Note: this game is by invite only.
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A loud noise enters the Wounded Wisp, as a ratdatdadah...ratdatdadah... is heard - the easily recognizable sound of a drum played at fast pace.
A Young white-haired Gnome steps into the bar, brings about a furious Crescendo to conclude his performance, and he takes a bow, as some patrons clap slowly, while others glare annoyed.
"Waitress! An ale please! I need to celebrate! - and you are welcome to join me..." He winks at the Half-elf waitress.
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A tall woman of obvious Garundi descent, normal and plain in every other way, walks down the street towards the Wounded Wisp. Her dark brown eyes dart back and forth taking in every person, noticing small details. Black hair tied back, the soft mahogany skin of her face stretches in a smile.
A cloak hangs over her black studded leather armor. Street vendors see an occasional flash of red as she walks past; an easy gait belies the strong confident motion. A vendor steps in front of her, shoving a mass of fruit in her face. "From far off Garund! A bit of home for you!" A simple nod of the head and she side steps the man, her smile disappearing.
A street urchin hiding in a doorway sees her hands flex, knees bend slightly before she recovers and continues walking. The small child wonders, "Is old Volmar stupid? Did he not see the blades sitting on her hips? The urchin shakes his head. Well if she isn't going to rob him I might as well."
The sudden commotion behind her is ignored; the same vendor, close to bloodying her sabers, is now yelling something about a thief. Oh, well...
Laughter and the snap of a snare drum permeate the street before the Wisp's door. Ah, that is right. I was to be paired with a gnome bard of sorts. I do hope he is good company.
Pushing through the door, Atrix sees the room captivated by a small, even by gnomish standards, gnome at the front of the stage. Several empty human sized mugs sit around him, empty; some upright, some not. It is obvious he is in the middle of some story of bravery or some such. Deft hands place each drumstick between a mug and its handle. Eyes wide, the gnome flips each mug into the air, a short sharp burst from the drum and the mugs transform into stirges; angry buzzing fills the room as the illusions flit about the crowd.
Atrix tries to blend into the shadows, watching the performance. More stirges fly into the air. The crowd laughs more and more. Some patrons spit ale from one orifice or another as the gnome gets more agitated in his performance. Atrix smiles and lets out a soft laugh as a large bag of gold appears in front of the gnome. The drum beat reaches a crescendo as the stirges dive at the bag.
"And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why you should NEVER get married!"
Cheers and laughter erupt from all in the bar. More ale is spilled as people lose control of themselves. A comely half-elven barmaid slides a full mug of ale toward the gnome. She receives the customary tip every lass in her line of work receives: A slap on her behind as she walks away.
Yes. I believe he will be good company indeed Atrix thinks as she walks towards the stage.
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Overheard in the bar by those two...
"...and I hear that the bandit problem in Isger is getting worse."
"Oh, really? What are they doing about it?"
"Well, from what I gather, some of the small towns are starting to hire mercenary forces to supplement their sheriffs and other police. Getting so an honest business man can't smuggle their goods through the country without being robbed, or worse..."
"Is the pay good?"
"Dunno, but I ain't going up there... they gots too many gobbos and the like for my taste."
"Oh, come on! I am of age! Just give me the beer!" A young man by the counter exclaims. The bartender shakes his head and shoos the man off, and no wonder - the first speaker indeed looks very young. Smooth chin on his dark-colored face, ragged hair half-covering his eyes, and his small stature gives Filk a very boyish look. And truth to be told, he has no idea of his true age - one does not exactly keep a record of passing years in the streets of Katapesh.
But Filk feels old enough, so it was very rude of the bartender to refuse to serve him. But as disappointments go, this was a very small setback, so no need to mull over it. The young man leaves the counter and starts wandering around the inn. Somewhere a loud laughter erupts, but Filk also spots one other sound. Something his ears are very attuned to - the sound of coins clashing together. And then he sees the bag of gold thrown to the gnome, and the purses hanging on patron's belts all around the tavern. How can they be so careless!? They are practically offering their gold to be taken... Filk's hand starts moving almost on its own, reaching towards one man sitting nearby. But he quickly pulls his hand back.
No! That life is over! I came here to start anew. Earn my money by honest means. Leave the life of a street rat and rise above my station.
The temptation is great, and Filk closes his eyes and tries to unsee all the gold coins around him. He breathes deep and puts his hand into one of the many pockets of his simple-looking clothing, producing his lucky coin. Ok, I'll let fate decide. Tails for a good boy, and heads for a little action, he thinks and flips the coin. When the coin starts falling down, it makes a couple of rather unnatural-looking flips, before finally landing heads up. Filk smirks. Grabbing one beer isn't exactly stealing, it's just ... correcting a wrong.
