Masher furrows his brow, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to remember. Ultimately though, he comes up blank.
Grunting, he replies No, I don't think I caught the name of the priest.
Over the western bridge from Oozefront lies Bonerattle, Urglin’s religious center. Here, priests of Rovagug—the Rough Beast—reign supreme. Their spiderlike cathedral is a mound carved to resemble an arachnid with the spider’s mouth as the cathedral’s entrance. Leathery structures framed with bones from aurochs, other megafauna, and the occasional humanoid form the majority of the architecture here. The priests are known as “Bonecarvers,” and they informally serve as Urglin’s guards.
Continuing his overly social approach, Tabar meets Dorost, a pushy traveling leather salesman. The human has three saddles still tainted with ash and blood from when orcs cut down his horses for food, and the belts and bags he sells are made from unusual leather. The ratfolk is able to feign enough interest in the goods at his stall to get him reacting to the name Eando Kline.
“He slipped me some coin, he did. Wanted a guide into Urgir. Wanted in unseen, he said. A few days I needed to get him a name, I said. Came to Bonerattle then, he did. Never came back, so no names I find.”
Dorost giggles in delight as some members of the party recoil at his merchandise.
Soooo! Will you be buying anything? He fixes his awkwardly long stare on several of you as he asks.
Oozefront extends from east to west across all of Urglin, separating Warmouth from the other districts. It serves as the city’s primary marketplace, though to the detriment of shoppers, a horrid stench permeates this part of the city, emanating from the foul-smelling, sludge-like Ooze, the river granting the district its name. The Ooze divides the section in two, and Urglinites use the waterway to dispose of their sewage, adding to the waterway’s infamous consistency and stench. The only drinkable water from this river lies along the western wall, where the river enters the city; to the east, the river mires outside the city in Pussbubble Lake. A bridge on the western side of Oozefront leads to Bonerattle, while the eastern one leads directly to the lake’s shore.
Folks seem less social under the stench of the river nearby. Tabar can't decide who might be knowledgeable until he spots an odd man actually coming off of the river. Named Gutter, the hunched, pot-bellied, loin-cloth-wearing orc smells like the river he travels. Gutter trudges the river upon a small barge, toting water, his primary income, from the west to the Ooze’s banks every few hours; the locals buy the water from him and distribute it deeper into the city via carts. Gutter also dredges the river for useful, discarded items.
The junk-tsar isn’t used to talking to people, so he initially just stares at Tabar. After an incredibly long awkward pause, he provides what he knows.
“Yeah, he came into Pinkskin with a Bonecarver. They went over to a beardless dwarf, who was selling elven delicacies at a stall, and gave him the what-for! The Bonecarver split the merchant into pieces! It was bloody—something like you’d see at the Bloodworks. But we got to witness it for free! I guess that dwarf done something to Kline.”
His excitement is a little unnerving to the Pathfinders.
Tabar finds that at the Bloodworks, most folks are either excited about the next bout of action or coming and going too quickly to engage. He isn't able to learn any new information after he arrives there.
As the party reaches Warmouth, Tabar and Leb keep turning up busy merchants who simply don't have the time for gossip. It does seem that many know the name in these parts, so they get the feeling that it's only a matter of time before they find somebody with more to say. The trend from earlier in the day can't be a coincidence!
Heading to Warmouth, the party eventually wanders into the Scarlet Ettin. There, they encounter Sheraeda, a half-orc who drinks her mornings away there. However, on asking around, they discover she is a successful gambler in Urglin. Some of them even say she pilfers pockets at the arena to fund her habit. Of course those who confront her "disappear."
Juis cuts through that intimidation and proceeds to drop the name of Kline once more.
“Ha, that crazy fellow! He’s lucky to be alive—if he still is. He cast a spell at the Bloodworks to save some half-orc food from Razorbite, and helped kill the bulette in the process. I saw it all! Madiskaal wrote a song about it, too—though she's been banned from playing it. Some people don’t find it so amusing—Ploog, the Bloodworks’ owner, being one of them. He was hopping mad that day, and he’s been mad ever since, really. No one ever stops the Bloodworks like that, especially not a pinkskin. I hear that afterward the human and the half-orc slave fled toward Belkzen, the half-orc’s old home. Only one who likely knows more than that is Ploog.”
Finding the Bloodworks is easy, for it is Scabtown’s largest structure at three hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, and nearly sixty feet tall . The arena is built of bone, stone, and hundreds of stretched sheets of leather, and dozens of banners fly from the rooftop, the symbol of Rovagug being the most prominent among them. Only two entrances admit its bloodthirsty audience, and each has a sign that crudely advertises a ticket price of one silver piece in Common, Orc, and poorly painted pictographs.
As it's getting on towards Dusk, the crowds are gathering for the evening's events. The entrances are each manned by a handful of particularly burly orc guards.
What do you do?
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Marianna shakes her head and sighs faintly. "I have an idea, but it's a bit dangerous. We need to talk to Ploog, but after Kline's shenanigans, I doubt he'll be willing to chat without incentive. So, would you all be willing to see if he's willing to trade a bout for information? We'd have no idea what he'd throw at us."
As you approach one of the two gates, the capable orc guards being sizing all of you up and grinning. One of them goes Hehe. Now here's a fancy bunch of pink-skins if I ever saw one! It's a gold coin a piece for the lot of you to get by! Pay up, or walk! The rough-edged orc holds out his might hand to be filled up, not unlike a sizable bowl.
