"..yarr... couldn't pass for a wee lad student anyways... cunsid'rin' the squareness of me shoulders an' all... I'mma fishman all the way 'tis time... all the way! Inkwell in the mornin' or lunch or whatevah! I'mma hittin' the hay soon lads and lassies! POPPO! do ye have a supply of ale here fer the night? or at least sum naiiiice crisp 'n fresh water? would be much obliiiiged if ye do..."
|
During the evening, Aiden pulls the professor aside for a moment.
"Professor, I was hoping you could help me with something else. I've been asked to look for a woman. Her name is Phelerosa Ciucci, a bastard of Chelish minor nobility. She might have interesting information to get out of the city, or it might be worth it to take her with us. Have you heard of her?"
575 takes one of the robes, examines it for a moment, then puts it back, and grabs a larger one. He makes his way through them, paying no attention to the designs and patterns, more interesting in finding one that fits his larger size. Eventually he decides on one, throwing it on, thankful to have something that might conceal his obviously foreign features from the casual observer.
As none of them appear to have a hood, he also grabs one of the hats. He is spends less time there, just snagging the nearest, which happens to have a small arcane ornament of some sort danging off the top, and pulls it down tightly on his scaled head.
"Probably for the best--it's rare to see half-dragons around here." says Poppo reassuringly.
"..yarr... couldn't pass for a wee lad student anyways... cunsid'rin' the squareness of me shoulders an' all... I'mma fishman all the way 'tis time... all the way! Inkwell in the mornin' or lunch or whatevah! I'mma hittin' the hay soon lads and lassies! POPPO! do ye have a supply of ale here fer the night? or at least sum naiiiice crisp 'n fresh water? would be much obliiiiged if ye do..."
"There's a water pitcher over there. Just don't confuse it with any of the sample containers."
Aquavius frowns as she sees the... costumes. "People... wear this willingly? I always thought this was part of some weird initiation..."
She gazes upon one gray robe, lined with seashells and aquamarine jewels. The belt is fashioned after seaweed, and the hat is designed like a conch a hermit crab would call home. It's over the top. Gaudy. And ridiculous.
She loves it. And starts laughing.
"Hey, prof. If I have a trident sticking out of this, are people going to look at me funny? Or do they think it's part of the sea witch bit?"
"Just tell them it's your wizard's staff." says Poppo.
Night passes and morning arrives.
The dawn is gray and sunless, and the town outside seems much the same--cheerless. Everything seems unkempt, threadbare, like the Second Burning happened only a week ago. There is evidence of old fire everywhere, vacant dirt lots, ancient chipping whitewash, and windows missing their glass panes.
People shuffle through the streets downcast, like zombies, their cloths as worn as the city, their expressions dead.
For those who wear them the wizards' eye-watering garb works better than invisibility. The early morning street people go out of their way to avoid the party. Still there is the sense that there eyes upon you even if they are not.
The Inkwell turns out to be a squat harbor fortress converted into an inn, or maybe more rightly a salon.
A large, rusty, clunky-looking, dark-metal sculpture stands silent guard beside the open doors, even as the noise level inside the great hall begins to rise.
"Yarr! finally a place to drink! or at least to dip my quill into! Yarr!!!"
The doors open on a homey, well-appointed hall filled with long tables and benches, and smaller tables and chairs along the buttressed walls. There are bookshelves full of books and stacks of paper with more paper pinned and pasted to the walls.
There isn't much of crowd this early in the day, but there are three men, two of whom seem embroiled in an argument. The third man, a middle-aged man of no little charisma stands between them turning to one of the men he says:
"Listen Swinson, the Inkwell is open to all, period. You couldn't pick a Loyalist out of the crowd anyhow--especially in the state you are in now."
"Aye Meese, but I seen this man in uniform fi'e year ago. I knows it." shouts Swinson. "You know the soldiers jest took off their uniforms and buried them! They jest waitin' to unearth 'em and take over."
"If he was wearing a uniform then it was the same uniform I wore when I was in the service. Now go to the common room and finish sleeping off whatever it was you were drinking last night." replies Meese sending the man off.
