[PGRiS] Night of the Walking Dead PF1 (closed)

Game Master djpika

Bam glances up at the sky. "Well, looks like we should start thinking about checking into the inn before the clouds open up on us. Kind of them to be taking their time about it. Thank you kindly for the bone rattles--Oh! We forgot introductions. I'm Bam Ambermaul. Pleased to meet you...?" She pauses to allow the local to share his name.

Sebastian looks up too.

Hmm, yes, that rain could ruin my my top-hat.

He flicks his sleeve of many garments, flopping his silks and hat over for a black rain-poncho with pink skull-and-crossbones patterned across it.

"Well, greetings Bam. You can call me Mordu. I'll dig around to see if I can find more information for y'all, so feel free to stop by tomorrow. I think I'll head in as well - the rain wouldn't be good for my books, after all," he says, as he starts to collect his things to go inside.

A fence surrounds the Full Moon Inn, a two-story building with an attached stable. The door opens to large common room with a bar and a dozen tables. Various homestead kitsch decorates the familiar cypress walls. A man with a long beard and balding head stands behind the bar, tidying up as he sees the group enter, "Welcome to the Full Moon Inn. What can I get you?" he asks.

The common room is almost empty. Only one other table has an occupant, conversing with a barmaid.

"A warm room and something to warm the insides of my friends and I, barkeep."

Manfri nods to the man, as he offloads his pack and shield. "My name is Manfri. This is Bam, Sebastian, Luc and Chuufa."

"We also have need of stabling for Chuufa's particular friend."

The ranger takes a seat at the bar. "We've had an interesting day. Paid our respects to the late Jeremiah d'Gris. Desna grant him peace."

"Can't help thinking we've stumbled into town at an unfortunate time. Though seeing we're here, maybe there's some way we can help?"

"My name is Jerald and I'm sure we can help with that. Renee, can you go tell Junior that these guests need to stable their pet?" says the man, light reflecting off the top of his head.

A barmaid enters from the back, giving a slight nod as she steps outside.

"Were you looking for one room then, or did you want more? A room will be 2gp."

...

"F'sure. A true shame about Jeremiah. I didn't know he knew people from out of town. How'd you know him?"

...

"Unfortunate times. You can say that again. Things been mighty quiet in town for the past few weeks. Folks have been spooked by some unexpected deaths and we haven't had many out-of-towners 'til you showed up. Maybe when the storm passes it will wash our worries away. I'm not sure, what can you do? Constable Gremin might have an idea for something."

Yes, a room would be great, thank you!

Sebastian flicks his wrist again to convert his rain gear back to the macabre velvet suit.

We didn't know Jeremiah, per se. We did find his funeral ceremony... interesting.

DC15 Diplomacy: 1d20 ⇒ 14

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
How does Jerald react to Sebastian's fancy clothing switcheroo?

"And we talked to Fr. Brucien just a little bit ago. Sounds like this isn't the first time that's happened. How're the folks here holding up?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (5) - 2 = 3

Bam was going for "maternal warmth", but a dust mote caught in her throat as she spoke, and the last words came out amid a sputter of coughs. Lovely.

Diplonacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (15) - 1 = 14

"Constable Gremin, eh?"

Manfri surveys the inn's patrons. Full o' stories about Snarks and Grumpkins no doubt.

"Would he be working tonight d'you think? Would you know where? Or are we better catching up with him in the morning?"

The innkeeper makes a startled jolt at Sebastian's change. "Th-that's a neat trick and all. I didn't take you for a voodan. Is that a gift of the Maiden?"

Bam doesn't sense anything more.

The innkeeper nods, his beard flexing at the neck line, "Shaken. Worried. Some won't even leave their home. But we're still open for business, lucky you," he says, grabbing a simple iron key.

For clarity, I assume a single room for the party?

"The Constable - probably. He's one of the few still out and about. Determined, that one is. I can let him know you're looking for him if I see him," he offers.

The innkeeper makes a startled jolt at Sebastian's change. "Th-that's a neat trick and all. I didn't take you for a voodan. Is that a gift of the Maiden?"

