[AP] Iron Gods by GM Rutseg

Game Master Balacertar

Zzvkgrogk walks as if wearing blinders. He sees the torment of the town. He sees the oppression of the town. He silently seethes and outwardly scowls.

Grrrrrr

”I have a feeling we’ll find him in Sovereign’s Watch,” Zzvkgrogk mutters in response to Khalia. ”We should probably stay elsewhere tonight at least just to clean up a little before we head there,” he sadly admits.

He surreptitiously scans past the glum hoping to see a haberdashery, or an alchemist or anything/place else that might be useful.

He quaffs a crystal clear extract and surveys the streets.
Percept: 1d20 + 19 + 20 ⇒ (17) + 19 + 20 = 56 Acute Senses

"That makes sense. Perhaps the longer we reside within the walls of Starfall, we'll pull them to us. For good or for bad." Khalia frowns. "We shouldn't travel individually."

"You don't have to tell me twice. This clearly isn't the kind of place you stray, or speak up for that matter." Rūha murmurs as she awaits the results of Yambul's and Zzvkgrogk's searches.

Khalia steps up alongside Rūha, joining the kasatha in a little downtime during the rat-and-sou-y reconnaissance. "Do you think you and I are out of our depths, here? Androffans might be common enough, would they suspect that a kasatha, let alone two, might be conduits to explorations of advanced technology?"

"Given the intimate link between kasatha here in Numeria and the Androffan mission, I expect the more informed League members are going flag us quickly enough. Like it or not, Isuma and I draw attention. Even if they don't find tech on us, I wouldn't put it past them having a division for experimenting on 'aliens'." Rūha furrows her brow as she scans the crowd for Technic Leaguers.

"Maybe we can take simple steps to hide their identities? There are magics that exist for such a thing," Rhoreen adds to the worry about the kasathas. "But also, once we get inside, we might see that kasathas are not as unusual as we suspect."

Khalia nods as Rhoreen provides a kind of assurance that Starfall is more unknown than known.

"We'll remain vigilant, Rūha and Isuma. Would we consider it amusing if our two kasathas attracted two more, or more? That would be almost portentous, a sign of a Gathering of Kasath."

The android turns to Yambul. "There are magics which can call a beloved weapon to the wielder, aren't there? Do you think we could find a crafter good enough to help you? Have you considered naming your strange lacerater?"

The android turns to Yambul. "There are magics which can call a beloved weapon to the wielder, aren't there? Do you think we could find a crafter good enough to help you? Have you considered naming your strange lacerater?"

"I can't imagine anything I could afford that would unit me with my weapon in here. I'll just have to do without for now." Yambul does not look happy about that either. He in turn glances at Zzvkgrogk, without his fire-pistol for the first time since he's known him.

He hopes there won't be much combat.

"Oh!" he lurches a bit, "I haven't thought of a good name for it. Not sure you name inanimate objects - do you? I mean a ship, sure, for there's life in it. I mean there is a bit too with that adamantine chain swinging around..." he pauses again, pining for his missing weapon.

"But in the end, is it really enough to name it?"

"If past is prologue, there is great precedent for naming a 'weapon'. It inspires, becomes something of your reputation that can precede you. Objects, not so much, unless you have a fondness for your kitchen implements. I have never seen a weapon like yours, and unique things deserve an appellation."

Turning to the others, speaking quietly, the android inquires further. "We have our ulterior motive for traveling to Starfall, what about our manifest motive? If we are questioned by the Technic League authorities, we should align. Perhaps downtime, after having escorted Hyrsek safely from the Scar? Seems both simple and truthful enough."

"If past is prologue, there is great precedent for naming a 'weapon'. It inspires, becomes something of your reputation that can precede you. Objects, not so much, unless you have a fondness for your kitchen implements. I have never seen a weapon like yours, and unique things deserve an appellation.”

”Yeah, I dunno.” Yambul says uncomfortably, ”I guess I’m trying to be, er, quiet about the tech, you know? I suppose it’s rather hard to keep a low profile with such a weapon though.” He takes a moment to think about it, ”What about Chainey?” he suggests.

Turning to the others, speaking quietly, the android inquires further. "We have our ulterior motive for traveling to Starfall, what about our manifest motive? If we are questioned by the Technic League authorities, we should align. Perhaps downtime, after having escorted Hyrsek safely from the Scar? Seems both simple and truthful enough."

”Sure, and selling and buying magics in a place large enough to handle it. We’re just mercenaries out for a good time.” He figures it’s basically the same as Hyrsek. Likely a lot of mercenaries around here. He takes some time to think up some lies in case the party is questioned, so he can have something ready.

”Lets start with shopping then.”

Last call - please check the treasure sheet for anything marked ‘To Sell’. If you want it, claim it. :)

"What about Chainey?"

