Variel wastes no time tearing through the rest of the unoccupied rooms snatching up a very well made (mw) shortbow and a strongbox rattling with bags if coins. Litsy already helped herself to the belingings of the ithers. The men you are rescuing don't seem too enthusiastic about your plan, but in light of no one having a better idea they help themselves to the boots and clubs of the dead and follow your plan.
Thankfully the cart does not return in the time it takes for everyone to get out on the street and it seems most of the locals have taken little interest in the saltworks though a few laborers working on the street make a pointed effort to appear not to be a witness.
On the other side of town Pollux arrives at the coffeehouse bearing gifts. Rexus reveals to the man in yellow incredible gratitude and a breakthrough that allowed them to translate a while paragraph of confusing grammar styles. He gets into a long monologue about the frustrating differences between common contextual structures and elven aesthetic arrangement, meaning a single elven phrase can be translated at least twelve different ways and six of them might actually be accurate. From that perspective, its no wonder Common became the dominant trade language. While Pollux feels the moisture escaping his body from the dryness of the conversation things on the other side of town are a bit more harrowing. This being a spontaneous prison break Laria is not at all prepared to take prison escapees into the wasps nest leaving the pc's with two choices, risk getting caught after curfew to slip them in after hours or find an alternate place to hide. Thankfully one of the tengu sisters finds you debating your options and offers to hide them in the sisters new aerie for the night.
The aerie turns out to be the attic of a run down tavern in redroof.
Cont.
The place is drafty and the evening's rain does little to help you continue to maintain the illusion of being wealthy merchants as hair frizzes and fluffed skirts sink with moisture.
The men you rescued reveal that they were mercenaries having finished a job protecting a merchant from Korvosa and were looking to make their way back to Varisia. Unfortunately their prospective client drugged them while negotiating the contract and when they next woek it was on a prison cell devoid of all there equipment and being vreamed at by hooded men accusing them of everything from rape, to murder, to attempting to corrupt kintargan youth with foreign ideas. In the end they were only charged with "malfeant behavior" whatever the hell that was, and sentenced to three years hard labor.
Now, they debate among themselves the next step. Far from home, without cash or gear it seems they may fall back on banditry to get back on track if no outside power intervenes on their behalf.
We have some coin that we can spare to help you for a time, but we also can perhaps some employment for you all. Food, shelter, pay and the job is to help provide security and annoy those who unjustly imprisoned you.
Before the party leaves the mines, Litsy makes one final attempt at finding the guy she's looking for among the freed workers.
The problem being that they are many of them.
She takes a deep breath.
"CONNOR! I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE YOU DUMBASS, I SAW YOUR STUPID FACE!"
It's not quite true, but hopefully it will prove effective.
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It is as Beorn says. We just may be able to help each other out if you are looking for employment opportunities if you are wanting to stay here. Change is coming and with change comes opportunities for those that are bold enough to capitalize on them. I understand though if you are looking to make a clean break of it and flee this area. All I ask is that you spend the night and think on the options and not choose hastily.
diplomacy
When there is time Variel will inspect the strongbox and try to open it to see how much is inside. Anyone need a nice shortbow? he asks the party.
Aye! Tis a good time to fight for justice! And if not that, to annoy the powerful.
Naught nut the qind responds to Litsy's yell.
"Aye lad we respect what you want to do, Desna know this place could use the shake up. But justice doesn't fill bellies and change empties coin purses. 'Less you have the means to keep both filled we've not much more than gratitude to spare." the mercenary that threatened to cut our Beorn's tongue says.
Nodding, the swarthy man speaks up, who you've recently identified as the man in charge of them, "I don't know who you believed you were saving back there but we don't have a stake here. Maybe if we recover and find ourselves in a more charitable position we can trade some blades and blood to your cause." He shakes his head continuing, "but as he said unless you have some means of financial support every route available to us in this place ends in a noose, or knowing how the devuls operate, impaled on a rusty pole up the arse."
We indeed have funds. What do you ask for?
