Rolen smiles a little, pouring Lodric his wine.

"Passed the starstone test, now didn't he? That's divine right and power, it is, granted by the gods. They say he even visits his temples! Why, he could be in Tamran right now!"

The barkeeps eyes bulge a little and his face gets red. Lodric might be a reluctant business man, but he wasn't a bad one: This man is a zealot.

Rolen smirks. "Don't matter. Not to either of you. You'll be getting up and personal with the Living God real soon."

The barkeep leans back and surveys the tavern.

"The new priests spread word of a Living God. Many listen. I think there's some that hope for the old days. When Aroden didn't return, the faith of the people was shook. It's still shook, all these years later. A Living God... that's hope for a lot of folks."

He moves to the bar and starts pulling out bottles, some of them dusty. "My experience is folks with elven heritage like yourself, they like wine more than ale. But if you'd prefer ale, it's certainly cheaper."

He sets an ale on the bar too. It's not busy, but it's busy enough that even if Fin doesn't take it, another patron surely will.

"I'm Rolen. Rolen Oggersmith. You're welcome to a table if you'd prefer. There's some mutton on the fire, and a stew, if you've mind to eat. As long as you're paying. As I said, I don't mind the change, as long as people keep buying the ale."

The one Hansyn identified by face is separate from any that Venssa identified by boot.

It's not the most welcoming of public houses. Perhaps gnomes and teenage boys are not the usual customers, as both Venssa and Hansyn get odd looks.

Rankev's retainers maintain their usual distance from Rankev, which is not that far. That doesn't stop Rick from ordering a drink, though that might just be disappointment at not getting to fight earlier.

Unlike the others, Finlogan looks like the rangers of Nirmathas that keep the forests safe from the Molthuni threat to the south.

The bartender nods at him. "Word is change afoot. But as long as folk buy ale, I'm content. Not seen you here before. You come up from the south?"

Predicated on the seeming agreement to check out the Ranger's Lament and have Venssa check out people's shoes

The Ranger's Lament sits in the shadow of the Temple of Razmir—a simple establishment made from wooden timbers and consisting of little more than a large common room with a bar and a kitchen off to one side.

While most of the public houses in the city have seemed busy and well frequented, this one is different. While open, few patrons are inside and the barkeep, a human male whose foul disposition might contribute to the lack of business, is busy sampling his own wares.

This sounds like a regrouping at the inn, but Rankev was the most determined voice in the Game Discussion forum... does he join the group?

Hearing your words, the priests stand, an imposing wall of robes and masks between you and the temple.

They say nothing, though you all suspect that the hint of victorious chuckle that you hear comes from behind one of the masks, or perhaps several.

Still, the main priest has resumed a vigorous speech on the virtues of the Living God, and the priests among the crowd resume their not-so-subtle working of the crowd for coin.

One of the priests pulls robes enough aside to reveal the hilt of a rapier, and he (or she) is not alone. Several others do likewise, most grasping shortswords.

"Go back to your forests. The voice of the Living God does not sing within your soul."

while a row of priests block the entrance to the temple, there remain priests behind you from the presentation to the crowd. You can't be sure how many.

Fin, that would be a Deception or Persuasion check which for you would both be the same, with your Charisma, that's a 19. You have advantage, which I'll roll here to keep the game going[ooc]

Fin Deception advantage: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

[ooc]The priests, because there's many of them providing support to the one confronting Venssa, will have advantage on their Insight check.

Priest Insight: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
Priest Insight advantage: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Rankev seems to be adding a bit of Intimidation courtesy of his station and beefy retainer, which could influence things either way.

Rankev Intimidation: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

Venssa can also have a bit of influence, or possibly muck things up further, with her own bluff at the end, so we'll need a roll for that - deception, sadly you have no bonuses.

Venssa pleading that she's just lost: 1d20 ⇒ 5

The priests remain quiet but not-so-subtly shift to block the entrance.

"The temple is for those who enlighten their spirits to the Living God. Not for lost forest children."

The tone conveys that the priest, whose voice is ambiguous enough to disguise gender, does not completely believe Fin's story. The looks at Rankev and his retainers are enough to show that they're unwilling to engage in a brawl, however, though that, you suspect, would change if you move any closer to the gate.

Venssa does not need help to look lost in the city, and disappears quickly behind the larger bodies of Rankev's retainers. The priests do not move. Their weapons are ready and they wait for you to withdraw.

Rankev is able to gather most of the party, though Hansyn seems to be trying to have a conversation with a young beggar girl that he clearly doesn't want Rankev anywhere near, and Venssa is strangely absent.

"STOP!"

There, at the gates, is Venssa. She must have taken a moment of quiet to try to slip past the gate and not realized how well watched they were.

Now your friend is surrounded by threatening priests who have caught her in the act!

What do you do.

