Pick only shrugs. He will go where Hammer and Spear go... they are not clan, but... it's not like he has anything better to do. If this promises a chance to be useful and battle, it is good.
"...go market first?"
"Ah, Pick, excellent suggestion! I could use some more crossbow bolts myself. Although if Amieko is in danger, time is in even shorter supply, I fear."
If the market is on the way, the shop or stand is open, and Rhanloi can make his purchase quickly, he will buy another 10-15 crossbow bolts. He will also tag along with Pick. As they move along, Rhanloi keeps glancing at Pick's face, but before long the glances become looks which turn into a stare. His hand even starts toward Pick's face, as if to tug on the beard, but Rhanloi catches himself before he gets too close and potentially loses a finger to the ever-hungry dwarf...
...why is Ran-loy staring at him? Pick stares back with wary hostility from behind the goggles, his own stubby fingers twitching as well-- though his wander near his weapons.
He makes a semi-conscious hissing noise at Ran-loy's closeness.
Kyra is deep in thought as the group walks to the market, and merely paces back and forth while the others do their shopping. On the one hand, it does not feel right to her to get involved in the inner workings of another family. This was not her business.
On the other hand, however, if Ameiko's father really did stage the goblin attack to distract from something larger and more sinister, that was something that she needed to know about. Sandpoint belonged to her. All of Varisia would be hers, and it started here.
It doesn't take long to get from the Dragon to the local market, and Pick and Rhanloi get in and out quickly with their ammo.
The Glassworks is easily recognizable from basically any point is Sandpoint, provided your eyesight is reasonably good, so its easy to locate and find. The building is huge, contesting the brand-new Cathedral for the largest city in town, and is shaped like a rhombus with two semicircles on the longest face. The front door is on the east side and the delivery entrance is on the opposite corner of the building to the south.
Strangely, even though its the middle of the day on a workday, all of the windows are shuttered and the Glassworks is quiet.
Both doors are locked.
"I got a bad feeling about this.."
The market is a terrifying experience for Pick, though as one of the People, he tries not to show it. The topsiders do this every day-- trade their round metal coins for weapons and food, amid so much noise... and there are no shadows, you are right there in the open where anyone could see...
Only his quasi-fame as a 'goblinslayer' is his shadow to hide in, right now. That and his hood, which he keeps drawn very low. He speaks as little as possible, shoving Aldern's coins over for his ammo and, were the merchant unscrupulous, probably paying far too much in his ignorance.
But the merchant IS being scrupulous, or at least, doesn't want to blatantly cheat a goblinslayer, so the merchant returns the gold pieces that Pick had thrust forward for the sling bulliets and takes a silver instead, passing over a pouch of more bullets for the sling.
(Later, probably, the merchant will have a good laugh and a headshake over a dwarf not knowing how much things are worth. Have you ever heard of such a thing?)
Pick grabs his purchase and is ready to go on-- then hesitates, a gleam of light on metal catching his eye. Laid out on the stall is a small kit of delicate tools-- wire-cutters, bent hooks, files.... he used to use such tools, down in the tunnels. They were one of the things lost to him when he had to flee to the surface.
With Ran-loy probably jibbering off the shopkeeper's ear, Pick hesitates, and hesitates, then holds up the set of tools to show the shopkeeper, before shoving more golden coins at him.
(This time the shopkeeper has to explain that, no, I need a few more... no, ten more of the golden ones.... yes, there we are!)
********
The market's horrors well behind them, Pick stands with the others in front of the Glassworks.
"Hnh."
Pick squints at the building. It's all wrong. A place like this is for making things. That much is still common to duergar as well as dwarves-- the passion for work. Forges should not be still. Furnaces should not be cool.
"Open doors.... city guards come?" he asks the others, hesitantly.
"Pick, perhaps you can live up to your name in another useful way..." Rhanloi says, pointing to the delivery entrance door. "We'll watch for trouble - you just get us into the building."
Pick sighs. This is why he asked about guards coming. Well, Ran-loy says they'll watch...
They had better. He doesn't want to be hanged as a thief. It's so much more pleasant to be lauded as a goblinslayer.