"It sounds like a good start." Khalia smiles at Yambul. "When the name strikes the right chord, you won't have to ask."

Giving her thoughts to the local trade, the android debates if they'll actually condone body augmentations, or acceptable technology sales. Will the market offerings be a downgrade for members of the Zzvkith, she wonders.

Zzvkgrogk plods on, still attentive to the groups surroundings. He thinks about his beloved laser pistol.

My 'SupereXcaliburfragilisticexpedicious' is perfectly fine the way it is, thank you very much...

Yambul and Rhoreen quickly gather directions to the Rusted Cog from a trio of soot-covered workers taking a break by a cracked steam vent. "West, past the slag pits" says a woman with a scorched apron "Look for the hanging cog, can't miss it" her younger companion adds, "Place is loud, but the food's hot. People say it used to be a gearworks before it broke down. Now it’s food, drink, and bad music" the first woman replies "Better than dealing with those spine dragons up near Silver Mount. Nasty things been spotted again"

While asking about where to sell your stuff, among the directions towards, a grizzled Kellid also tells you "You hear? Some noble is planning to sell off a rare tech piece at the next Night Market. Probably stolen"

Zzvkgrogk's keen gaze picks out the rhythm of the street. On the eastern side, towering chimneys belch metallic smoke from blackened forges, their glowing interiors flashing with heat and hammer strikes. Grimy workers push carts of slag and raw ore. The western side, by contrast, is quieter, with peeling shopfronts hawking simple bread, dried roots, or threadbare clothes. None display the markings or strange shimmer of alchemical goods.

Following Yambul and Rhoreen's directions, the party goes into narrower alleys, where a few merchants operate in stalls, carts sheltered by metal awnings, and some shops. An older dwarf with soot-stained gloves eyes your weapons with a practiced gaze "You have been in the weeds" he says, running a thumb along the blade of a greataxe "League mercs? Or freelancers?" In another stall, a halfling woman, sleeves rolled, tells you with a glance "You're not looking to stir trouble, are you? Starfall eats troublemakers" They seem more curious than hostile, intrigued by the strange mix of Kellids, elves, and the conspicuously non-human members of the group. Upon realizing you're selling, they haggle quickly and without much fuss.
Consider your non-tech stuff sold

Rūha and Isuma draw attention like a spotlight in a cave, heads turn, whispers stir, but Starfall, jaded and scarred, does not cry out. Curiosity simmers under the surface, but with the League's shadow hanging heavy, no one dares act on it. The crowd is a majority of Kellids, though dwarves and halflings are common enough. A trio of orcish teens eye Isuma with an odd mixture of respect and unease before slinking off into an alley.

After three hours of barter and negotiation, the group follows the directions toward the Rusted Cog. The structure looks cobbled together from the skeleton of a fallen gearworks, rusted gantries now hold rickety tables, and old conveyor belts serve as booths. The smell of fried tubers and alcohol heavy with coolant taints the air. Inside, poor folk share cheap meals, and working-class regulars murmur over warm drinks while a battered automaton strums something like music in the corner. The Cog is noisy, cramped, and filled with the tired, the scheming, and the hopeful. It feels, oddly, like a place where real conversations might still happen.

Notoriety 6

While asking about where to sell your stuff, among the directions towards, a grizzled Kellid also tells you "You hear? Some noble is planning to sell off a rare tech piece at the next Night Market. Probably stolen"

”Probably is. Where is the Night Market this time?” Yambul asks casually.

Following Yambul and Rhoreen's directions, the party goes into narrower alleys, where a few merchants operate in stalls, carts sheltered by metal awnings, and some shops. An older dwarf with soot-stained gloves eyes your weapons with a practiced gaze "You have been in the weeds" he says, running a thumb along the blade of a greataxe "League mercs? Or freelancers?" In another stall, a halfling woman, sleeves rolled, tells you with a glance "You're not looking to stir trouble, are you? Starfall eats troublemakers" They seem more curious than hostile, intrigued by the strange mix of Kellids, elves, and the conspicuously non-human members of the group. Upon realizing you're selling, they haggle quickly and without much fuss.

Consider your non-tech stuff sold

”Freelancers, why? You got a job? No, no trouble ma’am. We’re polite freelancers.” he grins.

Party Divvy
No tech has yet been sold.
Everyone gets 13,478gp each.

Yambul also obtains the following (if available).
Potion of Fly (5) 750gp
Mithral Breastplate improved to +3 5,000gp
Cloak of Resistance improved to +3 5,000gp
Headband of Mental Prowess +2 improved to add Int (fly) 6,000gp

Total spent 16,750gp
Cash out of pocket 3,272gp

"Better than dealing with those spine dragons up near Silver Mount. Nasty things been spotted again"

1d20 + 22 ⇒ (14) + 22 = 36 Know (Arcana)

"Spine dragons? You don't say. Huh? Fully grown or more of a hatchling situation?" Rhoreen tries to learn more. "Are they likely to be a threat down here?"

