DM Duke's CotCT (Inactive)

Game Master DukeRuckley

Korvosa, the Jewel of Varisia, has long sparkled on Varisia's southern shore. Established 300 years ago by Cheliax at the height of that empire's expansion, the city now commands its own destiny. A line of Korvosan kings and queens emerged to rule the city, establishing an infamous seat power - the Crimson Throne. Rulers have sat upon the Crimson Throne for more than a century, and the city has flourished. Yet the monarchy always seems on the brink of disaster. The Crimson Throne is not a prize to be won - it is a curse. No monarch of Korvosa has died of old age, and none have produced an heir while ruling. Even though King Eodred II controls Korvosa more fully than any previous monarch, that control remains tenuous, and many secretly count the days until their latest king falls to what they call the Curse of the Crimson Throne.

You may make a Knowledge (Local) or a Diplomacy (Gather Information) check to find out more about the location on your card. You have about two hours before noon.

Knowledge (local)1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Crispin is at first angry, then puzzled, and then finally just bemused once he reads the card. I suppose if they wanted to fiddle with my book, they easily could have. But nothing seems amiss. Besides, this is exactly what I've been waiting for. He finishes packing his things, grabs a bit of breakfast along the way, and will probably find a place nearby the shop where he can wait till the meeting time. Being a little impatient he might even arrive at the shop quite a bit early.

Funny. They left his mask on. How Appropriate.

Tyr spent several minutes unmoved outside of the Longacre building. He did not speak when spoken to, or react when breezed up against. Long locks of white hair fell down over a massive frame. The armor covering that heavy torso was old and rusted while the sword.. it would not even slide cleanly from it's sheath.
The pounding of steel against an anvil beat in time with his heart, as the man silently heaved his broken body towards a blacksmith's shop. When the resounding noise finally finished, Wulfskald held up the card and growled one word. "Oil." He needed no water, but blade oil then perhaps a sharpening and a coat of fur beneath the scabbard to keep the weapon sound. Hopefully whoever ran the establishment would read the card and understand his polite request for directions and the importance of a clean edge.

Diplomacy 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Looking around as if she might somehow spot whoever had slipped the card into her bag, Solace questions the wisdom of going to this meeting. This could easily be trap to get rid of those looking to cause Lamm trouble, but it may also be my only chance for justice for my beloved.

Solace will rush back to the Temple to drop off the supplies she had picked up and the heads over to the location given with just several minutes to spare before noon.

dotting. Interested in other people's CotCT groups. You all have fun :)

Ack! Forgot about the mask, haha. I suppose they would've take that off you last.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18

The Keep spins back and forth between the fingers of Devrim's left hand as his right is busy lifting the cup of Mwangi Black to his lips which take a slow sip of the potent coffee. The Harrow card's colorful image flips into view and is then replaced by the message penned upon its opposite side. Whoever slipped into my room last evening to deliver this message deserves a stern lecture on personal property and space but at least it appears that Lamm has made his share of enemies. I suppose the others at the least can keep Lamm's associates busy while I force Lamm into a duel. Devrim sets the Harrow card down long enough to sample one of the mornings fresh pastries. Ten minutes later, Devrim wipes the crumbs from his face and downs the last gulp of his coffee. He waves over the waitress, slipping her a whole gold sail before asking her if she knew the direction of Lancet Street and anything about who might live in the third home upon that road. A Varisian fortuneteller angry at a criminal. Somehow, this feels ironic.

Ack! Forgot about the mask, haha. I suppose they would've take that off you last.

That's cool. I'd like to keep it on for now as a helm.

Jack sets the card down, continuing his reading till the end of the chapter. He takes out a scrap of parchment and records the book and chapter he was on, careful not to spill any of the ink on the book or the table. Capping the ink well, he sets the book aside and takes a closer look at the card. Gaedren Lamm, eh? Its been a long time since I have heard that name...finally I might be able to sink my claws into him. Getting up, he returns the book to the kindly librarian at the Temple of Nethys. "Excuse me, sir? Do you know who happens to live at 3 Lancet Street?"