A barmaid lays down six mugs of ale for a table of patrons while collects payment from them. But when she looks at the ales again, there's only five mugs. Behind the puzzled barmaid, one mug floats in the air, slowly making its way between the tables, before finishing its journey in Filk's hand. At this point, the young man decides it's best to move where the crowd is thickest, so he joins group watching the gnome's performance.
"'sup fellas? What news? How do you feel about ... the situation in Isger?" he just picks up some topic he heard mentioned elsewhere in the crowd.
"Isger, yeah. Dat place is all screwed up." says a rather trail-worn looking half-orc. "Ever since da Goblinblood Wars, dey can't keep da peace nowhere. Just ain't enough men in deir army, you see. So, da small town, dey just outta luck, and da bandits and da gobbos come and take advantage of them."
He thinks a moment, before adding. "So, if youse gonna wanna make a name fer yerself, mebbe you make yer way up to Isger, and find some small town that is in need of guards. A place like Saringallows, or whatever it is called. You know, a place dat can't otherwise afford you, and you kill gobbos and bandits and make a name fer yerself."
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After many beers, FiJeet bids Atrix and Roach goodnight, passage on the next morning's ship settled up for the long trip to Isger.
As the bar starts to clear out, FiJeet heads towards his inn... arm linked with the smiling pretty waitress.
"So what do you guys think of the goblins in Isger? Should be a lot of fun, and many stories to write on this adventure!"
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A tall, proud humanoid with red skin arrive in Isger, his hair flickering with light in the breeze, his small horns seeming - no, truly - polished. His breastplate is likewise kept up and decorated with modest silver chains with second-rate jewels held in cheap settings - but by the man's confidence, it could all be gold and diamonds.
He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There's something in the air - something he desires: a paying job.
As you all converge around the town of Saringallow, you each are given a sealed note by a small urchin, who you learn has been paid to find able adventurers to meet with Mayor Sandra Trinelli. She would like you to meet with her in the afternoon at her house for high tea for a discrete meeting.
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Atrix moves a pawn forward on the board.
"Filk, Roach, whatever you prefer. I can tell by your accented Taldane you are from North Garund."
The passenger playing Atrix moves a Knight.
"My own family hails from the Rahadoumi capital, Azir, though we have not lived there for some time." Atrix moves another pawn forward. The passenger grins when Atrix removes her hand form the piece. He moves his Knight and takes the pawn.
"I am curious what drives you forward." Atrix moves her left Bishop to the middle of the board.
The passenger frowns as the move was one he did not expect. He moves his right Bishop across almost the whole board.
"I am curious how you view loyalty." Atrix moves her Queen right.
The passenger's eyes widen. He quickly moves his Knight back toward his King. Atrix moves her Bishop and takes the passenger's left Rook. His head twitches left and right. He moves his Bishop and takes a pawn. Atrix looks at Filk.
"Are you someone I can trust?" Atrix moves her Queen.
"Check mate."
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A large Kellid clad in armor of overlapping plates of hardened leather approaches the mayor's house. A large round shield is strapped onto his forearm, and he is carrying an iron mace on a leather strap slung over the shoulder. A well-trained leopard is following him, and it appears the warrior is talking to the animal.
"I don't trust these city folks, Valkea. They never speak their minds, you know? But we need food, we need money. You're starting to look scrawny, white-paws. We need this job.
The two eye the town guards and other people present for a moment.
"We're here to talk to the mayor."
Filk stares at the pawns at the board, trying to figure out the rules as they play. "How does that..? How did you..? Whoa, does that mean that..? Ouch!" Needless to say, Atrix has little difficulty winning him. Filk's experience with games is with the ones depending either on luck or fast fingers, and thus a game with a tactical element is difficult to grasp. But very interesting...
"I'm from Katapesh, so you're quite right on that." the young man confirms Atrix' guess. Now that game is over, he has some extra mental capacity available to try and answer the many questions the Rahadoumi lady asked during the game. "What I want is a jump up in the social classes. I can survive as a street rat, no problem, but I don't want to. I want to live in a fancy house, and not to feel hunger ever again. I want to make name and fortune, and to make them in honourable way. Well, I'm not sure if fighting goblins is completely respectable lifestyle, but it's better than stealing for living."
"Loyalty, huh? Big word, right? Don't know much about that. But where I'm from, friends watch over each other, and you don't let them down. Was that what you were asking?"
"So," Filk says and extends his hand for a handshake. "call me a friend, and you can trust me."
"That's my story. What about you? What make you travel so far from home and fight somebody else's fight? Besides the fact you are quite well equipped for the task?" he adds, noticing the two sabres on Atrix's belt.
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Fijeet jumps up and down in excitement at the end of the chess game... Atrix realizes he was announcing the game in his head as if it were a sporting event...
Fijeet will slap his hands over the handshake "In it together! always happy to make new friends who i can watch their backs for!"