"Anyone need a nice shortbow?"
"Nah!" Litsy kicks a copper coin lying on the floor in frustration. Then stares at it, seemingly reconsiders, and slips it in her pocket, just in case.
"What kind of charitable position you looking for, anyway?" she turns to the mercenaries' designated leader, her eyes shooting daggers at it. "Do you think you have a choice between staying there or take the first boat to Fix-All-Your-Problems city? Not even tengus can leave Kintargo, for f@+%'s sake, and they didn't even have the Hellknights on their tail."
"You have a roof over your head, grub in your stomach, and a chance to try to fight your way out of this mess that'll get some money in your pocket. What's more charitable than that?"
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VAriel nods silently to Beorn's inquiry. It was true that they had some funds but the real question was how much would they cost and were these the type of people that they even wanted as part of the revolution. As Litsy chimed in Variel had to agree with her that she did have a point. Leaving the city may be problematic right now.
sense motive on them for alignment hints?
Do any of you have any skill at carpentry? With as busy as I am I may be in need of finding a replacement at my job. One of you could do that. What skills do you have besides those with a blade?
The mercenaries can be recruited as freedom fighters and you qill auto succeeed that check. However theyre not a bonus team like the tengu which will max out the number of teams available to you at this time. However, due to their ill health and lack of gear they qokt be available for use until the week after next. By then with food, rest, and gainful employment they'll have recovered enough to be of use to you.
Variel gets the impression that these are not bad men. Hard, certainly, but it is a hardness brought on by the harsh realities of being a sword for hire in a dangerous world.
The leader crosses his arms and returns Litsy's stare though there's little malice and more stubborn pride in the gesture.
"I don't need a little slip of a girl barely off her mums tit to tell me what I have and don't have. All we need are the stars to sleep under and a warm fire to share with friends. But, what we need and what you ask are two different worlds altogether. And that requires coin, steel, and a willingness to make some poor bastards mother cry. If you can provide the coin, we can handle the other two parts well enough. That's not charity, that's trade."
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When the leader speaks up Variel finds himself agreeing with the man. He spoke like one that was familiar with the life of Kintargo and someone Variel would trust to have his back. While he may be speaking out of turn Variel was ready to accept them and find a way for them to join the revolution. I think we can reach an agreement even if I have to pay it myself. Let me know when you are ready and recovered from your ordeal and we will have work for you.
The mercenaries can be recruited as freedom fighters and you qill auto succeeed that check. However theyre not a bonus team like the tengu which will max out the number of teams available to you at this time. However, due to their ill health and lack of gear they qokt be available for use until the week after next. By then with food, rest, and gainful employment they'll have recovered enough to be of use to you.
Variel gets the impression that these are not bad men. Hard, certainly, but it is a hardness brought on by the harsh realities of being a sword for hire in a dangerous world.
The leader crosses his arms and returns Litsy's stare though there's little malice and more stubborn pride in the gesture.
"I don't need a little slip of a girl barely off her mums tit to tell me what I have and don't have. All we need are the stars to sleep under and a warm fire to share with friends. But, what we need and what you ask are two different worlds altogether. And that requires coin, steel, and a willingness to make some poor bastards mother cry. If you can provide the coin, we can handle the other two parts well enough. That's not charity, that's trade."
"Hey, if I'm barely off my mum's tit, at least I can tell you 'bout things you haven't seen in a while. You know they're not supposed to flat? With all that warming-up with friends, it can get a little confusing."
"How about something else you haven't seen in a while: money. We can meet up with you guys tomorrow and talk about a deal."
It indeed sounds like a fair trade to me. While we get you new equipment, you all best lie low until your faces are forgotten. Just tell us what you usually wield and we will outfit you all.
Notoriety
Supporters gained 2x from murder solved 1 from prison break
Did you already take the 6 off from the rebel sheet?
Rebellion Rank improved to 4. Max teams increased to 3. Focused checks are at +4, secondary at +1.