Diplomacy (Gather Information): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

The old librarian pauses, scratching his chin. "I'm sorry Jack, I don't. Never been on Lancet Street." The librarian returns to what he is doing with a shrug.

"Oh well. Thank you for your time." Jack turns and leaves the library, stopping by his cell to pick up his cloak and pull on his armor. He limps to Lancet Street without much difficulty, keeping the card under his armor and the hood of his cloak up. His dagger is in its sheath, but only cause its rude to show up to an appointment with it drawn. Let's see who likes leaving Harrow Cards in books for random people, shall we? Jack is in a wary mood as he arrives at the address around 5 minutes before noon.

After fixing the directions to 3 Lancet Street in his mind that the waitress gave him, Devrim heads in the direction of the fortuneteller's home. He stops on the way to waste some time before noon in the Gold Market, examining the various goods and merchant stalls for anything that might catch his fancy. He spends some time at Tiguan's colorful pavillion, appraising the dubious merchant's magical elixirs. Noon finally draws close as Devrim exits the market without any new aquisitions and navigates his way to this mysterious ally's abode.

Aerodus, a bit impatient, enters the shop about 15 minutes prior to the designated meeting time. The cozy chamber within the small home is filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spices. The haze comes from several sticks of incense smouldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke itself seems to soften edges and gives the room a dream-like feel. The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling men's hearts, another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall hooded figure shrouded in mist, a flaming sword held in a skeletal hand. Several bright-colored rugs cover the floor, but the room's only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throwcloth and five elegant tall-backed chairs. A basket covered by blue cloth sits under the table.

Aerodus finds a note on the table, which reads:

Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please, have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you.

Jack arrives next, followed closely by Solace. Finally, Devrim and Tyr arrive at almost the same time, just a minute before noon.

Aerodus looks around the shop a bit and decides to stand around and wait. A fortune-teller? I suppose that makes sense. But I wonder why I've never heard of this shop. This has the potential to be a scam, but we'll see where Fate takes us.

He stands idly around for a few minutes. Then when no one else arrives immediately after him he takes a seat to wait.

With a clean weapon comes a clean mind. Tyr's still broiled with images of blurred months, like the evening he ripped a throat apart with his canine teeth and bled the body through the jailhouse door. His mask was made from heavy silver much like a cross engraved crusader helm without the top, allowing his hair to cover the face. A sleeveless suit of copper colored scale mail fell from the shoulder blades meeting a large circular belt padded by fur. His pants were simple brown fabric as his boots leather straps weaved up his calves. The great sword grew from the right shoulder downward, with it's gruesome hilt carving melting together into the extended two handed grip. Tyr's arms were bare save leather and metal wristbands, showcasing scars, one tattoo and an engraved silver band.

He entered the establishment softly, surprisingly; looking up and grunting once at the sight of the other collected members. He was not accustom to treating communication and exchange with civility for the last several years, so he simply sat. That was better then his usual greeting, because the great sword would bring that finality down even quicker.

Through the mouthpiece he poured some wine and chewed a bit of bread casually.

Jack enters the shop, nodding once to the person sitting in the chair. So I'm not the only one who received a card? He wanders around the table, stopping for a second or two at each tapestry. The smell of the incense is nice and reminds him of the temple. Wonder why the Librarian has never been down here? He pulls up a chair and pours himself some wine, only reaching into the cloak to pull the Harrow Card from behind his armor and place it in front of him, Courtesan face-up. He pulls off a small hunk of bread and snacks on it, careful to keep any crumbs off the table and himself.

Aerodus nods and mumbles a greeting to those that enter. He doesn't touch the food and sit quietly at the table.

Devrim checks the address on the card once more as he finds Lancet Street and finally the house of Zellara the fortuneteller. As he nears the door to the establishment, he catches sight of an imposing masked man enter the building before him. At least this Varisian woman knows someone else who appears he can handle himself. Here I was worried I'd be saddled working with incompetants.

Devrim takes a moment before the closed door to straighten his tailored garments then reaches with his right fist to rap upon the wooden door. He waits only a mere three seconds before opening the door and proceeding inside. The combined smell of incense, flowers, and spices tickles his nose as the door closes. His eyes blink a few times in the dream-like haze of the room before sizing up the others in the room. Only one appears readily female and her ethnicality is hard to discern with the veil covering her face. Devrim clears his throat loud enough to draw attention to himself before speaking.

