It is early morning. Too early for most of you. The light of the early dawn filters through the towers of Tavick's Landing, where you can make a few airships moored to the thinnest of towers.
And yes, this is why you're all here. The add in the Sharn Inquisitive promised easy money, and easy money is just what you need.
All of you.
Dearly.
The Secret Charms of Sharn
In the wan morning light, stands an elegantly dressed noble elf. His clothes are fashionable and worn over custom leather armor; all are magically clean and bright. He wears a rapier and dagger on his belt and a lute-shaped leather case over his shoulder.
His dark hair is magically clean and styled. While his brilliant blue eyes and white-teeth of his easy smile seem to sparkle, tiny red veins in the whites of and area around his eyes suggest a hard night of partying.
To occupy the wait, the elf unconsciously spins in his gloved hand an illusion of a miniature flying golden dragon.
You make your way to the Morgrave Landing, as the advertisement in the Sharn Inquisitive mentioned, where a beautiful, sleek, black and silver airship is moored high above, its circle of elemental fire blazing around its waist. On its black bow, in large and stylish silver letters, is inscribed its name: The Lofty Scholar.
The add promised honest pay, including a 'danger' bonus, with an 'active defense to protect the ship' bonus as well which, should the ship come under attack, would go a long way towards solving your immediate money issues. The ship belongs to Morgrave University and is lended to its professors for research. Professor Moonsong is currently the main professor using it these days. The job is fairly straightforward: you are hired to protect the ship and its faculty staff from attacks while they travel to a nearby ruin and return. You're expected to be back at the end of the day, but were warned to prepare for a longer stay in the case of unforeseen events.
As you reach the Morgrave Landing, you see a small crowd gathered. It seems a very many people are also in need of easy pay...
Staring up at the airship with head tilted, a slender silver warforged stands at the edge of the crowd, entirely separate. Their body language is timid and unimposing, their silver plates tarnished and dirty.
Stitch scratches at a bit of the dirt, wondering how much they share in common with that airship, then finally returns their attention back to the ground, searching the crowd. "Easy, easy honest money," they tell themselves quietly in a high almost feminine melodic voice, trying to find a way past the crowd to secure this job. Then Stitch recognizes Tharivol and give a small nervous wave from the wrist.
"Hello. I'm here." Tharivol calls to the front of the crowd as he approaches. He greets people and casually uses Prestidigitation to make harmless sensory effects to entertain the crowd while threading his way to the front.
"Hey Stitch! We're here." The celebrity calls to the warforged.
Without too much thinking, the crowd parts as Tharivol acts like he knows and belongs.
"Yes we are," Stitch replies with the inflection of a clueless smile, and makes their way over.
As he starts making his way forward, he feels the crowd tightening and mumbling aggressively.
Oh no.
"I..I am with him, please. Excuse me... Pardon, I don't mean to... please."
As Stitch tries to make his way through, the crowd seems to tighten in front of him and he feels a leg tripping him.
Tharivol, from his vantage point at the front, just see Stitch head dips in the crowd. In the distance, however, he can make a great banner announcing his brother's next performance at Art Temple, a renowned theater in Upper Menthis.
Blacklock arrives behind Stitch and sees a man trying to trip the Warforged.
Stitch yelps high-pitched, tumbling forward.
After standing straight and brushing some dirt off, Stitch looks to Blacklock in surprise. "I--oh. Thank you, so much." You notice the slender warforged's hands are shaking. They look for a way through the crowd, trying to reach Tharivol and the desperately needed job.
Stitch is about to fall when Blacklock's arm catches his and keeps him from spreading across the floor. The Warforged is heavy, but the wandslinger manages not to get pulled along.
The crowd gathers around you. Packed tightly, a man stands snarling at the two of you. With just a hint of menace, he says: "Why is that thing cutting the line? It thinks it's better than most? Plus, Mister-with-the-hat, let me give you a piece of advice. Free of charge. This 'Twitchy Stitch' will turn on you one day. Mark my words. Best you watch your back from it..."
The crowd seems on some kind of tipping point. As far as you can tell, things could go any sort of way, depending on what happens next.
Meanwhile, Tharivol saw Stitch dip into the crowd, but for a heartbeat. Now he can make the Warforged and Blacklock, whom he recognizes. They seem to be in some sort of tense conversation...
