"This is most distressing, Great-Uncle Thrungr. She has not responded to my letters in weeks. Could she be in a coma or something worse? Would you be willing to Scry for her? She is most precious to me, Great-Uncle; she could be my twin."
Toramin knows the importance twins have in dwarven culture, and the desperate, young paladin is not above tugging on the heart-strings of others.
He shares your concern, this time not even asking for a favor as he begins chanting the spell over a basin of water. After a moment a black and white image of your sister appears, lying peacefully in a bed.
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Founders: Gurin Obsidian and Mathild Whitefire. This couple invent (or rediscover) magitech. They and their closest friends in the Sapphire, Whitefire, and Obsidian clans break away from their parent clans to found a new clan 500-600 years ago. Gurin's descendants are the first family of the Gearsmiths. All of their descendants except Toramin have some magical capacity.
First Generation: Yana (Current Matriarch, priestess of Folgrit, biologist, healer, super into genetics and fertility), Son 1, Son 2, Daughter 2
Second Generation (Yana's Children Only): Alavar, Son 2, Daughter 1, Daughter 2, Daughter 3, Son 3, Son 4, Daughter 4.
Alvar's children are noted on my character sheet.
Lindale leans forward slightly, glancing at the ladies out of the corner of his eyes and back to focusing on the man again. "You haven't been in charge of this part of town long I know. But you took over when the opportunity presented itself and the gang running these streets 'disappeared'." he accented his last word with fingers for quotation marks. "I was wondering if you know what happened to them?"
Lindale
He smirks. "You presume so much of me. No, I do not know what happened to the gangs a few months ago, but I have a thought that the war had something to do with it."
He shakes his head. "Sight and sound is all you get. Normally I would try a message next. Although is she was comatose I would imagine she would have been laid upon her back instead of curled to the side like that."
His mustache quivers impressively as he snorts. "I do not know your current priorities Toramin, but it might be good to visit home to check on her. Or perhaps she is simply doing different work that requires her slumber during the day and you could waste your time heading back if you have things to do here."
If stone could blush, Toramin would be red. He grins at his great-uncle sheepishly. "Of course Great Uncle, my work here among the humans is important, but family -- Ianna -- are more important by far. I will inform the Andrili that I will be gone for several days perhaps even a week. Are there any missives you would like me to deliver? Anything you would like me to bring back from the mountains?"
He sits down, sighing as his old bones rest. He sits and thinks for a while, then like a granite wall shifting he looks up. "I'll call in a favor, I'll check up on her. Make sure that I can actually talk to her myself before I'm satisfied. I doubt They would be happy if you came home for something that turned out to be nothing." He stands, clapping you on the shoulder and bringing one finger up, smiling. "You do owe me though." He laughs, slapping you on the back.
Alavar, the great Master Maker, is rarely happy with anyone, Toramin thinks bitterly.
But he tries to not let his feelings about his father show too much. The entire family knew about the rift. Alavar had ignored his eldest son's very existence when the tests were conclusive: Toramin would never work magic. Magda, Toramin's mother had separated from his father in the resulting fight. They had not divorced. Dwarves did no such thing. But Madga had said that she would neither share his bed nor work her enchantments for Alavar while he remained estranged from his son. Alavar, in his pride, had said that as the greatest of all the dwarven smiths he needed neither the enchantments nor the defective children of the Saifír. She might have even returned to the glittering halls of the Saifír with her two youngest twins, if Grandmother Yana had not intervened. It was not a thing to be discussed but all of the great families of the Trealamhgabha knew, and Toramin did not doubt that his Saifír grandparents knew of the insult that Alavar had offered to their only daughter.
"Thank you, Great-Uncle, thank you. I would not want Grandmother Yana to be wroth with me. I will write to my mother, Magda, as well. While I was in Xileres, I heard that Narad has left the mountains on to 'adventure' in these low lands. If you need someone to cause trouble, you know how Narad loves to stir the pot."
Dalton awakens with a shooting pain. "Urgh!" He wasn't used to severe injuries. After a few minutes to get his bearings, he recalled the last events he remembered. Explosive Runes! Now he remembered. But why would the baker?.. Oodah ... Oodeh... His memory was a bit fuzzy, but it still didn't make sense.
Dalton breathed a sigh of relief with his mother in good health next to him. This could have been her. Whoever did this will pay! For all his fury though, Dalton still felt weak. He couldn't yell, but he could listen.
Rousing his mother awake, he asked her: "Where am I, mum?"
Your mom wakes, looking relieved. "Oh you're awake! I was so worried...the guards brought you to the Sarenrae temple for healing."
It would seem their priests know their art bloody well. "Nobody came for you, did they?" Dalton was no master of murder and mayhem; assassination attempts were new to him. Now I know what it feels like to be on Nuro's end of things.
Her eyes grow wide. "No, nobody has. Do you think whoever did this will try again?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation, though it wasn't what his mother would want to hear. Whomever is capable of that variety of power knows how to meet their goals. I was not wanted. "Mum - listen - you should probably head back to the place and rest. It will be safer for you." Though not for me. What to do what to do...