How would Hansyn like to try to find that out?

I'm seeing a lot of semi-agreement of what to do, but no decision. Based on an amalgam of the messages, I'm going to suggest that the players would have planned to meet back at their "home base" of the Gar's Last Meal, since it affords more privacy than the meal hall of the Forest Bounty. Unless I see some protestations of this plan, I will pick things up there tomorrow.

Any actions from Finlogan? Lodric?

The priest that pick-pocketed the old lady realizes his mask is slipping (though not why) and fumbles to try to stop it.

I'm giving him a Dex save to try to catch the mask before anyone can see his face, on which, due to your spectacular roll, he has disadvantage.

fumbling to stop from being unmasked!: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Disadvantage - fumbling to stop from being unmasked!: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

And the mask falls! The young man revealed falls quickly to the ground, yanking his hood over his face to cover it as he fumbles for his mask. The reaction of the other priests is immediate, surrounding him to obscure the view.

But Hansyn saw.

It was a quick glance, but you suspect you'd recognize the young man if you were to see him without a mask again.

The priest smiles at Finlogan.

"Ask around young warrior. You will quickly find where we seek recruits. Should you not discover even that, then maybe I have misjudged your worthiness for our Living God's plenty."

"And the voice of the Living God speaks, and says unto the people that only when they show their faith to the God will he reveal the truths that are masked. Show your faith good people. Let the light of Razmir burn bright! Give to the faith, whatever you can." The priest on the crate speaks loudly, and you have to wonder if he (or she) was chosen for the ability to bellow.

The other priests make a show of "collecting" - some of the crowd seems genuinely taken in. How much is hard to tell, because everyone seems to be giving, even those who clearly can't afford it.

A guard moves to where Rankev is berating the priests. "That's enough of that now. The good word of the Living God is being spoken in the square. I won't have no yokel disrupting a yegit'mate religious exercise, hear?"

The square bustles with activity, much of it created by the movement of the priests themselves as they circulate through the crowd.

Like soldiers in livery they are imposing, the standard of dress and the masks making them at once impersonal and frightening.

But even as you quietly discuss your plan to waylay a couple of the priests, you see an old woman beating one of the priests for... pickpocketing? and another is so promptly there to assist him and assure the woman that her contribution to the glorious Living God had already been made and his (her? the robes are concealing enough for it to be difficult to tell) compatriot had clearly been in error.

A guard stands in full view, laughing and doing nothing.

But clearly they are watching each other. To help? To police? You cannot tell.

The temple is in a wealthier part of the city, but walled from the masses. Every so often throughout the day small groups of the masked priests exit, but no one other than the priests dares even approach the door. As you scout the area, another group ventures forth, this one carrying a large crate, upon which one of the priests is hastily helped to mount. From here he begins to speak, while the other priests venture into the crowd. Most churches have some sort of collection for funds during services, but usually it is for the faithful... and not quite so forceful.

As the priest speaks of the glory (and wrath) of Razmir, the priests continue to spread through the crowd, prodding merchants and citizenry alike to donate to the cause of Razmir. More than once you can hear an admonition to a reluctant passerby that they would be best to donate and not attract the ire of the Living God.

Lodric - I've addressed your question about the overall task in the discussion thread. I get it, the story has dragged a bit, but we are getting to the juicy bits if we can get back going

For all of you - I want to move this along, but you've got several different proposed courses of action. Cole suggested scouting or watching, Fin trying to join the flock, Lodric trying to infiltrate as an interested merchant who might want to "invest" in the church. With that many directions I need some clarity on what you want to try.

Morning comes and with it a fresh day, and the overwhelming stink of fish on the pier. Kassen was on the river, and most of you appreciate the taste and smell of fresh fish, but this close to the harbor in the city, the stink of fish and city and the devastating poor all blend together, and even the relatively savory smell of properly cooked fish at the Gar's Last Meal doesn't overwhelm the smell coming out over the lake.

The temple of Razmir takes up an entire city block, near the center of town and is surrounded by prosperous businesses--coopers, cobblers, distillers. An imposing structure built of solid stone walls, the temple is two stories tall, and has stone towers every thirty feet around the circumference. The towers rise even higher, each topped with a statue of the Living God. Aside from a tall stained glass window on the east end, depicting the ubiquitous mask of Razmir, there are few windows, and those few are narrow slits. Masked priests patrol the wall tops, watching the streets below with disdain.

friendly prod

Reginar raises an eyebrow. "You almost look like you belong in the city." He takes a moment to drink. Somehow you think that he is not drinking as much as it appears.

"Even the wealthy parts of the city will be getting dangerous. Scout in the morning, and we can discuss what you find." He smiles at Aldelenna, and stands, bellowing to the barmaid. "Another round for my friends."

