GM Smashtag's PFS: In Service to Lore (Inactive)

Game Master DSXMachina

"I just need to grab my pack," Galfon tells the others, following them out. He had not expected the sudden assignment, and had nothing more than his armor and bow on his person. "I'll meet you at the exit posthaste."

The halfling promptly excuses himself, hurrying to retrieve the rest of his gear. All the while, a smirk works its way onto his face as the realization hits him. My first real mission. Well, this should prove to be interesting...

As they head toward the exit to wait for the ill-prepared halfling, Itra glances over at the tengu walking near her. "I've seen you around. You're... Roc? How'd you come to be here at such a young age?"

The tengu makes a warbling sound in the back of his throat that could pass for a chuckle. "Rook. And I'm no younger than some of the others about this place." He looks the armored human up and down, tilting his head sideways to do so - birdlike. "I've seen you training. Your swordwork is distinctive." He gives a little nod towards the implement when he mentions it. Canting his head again to look up at Itra's face, he asks, "I don't think we've been introduced?"

"No? Perhaps not. I am Itra. The swordwork I was taught from childhood; my order does not often train in its use, but the master's practice caught my eye, and he knew, and taught me. I have used it in his honor ever since. It represents much..."

Rook headbobs in response. Not quite a nod, but less formal than a bow. He touches the pair of kama connected by a chain that hangs from his belt (opposite a light curved sword), and his eyes smile where his beak can't. "We have something in common, then. What is your order?"

Eddie moves away from the wall, heading in to see the Venture Captain as requested. She listens quietly as the man explains why they were chosen, and what their mission would be. She notes that she is not one of the ones that receives a nod from the VC. As he continues to explain about Aunty Baltwin and the orphanage she feels she understands, she's not there as a pathfinder, just a guide as someone who's stayed at the orphanage. Her excitement was curbed significantly as she supposed she was on the 'familiar with the city side' rather than the 'special abilities' side of this group. All the same she would take the mission seriously, she would not let any of them down, quite on the contrary she would make a point of showing her abilities and proving she could be more than a guide.

The questions the others ask seem to be good and reasonable questions, she didn't have much to add. She walks out and watches the halfling head off to get his pack. As he's gone she turns her attention to the other two whom have started talking amongst themselves.

She feels a little awkward as they seem to be more or less hitting it off, and she's not sure if they've even really noticed her, not that someone of her towering height is easily missed. She fidgets a bit not wanting to interrupt the conversation, maybe they'll notice her and invite her to join.

The woman smiles at the tengu, though her eyes betray a hint of confusion. Something in common? Perhaps he means he learned the use of the kama from a master.

"I am a seeker of light, the Dawnflower's follower."

She glances over at the elf, but continues to address Rook. "You hold your weapons as though you've some training, unusual in one so young. Wouldn't you agree, mm... ah... I don't believe I caught your name?"

The last is quite certainly directed at their tall companion. Should've introduced herself... ha, probably too proud to associate with us 'lesser beings'. Oh well. If we're to work together, we'll have to get her off her high horse and talking to us at the least. Wonder why she's here, instead of off doing some hundred-year project with her own people. Or maybe she is... perhaps we're all just some 'project' to them.

The corners of Itra's mouth turn up in amusement, though she tries to dissemble into simple congeniality at meeting the elf.

Bluff: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Oh yeah! Fooled you all!

Rook 'hrrrrn's quietly, trying to place Itra's dress and mannerisms among the few human Sarenite clergy he's met. When she mentions his weaponry, or perhaps his youth, it seems to strike humor in him. "I'm better than some my age, worse than many." He follows Itra's gaze when she turns to the elf and though he's silent, his eyes are laughing still.

Eddie offers a small smile when she is noticed by the tall human woman... not quite as tall as Eddie, but tall none the less. "Sorry, I did not wish to interrupt you... I am Edelwynn Kittenstouch, but I hope that you will call me Eddie." She means that her friends call her Eddie, and she would like to, eventually, include them in that group.

Sense Motive: 1d20 ⇒ 7

The young elf can't help but feel somewhat judged by this human woman, but tries not to think about it. Instead she looks towards the young Tengu monk "How old are you Sir? I apologize, I'm not very good determining ages... I would not doubt your skill, you've been selected for a mission as a pathfinder after all."

Rook headbobs an easy greeting to Eddie. "Well met." He tilts his head while deciding how to answer her question, the gesture lending him a mischievious air. "I have seventeen turns of the seasons. How many times seventeen have you?"

