Concordance of The Abyss (Pathfinder Chronicle) (Inactive)

Game Master Molech

Artemisia’s laughter rings out at the mention of Opera and she struggles a moment to control herself. ”Oh, lady Valeria, I do apologize but the last opera I saw was a comedy of errors involving an investigation into devilry and well.” she gestures broadly at their varied troupe.

”When you mentioned dressing the part, I just couldn’t hold it in. In a sense, are we not all living such a performance right now, to the amusement of our many observers? An idle, but amusing (or perhaps alarming?) thought.”. She grins again, before nodding to Master Rufram to continue.

“I would be willing to stay in a guestroom, and thank you for the offer, but I would not think of intruding in your laboratory or storage or put you out further on our behalf. No! It would be exceeding rude! Your space is your sanctuary and rightly so, Master Alchemist. I think we must therefor stop to arrange lodging. You say whitecap is reasonable, then it must be so.”[/b]

"Please Artemisia, call me Val. As for the Opera, it can sadly lean heavily into the diabolic nature of the land of its Origin. Still, it is an art form I have seen and heard of. Notes ringing in the hallowed halls of divine theaters. Sonorous notes rang through the crowd relating and intriguing them. To get lost in the notes, letting the sounds resonate within. Such a glorious gift." Val blinked and then blushed adit.

"Sorry, adolescent memories of me and my mother attending the latest Opera. Which sufficed to ay was far better than the vocal lessons my Mother persued. Well as long as my other studies were kept up. As for an outfit, I always come prepared." Val smiled proudly as her magical sleeves would allow for a simple wardrobe change.

May I dear host? As a set of words go through Pärs head, coming from his copilot.
You have permission, for 15 seconds

Pärs speaks loudly,
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts...

Oh, that Shakespeare guy you were talking about before when I asked you about the second most tolerable mortal you ever "co-piloted"
Nearly half a millenia has passed and his plays are still played on his plane.

As the others talk of the opera, Sabella gets a wistful look. "Ah, the Chelixan opera brings back such fond memories of attending several with my father when I was younger." She says pleasantly as they walk the streets of Korvosa.

"Opera? Y'all 'avent 'eard fine opera 'til ya 'eard th' singin' o' Brodomi Ironstone. That deep voice'll echo through yer bones!" Muziel puffs with pride as if he were somehow the dwarven operatic singer himself. "Haven't seen opera without a dwarf 'n it, but reckon it's na the same."

K’Tak’Ktah’hal think to himself "What new thing has the society introduced me to today: opera... I hope this lot can get down to business when the time comes. We're supposed to be professionals".

As we continue to walk to the Pythoness House, K’Tak’Ktah’hal will grab some street food from a convenient vendor(1 sp).

"Though I could talk about the Opera and art all day, We do have a job to do. Master Refrum tell us about the Python. try to be as detailed as possible." Val says as she hopes the lizard man doesn't get sick on the street food and then smiles.

Wonder what the limit of their depravity at this Pythoness. Especially this fortune-telling? She'll write it down and investigate it in detail after this mission. Oddly enough this trip has already born a few new avenues to explore.

Artemisia smiles and nods at Val. "Val then. While you get the details and our guide catches his breath, I'll ask a room from Whitecap be held for us. I should be right back, barring interference." Reaching out she snag's Par's sleeve as she heads in. "Come along Poet Pars, in case I offend someone you can tell them I hear voices or am extremely old and feeble or whatever you needs must to make sure we get a nice rate on our rental. I shan't hold a grudge."

Reserve a suite for 8 at the inn, then rejoin the crew, seconding onward to Python

Whitcaps is an ancient four-story, square structure of bricks, many cracked and breaking. It looks old, smells old, and feels old. A retired Sable Company Marine is coming on nighttime security duty and looks you over nonchalantly as you pay for a room from an hoary proprietor who barely gives you all a second glance, as though he has seen a great many worldly renters in his decades.