Gains: Gift: Potion, Title(Guardian)
Each Player gets a choice between Alertness, Deceitful, Persuasive, or Stealthy as a bonus feat.
Ana anonymous supporter gifted a very powerful potion to the street performers while they did a show on the docks. After soem debate among themselves they decided that the cause itself would fare better with it in your hands than theirs.
That week the Street Performers are debriefing with Beorn in the wasps nest as they try and figure out what's going on at the docks. Reed shirt leans against a wall when Pollux comes in from the office Rexus is working .
While Pollux is content to ignore the group and continue upon his ineffable business Reed comes off the wall ghostly pale as he spots him and points a shaking finger at Pollux, "It's you! How did you follow me all the way from Westcrown!?"
His throat catches and the last word comes out as a barely audible whisper as the wall he was leaning on collapses on top of him in a hail of stone and mortar.
Beorn is flabbergasted at the tragedy. Larazod? Who is that?
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Variel spends some time selling the items that they found and liberated from the salt works. Once that is finished he heads back to the hideout to split the take and see what is next for the Ravens. If there is nothing forthcoming then he will resume his daily work until summoned by the magical Raven.
Taking the collapse of the wall and Mr. Shirt in stride. Pollux literally walks over the street performer ( who I am assuming looks like Howard from Only Murders in the building) and investigates what is past the former wall between the worlds.
To Mr. Shirt: "It was quite simple. There is a river. Took barely any action at all. More lying down and doing nothing, Like the opera really only with less acid." Pollux, perhaps purposely, places their walking stick on Mr. Shirt's solar plexus. The better to preserve the congenial silence
To Beorn: "Lazarod is me. Or I am Lazarod. Or was, it's complicated. Castor understands it so I just tend to think about more immediate things. Like why someone installed a one use door here or why an apothecary is selling poison below cost."
After the group returns from the salt mines, Litsy spends the rest of the week anxiously nibbling her way through any pastries she manages to get her hands on, and a couple more from one of the hidden stashes that Variel hasn't found out yet. The discovery of the potion is met with an incredibly sarcastic "Wow, thanks. Can't imagine a time when that could have been useful."
She hesitates for a full two days as to whether it would be best to confront her gang now, or to lay low.
Of course, Cory was too dangerous to let her twist her own tale on the matter, but there was risk in returning empty-handed and without a solid explanation as to why she was caught wearing that silly dress.
While she's trying to figure out her next move, she needs intel.
GM:
As the initial shock dissipates the street performers panic and rush the pile of rubble pulling stones off of the very bloody, very broken, and clearly now very dead Mr. Shirt.
Looking over the rubble both Beorn and Pollux's eyes settle on shiny metal objects tucked away into a rat hole in the floor just underneath the collapsed wall. Reaching down Pollux delicately removes a hammer and chisel blunted from careful and deliberate use. It seems Mr. Shirts demise was a little simpler than dramatic device.
Castor moves a tiny brick fragment revealing the (fresh?) clear chisel marks, and fresh tasty essence of Shirt, on the stone beneath.
Pollux's mouth says: "Someone is committing murder here and it is not me! This is simply not equitable."
Pollux's brain on the other hand spirals around the murder scene:
* ?
. Are the tools unusual? Human sized or built for smaller folk?
3 Masonry tools or shall we add abuse of carpentry to the charge sheet?
A pinwheel spinning on a lonely mountain ridge. Old/worn tools or new?
Soup Was the weakening work done from the Shirt side of the wall or was it an inside job?
The faithful in Kyonin knew of the glorious reclamation, and while having about as much in common with Iomedae as you had to the average dwarf the opportunity to reestablish cells in the belly of the beast could not be ignored while the devils were distracted by the shining light of the self righteous sword. To that wnd you were told that a temple of Calistria once stood in the university district and that alone was reason enough to establish a congregation in Her name. But that place had long been buried under the foundations of less scandalous buildings and now only a quaint little coffeehouse owned by a bubbly halfling stood in its place. A cursory exploration underneath revealed that the entire complex was flooded and almost completely inaccessible. An ill fitting end to such a place and utterly unsuitable to your purposes.