Heal: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Hmm... perhaps that should be Knowledge (Engineering). It's the only one that mentions determining age: "Determine structure’s style or age".

Itra glances over at the elf in surprise at the other's calm response, then snorts softly in amusement when Rook speaks. An apology? From an elf? Hmm... Hehe. The bird's got tailfeathers, I'll give him that. Asking her her age... he either doesn't know much about customs, or he's actually trying to bait her.

Galfon comes back from his room with all the equipment that he needs. Knowing time is of the essence the quartet sets off into the streets of Absalom. The Lodge located in the Foreign quarter is a magnificent and imposing structure that dominates the surrounds. Outside of the grandiose walls, the city bursts into life. A cacophony of calls and voices, not all of them human, quickly they coalesce into a sonic barrage.

Voices from all across Golarion, both in language and accent form a wall of noise that the group cuts through. Whilst their physical forms slide through the throngs.

A kaleidoscope of colours and smells also barrage the senses, travelling across the markets of the Coin District - towards East District. Narrow streets open out into huge market-places, in the organic and ramshackle way of quickly growing cities (despite the cities age).

Itra walks along easily, her stride confident and relaxed as she constantly scans her surroundings. Her casual posture only partially masks her attentiveness, which is that of a guard on duty... always on duty.

The rust-garbed tengu passes through the crowds as one with a lifetime of practice. He's not averse to making use of Itra's wake when they pass through particularly dense crowds among the Coins' auction houses, as the mass of people grudgingly allows space for the woman in the City-Guard-issue cloak. From time to time the group will pass another tengu about their business - Rook notices, and if the other takes note of him, they greet one another with low trilling calls.

Like Itra, Rook is clearly aware of his surroundings. But his is a more diffuse kind, concerned with pattern among the people and their movements, only sparing focused attention for the other tengu and things which disturb the natural flow of activity around him.

There's a bit of surprise on Eddie's face when she learns how young Rook is, his question also takes her a little off guard, not that it was entirely unexpected that he ask her age, some were rather touchy about their age as she'd come to learn, but she had asked his first after all. She'd never been asked in increments of seventeen turns of seasons before though, this only set her back an instant, with a quick mental calculation she responds "Seven" She stated "It doesn't work out exactly, but I have seen approximately seven and one quarter seventeen turns of the seasons." She apparently doesn't have any issue giving out her age, or at least her approximate age.

When Galfon returns she nods towards him in greeting. The tall elf moves along with the others glad that Itra is along, although she's not sure the other woman is really fond of her, she's pleased to have another woman along and pleased that she is at least of similar height, Eddie would feel quite awkward towering completely over Rook and Galfon. She keeps mainly to herself not waving or calling out to anyone, she notes the Tengu Rook greets along the way, she didn't think she had met one of his race before, but is realizing they are not as rare as she thought.

In time, the gaudy storefronts of the Merchants' Quarter give way to the solidly-built residences of Eastgate. If you didn't look too closely you might never notice that the paint on most of them could use touching-up, and some have put off necessary maintenance. The press of people thins out, here, and Rook idly turns over his observations of his new companions.

Itra had a guards' bearing and dismissiveness to go with her insignia of rank. It was disappointing that she didn't recognize his Order, since they were both dedicated to keeping the peace. But her presence among the Pathfinders - Freelance work, or is she on loan from the City Guard? How deep are the Society's hooks in the city, anyhow? This time on leave from the monastery could be more important than anyone had thought, if it yielded information about the halls of power which so conveniently ignored the ramshackle neighborhood he called home.

Eddie, now, she was an odd one. Sharp as a fine blade, shy and skittish as a feral cat. More than seven times his age, but... Ah, pinfeathers. What's the conversion? One year to ten, or something like that? Proportionately, she might be even younger than he was. It felt strange to think about, clashing split perspectives like when he considered himself as part of the life of the city, but like all his kind, also a half-step outside of it.

Galfon seemed to be keeping himself to himself. He'd be surprised if the halfling had said two-dozen words since they'd all met. Well-kept armor and weapons, though, and he looked like he knew how to use them. Happy to have him at my back. Competence doesn't have to be outgoing.

And Rook himself? He had a sneaking suspicion that breaking up street-fights and officiating at duels was nothing like what he'd just gotten into.

When the rest of the group stops in front of a building, he asks, "Is this it?"