"Do any of you happen to be Madam Zellara? I have received quite a strange message from this woman that needs to be discussed in detail immediately."

Solace does not remove her veil or partake of the bread and wine.

Looking over at Devrim as he speaks. I am not her. My name is Solace, and I too received a strange message that was delivered in a rather presumptuous manner. I hope that our hostess returns soon for I do not intend to wait here all day.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance then, Madam Solace. I have the honor of being called Devrim Ornelos." Devrim says as he florishes a courtly bow to Solace before tendering the others with a brief nod, "Gentlemen." His grey eyes roam around the decor of the fortuneteller's home briefly before falling back to the other occupants. "Since none here happen to bear the name of Zellara then, would anyone care to brave a guess, educated or not, where she might currently be located?"

"The note says she had to step out. Maybe she had a client to see or had to run to the market?" Jack gestures to the note on the table, a shrug seen under the cloak. "My name is Jack, by the way. He turns to Solace. "The message wouldn't of been delivered on Harrow Card, would it?" Jack holds up The Courtesan, face out, as an example.

Devrim holds aloft his own Harrow Card, the Keep, "I sense an emerging theme. Well then, since she has left on some errand or another, I suppose I shall have to wait with the rest of you." He takes a seat in one of the vacant chairs around the table and folds his hands together in front of him, "Tell me, does the name Lamm mean a thing to the rest of you?"

The hooded man looks about the room. Crispin, or Crisp. Either will do. The note says she'll be back. There's bread if you're hungry. In response to Devrin's question about Lamm, Should it? It seems we were all summoned here because someone had something to say. Perhaps we should wait to hear it.

Solace will place her card, The Carnival upon the table. If we all received similar cards, then I would hazard a guess that that name means something similar to us all. What I want to know is the purpose for gathering us here together.

The card "Bear" hit the table. It had his name written on it, but he said the words softly.

"Tyr... Wulfskald."

Looking around the table, the barbarian did not quite know yet know what to make of such an arrangement, or these several strange and interesting people. He slung his weapon beside him, allowing it to rest nearby against the wall. The long haired human enjoyed the meal far more then expected, for even simple bread and a bottle of wine of an unknown make was a spectacle against his dormant palette.
It was interesting that he might have said nothing at all, if the middle ground of the meal had not been included. Small mercies.. quiet words.

The bread is a little stale and the wine isn't anything to write home about, but it is still filling nonetheless. After a little bit of time, an attractive, middle-aged Varisian woman with long dark hair walks into the store, with a smile.

Picture

"Thank you for coming, my friends, and for putting up with my unconventional method of contacting you. I have reason to remain hidden, you see - a terrible man would see great harm done to me if he knew I was reaching out for help. This is a man you know, for he has done something terrible to each of you as well. I speak, of course, of Gaedren Lamm, a man who cruelty and capacity to destroy the lives of those he touches are matched only by his gift for avoiding reprisal. You see, a year ago, his thieves stole this, my Harrow deck, from me." At this she holds up a deck of cards. "It is important to me, an heirloom passed down through a dozen generations, and also my sole means of support. When pickpockets stole it, my son, Eran, tracked them down. The thieves were in the employ of Gaedren Lamm, and in reward for finding them, Gaedren murdered my son."

Zellara chokes up a bit, and after taking a second to compose herself, she continues, "I sought help from the Guard, but they turned me away. And so I asked around. I paid bribes. I consulted my Harrow deck for advice. And recently, I was rewarded - I found out where Gaedren dwells. He can be found in an old fishery north of here at Westpier 17, where he trains his abducted children to be pickpockets and counts his stolen treasures."

"And now, I need your help. I cannot hope to face this man on my own, and the Guard moves so slowly that if I were to go to them, Gaedren would certainly know of their coming well in advance. Even if they did arrest him - what guarantee would I have he would be punished? This criminal has evaded the law for decades. But you know of these frustrations as well, for you too have been wronged. So there we are. It is time for him to pay."

