Ronwin first met Arael at one of Cousin Fead’s attempts to find her a companion. Different from the others Ronwin and experienced before, instead of trying to seduce Ronwin they talked for hours about the unjust city and their experiences. It wasn't until the third meeting that Arael, told Ronwin about the group he was assembling. “We must take the city back and put it into the hands of the people. Me and some like-minded individuals meet at Vizio’s Tavern every Moonday(Today) at 4pm and discuss how to do it” he said getting up from the table. Before leaving the small tavern Arael looked back to Ronwin and said “I really hope you can make it”
It was a usual night for Killjoy as he sat on a roof in Hope’s Altar. He had learned along time ago to stay out of the shadows, and stayed relatively close to a small lantern hung at the side of the building. But shadow beasts were not of any worry to Killjoy tonight. He has had his eye on a small gang of halfling thieves, terrorizing citizens with pickpocketing and robbery. He had tailed the group to here, and old abandoned warehouse. It wasn't long before the action happend. A family made their way down the dimly light street and was attacked by the bandits as they approached the front of the warehouse. Killjoy jumped down and started to beat one of the halflings when all of a sudden an arrow came from behind him, killing two halflings in one shot. The battle was soon over after that, and before Killjoy could escape into the night, an attractive woman came around the corner with a longbow. She sheathed her weapon and said” Hello, I am Janiven.”“I'll make this quick, because I can see you're not one for talking, but the city could really use more people like you.” She nervously looks around “I am gathering together a group of vigilantes and free thinkers and would like for you to join” As Killjoy heads up the building into the shadows, Janiven says “If you're interested Meet me at Vizio’s Tavern for dinner in Hope’s Altar tomorrow at 4pm, The City needs you”
Quentin had known Janiven for a while now. She would come in and buy a couple guns every now and then, and they would always talk , like most wiscrani, about their problems and the decline of a once great city. It was on Janiven’s last visit that she told Quentin about her idea to start a group of freethinkers and vigilantes, to cure the city through force or diplomatic ways. She said a man with so much gun knowledge , such as Martois, would be perfect for her group. Before leaving, she told Quentin, that if he was interested, to meet her at Vizio’s Tavern for dinner tonight at 4pm. Janiven smiled before leaving the room and said “I hope to see you there”
Hellspawn learned about a group of citizens coming together to make some change in Westcrown. After a couple days of investigating, he found their leader, a human woman named Janiven. Janiven was a town guide, and was warm and receiving to the tiefling. She saw his interest in the group and invited him over for dinner. “We meet at Vizio’s Tavern, in Hope’s Altar, tomorrow night at 4pm” Janiven looked up to the sky. “Looks like sunfall soon, I've got some errands to run” She shook the tieflings hand and said “Hopefully i'll see you tomorrow
It was an average gloomy day as Shannon walked down the street in Hope’s altar, when he was approached by an attractive woman. “Shannon Rhys, I am Janiven” she said. “I know about your families falling, but I see great potential in you. I am starting a group of people , aimed at getting the trust of the people to bring back Westcrown to its glory, and I could really use a popular face and charismatic guy like your self” The human woman starts to walk away as she says “Perhaps you would like to know more? Meet me for dinner at Vizio’s tavern tonight at 4pm for dinner to discuss it” Before you can utter a word , Janiven is lost in the sea of citizens.
At first glance, Vizio’s Tavern seems to be vacant/abandoned. It’s once lavish sign, rots away on the side of the crumbling brick building, only a slightly open door and the aroma of pigs fat coming from within suggests any sort of occupancy.
The tavern is dusty and aged in the inside. A large table and chairs are flanked by an old abandoned bar and some broken tables and rubble. On a stove behind the bar, a human with green hair slowly and quietly stirs a big pot of stew, while a woman with black hair sits at one end of the large table, opening a bottle of wine.
The woman is Janiven
The young man who came and sat down was unremarkable, and looked like he knew it. He gave off the impression of someone who hadn't slept well in a long time and had all but given up on life. He dressed well, but not lavishly in clothes of faded grey and red. It was clear the clothes were not new. At one point, he might have been well off, but certainly not anymore.
He sat down without a word, nodding at the woman at the table and stifling a yawn.
As Killarny walks into the room and sits down, the woman gets up and gives you a stern look.
"Excuse me, may I help you? This tavern is not open to the public sir, as we are doing renovations."