Rhoreen will help sell loot while keeping her eyes open for things she might want to buy.

* * *

Rhoreen looks in at the Rusted Cog. She pauses, almost stuttering, and seeks to confirm something.

"We're not staying here, right? We can do better? We're just here for information, correct? There is no way this place is suitable for me...uh, I mean, for us."

KnowArcana: 1d20 + 20 + 1d6 ⇒ (20) + 20 + (6) = 46 Amateur Investigator

"Spine dragons..." Zzvkgrogk recollects, 3/4 Inspiration Pts. left "You mean those dragons with all the crystal spines, see-through wings and whatnot?"

He tries to reassure Rhoreen.

"Oh no, no, Calliope!" he cries, waving his hand as if to say 'Nothing of the kind!' or at least 'Not longterm.'. "I thought we'd come to clean up here a bit, then look for an inn in Sovereign's Watch."

Rūha crosses a pair of arms as she looks around the Rusted Cog. She lowers her voice "In all honesty, this place looks better than most for understanding exactly the state of things here in Starfall. People seem willing to talk, which can't be taken for granted based on what we saw of the streets."

She listens in to conversations and watches body language of the guests while the others begin their questioning. Though people here are likely to be more willing to share what they know of the League, she won't put it past that dastardly group to have spies everywhere in Starfall.

Perception: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (18) + 22 = 40
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (9) + 22 = 31

The soot-covered Kellids exchange quick glances as Yambul asks about the Night Market. One shrugs, but the woman with the scorched apron shakes her head "No one ever knows where it will be until it is already happening. Not safe to guess either. You say the wrong place to the wrong ear..." she trails off.

Her younger companion speaks more freely "The Night Market's not like regular markets. They pop up when some bigwig pays off a League captain to look the other way. That is where you go if you wanna buy or sell tech without it being stripped for parts, or worse, seized for 'public safety.'"

As for the dragons, the mention of Silver Mount brings a hush. A grizzled man lowers his voice "Spine dragons, yeah. Not just tales. Saw one last week, thing tore through a League patrol like wet parchment. Left only bones and boots. Was... gore, real gore"

---

At the merchant stalls, the dwarf examines your weapons again, this time with a smirk "League's the main contractor 'round here. But some nobles, wannabe lords in fancy rust, hire help when they want something done quiet"

Another merchant, the halfling, pauses mid-haggle and eyes your group carefully, as if weighing whether to say more. Her mouth opens... then closes again. She busies herself with counting coin, but her sidelong glance lingers.

---

At the Rusted Cog, you're barely seated before a man covered in coal dust stumbles over. His breath reeks of fermented roots and his grin is wide "By the gears, look at you lot. Ain't from here, are ya?" He squints at Isuma, then Rūha, then Zzvkgrogk "You a circus? Or one of them League troupes tryin' to be clever? No? Then tell me, what sun do you people crawl from?"

The man is loud, but not hostile. Others glance over, some amused, some wary, but none intervene. The automaton in the corner hits a sour note and keeps playing.

Khalia feels oddly at ease with the kellid in their midst taking the diplomatic reins. They seem to accomplish much with the halfling and dwarf, and it allows the android to take in what she can, by ear or by eye.

...

"I agree, Rūha. Places like these," Khalia motions her hand to paint most of the Rusted Cog as 'the place', "I think they allow for our group makeup to settle in without much question. I'm not sure Sovereign's Watch will be as accepting."

Feeling like the denizens of the Rusted Cog might yield to questions, Khalia approaches the wait staff, in whatever form that might be for an establishment such as this.

"We are new to Starfall. What is the protocol in dealing with the Technic League? We hear they are just as much authority as Kevoth Kul. It feels like we need to know how not to offend those wielding the power in this city."

Diplomacy, Gather Information: 1d20 ⇒ 14

"Then tell me, what sun do you people crawl from?"

Zzvkgrogk can’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust as the man breathes on them.

What is that? Weirdwood?!

"What does it matter? I mean it’s all one big universe, isn’t it? We all crawl under the same sun… or suns. Why – I’m willing to bet that any one sky in the universe on any one planet looks just like any other sky on any other planet in the universe. Think about it. There’s so many of them. Suns, that is. Too many to have any real perspective about where you are -- no matter where you are.”

Zzvkgrogk sits, folds his arms, pulls his cloak hood down a little, and sips some straight-from-the-bottle ginger beer from his straw.

