”You’re one slimy, crooked son of a b+@@@, you know that?” The woman smirks, revealing the light-heartedness of her words. ”Fair enough. Keep your eye out for any more sabres and I’ll see what kind of cash I can scrounge up. Pray tell, though, what exactly came flowing down the river to your humble ‘merchant’s shop’ today?”
"What spell was that?! Prestidigitation, darling! You haven't heard of it? It's a simple cantrip most gnomes can cast from childhood. Plenty of taller folk, too, I imagine."
As she scampers off with Cimri, Eradessa waves goodbye. "See ya' later!"
The inside of the house is sparsely furnished, every wall covered with shelves and display cases stuffed full of old parchments and rusted pieces of metal with not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Ilmerri ushers her two guests to a pair of high-backed armchairs in the parlor and practically pushes them to sit. "Here, sit, there's a table, go ahead and upwrap those, I'll pour us some tea and we can discuss their historical significance. Oh, I'd certainly love to get my hands on those - well, if they're genuine I suppose. Though nobody ever remembers that the Chelish cross wasn't always the way it appears today and evolved over the years, and this version is right in line with the mid 4550's. Yes, this has to be the real deal! Now just sit tight and I'll be right back!" She hurries off to the kitchen, and the sound of china clinking softly can be heard through the open door.
”I’ll see what coin I can scrounge up, but it’s not exactly in my price range—still several platinum short,” She shrugs. ”So not much I can do unless you decide to give me the friends and family discount, so I’d best not keep wasting your time. I’ll stop by tomorrow to see if you’ve found anything.”
Sicaria turns heel to leave and begins walking before she stops abruptly. She glances sidelong at Ingoe.
”If you happen across any masks I might be willing to take them off your hands.”
With that last statement, Sicaria begins her walk back towards the town proper.
The flame-haired human shields her eyes as she glances at the position of the sun.
Still have some time to kill; might as well get some intel to pass the time—every little bit will help.
Sicaria makes her way to the general vicinity of the Last Stand tavern, keeping a ways away as she surveys it from afar in a nearby alleyway and surveys the tavern to see if she can discover anything useful.
Wolfgang tries to stifle a snicker at Marcianus's obvious discomfort with a cough.
Wolfgang nudges Marcianus as the aristocrat turns to leave and points out the more useful alchemical wares.
"Right, it seems your healing potions are a bit too narrowly focused for what we're looking for. Perhaps, though, you carry more dangerous items? Something to even the odds in a fight with a larger and stronger adversary? Less oil for the snake than a product like something from one, if you know what I mean." He pauses for a moment. "I do not intend to use 'snake' as a euphemism here. I am speaking obliquely to obscure my meaning to unwanted eavesdroppers, but I refer to actual snakes not the ones that live in our trousers."
The assassin inspects the area around the Last Stand Tavern, but doesn't find any restaurants or other places where one might keep a discreet eye on the establishment from out in the open. As she peers around the corner of an alleyway, she spots a trio of patrons heading into the tavern. One of them spots her and points, saying something unintelligible to her companions that prompts them to burst into laughter. Sicaria gladly uses the excuse of the church bell ringing to flee the scene and head to the church yard to rendezvous with the other miscreants.
The muffled tolling of the church bell is enough to snap Cimri out of her dozing, and she quickly takes advantage of the historian's pause. "Yes, it's incredibly fascinating," she remarks as she sets down her still-full cup, "but we've been here for over an hour already and I'm afraid we have folks waiting on us." The miscreant gestures at the eight medals laid out on a strip of white cloth on the short table. "You mentioned earlier that you might be interested in these for a hundred pieces of gold each...?"
Ilmerri bites her lip fretfully. "Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid I can't quite offer that much. Times have been hard lately, you know. But let me see..." She pulls a jewelry box out of a cupboard and pulls out several small hand-crocheted pouches in various colors. "...and yes, I could afford six hundred pieces of gold for the lot. Comes down to seventy five per medal. I'm terribly sorry - does that work for you?"
Cimri gently nudges Eradessa's leg under the table as she stands. "If that is what you can afford, we would be most happy to accept it," she replies smoothly. "I trust these historical relics are safe in your capable hands. Now, we really must be going."
Outside, Cimri pauses to grin gleefully at Eradessa. "I thought she was going to lowball us for like fifty gold each. What a score! Now, the churchyard should be that way..."