Peculiar. The old rat had himself be found. Though, I should of expected this of someone who consulted the Magic to find him. Jack pulls back the hood of his cloak, smiling. "Seems straight forward enough. When do we all leave?" The 'we' in that statement is also fairly straight forward, as it is to include everyone in the room.

The hooded man chuckles softly and rasps, If I were anyone else I'd suspect a trap. But this man has already destroyed my life. I doubt he'd need to be this elaborate to do so again. He pauses a moment and continues, Very well, what do we know of this fishery? How many men does he have with him. Has he been there long? Long enough to fortify the place, perhaps? He stops after a moment, realizing he's getting ahead of himself and shakes his head. My apologies. I suppose we should decide what we're doing and who we all are before we make such plans. I...tend to...apologies.

I'd would gladly risk walking into a trap for a chance at Lamm. Looking around her, attempting to take a measure of all those gathered here. I can only hope that will be able to take on him and whatever men he will have with him. Hopefully we will also be able to free those poor children as well and see them returned to their loved ones.

Wulfskald expected anger to broil hot inside of him at the mention of Lamm's name, as a fear of small pain reacts to the bee. Cause and Effect.
None came. Only empty, expansive hatred. The frozen kind that hardens and cools under the skin into the bones, simply awaiting execution.
Tyr calmly finished his glass, then put the object down, images of tearing the villain open like the bread he just finished flashed as a bored fantasy through his sockets.

"More wine.." Ironically his knuckles went white and the glass finally shattered beneath his fingers. The ex-prisoner appeared willing to accept this information at any value and stood to leave. Slightly torn between his ready hatred and an emotional control in regards to appreciation for arranging his release, he nodded calmly at the seer before making eye contact with the band. They hand no reason to trust him and he them besides their mutual desire to see someone quickly dead. That would be enough.. for now. "I will see this through." His voice was low and husky as if it had not been used for many years.

Devrim watches the others reaction at Zellara's tale and plea then their agreements in the various ways they express them. He takes a moment to soak it all in before he reaches out to hold Zellara's hand for a moment as he looks very sincere at the fortuneteller, "Firstly, Madam, I offer my solemn condolences at your great loss. This despicable scum, Lamm, deserves all the ire that is about to be unleashed upon his head. I am sure by our combined efforts that justice will be swift this day or one soon. But let me ask, how did you come to know about each of our plights with this man?"

Zellara listens but does not offer any comments while the crew speaks amongst themselves. She does respond when Devrim asks her a question, "I listen to the music of the city. Let's just say my cards tell me more than they tell most other Harrowers."

"I do not know much about the fishery other than where it is. I doubt Lamm has fortified it, as that would be suspicious and give him away. I imagine you will find the place looking like an ordinary fishery when you arrive. As for how many are there? I can't say I know, outright. But I'm sure you'll find some thugs, probably bodyguards, and some of his Little Lamms."

She stops to think for a moment, before continuing. "You may want to wait until night to begin your assault. It wouldn't be a good idea to bring notice to yourselves. It would be a shame to be finally get this man only to be thrown into jail." At this last statement she looks over to Tyr briefly.

"Before you go, you must let me perform a Harrowing for you. I insist on it."

The Harrowing in this game is actually very important, so you will definitely want to take part. It actually results in "Harrow Points" which you can spend to do certain things. I'll explain this all later. The Harrowing will take me some time to type up, so I will do that sometime tomorrow. The rest of this weekend is for you to role-play. Zellara will answer any more questions tomorrow as well."

Looking at madam Zellara, I will accept your harrowing madam and offer my condolences to you. I know the pain of losing a loved one to that evil man.

Addressing the group, I am not sure how much help I will be since I am just a cleric and not a soldier, but I am more than willing to take part in this. Do any of you have any experience at planning assaults of this nature?

Jack bows his head in a simple gesture of respect and thanks. "Lady Zellara, you honor me with your request. Of course you may perform a Harrowing on me."

He turns to Solace, his eyes growing distant as he speaks. "I do not have any experience planning assaults of this nature, but I would prefer not to cause any lasting harm to the Little Lamms. They are homeless children, forced into service by Gaedren."