Oh, it is no voodoo, just some very basic arcane magic. Yes, we'd be happy if you let the constable know we're looking, and that we're staying here. Can we get our room now?

"I can let him know you're looking for him if I see him."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Manfri stifles a yawn. "I'm just about ready for my bedroll. I'm thinking we'd all be okay with sharing the one room."

"Yes, one room's fine. Not much different than camping around the fire, except here we won't get soaked when that storm lets loose."

The simple room seems like a luxury after several nights in the swamp. Dried mud crumbles off stiff clothes in the morning, leaving a dust cloud Pigpen would be proud of.

Breakfast is grillades and grits, a breaded slice of meat served on top of grits with a thick roux mixed with colorful diced vegetables. The food sits heavy, bringing a wariness that makes returning to bed seem the next best course of action.

Exiting the inn shows little change in the skies. Swollen clouds persist as does the lack of sun.

Exploring the village, you notice a man kneeling in an alleyway, peering at the ground. His leather duster drapes to the ground, concealing much.

As you approach, he looks up with bloodshot eyes. The Constable regards you sternly. Splattered all around him on the ground and walls are flecks of reddish brown. Before him is a large stain of the same substance, apparently dried blood. In the center of the stain is a single piece of bright red licorice.

Approaching the man, who Bam certainly hopes is the Constable, she introduces herself. "Hello sir. I'm Bam Ambermaul. Nice to meet you." She pauses for his response.

"That sure looks like dried blood on the ground there. And one of those 'bone rattles' that a man who named himself Mordu shared with us yesterday evening." She observes, leaving room for the man before her to elaborate. She wants to believe it's just animal blood and some dropped candy, but there's a sinking feeling in her gut that tells her to prepare for the worst sort of news.

Oooooh! You gave him your name immediately. Brave.

Sebastian looks to see how the man responds, how coherence and conscious he is, and so on. He has a bad feeling about the blood splatter and his eyes start to dart around, searching for a victim or escape footprints.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Hmm, this looks bad. Maybe we should have searched for him last night.

“Are you familiar with the concept of ‘being framed’, Constable?”

Manfri has poor experience with law enforcement officials, though he’s hopeful Bam’s glibness and maternal manner might give the team a chance.

“My grand-mater was fond of saying, ‘For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.’”

A moment of awkward silence lingers as the Constable considers the party. "Greetings Bam. Who are your friends? I am Constable Gremin, but you might know that already," he says, standing up an dusting his hands on his pants.

"This here is dried blood, and lots of it. But why would an out'towner like yourself be interested in that?" he throws back. As he waits for a response, he adds, "And what brings y'all to Marais d'Tarascon? And where were you at last night?"

I forgot to mention this earlier, but it might save some time to roll diplomacy checks when talking to folks for the first time... please go ahead and do so now.

@Sebastian - you don't see any signs of a victim or footprints.

"Being framed? I do know what that means, but just what are you implying?" he asks Manfri.

"Being framed? I do know what that means, but just what are you implying?"

“My apologies for not being clear, Constable.”

Manfri speaks respectfully, grateful that the gendarme hasn’t leapt to the conclusion Manfri himself would have leapt to.

“Just that my companion has admitted to sharing a ‘bone rattle’ with Mordu, and it is almost a cliché for unimaginative law enforcement officials to blame newly arrived strangers for recent violent crimes.”

The rangers pops his shield hand up to his mouth. “Oh but where are my manners? I am Manfri, a forester and tracker. My companions and I came to your village chasing an escapee from our own town. Though we fear the trail has gone cold.”

“We are also trying to help settle Luc, one of your own citizens, whom we happened upon in distress on the river.”

“Once we heard about troubles with Walking Dead in Marais d'Tarascon – which began before we arrived I might add – we sought to help.”

“It’s kind of in our natures, but we’d also be grateful for some small reward for helping you solve the mystery, even if it was only to confiscate any portable assets the villains behind it have acquired.”

Aid Diplo: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2
Oh my. (Curating her words to match that roll...)

