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Lionel catches up to the rest, panting heavily. "Woah. Way too many roasts... You damn fast, Nummer." Standing straight, he crosses his arms at Barnel and grins. "Look, brotha, ya started runnin' before we got ta talk ta ya, so ya know somethin'. An' us is a curious bunch, know what I'm sayin'. We ain't goin' nowhere 'till you tell us whatcha know. There was a shard of a thing, s'posed to be a piece of Iomedae's lance. Know anythin' 'bout that?", he relays in a friendly tone. "Oh, an', I'd say you don' try any bull on us, cause I know when folks is lyin', alright? Let's save us all time an' pain, brotha.", waving at the others, and keeping the smile on his face.
"Yeah, I sold it to some fool name Jarid. And look, before you even ask, I don't know who I got it from. I ain't never seen her face..." He pauses for a second and chews his lip. "She might be a Greycloak though... certainly comes from a god-hating place, for sure. Hates priests."
Lionel thinks he's telling the truth.
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Lionel grins at the cooperative man, nodding. "I gotta feelin' 'bout you kid, you smart. Keep bein' smart." Turning his attention to the rest of the party, he moves closer, putting a hand on Reed's shoulder, as if to rest. "Hells, that was a good chase!", grinning at the man. "Now, far as I see it, we got two options.", he says, raising two massive fingers in the night air. "First one, tha one that I ain't personally fancy much, is that them Graycloak characters real want that shard o' tha spear, and they're willin' ta kill us folk for it, and they got a Rahadoumi person ta help 'em with it." He takes a small pause for added drama. "Now, that means us fools want tha spear-thing back even more.", grinning.
He folds his finger, leaving his thumb out. "Tha second option, far as I see it, is that Rahadoum dame is here, posin' as a Graycloak. If them's tha breaks, we gotta go an' talk to tha Graycloaks themselves, see if they seen any gal matchin' her description'n'all." He sighs. "Now, I ain't tha most edamacated o' folks, but ma gut tells me,", he points towards his gut, "That most o' tha Graycloaks don' real hate us folk o' cloth an' religious followers, they just couldn' give less of a bull. So, I'd go with tha second option. I say we make us a short detour ta Graycloak county."
Grinning widely, he then turns towards the shard thief. "Hell, brotha, you either scedaddle right now, or ya'll get another piece of a spear, straight from tha source.", pointing towards his spear, head shaped like a wasp. "An' no hard feelin's.", he finishes in a friendly tone, suggesting that the young man has no business here at the moment.
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Eveline lets Lionel let the man go, keeping her arms folded as the night's chill begins to creep up. "We've exhausted all of our other leads, that's for sure. Unless the Greycloaks have some leads, we need to come up with a way to lure this lady out of hiding."
As with all temperature changes, the halfling woman seems distraught by the night and looks around as if to seek asylum from the shadows. "Or we should get some rest now. Hit the hay, so to speak."
"Look, just don't report me, okay?" Barnel says, wringing his hands. "Don't think I'd last in there, you know? If it'll convince you, I was asked to start looking for buyers on something large and expensive soon, and I know she's got her warehouse somewhere on the north side of the Ascendant Court. Maybe near Pitview Pub, we met there a lot."
He takes a few cautious steps away, as if expecting the spear to end up in his back anyway. He turns back and adds, "Please." before scurrying off.
Much like the uniforms the Greycloaks adorn themselves in, their watch station in the Ascendant Court is plain gray and understated, but still ominous in its presentation. Large granite blocks create an imposing facade to the tall structure. The structure would be even more impressive if it weren’t on the opposite end of the block from the larger and far more ostentatious Chelish Embassy.
After a bit of waiting, the Pathfinders are eventually escorted into the office of the Greycloak leader, Runewulf the Unbeliever. The huge, blonde-bearded man takes one squint at Lionel and grunts unfavorably, waving at the chairs in front of his desk.
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"We're making a private investigation regarding a couple of muggings that occurred in the God's Market," Eveline starts, bluntly straight to the point, knowing the greycloaks don't think highly of the Society, "we have witnesses' testimonies that the assailant has been disguised herself as a greycloak. We wish to learn of anything that you might know about her, or possible someone within your ranks who matches the description. Tall, dark woman."
"'Tall, dark woman," Runewulf says flatly. "That's half the Guard."
