GM Bigrin's Giantslayer (Inactive)

Game Master bigrin42

"That bastard! I was hoping he was lying!" Quill grumbles way too loudly and with more disappointment than he probably should feel...he wants Garvey dead.

Quill is quick to agree with Storn...hoping Garvey is holding something back, but realizes that he can't prove that.

"Now what? We should go back and go over our clues, right? That's the only way we're going to find out who hired these failures," Quill states.

Ignoring the ranting man and elf, Vashta enters the cave herself, hoping to get a look at anything the others may have missed.

A quick cantrip later, she scans the area for magical auras.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10

Vashta sees nothing of magical emanations in the small cave.

"What about tracks out here?" Molly asks the Rangers - and the others, too. "Tracks going in and out of the cave. If we can find Mr. Mystery Murder-Order-Giver, maybe we can track him down?"

Quill shrugs at Molly's words...and goes to do a quick scout for tracks.

1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13 Survival

"Perhaps the rangers could take a look at the prints? It seems like a ranger-y sort of task."

Mariana has buried herself in her book, scribbling away in the journal as she looks at each thing in detail, but is strangely silent. She takes in everything that is going on with a deep breath and then looks to the rangers and Krust, "Good men, with us being out here as we are, I worry that we might run afoul something. Is it possible for these wonderful woodsmen to check about for tracks that might give any sort of information..." quietly she moves into the cave and looks about herself, hopeful to see something was missed.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

"Already ahead of you, there", said one of the men. "There's definitely six recent sets of tracks in here. All of them lead back towards the same path we took from town to get here. I'll follow the ones that only lead in and out once, but if I was a betting man, it'd lead right back to town. No way to track it once it gets on the main paths." He nodded to Kurst and took off, scanning the trail behind you.

Knowing the kinds of beatings that lay in wait for those who ruin tracks, Storn gets the hell out of the way.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and one of the tracks will veer off. We haven't been particularly lucky in this though, Gorum give me strength."

"He's already done that," Molly notes. "Try asking him for restraint, instead, or a sense of diplomacy. If he can find one."

The dark-haired girl strolls into the cave, looking around thoroughly for even the smallest hint of an inkling of a clue...

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Looking around, Molly can see that the cave's inhabitants may have been planning to come back after the attack for a nice rest, but they certainly didn't believe in leaving anything useful behind for anyone to appropriate. All she found was the sleeping pads and bedrolls, and some food debris. Nothing was left to identify the occupants or their employer.

"Perhaps we go follow the leads we have in town, then we return and camp here for the night? That way if he decides to come pay his assassin's a visit...he gets a nice little surprise?" the young bard surmises quietly.

"Might as well," Molly says, throwing up her hands in disgust. "They planned to come back, is all I can see. Other than that, this cave is an utter bust!"

"That's as smooth a path as any, Mariana," Vashta says approvingly. "Though we're running out of choices in town. Perhaps we'll have more luck finding that missing smith's apprentice than we did Frum?"

What other leads do we have that we haven't dealt with yet?

Quill gets a really good idea, totally out of no where.

"Maybe we should go back and visit with the Priestess? She wasn't there when we visited yesterday, but might be back today," Quill offers, thinking it's the most concrete plan ever.

"Maybe me and...uh..." Quill's face looks at Storn, then Molly, then Vashta, then Mariana, then Yelena...then back to..."...maybe me and, uh, Molly, should go check that out. Or we should all go together."

When someone else agrees, Quill will head back to the Iomedean temple and seek a meeting with the Priestess.

Storn looks incredulously at Quill.

"Use your words! Let's go talk to the Iomedeans. I haven't annoyed those folks in a while."

"Causing mild anxiety in stuffy, upright clerics is a hobby of mine. Let's go."

It doesn't take long to make your way to the main road, and like the tracker surmised, the sixth set of tracks fades into the daily travel. Kurst stops at the main gate to talk to the gate guards and see if they had seen a half-orc with massive facial tatooing. The other two guided Garvey back to his cell to await punishment.

As you were going through the inner wall, you hear loud, off-key singing from one of the southern towers.

"Aren't drunks known to sing off-key?" Mariana says quietly as they hear the singing, hoping to detour and have the two divine warriors and be able to talk to the Iomedeans on her own or with more...calm compatriots.

