Jek notices a single tear roll down Gilly’s cheek before he cheerily says in an uncharacteristically constructed way, ”Thrashing people til we get the berk! You’re not the killer so stopped thrashing you. Killer is big spell slinger, you have little spell slingers.”
The blackness lifts off the Githzerai in a flash of healing magic. The pain is greatly reduced but even and Vaascht tries to regain his feet, using his word to brace himself, his head is spinning crazily.
"Whuzzchat? Wshhappen? Did you catch the number of the wagon that hit me?"
As he staggers to his feet a keen observer would notice that, even though said observer would swear they saw polished lamellar armor under his coat, nope, just robes. Further, strangely, the same keen observer would notice they failed to see both a spell book and scroll case hanging from his belt by the quartet of daggers. Wierd.
Regaining his feet, Vaascht blearily looks around and notices they were, in fact, no longer in combat and seemingly happily conversing with their former enemy horse man. The Gith knew he should be enraged and ready to start to fight again, but his body didn't seem to want to work right at the moment and a grudging respect started working its way to the front of his brain as scattered memories of a giant fist flash.
what a heck of a punch
Desperately trying to gather his wits, he glares around.
"Whaaash goin on?"
Akrynn points an enlarged finger at the Priest.
What about him?
Gilly the goat man looks at where Arkynn is pointing and squints, "Be fine she'll. She's no greybeard either."
Rinika cringes when Gilly knocks out the cleric and is about to say something else but clearly reconsiders. She stands up and dusts herself off, rubbing a still-smarting forehead.
"This killer you're after, they have a name?"
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You’re not entirely sure how Gilly managed to finish the basket he was working on in the space of the conversation. One minute he was just starting it and the next it was complete. He hands the basket to Vaascht and woven on the side are the words in block lettering, ‘BEST PUNCHING BAG’ He answers Rinika clapping her shoulder heartily, ”Wouldn’t have to trash you if Gilly knew that! Look sod Mortuary your poor for Eliath in, maybe. Dead-book he’s probably in.” Without so much as farewell Gilly trots off back into the Hive leaving the Xaos priest laying there unconscious.
Vaascht dumbly accepts the wonderfully woven basket in confusion, muttering "Uh, thanks."
Gathering a few of his wits he manages to recall his anger and looks the the big horse man in the eye and growls.
"Might turn out different next time..."
Watching Gilly walk away, Vaascht slinks over to the knocked out priest and rifles through her pockets, hoping for a curative potion to finish clearing his head. Barring that, he leaves the remainder of her belongings untouched.
"Ain't no thief."
The xoas preist has: scroll of comprehend languages, scroll of cure moderate wounds, scroll of darkness, scroll of find traps, alchemist's fire (2), everburning torch, smokesticks (2), masterwork breastplate, light crossbow with 20 bolts, quarterstaff, silver holy symbol (a version of the Xaositects faction symbol), a dead turtle dove, 537 gp
The tiefling with her head caved in has: dagger, disguise kit, wooden flute, 203 gp
Rinika squats down next to Vaascht and shrugs at his thief comment as she rifles through pockets. "Your loss. Anyone need a dead bird?"
Vaascht smiles thinly at Rinlka and stands, "Was hoping for a healing potion, but I won't judge. Have at er."
Looking over at the dead thug.
"But we can't let that ones stuff go to waste."
Looking around.
"Who killed him?"
Akrynn walks up to the others with the unfortunate priest.
I may be able to use that Cure Moderate Wounds.
Evie excuses herself from the conversation with "Gilly." Once the bariaur leaves she briefly tuts under her breath at the two Xaositect women lying in the alley. Poor berks - choosing to live without rules, just randomness, seems all freedom and whimsy, but this is what comes of it. Can't even trust your own "friends." She sighs as she watches Rinika roll the unconscious priestess and distribute her goods. She gives a slight sniff of disdain and catches the catwoman's distinct scent - sickly sweet, at once both alluring and revolting, like fine food newly turned to rot. Well, at least they all stood by me. A good sign, I think.
"When you're quite done, that ridiculous jumble-speeched brute made a fair point. Checking to see if our man has already met an untimely end could save us a fair bit of time if it's true." Evie pauses, suddenly worrying that her tone had been too harsh. "And thank you all for proving yourselves worthy of your recommendation - well done."
She looks over Vaascht with obvious concern. "I can oblige with healing, if anyone requires it?"
"Who killed him?"
"Got her with my horns. The others ran off."
Jek inspects the priest.
"We can't just leave her for dead."