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A man of noble birth and dress, though holding back boundless knowledge, looks on from the crowd.
A voice enters Murlock's head. It is a familiar voice, though it sounds as if shouted across a great, black crevasse, and inside sleep an infinitely large thing. A thing best left to sleep.
'Really, Murlock? Here, of all places? I had known that you are impotent to accomplish anything of significance, but to have taken to juvenile pranks unworthy of an unbearded youth is low, even for you.
What would you think if the -nobility- were to hear of this?'
Stitch looks stunned by Murlock's outpouring of hatred. "Please don't call me 'it'..." their high voice almost cracks a little, clearly hurt. "I didn't kill anyone, I put people back together!" Embarrassed and distressed, Stitch turns back to the crowd and desperately tries to keep pushing through.
A man of noble birth and dress, though holding back boundless knowledge, looks on from the crowd.
A voice enters Murlock's head. It is a familiar voice, though it sounds as if shouted across a great, black crevasse, and inside sleep an infinitely large thing. A thing best left to sleep.
'Really, Murlock? Here, of all places? I had known that you are impotent to accomplish anything of significance, but to have taken to juvenile pranks unworthy of an unbearded youth is low, even for you.
What would you think if the -nobility- were to hear of this?'
[dice=Intimidation]d20+5
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Awakened Mind: Starting at 1st level, your alien knowledge gives you the ability to touch the minds of other creatures. You can communicate telepathically with any creature you can see within 30 feet of you. You don’t need to share a language with the creature for it to understand your telepathic utterances, but the creature must be able to understand at least one language.
Between Blacklock in his face and the voice in his head, Murlock pales somewhat and deflates significantly while he looks left and right to find who's messing with him.
The crowd reacts to him and deflates as well, thinning to let you pass through, robbed of the will to fight for someone else's beef, especially when the prey proves potent.
You make your way to the front, where Tharivol waits.
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"Please, please good people, let me through," Wolfgang states, going into full Noble mode. He had a lead on a most rare and puissant book, and the man who was selling it knew not what he had. He asked but a trifle, but alas 'twas more than he had. Currently.
Alas, his encounter with the simpleton Murlock still swam in his head, and his hot blood made making words of softness quite impossible.
Stitch anxiously pushes through the crowd, hurrying to stop next to Tharivol, not meeting his gaze. Stitch's hands are shaking badly now. They clasp them together to stop the shaking then stare at the ground, hoping this will all be over soon.
The slender warforged flinches at Blacklock's touch, pulling away quickly, still clutching their hands together.
In a shaking high voice, "I-I don't know why they don't like me. That man--that man thinks I killed people--I don't, I never..."
Stitch's eyes go dark, 'closing'. After a moment the warforged's eyes brighten again and their voice is much steadier. "Thank you so much, for helping me," he glances at Tharivol, some nervousness returning, "Both of you, I mean."
Wolfgang, a big and short matron dwarf stands in your way, she seems quite rough-looking and ready for a fight.
Her hair is as red as blood and braided in thin strands shooting straight back. She is dressed in what you can only guess may be Mror fashion. She wears a long skrt of thick purple wool adorning an intricate pattern with red and yellow threads, with a sleeveless breastplate that ends with a protective leather skirt that reaches all the way to her knees. Her helmet she wears completely back and sideways, sending the visor at an odd and ineffective angle.
Although this is what you might call the most garish ensemble you've ever seen, she comes with a complete set of gold chains and rings. Around her neck, a particularly thick chain holds a big gold pendant of letters spelling DOLDARUN.
As she speaks, her eyes dart up and down your frame, while her mouth snarls overconfidence, or perhaps the opposite, a golden tooth with a diamond tries to blind you, and her head bobs from side to side.
"Oh no you ain't, Tiny-Thing! You think you're Big-Time? Me's Big-Time too!" and as she speaks, her fingers dance up and down as though they had their own language, but nothing arcane comes of it.
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A shadow of doubt has only time to flicker across Wolfgang's face before he resolves to a plan and leaps to it as a fish swims through water.
"Oh HELLO my dear!" Wolfgang beems, a smile like a bonfire leaping on to his face and he bends to hug the dwarf woman solidly, as a long-lost friend. "It has been so long since we last, ah, but who is to talk about the past? I simply remember that you looked -ravashing- that night, and O so many suitors were gathering in darkened corners, feverishly jockeying for who would be MAN enough to ask for your favor that night.