65 Silver coins per person is the cost per 18-hour-stay.

Each room accommodates ten to eleven people in four clean beds; a sturdy object of furniture is also in each room for use. Or, if any prefer, the common-room floor is 10 Silver coins per 18-hour-stay (currently 16 people are in the common-room, mostly going to sleep now.) If you don’t want the possibility of sharing a room with other renters, you must pay the remaining 65-Silver per person – an additional 195 SP for a room if you seven want absolute privacy. There is a bath house one city-block away for anyone interested; a few places nearby sell food or drink. The room-key you are given is very high quality and is made with etchings of Abjuration magic, tuned to a specific door lock which radiates mild Abjuration and Divination magic. After only a few minutes of securing a room or a spot on the common floor, Mister Refrum continues to lead the way to The Styes.

Mister Refrum reiterates his offer to sleep in his alchemy shop for free – the storefront floor, admittedly, but free nonetheless, and reasonably comfortable.

At the Pythoness, K’Tak’Ktah’hal, studies the murder site with unblinking care, using tracking powder as necessary, trying to gather as much information as he can, but in particular looking for a trail to follow...

Survival: 1d20 + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 + 4 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 + 4 + 10 = 35
8 ranks +3 trained +2 wis+2 favored Terrain Urban+4 track +10 tracking powder

Anyone else who wants to help out feel free to pitch in - guidance, aid another, what have you.

Once he has fully assessed the scene, he reaches out to the urban wildlife (rats, cats, birds and bats)... To help his cause, he uses bits of the street food he purchased earlier as bribes (with which he's generous - he recognizes that as a large carnivore, smaller animals are cautious).

Wild Empathy: 1d20 + 8 - 1 ⇒ (5) + 8 - 1 = 12 + ? for the food bribe
+8 level -1 cha

The STYES

The Styes

Coming to the northern edge of North Point you see the old stone bridge with no rails, a dozen or so feet wide, cross the 40 feet span of The Alika Narrows to The Styes. An oily slick of grease taints the surface of the still, briny water below you, and the smell of raw sewage, rotting fish, and urban effluvia wafts up in a nearly tangible miasma of mist. But this is almost fresh, however, in comparison to the heavy, hazy, sickly-yellow smog hanging over the lower stretch of The Styes, emanating from pollutants churned and fermented from the edifices on Garrison Hill. As you look upon The Styes from the bridge, a city worker passes you with a cart, a threadbare blanket covering the bodies of five persons deceased today in Korvosa, natural causes: infirmity or age or violence. Tonight they will be cremated in The Mortuary on Garrison Hill, its stunted, squat chimney ready to add these poor people’s ashes to the yellowish miasma floating over Korvosa’s district of the destitute. Next to you Mister Refrum rubs the inflammation of his left ear as his Red Face begins acting up on him. The gentleman pushing the cart also suffers from Red Face, an indication he lives here in The Styes (yet is lucky enough to have a job that affords him a reason to visit Midlands). For a few Copper coins’ bribe, he will allow you to look under the blanket, for he knows voyeurs will often pay to see the unfortunate dead.

In The Alika Narrows below you a handful of citizens of The Styes begin lowering themselves into the fetid, viscous brackishness to hunt for oysters, mussels, clams, or freshly dead fish with which to feed their families. The stronger among them can even swim for crabs and other bottom-feeders. On honest night’s labor for the working class who spent the day fishing in Conqueror’s Bay to feed the middle-class of Korvosa in ‘ The Midlands.’ You can see plenty of chunks of flotsam and jetsam protruding from The Alika Narrows, providing a multitude of life-savers where the men and women can climb up for air. At the western end of the channel, a mile down, you see the wrecked hull of a large ship wedged at the mouth, doing a tireless job of keeping the tide from cleaning or recycling the near-stagnant water.