As the quartet walk through the city, guided by the taller forms of Eddie and Itra, soon they come into the East Quarter and to their destination.

The large building, just off from a fountain square, not in the best of repair however the fabric is solid. Capable of housing a large family, though now it's quite over-crowded. This is evident by the laughter that is coming from the rear of the property, the unrestrained but high-pitched laughter of children. The walled building has plenty of lawn area around the rear, for both hosting potential dignitaries and backers but also for the children to play.

To the side of the doorway is a brass sign; Orphanage .

The square isn't too busy, being nicely secluded for the more discerning owner. To one side is a local hostelry with a cheerful tavern keeper, although he seems relatively curious of the new-comers. The fountain is surrounded with stone benches and a small area of grass, the gentle sounds of tinkling water brings a measure of calm that can be hard to find in the city.

A short, lithe woman in loose yellow robes surrenders an apple to a shaggy donkey when she sees the odd group approach. Her sandaled feet make a soft patter on the pavement as she approaches. Shining black hair is bound in several looped braids, raising it clear of the broad leather scabbard suspended across her back. A sword protrudes above her left shoulder with a long, dangling red tassle suspended from an opening in the hilt. A crooked dagger is sheathed at her side, opposite a small belt pouch.

She trots up and bows to the approaching group. "Are you the Pathfinders we are expecting? You do not look like the usual street traffic here. I am Mai Lin. Jace and Passio and Samara, the other Pathfinders, are in the orphanage looking after the children. I believe Jace is remaining with them to help nurse them back to health, but Samara and Passio will be joining us to complete our errands." She pauses and blinks, surprised at her own unaccustomed long speech. "The first one turned out to be more interesting than expected. I hope the Venture Captain is not upset? About the old lady or the, er, fire?" There is a plaintive note to the query, though her face remains impassive, as always.

Itra raises one eyebrow in critical appraisal of the woman and her words. "He was not... angry, per se..."

She pauses a moment, as if considering asking a question. Fire? What fire? The 'old lady' must be the Baldwin woman he mentioned.

"My name is Itra. Are you all prepared to depart?"

Mai bows. "I am more than ready." A note of odd relief tinges her voice. "One moment, I will fetch the others." She turns to re-enter the orphanage, with an odd, sidelong glance at the tengu in the robes very similar to hers, then trots off.

She pops into the kitchen. "Passio, Samara, the new Pathfinders are here. And the Venture Captain apparently has not heard about the fire. Or did not tell them because he is waiting to have us executed when we return. Either way, we are ready to go."

Jace looks up, with wide eyes and a tight smile as Mai enters. He stands up hesitantly, unsure whether to say good-bye or not. Taking a step towards her he adds; "I will not wish you luck, as you won't need it. But Fate will protect you."

'She is destined for great things. I wish, I could be beside her for it.' he thinks melancholically.

Unfortunately for the usually talkative Galfon, the busy streets of Absalom practically swallowed him up, both in its size and volume. The tiny man did his best to walk with swagger in his step, but he could do nothing to hide the fact that he was outside of his element. Even his years of training in the Grand Lodge could not prepare him for such a heavily urban environment. It was at times like these that he truly understood why Old Deadeye so disapproved of such large settlements. Nonetheless, he was not about to allow his personal discomfort interfere with his duties. Keeping up with the others proves to be a chore, but the halfling keeps his pace.

When they come to the considerably less populated square, Galfon is noticeably more at ease. Listening in on Itra's brief exchange with their fellow Pathfinder, he chuckles heartily as the latter walks away. "It sounds like they've already had their fair share of trouble. I certainly would not want to anger the venture-captain."

As the short black haired monk arrives to greet them and introduce herself Eddie is a bit distracted. She's not ignoring the woman, and listens to every word she says, but she takes glances towards the orphanage relatively frequently.

When Irta asks if they're ready to go and Mai heads back into the orphanage to gather the others it seems to mark the end of the conversation, and thus would not be impolite to leave the group and take a look at the orphanage "May I have a moment before we leave?" The young elf asks of the three companions with her in a soft voice.

Assuming noone objects she will make her way over to the door of the orphanage. Thinking back to her time here she puts a hand lightly against the brass sign by the door 'How long has it been... 30 years? 40? I never thought I would be coming back.' After a few moments apparently gazing at the sign she enters the orphanage to see the old sites, and revisit memories.