"Roach, that's an awesome story, mind if i write some of that down?" he starts scribbling notes without waiting for an answer...
The plush red carpet and oak furniture upholstered with velvet lend this room an air of comfort, but it’s also clearly a place of of business, with several layers of administrative papers, staff memos, maps, and charts covering the wide surface of the solid desk in the center. From her tall-backed chair behind her desk, Mayor Sandra Trinelli looks up, shaking herself out of a deep concentration. A subtle look of relief ashes across her face as she motions to the oversized chairs in front of her.
“Normally, I’d exchange more pleasantries with my guests, but I fear there is no time,” she says. “The business that brought you here is quite urgent—it may actually be a matter of life and death.
“Let me explain. You may have heard that several young apprentices from various establishments in Saringallow have disappeared in the last
couple of weeks. Every one of them has failed to show up to work, and nobody seems to know where they’ve gone.
“That’s not all. Rumors are spreading about sightings of enormous insects roaming about town. So far, the townspeople have chalked up such rumors to overactive imaginations, but I fear they might be real, and that they might have something to do with the missing apprentices. I have no proof that the situations are connected, but if folks get that notion into their heads, things are bound to spiral out of control.”
She shifts nervously, as if avoiding an uncomfortable implication, before continuing.
“Please, I implore you to look into this matter quietly and thoroughly— find out where our apprentices have gone and discover the cause of our vermin problem. Don’t jump to conclusions until you have investigated every possible angle; we need to be absolutely sure that we know who or what is responsible before we take any necessary law- enforcement actions.
“I suggest you start by interviewing the masters of every missing apprentice on this list I’ve compiled. I suspect that, collectively, they might shed some light on the youngsters’ whereabouts. That could in turn illuminate our vermin problem, but until we have more information, I caution you against suggesting to anyone that the two situations are connected. Beyond that, though, you have my full cooperation in this matter. If anyone gives you guff about your line of questioning, show them this letter.”
The mayor pushes a scrap of paper with several names scribbled on it across her desk, as well as a rolled-up, ribbon-bound letter written on thick parchment.
“As far as an incentive,” the mayor says, “I’ve pooled together 50 gold pieces as a reward for each apprentice you manage to nd and rescue, as well as an additional 100 gold pieces if you can determine the cause of our vermin problem — and eliminate it. Do we have a deal?”
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Khoun blinks, and after a brief silence, he asks "How big are the vermin? Bigger than my cat?" Khoun casts a side-glance at the leopard (who's presently taking a nap on the floor), then continues "And what kind of vermin? Poisonous? Where were they seen? And where do these people live?, he says, pointing at the list of names.
"So many disappeared, and everyone's an apprentice? That sounds pretty odd, doesn't it?" Filk scratches his head in puzzlement, and looks at his new companions if they share his view on this.
"But as he said," Filk points Khoun with his thumb, "the pay sounds good. I'm in, too! So we have a chat with the masters, first. Any idea where those insects could be coming from?"
"I have no idea where the insects are coming from, unfortunately. As to their nature, I am not a woodsman or nature specialist. I haven't gotten any confirmed reports, I've only heard rumors up to this point. You'll have to figure this out, as I cannot do the investigation myself. Again, please be discrete about your investigations." she says, with an almost leading tone.
"All right, off we go! First we'll head to.." Filk grabs the Mayor's paper, and starts reading. "HA... HAB.. HABE... HABEN.. no.. HABER... Uhh, how can the Taldan letters be so incomprehensible. You can read that line, you look like a smart one." Filk resigns, and passes the note to FiJeet.
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"A haberdasher is one who makes fancy clothes. It is a word those who think themselves better than the rest of us use instead of tailor. Specifically, I believe it means one who makes men's suits and whatnot. The insects must have interest in bespoke suits."
"Madame mayor, a question if I may. These apprentices, do they have anything in common? Hair , eye color? Familial connections? How old are the children? are they all the same age or within one to two years apart?
Also, this town has an interesting history. You can rest assured that if we find any Sarinis involved in this caper that we will abide this town's ancient tradition and hang them."
The mayor replies to Atrix, "They are all about the same age... I wouldn't call them children, but they are definitely just young adults. It is my understanding that they are all friends, but have different masters."
She figits at her desk a moment, "Please, do what you can to help these apprentices. But, again, please be careful during your investigations. It would not do Saringallow any good should the rumormongers start talking."
"Let's see... Petrello Pindlion runs his haberdashery. He is not nearly the most prominent nor successful haberdasher, but his is the only one with a missing apprentice, who also happens to be his daughter," she says.
"Majara Pricknettle is our foremost apothecary. The gnome came to town several years ago, fleeing the carnage of the Goblinblood Wars, and she had her now apprentice, Gellion, with her. She's made a good life for her and her ward here in Saringallow... the townsfolk have all but accepted her as their own by now!