Entering The Styes from North Point you feel the claustrophobia of oppression, the incubation of illness, and the weight of sorrow all baked into the ground-floor buildings. Squalor. Destitution. Decay, and mold, and despair. The lower part of The Styes is ‘Bridgefront.’ As Mister Refrum leads you toward Garrison Hill, he talks about his home. ”Two centuries ago, Bridgefront was a bustling market, and the lively strip of Korvosan society. Today it is skid row, crowded with decaying tenements sagging under the weight of rooftop hovels, themselves buckling under the weight of ever more haphazard and rickety shanties.” He coughs and wheezes a bit, allowing you to see for yourselves. Door and window frames are mostly empty, as only the unmovable stone foundations have not been looted for other purposes over the years. Above you, as you walk through tiny alleyways, are planks and nets and poles connecting ‘The Shingles’ above like they do in Midlands – though far more haphazardly and carelessly. In Bridgefront the stone frameworks of the tenements are all blackened from the soot of many, many city fires. Long dried blood and viscera cakes the surfaces like grime, and plague veritably drips from the sad walls. Soft snoring sounds slowly begin replacing the noise of families settling in for the night: mothers cooing babes to sleep, small children playing before bed, teens and young adults hiding away for a moments’ privacy in the densely packed apartments. You hear an older sister’s sharp scolding of her little brother to not sleep too near a window, less a Choker take him in the night. Mister Refrum confirms that that is a real danger in The Styes, though the Magistrate of Pest Control, Rashlen, does an admirable job of paying for bounties on such nuisances.

The Lamplighter

In wider alleyways, veritable thoroughfares through Bridgefront, you witness confident older children with long torch-sticks, lighting lamps in order to keep a modicum of light present in The Styes. ”No monster dares violate any of them; they are paid by ‘The Lamplighter’ a few coins each night, and it is believed that The Lamplighter can scry through the flames at any who harm these children. The Lamplighter is funded by one of the most powerful Nobles in all of Korvosa, the honorable Lord Glorio Arkona – who spends his own money to provide a small measure of comfort here for those who The Magistrate of Expenditures has forgotten and forsaken.

”I suggest that perhaps interviewing The Lamplighter tomorrow when the day begins be an option you consider. It is possible he witnessed something through the flames of the night, and perhaps could provide information.”

The Alchemist’s Quarter on Garrison Hill

After several minutes you reach the base of Garrison Hill and begin your incline left, to the western side of The Styes and The Alchemists’ Quarter. Seven shops are here, their effluvia and run-off trickling into ’Flotsam’ and The Alika Narrows below. Ledbetter’s Apothecary is one of the two grandest. Awaking the older Silas Ledbetter is not a problem, so Mister Refrum assures you. Though there is a moment of tension as two alchemical Flesh Golems arise to protect Ledbetter’s Apothecary from the inner depths of Silas’ home and storefront. Once the venerable alchemist recognizes Mister Refrum he commands his constructed guards back to their station.

It is no problem at all to purchase a dose (or more) of Alchemical Tracking Powder, 300 Silver coins each; payment in Gold is acceptable.

{Perception DC 12}
From out of the back of Silas Ledbetter’s storefront you catch a glimpse of a midgeted teen son who peaks at you. Mild, uncontrollable drooling and cross-eyedness suggest the poor boy suffers from slight mental retardation as well as achondroplasia. At first you may easily dismiss his staring as innocent awe, which is likely all it is, but as it lingers your experienced, adventuring-in-danger sense may wonder if there is something more.

. . . .

Mister Refrum’s Workshop is a humble, cluttered storefront and home in The Alchemists’ Quarter very close to Ledbetter’s Apothecary. After you finish your business with Silas Ledbetter, he takes advantage of the convenience to check his own locks and makes sure everything is secure.

He gives you directions to Pythoness House, across The Alchemists’ Quarter and past the Mortuary and then past Madame Carrington’s and next to The Winding Way and The Temple of Aroggus, on the other side of Garrison Hill. His directions are easily understood. Though he can accompany you, he would like to retire for the night and meet you tomorrow morning. Fatigue is setting in. (He offers a key to his shop if you are staying here for sleep.)

"Lamplighters eh? I bet they have seen a lot. If thee Lamplighter won't tell us we can always ask the children themselves. As for rooms I wouldn't mind a nice stay at an Inn, preferably together as a group" Val says as she slides seem to finger her necklace a bit while she walks.

