You run a hardscrabble detective agency in Absalom. You are largely private investigators, but you have contracts with some of the city guard companies to make ends meet. The campaign will revolve around solving crimes, fighting monsters, apprehending fugitives, investigating strange occurrences, and testifying in court cases.
|
Meet K'Marz
The son of a moderately well-to-do family in Absolom that owns a jewelry business in the Ivy District, K'Marz had started his training to be a wizard when his younger sister died in a tragic accident while on holiday with his family. Blaming himself, K'Marz fell into an abyss of grief and depression that led him to years and years of nothing but gambling and drinking. His older brother, who eventually took over the family business, took him in and kept him safe from any debt collectors for the past several decades. But after too many late nights spent worrying if K'Marz would make it home, his brother finally decided that the best thing he could do for him was to cut him off financially. While still allowing K'Marz to stay with him, he stayed firm on not bailing him out of any gambling "troubles," and K'Marz slowly pulled himself out of the metaphorical whole in which he had been living for so many years.
Discovering that he had learned a lot of things that could be put to use in the service of helping the types of people who find themselves at a private detective agency, K'Marz decided to do just that ...
|
A tall, calico catfolk dressed in the garb of a minor noble makes a casual bow. He carries an ornate walking stick in a paw adorned with a pinky ring.
I am Rory Dunbarton Barton-Finch, but please call me Rory, or "DB", all my friends do. And I have friends in every manor house, alehouse, cat house--if you'll forgive the expression--and outhouse from the Puddles to Minkai. I would be pleased to count you among them.
I was trained to be a soldier, but the soldier's life wasn't for me. Too much marching around and taking orders and getting rained on for my liking. After that I had a bit of a career in the foreign service. Goka. It was there that I came to study the fighting styles of the East and I dare say I learned a fair few forms.
When I returned I thought surely Absalom could devise its own style, something which might not rival the genius of Goka, but will in any event, suit the needs of Absalom's gentry. Thus, Barton Jujitsu, or bartitsu was born.
However, my athletic pursuits have diminished my funds and I'm looking to establish myself and my fledgling style on the streets of Absalom. What say you we join forces against the skullduggerers and ne'er-do-wells of these streets? We'll make a name for ourselves and bit of coin while we're at it?
A faint drizzle falls on the twilight streets of Absalom. While it does little to relieve the humidity of what had been an unusually hot day, it does tamp down the typical smells of evening in the Foreign Quarter. On most nights, as the district settles in to dine, the air outside the Kavapesta Building flows with a discordant mix of odors from sweet spices, roasting meat, and tangy sauces. Tonight, with the pervasive damp, you might imagine that you were anywhere in the world as you spy Mr. Oilic, your landlord, stride up to the door of the building and give a firm rap.
A tall old man, clean shaven, save for a long, white mustache and clad in black from head to foot, Mr. Oilic has owned the place for years. While its thick walls and daftiness make it feel more like a barracks than an office, the building has always been well maintained, and the landlord cordial. At least, until recently. Since the last siege of the city, Mr. Oilic has developed a pronounced testiness, and he is sure to make a personal appearance on the day that rent is due.
As your payment is not due for two more weeks, his appearance today is a bit out of character.
"My most fortunate tenants, you mean. Are you aware what a phenomenal bargain you enjoy here?" Mr. Oilic's urbane accent seems, perhaps, a touch out of place on someone who routinely shakes you down for money.
"With the crowd in town for the Radiant Festival, I could let this building for three times what you pay. Be sure you do not become...delinquent."
The man turns with a twirl of his long, black coat and begins to stalk away.
Over his should he calls, "Tomorrow, I speak with the district council about a Festival surcharge. I trust my arguments will fall on receptive ears. I hope, for your sake, business is good."
The landlord's retreating figure fades into the evening fog, and he disappears out of sight.
"Perhaps we should take a morning stroll and see if we can't drum up business, find locals in need of aid, et cetera. And the morning air will do us all some good. If we had more . . . liquid funds, I'd suggest heading to printer's to get some advertisements created. What do you say to a stroll Lord Gyr?"
The cat provides a look that manages to say, While this city is my domain, and I prowl it with impunity, I do so on my own schedule.
Between the hot and the damp, the streets aren't as crowded tonight as you might expect. No doubt the preparations for the festival in the Precipice Quarter have also drawn a share of the city's nightlife out of your district.
"I was thinking we need to start developing a network of informants, friends and allies. A simple stroll through the market, let DB work his charms on some fruit sellers and street urchins, perhaps hit a tavern for a meal and get to know the bartender, and even a visit to the local Sleepless Suns watch station to introduce ourselves and let them know we are available for special assignments."
With goals in mind, but no particular destination, you head into The Coins. Here, the Grand Bazaar is almost as busy after dark as it is during the day.