Maybe that’ll provoke some thoughts or hallucinations in this guy and he'll just wander off.

Rhoreen's face begins to curdle visibly as the town yokel chooses to ask where *she* came from. Sir, you smell like the underside of an otyugh.

She continues to offer stinkface, and does not help with the questioning.

Rūha leans back in her seat, watching as Zzvkgrogk starts rambling about suns. It saves her the possibility of stumbling over her own words about where she comes from or saying something that would seem even stranger than normal to these people. She spends the time thinking about how rough and tumble asteroid miners would talk in the serials as she considers how to deal with the visitor to their table.

Once Zzvkgrogk is done, she speaks up to the man "No not from here, but interested in knowing what's what around here. People in cages in the street wouldn't pass in other cities we've seen, but this isn't a normal town, now is it?" Her muffled, extremely fake sounding drawl is utterly unconvincing.

The soot-covered Kellids exchange quick glances as Yambul asks about the Night Market. One shrugs, but the woman with the scorched apron shakes her head "No one ever knows where it will be until it is already happening. Not safe to guess either. You say the wrong place to the wrong ear..." she trails off.

Her younger companion speaks more freely "The Night Market's not like regular markets. They pop up when some bigwig pays off a League captain to look the other way. That is where you go if you wanna buy or sell tech without it being stripped for parts, or worse, seized for 'public safety.'"

”I gotcha. Might be looking to buy some tech quiet like. I’ll keep my eyes open for one of these markets. If you hear of one, you let me know.” he grins and places two gold coins in each of their hands.

At the merchant stalls, the dwarf examines your weapons again, this time with a smirk "League's the main contractor 'round here. But some nobles, wannabe lords in fancy rust, hire help when they want something done quiet"

Another merchant, the halfling, pauses mid-haggle and eyes your group carefully, as if weighing whether to say more. Her mouth opens... then closes again. She busies herself with counting coin, but her sidelong glance lingers.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14 vs DC 20

Yambul isn’t exactly sure what they mean, ”Yeah, we’re more the something done quiet sort. Let us know if you hear of anything useful. ‘Course we like the quiet types too.” He gives them each two gold as well.

At the Rusted Cog, you're barely seated before a man covered in coal dust stumbles over. His breath reeks of fermented roots and his grin is wide "By the gears, look at you lot. Ain't from here, are ya?" He squints at Isuma, then Rūha, then Zzvkgrogk "You a circus? Or one of them League troupes tryin' to be clever? No? Then tell me, what sun do you people crawl from?"

"What does it matter? I mean it’s all one big universe, isn’t it? We all crawl under the same sun… or suns. Why – I’m willing to bet that any one sky in the universe on any one planet looks just like any other sky on any other planet in the universe. Think about it. There’s so many of them. Suns, that is. Too many to have any real perspective about where you are -- no matter where you are.”

”Wait a minute. Don’t we have just the one sun? I mean, how can there be something other than the sun?” Yambul struggles with the concept of size in space. Vast isn’t one of the words in his vocabulary. He looks to Zzvkgrogk for answers, but the conversation gets away from him as Rüha speaks.

"No not from here, but interested in knowing what's what around here. People in cages in the street wouldn't pass in other cities we've seen, but this isn't a normal town, now is it?" Her muffled, extremely fake sounding drawl is utterly unconvincing.

This isn’t someone with information I don't think. Yambul thinks to himself as Rüha questions the drunk. He takes a different tack.

”Hey big man! No, we’re not from around here. Not at all. And as everyone can see... I’m not clever. We’re from Torch. I’m Yambul, pleased to meet you. Can I buy you a drink?” He remains seated for now - not wanting to antagonize the drunk.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (8) + 19 = 27

The Kellid's accept Yambul's coins with a bit of a surprise. They thank him and say something about Kevoth Kul's men not being that generous.

---

The dusty miner blinks slowly at Zzvkgrogk's rambling, his grin growing wider, either from drink or because he just decided to take it as wisdom. He wobbles a bit, then laughs, clapping the table once "Yer right, s'pose. One sky, many suns. One mountain, many beasts"

He turns toward Rūha with a lopsided smirk as she speaks, seeming pleased at the effort even if her accent falls flat "Ain't normal, no. Starfall's the Black Sovereign's city. His word's law... when he gets his word out 'a those Kellid drugs, that is. But the League? They got hands in every pot, every lock, every life. Step wrong, you end up caged, stripped, or just gone" his tone turns sober at that.