I can tell I am getting a bit tired. Though we need to see this Pythoness for ourselves first. The group seems capable, and I'll try to lend my moral support when and where I can. Shelyn willing this horrible affair will be stopped the artifact is found and placed in the Society's hands. Which in turn will give me a great story to put in my next book!

Of to the den of cunning villainnesses that want to drain Pär of his vital fluids we go.

-13.55 gp for rooms and tip/bribe.
diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
”Look at them poor dead fools, carted about like so much produce. Mortal Cities and their morticians. Thank you sir, where did you say you found them again?”. Even Artemisia winces at her bluntness, but she powers through and keeps the cart stalled long enough for her companions to look them over.

At the store, she notes the boy but doesn’t comment before they walk away. ”Odd lad, something not quite of a piece there, ah well it’s probably that he’s never seen a Paladin before.”

When Rufram mentions the lamplighters and their mysterious diviner, she pauses a moment to examine the lamp with some minor regard. D.Magic ”I don’t think the torch or flames are any particular magic, but the lampposts themselves might be glyphed to allow such. That absolutely sounds like apprentice or construct work to watch an area this size, might be better to speak with the staff.”

As they arrive at Master Refrum’s, Artemisia declines the key again. ”Thank you good sir, but your space is your own and we should not impose further on your time. Come friends, we have quite possibly the last pleasant before least pleasant parts ahead of us. Best we keep to our schedule so we can rest in peace this eve.”

A smile on her face and a spring in her step, she continues on.

”I admit I prefer Lions to pythons, but there is room in my heart for a she wolf or two if she reminds me of my youth. Sadly, I expect neither such diversion this eve. I would worry that any evidence we might glean has been removed as the house prepares for its evening, but the custom seems to be to wear the varied plagues of urbanity upon the face of the building like a trophy announcing one’s survival.”

She nods at one particularly grimy wall, then moves along.

Death is no mystery to K’Tak’Ktah’hal; a part of the cycle, so he is unfazed to look upon the dead of the Styes as Artemisia distracts the worker with the cart. Peeking under the blanket, he examines the body to see if there has been another murder in the Lantern Man's style.

Heal, Cause of Death: 1d20 + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 = 28
8 ranks +3 trained +2 wis+2 nature's healing in urban terrain

*****

At Ledbetter's:

Sense Motive vs Albin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
+2 wis

The Styes and Lamplighters

Muziel's instinctive reaction upon seeing such a realm of decay and blight is to protect himself. An invisible force field appears around him. Mage Armor.

"A real shame, this place. Wouldn't see anythin' like this in Janderhoff."

At Ledbetter's.

Muziel stares back at the midget son; for a second, he thinks he sees a young dwarf, but realizes it's a human. The human's stare makes him uncomfortable. Maybe it was nothing, but Muziel decides to study the boy for any magics, or any other peculiarities.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (8) + 19 = 27
Perception: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (20) + 14 = 34

sense motive vs Albin: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (10) - 1 = 9

Aye, it is rarely prudent to spread onces forces when vulnerable. I recommend setting up discrete watches, if I was Clan Liege of his city I would have my keepers of secrets investigate such a group of newcomers, eclectic as we are. Pär supports Vals suggestion.

Mishanter holds his tongue most off the evening, learning long ago, No one knows how big of a fool you are until you open your mouth. He muses about the strange boy he saw and that look in his eyes.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 16 + 1d6 ⇒ (5) + 16 + (5) = 26

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

----

At the Alchemist Lab of Master Refrum Val will bow and then step into the alchemist and give him a kiss on the cheek."Thank you for the escort Master Refrum. Until we meet again, Let the Eternal Rose Protect you and keep you."

After that, she will head to the Pythoness. The high-born woman began to assert her posture. She would stand straight and sway her hips in the bearing a woman born in the world of Cheliaxian nobility could muster. Imperia, yes Imperia, came forward again. The bearing the stature and bearing that could make a lesser noble shudder.