Bam was making more benign assumptions than the ones that suddenly are swirling around her. (Undead killed someone who was eating bone rattles. Maybe Mordu was the victim, depending on how popular the candy is around here.) So she's rather peeved as she responds to the Constable's accusations. "Most folks would be interested in a large amount of dried blood, especially with the unusual deaths you've had around here lately. And we went straight to the inn after chatting with Mordu, checked in, ate, and went to our room. We only just left the premises. Feel free to check our alibi, but it looks like you've been chasing this trail of events for longer than we've been here. It also sounds like you haven't gotten enough sleep in weeks or months. That makes everyone less rational and effective, and you're no exception."

Hooo boy, this is about the last place Sebastian can provide a save. Well, maybe second-to-last after melee, but I digress...

Yes yes, we have our own goal but we seem to be a helpful group in general. I barely knew these people just days ago, it's really quite remarkable! If you could tell us what you've checked into, maybe we could help you with the next steps while you get some well-earned rest?

He looks at the constable expectantly, but his macabre grin always works against him (not that he notices).

Diplomach: 1d20 ⇒ 10

Manfri drops his chin onto his chest and sighs.

The rangers pops his shield hand up to his mouth. “Oh but where are my manners? I am Manfri, a forester and tracker. My companions and I came to your village chasing an escapee from our own town. Though we fear the trail has gone cold.”

"What exactly is this escapee capable of? This?" he asks, pointing at the crusty brown covering on the ground. "When do you think this escapee arrived? You say it's cliché to blame newly arrived strangers but it sounds like you allowed this violence to escape your grasp into our town."

...

"So you think this is Mordu here? The man's not right in the head but he don't deserve this. Still, I better check..." he says, taking out a piece of paper and writing down notes.

I'll circle back to some of the other comments/questions in a bit. Conversation-wise, the Constable would have interjected with the former at the time it was mentioned.

May as well get that diplomacy roll out of the way...

"Chuufa hears escaping man likes killing and escaping prisons with tunnels.", the disguised Tengu/Shepherd Lad helpfully adds.

4th diplomatic aiding attempt: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (1) + 0 = 1. Unfortunately the dice rolls seemed determined to have roll fail. ;p

@Chuufa - Looking at the rules, you can only attempt an aura read once/day and you have to specify 1 of 4 types to read: Which person and type did you want to try first? Based on linear passage, the caretaker would make the most sense, but given the limitation of use, I'm ok with letting you revise the order.

@DM rel20: Given the nature of the single-usage per day of the aura reading skill, if you don't mind allowing for Chuufa to use that sole skill reading upon Father Brucian instead for alignment due to the higher roll of 23- thereby giving a better chance for something to be revealed. He'll let the party know of his result attempt when opportunity permits. ;)

Removing the wooden lid, he reaches in and pulls out a strip of what looks like thin red rope. He takes a bite, the rope stretching for a few moments before breaking with an audible snap. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm sorry, would you like some?" he asks.

Chuufa would be likely to try some of the licorice/bon-rattle just for the sheer novelty of it. Might even attempt to share some of it with Leandrie too.

Bam's unease with this whole mission and situation has frayed her patience to nearly nothing. Still, losing her temper at the sleep-deprived Constable over some questions is only going to make it worse. Her response to his next volley of questions/accusations is pointed but not intentionally antagonistic. "To be clear, we don't know where our quarry is. We lost his trail in the swamp and came across some other travelers who pointed us in this direction so we could get our bearings. He's a copycat killer from Karcau. We were called in some days after he escaped from prison to try to track him down, but he'd had such a head start on us that his trail went cold. And I don't know if that's Mordu there, since anyone could get those bone rattles around here, right? May be a false sign. But that blood sure isn't."

He thinks Mordu isn't right in the head, but I don't know if that's his paranoia and sleep deprivation talking or if he thought that when his own sanity was more stable.

Sense Motive on Constable: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
She's trying to parse what he says to determine what is a legitimate concern and what is likely fabricated by his overworked mind.

"I'm sorry this has happened in your town, Constable. But here we are."