Ah! Alas but I was not the man that I am now, and I shied away. So beautiful, so charming, so appealing did you seem, that I could not act upon my desire for you, and, alas! I thought I lost you for all time.
But now here you are! And I again might toe the battle-line and see if your heart is still unchained."
He takes up her hand in both of his, softly, gently, exuding Warmth. "Please, my sweet, I must needs see this base deed here done, but truly do I SWEAR to you that once this mundane task is dealt with will you...will you do my the honor of allowing me, this humble one before you, of calling upon you, so we may talk of the sweeter times of life?"
While holding his hand he tries to subtly turn her about, so he is closer to his destination. "I shall be O but a moment, but do promise me that I might gaze into thine eyes but once more, my lovely one?" he coos, eyes wide, smiling a True Smile of Romance.
Wolfgang has no care who this bat-ugly runt is, but she is between him and his goal. He knows not how any man could be so drunk as to even look upon her in romance, least of all be sadist enough to touch her, but, as they say, flies and honey.
The empty stare tells Wolfgang that she is desperately failing at replacing him, though dreamlilly might have to do with that.
"Say, I... A'ight then, be off, Prancing-Prince, but I'll remember you now, and we'll continue our conversation!" she says, both perplexed and charmed.
And you make your way to the front, joining the others.
Stitch nods to the strange man that approaches, having no idea he helped earlier, then looks around for who they need to talk to about this job...
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Wolfgang thanks her deeply, kissing her hand before turning and heading to the fore. 'I should spit to get the taste of runt out of my mouth, but some wine should do the trick, if any can be had.'
Finding himself at last at the front, he nods to the brave souls around him. 'If they are here, then these must be some hearty worthies indeed.' He offers a hand for shaking all around.
"Good morning, gentlemen. I am Wolfgang."
To Stitch he adds, "Hey, I saw that you had a run in with that street-scum Murlock. He's a small, petty, awful man. I hear he beats women and takes his leisure with ladies for coin as no female would willingly spit on him if he was on fire. Pay the man's words no heed. In fact, if he has a bone to pick with you, then consider me a good friend!"
Wolfgang shakes Stitch's hand again, liking him.
"Stitch, Blacklock, Wolfgang. Glad you could finally join us." the Dragonmarked Elf of Phiarlan greets them wearing fashionable clothes over custom leather armor; all are magically clean and bright. His dark hair is magically clean and styled. His brilliant blue eyes and white-teeth of his easy smile always sparkle. He wears a rapier and dagger on his belt and a lute-shaped leather case over his shoulder.
It's unclear who the 'us' is, besides maybe the strangers of the crowd standing next to him.
Seeming to take a strange comfort in Blacklock's gruff demeanor, Stitch relaxes visibly. "I... thank you. Again, really. W-who are you?"
Stitch turns when Wolfgang approaches and mentions Murlock, shaking hands agreeably (if weakly) and answers in a high melodic voice, "I um--he what?" The warforged seems completely naive about what the man is implying.
"Family's good. Areyndee, even better. His opera career has really taken off, since the Peace. You need tickets?" Tharivol remembered that they had worked closer together during the war.
He had met Blacklock during the war making deliveries to his older brother, Areyndee. Tharivol hadn't developed the friendship with Blacklock that his brother did.
Stitch's eyes flicker rapidly seeing the tattoo, taking a moment to process and remember something... then meets Blacklock's eyes again, speaking softly. "Y-yes, the tenth...one zero, you were always t-talking to commander Rhenor, I think? You.. had me save someone who was badly hurt, but I don't remember them. I'm sorry, everything is broken from back then," they tilt their head apologetically.
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"Greetings, Blacklock," Wolfgang states in return. "I had assumed Professor Moonsong was riding herd, but I've not seen any professors about yet.
As far as the take, I don't know what they're offering specifically, but to protect such a marvel as that thing, with danger pay, it'll be more than 2 coppers, I'd wager."
On cue, a man with round, reflecting, spectacles appears in the white and red outfit of Morgrave's scholars. He is accompanied by a group of ten dressed in the white and blue tunics of assistant scholars.
The professor looks at the crowd gathered with a hint of a smile and clears his throat lightly.