A small blade slid across the table to the woman. It was shaped like a sort of crescent with one side longer than the other, sort of like a smirk. The young man gave a weak smile.
"I'm standing in for a friend."
At first glance Janiven reaches for her longsword, but upon closer inspection, she sheathes her sword, and gave the young man a smile back as she slid the weapon back across the table.
"Sorry My friend, Please help your self to some wine while the stew cooks and we wait for the others to arrive"
"Thank you. I could use a drink." he said with a self-effacing chuckle.
The gloom of an overcast afternoon portended the deepening gloom of the Westcrown night, when citizens shuttered windows and barred doors. The previous night, Shannon had been shut into a home - not his own - to entertain a gallery of enthusiasts, who in spite of good payment still regarded him more like a songbird than a man. When dawn broke, they threw open the doors and let him fly away, but he did not go back home to roost. Instead, he circled the Westcrown streets in thought.
A faded yellow playbill clung to a street corner, advertising his performance as leading man Rufio in The Gilded Prince. The edges had been tattered by ill winds, the color bleached from merciless sun. It had spatters of mud from a horse-driven cart and someone had scratched out the stiff and imposing i in gilded and replaced it with a flaccid and maimed e.
“Shannon Rhys, I am Janiven”
Janiven surprised him, and he was drawn from his stupor. She made her invitation, and he was silent for a moment, thinking. Before he could give a short bow of acquiescence, Janiven was on her way. Busy woman.
But a woman who seems to appreciate him. With a flourish of impotent rage, Shannon tears the The Gelded Prince from the street corner board with a satisfying rip and goes to prepare for dinner.
*******
Shannon finds his way to Vizio's Tavern and arrives a little early. Before he enters, he checks the horizon line and the position of the sun, marking in his head just how many hours of daylight he has remaining and how long it would take him to get home. One simply does not lose track of daylight hours in Westcrown.
Like the retreating sunrays, Shannon is dressed in a saffron overcoat with gold trim and a high, stiff collar and comfortable matching trousers and boots. He eschewed the frilled trim, knowing he was going to a tavern for dinner, yet he did not expect it to be a tavern apparently in the stages of renovation.
He walks in, his chin poised just a hint above horizon level, and smiles toothlessly to Janiven, uncertain whether he should just sit down, would be announced to the company, or if his reputation preceded him.
Janiven smiles back to the man.
"Hello Shannon, Take a seat, socialize and have some wine my friend, while we wait for the others"
As she approached the derelict tavern, Ronwn hefted her 'walking stick', glad of her decision to carry the innocuous, but effective weapon. She had agonized as to whether to borrow a 'going out dress' (again) from a friend of cousin Faed. Seeing her destination, she was relieved to have decided on practical, rugged garb.
'I must be losing my mind. I should turn around and go home. I can tell Arael I had an urgent patient. This can't be the kind of thing sensible people attend.'
Firmly decided to flee home, Ronwn cautiously eased her way through the partly open door, seeking desperately not to have it squeek as she made her way inside.
Janiven smiles as the auburn hair woman walked into the room.
"Hello, you must be Ronwn. Arael has told me all about you." she pauses and examines the woman's features "You are indeed as beautiful as he stated"
She glances at the front door then lifts her hand and jesters at the seat next to her.
"Please join us, and have some wine. Arael is running late and should be here any minute"
Pausing before entering the tavern, Hellspawn leans on his staff and gazes up and studies the rotting sign.
Big move,big move, am I ready to go this far, one thing to think the counties obsession with order is a bad thing, another completely to work against them openly. hmph, and now a days just talking out is as bad acting out. But things will not ever get better if no one doesn't risk taking that first step. Suicidal jump or leap of faith, well I guess only the historians will know one way or another after I am dead. The dice are cast, wager is on the table, lets just make sure they don't come out devil's eyes. With this thought Hellspawn enters the tavern.
"Miss Janiven am I late for diner?"his rumble of a voice toned as mild as he can make it.
"Not at all, my friend, the stew is still on the stove. Come on in we shall we be starting shortly."
Ronwn blushes, "You're kind. I'll have a seat and wait."
Ronwn finds a quiet seat, and pensively watches the other 'guests'. She recognizes Shannon, though she can't recall his name. She doesn't recognize any of the others, though she finds Hellspawn fascinating, having not had an opportunity to spend much time with the visibly infernally-touched.
"Thank you ma'am"Hellspawn then glances around the room gives a nod to the other guests and finds a seat at the table resting his staff within easy reach.