The target of Swinson's suspicions gives his thanks and returns to his bench seat.
"Ah new comers!" Snatching a bit of paper off of a table, the the man called Meese comes over and hand the group the sheet. "Welcome to the Inkwell."
"Yarr! finally a place to drink! or at least to dip my quill into! Yarr!!!"
There is the harsh sound of straining metal as the statue turns its head to look down at Fishblower. Blue lights glow from where its eyes would be.
"Easy there Clankings. Allow me to introduce the Inkwell's bouncer, Clankings."
|
575 eyes the converted fortress, letting out a hissing laugh at Boratios' comment.
From Tien Xia to here
One aspect connects us all...
We all need a drink
He eyes the rusty statue momentarily, before following the others inside.
His eyes are instantly drawn to all the books lining the walls, not at all what he expected of a tavern. He starts looking at the nearer ones curiously, while the others talk.
|
"Well, you're probably stuck for the night. Everything is usually closed Sunday night. There's some room back there near the supply closets. Some of the students made little cots back there for themselves for long lab nights. We don't have many students anymore so...." Poppo trails off looking a little sad. "SAY! That gives me an idea!"
When the Professor throws open the doors to the supply Closet, someone is already there: A short fellow of wraith-like physique, dressed in a motley assortment of the Closet's contents, wearing a garish full-face mask...and holding a candlestick with a lit candle much like the one Aiden saw back on the ship.
With the other hand, he flashes the token of the Open Road, then puts his finger to where his mouth...appears to be.
"I know what you have in mind."
When Professor Poppo returns with the disguises for the others, the one known to a few as P̄hī Xảnāc Theīyn Sīdả, and to many more as Candledark, is with him, still holding the candlestick .
Did you say there was another Knowledge (Local) check to be made?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"I know what you have in mind."
"You do!?" Poppo says in alarm.
He grabs a bit of light metal foil on the way back to the lab and wraps it about his head twice, before once again donning his own hat, and all the others he pulled from the student stores.
Later, he corners the strange figure of Candledark and asks "How about now? I have flashcards with little symbols on them if that helps."
She reads the sheet. "Wow. What kind of performance is it? A play? A poem recital? And uh... who is performing?"
No one directly answers and Meese merely smiles and shrugs good-naturedly. "Come and find out."
The ink on the flier is still a bit damp.
His eyes are instantly drawn to all the books lining the walls, not at all what he expected of a tavern. He starts looking at the nearer ones curiously, while the others talk.
Most of the texts pertain to history, politics, philosophy, and rhetoric. There are even a few small, translations of famous texts from Tian Xia.
|
|
Aiden is dressed in an oversized black robe that drapes on the floor. As tall as he is, he looks like a kid in his father's clothes. He wears round glasses and a dirty, ruddy scarf that he found in the back of the closet. Lastly, he carries his wand of Shield as a prop, flicking this way and that.
He wanders around the tavern, listening in to the various patrons and the get drunk.
"People assume that the author is either Jaks Arunai or a mysterious man named the Pamphletmaker. Some think both are the same. Perhaps we should wait and see who shows up."
"A surprise, eh?"
"Well, I like surprises. How much time do we have until it starts? If we have 4 hours we can at least ask around town first."
** spoiler omitted **
for hours.
Knowledge Local, Auntie's, Docktown 4 hours.
"Oh! You mean that Auntie. I thought you meant my auntie." says the man across the table in sudden realization. "She gets around you know. Very independent that woman."
"I'll drone on around the Academy with some of the folks, get more details. I'm a tourist here."
The current headmistress is the elf wizard Sanda Malferixian.
Aiden is dressed in an oversized black robe that drapes on the floor. As tall as he is, he looks like a kid in his father's clothes. He wears round glasses and a dirty, ruddy scarf that he found in the back of the closet. Lastly, he carries his wand of Shield as a prop, flicking this way and that.
He wanders around the tavern, listening in to the various patrons and the get drunk.