From there it was a matter of figuring out who was left that could help you in your goals. Despite the eagerness of many to please, you found none of the faithful and fewer still with the will or intelligence to aid in accomplishing them. The few you did find willing to even acknowledge Her were only good for perhaps an hour or two, happy to heap praises on the goddess in times of intense passion, but rapidly forgotten as if the act of worshipping her was just another kink to be tucked away for another weekend.
The like minded, the milanites and caydenites had all gone to ground or burnt to ash with Merelda only being able to find remnants of where they once were. The Shelynites, who had long been allies to Her congregation, were tamed, willing to help but unwilling to partake in the sweet and bloody games of sedition and murder.
That left the outlaws and outcast. The tieflings were less than useless, having been beatdown to the point of stupid insularity. The gangs ranged from young and skittish to pointlessly violent. Even slightly liberal poetry groups had faced tragedy on the night of ashes.
Still, it wasn't time yet to throw up her hands and meander back to Kyonin taking a few years vacation in one nice spot or another while she was at it.
The murders at redroof had ceased as mysteriously as they began leaving the tieflings as a strongly united community. The saltworks, previously a symbol of Barzillai's new administration as a home for political prisoners and foreign dissidents, had been torn open in a daring daylight raid that left several dead and the prison empty. The authorities called it a deal gone bad by a corrupt warden embezzling money, but then why free the prisoners? And seeing as none of those prisoners had been caught; who sheltered them?
And then there was the Thrashing Dragon.
Originally the tavern was among the most famous in the city, home to lively political discourse, radical artistic performance and the sort of thinking that would give an Abadarian priest fits. So naturally it too was burnt to the ground under mysterious circumstances.
Yet, some of the previous patrons simply moved to a quiet dockside tavern known as Clenchjaws. From your understanding this place was known for being a quiet place to drink and for having a strict rule about having any political talk at all.
Yet, in the past few days quite the opposite has happened. Raucous brawls, dissident speeches, and quite a few bloody nosed dottari have come out of that place. If such contacts with an underground movement could be made, it would not be the worst idea to check in on the former patrons of the thrashing dragon to see if there was more to the bluster and brawling.
The tools are normal human sized tools, clearly and recently used, theres plenty of evidence suggesting the mortar and stones were weakened and removed though whether this was deliberate or a consequence of the ravages of time are up to an engineer.
Perhaps we have a secret saboteur in our midst! We must investigate and question. I have with me a book of poetry penned by inhabitants of a distant world that is said to drive listeners to madness. The threat of such lyrics will loosen their tongues.
"Not so secret, I'm sure Reed is quite aware of them." Pollux comments to Beorn.
"Castor, put that down! It's covered with brick dust and not as tasty as it looks!"
Pollux resumes "Fearful of Castor's wrath they have moved on to softer targets like walls...and opera fans. Hmm rats, walls, opera, no clear connection. Perhaps our piper is getting impatient."
Pollux begins to walk away, ignoring the mortal remains. "We should ignore the problem. There are plenty of opera fans in Kintargo and after a few more walls come down we will have an extra room."
Cloak pulled up heavily against the wind, and to keep her features obscured from the locals, Merelda sneers at the sign hanging over the door of the tavern.
'Clenchjaws.'
Simplistic. Obvious. Cowardly. Pathetic.
"Might as well call the place: 'Punch me in the Face...Please!'
Sighing heavily, Merelda crosses the street and pushes her way into the warm smoke-laden and musty-smelling air of the Tavern's interior.
The room both notices and then ignores her as she enters. She quickly realizes the patrons were only worried about her if she were one of the Dottari. Although a few still watched her with side eyes or obvious mistrust of a stranger.
Merelda took a momentary pause at this. Her speculation for visiting the tavern must have been close to the mark. She might actually have a good chance of finding a contact with the rebellion in Kintargo here. Or...at least someone who might know something at least.