The barkeep, a tall half-orc woman missing an ear, answers Khalia's question as she slings a heavy mug onto the table "Best advice? Stay outta League business. Don't gawk at 'em. Don't talk back. Don't think havin' friends will save you if you cross one. You see League colors, you get outta their way. Fast"

She leans in a little closer, voice low, "And if you're offered a deal... make damn sure it's worth the leash"

The miner laughs, leaning forward towards you a little "If you're lookin' to join up with the League, well... sometimes they take new blood. But only wizards, sorcerers, alchemists, folk like that" his gaze flickers meaningfully to the casting components and strange alchemy tools that Zzvkgrogk and Rhoreen carry "Their headquarters're over in the Inner Sector, just by the Palace of Fallen Stars. Palace itself, now, that you can gawk at. But the Headquarters? Only members and slaves go in. Don't go tellin' 'em I sent you either, or it'll be me in a cage next"

The tavern hums around you, rough workers, mercenaries, and the occasional tech-slinger filling the smoky air with muttered talk and the smell of cheap oil.

Feel free to roll gather information to try force any particular information you want to know

Khalia nods to the half-orc barkeep, and doesn't rebut a word spoken to her. It is going to require us remaining aware of how our actions might be interpreted by those quick to anger...

...

Perception v DC 24: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (18) + 19 = 37

Khalia allows her gaze to pass across the patrons of the Rusted Cog. When she's done, she moves to Yambul, the talkative one of the Zzvkith, presently. "There in the corner. A young woman. She's been studying us for longer than others have. Perhaps she'll answer our questions, if you can approach her in a non-threatening manner?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (11) + 22 = 33

Ruha responds to the miner "I guess we'll just admire the League Headquarters from a safe distance then, eh? At least until we decide if it's worth taking a job from them, and it does sound like it isn't." She glances across the room and spots the people listening in, but continues regardless. "As for the Palace, you make it sound like they accept tourists there. Is it open for visitors? And I don't like the sound of Kellid drugs... what's the story there?"

She nudges Yambul and whispers, though loudly enough for others to overhear "I think that red-head in the corner is interested in you." She reasons a more natural segue into talking to the young woman might be available to Yambul.

SenseMotiveDC20: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22

PerceptionDC24: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (6) + 19 = 25

Zzvkgrogk acknowledges the existence of Red Braid to himself, but does not for the time being call attention to her.

Instead, he tips his hood back and looks around at the room.
”*Cough-cough* – yea. We went though Torch on our way to Hajoth Hakados from Scrapwall just before coming here. We heard the purple flame of Torch was dead -- but while we were there, it came back to life somehow. What is the story around that?”

GatherInfo: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30 vs DC 20
Huh. I wonder what that means. Yambul tries to figure it out, but eventually shrugs. Maybe Torch has a reputation around here.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27 vs DC 24

Khalia allows her gaze to pass across the patrons of the Rusted Cog. When she's done, she moves to Yambul, the talkative one of the Zzvkith, presently. "There in the corner. A young woman. She's been studying us for longer than others have. Perhaps she'll answer our questions, if you can approach her in a non-threatening manner?"

She nudges Yambul and whispers, though loudly enough for others to overhear "I think that red-head in the corner is interested in you." She reasons a more natural segue into talking to the young woman might be available to Yambul.

”Yeah, I see her. I’ll go over and see if she wants a chat.”

Before he goes over, Yambul will ‘study’ her. Then he will carefully approach the woman in red. He has his hands down and away from the falchion strapped to his back. He tries to grin in an unalarming manner.

”Excuse me, miss? We’d love it if you’d join us for a drink. On me. C’mon, it’s just a drink.”
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (6) + 19 = 25

1d20 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (11) + 1 - 2 = 10 Sense Motive

Rhoreen keeps her nose upturned to all these folks.

1d20 + 19 ⇒ (20) + 19 = 39 Perception

Of course she is staring. Probably never seen her betters before.

"As for the Palace, you make it sound like they accept tourists there. Is it open for visitors? And I don't like the sound of Kellid drugs... what's the story there?"

The barkeep snorts softly at Rūha's question, setting down another dented mug with a thunk "Yeah, a great part of the Palace is open to the public. Anyone can walk its alleys and gawk at the old Rain of Stars metal," she says, wiping her hands with a grimy cloth. Then she leans in, half-smirking "But make sure you don't sit into Kevoth Kul's table without a worthy present to add to his party. Last fool who tried walked out wearing nothing but bruises and shame. If he walked out at all"

A grizzled man nearby, skin like old leather, face smeared with metallic dust, leans over and mumbles without looking up from his cup "Ain't no secret the Black Sovereign's high as the sky all days. League keeps passin' him those Numerian drugs, you see. Keeps his mind chasin' shadows while they run the country through locks and ledgers. They need him distracted, so the dealer keeps dealing, and the League keeps ruling"

” We heard the purple flame of Torch was dead -- but while we were there, it came back to life somehow. What is the story around that?”