In the large hall of the orphanage; Eddie can hear the soft giggling of children interspersed with the occasional cough and sneeze. Timber and rendered walls seem like they have seen better days, however still inscribed upon the flagstones are the old hopscotch marks.

A hint of lavender and peppermint sweets drift upon the air, ingrained over long years.

Place-holder post as the two groups meet up.

Red 5, standing by.

Samara is in the orphanage, watching the children. She is certainly not looking after them, just watching and making sure that they don't get themselves killed. Otherwise, she seems less than inclined to interact with them in any sort of way, even though occasionally some of the children bother her with questions. She invariably shakes her head 'no' to any question asked of her, more of a refusal of the interaction than any kind of genuine answer.

When grown the others arrive she seems to relax a little bit, because adults tend to understand things like personal boundaries, and how not to bother a particularly shy elf. She raises her hand in greeting towards the others, biting her lip lightly.

As the arcane master rises to leave the room, Jace clasps Passio on the shoulder; "Friend, I'll see you soon. Drinks on me..." he glances to the quartet of newcomers and nods. "Seems there's a few lovely Pathfinders there." he winks at his new-found friend.

A child using their sixth sense to tell whomever is uncomfortable in there presence, an ability also possessed by cats and dogs, rushes towards Samara. Jace moves forward to intercept the little child, whisking him up into a spin. The cleric then turns to the others; "So where you heading to now?"

Itra beams a friendly smile toward the cleric and the child. "Don't think we've decided yet. You must be one of those who are remaining behind." There's a slight inflection of a question in the second statement.

"The docks. They are closest now. This diversion to the orphanage has ruined our original plan." Mai frowns at the thought of disruption to the expected order, and states her opinion as if it is obvious that it is the perfectly correct course of action. Perfectly.

The female guardsman raises one eyebrow in mild surprise. "I was under the impression that this... 'diversion' had been in the interests of keeping the peace and administering justice. Is that inaccurate?"

"Plans are made to be ruined," Galfon comments, his comparatively broad shoulders rising in a shrug. "To the Pickled Imp, then. It's as good a place as any to start. Or continue, rather."

"Yep, I'm staying here. Some of the children are sick and malnourished." there's concern and a tension in his voice. He puts the child down as it runs back up the stairs, passing Eddie and staring at the elf as he sits on the steps.

Itra nods. "That is worthy. You will also teach them lawfulness, honor, and compassion, I trust." This time, the words are a statement of expectation, not a question. She turns to the pair of Pathfinders who aren't remaining at the orphanage. "We were informed that there would be three joining us. Is the other ready to go?"

"I believe Passio and Samara are ready to proceed. We have the orphans medicated, fed, and settled in clean beds. Jace should have no trouble watching them for a few hours, I hope. In the meantime, on to the Pickled Imp?" She smiles a bit nervously. "Oh, and if you happen to see a rather menacing-looking halfling, well... he's been shadowing us. It's part of how the fire started. But that's a long story..." She slings her sword to its accustomed place on her back and takes Plod's reins, tugging him into motion.

"Very well. We'll all keep our eyes open for such a one." Itra moves to the front by force of habit, leading the way to the Pickled Imp. Her eyes scan the streets continually, seeing and not seeing.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Oh boy. :P I guess Itra is lost in some internal well of thought, and can't find her way out!

"Ah-ha! Our brethern in the 'discovery of routes'," bellows a voice from the top of the stairs. The man's clothing seems to be more or less a plain dark blue at first glance, but on closer inspection one can see the subtly worked pattern of billowy clouds with jagged lightning and swirls to depict wind. Interspersed amongst the loose cloth was a surprising number of small orphan children who peered at the newcomers with wide eyes. Their noses red from illness, the children's eyes were wide and cheeks flushed from the excitement of their evening. Some carry blankets wrapped around their shoulders while others hold steaming mugs of something delicious, and all wear thick woolen socks most too large and held on by yet more woolen socks.

His eyes twinkling mischievously, the robed male with the chestnut hair stage whispers, "Go, little ones, the new warriors are in need of your magic!"

Shrieking in delight, a small storm of orphans descends the stairs like a cascade of water scuffling their feet on the rugs and quickly scatter for their attack!

Initiative? Ah screw that!

