Korvosa wakes under a leaden sky. A muggy heat drives night's coolness away by noon. To the north a light rain is falling, cooling the wretches of Thief Camp. By noon some Korvosan's are even a bit jealous, but they can not command the weather.
Darvyl woke late to the sound of shouting in the hall. After a moment's confusion, he realized he was still in the cramped room at the run-down inn. The woman was gone -- and so was his purse. He grinned to himself. It had been about empty, having only held enough copper to get drunk on. He knew better than to carry his (paltry) stash of gold with him in this neighborhood. It was even her room!
He pulled on his clothes and fetched up his dagger, then stumbled through the common room and out of the inn, grateful the sky was not brighter.
Darvyl woke late to the sound of shouting in the hall. After a moment's confusion, he realized he was still in the cramped room at the run-down inn. The woman was gone -- and so was his purse. He grinned to himself. It had been about empty, having only held enough copper to get drunk on. He knew better than to carry his (paltry) stash of gold with him in this neighborhood. It was even her room!
He pulled on his clothes and fetched up his dagger, then stumbled through the common room and out of the inn, grateful the sky was not brighter.
Darvyl: If the morning is this hot and nastily humid, what will afternoon be like? Strolling through the awakening city you run into Ratter, a local charcter. Wrapped in strips of leather and cloth and gloved with two immense leather gauntlets, the nearly toothless old man
is a pitiable sight. "Look a this," he says, thrusting his latest catch in your face. "'snot nuff El's Walk has more rats 'n anywhere else. We got tha ugliest ones, too." And indeed, it is a replusive specimen, bone-thin, mangy and covered in sores.
Jeorik: The rain is barely cooler than the air, but brings some relief for now. You can tell that after it stops it will feel even more oppressing.
Topping a small rise you can see Korvosa, a dull drab city of gray roofs and spires. Before it lies a shanty-town. Smoke curls up in places and small knots of men move through the ramshackle huts, lean-tos and tents. Closer to the city are some more substantial structures. As you lead Pax down the hill a broad road of flagstones set in flint chips beckons. It runs straight as an arrow to the city gate. An easier route than the no-doubt rutted, mired trail that would lead to the HellKnight's stronghold in Citadel Vraid.
Inigo:
Your work with the HellKnights has been a great blessing and satisfaction. They are men who know what's what and where its place is. The City guard is a contemptible corrupt bunch of petty thugs who can barely keep proper order, when they're so -inclined.
In recent months, the temple seems to be falling apart. The Grandmaster, a Forlorn elf named Morten, seems distracted and irritable. Always intimidating, he now seems aggresively formidable. Morten's right hand, The Preceptor, a Varisian-Chelish halfbreed woman named Owlen, actively dislikes you. Tithes and Offerings must be down. The servants have been dismissed. The six junior priests (including you) and the four remaining initiates must perform the menial tasks of maintaining the temple. It seems you are detailed to these tasks more often than the other junior priests.
This morning you are on floor scrubbing detail in the Great Hall. It is particularly grating because you have been required to wear a Collar of Submission, symbolic slave collar of wrought iron. Nevertheless you have done your job well and are almost finished.
From your vantage point you can see the Initiate manning the door. An old man with a travelling pack and heavy cane approaches from the street. After a few words the initiate runs (where is decorum? diginity?) through the Hall, up the dais, and through the door leading toward the Grand Master's office.
Darthen:The cluttered sounds and tempting smells of Jonathan preparing food in the kitchen sift through the wall. Does he never sleep? The less tempting shrill of his wife's voice likewise penetrates both your wall and awareness. It's hot, barely past dawn, and you're bathed in sweat.
A yellow glove lies on the small table in your room. Thalus wants to see you.
Keliwyn:
A faint hissing grating sound recalls you to the present. A note has been slipped under your door. "Please see me." The consul summons.
Arando:
Iñigo finishes his chores as soon as he can and quickly returns to his quarters. Donning his armor and shield, Iñigo heads out of the temple on the pretext that he will coordinate with the Hellknights, taking care to avoid the Morton and his mongrel Owlen, an easy task in view of their lack of talent. Morton, I'll see you flayed for delegating such demeaning chores... It's completely unacceptable that these losers hold sway here. I shall see them in their proper places.
Outside the temple building, Iñigo breathes in the air. I shall accomplish a great deed today that will warrant my elevation above you, Morton and Owlen. Then we shall see how well you scrub the latrines. By the First Lord, I swear this.
Iñigo then heads towards Citadel Vraid, pausing a moment at the City Guard to requisition a horse.