As she held herself to this form she began to walk through the various things she had learned in her many years. First and foremost would be the general talking to the ladies of the Pythoness, as well as any locals that could have seen anything. From there they could extrapolate the most likely direction this killer and his artifact went.

The STYES

.

Walking through Bridgefront toward Garrison Hill to purchase some Tracking Powder, you reiterate among yourselves the clues that indicated the dead bodies were nothing noteworthy. (K'tak has seen violent death before and those five were just normal cases.) It was no surprise, then, when Artemisia learned that the city worker is paid to pick up the dead every few days from Citadel Volshyenek and Longacre Building (the jail). Nonetheless, upon reaching Ledbetter Apothecary you peripherally notice a new bank of black smoke pouring from the squat, stunted chimney of The Mortuary -- having just seen the sad departed who are now the fuel for that cremation, it somehow makes it more depressing that you can now smell the slight change in the air as the wind blows the smoke into the yellow haze of The Styes.

. . . .

Albin (son of alchemist Silas Ledbetter)

Having initially disregarded the poor boy as a curious gawker, his lingering stare from behind a curtain becomes suspicious. He seems to be looking at each of you as though he's trying to commit your appearances for memory, and likely even making note of which alchemical product it is that you're buying from his father, Silas Ledbetter. You are quite certain that he is what he appears to be, an unfortunate midget son with some mild retardation, rather than some elaborate disguise or bluff. But perhaps someone takes advantage of Albin's simpleton nature and gets him to look out for odd things. (Certainly a large group at night looking like you, people not suffering from Red Face, is significant, even to one such as Albin.)

The STYES

.

Par Joakimson, walking through Bridgefront and then up Garrison Hill has been keeping an eye out for the rats, cats, birds and bats that skulk about at night, hoping to use his ability to make contact.

That is when he notices something odd immediately. While there were sea birds in East Shore on the other side of The Jeggare River, and sea birds and alley cats in Midlands and North Point -- the Sarkorian has seen neither feline nor fowl in The Styes.

Retrospectively, he supposes it makes sense; why would birds fly into the sickly, yellowish smog of The Styes -- and cats are man's competitors for food when man is this poor.

Rats, on the other hand, are prevalent in The Styes.

And he is certain that one of the rats is staring at him (from a 'safe' distance).

I dont actually have any capabability of speaking with animals.

Mostly a hunch friends, but I would be unsurprised if one of the rats watching us in someones familar, or something similar.

Pärs relays the information to the group.

Pythoness House

As dusk fades to dark on Garrison Hill you reach a bend where The Winding Way (apparently a print-shop/propaganda publishing store) and The Temple of Aroggus (obviously a cenobite god) are nearly adjacent to Pythoness House. It's a crumbling manor with a stone foundation, but the wood and plaster two-story manse reeks of mildew, and fire damage is readily apparent. Nonetheless, a heavy wooden door and in-tact, shuddered windows set Pythoness House (painted words on the door proclaiming it such) from the poor hovels of Bridgeport below you.

As you approach you see a customer leave, a concerned look in his eyes as though he received an ill augury. Still, a crooked half-smile suggests the Divination Reading wasn't all bad.

Coming to the front door you briefly overhear two women: Mistress Maquent and Madame Radanna Scalth, discussing how close they are coming to be able to afford rent in Midlands, aspiring to leave The Styes in another year or so, as you assume is the ambition of many people here.

Looking around the area there is no obvious sign of a bloody murder from four nights ago.

Styes

"Damned rats canna' be trusted! Na' like a loyal skunk." Trogs sticks closer to Muziel as they continue along.

Pythoness House

"Yeesh, they na build 'em like they use ta, eh?" complains Muziel upon seeing the ill-maintained building. The old dwarf eyes the mistress and madame. And much to the detriment of the group, manages to be the first to begin a conversation. "So, are you lassies fer real? Able ta read fortunes from a tumble in the sack?"

