"A mountain range could lay between the difference between a hair and a touch . . ."
Dalton takes the idea into consideration. "A splendid idea! And I've certainly needed a new set of clothes with all this travelling. Why not get them in just the right shade? In fact, one of the dames which frequented my store had this scarf with a lovely shade of chartreuse..."
It is clear the wizard is unopposed.
'Ares' follows his master with a bored expression as he goes about his errands.
As the group wanders the market searching for exactly the right fabric in the most precise of shades -- being, in all fairness, terribly boring -- Toramin will once again whisper to Ninnec.
"Would it be possible to acquire legally and quietly a codex of the laws of this city? Perhaps also a history of the law keepers and their organizational structure? Information is the truest weapon to keep us safe."
The Shifting Sands wouldn’t take abuse of a member lightly. I wonder how many they have scouring the desert for her? she thinks, waiting to get a better glimpse of the men’s weapons.
"The land is pretty flat. We could always jump them if they get too close to the cave from inside. I'd like to see if we could just let them pass though. Search parties gone missing is almost as bad as them coming back with news."
As the party moves through the crowded marketplace, shopping for window dressings, Ares pauses to consider the incredibly packed mass up ahead. The area was also flanked by stalls with tall awnings - tall enough for even his mighty frame to get lost behind. The bull rumbles as a plan forms in his mind.
He grunts and nudges the ratfolk, gesturing briefly at the crowd ahead.
Ninnec looks at the crowd, then glances back at the white cloaks. He looks up at Bjorkus with a smile and gives a small nod.
Knowing that a dwarf in full plate is not going to be stealthy, Toramin plans be an "accidental" road block in between the two awnings.
"I believe you could acquire a copy of the laws from the current Aussirian Legion Commander Raul Ulric or his office. It should include their organizational structure in it."
As 'Ares' forces his way through the crowd, he follows the infinitely more nimble ratfolk as closely as possible. He spots a small group of nubile young women (slaves as well no doubt) looking over bloody strips of freshly butchered meat. The bull pauses briefly as he catches their attention, hoping they recognize him due to his minor celebrity.
"Good day ladies. I seem to have some fools followin' me that I'd rather lose for now. Pretty things like yourselves have to know a trick or two that could help a bull disappear for a while.”
A tanned brunette puts a hand on Bjorkus's cheek. "Only if you appear again afterwords." She gives a light laugh, then ushers her girls over towards the white-cloaked tails.
Toramin starts looking at some skins of cactus milk, casually positioning himself to block the hole in the crowd. One of the white cloaks tries to slip past but bumps into the wall of armor, hissing something under his silks and looking around before going down an alley, speaking into his hand.
Meanwhile the other tries to slip behind the market stalls, but is suddenly barraged by half a dozen slave girls who seem rather friendly. He appears to try and shove his way past - not gently, but clearly not trying to injure them - but by the time the last girl is moved he looks around frantically and bangs his hand on a wall, slipping into a side alley.
Once Toramin believes he has sufficiently delayed the tail, he will continue to shop for about fifteen minutes before heading to the bro-mo brigade's headquarters to pick up a codex of the city's laws. However, while he is shopping he wants to buy a few outfits that a dwarven freemen of the city might wear.
‘Ares’ gives the girls a bit of a smirk and a grunt of thanks before taking off toward the Spider.
Toramin finds an old dwarven woman selling clothes, finding himself various options to clothe himself in as well as some cheap bronze and iron rings for his hair and beard.
Rilka covers the recent tracks in the area, then retreats within the cave with Fuero. The grizzly merchant takes out a sand colored blanket, pinning it up over the entrance with a pair of daggers. Then the waiting begins...
But it doesn't last long. Footsteps are heard directly above...then silence. After a few moments of straining your ears a very small object rolls past the blanket Fuero put up. It appears somewhat like a marble.
~Toramin~
The same old woman is scratching something down, looking up briefly when Toramin enters. "How can I help you?" A pair of Aussirian agents stand at the opposite side of the room, glancing at Toramin but not paying him much mind.