Vaascht looks over at Evie, shaking his head, "The physical damage is light, but I'd welcome something to clear my head." he responds.
"Though, I'm sure it will clear in a while."
Akrynn reaches out for the scroll.
I have been taught to make copies. With the correct scribing materials, we could have multiplies of this Cure Moderate Wounds scroll.
He then nods.
Checking the morgue makes sense.
Rinika is clearly tending to a large head wound. "I ah..I got myself." She draws forth negative energy in a pale light again and uses it to heal herself.
"Ahh, much better. Still, I could use this crossbow. I think I'm gonna try to keep my distance next time."
It's a handful of hours before anti-peak, starting to get dark.
Akrynn prepares to go check out the morgue.
Shall we?
Vaascht sheathes his sword with a sigh.
"Might as well keep moving."
Night is falling over the Hive, and the lurid light of hundreds of cooking fires can be seen dancing in the ruins and slums. The rain has stopped, but the air's cold and damp. You are making your way down a dismal street, when you hear a faint cry from a dark alley nearby: "Hey, get off me, you berk! Get awa — aghk!"
You find four bashers restraining a bubber just out of sight of the street. A roguish half-elf wearing black leather armor supervises their efforts, a sinister smile on his face. As you continue to watch, the half-elf touches the bubber and he sags back in his captors' arms without a sound. The half-elf steps forward, checks the fellow, and says, "He's out. Let's put him closer to the street so the Collectors'll find him." The bashers drag the fellow toward the street. The group doesn't seem to notice you yet.
Stalking along the dark streets getting increasingly angry at his poor performance with Gilly earlier in the day, Vaascht stays silent as the group walks along.
Seeing the disturbance ahead he is torn between ignoring something clearly not his business and a desire to get his violence on. Still, this could be the random dude they were looking for.
Unsure of what his employer wanted to do, the Gith looks down at the ratfolk, waiting for a sign.
Jek's thoughts kept circling back to Gilly. Something is very off. While he doesn't know what kind of help Gilly needs, he really does need something. Maybe one of the herd's mystics will know next time he makes the trek back home.
The situation in the alley startles Jek. Was someone just killed by a touch? He unshoulders his lance. Is this who Gilly was talking about? Maybe he'll need to charge. He gradually inches away from Akrynn just in case he expands again.
Akrynn simply continues his progress toward the morgue.
The party hesitates and the half-elf’s group disappears down the alley. The bubber was left for dead at a larger street, not a mark on him and completely dead. The bubber does not fit Eliath's description.
Akrynn smirks.
These poor sods wouldn't last a day inside the Labyrinth.
"Odd.". Vaascht remarks as they move past the body. Ultimately the poor sod wasn't someone he was hired to protect, nor a fellow Gith so Vaascht didn't waste time caring about who he was or why he died.
Even so, he kept a sharper eye out for the murderers, in case they decided they wanted to repeat the task with his own group.
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For most of the trip, Rinika has babbled about life in Sigil as the group has walked. As we get closer to the morgue, the talking trails off and she seems to retreat further into her hood, the edge of her umbrella canopy dropping down to barely above her eye level. She wraps one of her scarves around most of her face, leaving only her eyes to dart around the streets and alleys, chasing every shadow.
The Mortuary stands in a hopeless area of the Hive. It's ringed by the slums of Sigil's Unclean those people who do work that others won't touch. The Mortuary's surroundings are almost safe, since the people here tend to be honest despite their wretched circumstances. Small alehouses, tanneries, and slaughterhouses fill the area. A fair amount of commerce surrounds the Mortuary. A few people go about their business even so late at night but on the Mortuary's side of the street there is not a soul in sight. One black, somber gate leads into the jagged edifice of dark stone. The Mortuary is a collection of dilapidated mausoleums, piled together with no organization.
Just outside the Mortuary is an open-air monument. Four tall arches lead into an open-air chamber of black marble. A single stone monument stands in the center of the room. In each corner an oil-fueled brazier burns. The walls of the room are made of polished granite and are covered with thousands of finely carved names in various languages.
A shallow flight of marble steps sweeps up between two of the building's dark buttresses to a massive gate of copper sheathed wood. Two small stone guardhouses stand at the bottom of the stairs. Several Dustmen guards watch your approach. One of the guards, a human with yellow a few jaundiced scars on her face asks, "Well, what d'you want with us? Who've you come to bury? All of you are still on your feet." Six Dustmen guard this entrance. Two are stationed in the guardhouses, two beneath the arch, and two more in front of the gate.
Leaning on his oak quarterstaff, Akrynn smiles.