It takes a few minutes of convincing, but finally your mother stands to leave. She grips your hand tightly "Be careful Dalton." She smiles, then shuffles her way out.
Slightly paranoid of another attempt on him in the coming hours, Dalton does his best to stay alert. The un-stealth of the dwarf is easily noticed by him.
"Toramin!" calls the wizard in a fierce whisper. "Have you any idea what the devil happened? I'm looking into a wine bottle one moment, and the next a parchment of explosive runes sends me to the priests." Dalton took a moment to catch his breath; the pain from heavy breathing still persisted. "Damned script nearly took my life. We've not even begun any new work - that I know about anyway." Dalton was obviously pained about the situation - literally and otherwise - though he wasn't implicating the warrior of withholding information; rather, he was frustrated at the nebulous nature of the malice against him.
No, a runner just came for me. Said you had been injured in an explosion. Have you been healed, Master Dalton? Are they treating you well? Wait-Wine? I also received wine from that troublesome mage. I did not blow up though.
"From the baker - with the scrumptious cupcakes. Damn those cupcakes!" Dalton took a moment and a breath. This is a bigger problem than I thought. He recounts what he can remember of the events leading up to the explosion. "There are two possibilities of the mastermind of this malice: someone we met in the chambers below ... or this new group." He did not feel like speaking the name, for he didn't know that protocol. Dalton did feel comfortable divulging information to the dwarf though - no way that one was a spellcaster.
"Well they're dead of course. Saw it with me own eyes in a dark alley. Killed by a powerful Drow. The war had nothing to do with it as far as i'm aware. They just. Got in his way." He pauses for a minute to see the man's reaction to the information and to see if he is buying it then continues, "The Drow is a friend of mine. Well not really a friend. More a. Business acquaintance. And he is offering you a deal. In exchange you clearing the way for you," he sweeps his arms out in a small arc in front of him, "He will sometimes ask assistance. Just small things really. Nothing dangerous. What think you of this new partnership?"
The man raps his fingers against the table, considering you. "So some arbitrary powerful unseen source did something for me and he wants little things in return. Let me tell you something beggar, I'm not a religious man. Anyways, even if this little tale is true, just because I seized an opportunity he created doesn't mean I owe him jack squat. If this big figure wants to come down off his high horse and talk to me face to face we might be able to arrange something, but there's nobody I work for. People work for me now."
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Mother,
I pray that this missive finds you in good health and spirits. Though undoubtedly you have already heard, I survived the siege of Xilres and helped bring a tyrant low. Being among the humans has been both illuminating and troubling. I have seen many acts of kindness and cruelty. But there are many wonders in the world. I encountered an elf that had been afflicted by a "primal spellblight," which was something heretofore beyond my experience. More interestingly, I saw a room that contained the history of the minotaur people.
How have you been? Are your researches going well? How are my siblings? Although I have written to her, I have not heard from Ianna. What can you tell me of her disposition?
Your Loving Son,
Toramin Trealamhgabha, Paladin of Torag at large
Brother,
I heard that you have left hearth and home to pursue a life of adventure. Moreover, I have heard that you are somewhere in Xilres or Andril. I have also spent some time in these nations. You may have heard of my exploits in Xilres.
I hope you are finding every joy in charting your own course and are performing exploits of renown. Currently, I am in Theris. I recently learned that Grand-Uncle Thrungr is also in the capital of Andril. If your bold acts should bring you here, I would love to see you, little brother.
Your Loving Brother,
Toramin Trealamhgabha, Paladin of Torag at large
"I think it is Twaniel, Master Dalton."
"Why? It's a serious charge to lay on someone." In hindsight, Dalton knew Toramin was being practical - he just hadn't connected the dots yet.
"I received a delicious home cooked meal with a wine bottle and a note from him as well. You said that you received one from his minion -- that baker. We know that Twaniel is a powerful mage and he was the one that sent this meals. They appeared as if by magic. This remains circumstantial evidence but he definitely had the means and the opportunity. Perhaps, he accidentally switched the bottles. I do not know. The motive eludes me."
He frowns and looks at the floor momentarily. "I said a partnership didn't I? For mutual benefit." He moves to stand up and leave. "I shall let him know your wishes to see him and return soon with a response. Perhaps we can negotiate this like men."
Lindale
As you stand to leave he rolls something around in his teeth, then gestures. One of his muscle guys grabs onto you. "Oh, and make sure you tell him this." His lackey whips towards you, slugging you in the gut, hard. He smirks. "Get him outta here."
"Then we must find it!" Dalton sits up with a start and stumbles to his feet, breathing heavily. "I must gather some things from my shop, but I will return to you and the others shortly. Such a threat cannot stand unabated."
Bjorkus
Bjorkus wakes well rested and walks down to the tavern. Flenn is already up, picking up the dishes from the early risers. He waves a good morning to Bjorkus, telling him Henry was spotted in his usual spot.