He says none of this aloud, just trots over toward the service entrance, looking left and right for humans or other townspeople.
At least he gets to try his new tools.
If satisfied that guards are not about to jump out of the corners towards him, Pick digs out the little folded set of tools and sets to studying the door.
Unless he sees a trap, he sets to work on the lock, humming a slightly disconcerting tune beneath his breath. The Sleeper sings, and he hears, and in the twisted corridors of that melody lie the unraveled workings of all the world... including topside locks.
...alright, perhaps the Sleeper's song is distorted by the fact that he's on the surface. Or perhaps topside locks just don't work the same way.
Pick only has a shrug and an apologetic glance to his teammates for failing to pick the lock. In fact, he even jams one of his metal rods into the lock and has a little bit too much trouble pulling it out again.
At least no one was watching and it wasn't booby-trapped.
Khalbar says:"If the dwarf cannot open, we do it my way?" He brandishes his greataxe with a sly grin, ready to do some damage if asked.
Kyra grins at Khalbar. "I like your style."
A'letta puts her hands on Pick's shoulders and with a calm voice says,"Relax, try again."
Rhanloi keeps his senses turned away from Pick and out to the town, looking for anything out of the ordinary and to make sure no one notices them. When Pick's first attempt fails, he sighs as Khalbar suggests he get a chance. Perhaps this will not be so quiet after all.
As an afterthought, Rhanloi casts Detect Magic and scans the building and the surrounding area...
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Pick steps back from the doorway with a scowl when his first attempt bears no fruit. Lock is... all wrong, different from drow-locks. He doesn't know how to crack it.
He stares at the tool jammed into the door now, pointless and broken, failure. The tools still in his stubby fingers shake slightly, metal clattering against metal as his fingers tremble.
Failure, broken, useless, not serving, going to be punished--
He doesn't even hear Khalbar, lost in his own slowly building panic. Can't open door. Not useful to the topsiders. Anyone can kill bores. Even Soft Man can kill bores. But doors, they asked him. He failed. If he is not useful, he is dead.
He should run. Now. He should already be running. No. No. Go unseen first. That way they cannot catch him. Unless they use the dogs. He has seen the dogs. The dogs can smell. Dogs are bad. Kill the dogs, then keep running, far far far until they forget he was here--
Into the spiral of this panic comes a touch. He jerks in startlement, wheels to look up at Spear-woman with his teeth bared like a cornered animal's.
Her words take a second to process. Relax. Try again.
The duergar stares up with a total lack of comprehension. No punishment? Another chance? He does not understand.
He does not understand, but he is grateful-- grateful as a starving dog tossed a scrap of meat.
"Sorry," Pick says hoarsely to Spear-woman. "Failed. Do better."
Except this lock is now jammed. Broken tool there. Pick turns a glare of unadulterated hatred on the offending lock, then turns and practically runs for the other door, the main door. He is much less cautious this time-- the entirety of his thoughts is fixated on Another Chance. Do better. Prove to them he is useful, that he has a place.
He nearly drops the tools in his haste.
Moving back around to the front entrance, divine powers steering his hands ever so slightly, Pick attends to the front door. Here, there are more potential witnesses, but Pick works quickly and quietly, and the door springs open after just a few moments of work.
Rhanloi's spell reveals no magic auras inside the building.
He's pick'in, and I'm grin'in!
Rhanloi claps Pick on the back as he follows the group in to the building. "Well done, Pick! You continue to display amazing skills and talents, despite your sunny disposition! Now, let's have a look about inside, shall we?" he says softly.
Light crossbow cocked and ready, Rhanloi peers about the inside of the building. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the light, though...
Kyra starts to move past the little dwarf, but his look of lingering fear and desperate relief gives her pause, and she wonders just what was going through his mind while trying to open the lock. Still, so what, it's only a lock. 'You can't do that.' she reminded herself. 'He could be useful. He was with the boars. Try to be nice to him.' Begrudgingly, she gives Pick a quick pat on the head, and quickly darts inside.
Pick stares blankly at Ran-loy. Sunny position? But he tries to avoid the sun. The drow-cousin's words make no sense.