If the morning is this hot and nastily humid, what will afternoon be like? Strolling through the awakening city you run into Ratter, a local charcter. Wrapped in strips of leather and cloth and gloved with two immense leather gauntlets, the nearly toothless old man is a pitiable sight. "Look a this," he says, thrusting his latest catch in your face. "'snot nuff El's Walk has more rats 'n anywhere else. We got tha ugliest ones, too." And indeed, it is a replusive specimen, bone-thin, mangy and covered in sores.
Darvyl looks at the creature with disgust, but claps Ratter on the shoulder with a grin. "But all the more business for you, eh, my friend? Just stay upwind when you burn that one!"
Thinking little of the episode, Darvyl heads on down to the square, hoping he's not entirely too late for the labor market.
Jeorik pauses atop the rise, surveying the possibilities before him.
"The straight flight is often best," he thinks to himself and then aloud to his mule he says, "Well old girl, shall we see what the city has to offer us?"
Pax, as is normal, doesn't answer but she follows dutifully enough as he leads here towards the gates of Korvosa.
Darthen is laying in bed, eyes closed, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen, catching the smell of pork cooking.
He turns over and sees the glove laying on the table. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he gets up, heads to the washbasin, and dunks his head in the lukewarm water. Shaking the water out he gets his gear on and heads down without a word.
Coming down the stairs he spots Jonathan coming out with a plate.
"Look here, Darthen. Before you head out you get some of this food. It's pippen hot. I got some biscuits coming out in a minute."
Jonathan places the plate on a table before heading back into the kitchen. Watching Jonathan, Darthen sits down to eat. One of the waitresses comes by and says, "My, my, my. You look like a pack of mules done run you over and dragged you half way to Magnimar."
"Morning to you to, Elo." Darthen replies back with a bit of sarcasm. "I was out late last night and ended up drinking to much ale with some friends." He winces as he rubs his sweat soaked forhead. "Can you tell Jonathan thanks for me and I will talk to him later. I have some work that needs to be done."
He gets up, adjusts his weapons, and heads out the door.
Keliwyn picks up the note and his mind returns to the present as he leaves his thoughts concerning Selumie's delay in returning for later. Quietly, he gets dressed, taking a few moments to make sure his clothes and leather are clean and well polished, and that everything is in its proper place.
Setting out, Keliwyn looks up to the sky and let's out a sigh, and decides to stop at the market before meeting with the Consul, both to fill his stomach and show his face. Bread and fruit in hand, he wanders a bit through the stalls, making sure to speak with various people, and listening for any interesting gossip.
Off-stage:
Dorman looks over the papers he's been served, his trained eyes immediately spotting the discrepancies. He almost forgets to tip the court messenger.
"Oh, this is not good." he whispers aloud, as he settles back into his office chair. for a few minutes, he thinks idly about fighting, fleeing, folding.
But he's not the kind of man who builds the kind of pot he's accumulated over the years and then folds; he would never flee from something as craven as this; and it's been perhaps a bit too long since he's raised a sword to kill a man.
He reads the papers through to the last page. "Hmmm. The same three names; now that's a show of confidence." In a lesser adversary, that'd be a gap in the plan, a flaw, an opening. Here, it is almost certainly a feint.
To find out, he'd need an agent.
Iñigo then heads towards Citadel Vraid, pausing a moment at the City Guard to requisition a horse.
Just as Inigo reaches the Guard stables, he hears one of the temple initiate's calling his name. Spinning on his heel, he sees this morning's doorkeeper, waving and wheezing, "Inigo, the Grand Master requires your attendance. A special task."
Thinking little of the episode, Darvyl heads on down to the square, hoping he's not entirely too late for the labor market.
Arriving at the square, it looks like Darvyl may be too late. Most of the men are no longer standing straight, gazing expectantly up the side streets. Instead they are lounging in the shade of three thin oaks, discussing last night's liquor and the beastly weather, and caging each other for small loans.
Across the square, a wiry old man attended by a pretty blond girl and a muscular balding young swordsman steps from a side-street and scans the crowd. As the man's gaze crosses those taking their ease his face turns red. He waves his cane dismissively and quick-steps past the loungers. "You there, still looking for work, line up."
The old man sights along Nihls arm, then marches up to Darvyl. "Well, boy, can you handle weapons?"
Pax, as is normal, doesn't answer but she follows dutifully enough as he leads here towards the gates of Korvosa.