Manfri's tone remains conciliatory. "How about putting us to work? Let us help you."

The constable slams the palm of his hand to his forehead and runs his hand back and forth in frustration, "So your escapee is a killer. Wonderful. Like our town needed more to deal with. And he's a copycat? So there's no way of knowing..." his voice trails off as he considers the situation.

"Mais yeah... this isn't the first time I've found bone rattles though. Always just one. Is this sumthin' your boy has copied before?" he asks.

Update - And it looks like Manfri got a post in while I was crafting the above one...

The constable considers Manfri's offer.

"Looks like we're tied together for this. You can look for your quarry, but while you're at it, let me know what else you find. Maybe there's one, and maybe there's two. Either way, we have our work cut out for us. I'm afraid we can't really offer much... the people of this town barely get by as it is. 'Cept Luc's family, there... I can't speak for them, but maybe they can offer something from the plantation."

Sebastian flicks his sleeve of many garments which flips his velvet suit inside out into a... constable'y outfit much like the constable, complete with a silver badge that he begins to shine with one fist.

We're on the job! he declares with his trademark grin.

"Doing what exactly, Sebastian?"

Manfri is grateful the Constable isn't taking them to jail, based on false suspicions.

Didn't one of the villagers mention something about cultists doing weird stuff in the swamp?

Maybe that's our next lead?

"Is this sumthin' your boy has copied before?"

"Not that we're aware of. But as Bam implied, we don't know a whole lot about him."

"Not the first time you've found bone rattles, eh? Hmm... Any patterns to when you find them? To be clear, we're assuming there was a death here, but we don't have a body. Until we find one, or know of anyone missing, we don't know if this was an attack on a person or an animal, or if anyone or anything actually died." Bam's mind is getting kind of scattered, trying to keep all the pieces in place without jumping to conclusions. She suddenly has more respect for the short-tempered Constable. Normally my jobs are much simpler than all this.

"That's just wishful thinking at this point. Someone's missing. More people have disappeared than we've found... scenes. Now maybe some of them have just got up and left, but sadly, I don't think I can say that's true for all. Sometimes there was more than just bone rattles. Usually just bits of clothes, but it was enough to suggest a few names. I'll follow up with Mordu after this, make sure he's allright and confirm your story. As for patterns, other than the bone rattles, no."

"Doing what exactly, Sebastian?"

Presently it would seem we have a cult whose activities we'd like to observe. It's as good a lead as anything else and most likely to turn up interesting facts about specific townsfolk who are participating.

Hmm … Bam brings up an interesting point about Luc’s family.

“I’ve been thinking about Luc’s rich plantation kin. Walkers would make for some obedient, low-cost workers now, wouldn’t they?”

Manfri ponders the well-stocked bayou-chalet. “Could Luc’s parents have stashed him out of the way where we found him, while they got down to cult business in the swamp?”

“I think Sebastian's right (ONLY about this, I might add). Following Father Brucien or any other ne’er-do-wells into the swamp should be a priority after checking on Mordu.”

"Sounds like we have a plan. Let's go check on Mordu."

Botting for Sebastian

"Oh, I'm right about all sorts of things, Manfri. For example, I know that the impending rain will be much less likely to ruin my new constable-ish hat than my absolutely spiffing top hat from earlier." Sebastian doffs said constable-ish hat and gives a sweeping bow to the Constable. Rising with a wink at Manfri, he cheerfully suggests: "Let's take an indirect route to his house so we can familiarize ourselves with the town. After all, if that stain is all that's left of him, there's no need to rush. Such a pity the puppet's gone."

I think I liked Sebastian better before he joined the gendarmerie.

"If we're taking the long way, why don't we drop into the bakery and check how popular bone rattles are with the townsfolk?"

Manfri glances at Bam, like he's worried he might be stealing her idea. "The baker should also know who sent Luc that crate of baked goods we found at the 'lake house.'"

"Good call, Manfri." She turns away to start walking, hiding her furrowed brow. It's like he's reading my mind! He didn't mention having that ability before...

Location 4 is the bakery. A legend to the map has been added with known locations.