"People assume that the author is either Jaks Arunai or a mysterious man named the Pamphletmaker. Some think both are the same. Perhaps we should wait and see who shows up."
"Some people think that I am the Printsmith!" Meece announces to the world in general. Everyone laughs (some perhaps a bit too knowingly)."But no. I, alas, am not." He looks theatrically sorrowful. Everyone laughs again.
"Your attempt at obfuscation was quite... well, let's call it an attempt at least. Lorrin Meese is the name. I tend the Inkwell. I haven't seen you lot about. Since when have the wizards taken an interest in politics. Or is it the longshoremen who have been taken by the spirit?" He says looking between the various members of the group.
"Say..." He says in a hushed tone to Aiden, "Those black robes you're wearing aren't those the sort worn by--you know--necromancers?"
|
Reggie jumps as Clankers moves. He grabs for his shield, nervous without the remainder of his armor.
He relaxes once inside, though, quite comfortable with the environment within the salon. Rebellion against oppression is his chosen path, after all.
"We'll definitely be back for the performance. Quite a collection you have here. Even some things I haven't seen before. I've heard about an author named Wraxton...Amalia Wraxton. You wouldn't happen to have anything by her, would you? Or know where I could find it?"
"And what about Gold Street. Are they serious? Anything we should look out for around there?"
|
|
"Say..." He says in a hushed tone to Aiden, "Those black robes you're wearing aren't those the sort worn by--you know--necromancers?"
Aiden chuckles. "Uh, no. No necromancy. I haven't even studied that yet." He grins at the man. "Yet."
He looks up and down the shelves. "We should be able to use these to learn about the city." He grabs a few books and begins reading, looking for a variety of information.
Aiden discovers some useful information about Auntie's and the Throne Defiant.
"We'll definitely be back for the performance. Quite a collection you have here. Even some things I haven't seen before. I've heard about an author named Wraxton...Amalia Wraxton. You wouldn't happen to have anything by her, would you? Or know where I could find it?"
"And what about Gold Street. Are they serious? Anything we should look out for around there?"
Folks remain tight-lipped on both subjects.
|
|
"The Academy works more on making magic artifacts than shooting lightning bolts. More plunder to- acquire, if you ask me."
"Well, while you guys are researchin' I'll ask around town. And if anyone's curious, I'll tell them I just transferred here." Aquavius uses her Diplomacy to ask about other locations.
People are very tight-lipped about "The Glass on the Hill" as locals seem to call it. They mutter short one-phrase prayers, and move away when the name comes up.
"Say..." He says in a hushed tone to Aiden, "Those black robes you're wearing aren't those the sort worn by--you know--necromancers?"Aiden chuckles. "Uh, no. No necromancy. I haven't even studied that yet." He grins at the man. "Yet."
"Riiight." says Meese. He smiles knowingly and quaffs whatever it is that he is drinking. On the other hand, while he remains cordial with Reg he seems slightly less friendly. It might be a height thing.
"The Academy works more on making magic artifacts than shooting lightning bolts. More plunder to- acquire, if you ask me."
Whirl, whirl, whirl--CLANK!
|
|
Reggie is less than pleased by not getting any answers to his questions, and by the apparent heightism that is evident. But then, he's used to it and knows that causing problems is not going to help anything. Especially in a city where people are on edge and there are such heavy repercussions. Even though the people in this tavern may not be popular with everyone, everyone will turn on an outsider quicker than an internal troublemaker.
So, he "fixes his face," the scowl of irritation and disappointment almost immediately replaced by placid neutrality. He spends the time while his companions are reviewing documents for information, he reads for pleasure, picking tomes and pamphlets pretty much at random to read, finding a corner where Rowdy can curl up comfortably and laying against the big wolf while he reads.
"Yarr... Reggie! don't be sad! I had no luck either. Maybe this time at sea made me impatient and the people of this town can feel that... come with me! I'll buy ye a drink... and maybe other things.." says Son of Cayden, dragging the halfling cavalier into Auntie's establishment... :)