Pick's grasp of Taldane is definitely not up to getting the specialized dialect of jokes.
The pat to his head also leaves him bemused. Surface-dwellers touch a lot. Always touching. Spear had just touched him, but he is vaguely aware that is different: she was placing her Dez'nah over him. He thinks. Maybe.
What is Hammer placing on him? Hnnh. She talks to no spirits that he has seen.
He shakes himself, still riding a small high of adrenaline with the relief of having succeeded. Pick slips inside, tucking away his precious tools in one of his many pouches and pockets.
Inside, the terrible sun is not so bright. He pushes up his goggles to squint around with his red eyes, scanning for trouble.
"Rhanloi, let me walk in the front in case there's trouble." says Khalbar, moving to the lead of the group. "You guys tell me where to go, I go there. Simple"
Xogar observes the discrete entrance the others are making into the building.
"I object to this. Breaking and entering to achieve a goal is not noble. If the rest of you want to trespass so be it. I will remain here. If you are caught I will not offer words in your favor nor will I lie for you. Honor is at stake here. Iomedae requires that I do no less.
Xogar has a resolute look about him. He is not going to budge unless an extremely valid arguement is given to persuade him.
Pick grunts wordlessly when Xogar speaks. Pick has a very different conception of honor than the big warrior. But he doesn't have the words to discuss it, and even if he did, he wouldn't argue about them with another.
"At least don't be too obvious while you're standing around out here..."
Rhanloi has found that nobility and honor are wonderful concepts that rarely help in real life. At least...he has never actually seen them in practice and therefore has no valid reason to abide by these abstract ideas...
Khalbar rolls his eyes at the principled half-orc. "The man behind goblin attack may be here and hurting innkeeper, and you are worried about opening door? Maybe it is better you wait while we save town."
He turns to enter the place without the paladin, if need be.
"It seems that honesty doesn't suit any of you."
He turns to Khalbar with a cold stare.
"You missed my point entirely. It never was about the door."
Xogar waves his hand.
"Go. Do whatever you have a mind to. I already know mine."
Khalbar shrugs and enters, both hands on his greataxe, eyes growing accustomed to the lack of sunlight.
Kyra cannot decide whether Xogar's decision makes him strong or weak. Certainly sticking by what one believes in is important, and she would expect no less from any of them. But by following the letter of the law so exactly, his actions could result in someone's death. While this wasn't something that affected her much one way or the other, she assumes that it would matter to him, to most of them. Only the Dwarf might not care. Though even he had been making a conscious effort to bond with them, so who knew how he might react.
Contemplating for a moment, she decided that it made Xogar weak. He chose a decision, the outcome of which he may not to be able to live with himself for. He may be valuable one day, but right now he was a liability, easy to control, and she wrote him off as such.
Though saying nothing about it now, she considered the possibility that the innkeeper was dead, and formulated a response for later that may completely shatter him, and fuel what she expected to be more than an inkling of guilt. With a twisted grin, she continued into the antechamber.
Eyes adjusting to the light, the adventurers (save Xogar) move into what looks like an antechamber for the rest of the Glassworks. A few comfy chairs sit around the room, and a desk covered in what look like records of sales sit in the room.
The room is picturesque and quiet..save for one thing. All of the chairs have been shredded apart, and scraps of paper lie in shreds all over the room.
Three doors lie in this room. Two adjacent doors are on the west wall, and one more door sits in the north wall.
Pick furrows his brows and squints at the papers, bending to pick one up. His goggles are pushed up to his brows now, so he can see clearly.
Of course, he can't read whatever's on the paper, so after a few seconds he lets the scrap drop and pokes around in the shredded chairs instead. What could do this to furniture? Hhnh.
The paladin's stance is understandable, but they weren't entering the Glassworks with the goal of loot and plunder but to serve and protect. Time is of the essence and lives are at stake. Not just lives, but the safety and future of Sandpoint if their suspicions are true. "Xogar, if what we think is true, then the safety of Sandpoints and its civilians is at stake. We are entering the Glassworks because it is the point of rendez-vous. If time weren't of the essence, I'd agree, but to stick to formalities when lives are at stake .. if the owners take offense, we can attone for what we've done later."