Quill doesn't know the answer to Mariana's question. He's barely been drunk during his life and, even when he was drunk, was way too self conscious to sing.

"Those towers are meant for guarding, not singing," Quill supposes. "Whomever is on lookout shouldn't be drunk."

Quill moses on over to check it out.

"Yeh, something's off, there," Molly agrees, joining the others. As soon as they get to the tower, she steps forward and bangs loudly on the tower door. "Oy!" she shouts over the singing. "Delivery from the Ramblehouse! Who's going to take reception o' this keg o' dark ale?"

I figure the door might be locked, so... Bluff 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9. ^^

The door to the south tower is locked, and no one answers when Molly calls out. However, the singing appears to be coming from outside, not inside the tower. Making your way around to the inner town part of the curtain wall, you move to the cliff edge where you can see a figure dangling from a rope from the tower's battlements. The man was singing loudly a song about swimming with bowlegged women, and scrubbing vigorously at one of the near-ubiquitous white swords. A small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle.

Taking a good look, Yelena groaned and indicated that you had indeed found Omast Frum.

"Well, I guess now we know what the special duty was," Molly says, shaking her head and chuckling. "Oy!" she shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Frum! Git down here, we want to talk to ya! I'll buy you a beer!"

Bluff 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

DM Bigrin - Would Yelena know the protocol or consequences for being drunk on duty?

Oh yes. Yelena would know them very well. Rabus Clarendon wasn't joking when he talked about cleaning out the barracks jakes...with his hands. That is just one of the many foul duties a member of the militia can expect if he shows up drunk on duty

Frum jerks when Molly shouts at him, spinning a few times in his makeshift sling as he looked for the caller. "Beer? Hah! I tried beer, alcohol, paint thinner, and even Martha's Magical Mark Remover. Nothing works on this damned graffiti. Nothing!"

"C'mon down here, ye old fool!" Molly shouts, cheerfully, and she jumps up and down a bit.

"We want to talk to youuu~! C'mon!"

Omast looks down at Molly, enthusiastically showing off her assets, and slips. His hands scrabble madly at the tower wall as he turned upside down. The rope attached to his belt held him aloft, and he spun, butt in the air and head towards the ground, as he desperately tried to hang on. Cleaning fluids splashed down on those below as Frum spun slowly.

Frum slurred, "Here now, young lady, 'm mourning Rodrik that poor, young, magnificent bastard. Tryin' t' clean up this mess we found. Can't blame me for tryin'."

Reflex save, don't fail me now! ^^ 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

Molly just skips back before the mess hits her, then laughs heartily, hands in her sides. "Go on, y'old fool!" she calls up. "Sort yerself out and get down here! The view's better from up close, I guarantee it. I'll buy you a beer and we can toast the poor boy together, then talk."

Seeing Molly work her magic, Storn just remains silent and menacing, a few steps back.

There's magic and there's magic, after all. ;)

Vashta stifles a laugh.

"Looks like he's falling for you, girl," she says, amusement lacing her voice.

"We want to help clean up the mess too," she calls up. "Come down and talk to us, Frum!"

"Wouldn't be the first," Molly says, grinning as she gently elbows Vashta in the side. "A lad in my home village fell off his horse once, trying to peep!"

"Damn me to hell an' back, if'n tha' ain't a good idea. Be righ' down." Frum wrestled himself upright, then started fussing with the rope. Apparently, in his drunken state, he was unable to hoist himself back up. A loud tearing sound was heard and the man plummeted, his belt loops finally giving way to the man's weight and thrashing.

Omast Frum fell to the ground, a good fifteen foot drop or more, and lay stunned on the ground.

"Ooh, nasty!" Molly says as she squats next to Omast Frum. She quickly casts a cantrip over him, then urgently beckons to Storn and Yelena. "Go on, show us some healing magic!"

Stabilize, if he needs it.

Vashta just shakes her head.

"No wonder they didn't send anyone after him. The man's likely to drive his wagon off a cliff and kill himself!"

"Don't be mean!" Molly chides Vashta. "He's sad because good old Rodrik was killed. Weren't you, Mr. Frum? No surprise, a man needing a drink when a good friend is dead."