Bjorkus walks down to the docks where he sees Henry working on untangling a fishing line. The old man licks his gums in concentration, attempting to undo the massive knot in front of him. He looks up as he hears somebody approach, and all the color drains from his face as he sees Bjorkus. He drops everything and bolts down the docks. As he passes a vegetable stand he grabs the edge and tips it over with a grunt, creating an obstacle for Bjorkus.
After greeting Flenn and breaking his fast, Bjorkus leaves for Henry's usual spot near the docks. He's surprised when the old man bolts.
"Hey! Wait!" the bull roars. "I just wanna ask you a couple questions!"
The minotaur powers after his quarry, vaulting over the spilled fruit with a pump of his powerful legs.
Bjorkus
Bjorkus beautifully leaps the obstacles, not stepping on a single grain. The old man glances back wide eyed, then draws a dagger and cuts the rope holding a pile of crates together. The crates fall chaotically, the pile far too high to jump.
With a bellowing roar, Bjorkus smashes through the scattered crates.
Bjorkus
Bjokrus is probably going to have a few new scars, but he splinters through the wood and hardly slows down. Finally Bjorkus gets a hand on Henry, dragging him down and holding onto his collar firmly. The instant he stops coughing he begins speaking in a long, quick run on sentence. "Bjorkus, my buddy, my pal I didn't know you were coming back so soon and whatever they told you about me isn't true I didn't do any of it don't believe a word they say you know I wouldn't do anything like that right?"
Bjorkus digs one of the larger splinters out of his thigh as he takes a few deep rumbling breathes.
"We were just gunna talk but after that little stunt, I'm gunna have to rough you up", the bull growls as he tightens his grip on the deflated old man. "What, exactly, didn't you do?"
Bjorkus
He drops silent upon realization that you haven't heard anything. "Nothing, nothing! Oh just a formality, like you to know you're still boss, letting you know you still...ok ok ok! He made me tell him where your ship was, I didn't want to do it but you were out of the game and he was right there, and you being right there is scarier then being out of it and he had a knife out and he was flipping it around and he looked all pissed and I wanted to make sure I was on his good side, alright?"
"You sold my ship and my men out to Blakros?!" Bjorkus growls as he tightens his grip further. The bull's eyes grow wide in anger and his breath begins to come out in hot snorting gusts. "I should snap your scrawny coward neck but you have info I want..."
The minotaur brings his bovine snout closer until his forehead is resting against Henry's.
"Where's Blakros got the Storm? And where's the loan shark called Barry?"
Bjorkus
"I don't know, privileged information, he said if I sold you out I could sell him out, in hindsight that's actually pretty smart, but he don't tell me nothing just has me do the transfers of goods and Barry spends his evening gambling at the Waterlogged Starfish, please don't hurt me!"
Bjorkus puts the old man down very gently. "Don't worry Henry, I'm not gunna hurt you. Yet. You've got two days to find my ship, Blakros, or someone that can. I'm stayin' at the Minnow. If I don't hear from you, I'll come find you and I will find you. You got that?"
Bjorkus
"Course, no problem at all I'll find him right quick just ask some questions I will consider it done!"
7 Minimum Level
1 Charisma
1 Fairness and Generosity
2 Has a base of operations (his ship)
-1 Moves around a lot (we're pirates!)
Total 10
"Good", Bjorkus growls. "If anyone asks, we never had this little talk."
Bjorkus
You get the sense that Henry listens to whoever wants to kill him in the moment. If you want him to stay loyal to you, making sure Blakros can't threaten him might be a good start.
You go back to old friends who owe you favors, and you recall a few people. One is Greg the jeweler, who spends most of his time judging how much gems and pearls are worth for pirates. He's out of shape and cowardly, so part of his bill is protection, which you did a handsome job of a few years back. He's the kind of guy that has a finger in every kind of business that involves expensive goods. You're on pretty good terms with Greg.
Another is Drelsh, a man who is known to "get things". You helped him obtain a very rare type of volcanic rock on an obscure island a few months ago, and despite him not being very talkative he explicitly said "I owe you one".
"If Blakros or his men show up again, you don't talk to them. Let me know. I'll deal with 'em."
The minotaur gives Herny one more hard stare before leaving for Greg's shop.
He grunts, then whispers so that only Muscles can hear. "That was a mistake." He returns home for the day.
Bjorkus
He looks a little relieved. "Don't say a word, don't even let 'em see me, that I can do no problemo."
You open the door to Greg's shop and a bell announces you. You hear a chair scrape in the back room, and the large belly pushes through the swinging doors before being followed by Greg and his infamous mutton chops. He has a headset on that has some sort of six layered lenses on, only two of which are down at the moment.
Greg stares at you in disbelief for a moment, then smiles "You slippary basturd youu. Knew theay coouldn't do youu in." His heavy accent is a welcoming reminder that he hasn't changed a bit.
"I'm as tough to kill as you are an ugly bastard", the bull jokes as he looks around Greg's shop. "How's business been? The war hittin' you hard?"