Hello, Miss Jenkings, Shannon says upon being greeted and invited in to have wine. Thank you.
It is all the ceremony he requires in order to fill a tavern cup with a few ounces of wine. He admires the bouquet out of habit and takes an experimental tasting while approaching the stew pot and its handler. He nods to the green-haired man, observes the pot's boiling contents, and comes to the conclusion that the meal might be too heavy for his constitution. He hopes to find a loaf of bread and, if he does, cuts a slice for himself and then, as an afterthought, cuts another slice for Killarny. He offers it to him as he sits down across from the man. The gesture seems to stand in for a verbal greeting.
When Ronwn enters, Shannon reflexively stands up and smooths his overcoat, even removing a chair for her. Though his smile comes easily, it is wallflower demure.
And it wilts somewhat at the tiefling's entrance and booming voice. Basso profundo, he says after Hellspawn speaks a few times.
The young man who had arrived first was quiet as he watched the others drift in. He was not shy about looking at them as they say, and nodded in greeting, but didn't offer much in the way of conversation. His only concession to the tense air of the meeting was to raise his eyebrows as he took in the latest arrival.
A Teifling? Interesting.
Quentin walks into the bar looking a bit hurried, Bah! Damn man just wouldn't leave the shop. Now I'm late... He's wearing a wide brimmed hat, and a green velvet vest over a loose white linen shirt. His worn leather breeches are tucked into similarly well worn knee high boots. Over it all he wears a thin thigh-length black cloak. He takes in the scene with a glance and seems about to greet Janiven when he does a swift double take. "Killarny!? What are you doing here?" He says, apparently forgetting his manners in his shock.
Janiven smiles.
"You two know each other?
Her smile is soon turned to a look of worry and once again she glances at the front door.
"Yeah, you could say that. He's my cousin." Quentin replies to Janiven, recovering from his surprise. He heads for Killarny and claps him on the shoulder smiling before taking a seat near him. "Sorry for being late Miss Janiven. I was caught up at the shop."
Shortly after Janiven speaks, the man with green hair behind the bar, shuts off the stove, quietly gathers his things and whispers something to Janiven he then leaves the tavern closing the door on his way out.
"My partner, Arael should be here any minute, when he arrives we will get started . While we wait, everybody help yourself to some wine and some stew"
She reaches behind the bar, and pulls out some bowls, after filling one up she sits back down and starts to eat.
The bread seems more comfort to Shannon, and he sticks to that. He does, however, pour a cup of wine for the new arrival, Quentin, and offers it to him with the same smile that suggests a quiet camaraderie.
Quentin takes the wine, saying "Thank you mis...si.." He pauses unsure how to address Shannon. "Thanks." Is what he finally settles on, rising to grab a bowl of stew. "Hey, Killy you want some?" he asks his cousin while still at the pot, sipping his wine with one hand while ladling stew with the other.
Ronwn, sitting next to Quentin, leans toward him and whispers quietly, just to him, "He's a castrati in the operas - properly addressed with the masculine pronoun, 'he'/'him'/'his'. I can't recall his name at the moment, but he is a well known performer. I've heard him sing myself, and he's quite talented." Having said her peace, Ronwn stands up, slides past Quentin, and serves herself a bowl of stew. Almost by reflex, she sups the stew briefly, then starts reviewing the spice rack. 'Strong start - actually not much room for improvement.' Ronwn remains content tipping some additional white pepper into her serving, and quietly makes her way back to her seat.
He is unphased by Quentin's confusion. Likely because he has grown accustomed to it.
[b]Is your partner usually punctual, Miss Jenkings?[b] he asks, looking out a nearby window and nursing the cup of wine.
"Quen?" Killarny said, standing to shake his cousin's hand. His fatigue seemed gone for a moment, lost in the surprise.
"Yes, thank you. I'm famished." he said at the offer of stew. "Honestly, I'm not really sure why I'm here. What are you doing here?"
Hellspawn raises and retrieves a bowl of stew and cup of wine, then returns to his seat. Perhaps introductions are in order before we sup together. I am Hellspawn, please no jokes I have heard them all.
Janiven can see everybody is getting anciy and mumbles something , before standing up and locking the door.