Orphan attack!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (15) - 4 = 11
Shocking!: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (10) - 2 = 8
Finger of Doom!: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (3) - 3 = 0
Miniature lightning! Like super miniature!: 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (1) - 5 = -4
Loving child prank!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (18) - 4 = 14
Tempesta-Nato!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (18) - 4 = 14
Older boy static!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (13) - 4 = 9
Youngest girl witchcraft!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (20) - 4 = 16
Alohamora!: 1d20 - 4 ⇒ (14) - 4 = 10

Feel free to assume there are even more attacks and pick a result you desire. If "struck" by an orphan's attack v. your Touch AC, you're the recipient of discharging static electricity. Ker-snap!

After the ensuing melee, the man roars in laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes, he picks up the youngest "witch" who giggles and throws her arms around his neck in a fond embrace.

"Now that you have been fully initiated to this band of very bellismo young Pathfinders, I now give you my name. I am Passio Tempesta-Nato!." The one called Passio does an impressive sweeping bow, his one empty arm sweeping before and across his body. His cohort squeals as she is dipped and made part of the gesture all at once.

Flourishing Bow with Child: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

"And I see that we are ready to leave?" A great chorus of awww!s and no!s are this statement's reward. Looking out over the mass of sad eyes bleary with fatigue and puffy from their colds, Passio smiles warmly. "Ah-ah, mio cherubini, no need for the unhappiness. I, Passio, will return to you. Prometto! Pappa Jace will be here to look after your shining faces." Passio leans in close to the sea of children and once again stage whispers. "And you now how much he needs your magic already!" Passio winks and tidal wave of sock scuffling orphans descend giggling and shrieking on the hapless cleric once again.

Laughing softly, Passio eyes the now hope-filled children with a fondness then turns to the most likely wry expressions of his former and new companions. Passio ruefully looks a way with a small blush while scratching the back of his head. "It's all for the good of the bambinos, no?"

Then, suddenly non-plussed, Passio approaches the newcomers with both hands outstretched to grasp theirs in an enthusiastic hand shake if they allow it.

"Much good we will do yet, eh? Let us go! Andiamo!"

Jace looks on shocked by the tidal wave of children with their magical attacks. He bows as Passio gets ready to leave, with a quick finger to his forehead in salute. Suddenly he's bowled over by the rushing kids, a laugh upon his lips. "Summon Wizard Swarm."

That's the last you see of Jace, under a scrum of joyful kids.

~~~~

As the group walks to the South West towards the docks, the morass of humanity thins out. Most people have specific duties and work to be getting on with, there's an atmosphere of purpose to the locale. Well that and the pungent aroma of fresh fish and detritus....

The closer to the dock front the seedier the district becomes. Although the people give each other a good berth, assessing eyes of the inhabitants flick over each other. From an alleyway a rouged figure that has seen better times beckons lazily. Upon the stone wall of the harbour - old fishers sit with their rods out; not expecting to catch anything but whiling away the hours arguing over old times in a jovial manner.

Seagulls caw and swoop into the harbour, picking up and fighting over inedible scraps.

Perception for everyone (except Itra)

Passio strolls easily down the road in the company of old comrades and new. He looks around constantly. He knows that no matter how one would like to assume the good others, not everyone chooses to listen to the whispered words of decency and goodness, that Passio is sure blooms in every heart...somewhere deep down, sometimes very deep down.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

The time with the little orphans has served him well. It seems he had already learned to be much more mindful of his surroundings.

The rust-robed tengu greets his new companions with an Eastern-style bow - and Passio with a handshake, since he seems to expect one. Warm yellow eyes size up each of them in turn.

~~~~~~

Once in the Docks Rook hangs back a little from the group, trusting that his armed competence and the signs of an ascetics' life will deter petty criminals. For the rest... Well, it did sound like someone had been following the other group. He keeps an ear out for potential trouble.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

Despite their derelict surroundings, Galfon appears unfazed as he follows his fellow Pathfinders. On the contrary, he is rather calm compared to when they were on the busier streets. If someone tried to sneak up on him all the way out here, at least he would have a chance of hearing his potential assailant first. In many ways, the place was more like the forest than anywhere else in Absalom. For the halfling however, comfort did not necessarily imply carelessness.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Eddie moves along in the orphanage looking around as everything seems to have a memory attached to it, she explores a bit deeper finding her old sleeping quarters, and is pleased to see it is mostly unchanged from her time there were even a few marks she had been personally responsible for a gouge in the door frame in particular.

Noticing the strange man staring at her she feels somewhat uncomfortable, why was he staring? What did he want? She fidgets a bit awkwardly, but hesitates to actually say something about it. The staring soon ends with the swarm of children, which Eddie somehow manages to avoid, and slip to a different area.