Zzvkgrogk's question about Torch draws a few mutters and raised brows, but one man, sunburnt and twitching with too much caffeine or paranoia, finally pipes up from a corner stool "Heard the official version, Ozmin Zaydow and his Techno-squad did it. That's what the League says"

A second voice, raspier, speaks from the shadows near the wall. It belongs to a middle-aged woman with a missing thumb and a faded tattoo of a circuit around her throat "But streets tell another story, rat. That it wasn't League men what lit the flame again. They say the Mockery saved Torch. They say the fire burns for freedom now. And that the Mockery's reach is spreading, maybe even to burn the League down"

As Yambul makes his way across the smoky room and offers his invitation, the redhead doesn't answer right away. She simply tilts her head, eyes flicking from his smile to his hands, to the hilt of his blade... and back again. The fingers of one hand toy idly with a small object, perhaps a coin, or a card? It glints once in the firelight, revealing only a glimpse of its odd, angular design before it vanishes back into her palm "You wear your people's steel," she finally says, voice low, almost too quiet for the noise around "But do you wear their chains?"

She doesn't move from her seat, nor wave him off. Her gaze sharpens "When the wind howls from the north, does the fire kneel... or does it dance?"

The Mockery?

1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 19 + 2 = 34 Know (Local)

OH! The *MOCKERY*. I've heard about that, because of course I have.

1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 8 + 2 = 27 Linguistics

"I, for one, fancy the dance," Rhoreen pipes up for no reason whatsoever...probably because she is ever so smart.

As Yambul makes his way across the smoky room and offers his invitation, the redhead doesn't answer right away. She simply tilts her head, eyes flicking from his smile to his hands, to the hilt of his blade... and back again. The fingers of one hand toy idly with a small object, perhaps a coin, or a card? It glints once in the firelight, revealing only a glimpse of its odd, angular design before it vanishes back into her palm "You wear your people's steel," she finally says, voice low, almost too quiet for the noise around "But do you wear their chains?"

She doesn't move from her seat, nor wave him off. Her gaze sharpens "When the wind howls from the north, does the fire kneel... or does it dance?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (20) + 13 = 33 vs DC 20

”I, and my friends, would love to dance with you - though there are times when the wind blows too strongly and the wise one bows until the wind has passed...” he grins thinking himself very clever.

”I’ve never been a big fan of chains. Perhaps we can help each other break them from others.” he adds to be clear in his meaning.

Knowledge(Local) v DC 20: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (5) + 17 = 22
Linguistics v DC 15: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (2) + 14 = 16

Khalia barely keeps up with the various conversational threads being woven by the Zzvkith. Zzvkgrogk is feiging ignorance so as not to attract undue attention for his role in returning to Torch its Flame. Roo is marking an avenue that leads directly at the Palace, her very presence likely to stir much attention. Rhoreen and Yambul want to dance like fire. Very confusing. At least they haven't provoked the woman's ire yet.

The android is drawn to the weathered circuit tattoo.

"We are very grateful for the Return of the Flame, and although we respect those who rule, we also greatly value our freedom." Khalia studies the wizened woman.

What she's hearing about the Sovereign and the League's involvement definitely doesn't surprise her. If anything, it's more of a surprise he's not transparently a puppet of their organization. She files away the info for later with nods to the locals that shared their gossip.

Seeing the line of questioning with the young woman seems to be leading somewhere interesting, she sits back and listens in. The tension doesn't entirely leave her. The earlier comments about League spies are sitting in the back of her mind. Though unlikely, the woman and her story could be a trap for unwary freedom fighters.

While that's going on, she addresses the older woman with the missing thumb "You look up to them then? The Mockery? Odd choice of name."

Zzvkgrogk’s beady eye gaze shifts from speaker to speaker as each addresses his question before finally lightly settling on the middle-aged woman with a missing thumb and a faded tattoo.

He responds to the sunburnt twitchy man. ”Ozwyn … who? Oh, well I’ll have to take your word for it. I guess that means some of those in the League are actually sober.”

’Mockery’? Does she mean us, or a rival gang? Maybe I shouldn’t ask her how she lost her thumb…
”Well if that is true then, I am guessing that they must really know their way around!”

The redheaded woman tilts her head slightly as something in her expression softens "You need a proper partner to have a real dance however" she says cryptically. The object in her hand she puts it to spin on the table.

She rises "I'm needed elsewhere" she says, brushing a lock of red hair from her cheek "The wind is changing. If you keep walking against it... you might find what you're looking for"

She then moves away, passing by Yambul, and abandons the inn.

The old woman with the faded tattoo barks a dry laugh at Rūha's question "Odd? Maybe. They just laugh at the League. For the drops of water in the river can be contained for a time, but eventually they will find their way out" she taps her missing thumb against the rim of her cup.