Turning to Lionel, Runewulf furrows his bushy brows. "We are the guard of the Court. The whole Court. Some investigator you are."
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Eveline is both amazed and positively surprised by the ratio of female guards and male guards among the Greycloaks. But her amazement is interrupted by Lionel's laid back antics which obviously frustrate the commander Runewulf. Eveline nudged Lionel to stand back up. "So some respect," she whispers.
"Alright. Surely you have records of your guards' whereabouts, or patrol routes, or anything that could pinpoint or reduce the amount of suspects. Someone wearing a grey cloak entered a store across Cayden's Hall, a store named," Eveline elaborates, pulling the note to see what the name of the store was, "Mercantile, Curiosities, Unique Items, and Magic—Bought and Sold Within. That's at least what the sign outside said. Regardless, a store operated by one Rialla Barleyhusk. Can you give us any information regarding that?"
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Man, either this one is hella pissed at me for being a priest, or he needs his cork popped., thinks Lionel as he stands up from the chair. I don't real think we gonna get the guard schedule. That's the first thing I'd ask for if I was trying to do something illegal, and them people don't really like us Pathfinders.
Looking at the halfling, he nods and looks back at the man. "That lady killed a courier o' tha Society, so we wanna catch her real bad. If ya can provide som'thing that can help, it'd be damn appreciated. Sir.", Lionel says, flashing another smile.
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Reed nods, eagerly following up the others' line of reasoning. "Do you keep records of patrols, anything like that? Something that could tell us which guards were around that shop at the same time?" Even with Lionel's smooth-talking, Reed is not hopeful of anything worthwhile information. His mind already starts to wander to Pitview Pub and the area around it.
The Unbeliever eyes Reed for a moment. "I do. But the Greycloaks are given a great deal of leeway to patrol as they see fit. We are keepers of the peace, not guardians of some bloody vault."
He leans forward, his bushy beard brushing across the papers on his desk. "Besides, I don't give them out. For all I know, you lot are hunting one of my guards, not the other way around."
Leaning back again in his chair, Runewulf adds (with a hint of finality), "Now, if there is nothing else?"
Having exhausted most of their leads, the group tries the bakery only to be greeted by a 'closed' sign--dusk has come and gone, and the stars litter the sky above. Lionel suggests a warm bed back at the Lodge, and the rest begrudgingly agree. En route, however, a Pathfinder courier catches up to them with fresh instructions: Grandmaster Torch requests an audience at the baths of the Pleasure Salon of Calistria. Unfortunately, this means Eveline has to endure a great deal of Lionel's excited piety on the journey across the district.
A burly half-orc guard stands near the entrance to the bathhouse and ushers the squad in the door. Grandmaster Torch reclines in one of the numerous small pools that make up the sauna, and steam fills the air. An attendant is rubbing a salve on Torch’s burn-ravaged face, but quickly gets up and leaves when Grandmaster Torch waves a silent gesture. "I have news from the Decemvirate and perhaps some
assistance for you," Torch begins in a gravelly voice, "but first I would like to hear what your progress is."
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"Nah, sir. Thanks fo ya time. An' feel free ta drop by tha temple or tha Lodge at any time.", Lionel sends the man another disarming grin, and makes his way out. Thought so. Tense ass m~~*@~++$!@@.
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"...And that's why I'm on tha opinion that... Oh! Hi there!", he stops mid-sentence as he sees the courier arrive. "Ho-ho-hooo! That's my kinda place, brotha! We'll go there anyway." Lionel almost begins frolicking. "So, stories are, there's a high-rankin' priestess visitin' from that elven place, Kyonin, if ya heard of it. Heard she gets in all tha places.", leaving a small pause."Bein' an assassin'n'all. That, and tha headpriestess of tha Salon got some new shipment o' oils tha otha week, I know, 'cause I was helpin' em move." Ignorant of the faces of others, Lionel continues ranting.
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Walking up to the guard at the entrance, Lionel gives the man what appears to be an unusual handshake. "How ya doin' tonight, Kiz! Thought ya was on a holiday! Hey, man, I'm busy at tha moment,", he says, gesturing towards the others, "but next week is a thing,'s'what I'm sayin'. See you, brotha!" As he continues in the salon, he waves and smiles at other people, but doesn't waste any more time. Marching next to the Grandmaster's pool, he pulls over a pillow and sits on it.