A warm, slightly sweet, yeasty aroma brings visions of Ustalavan huckleberry pastries. The smell leads to a cottage near the inn. The front window is propped halfway open, unleashing warmth and providing a view of the cooling baked goods. A wood engraved sign reads "d'Cann Bakery" in a bold, cafe style font.

A simple bell jingles as the door opens.

A woman in the back stops work, dusting her hands together and against her apron. Flour billows off in small clouds.

"Where y'at? How can I help y'all dis morning?"

Perception DC 10: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27

"Good morning. Sure smells good in here. How much for a half dozen beignets?" Bam figures a sale will loosen the baker's tongue a bit. In her experience, new faces in town generate looser tongues on easy topics and tighter tongues on others. She plans to get around to asking about the bone rattles eventually, but also figures either Manfri or Sebastian will beat her to it (for better or worse, respectively).

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle."

Manfri was told my an adventurous older cousin that Madames love being called Mademoiselle.

"How easy would it be to have a crate of your delicious baked goods sent to a local address?"

take 10 perception: 10 + 6 = 16

"Why thank you. Six beignets are 12 toothchips(copper), but y'all have to wait a bit. I fry'em up to order. I guess I can drop them off, if you mean here in town. Folks stayin at de Inn?"

Assuming you persist in small talk...

Diplo: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (20) - 1 = 19

Everyone, please click all the spoilers! It's conversation out in the open.

“We are, but I was more interested in the generous crated baked goods delivery our friend Luc received. Any idea who would have sent him that, and where it would have been delivered to reach him?”

Manfri smiles. “I’d love to be able to thank them.”

“I haven't seen any of Jean or Marcel around lately. Usually, if there's trouble they'd call a town meeting or something.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Are they local politicians? How would one go about contacting them?”

"My apologies--I'm Bam. What's your name?" As soon as she asks, she remembers: Louise, Mordu called her, unless there's someone else who works here.

Meandering off to the side to peer at the bone rattles, she nonchalantly asks: "You mentioned Shaman Brucius. Is that the same persona as Shaman Brucian?" Though he claims he's no shaman... But I can understand why these folks would call him that. It's the closest fit in their understanding of the world.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (5) - 1 = 4
Let's get those low rolls out of the way, dice gods.

Yes, we know a little of the good shaman. Tell us, do you go out into the swamp with him on his little excursions? He hangs on the last word, flashing his creepy grin.

diplomancy: 1d20 ⇒ 19 huh...

"You mentioned Shaman Brucius. Is that the same persona as Shaman Brucian?"

RE: Brucian/Brucius - this is my bad - carrying forward a typo in copy/paste. Not intended to be an alter ego...

"Baked goods for Luc? N'mam, don't know of any ding sent to the Tarascon's place. Jean and Marcel aren't politicians per se. They just own the plantation that makes of most of dis town. But I haven't seen any of them in awhile."

...

"Well Bam, nice to meet'ya. I'm Louise."

...

"No'sir, I can't help there. He's going out into the swamp?" she asks, shrugging. "I dunno, maybe getting some herbs for some remedies?"

“Oh! If baked goods weren’t sent to the Tarascon's plantation, who could have sent the d'Cann Bakery Crate to Luc?”

Father Brucian seems to be the prime suspect … but I need to keep an open mind.

“Is Father Brucian a bulk customer? Could he have done this good deed for Luc?”

♨

“Are Jean and Marcel relatives of Luc? Or do they own a different plantation?”

Boy, this is making Fr. Brucian look like a culprit. 'Beware when it looks too easy.' So it's probably not him, but we gotta be sure. Bam tries to act like she's not hanging on every word of the exchange between Louise and Manfri.

"Uhh... I'm confused. If they didn't go to the plantation, how would Luc get it? Father Brucian has been buying a lot more lately. Is possible he brought some to Luc, yes. After all, he did say he was taking food to others that needed it."

...

"The Tarascons - Jean, Marcel, and Luc, are brothers, and own the plantation. Their ancestor, Pierre, started it and this town several generations ago."