"I will now start our meeting, because I have no intentions of keeping anybody past sunset, to deal with the shadow beasts. My partner Arael is running late and should be here any minute"
She makes another worried glance at the door
"First off, thank all of you for agreeing to meet with me here. I have chosen each of you for a singular reason--everyone here, myself included, has suffered, whether we realize it or not. I have lived in Westcrown my whole life, and although I love this city, I must admit as must you, that despite peace and prosperity, we continue to suffer. Fear should not be an expected part of life, and yet each night brings fear to our doorsteps. Yes, Westcrown has been safe from war and famine for nearly seventy years, and yes, our businesses has prospered- but this safety and prosperity has been bought in the coinage of fear and prayers to hell. Other lands live free from tyranny. Other cities do not fear the night. Other governments do not cede the streets to monsters of infernal shadows. Other cities don't have a mayor that cares about his personal love of theater , more then the welfare of his people."
She pauses and take a drink of wine
"We all have personally been affected by this city."
Once again, she looks up at the door.
"As many of you know, I am Janiven. The shadows of the city have took many friends from me, I am harassed by the dottari and Hellknights daily, and thieves threaten my ways of means by making the streets an unsafe, unapproachable place.That is how this hellish city has affected me, lets take some time to go around the room, introduce yourself to your fellow Wiscrani, if you haven't already, and more importantly let us know what unjust the city has personally objected against you!"
Janiven mumbles "Damn you Arael"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Hellspawn speaks again but this time the controlled mild tone in his bass-deep voice becomes filled with anger and bitterness making his voice sound more like an oncoming avalanche.
Apologies Janiven, did not mean to steal your thunder. As I had said I am Hellspawn. As to how this city has wronged me, well it is that I am hellspawn! It is not that I do not understand that as different as I am there would always be those who are curious or fearful of me. But I have grown up with my earliest years spent as a test subject only escaping that as my life long position because I demonstrated to be gifted at magic and would be a wasted resource as only a experiment. I have lived having never known a family life, never been told who my family is, treated eternal proof of someone else mistake, even denied something as simple as a proper name! This nation thinks it can treat with devil's and come out on with the better end of the deal, seeking to emulate the order of hell, that the devils that walk among them are merely tools. This nation or at least this city needs to see the folly of these things.
Standing, Ronwn begins quietly, but gains in confidence and stridency as she speaks. "I am Ronwn, a daughter of the fens of Dhaen. I have lived with one foot in each world - the fens and the city - for the last 5 years. I am something of a healer and apothecary. I treat the ill and the injured both in the city and the fens, and along the river between. I know the fear and the oppression abroad in the city. More, I see every day how different it can be, even among the simpler folk of the countryside. I have contributed quietly in healing the hurts of the people in the city, but as a healer I know when I am treating the symptoms and not curing the patient. I see the beauty in the city," with a nod to Shannon, "and though I have not seen it in its flower, I know Westcrown can be so much more than it is. I am ready to lance the infection, and bring Westcrown back to vibrant health."
Ronwn mutters quietly as she sits, "And this damned diabolism makes the menfolk idiots and asses."
Quentin nods to Ronwn then retakes his seat, bringing Killarny his bowl of stew. "I was invited." he whispers quietly to his cousin. He listens to Hellspawn and Ronwn declare themselves, nodding as they speak, then rises to his feet. "I've spent my whole life here, my father was Taldan and my mother was Wiscrani. My father was a good, gentle man. That is until the corruption in this city chewed him up and spit him out. He was killed right in front of my eyes for the 'crime' of not bowing down to the thugs that run this place." Quentin pauses for a moment, his eyes brimming with angry tears. "Ever since I've done everything I can to exact justice from this shadowy hell, but it just hasn't been enough." It looks like the telling the short tale exhausted him, and he slumps back down into his seat his mouth set into a firm line.
The bard's focus is so intense upon the confessions of those gathered in this room that Janiven's murmur is a theatrical aside his character isn't privvy to.
Hellspawn. He addresses the tiefling gently. A name pulled from the Azlantian tragedies, born of hell and suckled at the teat of mankind. Creature of darkness, do not lament your freedom from the bonds of family. For it is the greatest names who sink, and for those bonds, we are dragged down with them.
Physician, he says to Ronwn, Wiscrani wounds run deep and across generations. I fear there is no physic in your medicine bag that can mend what has been broken. Consumption festers when there is no will to fight it. But in listening to you, I hear hope, and that may be the panacea. But do not risk losing that hope. Seek succor when you need it, for it is the healer who ails when she forgets herself in the care of others.