Who shall be our speaker? I confess that it isn't my strong suit.
Considering Akrynn's question, Jek reflects on the many times he's visited the Hall of Speakers. He smiles. Some of the presenters could make anything sound amazing. One time he felt compelled to approach the podium himself and... He cringes for a second.
"It can't be me."
Vaascht looks around. "I don't talk. I fight."
The guard stands there impassive. If she's judging you for your reluctance to state your business she doesn't let on.
The air after the rain feels unusual cool and crisp. It still smells heavily of antiseptic and formaldehyde, and perhaps an undertone of rotting flesh and curdled blood. Nearby razorvines have been cut back and some perhaps unwisely uprooted, but fresh tendrils are poking through the cracks between the streets and walls.
Akrynn does peer about for anyone (or anything) that calls to the eye.
But he seems to have gotten dirt in his eyes...
From the back of the group, Rinika calls on the shadows to make her presentable (), pulls her scarf down just enough to not muffle her speech, and turns just enough that the guards would see her in profile. "Just looking for a name in the records. Eliath."
The guard gets out a ledger and scans through it, ”Family? I’m sorry for your loss cutter. I hope that they passed through the Eternal Boundary and found True Death.” After flipping a few pages that kick up yellow motes of dust she says finally, ”I don’t have anyone by that name. Do you know who brought the body in and when? If one of the Collectors brought them in you’ll need to talk to Ulthdar he’s handling the nameless sods nowadays. I can get him if you like.”
Rinika perks up a bit. "Oh! Yes...sure. That would be good."
You are taken inside into an impressive chamber with a tall vaulted ceiling and a floor of polished black marble. The walls are decorated with dark, geometric carvings. Two other dustmen wait stoically. The guard heads further in and comes back shortly with an aging man in the typical dark gray robes of a Dustman. When he sees Rinika he smiles warmly which makes his many wrinkles form odd angles. He smells faintly of ash and old bones picked clean. ”It’s good of you to visit Rin, come now you don’t need to hide under all those scarves. Did you ever find a faction to call kip? I know the high-up’s are still interested in you, even Skall himself.”
Vaascht looks around with some interest at the interior as they walk. He'd sent plenty of folk to the Morturary but had never been on the inside for any reason yet, and hoped this would be his last visit.
Still, it was new and interesting.
Akrynn follows along keeping his head on a swivel.
Rinika loosens her scarves up a bit but keeps her hood up. "Hello Eighttoes. You're cleaning up the unidentified bodies around here then? That sounds like tough work. Nasty work maybe? And no, I'm unaffiliated..." She chuckles nervously.
"Hey, we're looking for a few things. First and foremost, some fellow named Eliath. I think he was human or near as much." She turns back to the group and whispers "Did we get a description of him?"
Turning back to the old man, "Second is some sealed black containers, might be scattered about. None too valuable, but a contact lost them. Any leads?"
Vaascht raises an eyebrow at the mention of the sealed containers, but he holds his piece.
Still wants to deal with those fiends. Interesting. Possibly suicidal
Evie provides the description she was given.
The elderly man wobbles a little bit but catches himself, he begins to lean on his staff a bit more. He continues to genuinely smile at Rinika and says, "Only if you mind working with deaders." He laughs, "I joined the wrong faction if I did!"
He thinks for a moment closing his eyes. Just when you start to think he might be taking a nap he answers, "I processed this Eliath about a week ago. When we don't know where to send someone who's passed on, we incinerate them in the Elemental Plane of Fire. Most barmies and bubbers fall in that category. Sorry Rin."
When asked about the black containers he says, "Don't think I know the dark of it!" Finally he says with a wink, "Rin if you need work once you're done with all this business I may have something. It's not official Dead work so just find me at my case later"
Did you happen to keep his affects?
Ulthdar Eighttoes answers Arkynn, "The Collectors usually don't leave anything. Any rags he was wearing would have been sent with him, I'm afraid you may have hit the blinds."
Akrynn seems to brighten a bit.
Any way to identify the Collectors that brought him in?
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Jek searches through his bag and retrieves the dead turtle dove.
"Do you accept all corpses?"
"You must know all the collectors then. How about an elfish fellow, maybe half elf, kills with a touch? Maybe making corpses where there weren't none before?"
He clicks his tongue against his teeth and then says, "We don't usually divulge who brings them in. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to make their own deaders. We scrag them as best we can, can't have people pass before they have a chance to accept True Death."
He answers Jek, "We accept all corpses. I'm afraid we wouldn't pay for that one. But we can take it off your hands."