"Right, down ta business. So, we went ta tha lady runnin' tha shop 'cross tha hall. Was a big shindig in there, but we didn't go. She says some tall, dark dame dressed as a Graycloak went and murdered the first victim. Which is damn bad's what it is. Then some fools tried messin' us, but we took care o' em. Numair took two crossbow bolts, and he's still standin' now, the tough sod.", sending the sorcerer a grin. "Anyway, one o' them says that a tall, dark dame from Rahadoum, him bein' one o' them godless folk, an' she's threatened ta som' bad stuff done ta his momma home. We let tha lad go, an' he wasn't lyin', far as I can tell." Lionel stops for a moment, looking around for a drink. Not finding one, he casually slips in. "You got a drink or somethin' round here?"
, before continuing regardless. "Then we went ta see tha brewer, know tha guy, an' he says to us that our courier got attacked and got somethin' stolen. By folks with gray cloaks." He leaves an ominous pause.
"An' then we went ta the guy sellin' tha religious things'n'all, an' after askin' really, really politely, we was told some young fool got tha Shard ta him. Funnily enough, we found tha man and he said, he got it from a tall, dark dame in a gray cloak. Dunno if he stole it or not." Thinking for about a second, he continues with the last piece of information. "We decided ta go an' talk to that Rude Wolf characta at tha Graycloak place, but he was 'bout as much use as a wooden fireplace. Then tha lad with tha message intercepted us, and we's here now!", he says, crossing his arms for an answer.
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Hearing Lionel give a rather complete run down of what they had accomplished in their shenanigans, Reed just stands silently to the side, eyeing the half-orc guardian with distaste before settling his gaze on Grandmaster Torch. Although he tries not to, the ranger can't help but look at the horrible burn scars on the man's face. He wondered what kind of hellish pain the man endured after going through such an ordeal.
As Lionel finishes, the ranger looks to Torch expectantly, waiting to see what happened next. Rarely did someone like him part with information freely.
Torch listens attentively to Lionel's long, rambling summary, unphased by his mid-speech request for a beverage. "You have done well to get so far, though it seems that we'll need another tactic to narrow down the suspects. Master Shane has provided just that.
"Kreighton has discovered another relic, and he claims this could be the most important one yet. Supposedly, this keg was scavenged from the ashes of the original Cayden's Hall and is the last keg Cayden Cailean drank from before he took the Test of the Starstone. After selling it to our relic dealer, the tavern keeper threw a huge celebration and bragged openly about how the Pathfinders were funding her retirement. By now, we can assume that we have piqued the interest of every would-be relic thief in Absalom.
"While I am loathe to put you in harm’s way, this does present a unique opportunity. Should you accept responsibility for moving the keg from the pick-up location to the Grand Lodge, you will undoubtedly be the target of the relic thief we're looking for. If you properly prepare yourselves, you might be able to reverse the ambush and catch the bandit before he makes off with the relic, or follow the thief afterward to find out where he--or she--has been hiding. Either way, you'll want to make sure not to kill the suspect, since whoever is behind this won’t be much use to you dead. Tracking down the culprit's main site of operations is the most important thing right now--after that, you should search for as much incriminating evidence as possible.
[b]"It's a huge gamble--which somehow seems appropriate when a relic of Cayden Cailean is on the line. This isn't the sort of thing I would normally ask a Pathfinder to do, but we've already lost one courier and another was badly injured. I'd like this ordeal to finally be over with, and with your help, we can make that happen."
Torch raises a singed eyebrow, waiting for the group's reply.
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Eveline leaves the Greycloaks' office without saying a word; a man that rude and impolite doesn't deserve any farewells. She gives Runewolf a stern look before heading out of the office.
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As a very welcome happenstance, the courier arrives. Eveline is especially pleased about the fact that the Society has not sat idly waiting for its agents to do all the work but instead has conducted its own operations to solve the identity of the assailant. Though the instant she hears where they should head next, the illusion of a smile turns into a frown. She turns to look up at Lionel, thinking this might be his ploy to lure her into one of his filthy establishments, and maybe recruit her into the church as an, blergh, acolyte. Eveline shakes off the thought and proceeds to travel to their next destination with professionalism in mind, and avoiding eye contact with Lionel. Worst of all, they are traveling to the spa after dusk.