Something about Quentin's revelation strikes a chord, and Shannon's lips pout in sympathy. Taldan son, your father is a good, gentle man. Remember him forever that way, and rejoice that you are not left with any doubt of his character. And know that where thousands have bowed to the powers that be, your father alone refused, and most openly. Taste the brine from thine eye, Taldon son; tis thy heritage, courage and perseverence. From the Final Act of Thou Crownéd King, spake by Prince Ejurius to his cousin Prince Silas on the eve of the king's death.
The tavern's stage now given to Shannon, he crosses to the skirt, cup of wine cradled in one hand. With the other he reaches towards the window, and a finger points across the distant river, which flows not far from the Vizio's. I wish I could say the same of my loss. That I could hold the memory of my mother in such esteem. For I am Shannon Rhys, son of the Lady Ariel Rhys.
Others may easily recall the recent apprehension of the former star soprano of the Chelaxian opera scene. Her crumbling family home had been turned into an elite whorehouse where scarlet women loosed legs to loosen the lips of wealthy patrons. Accused of gathering state secrets with dubious intent, the aging Lady Ariel Rhys, along with a gallery of notable figures in the hellish regime, where beheaded in a very public spectacle of a scandal. It was her final curtain call.
Keeping his emotion checked with the same poise with which he addressed the others gathered, Shannon sings a delicate mezzo-soprano.
♪ Ariel! Mama! Called for sighs
From my sad bosom rise
And grief hold dominion o'er mine eyes.
The River Adivian ran red with thy blood
but ne'er once with thy shame.
No tomb! No urn! Whom is to blame?
Alas, Mama, rest. Rest. Rest.
And know that I am my mother's child. ♪
The sostenuto tune ends on a noticeable hint of trepidation and sadness, as though Shannon feels trapped beneath the weight of his mother's crimes and his desire to carve his own place. And though it is performed and communicated well, it is clear in that moment he is portraying only himself, and no staged character.
Wow, he sure is pretty...Wait, does that make me gay? No way! You love boobies...Oh no, not now Captain Winky! Uh oh, emergency tent pole alert! Quentin at first smiles dopily at Shannon while he speaks, then fidgets uncomfortably in his chair as Shannon starts to sing. He leans forward resting his elbows on the table, a somewhat bewildered look on his face. As the song comes to a close, his eyes brim with tears for the second time in the short meeting. He pulls a small pouch from his vest pocket and fumbles a cigarette into his mouth in a clumsy attempt to hide his apparent discomfort. Striking a match, he lights it puffing quickly and pretending its the smoke that's set his eyes to watering.
Janiven applauds
"As you have heard from your fellow Wiscrani, each and every one of you has been screwed over, or been done wrong by the city. If you were to hit the streets, I am sure each and every citizen has many more stories about the horrors and injustice to tell of the city"
Janiven walks over to the bar and climbs on top.
"And that is really what matters in Westcrown. Its Citizens. Westcrown was once a great place, and she wants to be a great place again. Westcrown is not only her buildings and canals and docks and history--she is also, and most importantly, her people. Westcrown is our friends and neighbors, our mothers and fathers, our siblings and cousins, our sons and our daughters! With but a small group of supporters and dedicated brothers and sisters, we can earn the trust and admiration of those people. A Westcrown free of these shadowy beasts that stalk our streets is one step closer to a Westcrown free of the devil that is the Thrice-Dammed House of Throne!"
Janiven's words are treason.
At least one person in the room doesn't seem to grasp the potential danger in Janiven's bartop stumping. Shannon cracks a smile at the antics as though it were being done in good humor.
Clearly, we all have our reasons for malcontention, Miss Jenkings. What's yours?
Hellspawn seems intrigued by Janiven's speech but also unsettled by it and glances first at the tavern's door then at the the rooms shadowy spaces.
DAMN IT, not even done with diner and already committing treason, this is far to uncontrolled a setting for such talk! Spies could be anywhere!
Though not greatly sophisticated in the politics and legalisms of Westcrown, Ronwn's fairly certain Janiven could be 'disappeared' for uttering such thoughts aloud, never mind inciting a group to such a cause.
Ronwn, out of habit and reflex, sits somewhat deeper in the shadows, watches the other folk in the room carefully, and ensures that her staff is ready to hand.
'Adventure. Romanticism. A spice of dangerous sedition - perhaps. If Arael's not dead or being put to the question, I'll have to explain to him in detail, with illustrations and demonstrations, why this is not the most traditional means of wooing the female of the species. And if he was recruiting and not wooing, the demonstrations may have to get more graphic.'