K’Tak’Ktah’hal keeps a careful eye on the "rat" watching them... just how far away is this "safe" distance? He contemplates the possibilities of using a momentary distraction to conceal himself, a sneak and then a hunter's rush to grab the thing...

When the group gets to the Pythoness House, he keeps his counsel to himself. There are others who are better suited to social interactions with humans than he...

Valeria steps in and looks about her eyes and chin up as she slowly drops her gaze to look upon the door. She wraps her knuckle onto the door and speaks.

" Hello is there anyone within. I was wondering about your services, I have been told a lot about them and have money to spend should they suffice?" Valeria says with a stern but firm voice. Mostly trying to imitate the intensity of her mother.

At Pat’s words Mishater stared back at the rats, ”I wonder who or they are watching for?” Aloud he offered with a devilish grin, ”Maybe the rats are just voyeurs.” He turned to K’Tak’Ktah’hal, ”Can you communicate with the beasts?” To everyone he asks, ”Can anyone tell if the rats are magical?”

Pythoness house
Is this the place Pär deadpans at Artemisias direction
Greetings Ladies, I am here for a fortune telling. Which is of course solely dedicated to finding He pauses. This disgusting murderer, and not at all to anything akin to personal gratification. No, not at all yes? He speaks with a genial chuckle, rolling his eyes as he does.

Diplomacy because he is not lying yet: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13

Artemisia tries to recall what she knows of arrogus, but is interrupted by the departing customer, and instead shakes her head and looks to where her companions are greeting the ladies of the house of Python. With a wince of sympathy she taps Muriel on the forcefield to get his attention. ”You’re old enough to be polite about your teasing. I’m sure you’ve seen your share of inexplicable divinations by now, I still remember the grand bungle they made of the augury that year in absalom, we were finding feathers, fur, and patches of incense for weeks. Silk and perfumes have to be an improvement if they work.”

Pythoness House

Mistress Maquent and Madame Radanna Scalth, Red Face in full bloom, recognize immediately that you are not common fisherfolk or day laborers in Bridgefront or gang members in Old Dock. Healthy faces (even if scarred), obviously magical wondrous-items, accents, and the confidence that comes with power.

Radanna Scalth quickly focuses on Muziel Moreau, perhaps it was his floridness, but she answers with charm. "Auguries, Divinations, even greater spells of learning. We are Sorceresses, the Divination magic is in our Bloodline, bestowed to us from our god, Mephistopheles. I can see you're a Wizard; you know all about Somatic Components to spells. Surely it can not be a surprise that for Sorcerers, Somatic gestures in spellcasting is different than yours." Looking at Trogs she smiles, and lies to get you to talk more about yourself. "What a striking Familiar, both handsome and cute -- is it a raccoon, ....a Dwarven cat?"

Maquent is visibly but only briefly off-put by Val's Holy Symbol to Shelyn (and obviously better physical attraction). "My, what a comely lady you are dear," she says to the older woman-Paladin. "We charge normal rates for spellcasting services," she slyly says with the twinkle of a bluff in her eye.

Turning to Par Joakimson, both Mistress Maquent and Madame Radanna Scalth nod in understanding. Maquent answers, "Yes, The Lantern Man brutally murdered one of our departing customers four nights ago, right down there," she points to roughly where the gentleman who just left was walking, back down to Bridgefront. "Commander Jute was here with the Korvosan Guard within an hour getting all the details."

The way she emphasized the name, 'Commander Jute,' was not unlike the way Lady I spoke with a stern and intense voice, one of name-dropping authority as though the Korvosan Guard commander's name was grave and important.

Both women wear symbols of Mephistopheles and there are objects d'art in the foyer depicting The Merchant of Souls.

The rat that K'tak noticed earlier and pointed out to his friends is about 40 or 50 feet away, an incalculable number of little cracks and crevices and holes or hiding spots around it.

It does not look like a Familiar (a Magical Beast) but likely one couldn't know from such a superficial view from this distance. But it is watching you, and has been for a few minutes.

It is not precisely where Mistress Maquent pointed to as the spot where the murder took place four nights ago, but is relatively near.