Bluff to get Frum compliant: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Mariana sees the man breathing, so she covers her mouth to stifle her own laughter, then she nods to Molly, "Indeed, perhaps we can give him as much hand as possible and get him to that drink a bit faster..." Her voice is compassionate, hoping this man's malaise is legitimate.

Dip: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

As Molly chides Vashta for her cutting remark, Storn lets out a gout of hysterical laughter as Frum plummets to the ground.

"BAAHAAHAHAH! He fell on his face oh Gorum I am blessed. Let me see if he broke anything related to giving us information."

Storn crouches down by Frum to check and see how he's doing. He roughly prods his shoulder.

"Hrm. May need a new one. Gorum, I beseech you to heal this moron."

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Storn chants and healing energy passes into Frum. He then steps back to let the people who talk a lot do their thing.

Sorry, busy day today.

Quill listens and watches as his elders tend to the drunk.

Checking the man over, Storn finds that he is unconscious, having taken quite a bit of damage from the fall. A little of Gorum's power was all it took to bring the man back to consciousness, but Omast Frum's nose was bleeding profusely, and his wrist looked as if it might be broken.

The man held his arm protectively to his chest and looked around. "Damn, I've heard of falling for a woman, bu' tha's th' firsht time I been seein' i' quite so lisher...liteval...liveral...seen it happen fer reals. An' yer righ' lady, Roddy was a good man, e'en if'n he never liked me. No' like tha' oaf of a brother o' his. Kurst'd le' all th' half-orc'n th' world jest stroll in th' gates. Ne'er mind tha' their all dirty half-breeds an' spyin' fer th' orc clans'n such."

"Now now, not all half-orcs take after their orcish heritage. There are a great number of valiant heroes that are half-orcs. I do believe one of the heroes of the recent crusades in Mendev was a half-orcs. To say they all take after half-orcs belittles our strength as humans that we our blood would not prevail..." clearly Mariana did not like that line of thinking.

Yelena grabs Omast by the scruff of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. "On your feet, Frum! You are NEVER drunk on duty, you hear me? I don't care if you personally watched your mother get death-ploughed by an orc raiding party. You are Never. Drunk. On. Duty. Or does your capacity to detect the enemy and warn everyone in town somehow play second fiddle to your feelings? You endanger us all, your miserable prick." She gives him a shake, just enough to roll his eyes around. "Now before I haul you in and recommend that you dig and fill holes for the next fortnight, you are going to explain to us just what you mean by Kurst letting suspicious half-orcs into town. Make it snappy!"

"Shut yer mouth, Yelena! You know nothin'! I ain't officially on duty. Jest cleanin' up this damn graffiti. Maybe you should talk t' Papa Grast if'n you think you know better'n him. Somehow you think you've got sheniority on me? I go' more years as a patrol shergeant than you've been alive! So I shuggest, Private, that you le' go of your senior and let him go about his chosen duty."

"As fer Kursht, he and Roddy been cozy t' half-orcs all their lives. Tha' Sara Morninghawk, fer one. And that loafer Katrexra o'er a' th' Sanctuary. Allways takin' up spots in town tha' could be used fer worthy Trunauans."

So he's a racist. Not that unusual in this town, I suppose, but I had enough of that back with the caravan, Vashta thinks, watching silently as Yelena and Frum yell at each other.

Quill snaps to attention even though Yelena isn't talking to him.

"Hush now, hush now," Molly croons, one restraining hand on Yelena's shoulder and the other on Frum's. "Everyone's upset at 'Roddy's' death, aren't we just? I'm sure Mr. Frum wants to help us all he can. He's got a good heart like Roddy, doesn't he? Don't you, Mr. Frum?"

Bluff 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14 to communicate to Yelena that I'm not trying to undercut her, but playing off her.

"What d'ya want from Frum? Hah, get i'? From Frum? Anyways, wha's you need?"

"If you are in uniform, you are on duty." Yelena lets go of the scruff of his shirt and holds up a warning finger. "And remember, everyone outranks a drunkard on duty. Get drunk on your own time and out of uniform." The dwarf gives a disdain wave of her hand and takes a few steps away, letting the rest of the party continue the conversation.