If only they knew about the Red Mask. Next to what he's done her words are child's play. This is what I've been looking for though.
Quentin's smile returns, and he wipes his eyes. He appears to be excited about this chance, but waits for Janiven's response before saying anything.
Killarny was clearly moved by the small opera. "Nice to know there are still things in this city that can inspire hope."
The young man had been quiet while the others talked, listening quietly. He was the kind of person that was easy to forget was there until he spoke up again.
"My story is a lot like the rest of yours, I suppose. My father was Castor Castilain, Captain of the Hellguard until a year ago. He was murdered for being in the way."
"Don't really see what our personal tragedies have to do with the shadow beasts though. Our families and futures were taken by men not monsters."
The yielding of the night to the shadow beasts, the corruptions of men and institutions, the boldness of criminals, the degeneration of culture, I think Ronwn is right these are just the symptoms. To change them we need to find their root cause, change that and we have a chance of making a difference. Pausing to think for a moment, Hellspawn stares pensively into his cup of wine before continuing.
I think the real problem is that fear, despair and apathy has gripped this city. As wide spread as it is I have no idea how to make the populace turn from its downward spiral.
As Janiven climbs down from the bar she addressed the group. "The shadows have caused just as much grief to our people as its men.
"I truly believe that a small group of like-minded people can improve the lives of the people of this once great town of Westcrown, but we must take care not to appear as rebel or rioters. We must gain the trust of the people, through good deeds and providing what aid we can."
She looks around to make sure she has everyone's attention.
"Westcrown has long been ignored by the rulers of Cheliax. As long as we win the hearts of Westcrown's citizens by doing good deeds and avoid as many direct entanglements with the government as possible, the House of Throne will continue to ignore what they interpret as "petty squabbling" in the old capital."
I know this isn't an easy choice to make.."
But before Janiven can finish her sentence, there is a loud bang on the door.
THUD THUD THUD
Janiven grabs the hilt of her sword while getting up and moving to the window, slowly and discreetly peeking through the curtains at the knocking outside. She then quickly makes her way to the door, and opens it, and in stumbles an out of breath and frighted looking teenager.
"Th-The-They've Got Arael" the boy cries out before immediately doubling over in wheezing and coughing fit.
Janiven locks the door and knells down to aid the young man, a look of panic on her face.
To change them we need to find their root cause, change that and we have a chance of making a difference.
Shannon nods in agreement. There was a time when the theater, pronounced thee-uh-ter, was a vehicle for social progress. Under the current administration, it seems a petty distraction. Which does justice neither to the art nor to Westcrown.
The breathless teenager enters the tavern, and Shannon puts down his cup of wine.
Who has Arael? the bard inquires. Take a moment to gather your breath and your wits.
The bard sticks by the window, but draws the curtains a little more tightly together.
Hellspawn takes up his staff as he rises from his seat. Janiven if your partner has been taken should we not relocate? he then begans to cast some spells.
"Sheeeeeit. That aint good." Quentin says, standing up and drawing his pistol. He instinctively joins his cousin in scanning for stairs up and out.
The boy catches his breath and begins to speak.
"The dottari have nabbed Arael and the Hellknights of the Rack are trying to get custody of him!" I barely escaped, but I fear they have caught onto my trail!"
He puts his head down in shame.
You hear the sound of clanking armor outside
And I fear your fears are correct. It sounds like a squad is approaching. To get a better vantage point, Shannon pries a curtain open with his finger, peering out into the street in front of Vizio's tavern. This lock alone won't keep them out. We need an exit strategy, and with haste. Miss Jenkings, this is your neighborhood. Any suggestions?
Now is definitely the time to leave. Is there a another way out of here?
"Dammit!!"
She looks down at the boy with a look of anger
"I am sorry everybody, but this is not how I intended our meeting to turn out, but we must leave immediately."
Janiven looks over in Quentins direction, and points to a pile of debris.
"Under all that garbage, there is an access hatch to the sewers. Hellspawn and Quentin, help me remove the debris from atop the escape hatch and make a barricade in front of the door."
She moves over to the piles, and pulls out a large piece of a table and piles it next to the front door.
"Morosino, grab the torches from behind the bar. Everyone else to ru...."
BANG BANG BANG
The door rattles from the force.
(Outside in a deep, booming voice)
"You are surrounded, come out and give yourself up or you shall feel the wrath for the Order of the Rack!"