The tolling of the church bell echoes through the square, announcing midday. The miscreants take their leave of the slick salesman and head towards the church to rendezvous with their companions.
Sicaria is the first to the churchyard, avoiding the elderly couple sitting by the well to stand near the wrought-iron fence surrounding the church proper. Wolfgang, Marcianus, and Zeke are next to arrive, the nobleman still looking slightly discomforted. And from around the corner of the church, Eradessa and Cimri complete the pack. Cimri grins wickedly at the other miscreants. "Well, that was more profitable than I had hoped," she announces quietly. "Even got some tea biscuits out of the deal. How 'bout you all? Anything to report?" She unwraps a string of dried sausages and the remainder of the loaf of bread from breakfast, passing them around before tossing a hard piece of shortbread to Eradessa, Wolfgang, Sicaria, and Marcianus.
Sicaria begins mindlessly chewing on bread, her face in a perpetual scowl.
”Decided to see what I could find out about the tavern from afar since I had some time—seems the patrons still remember me from the little fiasco yesterday.”
"Wolfgang's alleged potion seller was nothing but a con artist with a bizarre predilection for male genitalia. If that is the best that this town has for shopping, I think we are going to be in for a long, uncomfortable time."
Nodding thanks to Cimri for the offered food, he muses to himself. "I believe Wolfgang mentioned that the Sheriff's Office is empty now. Wouldn't that make a better place to sleep and use as a base of operations than that dreadful haunted house?"
Nodding thanks to Cimri for the offered food, he muses to himself. "I believe Wolfgang mentioned that the Sheriff's Office is empty now. Wouldn't that make a better place to sleep and use as a base of operations than that dreadful haunted house?"
"Yeah, until Archbaron Fex hires someone else and they need a workspace, then we'll have to explain why we were living there."
"By then, hopefully we will all be moving on to bigger and better accommodations. For the time being, it appears that we have been hired to be the Law in Longacre."
Cimri cuts another piece of cheese and passes it to Sicaria. "If you want to drag your bedroll through town and into the jail, I won't stop you," she adds dryly. "Or there might even be some beds left in there. You could have your own room, with a door and everything."
"Or there might even be some beds left in there. You could have your own room, with a door and everything."
”With a lock on the outside.” Sicaria mutters with a smirk.
"Less than ideal, I agree, but it is still a bed in a structure that isn't threatening to fall down on us and isn't haunted."
"I wouldn't say that our visit with Odmer was completely useless," Wolfgang says, patting some of the new vials hanging from his belt.
Alchemist's fire (20)
Alkali flask (15)
Antitoxin (50)
Drow poison (75)
Poisoning sheath (50) (This is adventuring gear rather than an alchemical item, but is used only in conjunction with poisons - if Odmer wouldn't have it, I'll delete it)
"I believe Wolfgang mentioned that the Sheriff's Office is empty now. Wouldn't that make a better place to sleep and use as a base of operations than that dreadful haunted house?"
"Well, it isn't haunted anymore, is it?" Wolfgang pulls out his whetstone and begins sharpening his rapier. "The Archbaron did not seem eager to allow us to take on the former sheriff's position. He didn't order us to enforce the laws generally, he ordered us to deal with a specific problem, and to work with Razelago to do it."
He pauses to accept some of the bread and sausage from Cimri. "So were you able to sell the medallions? And did you remember to ask Ingoe if he had any better quality lockpicks available?"
"Don't go thinking you can pull a fast one on me like that, Wolfgang," Cimri retorts. "I delivered them to you earlier this morning, and if you lost them already that's your own fault." The scoundrel pulls out a dull blue crocheted pouch, removes a handful of coins, counts them, and slips a few back into the pouch before tossing it to the tiefling. "And I'll just take the price out of your share of the spoils."
After passing out several other similarly-dull-colored crocheted pouches to Eradessa, Sicaria, and Eradessa, Cimri leans back against the fence. "So, how's the game to be played tonight? Slippery like a fish? Bold like a bear? What's the plan?"
"I believe that everyone agreed to start pooling money together for a healing wand and other expenses. The share for the party fund will be 20gp from each of you."
Marcianus divides 20gp out of his share and places it into an empty pouch, then hands it to Zeke. Zeke in turn holds the pouch out in front of him, holding the mouth open.
Sicaria takes her share of the gold from the medallions and pockets it. She then places 20 gold coins into the pouch that Zeke is holding.