"Calistria's place at nigh midnight," Eveline says, gritting her teeth, "I sure hope this isn't that kind of an assignment. Let it be told now, I refuse to wear any sort of disguise..."
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Seeing Grandmaster Torch this close is the first time for Eveline, who is first taken aback by his appearance, but she quickly shakes her head and instead concentrates on the words. She's worried about the half-orcish guards, making concerned eye contact at them every now and then.
Lionel's thorough recollection of the events of tonight pleases Eveline, who nods in acceptance. She even chuckles a bit when Lionel calls the the commander of the Greycloaks Rude Wolf, a notion she tries to hide as soon as she realizes what she's doing in front of her colleagues. She merely clears her throat as if it was nothing.
"To add, the other courier was mugged by two people, and one archer. This tall, dark woman from Rahadoum maybe has some contacts to the Pure Legion or whatnot, some militant force that ensures no one conducts religious activities in Rahadoum." Eveline considers the whole nation of Rahadoum, based on her limited knowledge, a backwards nation full of imbeciles, refusing to believe the most obvious fact of all; the gods.
Hearing the gransmaster's plan is instantly approved by Eveline. Of course, why didn't I think of that! she thinks to herself, almost belittling her own intellect. "That sounds splendid, sir. Do you have a plan laid out already? A trap, a bait? Replace the real keg with a fake one for the delivery? Oh! The scraggly guy, Barnel, said about some warehouse near Pitview Pub. Shouldn't we investigate that first, exhaust all other possibilities before put us on harm's way?"
"No need, no need, best not to have you all scrambling about for hours breaking into warehouses. We think this plan will work. It's simple: you pick up the keg--the real keg--at the inn at 10:00am sharp and bring it back to Skyreach for study. I expect that somewhere along the way, you will be waylaid by this would-be thief, so be on guard."
Torch leans forward in his bath, revealing that the angry red burn-marks do not stop at his face. "You are not initiates, so I expect you to catch the culprit by surprise."
He leans back again and waves a wet hand at a nearby table, atop which rests a scroll. "Take that with you, too, in case you misplace something important..."
***
After a good night's rest , the finds itself entering a expansive (but likely not expensive) inn on the northeast side of the Ascendant Court. The innkeeper, a boisterous and portly fellow by the name of Garth, issues a merry greeting along with something excited about 'retirement.' He points a large, three-foot diameter keg standing well-above Eveline's head behind the long bar. "Got a donkey and a cart for ya, too, if ya care t'use it! Still a bit o' ale left in it too, if you want a drop." Garth winks at Lionel.
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Lionel grins back at the innkeeper, before meeting Eve's glance and turning back. "Well, brotha, there's a rumor that when The Lady in the Room declined Cayden's advances, he took tha Test ta become a god. So, in orda to avoid anythin' dangerous, I'm on tha opinion it's only reasonable ta take a swig. Blessin' our endeavour and such." His eyes meeting the other lady in the room, he then turns to the innkeeper. "But I'mma only take half a flagon. Sharin' is nice'n'all.", putting a flagon under the keg and filling it up to about three quarters. Taking a sip, he looks around the room and then back at the innkeeper. "Plus, Her Ladyship is damn real on all faiths gettin' along'n'all, and lettin' people follow what they want. Within reasonable bounds, obviously." Offering to pour his companions a flagon, and doing so to all volunteers, he reaches over to grab the keg, before stopping. "Say, I wanna see if that keg's propa magic'n'all. Even if it ain't, though, it's still a propa keg, with all tha background'n'all."
Stepping back, Lionel holds up his massive silver medallion in the air, as his eyes flash golden for a moment, then turn back to normal.
"And, yeah, think we gonna need that donkey, thing's propa heavy.", he says, after receiving the information he needs.
The keg bears scorch and burn marks, supposedly from when it was pulled out of a Cayden's Hall fire, but it isn't magical.
The ale, however, is delicious.
"Kept the ale flowing, I did, just as the Lucky Drunk would want it!" the innkeep explains.
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Reed chuckles as they encounter the innkeep, eyeing the keg dubiously. Lifting its bulk, which proved awkward due to its size, the ranger nods his agreement with Lionel's assessment. Now that the group has the keg, the young man's nerves are taut. His excitement is visible...he clearly is looking forward to action, and expects it once they get going.