Changing stride from cautious to bold, Merelda struts across the dimly lit room and whips back her large hood to reveal her white-gold hair and large pointed ears. Stares follow her...of course. She knows she makes an impression. She's not the most beautiful woman in Kintargo, but she knows how to make the best use of her natural beauty and how to make the most impact with it.
Moving quickly and confidently to the main bar, she throws her cloak back over her shoulder to reveal her spiked-armored shoulder and tilts her head jauntily flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder.
"You Sir? Burly mustache guy? Warm spiced ale and whatever is hot from the common pot if you please...the greasier the better. I'll be over there."
She then smiles, winks at the man, and then strides over to an open table near a wall or corner that is absent of patrons at the moment.
'Now we wait and see what this pot stirs up. Hopefully its not rancid swill...
Let us investigate the base more closely, a sabataur must be tracked down swiftly before more fall prey.
Disregarding the previous advice to ignore the problem Pollux steps aside to allow the other street performers to remove the body. The mimed coffin was a nice touch. Before squatting down and methodically beginning to rebuild the wall all the while whistling arrhythmically.
Unless this sends the investigation in a whole new direction this should end this section of the Case of the Badly Pressed Shirt.
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The rat hole continues for quite a distance and Pollux suspects it spans quite a ways through the sewers and attics turned basements that make up the kintargan undercity. After much speculation and theory crafting the best the two can come up with is that Reed was a poor victim of chance though any further answers leave only suspicion and worry. The street performers themselves are left unable to perform their duties for the next two weeks. Being down a man and needing the time to mourn and reinforce or repair the walls in the nest takes time particularly for unskilled hands. More disappointingly the wall revealed nothing more than the hidden dock by the entrance to the nest with the moldering statue of Calistria waist deep in water staring mockingly into the common room. When the body is removed, all return home and silence reclaims the space a flash of light overtakes it once more. Emerging from it and muttering irritably, a mysterious figure from an entirely different genre takes the book carelessly left behind by the eagerly sadistic Beorn. Putting it back in his jacket pocket he takes out a notebook and writes a note to put in the guide for visitors not to leave any of their books lying around as the locals seemed quite fond of them. Although, as the flash of light took him back to the ship, he could not for the life of him imagine any species in the whole of the universe at any point in any timeline finding something appealing about vogon poetry. If he wouldn't get into serious legal trouble for the disposal of toxic waste on undeveloped worlds he would have simply left the volume to rot. But for now, the blight of vogon would not trouble this sleepy little world.
Rexus for his part has made significant progress since his medicine was renewed and since Pollux offered his own services to the incredibly boring and mentally taxing cause. The Ravens were led by an elven woman called "Jakdaw" a prominent folk hero to the Kintargan people before the civil war. Though Rexus can find no reference to her in any writing he can find. He suspects the house of thrune may have had a hand in this.
The street performers are unable to find useful information from the docks, and the death of Mr. Shirt leaves them unable to continue.
It seems if the group wants to figure out what's causing such a loud and rebellious outpour from the locals, they'd have to investigate for themselves.
Beorn ponders the combat utility of wet towels,
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Between shifts at the Red Pike, helping at her family cafe, and generally handling personal matters, Sasha has found virtually no time to devote to figuring out what happened to her brother. At least directly.
Sasha has employed plenty of indirect methods, discreet conversations with those present at the riots. Keeping an eye on the public and gruesome excruciations. She even made inquiries with the few dottari she knew to look into it. Though she stopped this practice immediately after the last one who promised to look into it flat out disappeared.
As time went on the anxiety only grew as the tips became more and more scarce. The foreign captains and crew members coming from up or down river were often the biggest patrons, and whole groups of friends thinned out as people left town or otherwise moved on. This meant that on her off days she would have to pick up shifts in other bars. This worked for her purposes though. A broader net to find her brother and a welcome change of scenery when the day to day started to wear heavily.