”Well, the patrons definitely still recognized me, so all of us except Marcianus and Zeke will need to be a bit more clever if we want to get in there.”
"Or bold," Eradessa chimes in. "I'm not exactly a natural sneak, you might have noticed."
Eradessa passes her 20 gp over to the group pouch, then pockets the rest.
Wolfgang pats a pocket under his cloak and feels the folded leather pouch containing his new set of fine lockpicks. "Ah, that's right. It slipped my mind." He reluctantly hands his remaining spoils from the sale of the medallions (20gp) to Zeke. "For magical healing."
"I vote for proceeding by stealth, but then I suppose I would."
"I vote for proceeding by stealth, but then I suppose I would."
”I second that course of action.”
Tying the pouch closed and placing it in his pack, Zeke gives Cimri a look. "I suppose you have contributed supplies to this group venture already, so we can excuse your portion for now. Going forward, if you want to share in healing, you'll need to share in the cost."
"I vote for proceeding by stealth, but then I suppose I would."”I second that course of action.”
"The two of you, and Cimri, appear to be fairly trained in Stealth, and Eradessa is small, but Zeke and I aren't built for Stealth. We'll go in the front way, since they don't know us, and wait for your approach."
Eradessa nods. "Alrighty! To the back I go."
Cimri nods. "Sounds good." She turns to Marcianus. "You just going to wait at the front door until you hear yelling? Or are you the signal for action from inside?" She turns to the other miscreants. "I think there's a back door you could try to sneak through, but there's not a lot of room in that tavern to hide yourselves. Easier to hide in the ally out back and burst through the back door." She sighs. "But, you're the ones going in. So what'll it be?"
"If you want me to be the signal, I can, though had intended to enter as part of the audience and react once you all entered."
Wolfgang holds a scrap of cloth in his tail, which swishes back and forth as he paces and thinks. Occasionally, he stretches his tail up and mops at the sweat dripping down his face.
"So going by stealth, we should come in the back way, and -- what, snatch the bard when he takes a break? Will we be able to hear through the door when he stops performing?"
"So going by stealth, we should come in the back way, and -- what, snatch the bard when he takes a break? Will we be able to hear through the door when he stops performing?"
"Hmm...That doesn't sound like a bad idea, but it's going off of quite a few assumptions. Whatever the case, we can’t strike until after this minstrel’s performance. Marcianus should take notes on the performance—pretend you’re a playwright working on your new play or something. After the performance you should wait a bit—maybe ten minutes or so—before you give us the signal and we come in ‘round back and apprehend this guy and Bolgart. Not a perfect plan, but it’s a skeletal structure.”
Eradessa, who much preferred the 'bust in spells blazing' plan, raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's not nearly as exciting as I hoped." She sighs dramatically. "Very well. We'll go with the boring plan."
"So then what's the signal?" Cimri asks the nobleman.
"Excellent question. It would be beneficial if there were some spell that could allow me to send a Message out to you. Does anyone know of a spell like that?
If not, I suppose I could simply have Zeke hurl a chair against the back door you are planning to enter through."
As the sun begins to set, the miscreants make their way through Longacre to the Last Stand Tavern. As Eradessa, Sicaria, and Wolfgang discreetly make their way to the back of the building, Marcianus and Zeke march up to the front door and walk inside.
""...know you won't break her,
For she's far too radiant,
the Angel of Longacre."
Opening the door, Marcianus holds a handkerchief over his nose and mouth as he steps inside, then cocks his head as he begins to listen to the minstrel. Nodding, he puts the handkerchief back in his pocket before motioning toward the open stools at the bar near the stage.
Zeke leads the way toward the stools, using an imperious stare to encourage patrons to make a path. As they reach the stools, Marcianus signals the barkeep over. Without really looking at the man, he orders drinks. "Wine. Your finest red, and an ale for my guard."
Sitting as comfortably as possible, he watches the minstrel.
they sparkle, unlike the baker.
No bread you need when you have she,
the Angel of Longacre"
A mug slides across the counter, brown liquid sloshing over the rim. "Don't get many folks asking for wine," the bartender says easily. "Nor too many with guards as strange as yours. Now, the finest, you say? I've got this one - local vintage, quite rare, fruity overtones." He fishes out a dirty glass from below the counter and fills it with scarlet fluid from the unopened bottle. As he passes the glass over, the bartender asks, "You here for a while or just passing through?"