The tavern that DB leads you to likely doesn't have a name. It's over the border of what "respectable" residents would call Mudhaven, the area of the district where the servers and working class folks live, who work in the more upscale establishments in the northern part of the district.
The locals who turned DB on to the place just call it "Jespar's," after Jespar Huggins, the barkeep and brewer. Jespar is a passionate brewmaster, and the father of a considerable brood of grown children who work throughout the district. As a result, the beer is excellent, and the food enjoys a variety unmatched in the neighborhood. (Yesterday's scraps from the Grand Dancehall of Kortos being better than most of the goods available to purchase.)
Jespar's is crowded with tradespeople enjoying an evening meal or blowing off some steam. There's a place for you at a table, and the young server (likely one of Jespar's grandchildren) quickly takes your order and brings you drinks while you are waiting.
Taking a deep drink of the dark beer, Dr. Veritan sighs contentedly. "DB, your instincts do not disappoint. I hate to say it, but we might have to consider taking other jobs to help ends meet. I was thinking we could add a shingle outside the office offering my medical services. K'Marz knows a bit about the law, so we could offer advice in that front as well. And DB, well, you are such a fine dresser you could be a fashion consultant!"
"Aha! Yes, you've mentioned it, but I was foolish for not considering its appeal to those looking for a bit of self defense training."
The server brings you food and says, "If you're looking for work, I think granddad is looking for some help with a delivery. Usually Uncle Owen would take care of it, but he ran over his foot with the wagon yesterday and he's laid up. I'm sure he'd pay you--I recognize you as a regular, at least." She points at DB.
"Up to you, of course. Otherwise one of the cousins will have to do it, and they are all already out working, so they're sure to be grumpy about it."
Trying not to appear too excited, Dr. Veritan replies, "A delivery, hmm. Where is your 'granddad'? Over behind the bar?"
The young woman nods to Dr. Veritan. "It certainly seems important to him. My name is Jeriah. Nice to be formally introduced, Mr. DB."
Jeriah heads over to the bar and chats with her grandfather. You see her pointing to your table. She returns with a fresh round of drinks and tells you, "Grandfather says to come talk with him when you are done with your meal. It's not a rush, but the delivery needs to be made tonight."
The good doctor is ready to talk to Jespar, but he knows it's best to let DB take the lead.
|
|
Well then, let's not waste another minute.
DB takes his pint down with a gulp, stands up and leaves a handsome tip on the table.
Have to take care of your server,[/b[ he says as an aside to Dr. Veritan. [b]Waiters are the eyes and ears of this city.
DB will amble over to Jespar and present himself with the others when they're ready.
Greetings, Jespar. I am Rory, but my friends call me DB. These are my associates, K'Marz and Dr. Veritan. I'm told we may be of some service to you.
If he has enough time for it, he'll roll to Make an Impression
Jeriah smiles at you and makes the tip disappear with a practiced hand.
"Ah, BD. I'm sure that I've seen you around here before." Jespar is a solidly built man of late middle age. As he speaks to you, he continues to wash out glasses and arrange them under the bar.
"My granddaughter tells me that you fellows are looking for some short-term work. It looks like we are both in luck. My son had an unfortunate accident with the delivery cart today, and he still had one major delivery to take care of. I'd normally not worry about it, but it's a load of my finest to go out to the Thirsty Tengu on the festival grounds."
Jespar continues, "If those revelers get a taste for my dark, we're going to be on easy street here. I don't trust the usual roustabouts to take such a valuable load over, and none of the family is available."
"So, what do you say? You folks have a good reputation, and I'd pay you more than my usual day rate, 1 gold apiece."
“That is a generous offer, Jespar. Do you anticipate any difficulties? At that rate, you could hire twice the people, so I must surmise there is a need to sweeten the pot. Please understand, I mean no offense, it is just better if we have all the information so we can make sure to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness and deliver your premium beer to the grounds.”
"Well, there is one thing. You're canny to pick it up." Jespar calls back over his shoulder, "Sigmund, come out here. Sigmund!" There's no answer from the kitchen.
Jeriah, coming to the bar to pick up a round, says quietly "It's Armand this time, Grandfather."
Jespaer curses under his breath, "Cayden's Cups! The boy must have moved on from the sagas. Is he reading Hosetter and Jubannich?"
His granddaughter nods and rolls her eyes before leaving with an armload of brews.
Jespar takes a deep breath and says, "Well, this is going to prove an interesting couple weeks." He raises his voice again, and says "Armand! Come out here at once."
Almost before he finishes speaking, the curtain to the kitchen twitches aside, and a boy steps out behind the bar. He's wearing a plain white peasant's shirt and a red Phrygian cap. He speaks up and says, "Yes, Citizen Grandfather?"