It's very still as you descend the hill. But as you move forward, and the town wakes up, more people come out. The inhabitants of Thief Camp are a mixed lot. Mostly brightly garbed Varisians and savage looking Shoanti with a rare Chelaxian here and there, usually obscured under a wide-brimmed hat or in deep hood. Children run about everywhere, but although the side alleys are crowded, few adults walk on the road.
People eye you warily, or jealously, or predatorily as you walk. Ahead of you by the roadside, a pleasing brunette Varisian beauty in a colorful turquoise scarf bends gracefully to talk with a young girl holding a basket of flowers. The girl spins away and skips gaily toward you. "Buy a flower, mister?" In a lower tone she says "watch out for the red-feathered Shoanti." She looks up while holding her flowers out for you to examine. Common wild flowers; stems torn, not cut; some with dirt still clinging to roots.
He gets up, adjusts his weapons, and heads out the door.
Walking down to the dock district, Darthen mingles with the lower class working folk: farmers bringing produce in to market, porters moving casks, crates or small parcels, sailors wandering landside.
A knock on the door, a wave at the peephole, and Darthen is ushered in. Today's doorman is a halfling, Velvet. "G'morn, Darthen. You shouldn't sleep with a ground floor window open like that. The boss's inside. Go right in."
In a small room, the table before him litttered with paper waits Thalus. Characteristically, he rises, asks if you'd like a drink, waves you into a chair, and comes instantly to the point. "Remeber last year some bad citizens were dealing pesh without a license? My legitimate associates were viewed in a very poor light by some authorities. Some overenthusiastic Hellknights even mistakenly apprehended Goodman Gnarls. I've got a name, Maggie Bright. Someone hinted she might know something about it all. But she's been very hard to find. I'd like your help. But it needs to be kept very quiet. Obviously it could be embarrasing if some citizens knew I was looking."
Jeorik reaches down and pulls out a single flower from the basket.
"My thanks," says Jeorik and he hands the girl a copper coin, taken from his belt pouch.
The pouch is mostly empty, for Jeorik keeps his gold in a safer place, a small pouch rolled up in his bedroll, atop his trusted mule.
As he continues on his way towards the city proper, Jeorik decides to be alert, particularly for red feathered men. He dutifully places the flower stem under one of the straps holding his worldly possessions atop Pax.
Keliwyn picks up the note and his mind returns to the present as he leaves his thoughts concerning Selumie's delay in returning for later. Quietly, he gets dressed, taking a few moments to make sure his clothes and leather are clean and well polished, and that everything is in its proper place.
Setting out, Keliwyn looks up to the sky and let's out a sigh, and decides to stop at the market before meeting with the Consul, both to fill his stomach and show his face. Bread and fruit in hand, he wanders a bit through the stalls, making sure to speak with various people, and listening for any interesting gossip.
This morning the people are as close as the sky is grey. Little gossip. Much complaining about the weather.
Damn that Morton. May he be denied a place at the great banquet that is the First Lord's Day of Triumph.
Iñigo's hides his rage at being summoned upon hearing the words "special task." Finally, the man is learning to appreciate my talents. But that will not spare him from cleaning the latrines. Iñigo grins.
Iñigo composes his appearance before heading back to the temple to meet with Morton. I must remind him that I am the warrior that he is not.
"You there, still looking for work, line up."
Darvyl lines up with the few remaining others, and is somewhat surprised when the old man approaches him. He hesitates, then answers respectfully,
GM:
Darvyl is quite curious about this, but knows how to behave in front of authority.
Walking by he gives Velvet a wicked grin and a wink, "How do you know I didn't leave it open just for you? Besides, the cool night air felt good compared to this steamy soup that has come down on us."
He enters the the office, notices the messy desk, and greets Thalus with a curt bow.
Darthen asks for some coffee and takes the offered seat. "Yes, I remember that ... commotion. Quite a few citizens were beaten in the process just because they didn't move quick enough for the Hellknights". As he continues to listen a servent brings his requested coffee. When Thalus is done he asks, "So, what can you tell me of this Ms. Bright? General description, locations she has been known to frequent, how long it has been since she was last seen, whose company she has been in, etc. As you know the more information I have coming out of the gate the quicker and quieter this will go."
Without any further undue delay, Keliwyn heads for the Consulate House, all the while considering whether, in light of the oppressive humidity, he will need to maintain any sort of professional appearance in his leather armor after his meeting.
(Boy am I late to this . . . )
Arando asks to leave work early, as he needs to get out before the sellers
pack up for the day. Pressed for time, and expecting to get lost, he takes off at a youthful run into the hot crowded streets.