Eyeing the glass, he sniffs, but picks it up and takes a sip. "A few days, most likely. Perhaps longer if I could find somewhere decent to stay. I had no idea Longacre didn't have an inn."
Taking another sip, he attempts to change the subject. "Interesting song your minstrel is playing. Is this Angel of Longacre a real person or some local legend?"
Now to wait for a chair slamming against the wall.
Sicaria, confident in her hiding spot, places her head close to the door as she tries to catch any amount of what’s going on inside.
Eradessa, who's totally mastered this whole stealth thing, sits on a nearby crate, legs crossed. "Gosh, this is boring. How much longer do you think we have to wait? It's been like... minutes!"
"Don't get many folks traveling through these parts," the bartender remarks, idly making conversation. "Used to be one out near the ol' shrine to Deadeye, but not enough customers meant it had to close before the end of its first year. Pity." He looks at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Sarah made the best meat pies, an' she'd sell 'em half-price the next day. If she'd stuck to doing that rather than some cloudbrained investment scam, she'd probably still be here."
"If you find her asleep
in some meadow, don't wake her!
Her rest, it is precious,
the Angel of Longacre."
The bartender sighs. "Couldn't say if she's real or a dream, but he certainly has a lot to say about her. He's been going since before sundown. But the folks don't seem to mind much, and he's bringing in a fair bit of extra coin, so I'll put up with him comparing her to... what was it again... 'a crystal-sharp wine aged for thirteen years before emerging in transcendental radiance to see the sun once more' for at least a little longer." He leans in. "You ask me, he's trying to woo a lost lover back. Probably some lady in the crowd tonight, or he's hoping her friends tell her about it."
Sicaria and Eradessa wait from their respective hiding places, watching for too-curious strangers while waiting for a tell-tale thump from inside the bar. As the sun sinks lower below the horizon, the song of crickets starts to fill the chill air.
Zeke scans the audience as well
"Crystal-sharp wine? He certainly has a flair for an odd choice in words"
Thirteen years? We could be looking for an adolescent. Emerging in radiance? Maybe an aasimar child who only recently expressed her heritage? Sleeping in a meadow? That has to be just thrown in.
"Oh, Heaven must be weeping,
and have developed a canker
to have lost the light of one as fair as
the Angel of Longacre."
”So, either there’s a really confused feline in there, or that minstrel is worse than we thought. Guess we’re just gonna have to wait. Anyone bring a deck of cards?”
"I've changed my mind. His singing is almost as dreadful as this wine. How is the ale, Zeke?"
While the barkeep is wiping the ale out of his eyes, Zeke grabs the stool and heaves it at the wall next to the kitchen.
[larger]CRAASH!!![/larger]
"There's the signal!" Sicaria says, subtlety be damned at this point, as she draws her sabres and kicks open the back door!
Wolfgang offers Sicaria a deck of slightly and disturbingly damp cards, which stick together.
"Sorry," he mutters. "Some of the ectoplasm must've gotten into my equipment,"
As the sun goes down, Wolfgang begins to look increasingly anxious.
"Do you think something has gone wrong? What could be taking so long? What if we are walking into a trap?"
The tiefling pulls a small strip of leather from his pouch. He growls a few words of arcane power while rubbing the leather between his fingers.
Inky blackness rises from the shadows to cover his feet. In moments, the black has crawled up his legs, over his torso and arms, and finally engulfs his head. The tiefling has a split-second of claustrophobia before the darkness fades, once again leaving him looking slightly washed out.
Feeling a little more secure, Wolfgang pulls a whetstone from his pack and sharpens his rapier.
He sharpens one of his daggers.
He sharpens all of his daggers.
"S**~!" The tiefling jumps from the broken crate he has been sitting on and grabs for his rapier. "Is that...
<kicks down door>
"I will take that as a yes."
The minstrel yelps as he falls off his stool in surprise at the sudden outburst of violence. He stands back up and edges away from the temperamental eidolon, plucking nervously at his lute.
"Oh do keep me safe
even though I might quaver,
for I long to see her again,
the Angel of Longacre."
Round 1! Bold may act!
Blue
Wolfgang
Eradessa
Red
Sicaria
Crowd
Yellow
Green
Marcianus
Zeke
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"Oh, come on! That didn't even rhyme, you worthless lawbreaker."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Oh, come on! That didn't even rhyme, you worthless lawbreaker."