"No, you can't see them," Gilga says in a defensive tone. "They're quite sick."
Zeriah:
Kurth:
Luthor:
Gilga shrinks back in her chair, frightened by Zeriah's commanding presence.
|
(size permitting) Illias puts the found supplies in his pack for safe keeping and carries the note in hand. Ignoring the "Headmistres"'s command Illias Enters the home with Titan in tow at his heels. As he enters he calls out for his party members to show them what he has found.
"Luthor, Kurth, Zeriah, do not let her out of your sight, she will not receive any assistance from the pathfinders. Seems she has been selling the supplies for her own pocket.Where can I find you?"
|
"Hmmmm, well that is disappointing."
Luthor goes with Kurth up the stairs, to check on the children. He stops and carefully looks at the children to see if they are actually sick.
"Its alright little ones, I am here to help. It wasn't all that long ago I was in your shoes. Now look at me, a proper Pathfinder I am. "
|
"Zeriah is with her right now. We are on our way to check on the childre."
Kurth replies to Illias when they bump into each other in the hallway.
He points in the direction where Zeriah and the woman are.
Then he follows Luthor upstairs.
"I think these children have the plague. Don't get close to them, Luthor."
Kurth puts a cloth in front of his mouth and backs out of the room.
The children upstairs are not too sick, possibly the worst one has a cold with a mild fever. You see evidence of Gilga using herbal remedies to heal these kids.
Gilga's gaze is locked with Zeriah's, her face gone white as Illias makes his accustaion.
Illias finds a guard with little trouble and, when presented with the evidence, hurries to Gilga's home.
"Gilga Baltwin, you are under arrest for running a black market. Have you anything to say in your defense?" the guard asks.
Gilga wordlessly stands from her chair and walks over to the guard. He clasps irons over her wrists and leads her out.
You return to the Temple of the Shining Star and bring the children with you. A few clerics relieve you of the kids and one will take the supplies from Illias. Zarta is glad that you found out about Gilga and helped the children. She hopes that you may be of service in the future and bids you farewell.
You leave the temple and head to the docks, the last place on your list. It is a decent walk and you arrive in the late afternoon. You find The Pickled Imp, Guaril Karela's curio shop, with a little difficulty, but easily nonetheless. You open the door and head inside.
This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
"Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I’m glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need."
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
"Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there’s a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases.
"There’s a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That’s the only parcel I’m interested in, and as far as I’m concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I’m sure the once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything else anyway.
"My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don’t realize what they have and frankly many don’t deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I’d be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I’m good at returning favors, trust me."
He gives you directions to the warehouse and you make your way there. Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet above the water, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building’s windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
The pier this pelican warehouse sits on stretches 100 feet from the boardwalk and the docks proper, and stands 15 feet above the water. The planks on the pier are sturdy but weathered. A few local fishermen and some kids sit scattered along the pier casting nets or bobbing lines into the waters below.
The building looks abandoned and in disrepair. The windows are dark and dirty and provide no view into the structure’s interior. A small boat bobs in the water below, tethered to the pier by a stout, salt-crusted rope.
The key fits the locked front door. Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure’s few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes, and barrels lean against each other in vaguely sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled.
Nothing moves inside of the warehouse. Perched in the middle of the hole, teetering on split planks, sits a large crate stamped with three crows arranged in a triangle—the very crate the you have come to find. Handholds cut into the stout wooden crate ring the rim. Other barrels, boxes, and crates sit stacked along the walls of the warehouse. Just inside the door sits a handful of crates and kegs of beer. Most of these smaller crates and barrels contain foodstuffs in various states of freshness. Some crates reek of rot. Stacks of simple coffins sit against the east wall. The rest of the crates stacked along the north and south walls contain simple sundries including, but not limited to beer, blocks of clay, coffee, coils of rope, dried fish, lead ingots, nails, nets, raw cotton, rough wool, spare sails, timber planks, various pulleys and tools, and cheap weapons.
A crane, used for loading and unloading boats, clings to a rail running the length of the warehouse, hanging 5 feet below the high ceiling, and can slide out to extend past the loading doors along the west wall.
You are fairly sure that the planks holding the box up probably will not support all your weight.
As you start hauling timber to patch the hole, three vicious dire rats come crawling out from behind the crates, their eyes filled with hunger.
Illias:
Zeriah:
Luthor:
Kurth:
Dire rats: