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The city of Proskur sits at the crossing of the High Road and the Overmoor Trail, between the southern gap that separates the Sunset and Storn Horn Mountains, just south of the Bridge of Fallen Men. It's unique location makes it the gateway between the Heartlands to the West, the Dragon Coast to the East, and Cormyr and the Dalelands to the North. It sits as a crossroads at the center of Faerun, and like many cities, stands as an independent city-state that welcomes travelers, and merchants, from across the continent.
The longstanding, independent city is known for having broadly open trade markets, where anything one desires can be found, so long as you are willing to pay for it. The city guard is vigilant against crime, and always seem to be a step ahead of the actions of would-be criminals.
The city has a defense alliance with the nation of Cormyr, but otherwise maintains its independent nature. It also houses a sizable Thayan enclave, which is both a source of economic strength, and arcane might. It boasts several major temples, including a rare open temple to Mask, the god of thievery.
Arriving to Proskur, you pass through the walled gates of the city into the streets beyond. The gatehouses are well built, showing recent reinforcement, and the roads bear the wear of heavy traffic. Though neither as large nor impressive as the likes of Westgate, Arabel, or Waterdeep, Proskur nonetheless presents as a vibrant center for overland commerce, and the diverse array of people seen moving about the City's streets is a testament to Proskur’s mercantile nature.
With a few inquiries, you get directions to the Wretched Wench. A bit removed from the thoroughfare leading in from the Western Gate, the Wench is not an obvious attraction for travelers. The two-story building has seen better days, with it's wood exterior showing heavy signs of weathering, and it's thatched roof in desperate need of repair. A colorfully painted sign hangs above the door displaying its namesake, and as you approach, faint music can be heard from within.
The fading spring sun rests on the western horizon as you enter, and you find a large common room, with scattered tables before a small stage, and a bar lined with stools to the right. A set of straight stairs runs up the wall to your left, while a smaller, spiral staircase is nestled back in the corner beyond the bar. A ill-managed minstrel picks out a pleasant tune on the stage before perhaps twenty patrons, while a pair of serving girls attend to their needs. Behind the bar stands a stocky bearded man in a dark brown vest, a receding hairline flecked heavily with gray suggesting his age is well past forty. Looking past the trio of guests seated before him at the bar, he offers a surprisingly jovial smile, ”Welcome, traveler, to the Wretched Wench. What can I do you for on this fine eve?”
Passing through the walled gates, Rajiv was outwardly cheery and even gawking, but it was all a cover for how exposed he felt; he kept an eye on everything he could manage while he was rubbernecking.
How in the Realms had someone been watching him?! And for what purpose?
He'd had time to think about it on the trail to Proskur, and now he was fairly vibrating with apprehension - and curiosity.
The Wretched Wench, oddly enough, set him a bit more at ease. It was... downscale. The sort of place he might have been comfortable, before.
Now he couldn't help the niggling disdainful thought that it was beneath him.
He quashed the thought violently, pausing in the common room to get a grip on his infernal side.
At the tavernkeeper's greeting, Rajiv sucked in his gut, put on a smile that was mostly-real, and did his best to move slowly and calmly. "Well met! I'm, uh... a guest. Of the Old Fool."
With the sudden thought that this might be an elaborate prank, Rajiv studied the tavernkeep's (presumably Gedard) face. An aura of unease seemed to settle about him, curdling the atmosphere, unbidden and unwelcome, but... not unfamiliar.
Baerlon rode up to the gates with a frown, seated as he was on the back of a farmer's rickety wagon, quite frankly unsure of where he was...exactly. The armor-clad knight hoped that the kindly fellow who'd found him walking along the road early this morning hadn't welched on their deal, and had indeed delivered him to Proskur.
But frankly, his head was still ringing from the kick his latest mount had given him while he was bent over clearing away the remains of his campfire. The shot hadn't actually hit him in the head, but the impact to his ribs had staggered him into a nearby tree and he'd hit his head on a low-hanging branch. He never had found the horse...the latest in a string of foul-tempered beasts.
The swordsman frowned, then shook his head...gently and chuckled to himself. Baerlon climbed down off the wagon just before it passed through the gates, slinging his pack over his back and securing his shield to his arm. He called over to a nearby guard, saying only, "Wretched Wench?', and was rewarded by a noncommittal smile and a gesture towards the direction of one of the town's winding, crowded streets.
Eventually making his way to the two-story structure, Baerlon enters confidently, but with caution. As he approaches the counter, the tavernkeeper is welcoming a Turmish gentleman, and the cavalier is startled when the other patron mentions also being a guest of "...The Old Fool. Yes. Pardon the intrusion, but I am here to meet him as well. Could you point him out?"
Irving looks around the town a bit warily. Everything he'd heard said the city was almost suspiciously safe, no doubt due to the background of its rulers. Reading between the lines, he wondered just how many problematic elements in the city conveniently "left town" not long after arriving, and whether the letter he'd gotten might mix him up in such things.
He finds his way to the Wench without much difficulty, arriving in time for his ears to perk up as two other people mention the person he was supposed to ask about.
"It seems we all have a mutual acquaintance. Add another to the queue for the old fool, I'm sure he'll be happy to reunite with us. I'm looking forward to getting to know you gentlemen as well." Irving says, extending a hand.
The wagon eventually pulled up to the city after a short, safe journey. The comparatively dry road had grown muddy near the gate she entered from and without a care, she leaps off the wagon into the sludge and will make her way toward the nearest guard. The rickety wagon that is ahead of them on the road seems to bear Baerlon, and overhearing him and his question from a distance, she discerns the location she desires from the overly loud guard.
Pelipe has heard of the Dragon's Maw Tavern, the Green Grape Inn, and even Silage's Slop Shop and Tavern but never the Wretched Wench. To her, it sounded like one of the more seedy places in town where married men sneak off to have relations with ladies of the night.
Instead of heading right there, she will head through the city taking the slightly longer way toward the Wretched Wench. Along her path, she will pull out her book and detail some architectural differences and unique creations that have been added since she had last been through town. Keeping tabs on such things has proved invaluable for her cover.
As the sun begins to encroach upon the mountains, she arrives at the two-story building. Before entering, she cleans the mud off her sandals and then will walk confidently into the tavern with wide, familiar strides and without that shy look of a newcomer. Her arrival is just a few minutes after the others, yet still, right on time. She raises a finger to the bartender indicating one drink and will mouth "ale" before she takes a seat at the bar.
Pelipe shows signs of dampness, as one who has been rained upon briefly in one of the many sporadic rain showers of spring. Her short hair has a darker oily note to it currently. The thicker off-white top she wears seems to currently hide her womanly features perfectly despite its color and visible quality in the wetness. The straps of the leather suspenders hold up what look like laborer's pants. Despite being wet, her clothes are not clean. They have mud and stains upon them from ages past. Aside from a workman's bandolier, a backpack slung down now to rest at her feet and a book hung at her hip, there is nothing spectacular about her. No weapons. No fancy armor. The book's cover seems to depict a topic of architecture or masonry as the interior content.
"Hi there, gents," she will comment to the men sitting at the bar in brief. Her voice is melodic but has a husky tone to it. She hardly seems to pay attention to those she just greeted as she seems more interested in her incoming ale.
As it is delivered, Pelipe will pay for the drink and with a kind smile to the bartender, asks, "Dear Gedard, could you please tell that Old Fool I'm here to see him?"
Proskur!
After travelling for quite a bit with the latest caravan, the big man passing through the gates looks travel worn. His height and size makes him noticable among the crowd but with the scythe on his back, he looks like a farmer perhaps.
The man inquires with a few of the locals and seems to have gotten his bearings as he marches up resolutely to his destination.
The Wretched Wench.
Pushing open the doors, the man locates the barkeep and speaks, his voice a light baritone.
"Are you perhaps the barkeep Gedard? I bear a letter that marks me as 'Old Fool’s' guest. I would appreciate you showing me where to go and also a mug of ale." Throwing back his cloak, reveals a man with raven straight hair showing signs of elven blood on his features. His clothing choices indicates him to be a man used to the wilds and hard travels. What one would notice that he has a simple Wooden symbol hung around his neck. The wooden symbol is finely carved and looks hand made as well.
Dalgar realizes that he isn't the only one as others begin to chime in.
Bharaz came in last, just in time to hear several people announce that they had come for the same purpose as him. The dwarf, like all of his people, was short of height only, for his shoulder span was that of a man many times taller. With a monstrously large axe resting on his shoulder, he reached up with his other hand and pulled off his silver helmet, fully revealing the tattoo that covered half of his face. "A troupe of fools come to the Old Fool. Shoulda brought a skald to write this tale! Ha! I can tell already that this job is going to be a good one. Always is when the name fits so perfectly."
The bar keep is about to respond to Rajiv when the second, then third, new patron inquires about the 'Old Fool'. He chuckles to himself, and shaking his head, reaches below the bar and lifts up a large pitcher and places three flagons on the table. "ah yes, the old fool. Well, I suppose there will be a few more -" his words are cut off as yet three more come to join your newly assembled company, standing crowded at the bar.
With a big sigh, he reaches back below the bar, producing two more full pitchers, and a further three flagons. "By all the gods, you're a weird lot. Punctual, beyond it even. But your host has made arrangements for you, I am sure he will follow along shortly." Gesturing over his right shoulder, he points a thumb to the spiral staircase at the far end of the bar. "He's rented the loft out so that you might speak a bit more comfortably, feel free to make your way up. Take these here," he points to the pitchers, [b]"to start yourselves off. I have some food coming up for you as well, though I'd yet to lay it out. As I said, you are all more than punctual, a trait your host is not known for. Get comfortable, enjoy a drink or two, and the food once it comes up. I am sure your host will be along."
Making your way up the spiral staircase, You find a single room, half open on one side, with a view down to the tap room and the stage below. A walled loft. A couple of stools sit by the railing, but further back are several worn leather couches and chairs surrounding a large, low table. At the far end of the furniture is a low burning hearth, with a pile of wood stacked off to the side ready to be used as fuel. The table has a stack of empty, simple wooden bowls, and a cluster of spoons next to them. Likely the beginning of the preparations for your gathering it would seem.
Baerlon gestures in a gentlemanly way for Pelipe to go first, then follows shortly thereafter, in no rush. After all, if their host wasn't even here yet, why hurry?
Once in the loft, the cavalier will make his way to one of the leather chairs, closest to the fire, and after setting his shield down to lean against the chair, he will move to the woodpile and toss a couple of logs into the hearth.
Turning, he gives a small nod to the others and says, "Might as well get acquainted while we wait, eh? Baerlon Greymantle, notably of the Order of the Dragon. Well met, all."
Pelipe's mouth goes agape at the inference that she is part of a "weird lot". She was perfectly kind to this bartender. "The hells...I'm not traveling multiple days and missing this meeting. Of course I'm punctual you daft bear of a man. I should make him draw me a bath if we are staying here." Though she chuckles to show she hasn't really taken offense.
At Baelron's grace, she nods and gathers her things. Instead of going up the stairs right away, Pelipe moves to the bar. There, the mason snags two of the pitchers and holds them firmly before giving a smile to the gracious Cavalier.
"I will take these, do you want to grab those?" she motions toward the flagons before heaving the liquids up the stairs. While she may not be a powerlifter, a couple of pitchers are well-practiced weights that she has lifted before. For a summer growing up, she worked as a barmaid, among other things.
As Pelipe makes it upstairs to the loft, she will set down the pitchers and will set her pack (claiming it) on a seat opposite Baelron nearest to the fire. That way she faces him and can dry out.
"Sure," she replies, "My name is Pelipe Lightdriver. Mason and owner of the 'Stone's Throw' in Teziir."
While she is speaking, she will be taking the dishes and flatware to distribute to those who take a seat up at the loft. As she does, she observes each of them for unique features/weaponry.
Irving frowns at the bartender's words.
"Why bother setting a specific time you have no intention of meeting? Just set it for whenever is convenient for-bah. I suppose it's not something I should be complaining to YOU about, after all." Irving grabs whatever's nearby and begins bringing it up the stairs, though he doesn't feel confident enough to heft two of the full pitchers up the stairs.
Once in the loft, he introduces himself to all.
"DOCTOR Irving Skriven. I head the newly minted "forensics" department of the guard in Waterdeep, though also offer my services as a general practitioner."
He offers a hand to shake, and to anyone who takes it he shakes softly, but politely.
"A drink or two?" Bharaz said, a smile creeping over his face. "So a knight, a mason, a doctor, and myself, one of Hanseath's bloody knuckles, all share a drink. Sounds like a joke I heard before, but I can't quite remember the punchline." The dwarf finished, grabbing Irving's *hand* and giving it a very firm shake.
Dalgar says nothing until the rest has moved up to the loft with the aforementioned refreshments.
"What can you tell me about the Old Fool since he's not known to be puntucal." he asks Gedard.
"We're here but he isn't, the man has earned his moniker Old fool then?"
Once he has gotten some information or none, the big man heads up as well.
His tread up is slow and steady while the glint on his weapon forecasts his arrival as it reflects the light of its wicked blade.
He nods to the rest.
"Dalgar Carver, Priest of the Earthmother." as he takes his seat and helps himself to the refreshments.
As he strokes the wood, he wonders if the blessing of the Earthmother would allow him to ask it questions instead.
Pelipe will pour the others drinks before taking one herself and taking her seat. She will place her book across her lap and then will down the ale quickly with a little burp at the end. She looks full from the action. Once Dalgar comes up the stairs, she seems a bit more comfortable as the ale begins to strangely hit her already.
"Greetings, Doctor, Baelron, Dalgar."
She will then look to Bharaz and will smile in a charming way.
"It seems a strange mix. I agree. I can't begin to understand what a mason, a doctor, what seems like two capable fighters and perhaps a druid have in common?"
She doesn't assume they all have received the same letter, and also doesn't assume that the Old Man isn't one of them already. She will briefly glance to the stairs, wondering where food is before looking back to Bharaz. "What name can I attach to one of Hanseath's bloody knuckles?" As she asks, her long, feminine fingers move to hover nearer to the fire and then coarse up through her hair to pull it to the side closest to the blaze. There, it can dry out.
"Consider me more a wandering vagabond and sometime farmer instead." Dalgar responds as he looks around a the group.
They remind him of his own battle party though that is long past and to be buried.
"I received a letter via courier. Although the Courier came via an unexpected way, the letter seemed genuine enough and as the seasons flow I've made my way here. Seeing all of you here, my guess would be the Old fool has sent invitations to all of you as well."
"Ha! Bless us fools. Name's Bharaz, of Clan Silverhelm. At yer service." He offered a bow. "Such a thing, to forget to introduce one'self to a bonny lass. And before drinking no less. Either I'm getting old, or I've been hit on the head one too many times. Could be either one. So, yer a mason? A very respectable craft. Makes me wonder though what sort of job is in store for us. I'm having trouble thinkin' where the intersection of our skills be. Unless yer craft involves magic...?"
"Even better," she chuckles to Dalgar as he explains how he is more accurately a farmer. "I was curious about that scythe. That answers my second question."
"Mhmm," she answers the dwarf who is inquiring after her occupation. As he turns to pry into whether she can cast magic to aid in her masonry, she shakes her head.
"Nnn...nope. Although that would be nice if I could just take a spell and shape the stone. I have to do things the hard way. Chiseling for hours. Polishing. Having employees beat the hell out of rocks until they are the shape I want. As for the letter, I did receive one, but it bore no express calling for action. Perhaps this "old fool" is a noble hoping to forge out a home for himself? I think then you could use a mason to make homes, a farmer to start crops, a doctor to make sure we are all well, and warriors to protect us. I cannot say, but if that's the case, I don't think I'd be interested unless he is paying well. Believe it or not, secretive meetings like this are common in the masonry trade. Some baron wants a secret door put in or a dungeon dug under his home. It happens all the time."
"Or some daft nobles think that because we are close to the Earthmother and thus seeks greater bounty then the land can provide." Dalgar adds in.
Rajiv had taken a tray as bidden and gone up the stairs, remaining quiet as the others introduced themselves - mainly because the very first one to do so was apparently a knight! Explaining his own skill set in front of a guardian of the law wasn't something he was eager to do.
As the others spoke, though, it made more and more sense to speak up, to deflect interest if nothing else. If these people didn't feel the creeping unease that surrounded him, all the better.
"Rajiv Rao - pleased to meet you all," he smiled, settling into one of the sofas (far from the others, so that his aura didn't become too obvious). Glancing at Dalgar, he cautiously queried, "The Earthmother? Is that an elemental lord?"
Eyeing Pelipe, he ventured, "Maybe this Old Fool wants us to consult on something he builds? There are plenty of tales of dungeons in the wilderness - they must be built somehow, by someone."
"Perhaps, but for myself, I'm not really much of a builder. I am more of a breaker...a Bodyguard at times. Swordsman or warrior. Knight, perhaps, but more of a tactician than calvaryman." Baerlon shrugs, accepting a mug of ale and raising it to his mouth to drink.
"I too recieved a letter from the one calling himself an 'Old Fool'. Signed it 'Aden Grimdawn'...a name I must admit I've never heard before." he pauses then adds, "Whatever his goals, it seems he has at least a working knowledge of each of us..."
[dice=Dalgar, Diplomacy]1d20+1[/idce]
As the others ascend the stairs, Dalgar stays behind, waiting with his question for the barkeep. Gedard smirks a little at Dalgar's question, "Haha, if ye judge him that, ye may find yerself in a bit o' trouble. Mark me words, Aden ain't one to be trifled with. Many years ago, in another time, he and I trusted each other with our lives. I stand here to this day still thanks to the Old Fool. It's an acquired name, to say the least. So indulge him his lack of punctuality. Now, on ye go."
As your company continues it's introductions, one of the servers, a petite, younger Chondathan woman with auburn hair perhaps approaching twenty winters, carries up a sizeable pot which she places in the center of the table. A large handle extends from the pot, and the smell of rich spices and stewed meat reaches out to your senses. She then lowers a satchel from her shoulder, producing from it three large loaves of bread and a round of a hard, white cheese. "Lords and ladies, please enjoy. And if there is anything you need, just pull on the rope there-" she points to a rope extending from a hole in the back wall, "and we will be up to attend to your needs." With a swift curtsy, she is back down the stairs, leaving you once again alone.
Dalgar listens to the man gravely. Most might not realize it but barkeeps were more then a source of information, they were usually good judges of character. He nods in thanks to Gedard and he heads on up.
"Rajiv." he answers.
"The earthmother is the patron goddess of my home, The Moonshae Isles. It is she who grants her protection over my home. The Mother of The Leviathan, the Unicorn, and The Pack."
"This man. Aden Grimdawn" he pauses here.
"I've learnt that he is formidable in his own right and that his alias as Old Fool is nothing more then an acquired nickname. We wait to see what and why he has brought us here together for." he finishes as he drains his mug and refills it.
Pelipe will shrug in answer to Rajiv as he suggests what the Old Fool wants with them. As Baerlon speaks out, she will observe below in the main hall that the food is coming.
"Yes, he seems to know something concerning us at the least, but I can't say I've ever had a customer named Aden or Mr. Grimdawn. Of course, he could have been using a false name and I'd never know it, but why go through such trouble? Ultimately, who really knows?"
Dalgar reveals some interesting truths about their host.
"Thanks...I will keep that in mind. He sounds like a fun guy if that's his nickname through being formidable."
There is thumping on the stairs as the girl climbs. Pelipe will stand to help clear the intended area for the petite server and will gather her allies' bowls so the server doesn't have to work as hard to fill them. As the last person is served, she will then gather food into her own bowl and some bread. She then flops down unceremoniously into her seat and seems to be sitting similar to a tired male worker huddled over his meal.
"Thank you, darling. We'll pull it if we need anything."
What will happen next is a force of nature. Pelipe is anything but graceful in her eating. Some have wondered if she is half-orc in disguise. The small woman will have two ales that she downs in mere moments. Her bowl is literally drunk from as though it were a broth, and when empty of the juices, she will then shovel the remaining larger chunks to be eaten in rapid succession with a full mouth. Part of it escapes and drizzles down her chin, which she wipes with her hand before going back for two more bowls. She doesn't speak the whole time she eats, and strangely, she is done far faster than most others.
As she cleanly discards her bowl and flatware on the table that hosts the stew, she will move to her pack and will pull out an ornate pipe carved from dwarven rose marble with an elaborate polished wood handle. She will stuff it with tobacco, and then will seem to enter into a calm, relaxed state from her first puff.
"Rajiv." he answers.
"The earthmother is the patron goddess of my home, The Moonshae Isles. It is she who grants her protection over my home. The Mother of The Leviathan, the Unicorn, and The Pack."
"An islander from the west! I hope you'll have a chance to tell me all about it!" Rajiv's natural curiosity spilled out, and he leaned forward on his knees, his gaze piercing, though he was smiling.
He nodded thoughtfully when Adar and Pelipe spoke of Aden Grimdawn. "Well, I didn't think his parents dubbed him Old Fool," he joked. "But it is reassuring to think that he's held in respect here."
I'd like to know as much about him as he seems to know about us, he thought.
Rajiv was a much more fastidious eater than Pelipe, tidy without the mannerisms of a noble, but the more perceptive of his new companions might have noticed that he didn't seem that enthused about the food - at first. He made a small arcane gesture over his food before eating it, with every sign thereafter that it was delicious.
But he kept his distance from the others, even though he spoke with them as they ate.
Although the big man keeps his appetite in line with his size, he doesn't take his meal in haste. Instead he samples each dish before taking a helping of it. He also doesn't take from a dish first waiting only after others have taken a helping , only then does he serve himself.
Seeing that some of them are keeping their distance more then he would like seeing that they were supposed to be future teammates, the man is reminded of overbearing officers who had to have their heads cracked in order to listen.
This wouldn't bear well on a person's character.
Irving eats his meal quietly, but observes. Once done, he drums his fingers on the tabletop.
"Respected or not, this much of a lack of punctuality does not reflect well on a professional. It makes one wonder what other flaws he would bear as an employer."
You continue to sit and converse, enjoying the hearty stew, with its plentiful root vegetables and spiced, tender meat. The bread is a little dense and dry, but as such pairs well with the savory broth from the stew. The ale is a rich amber, with a nice balance of toasted, caramel notes on the front and bitter, herbal hops in the finish. In summation, the experience is far superior to what you expected from the ramshackle exterior and unremarkable interior of the tavern.
So enjoyable, in fact, that you don't mind too much when you realize that almost an hour has passed since your arrival. As his delayed arrival shifts from a minor character quirk or annoyance into a significant concern in judgment, you hear a set of footsteps on the stairs. They are moving hastily, a good sign for someone running late, and yet, something is off about them. The footfall is wrong, it is lighter and has a crispness that you would not expect from someone referred to as the “Old Fool”. And, it has a sense of urgency, in an unsettling manner.
As you all turn to look, a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, comes hurrying up the spiral stairs, with a frantic look on her face. Her long brown hair is disheveled and partially cast across her slim face, while a pair of thin, wired framed spectacles sit on her nose. She wears a gray-blue hooded knee length frock that tapers at the waist, a pair of dark breeches and boots below, while an ash gray vest over the frock adding a modicum of protection from the elements. The vest itself is worn threadbare, with several aging ink stains on it. Looking around the room, her eyes glance over each of you before darting back down to a small, leather book in her hands where she shuffles through pages apparently seeking confirmation of your physical identity.
In a both urgent yet apologetic tone, the woman finally speaks, ”Ummm, yes, so it would seem you are all here. That, that is good. My master would wish you thanks, were he here right now. And, he meant to be - he honestly did. Arranged for your refreshments.. And this room! But something has come up, and, he, well, he can’t be here. You see, I, umm - I am pretty sure someone took him…”
"...Took him? Are you implying our prospective employer has been abducted?"
Raising an eyebrow, Dalgar has learnt that haste make waste and so clears a seat for the woman.
"Take a seat and gather your wits. Then tell us what you know. Who is your master, what does he do, what or who could have possibly taken him and how long ago." he pauses as he drinks from his mug.
"Also let us have the honor of your name." he continues drinking calmly and waits...
Bharaz didn't look impressed. "Aye. Jus' tell us the job. We're bein' hired to rescue yon master, eh? Nay anythin' to be embarrassed about. Give us the details and we can go from there."
A young woman in danger? A damsel in distress? And their possible patron taken? Baerlon stands and steps forward, offering the anxious woman his chair. "You're among friends. Please sit and explain..."
Responding to Irving's first question, the woman blurts out, "Umm, yes. I think so."
As the large druid invites the young woman to sit, she closes the book in her hand, straightens her dress, and sits down in the chair offered. The knight's kind words ease her a little, and she delves into her story. "Well, right, sorry. I am Nara Halfin, apprentice of Aden Grimdawn, the renowned scholar and researcher of the ancient and arcane." She pauses for a moment as though expecting some grand response from each of you. After none comes, she continues, quite rapidly. "I'm sorry, I don't know, all the details. Umm, the day was getting late, and noticing the sun had set, I knew he was to meet all of you, and he always runs late, so I finished my tasks and hurried back to his residence to make sure he didn't forget, only to find the door burst open, and the lower floor in utter ruin, like a battle had occurred, and Aden was nowhere in sight, and I searched around, but could not find him anywhere, and there was blood, some blood, not a lot, but enough. " She takes a deep breath, looking up to each of you, "So I came here."
As the dwarf enquires about employment, Nara looks a little caught off guard, "No, umm, no, well, I guess, I mean I can't pay you, I mean, Aden had wanted to discuss an opportunity with you, but I don't know the details of that, but I am sure he would pay you if you rescued him, though I don't know who took him, and there would still be that other opportunity, so...yes?"
There was little to do for a while there while the others finished up their food. She would nod in agreement with the grumblings of the others but would try to stay positive. As her pipe runs out of tobacco, she will begin to have a general conversation about the weather and unimportant things, however, as the young woman comes into view, all such conversation will die off.
The men rush to her aid and Pelipe looks to serving her as she sits. She will pull some of the warm food for her in a bowl and a bit of ale so she can warm herself if she pleases. As she gives a bit more clarity to Aden and mentions her name, Pelipe wonders if either were people she's come across in various writings. She is also curious if the girl is lying to them.
She will keep her mouth shut about what she knows or doesn't know about Aden regardless.
"Have you been to the guards yet and did Aden manage to mention to you what a varied group like us were intended for? I mean, I suppose I could come along, but I'm not sure what help you'd be looking for from some of us."
She finds it very strange that someone would request a mason for a job and then his assistant would come asking for her help. Did they know more than her cover identity?
Baerlon leans against the wall and crosses his arms while listening to Nara's story, nodding as she speaks as if to encourage her to go on. When she finishes, he speaks. "Miss Pelipe shows wisdom, madam. A trip to the local guardsmen would seem in order."
"It was logical to come here, of course, on the chance that your master was engaging our services, but as you see, he is not." the knight pauses and shrugs. "You take a risk, asking for our aid and accepting it straight off. You hardly know us, in fact, nor we you."
Baerlon pauses again, his bright blue eyes focused on the young woman as he attempts to ascertain her veracity and character.
Unsure, he simply says, "Perhaps you could take us to see the 'scene of the crime', as it were."
"This does indeed sound like a job for your local guard. But it does also happen to be somewhat my area of expertise. Take us to the scene, then run off to inform the proper authorities, if you would. If we find anything immediately actionable, I would be willing to pursue...to an extent. Anything else we can give to the guard."
Dalgar listens as she speaks though he is similarly unimpressed with her titles.
She could be telling the truth or a decoy but it seems that the group has had their first mission.
"Nara." his voice echoes off the walls slightly.
"The floor and the door of your Master's residence. Are they...." he pauses.
"Made of wood?" he asks hesitantly...
Rajiv had frozen into unnatural stillness at Nara's appearance, seeming to become one with the background. Inside, though, he was churning with thoughts.
Whatever the case about their would-be employer, no one deserved to be abducted - likely by some nefarious organization, if Aden was as powerful as they said. It certainly sounded as though he'd put up quite a fight!
Suddenly he was standing by Nara's side. Kneeling beside the sitting woman, he put a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I, for one, will also be happy to help you find Aden Grimdawn, and free him from whomever took him." His face was earnest as he leaned forward, but the sense of malice hung in the air around him, belying his words.
"I agree with these fine people. Take us there, and we'll take it from there. If it's a matter the guards can handle..." He shrugged. "Well, I don't mean to alarm you, but anyone capable of taking someone with Aden's reputation is likely beyond the aid of a patrol of city guards. If they haven't responded yet, it's possible they were even bribed. I promise you, if that's the case, I will do all in my power to help you and Aden."
He turned his gaze on the others. "We must have skills that can be applied to this task, if they could be applied to whatever else he had intended. You are all strangers to me, but... you seem decent people. If the task is beyond the guards as I fear, surely you would keep looking for this Old Fool?"
Thinking on it now in context, the last name Grimdawn does come back vaguely in your memory. You recall reading a text or two published by him, but little of the substance contained within.
Nara anxiously listens to all of your questions. Those that seek meaning behind her behavior find an honest woman who is genuinely concerned about someone she cares for. She seems very unsure of herself, especially in the given company.
After several of you speak up, she begins to respond when Rajiv adds on. With a bit of a smile, she nods toward him, shaking her head in agreement. "Yes, yes! That was what I thought. If they could take Aden, what could the local guard do? But the type of men and women that Aden works with, well, those are capable individuals, so you must all be to, right?"
Looking up to Baerlon, she sheepishly shrinks back. "I mean, I know you are strangers, but he sought you out, you would not mean me harm? I can trust you, can't I?"
Starting to stand, she straightens her dress, "Yes, of course, yes, I can take you to Aden's house." At the druid's question, she pauses for a moment. "Umm, yes? I mean, yes, the floor is wood, there is a cellar beneath. And the walls are stone and wood, though mostly wood, I think. So, she we go?"
Bharaz shook his head and then leaned back. This wasn’t how he expected this day to go. But...he had no other employment, or really place to go. So he decided why not see this through? At the very least it would be interesting.
”A’ight. Tell us everything. Who do ye think did it. Who’re his enemies. All the details so we can look into yer boss-man.”
She looks to Dalgar and his unique question but doesn't say anything. It is clear that she is thinking though as would be expected given the oddity of it. With Nara's references checking out, Pelipe is a bit less suspicious of their visitor and will be a bit more willing to close the gap in friendship.
"Come, my darling. You can take my arm and we'll go. You show us the way."
She will offer her an arm as a source of comfort. Where Pelipe once was a damp soggy mess, she is now nice and comfortably warm and dry. Her honey-like hair no longer seems a darker brown and a bit of color has returned to the pale, cold creature she was when she walked into the tavern.
With a smile to Bharaz, Pelipe will state, "Let's discuss it on the way. I'm no expert in kidnappings, but I'd imagine time is of the essence." She will then nod to Nara, "Tell us everything you can think about concerning Aden. Who is his family? Who are his enemies like Bharaz suggested? What are his studies in the arcane detailing? What did he tell you about us? Do you think this has to do with him hiring us and why?"
"Hopefully, it is nice and warm out now, but I doubt it considering the sun has gone down a while ago."
"Has there being no other person that you might have thought off since leaving the place? Just Alden and his captors? The wood in his house might gives us answers since they were there during the whole time."
Dalgar questions further even as he clears his mug and retrieves his scythe.
Rajiv was both surprised and impressed at Dalgar's claim to be able to speak to the very wood, dead though it was. The idea that the buildings and furniture could bear witness to his actions had never even occurred to him before.
He hoped it hadn't occurred to his guild, either... but that was probably a moot point now.
He nodded at Nara's questions, but knew he wasn't the most comforting presence, so he hung back as they went to the scene of the crime, trailing the others by a bit.
Once at the location, Rajiv threw a quick eye over the mess.
(+4 vs concealed/secret objects or doors)
After several of you speak up, she begins to respond when Rajiv adds on. With a bit of a smile, she nods toward him, shaking her head in agreement. "Yes, yes! That was what I thought. If they could take Aden, what could the local guard do? But the type of men and women that Aden works with, well, those are capable individuals, so you must all be to, right?"
Irving bristles a bit; literally, as some might be surprised to note, as his hair stands somewhat more on end than would be expected from a normal person in his ire.
"I myself work with the guard, miss. It is full of hard working and quite capable individuals indeed. Do you truly have so much contempt for the men and women who keep the people of our cities safe? Truth be told, if you genuinely believe that relying on the goodwill of civilians -and total strangers at that- is better than enlisting the aid of trained and reliable guards, it either says something appalling about the state of your city's government, or your own judgment."
Nevertheless, he says this while walking, and impatiently gestures for her to get on with showing the way.
"That said, we must move quickly. In the case of abductions speed is imperative; once the kidnappers have a chance to move the hostage to a second location, they often become all but impossible to find. We must track down these assailants before they have a chance to gather whatever wits they may have."
Once at the location, Rajiv threw a quick eye over the mess.
Perception 1d20+10 (+4 vs concealed/secret objects or doors)
Rajiv gulped to himself, pulling the hood of his cloak a little lower. The doctor was a guard, too?! What had he gotten himself into?
Still, he felt compelled to defend the poor object of the doctor's ire. "I don't think she means the guards are incompetent - just that we may have better resources to bring to bear on the problem," he said soothingly, regretting having brought up the possibility of the guards being bribed. He certainly didn't want to be on the bad side of the two guards in their company!
"Adventurers tend to have more diverse skills and even magic to bring to bear, which guards typically do not. Is it so strange that she turned to us?"
"She may not have thought it that way as she was in panic and the first thing shoe thought of was to come to us." the big man by now was on his feet and attempts to placate things.
"Lead the way please." he tells Nara.
"We do have those with experience in this matters and though I am not one of them, I'm sure the good doctor has given sound advice. Even in farms when we find a bad fruit, we clear it quickly to avoid it spoiling the harvest."
He looks towards the door and points towards it.
He may have meant it in a polite way but without a bow, it seems rather pompous.