Which brought her to Clenchjaws. A riverside bar that was known to be quiet and typically apolitical. A small place for tired workers to nurse a thick stout and rest weary bones before sleeping it off till morning. You're not sure why Ron, the bar's proprietor, would need a second bartender, especially since it would mean splitting meager tips. Still, it was rather peaceful when her shift started around three. A peace that lasted roughly an hour.
By four o'clock the place was coming alive in earnest. Conversations became loud, lively, and very political. The bar has a strict rule against talk of politics, one that is happily enforced by the massive owner via immediate ejection. But it's easy to see why it grew out of control, he would have to close the bar completely to stop all of it. So he was forced to only worry about the rowdiest, of which there at least was no shortage of.
Overall the place felt strange. Like they took the insides of one bar and put them into another. It's not too strange, some taverns closed doors or burned to the ground during the night of ashes and drinkers are usually happy to move on to the next. Yet, the feel, the atmosphere, the carefully curated flavor of the bar, seemed out of place in a way you couldn't put your finger on.
And then the elf walked in. Elves were rare in Kintargo and usually kept to themselves. Sasha could count on one hand the number of times she had seen one, let alone be this close. Hearing her speak it was clear from her accent that she was not particularly comfortable with common nor from anywhere around here.
Nodding to the elf Ron set about pouring the drink and with a pair of tongs reached into the boiling pot behind the bar and fished out a small handful of the oysters the bar is named for, along with a potato, before passing both to the barmaid to take to her table.
"Oh crap," Litsy says sadly when Beorn and Pollux tell her of Reed's untimely demise under a brick wall. "He made us some good money."
Rather subdued, Beorn visits the less thuggish places on the docks to see what the word is.
The place was livelier than Merelda expected, the energy in the room was...'tight?' That was the best word she could ascribe to it. Like a rope stretched tight across a ravine. A rope that was fraying very slowly as a devil's claw sawed at it from the other side of the gap.
Taking the oysters and potato plate from the barmaid, Merelda tips the woman for the service and starts drinking her warmed ale. She nearly gags at the human brewed swill...but she ignores it...forcing a smile at the barmaid.
"Buíochas! Cead Mile Failte...Tá gruaig an-álainn agat."
Shoving the nauseous feeling down, she vows silently to Calistria she will find a way later to educate the tavern owner: either on a better choice for purchasing of ale, or on how too keep skunks and rats out of his alcoholic stock.
The oysters and potato surprise her, being perfectly cooked but absent of all but the most basic of seasonings. I was almost elven!
The Red Pike hadn’t been a political bar either … until suddenly it was, and the varied crowds that had mingled happily retreated to separate tables, then corners. Things got worse from there.
That was the vibe she was getting here; maybe all bars were like that now. Maybe all places were.
Which made the elf stand out, even apart from her mere presence. She seemed to be a faction to herself.
Fetching the order from the cook, she delivers the oysters to Merelda and, after a moment to recognize the elven, smiles in response.
”Thank you! Everyone here’s too angry for compliments these days.”
She leans on the chair back, scanning the crowd. ”You’re new. I mean I’m new here too, but I can tell You’re new.”
Smiling wickedly, but with honest affection, Merelda waves a hand in the air at the woman as she nibbles.
“Am I that easy to read? You know elven! That’s impressive…for your culture. Ignorance and narrow-mindedness seems to be the norm in Kintargo so far as I have found. Although I am assuming that has something to do with the influence of Cheliax and the Thrune family. As far compliments are concerned, my mother always taught me that ‘compliments cost nothing, and speaking truth can buy you castles.’ A very wise woman! She was a courtesan of Calistria. She would be…so sad at the remainder of HER worship here in Kintargo… and the current situation.”
She reaches over to gently pat the hand of the pretty barmaid. Staring intently at woman’s face to gauge her reaction to such an intimate act…for multiple reasons.
”Too many good stories in Elven not to learn a bit,” Sasha replies. ”And I wouldn’t say easy to read, but you did call Ron “burly mustache guy.”
The corners of her mouth drop at mention of the city. ”Yes, it’s changed a lot, and quickly, too. I think your mother would have plenty of company.”