The tiefling continued to hold his tongue trying to look inconspicuous.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

Edit
Perception: 1d20 + 16 + 1d6 ⇒ (6) + 16 + (6) = 28

" Wonderful" Val says as she looks to the women and smiles." Not the horrid business of The Lantern Man, but that we found the right place!" a warm and welcoming smile beamed across her face.

" I am intrigued about your abilities and services, though maybe not as well versed in the arcane as I should be I am more of an appreciation of fine art and well. Though the Arcane can work wonders nothing is as wonderful as the works of ones own hand or voice. With hands a finger or fingers ran across rhe page, connecting to the subject with the skill and passion. A reason to give a piece of yourself to it. To show others the very beauty to be given to those who looked on. Such a wonderful gift." The paladin said in a husky but playful tone.

Percpetion: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

" Now what is the price, and are you willing and able to negotiate?" Valeria says hoping the women would acquiesce.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18

As they walk through the foul smelling Styes, Sabella casts a minor spell to surround herself with the scent of amber orchid. Prestidigitation. It might not eliminate the stench, but at least it helps make it a bit more tolerable.

Spotting the holy symbols of Mephistopheles, the arcanist tries to recall what she might know about the Lord of the Eighth, and any form of proper titles she might use to address Maquent and Radanna 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (6) + 15 = 21 Lore: Mephistopheles

Pythoness House

Mistress Maquent seems drawn to Mishanter, or she's bluffing it, but she interrupts herself to nod to him. "It looks a rat from Rodenthome; you're not from here so you don't know. It's okay to kill it, but if it lures you to its neighborhood in Bridgefront, you probably won't make it out. Free fortune telling, Sir Handsome. You know that free first one."

”Ah sisters of my art if not my god, I offer to you the open palm of forgiveness and peace.”. She bows courteously. “Even such worthies as your patron might find the disruption of business if word of the murder were to spread inconvenient. Surely it is in your patrons, and therefor your, best interest to assist as you may?” she gestures idly at the ground, the house, the site of the murder, the smiles widely. I believe some of our number might even be open to temptation and strengthened by it, though I warn you these my compatriots are hardened men and tempered women, fit and ready to serve their duties to the very limit of mortal endurance. You dally with them in peril of your heart, well at least your hips”. As she says this she finally breaks into giggles. ”I’m sorry, but I simply cannot. I admit have no gift for mysticism. How do you keep your face straight to provide that extra mystique?

perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28 Looks like we got a creep he thinks but he does not have a good way to relate this fact to the party undetected.

Mysticism He says. I am impressed you can kind of feel your bellies with it, never had much use for it on the battlefield. Gorum is a fairly straight forward god.

There any bounty on these rats and killing whatever makes people not making in out? He asks overhearing the conversation with Mishanter.

The tiefling gives a slight bow and what he hopes passes for a grin, ”Many thanks mistress, but I fear your divination was not free, as you have stolen my heart.” He continued, ”I am called Mishanter and I am at your service.”

Mishanter made an exaggerated attempt of looking around the room and said, ”This is a lovely place you have. Was your chandelier made by Loveage? I’ve always been worked the things would fall and hurt me.”

Bluff DC 20 (pass hidden message to companions): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23

Previously oblivious to any threat from above, K’Tak’Ktah’hal is disturbed by the message implicit in Mishanter's words. He abandons planning to catch the rat, instead focusing on his wild-honed senses, trying to find what Mishanter is worried about...

Uses Uncanny Senses for a +10 to perception

Perception: 1d20 + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 8 + 3 + 2 + 2 + 10 = 40
8 ranks +3 trained +2 wis+2 favored terrain (urban)+10 uncanny senses

Let's see if I can keep up my streak of natural 1's on perception checks...

Pythoness House

Mistress Maquent clearly appreciates Mishanter, moreso after his flirting (obviously cheesy and juvenile though it is). This could be interpreted as unusual, perhaps, as there are more charismatic people who may have dealt with this woman of Pythoness House before without intriguing her such. But for whatever reason, she seems to be susceptible to his (limited) charms.

