepare for tomorrow, but to explain to his 'family' about what happened and where he will be for the next day or so.

He will sleep soundly as he can after being near death a few hours ago, eat, and pray before meeting with the team at the Ramblehouse at an hour after sun up.

He will buy 2 trail rations and pack them away in his backpack. -1 gp.

- - -

Quill waits at the Ramblehouse, pawing at whatever breakfasty food is about; he's ready to go or investigate more.

"Yelena, do you think they will send more assassins after us?"

"They're cheaper by the dozen, lovey," Molly says, putting her arm in a rough hug around Quill's neck, grinning at him. "Depending on how much we annoy Mr. Mystery Half-Orc, you can bet your pointed ears we'll see more steel before we see the answer to all our questions."

By the time those staying at the Ramblehouse arrived back at the inn, the bodies had been removed, and the cleanup was mostly done. Only a few dark stains on the floor and the glare of the proprietor showed that anything was amiss.

No screams of "murder, foul!" ring out this night, and the Ramblehouse is once again a quiet, but bustling inn in the morning. The food is eggs and pancakes, with rashers of bacon to round it out. An hour after dawn isn't the busiest time of the morning, so you are able to meet without the jammed confusion of the night before.

Kurst showed up soon after all had eaten, hoping to talk to you about last night's events and this day's plans.

"It's not every day we get a group of Freedom Town assassins in Trunau, and especially not a group that was after so many people. That fellow you took prisoner - Garvey, he said his name was - is chattering like a magpie, hoping to keep his neck attached to his head. Nothing he says is of much use in finding his employer, I'm afraid. Did you find anything? I hear you were looking for Frum. Did you find him?"

Wait, wait. I worry what you just heard was, "Give me a lot of bacon and eggs." What I said was, "Give me all the bacon and eggs you have."

"We haven't seen a lick of him." Yelena wiped a patch of bacon grease from her chin. She didn't touch the pancakes. "Quill and I searched the streets and could not find him." She grabs the pepper grinder and starts going to town on her fried eggs. "What about this 'Garvey.' What did he have to say?"

What does Trunau have in terms of a magistrate or judicial system?

"They're cheaper by the dozen, lovey," Molly says, putting her arm in a rough hug around Quill's neck, grinning at him.

Quill flinches as he is touched expectedly, dropping his toast and bemoaning the fact as he realizes that an assassin wasn't about to gak him again.

"What? They are hired by the dozen?! Quill overreacts and doing mental math. "We have 6 more of them coming?!"

1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10 Sense Motive

"Oh, OH! You're kidding me! Don't do that!!" Quill figures it out. "That's not funny...I was lying in a puddle of my own blood!"

Quill shrugs off Molly's touch with annoyance and focuses again on eating before Yelena eats *all* the bacon, focusing on the crispy pieces.

"Mr. Kurst, sir? Do you think Garvey can take us to the cave? He said they met at a cave."

Belligerent and grumpy, Storn shakes his head brusquely at Kurst.

"No. Everyone we're trying to look for has conveniently vanished. And the people who say the most know the least. I'm going to need a lot more assassins to cheer me up at the rate this is going."

"I think we don't really need more assassins, Storn," Vashta says sternly. "Let's try to see if we can find out what's going on here, though."

Ready to go ... though Paizo's about to go down for a while, so may need to wait until after that.

Kurst agreed to the plan, and within a half hour you pass the Trunau gates and are headed towards a hilly area known to contain many caves. Kurst says, "We scour these caves every month or so, not wanting the orcs to get a foothold so near our town. The last one was a few weeks ago, I think. There's plenty of places to hide out around here, that's for sure."

Following Garvey's occasional head nod or point - gagged, it was hard for him to alert any sentries, but it also made his directions a bit garbled - you found a cave entrance. Kurst nodded for a pair of rangers that had accompanied you to check it out. These experienced men cautiously stalked forward, then took stock of the area. One went in, while the other covered him with bow drawn.

After a few minutes, the scouts came back. "No one there boss. Five bedrolls, ashes from an old fire, maybe 2-3 days, and some clothing. Nothing of value, and it doesn't look like anyone's been here for a couple of days. Maybe this one was telling the truth."

Storn stomps along noisily, slowed down by his armour but happy to be outside. However, his congeniality turns to rage as the old campsite contains nobody and at first glance, no new information.

"RAHHH!" He kicks a large rock away. "This is infuriating! Why can't you be withholding something so I can beat you up and get the satisfaction of a good confession?" He looks accusingly at Garvey.