"Don't live on silly hopes woman" states the miner "Look at the last would be savior. Just lies there over his drugs and does not pay a cent for your weeps" he ends drinking hard on his mug.

The small shard left behind stops spinning and falls flat on the table surface. It is rough-edged and black with a subtle sheen, like cooled pitch or ancient glass. Under the light of the fireplace, you spot thin amber veins shimmering just beneath its surface.

Yambul lets her go and picks up the shard she left behind. He can’t help it though, his first thought is how to make it into a necklace.
Craft Jewelry: 1d20 + 15 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 15 + 2 = 26 (heroism)

He returns to the group and shows them the item explaining how he came to have it. ”Is it magical at all? A key maybe? She said to walk against the wind - maybe she was being literal, maybe not.”

He’s ready to get a room and settle in for the night, but waits for the party to complete their other conversations. Then something occurs to him.

He whispers, ”Did any of you sneak any tech in? Their sensors didn’t seem to work through skin, maybe our extra-dimensional satchels are safe too.”

We have six pieces of tech, four of which are the Mi-go brain cylinders. So I think it’ll all fit neatly in our haversacks if we want to try bluffing back in now that we know how it works.

Yambul finds out the rock is pretty common. The smell of it reminds him of something though, this is kerogen, a type of rock he has seen processed in alchemical workshops to produce shale oil, which he has seen used in Torch to light up lamps for night light. It is still a pretty rare thing and there shall not be much places where this thing is extracted or processed in Starfall.

There is some more conversation and some invites for drinks and dinner, but ultimately you get your rooms to pass a night and you have a good rest.

The night is uneventful.

Rhoreen takes a look at the rock, casting Detect Magic and seeing if any enchantments lay upon it, just in case.

"It's a rock. And I could use a good rest. Let's go rest."

Rhoreen keeps her tech, like her fancy mask, in her haversack which sort of means it is simultaneously both on and not-on her person at any time (it's on the ethereal plane, I think).

”Look at the last would be savior. Just lies there over his drugs and does not pay a cent for your weeps"

he ends drinking hard on his mug.