She spies Ron beckoning again. “I’m Sasha; let me know if Burly or I can get you anything else.”
Sensing honesty in the barmaid's voice, Merelda grabs her hand gently...trying desperately to convey her seriousness in her words.
"I do! I have another request: Tell me of the city's honest people? Like you. The ones who strive for the freedom they deserve? I...wish to hear the stories. The successes. Even the failures! Such tales of heroes should travel far and wide, regardless of politics. Might I have...an hour of your time later? I will pay your normal wage for the time I assure you.
Sasha tilts her head, a bit thrown by the earnestness in the plea — moreso, at any rate, than by the hand pat, which was positively tame compared to some bars she'd been in.
The new Lord Mayor's edicts hadn't been in place yet long enough to suspect everyone of being a snitch or spy for House Throne, [I[though things seem headed in that direction,[/I] Sasha thought grimly. Still, an obvious outsider — one talking of a forbidden faith, no less — would seem an unlikely choice of an informant.
"Maybe when my shift winds down," she replies. "Burly Ron's got a rule against political talk, and even if the customers don't follow it, I'd better if I want to keep my job."
Pointing at the woman with one immaculately manicured nail, Merelda smiles and nods.
"I'll wait."
She watches the woman walk away appreciatively...then notices one of the other patrons watching her carefully. She smiles quickly at the man, eyes wide and excited, then snaps her teeth at him loudly which makes him jump.
She laughs loudly with real cruelty at the man's expense, and then finally turns back to her food with energy.
It takes time but by the end of the week you find that most of the trouble stems from a sudden influx of displaced drinkers and patrons to a bar known as Clenchjaws. Some whom you talked to complain of constant fighting, bickering, and the sort of talk that makes hellknights materialize out of thin air. If any support could be found, it would be there. Assuming of course the dottari doesn't find time to shut the place down for good.
Litsy reports succinctly what she learned to the members of the party. "So, in short, they seem like a bunch of rowdy blokes with no sense of honour and some pretty f*$+ing deep anger issues. More or less exactly what we're looking for! When are we leaving?"
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bluff
Once Litsy gives her findings it is apparent to Variel as well that they need to check out this bar. Nice work Litsy, but I am not sure that you are old enough to visit a bar of this type. Perhaps in a few years or grow a few more inches and you will be allowed in. Variel does a decent job selling the story before giving in to her. Afterall he can only handle so much sputtering and complaining when he knows that nothing he says or does will prevent her from going anyways. And she was the one gathering the information. No time like the present if you are ready? Shall we gather Beorn and Pollux as well?
Assuming the answer is yes Variel throws a cloak over his shoulders to cover his gear and walks with Litsy to gather the others and head to the Clenchjaws.
Perception
Variel keeps his head on a swivel looking for both Kentargo thugs from the mayor and for any sign of tails following them. After the altercation at the salt works Variel didn't want to be accosted for any such involvement. At the bar Variel waits across the street to see what type of patrons are going in or out before joining the others for a drink inside. If possible he tries to get a table in a corner of the room to watch the whole place unless he sees someone he knows. If so then he will join them and buy an ale from one of the servers.
It seems ale and anger do not make a good combination. I believe that channeling this dissatisfaction to more productive means will allow them to drink in peace and not be routed by hellknights. Beorn will head down with the others. I am sure we can get Litsy in with a few words and coin to the staff.
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Litsy stares at Variel like what just came out of his mouth was one of the stupidest things she's ever heard. Which, granted, is a lot like her usual stare. "You know, I'd almost have let have a laugh and fix this with the lads if that could have loosened the poker tickling your gums somewhat."
"But really- crawling through narrow places, no problem, hanging around the Nursery's all right, breaking in a f*#$ing salt mine's chill, but a bar, that's where you draw the line? Where'd you even think I got all that intel from, smartypants?"
"I'd have more chances of getting my bloody throat cut just walking down the street anyway, so I'm going. You can get your money ready for those beers, though, you'll need to keep' em coming if you want to lighten up."