Keliwyn:
The Mierani consul's residence lies in Northgate, not far from the Infernal Wall. Although hemmed in by blocky human construction, the building retains an airer feel than its neighbors. Its columns taper as they rise. The lintels are thinner and carved with leaves, flowers, and nuts. The small yard around it is a bit wider, and more verdant.
Once inside, the attendant leads you to the back of the building, into the finest garden in the city -- at least to elven sensibilities. The little path winds through native grasses and wild flowers under low fruit trees. No vulgar, large rank and file plots of showy floral monocultures.
After a few more pleasantries, business. "Keliwyn, attend this please. An unlikely friend may be in a position to help our Cause in the Wood. You must know Morten Forlorn, Head of Temple of the Iron Hand. He may be able to obtain an artifact that will enable us to learn more of what goes on in the Dark Blight. He says he needs help.
I would like you to help him. It will require great discretion. Considering the source, this may be a trap of some kind. You may run afoul of the law. If you do, we can not afford to have it traced back to the Consulate. I may not be able to help you. Will you do it?"
Darvyl:
"I will provide a tabard, two meals a day in my house kitchen, and pay you 2 silvers a day for the next three days. After that we will see." "We are going now to procure the clothes."
he asks, "So, what can you tell me of this Ms. Bright? General description, locations she has been known to frequent, how long it has been since she was last seen, whose company she has been in, etc. As you know the more information I have coming out of the gate the quicker and quieter this will go."
Darthen:
Thalus frowns. "My informant was a bad citizen, one of the Green Wrappers. "Unfortunately "Maggie Bright" was all he could tell us and he is no longer available."
As he continues on his way towards the city proper, Jeorik decides to be alert, particularly for red feathered men. He dutifully places the flower stem under one of the straps holding his worldly possessions atop Pax.
May I have a spot check please? +2 for being alert.
May I have a spot check please? +2 for being alert.
Iñigo composes his appearance before heading back to the temple to meet with Morton.
Back at the temple, Sarven, one of the lesser priests, grins broadly as you come through the door, poorly concealed amusement glinting in his eye. "Morten's waiting for you in his office."
Normally when you enter the office Morten is pouring over a book or scroll. Normally he holding up a hand for silence, while he finishes the page before looking up at you. Today he is gazing expectantly at the door as you enter.
May I have a spot check please? +2 for being alert.
Ten paces beyond the scarved woman, to the right of the road, is a large brute of a Shoanti with a brilliant red feather woven into one of his braids. He is talking to another Shoanti, exceptionally colorfully tatooed, who crosses the road. Tatoos turns away from you, walking toward the city. Red-feather steps back into the crowd.
Not quite sure what any of this has to do with him, Jeorik continues forward, wondering if he is walking into some sort of a trap or whether the original message had a greater portent than merely warning him of bandits and thieves. He keeps half an eye on the tattooed man ahead of him. Nevertheless he can't help but turn his head to see where the large Shoanti with the feathers is going.
(Boy am I late to this . . . )
Arando asks to leave work early, as he needs to get out before the sellers
pack up for the day. Pressed for time, and expecting to get lost, he takes off at a youthful run into the hot crowded streets.
Arando:
Spot check please? If you roll 13 or better open the spoiler.
Ten yards farther on, Tatoos stops by the roadside.
Jeorik, a little nervous, tries to continue forward without allowing the other to realize that he is being observed. He, as unobtrusively as possible, loosens his shield so it will slide easily and quickly around and off his back.
As he walks, slowly but surely towards the city gates, he tries to size up the tattooed man. In the back of his mind he wonders again about the red-feathered Shoanti, whether he was also still in the area.?
Jeorik, a little nervous, tries to continue forward without allowing the other to realize that he is being observed. He, as unobtrusively as possible, loosens his shield so it will slide easily and quickly around and off his back.
As he walks, slowly but surely towards the city gates, he tries to size up the tattooed man. In the back of his mind he wonders again about the red-feathered Shoanti, whether he was also still in the area.?
Tatoos is armed with a hand ax, dagger, and shortspear. No armor. He thrusts the butt of the spear out in front of Jeorik and shouts in Varisian:
Then he changes to common, " hey, you, that's my mule!"
"Whoa," says Jeorik to Pax, coming to a stop.
He slides his shield down onto his arm and looking around to make sure he is not about to be rushed from behind, he draws out his sword.
"That's a very unhealthy attitude friend," says Jeorik, trying to smile. "This girl belongs to me and we are quite attached to each other. I don't think she would take kindly to going with you."
Tatoos is about 10' away.
Red-feather is 40 feet behind and closing at a walk, but stops when you look around. Apparently unarmed, unarmored.