A Harrowing. Yes. Yes, of course that's fine. The man tugs his hood down as he leans back in his chair. Of course that's fine. Yes, let us see what Fate has in store for us. And perhaps learn a bit more about these others.

Leaning back against the wall and touching his sword, Tyr listened only to interrupt once, speaking for longer then a single breathe. "I have experience. A scout would be useful to calculate numbers, entrances, routines. Ideally we should reach our goal with minimal risk and opposition. Guile is often useful to this end." He folded his arms over one another, as if defensive about the idea of a Ulfen approaching combat unhonorably, yet he was raised a raider.. it was what they did.

"Magic or stealth would capitalize on the art of distraction, stealth, far seeing." The human shifted weight, his voice echoing into dry irony.

"Or I could run at the front door screaming."
Tyr's tone of voice did not indicate if that was a jest or not.

A soft chuckle comes from the hood. A distraction is certainly best when it cannot be ignored. Either because of it's size or threat. I suspect your suggestion would entail both. A gloved hand taps the table, But you are right, we should scout first. Then plan our method of assault. And this Harrowing shall come first.

Before we begin with even the Harrowing, I would first know the names and see the faces of those I am to work with. Solace will remove her veil and headscarf revealing a woman in her mid-20s, standing just under 5ft of most likely Chelaxian heritage. Her skin pale, hair long and black and eyes a deep blue. As I said before, my name is Solace and I am a cleric of Pharasma, Lady of the Graves.

The hooded man sighs and shrugs, Yes, you're right of course. He pulls his hood back to reveal a face covered in scars. Missing an ear, part of his lip removed, and a half dozen jagged lines make his face look like something found in a circus. I am Aerodus Crispin, and a somewhat amateur Diviner. He nods to Zellara, Though my skills are somewhat different than that of a Harrower.

Hood already back, Jack smiled. His face smooth and eyes bright green, he brings the look of youth to the table. "As I mentioned, my name is Jack Allorei. I specialize in summoning creatures from the different planes." Jack pauses for a moment, then turns to Aerodus. "Aerodus, could you divine the area of the Warehouse? See what fortifications, if any, and guards are present?"

Aerodus chuckles in response to Jack, No. By amateur, I mean amateur. I could translate an ancient text in a language that no one knows, but that is the extent of my abilities at the moment. The focus of my studies is on Divination, but true farsight is beyond my meager skills.

Devrim looks un-impressed with Zellara's explaination but lets the topic drop as he purses his lips at the mention of a Harrow reading, "I must have a word with these city musicians. I doubt the cards will tell us much we do not already know but do not let me stop you from your rituals, Madam." He nods in agreement as the others discuss tactics, "While I am loathe to stoop to such a strategem of subterfuge, it would probably be best to at least gauge the level of threat we face before blindly rushing in the front door, though the latter is much more noble of character." Once Solace removes her veil and calls for renewed introductions, Devrim eyes her appraisingly before clearing his throat once more, "It is again my honor to be Devrim Ornelos. On-again-off-again student of the Acadamae and practitioner of the Orsini School of Sword-fighting."

The man kept his arms crossed.

"Tyr. Wulfskald. Son of Bjorn of the Ulfen people. My sword speaks clearer then any tongue."

He made no motion to remove the mask and krpt resting against the wall patiently.

"We have the wierding way in my lands as well Zellara. Though to call each of us here with accuracy is a potent gift indeed. I will await your sorcery."

Zellara starts the Harrow by pulling out 9 cards, asking each of you to choose one, starting with Aerodus. He pulls The Dance. "Ah yes, The Dance. The Dance is a reminder to follow the path of good. For those that stray, stumble."

Devrim pulls The Demon's Lantern. "The Demon's Lantern is not a good sign, Devrim. Be wary and do not stray from the path you have set for yourself. Old habits die hard."

Jack pulls The Crows. "Another poor omen. The Crows indicate death and thievery. Perhaps you should especially be careful when confronting Lamm."

Solace pulls The Locksmith. "Interesting. Despite you not being a warrior, this portends that you may be the key to victory over Gaedren Lamm. Do not doubt yourself."