"Alcie Kruptin is the proprietor of the Witch's End Tavern. She's quite the imposing figure, at well over six feet in height. Her food is phenomenal.
"Gunty Keronna runs the largest bakery in Saringallow, and rules his five apprentices with a sterm hand. He is a veteran of the wars, but even his injury doesn't slow him down from making what he calls 'the heartiest damn breads this side o' the river'.
"Father Ildris Ruvarra has been our priest of Erastil for over ten years. He is a down to earth man, and is selfless in his role as the town's healer. His apprentice is his adopted daughter, Nolaria Wintren.
"“Dependable” Drummady Laterna is the town's most successful cobbler. She has a reputation for very sturdy footwear at reasonable prices. She is also willing to repair any shoe bought from her store at steeply discounted prices. Her business really took off three years ago, when she split with her husband, Petrello. Her apprentice is Pavolus, her son, while Petrello took Betrona as his apprentice."
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Mortin listens closely, reviewing the documents.
"I think I should hold onto this Letter from the Mayor - it should be carried by those with noble bearing and an appreciation for just how much it is worth."
"The mother and father pair, missing both children. Quite unfortunate. We should get going with haste," Mortin says quickly, then pauses, thinking. "Would it be allowed to also collect rewards from these townsfolk, for returning their investment-- err, apprentices?"
She looks to Mortin, and says, "I believe that the city will be rewarding you well enough, and I would prefer that you don't solicit additional rewards. Also, and I can not stress this enough, you need to be quiet and thorough. Please do not raise the townfolks' suspicions that anything is wrong... at this time, most people think that the apprentices are just playing hookie or something.
"If you need additional... compensation... perhaps the fact that if you show my letter at Saringallow’s Sundries, you'll be getting a discount on items purchased will help."
Trinelli sighs and gazes out the picture window beside her desk. “Our town has a painful history,” she admits, “but more than a hundred years ago, our town was little more than rural holdings belonging to Cheliax’s House Sarini. At some point, the Sarinis began dabbling in diabolism. It made everyone uncomfortable by all accounts, but no one said anything until it was too late.”
She pauses, and when she continues her voice is filled with palpable anger. “Those horrible nobles exsanguinated several innocent youths in service to their dark patrons, like they were nothing but toys. The townspeople rose up, and in their rage, they hanged every Sarini they could get their hands on. They changed the town’s name to Sarini Gallows as a warning, though it eventually became Saringallow. Since then we’ve never knowingly suffered a Sarini’s presence in our town.”
The mayor takes a deep breath, calming the passion that welled inside her while recounting the tale. “However,” she continues, “We paid a price back then even beyond the lives of those young people. During the hangings, the townspeople began turning on each other, accusing folks of diabolism at every turn. The real villains lost their lives, but so did many innocent people, and I can’t allow that to happen again. If I do, I’ll very likely have blood on my hands.”
"Ohh... I get it," Filk says, as the Mayor's story sinks in. "Young people disappearing, just like back then. Ok, we'll be discreet. Very hush-hush."
"No Augury from here," he answers Atrix, apologetically. "But in absence of divine help, I think we're up for some legwork. Shall we go?"
FiJeet's memories seem to corroborate what the mayor has said.
The team of adventurers makes their way to Petrello's Haberdashery. When they get there, the place is a mess. Hats, scarves, belts and the like are strewn all over the small shop, and most are of pretty poor quality. The purveyor barely notices when the team enters the shop.
Filk leads the group into the shop, and then pauses to take a good look at the place.
"Good day, sir! Nice, uh... shop you have here!" he says, and picks up a belt that has fallen on the floor. He places the belt on the counter and gives a big smile behind it.
"Would you be mister Petrello Pindlion? We understand your daughter's gone missing, and we're here to help find her."
Then Filk nudges Mortin, and whispers: "Show him the letter we got from the Mayor"
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Mortin steps forward, pulling out the letter.
"Petrello, your place of business is embarrassing. I'm not sure how you intend to stay in business and provide for yourself and your family with things in such a sorry state. Now, get up, we are here to help. Your daughter is missing and we'd like to find her."
Mortin will hold out the mayor's note while standing in such a place that the man has to come to him to get it.
"“It’s that apothecary boy’s fault. He’s a bad infuence, that one!” Petrello yells at the group.
"Are you here to buy something, or just pester me?" he says in a harsh tone, dismissing the letter.
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Khoun can't help but wonder if there's something the haberdasher isn't telling Khoun and his companions; he attempts to observe the man's body language and facial expressions.
"Is there anything else we should know about? Other than than the apothecary boy, do you remember if she's mentioned anything--any places, names, or anything else that could help us find her?"