Mistress Maquent does, however, look up in confusion at the tilting, mostly broken chandelier, listing from a rusting fixture in the first-floor ceiling -- as does Radanna Scalth.

Madame Radanna Scalth, for her part, looks curiously at the Elf with sword-and-spell. A quizzical expression mars her face as she is clearly not making sense of the chaotic discourse from the devotee of Korada.

Both women answer Lady Val's question: "An Augury of our casting ability is 95 coins of pure gold and is as pure as the gold itself. Greater Divinations take far longer and are more costly. And exhausting."

Continuing to break the ice with the proprietors of Pythoness House, Artemisia notices the art and symbols of the spartan decorations as being of the devotion to Mephistopheles. She recognizes the Devil as being one of the most warned-of Fiends of Hell.
....Lady Sabella Arvanxi though, knows quite a bit more: That Mephistopheles is considered to be the one Devil who leads the effort to trade for mortal souls. Indeed, he could even personally be behind every attempt made to a person to sell his or her soul to Hell in exchange for desires fulfilled on The Material Plane. Indeed, it is believed he was the first Devil to buy a soul from a mortal, long, long ago.

Outside Pythoness House, Artemisia, Mishanter, Par Joakimson and Muziel Moreau each see a cloaked figure on the roof of the crumbling two story manse.

Mishanter, mentioning the chandelier, has made it obvious to everyone that some danger lurks 25 feet up.

Sabella briefly glances up at the chandelier, before addressing the ladies of the House. "I am terribly sorry such an unfortunate, awful occurrence took place on your doorstep." She pauses, thinking for a moment. "I don't believe we know much about this murder. Do you happen to know who the victim was? Were they a resident of the Styes, or another district?"

As she asks her questions, she calls forth a bit of chilly night air, in case they are to be attacked.

Pythoness House

Mistress Maquent and Madame Radanna Scalth, Red Face in full bloom, recognize immediately that you are not common fisherfolk or day laborers in Bridgefront or gang members in Old Dock. Healthy faces (even if scarred), obviously magical wondrous-items, accents, and the confidence that comes with power.

Radanna Scalth quickly focuses on Muziel Moreau, perhaps it was his floridness, but she answers with charm. "Auguries, Divinations, even greater spells of learning. We are Sorceresses, the Divination magic is in our Bloodline, bestowed to us from our god, Mephistopheles. I can see you're a Wizard; you know all about Somatic Components to spells. Surely it can not be a surprise that for Sorcerers, Somatic gestures in spellcasting is different than yours." Looking at Trogs she smiles, and lies to get you to talk more about yourself. "What a striking Familiar, both handsome and cute -- is it a raccoon, ....a Dwarven cat?"

"A dwarven cat? Ha!" Muziel lets out a sharp laugh. "That there's Trogs, and 'e's a veritable skunk! Gonna stink up the place if ye get is dander up--I wounna cross 'im 'f I were you!"

* * *

Once Mishanter alerts everyone to the same danger that the dwarf already saw from above, Muziel immediately chooses to act (since he's lacking in subtlety)--he casts a spell and a dimensional door appears! He then hops through, it seems like two others might make it through before the magic dissipates!

”I shall return, Mishanter said with a wink to Mistress Maquent before following the dwarf through his magical portal.

"Rrawwr" K'tak disdains the wizards door and climbs up the wall towards the spying sneaks...

War Sight (Su): Whenever you roll for initiative, you can roll twice and take either result. At 7th level, you can always act in the surprise round, but if you fail to notice the ambush, you act last, regardless of your initiative result (you act in the normal order in following rounds). At 11th level, you can roll for initiative three times and take any one of the results.

Initiative second roll: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Pär can act in the surprise round due to warsighted, and is like, constitutionally averse to running away.

Depending on enemy numbers, he would likely attempt to standard action cast Sound Burst on a number of them (10 foot burst radius), but this depends on where and how many they are exactly. Also, are we surprising them or they us?