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Eveline ponders about Grandmaster Torch's plan. Using the real keg is something she would never do, but understands that it might be crucial to use it; besides, only Kreighton Shaine says it may be the most important piece yet, but everyone knows that elf is a bit cuckoo.
Eveline feels uncomfortable in the tavern, and looks at the keg most of the time. The ordinary, old and worn keg seems like the least likely object someone would steal. Why does this Rahadoumian woman want it? Out of spite?
"We'll take the cart and donkey. If need be I can hide inside the keg, unless you think that's sacrilege. I think I can fit in, too." She checks herself for any clasps and other metal objects that might create sound and give away her presence in the keg. Then again she'd hate to stink of beer.
Eve pays as little attention to Lionel's womanizing as possible, but his thick accent and constant blabbering makes it nigh impossible.
"Well, you'd have to pull it apart to do that..." The innkeep doesn't look to keen about the idea, but also doesn't stop Eveline from trying.
Crossing the Gods' Market with a donkey-cart carrying a prized relic is challenging, to say the least. Nerves throughout the party are tense, and one potential ambush after another presents itself. First, a procession for the god Milani--surrounded by a Greycloak guard--blocks passage, and excited sightseers press too close to the cart for comfort. But soon the procession passes, and the keg remains. Next, Numair is accidentally mistaken for tomorrow's aspirant, one of the fools who try their luck at the Test of the Starstone. A swarm of well-wishes crowds around the party, sending Reed's hand to his bolt-bag in preparation for an attack that never comes. Of course, one man spots the keg and, already a little drunk, shouts "Ale!!!" and the swarm comes back again. Lionel helpfully provides the with a swig and the crowd is once again on its way.
The real attack comes (of course) in a bottleneck. Turning the corner on an alley, the party comes face-to-face with an overturned cart full of chicken cages completely blocking the road, and two farmers arguing over who's fault it is.
Suddenly, a short, sandy-haired woman pops out of thin air! A wave of drowsiness washes over Numair and Lionel!
Lionel goes out like a light!
Initiative! -- Round I
1. Numair
2. Ambush!
3. Reed, Eveline, Lionel (unconscious)
Numair's morningstar crunches through the target's nose, shattering a cheekbone in the process. The woman hurriedly steps away and dumps a potion into her open mouth/wound. Some of the flesh quickly knits back together, but not all of it!
Round I - bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage)
3. Reed, Eveline, Lionel (unconscious)
Eveline's arrow goes veering off, as if thrust away by some magical force!
Round I - bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage)
3. Reed, Eveline, Lionel (unconscious)
Reed shouts back at Eveline, "On it!" He raises his crossbow and fires a bolt after the fellow ranger's arrow. His aim was good, but shooting over Numair's shoulder is difficult.
MISS
Suddenly, somebody else appears right next to the keg, which shrinks down to pocket size!
Round II - bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage)
3. Reed, Eveline
4. Thief
5. Lionel (unconscious)
Numair takes a wild swing, just before his target disappears!
Round II - bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage, invisible)
3. Reed, Eveline
4. Thief
5. Lionel (unconscious)
Eveline's arrow is true! A spurt of blood sprouts from the woman's shoulder.
Round II -- bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage, invisible)
3. Reed, Eveline
4. Thief (7 damage)
5. Lionel (unconscious)
The woman grabs the miniaturized keg, and Reed takes the opportunity to strike!
HIT
She flicks a hand and disappears from view!
Round II -- bold may act!
1. Numair
2. Caster (5 damage, invisible)
3. Reed, Eveline
4. Thief (11 damage, invisibile)
5. Lionel (unconscious)
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Lionel's sleep-talking proves to be little distraction for the combat-locked party!
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"...The little one of wrath comes, we must run, Jambalay...", mutters Lionel as Eve comes next to him. Being kicked on the side does however bring up the man, who jumps to his feet and looks around. "...What... Who? When?", as he stares at the shambles of their cunning plan. "Where we goin'?", he asks, looking around, and seeing nothing but angry people. "Which way we runnin'?" S!!%, Liono, yo done screwn up today.
Eveline lovingly shakes Lionel awake with the steel toe of her boot, startling the poor Calistran. The sound of receding footsteps can be heard, quickly growing fainter.