Perception: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (18) + 19 = 37 To whom is he referring?
”I sense disillusionment. Maybe we should talk to that deadbeat over there.”

~~~
”Oooh-oooh! Lemme see!” Zzvkgrogk takes the rock for inspection. He applies the rhombocrystal on the chain Yambul made for him to his eye and holds the rock up to it to get a closer look.

AppraiseRock: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (1) + 16 = 17 +5 more if the thing is crystalline at all. Is it magical? Did someone go through a lot of trouble to make it the shape it is in? If so, any chance they signed their work?

”Interesting. I wonder if it is a sort of calling card, or a token/pass to a secret hideout. Did you want to track Red Braid, or follow Deadbeat.”

”If nothing else, you can use it as a toy.” He sets it on point on the table holding it there with his forefinger, then flicks it with his other finger to spin it like a top.

Rūha gathers up with everyone else in an inn room the next morning. "One encouraging aspect - although it happens in the shadows it appears there's some resistance to the League. We have the woman with the braid, maybe related to the Mockery, as well as just plenty of dissatisfaction from ordinary people." She thinks on it. "Maybe we can find some more rumors that'll lead us to the Mockery. It wouldn't hurt to see what they know."

Rhoreen finds no traces of magic on the shard, just a faint warmth from the fire it lay beside.

Miner wrote:

”Look at the last would be savior. Just lies there over his drugs and does not pay a cent for your weeps"

he ends drinking hard on his mug.

[dice=Perception]1d20+19 To whom is he referring?
”I sense disillusionment. Maybe we should talk to that deadbeat over there.”

As conversation turns, an older man at the bar snorts "Who else would he mean? Kevoth-Khul, of course. The League makes sure the drugs keep coming to his hands so he is too drugged to stand, let alone lead" A few nod grimly.

Zzvkgrogk confirms the shard is indeed kerogen, refinable into lamp oil, a precious commodity in wood-starved Numeria. Wherever it came from, there is probably more to be found.

---

The morning light filters through soot-streaked windows as the innkeeper serves a coarse barley mash and a sliver of root vegetable. The smell of boiled grain fills the air, but few speak. Faces are drawn, eyes dulled, already burdened by the machinery and orders that await them outside.

None bothers you while you have your meal and decide where to go, what to do today.

I have given name in the map to a few places that have been referred to the conversation, but you should have a sense of other additional possibilities not tied to any place as well.

As he’s not cooking, Yambul takes some silver wire and starts to braid it down in the common room early the next day. He has an idea of what to do with the kerogen by way of making it into a necklace. The thought of something tight - like a choker, but the stone might be a secret code or something, so you don’t maybe want it visible. Now he’s working on a longer chain of braided silver which will wrap it like a basket and can sit under a shirt.

He works part way through breakfast, just sipping coffee as he wolfs down something between silver working. When the party comes down for breakfast, he asks, ”So where should we start? Should we try to find Hyrsek at that fancy place? Maybe check it out? I know some of you don’t dig this hostel, but I kinda like it.”

"I don't mind it at all. Feels cozy after some of the places we've camped." Rūha shrugs "Hyrsek's so close with the League that it might bring us in conflict with them earlier rather than later, but it might also get us some useful information. Hmm... I suppose we can give meeting him a try and get ready to run if he's decided to turn us in for an extra bit of gold."

"My first vote is for trying to learn more about the Mockery though. And I'm curious about the Sovreign as well."

The morning light filters through soot-streaked windows as the innkeeper serves a coarse barley mash and a sliver of root vegetable.

"I never thought I'd miss Yambul's choppings, but here we are," Rhoreen grouses about the breakfast, finding it strange that there was better fare on the road. "I, for one, would like to see the Street of Lights. Maybe we should start there."

Rhoreen tries to spoon more of the mash into her mouth, but fails to enjoy it.

"<*sound*>," Rhoreen makes a sound like the mash was about to come back up while looking at Zzvkgrogk," "Where do you think we should start, friend?"

”Street of Lights – the half we went down anyway – didn’t look too promising unless you’re interested in slag or raw ore,” he starts, pushing the scrap root and his barely mush away with a cringe. ”but we could check out the other half of it to see if we can spot Red Braid or anyone else with a kerogen shard. I’m betting that’ll lead us to the Mockery. They might have some insight as to how we can find the secret night market. Didn’t someone last night say some noble was going to sell something at the next one – something rare and ‘probably stolen’ ?”

”Then maybe we can get some intel on what Leaguer does what here so we can either save Kevoth Kul or depose him if necessary. In between, maybe we could stroll over to Sovereign's Watch to check out this old Rain of Stars metal. Maybe we disguise ourselves as pilgrims or something - 'A Previously Unheard-of and Strange Cult Originating From Scrapwall' or wherever. We will have to think of a name for that cult if we choose to do that.”

Zzvkgrogk will also keep his eyes peeled for a Scroll shop.

”We could be flagellants! (link of sorts)” Yambul says excitedly. ”We just need some boards and some robes all the same color and style.” He likes this idea in case they need to sneak about a bit.

He puts his things away, lots more to do, and stretches a bit. He looks down at what’s left of his breakfast, Yeah, that was kinda nasty. He shrugs and heads out into the street.

"I agree Rüha, but I don't think we can force it. Rhoreen and Zzvkgrogk are right, let's see a bit of the city, starting with the Street of Lights. Before we start any mischief, we should know how to get around and maybe find some good alleyways we can hide in if we need to."

Once everyone is ready, he heads out toward the Street of Lights. He keeps his eyes peeled for kerogen shards and a place that sells long robes.

Ruha thinks back to a children's vid series she watched in her youth. "I vote for the name The Circle of Chrome" She offers with amusement at the hidden joke. "In any case, that plan sounds good to me Zzvkgrogk. Lets see what else we can learn."

”We could be flagellants! (link of sorts)”

"Absolutely not. I am not flagellating myself in any manner...if I wanted to bow and kowtow to something, I'd find some silly god to prostrate myself in front of! No, that's not what I am doing," Rhoreen slaps her mush bowl into the cleaning bin, leaving it for someone else to clean. "I'll be in a cult, but won't be supplicating myself in some silly manner."

"I vote for the name The Circle of Chrome"

Rhoreen looks at Ruha, trying to get the hidden joke, but fails.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Post tantrum, Rhoreen preps to move out.

As the group finishes the breakfast and plans, a low whistle outside the inn announces the change of shift, time for most to march off to sweat-choked tunnels and stinking forges. The street is alive with the shuffle of boots, clink of chains, and the dull rhythm of a city built on labor, not hope.

A few curious eyes follow you as you step into the haze of morning smog. Men and women, some not much older than children, move in silent columns, shoulders bowed beneath packs or pushing slag carts. League enforcers in black-plated armor stand at intersections, shock-lances at the ready, their presence a quiet threat. A coughing child is struck when they stumble out of line. No one dares react.

The street is louder further ahead: smoke belching carts and the bark of an overseer arguing with a merchant guard the threshold of what seems to be the old entertainment quarter. The sharp lights that give the street its name are off at this time of the day.

Inquiries about places where to buy common stuff, like the scrolls Zzvkgrogk is looking for, are easily answered, pointing you in this case to the Technic League compound directly, though others suggest a shop in Sovereign's Watch.

For more difficult topics I will need gather information checks!