~Lindale~
A lithe raven-haired elf seats Lindale, politely asking him what he would like to drink and if he would like a seat at any gambling table.
~Bjorkus & Dalton~
Bjorkus and Dalton meet up with Ninnec now without the white cloak tail and the little ratfolk leads you through several back alleys until you arrive at a creaky old building with a painted green spider on a swinging wooden sign. Several greasy men give the group an eye as they approach, and Ninnec is all but hiding behind Bjorkus's leg.
The inside is dark and warm, and the only patrons are two men who still appear to be sleeping and a half-elf with an eye-patch who is reading a think book. A fat dwarf with thinning hair is wiping down the bar, looking up at the new patrons with a grunt. "Whacha want?"
‘Ares’ snorts and studies the Spider’s patrons while he waits for Dalton or Ninnec to handle introductions.
In all appearances it's a dusty, grimy bar with a few patrons at the early hour. The two drunks have a few bruises on them and one has a split lip; they were clearly fighting last night. The half-elf has several old scars but no new ones, and on his back rests an interesting double headed weapon on chains known as a meteor hammer.
"Good morning, madam. My employer is new to the city and has noticed how diligent its law keepers are. Given that he is not from this part of the world, he does not want to assume that he already knows what each law is or how it has been promulgated. I think we all agree that ignorance is no excuse for crime. Therefore, he has sent me to acquire several copies of the codex of the laws of Akropash. Will you please, madame, provide those copies of these codexes and let me know if there is a fee or expected donation for their procurement."
"No charge for a soft copy. It's within the laws that we must make the public aware of them. A silver for a hard copy bound and signed by the current Legion Commander." She produces three three thick stacks of parchment bound together with rings of iron.
After several tense moments...nothing happens. Fuero continues to stare at it, weapons drawn.
"I'll take two signed copies, please."
Perhaps Rilka would like to see this man's signature.
"That will be two silver."
- No riots, peaceful or otherwise are tolerated.
- Any religion is fine as long as it does not disturb the peace.
- When one is branded he is enslaved for life. Exceptions are occasionally allowed.
- Occasionally winning a tournament. If the legion commander and the master both agree to let a particular slave go. Release by Targ.
- Targ and the current legion commander.
- The Aussirian Legion are the judge, jury, and executioner. Targ's word is law.
- I'm not sure what your question is.
Handing the woman the silver, Toramin thanks her and then makes good his exit.
Rilka finds an assortment of bows, but none of them properly sized for her. Plenty of articles of clothing around which Rilka throws and easily manages to cover the marble with. However, as soon as the silk hits the marble there comes a somewhat muffled voice from the marble as it glows faintly. "We don't want tofight, just talk. Throw the marble outside if you want to talk."
** spoiler omitted **
Happy to be out of the sun, Dalton surveys the bar. Shady. But workable. Compared to the hostile surveillance outside, this was a welcome change.
Their job was to provoke a fight. It seemed these people didn't want to be bothered. So...
"A drink. And a chat. Something strong for my friend and I." he turned to the reader. "Anything good?"
In his experience, people who liked their privacy found prying eyes the most obnoxious thing ever; he should know - he was one of them.
The greasy bartender arcs a brow, pulling out two mugs and filling them both from a tap. The half-elf looks up, lifting the book slightly to show it's title.
He looks at Bjorkus. "Well if it isn't Ares. What are you doing in a hole like this?" He has a thick southern accent, spitting out his consonants.
Fuero narrows his eyes. [b]"Your call, but I'm not putting my blades away either way.
‘Ares’ gives the bartender a nod of greeting. After a sharing a glance with his ‘master’, the minotaur bows his horned head.
”My master was disappointed to hear that games were postponed. We heard this was a place where a bull could keep his skills sharp in the meantime”, he rumbles in a low tone.
The bartender grunts. "You heard wrong. No fighting is permitted inside the city except for events."
Bjorkus snorts and shares another glances with his master.
Fuero spits, sheathing his weapons. "Fine."