The random crowd turns to look at the sound of Tatoo's shout. With their common orientation the become a ring of people rather than a crowd. The road remains clear though. Among others you can see the scarved woman and little girl beyond Red-feather, an old Shoanti woman with a silk shawl, two boys carrying a big bucket of milk, three Varisians, one of who carries a star-knife, and a plump Varisian butcher standing behind his table laden with meat.
Curious, Arando steps toward the man in studded leather, saying, "greetings! Do I know you?"
Curious, Arando steps toward the man in studded leather, saying, "greetings! Do I know you?"
Darvyl:
"I will provide a tabard, two meals a day in my house kitchen, and pay you 2 silvers a day for the next three days. After that we will see. We are going now to procure the clothes."
Darvyl grins, in his element now. "When I'm providing my own gear? 4 silvers and the two meals. You won't be disappointed."
If a bargain is struck, Darvyl hurries home for his arms, then goes to the rendezvous.
Jeorik gives a second look at the man forty feet behind him and then says just loud enough to be heard, "I thought that the Shoanti were noble warriors with a proud tradition. Not common thugs who robbed travelers."
Jeorik leads Pax with his shield hand, sword at the ready and steps forward heading to the right of the tattooed spear carrier. He is expecting an attack but is hoping to move himself out of the way of being flanked if he can help it.
he asks, "So, what can you tell me of this Ms. Bright? General description, locations she has been known to frequent, how long it has been since she was last seen, whose company she has been in, etc. As you know the more information I have coming out of the gate the quicker and quieter this will go."Darthen:
** spoiler omitted **
Darthen nods, "Ok, let me see what I can find out." He gets up and adds, "I will leave the usual sign for you once I have something."
Thom:
Hmm, I didn't think about it before as far as meetings and pay go. I hope it is ok for me to leave a sign when I want to meet them. Maybe put the yellow glove on my window seal. Any suggestions?
As for payment, I would guess we have an agreed upon amount if my services are needed. If so may I suggest using the Proffession skill to determine the amount (I still need to go back and re-read that section for clarification). Maybe he keeps me on retainer and pays me a small sum every week or so. When services are needed I get a per diem to cover expenses such as bribes, food, mounts if needed, etc. If there is no agreed upon amount then we can figure it out once my investigations are complete. Probably based off my Prof. skill. In this case I will also add per diem pay in.
He winks at Velvet again before leaving the house.
"Maggie Bright ... The name doesn't sound familier ... It could be an alias ... The Green Wrappers ... I wonder what those scoundrels have gotten themselves into ... Who should I talk to first?".
Darthen decides to talk to some of the low level players in the city. The ones that will not raise any flags when asked about certain names.
"Of course these low lifes generally don't know much of anything, but I need to start somewhere without alerting the wrong people."
Sense Motive (1d20+9=16) Thalus seems to sincerely want Miss Bright found. Although he is hard to read, not least because he often speaks elliptically.
Try an innuendo check, too.I'll give you more background tonight when I can post longer. Meantime, how about a know(local) check to see what kind of quality background you get.
Where in the city will you concentrate your search?
For a few minutes, Keliwyn quietly considers what the Consul has told him. This, he thinks to himself, is certainly beyond my normal routine and duties. After mulliing it over, Keliwyn replies, "I will, of course, do anything I can to help the Mierani. Although I have been in Korvosa for sometime, and much of my work falls within the realm of politics and information, the chance to possibly help our people with the Dark Blight is not something I would pass up. I have met Morten before and know him only in passing, but I will seek him out immediately."
Keliwyn turns to leave and then pauses, turning to face the Consul again. "You need not worry about discretion, which, I trust, is why you have chosen me for this assignment. As such, it may be some time before I am in touch, and if I do need to make contact, it will be through the alternative channels. Your words of caution will also be heeded and kept in mind."
With that Keliwyn takes his leave, with thoughts of the weather and chaffing armor forgotten.
Sense Motive (1d20+9=16) Thalus seems to sincerely want Miss Bright found. Although he is hard to read, not least because he often speaks elliptically.
Try an innuendo check, too.I'll give you more background tonight when I can post longer. Meantime, how about a know(local) check to see what kind of quality background you get.
Where in the city will you concentrate your search?
If a bargain is struck, Darvyl hurries home for his arms, then goes to the rendezvous.
The old man bargains as if you were asking for his very flesh. 2.7 sp/day plus the meals.
He turns abruptly away and starts down another street.
With that Keliwyn takes his leave, with thoughts of the weather and chaffing armor forgotten.
Plans? Clarifications?