As she returns to the entrance the elven alchemist discovers that the others have left without her, and hurries to catch up not wanting to miss her first mission because her companions simply forgot about her, she'd be the laughing stock of the whole society, and she didn't like people laughing at her.

Despite her hurrying Edelwynn keeps alert, sharp eyes and pointy ears on the lookout for anything out of place.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Soon

With the sun pushing through the pale clouds, you soon come upon the Curios Shop, The Pickled Imp. A small Georgian wired window, hosts a menagrie of items for sale. Ostensibly a pawn or curios shop, this is said to house a vast array of items.

The tinkle of the bell above the door announces your arrival, the pungent smell creates a soft barrier to you entrance. The smell of age, mildew, mothballs mixed with formaldehyde - above it all the sweet tang of sugar.

The walls are nowhere to be seem there is only shelves and upon these shelves a myriad of objects. Whilst the ceiling is hidden too, but this by old pots and pans, scarves and an assortment of clothing - ranging from vivid and elegant to threadbare and murky. The cacophony of sights, smells and even sounds (as some items produce) is enough to startle. Someone could easily spend a good day in here looking through the jumble.

The myriad of odds and ends line the shelves, from small pots and porcelain to clocks and clockworks, from bundles of clothes to stacks of baubles. Though the curosity shop seems to get it's name from the long prominent shelf holding any number of malformed creatures and creature parts that bob in glass jars; a tiny fetal demon centred in this macabre line up.

From behind a cluttered counter a greasy haired Varisian man with a thin moustache shouts out; "Ah yes, I see the new Pathfinders have arrived. I'm glad old Ambrus was able to lend me a few of his new recruits to help me. Plese come, come."

Itra nods. "What is it you need help with?"

Mai cranes her neck to look around the interesting shop and advances to give the Varisian a shallow bow. "It is our pleasure, sir." She sniffs gingerly.

Looking around down the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain to be absolutely sure no customers are browsing, he begins again.

"Welcome I'm Guaril Karela. Lets get down to brass-tacks, a friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a package on behalf of me and my associates, but there's a problem see." he shrugs; "It seems Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting in the warehouse. Rumour is that he got in trouble with the law and the warehouse was seized."

With his thick accent he continues; "I heard tell from my mate down t' docks that some creep was snooping around, all shifty-like, so I wants to make sure nothing of mine was taken. Ol' Gelbane keeps all sorts of stuff in there from beer to old nails in that ol' pelican, but every now and then he keeps summat special. This is one of those times."

"There's a crate marked with 3 crows in a triangle, inside that crate is a container with a few books and papers in it. Tis t' only part of the crate I'm interested in, you can help yourself to the rest if you want." he gives a little nonchalant shrug; "Honestly, you can take whatever else you want anyway. The rozzers will just seize it all anyway."

Itra raises one eyebrow. "You understand, sir, that you're speaking to a member of this community's law enforcement."

She pauses to let that sink in, then continues. "Why would Master Gelbane have been in trouble with the law? Why do you think your... items... would be stolen and not returned to you if you claimed them in the proper manner?"

Rook sidles into the cluttered shop, with all its trash and treasures. Overhearing the proprietor and Itra, he stifles a caw of laughter into a few quiet clicks at the back of his throat. This should be fun.

As people do in disorganized surroundings, Rook finds himself scanning the shelves for interesting items while the others talk.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23 for books & other objects relating to tengu, Irori, or monks in general.

Guaril squints slightly, "Sorry lad, didn't see you there." his words flippant.

"But you know how it is went a business goes bankrupt, they seize all the assets even those that have been paid for. Then they auction off your stuff." he says grumpilly.

"Now as to what Gelbane was doing? I've no clue." He shrugs in a carefully practised and nonchalant manner. "A man's business is his own don't you agree?"

Itra just stares back at the man silently for about half a minute. Lad? Bankrupt? If it's really his, then the guard would give it to him if he'd only ask... I suppose I'd be doing no wrong in retrieving it for him.

"You give your word that the item you've described is yours?" she asks, studying the man's face intently.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

This sounds simple enough, though I am not certain why he does not hire a lawyer. Still, the Venture Captain would not send us to do anything illegal, certainly. Mai loses interest in the conversation and wanders towards the tengu monk, striving to see what the corvid humanoid finds interesting without being too obvious, and studying his... her?... rust-colored robes with some curiosity.