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Tabar is sitting on his riding dog and looks at the orc with a raised eyebrow.
"You want us to pay? Why because I have fur? Because I look different than you? You surely know that this is very discriminating! Ever heard of gender justice? Ever heard of racial justice? Every heard of elemental balance?" he asks.
"Well, you can be glad that I am here because you now have these buzz words and can study them thoroughly in the library! Now that I did you such a great favor I hope you will let us through!" Tabar says expectantly.
The orc scratches his head and looks at the other guards, confused.
Descrimi... Another pause. He looks back at Tabor. What kind of nation? This is Belkzen's Hold. I'm not sure about that kind of nation.
Shaking off the thought, he turns back to Tabar and the party, his hostility fully restored.
Let you through? Ha! Pay up furball!
His scowl deepends as Inira makes her offer.
It's 1 gold coin, and we don't rough you up for good measure! See, what you learn here is that while out there you pink-skins look down on us as so much fodder , we run things here. And we like it very much.
His big paw of a hand remains outstretched. It appears they mean business.
The guards chuckle and slap each of you on the back derisively as they usher you through the entrance. They point you towards an area designated for non-orcs and joke that you may enter other sections only at your own risk.
The interior of the Bloodworks is very similar to its exterior, with panels of hide-wrapped wood forming a dusty fighting pit in the building’s center. Roughly built bleachers wrap three- quarters of the way around the perimeter, and the northern end is dominated by a keep of earth, stone, and wood with steeply slanted sides and two sweeping sets of stairs that descend to the arena’s floor like a pair of insect mandibles. Between the stairs is a massive set of wooden double doors large enough to accommodate a pair of mammoths. A few rows of seats sit further up the side of the keep, and immediately behind them rests a large throne crafted from the bones of nearly every creature to walk the Cinderlands.
The Bloodworks produces a cacophonous torrent of noise—screams of pain, peals of delight, and the clash of weapons—during an event, and Ploog often acts as a ringmaster by personally introducing combatants before ascending to the top of the keep and lounging on the bone throne. When you arrive, the main bout is to be between a large ettin and a team of human gladiators. The ettin wastes no time in crushing most of its opposition before cruelly toying with the remaining pair of combatants, to the amusement of the audience.
Ploog appears to be surrounded by armed ushers. Shortly after the bout he retires to the structure’s interior on the summit (away from the stands), while the ushers guard the entrance to see him.
What do you do?
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Marianna maneuvers herself to a point near Inira, that she can case out the guards, and 'watch' the ongoing massacre, however reluctant. "So, any ideas on how to get Ploog to talk to us?" she finally whispers to the rest of the group. "The only thing that comes to my mind is to take the mostly direct but derogatory approach: Tell him that we're looking for the bastard that wronged him, and if he can give us a lead, we can make sure that he gets whats coming to him. the way I see it, he should like some mercs doing a job that he would want done anyway, and be a little loose with the information we want. It's technically true too. I'm just not trained enough at deception to sell the idea though. Any takers?"
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Nylthe gives a somewhat languid look at Inira's explanation of her morals. "So encouraging others to 'sin' is alright then?" Aconite chuffs along in accompaniment to her soft chuckle.
"If a bribe is needed then so be it. However, in my experience so long as they aren't currently blood-mad and rushing at you, orcs respond quite appropriately to sufficiently forceful personalities. That's how their leaders often rise to the top after all."
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Tabar listens and chuckles after all the discussion.
He just walks to the guards of Ploog.
“Hey you guys!! We want to talk to Poog! We're looking for the bastard that wronged him, and if he can give us a lead, we can make sure that Poog’s target gets whats coming to him. The way we see it, Poog should like some mercs like us doing a job that he would want done anyway! So let us through to him!!“ he says looking at Marianna with a sly smile.
This set of guards looks somewhat more serious than those at the Bloodworks entrance. They immediately snarl back at Tabar.
You share a hobby. That's so nice. Fifty gold, and we'll let him know you exist.
He stares at the ratfolk blankly waiting for an answer.
Everybody believes their tidbit is special.
The orc pauses for a moment, looking Tabar over. Rolling his eyes, he continues.
Thirt-six gold.
What do you do?
The orc smiles, pocketing the gold, and proceeds to lead you into the keep.
Ploog’s office is an uncommonly well-built, domed structure of leather, wood, and an irregular assortment of stone blocks that occupies the back half of the keep. At its highest, the ceiling rises twenty feet, and several windows cut into the leather walls allow a refreshing breeze to ventilate the room. A pile of large rocks sits beneath one of these windows, and several nearby potted trees lean toward the light. On the opposite end of the room are several chairs and a divan upholstered in tanned leather. In the room’s center stands a desk covered in sheets of parchment and stacks of coins whose irregular sizes and shapes betray origins in at least a dozen nations, and a pair of decoratively crossed swords hang on the desk’s front.
As you enter, one of the orc guards motions for you to stand in front of the desk at a respectful distance, seeming very particular about where you stand.
Ploog is a slightly rotund but entirely muscular orc who wears crimson and silver robes and a feathered cap. He is seated at his desk counting coins from the day’s earnings, and... he fails to acknowledge any of you for several minutes.
Finally he stands and addresses you.
State your business.