Finally, Tyr pulls out The Cricket. "The Cricket represents speed. I believe, Tyr, this means your only chance at Gaedren may be tonight."

More to come. Just wanted to get this in real quick.

As you return your Choosing card to Zellara, you notice that the other card that had brought you here is now missing. Zellara, obviously very skilled with a deck of cards, shuffles the cards all together and then lays out nine cards in a three by three pattern.

Zellara begins by laying out three cards in a column. "These cards represent what is past." She lays out, from top to bottom, The Eclipse, The Idiot, and The Vision. "The Eclipse appears here as a good sign. For though evil has been done to you all in the past, it has brought you all together for a common, good purpose."

She now lays three more cards, top to bottom, to the right of the first three, The Betrayal, The Mountain Man, and The Theater. "This column represents the present and I see we have The Betrayal. In this position, The Betrayal indicates a willingness to sacrifice oneself for the greater good."

Finally, she lays down the last three cards, The Lost, The Forge, and The Liar. "This column indicates the future. The Forge predicts that you will need great strength to succeed in your mission, as your enemies will do everything they can to overwhelm you. And, oh my! This is not good at all. I fear one or all of you may have already lost who it is you seek to find."

Zellara, tears now flowing due to her interpretation of the last card, slowly puts the cards back into the deck. "I am so sorry. It is times like these that I wish I were usually wrong."

When Devrim speaks, Aerodus gives a slight smirk. When the barbarian fails to remove his mask, he frowns. But he otherwise makes no remark to either.

At the sign of his card, he laughs aloud. The Dance. Knowing my place in the pattern. Perhaps it was best that I did not make my thoughts known then.

Solace opens her mouth as if to speak when Tyr does not remove his mask, then appears to change her mind and remains silent.

After the cards are drawn: The Locksmith? Well, Madam Zellara's cards were right when finding us. Perhaps they will be right again, though it is hard not to doubt myself and our chances against this evil man.

Devrim gives the slightest smirk at the card he selects though a few stray beads of sweat roll down his jawline. When Zellara finishes up the Harrowing, he blurts out, "Yes, yes. Beware old habits, the road ahead is frought with peril, the night is always darkest before the dawn. Wonderfully vague warnings and foretellings as they are, none of it helps us with the job set before us. We need to examine Lamm's hideout and plan our method of attack."

I forgot to mention: Everyone receives three Harrow points. Please see my profile for more information on how to use these Harrow Points. You will be unable to gain any more until the beginning of the next module (a while from now), so use them wisely.

Jack bows his head as he listens to Zellara's warning, and the Harrowing. So Death lies in my path? Perhaps it is not mine she sees, but Lamms. Jack looks up, raising his hood as he does so. "Thank you for the Harrowing, Lady Zallara. Your faith in us is indeed great, and we shall do well not to show it was misplaced."

Through the slits in the tempered silver, Wulfskald observed the reading. The thought of purpose, even one as fragile as fortune or as pulling as the gravitational force of vengeance could drive a man. He did not expect Sil to be alive, but no matter.

"Speed. A fast bear." As perhaps it was known or not, despite their size the creatures moved at a substantial rate when needed. He lifted the sword over his shoulder, harnessing it's weight against the scapula.

"Fine."

The barbarian flipped a finger against the lock without a key that held his mask shut. It was hidden beneath the platinum hair but resonated quietly. Wulfskald did not seem fully ready for the wide expanse beyond his haggard cell, and now this metal was something that acted as bridge to the unpredictability of their traverse for it held the strength of stillness.

"Let us part with the knowledge that if I do this for you, the debt of freedom is paid in full." The man's calm purpose seemed ready to depart, yet respected this seer's further vision.

Nicely done Duke.

Zellara nods at each one of you as you react to her Harrowing. Even Devrim's sarcastic comment she takes stoically, obviously used to people not believing in her ability. She nods to Tyr at his comment. "I ask for nothing more."

"I have given you all I can. Now, please, bring Gaedren Lamm to justice. And be careful." Zellara walks into a back room, leaving everyone alone.