Having said that, she leaves the choice to him and enters. "I say we check the doors to the west first." She checks the shredded chairs, wondering if a type of animal or perhaps monstrous humanoid is the source of the destruction.
Rhanloi will check the papers, knowing that if they were important whoever tossed the room would not have left them. But one never knows..."I have no preference for the doors - perhaps we should open all three at once..."
Xogar listens intently to A'letta. When she finishes he sighs.
"You words ring true within me. Alright then. I pray that we enter for the right reasons."
He follows her in.
Not bothering to look at the papers and giving only a cursory glance at the ruined furniture, Khalbar knows this is a rescue mission not an investigation. He doesn't see Ameiko or any sign of her here, so he rips open the first door on the west wall, ready for anything.
Kyra looks at the ruined furniture and bits of paper, trying to determine what happened, and what the paper may have been.
All Kyra and Pick can distinguish from the papers is that they were ripped apart by hands, and from the chairs is that they were gouged by weapons.
Khalbar's violent swinging-open of the first door on the left is followed by a rather anticlimactic silence and a whooshing of air. He's revealed a dark and mostly empty storeroom that seems to mostly contain stationery, quills, ink, and the like.
"Quiet - listen! The furnace is active and someone is breaking glass. I also hear some voices, but can not make out what they are saying nor even if it is goblin or not. Let us proceed quickly but quietly..."
Pick hears nothing, but then, drow ears are very sharp, and so presumably are the ears of their cousins.
He nods once at Ran-loy's words and starts towards the double doors, easing his pick from his belt as he does so.
Kyra nods at Ranloi, signifying that she hears the voices and sounds, too. She moves quietly to the doors, standing poised to throw one open as soon as she's given word.
Unclear about what the others are saying, Khalbar will stand back while Pick and Kyra scout the double doors.
What? What is it?" the barbarian says over again.
There is no keyhole, and the sounds aren't changing as Sandpoint's newest heroes draw closer to their source - the other side of the double doors.
A'letta puts her hands on Khalbar's shoulders and, as quietly as possibly, sings a Shoanti song of praise to the spirits. She then crushes a wooden charm in her fist, turning it to dust. "I got your back if it comes down to a fight, brother."
With that being said, she readies her shield and spear.
Rhanloi, never being one for stealth, stays put lest he accidentally bump into a chair or find the only creaky board in the floor. He prepares a spell in his mind, and stands just to the side of the double doors.
Moving with the group, Xogar pulls his longsword, readies his shield and prepares for possible combat.
"Sneaking is done, time for sinew and bone." says Khalbar accepting the blessing of the Shoanti spirit woman. He grips his axe tightly and pulls the doors open, fully expecting the worst.
With a grim muttering, Khalbar throws open the doors and reveals quite a gruesome sight. Laughing with glee and running throughout the room are ten goblins, busying themselves with using their dogslicers to chop apart what look to be human bodies or alternately trying to feed the human parts into the furnace. The furnace opening is not terribly large, so the bodies must be chopped into ever-smaller pieces.
The creak of the double doors opening, and the sound that they make when they slam against the opposite walls, alerts the goblins to the presence of the large Shoanti man and the companions he has behind him.
They shriek and shout, jumping up and down with glee and raising glass instruments.
Seeing Khalbar first, and he being the largest and most imposing target anyway, the goblins raise several broken pieces of glass and hurl them at him. Several of the goblins merely draw dogslicers, drop their carried body parts, and mill around, however.
A few pieces of glass land harmlessly at his feet, but the third, a broken bottle, curiously stained-glass, nearly hits him directly in the face, but rebounds off of an invisible wall of force, and falls to the ground before him.
Goblins - 24
Kyra - 23
A'letta - 22
Rhanloi - 21
Pick - 11
Xogar - 11
Khalbar - 9
Kyra charges at the closest goblin, letting fly with a devastating punch as she approaches him.
Rhanloi moves to within 15 ft of the goblins, mutters a string of magical words and blows a mix of red, yellow, and blue powder at the creatures, casting Color Spray (Will save DC15 negates).