"By the Brewer...Citizen Grandfather." You hear Jespar grumble, but he continues. "I know your Uncle Owen promised to take you over to the Festival grounds. With his foot laid up, that can't happen. These fine folks are going to take your there and back, and make sure you don't get into trouble."
The barkeep turns back to you, "Is that acceptable?"
"What a fine lad, Jespar. I see what you mean about providing us with able assistance. (wink, wink) The delivery will get through without a hiccup now that Armand is on the case!"
"Armand, perhaps on our perambulation you could enlighten me on the finer points of Hosetter and Jubannich's work?"
The young man gives you each a hearty handshake and greets you with ,"Citizen! Citizen!" He nods at DB and says, "This delivery will be a great comfort to the people, in their oppression. You folk look like you are ready for the words of Citizen Hosetter and Citizen Jubannich. Let us venture forth, perambulate about the city, and discuss all that is good in the world!"
The facade of a Galtan revolutionary drops for a moment, and Armand asks excitedly, "Have you been to the Festival grounds?"
Armand excitedly starts a recitation for you, "The 4,000-year legacy of the Radiant Festival is best told in D.W. Geraline’s lengthy Narrative of the History of the Radiant Festival!"
The boy realizes that, the back of the bar is perhaps not the best place for a lecture.
"I'll try to sum up: The first Radiant Festival was held in 1620 AR to commemorate Absalom’s successful defense against Kharnas the Angel-Binder’s Radiant Siege the year before. It's supposed to be held every hundred years. Last century, though, with the death of Aroden and all, no one was really in the mood to celebrate."
"They're certainly trying their best to make up for it this year. The festival committee re-did the whole Precipice Quarter. My friend Pietro says it looks like a wonderland! It used to be too dangerous for anyone to go there. Now, there's exhibits from all over the world. Beldin's Tower, the swan pools, the Coral Beach, the Dragonfly Pagoda, the Gyroscopic Towers of Kelesh, and the building-sized Arcadian excavation machine called Graveraker! Even..." He lowers his voice. "The Aspis Pier!"
At this, Jespar interjects: "Don't you be getting any ideas about the Aspis Pier. Dat, dat ,dat--I don't care what Pietro says, that's no place for a young man. I didn't pay for all that schooling to have your throat get slit in some filthy back alley. The only reason you're going to the Festival at all is that I know these upstanding Citizens will keep an eye on you."
Armand deflate a bit at this. "Yes, Citizen Grandfather."
The barkeep makes a shooing motion. "Off you go. The keg wagon is out back, and Armand there knows the way to the Thirsty Tengu. If you get lost in the press, just ask one of the Edgewatch."
"I can see I have much to learn from you Armand. Let's continue the lesson on our way to the grounds."
Armand is more than happy to have a receptive audience. He leads you out through the kitchen of Jesper's and into the back alley, where a cart full of heavy kegs is waiting, hitched to a stoic donkey.
Armand hands K'Marz the animal's leads and starts out across the city, his mouth moving as quickly as his youthful feet.
Your path skirts the Grand Bazaar at the center of the Coins, and you see all manner of people are still coming and going, even considering the advancing hour of the day.
"What did you want to know about the festival?" Without waiting for your answer, the youth launches into a catalog of its historical highlights. "We probably have the most impressive displays ever at our festival, but rulers from around the world always bring interesting things! The Greatboat of Guntar, for instance, still floats in the bay at Kalsgard, dwarfing the many other ships that hail from that linnorm kingdom. Once Tashanna, the ninth queen of Irrisen conjured a frozen maze of sculptures that lasted the whole year: The Ice Gardens of Neverith! You can still visit them outside Icecrown, I guess she teleported them there. One of my books said that The Pools of Desire, caused a sentation in 3820 AR. Evidently Earl Halvan Teldanis said it “pandered to the most base desires of the unenlightened public”--whatever that means! You've probably already seen at least one of the former historic creations, the Blue Tower! It's in Eastgate, and lots of people have picnics there."
"Speaking of Eastgate, we should probably cut through the Docks instead of going through there. The people there...like it quiet, I guess."
You skirt the northern edge of the Docks district as you continue across the city. The journey continues without incident.
As you get into the Precipice Quarter, you spot the telltale signs of new construction. The usual smells of the city are covered by the the sharp scent of cut timber and fresh paint. Armand trails off in his recollections and seems distracted, and he's intently staring at the faces of every person that passes by.
"Pietro says that Empress Ameiko from Minkai is wandering the city in disguise! We made a bet over who could find her first. Lots of important people are in town, but the Empress dresses like a worker and stays in an a plain inn like a common traveler."
Armand seems to catch himself, "Not that a Citizen such as I would care about the habits of some bloodsucking aristocrat!"
"Armand, it sounds like those were all from past festivals . . . what about this year? What is the word about the best displays this year?"