Then he is gone... swifter than you would expect, especially given that you aren't entirely sure how he paid for the ale that is promptly delivered to the table. The barmaids scowl at Aldelenna, and giggle as they deliver the mugs of pale city swill to the table. This is not something the Seven Silvers would even dare to charge for.

Lodric has been wandering sort of starry eyed, paying attention to the angelic voices in his head, but he is still with the party.

The party loosely secured rooms at Gar's Last Meal, near the docks.

Reginar looks at the table. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps it will be easier for you to see for yourselves." He finishes his ale. "Seek into the center of the city, into the places of wealth and power. You'll soon find the temple. It can hardly be missed."

Reginar listens intently and then leans back, drinking deeply.

"Thank ye, lass. That sort of interference, and so far afield, speaks of dark plots."

He thrums his fingers on the table. The noise from the other tables nearby seems to get louder.

"The masks, they came into Tamran as missionaries. Wasn't even two years ago. You'd not know it, the way they walk around town. They raised funds so fast, it was like the coffers of the city had simply opened for them. Then there was temple." Regnar shakes his head.

"Influence is what they're after, as much as money. You report something foul one the masks gets up to, as like as not, you'll be the one punished. The law hereabouts is turning a blind eye, even protecting the temple, watching it to protect it from thieves and interlopers."

He looks right at Aldelenna. "A few months ago, a group from the temple headed north. Journey took them about a month. Not so many of them made it back. Hurried right to the temple when they got here... so fast, it wasn't like them." He turns to Cole and Fin. "Through the wood, Kassen is about two weeks, each way. I'd guess those were your cultists."

"That trip had consequences, I'm thinking. A cultist in blue robes, I think she's the leader, left just a week ago by boat, into the lake. Before you ask, the cultists are impossible to identify. Black robes, white robes, gray robes... too many of each to say. Blue robes? That's different. And the leaving, it had the same feel. Dark of night, noticed only by those who make their livings noticing things."

He takes a deep breath and bellows. "More ale lass."

He says nothing until the ale comes.

"You could find your answers in the temple. Maybe. But there's no way in. Not that any sane citizen would try."

The serving maids apparently heard Regnar this time, bringing trays of roasted boar, forest vegetables, and the promised ale.

"To hide in shadows and talk is more suspicious, and to the wrong people. It is only necessary to be mindful, to watch and know who is listening, and to talk below the roar of the tables. Which is why I sit always near the fire, at a table bordered by only one other, and furthest from the kitchen. Most will not hear, even if we talk gregariously."

The Pathfinder smiles. "Most will assume I discuss some forgotten treasure with you, and send you into danger in the wood. Your woodland friends, from the gnome who accompanies you, to the two seasoned rangers before me, enhance that view. Oh, some may follow, but listen? I think your boy, since it appears he is indeed with you, will spot any who seek to invade our privacy."

He looks to Aldelenna. "Now, storyteller. Be quick and weave for me the tale of the masks you found."

Reginar watches to see you all sit. He looks at Cole and and Fin... "Oh, aye... you fit right in. Could be any rangers of the city coming in for the day." and a glance at Aldelenna "And you a lovely lass that could be found in any tavern, eyes a little wide with the new sights of the city of not. I wager you could teach these city boys a thing or two at that."[b/]

He sighs. [b]"I don't blame you for not wanting to talk about it. It's a plague bearing down on the city. Spreading too. I hear tell you found masks." He whispers the last word.

"Oi. Lass." he shouts to the serving maid. "Some drinks for the table. Already asked once, didn't I? My gnome friend will have some of the good water. None of that runoff swill. Something from the well." he flashes a smile at Venssa.

"So, you were all together. And these too... the boy too enraptured by the crowd and the man who is listening to something that I'm thinking we aren't hearing—are they with you too? Because if we're to speak about that scourge of which I made mention, it's best that only certain people hear such talk."

Hansyn slides to the table with the others, his mind clearly preoccupied with something else. GM Koldon, there is a question in my spoiler above. Wrong alias, appologies. It has some bearing on how Hansyn would respond.

Reginar raises an eyebrow. "Not much point in denying it, I suppose. I hear you had a problem with some tomb-robbers in Kassen. I fear coded messages only give me so much information. I gather the path has led you here to Tamran. Tell me more."

Reginar gestures again to the benches around his table. "Well, sit. Got word some of... and here's the crazy words... Chosen of Kassen would be looking for me. That you?"

Reginar is a robust man, garbed in green and brown leather and cloaked in a large bearskin. A longbow sits against the table, always in easy reach. He laughs as Cole approaches, clearly discerning his attempt at a ruse has failed.

"Well met. I am Reginar Lacklan." He snaps his fingers for the serving maid's attention. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

Fin does not appear to be doing Aldelenna's performance any favors. Normally a skillful flute player, today his performance is marked by jarring notes.

Perhaps Fin is simply overwhelmed by the number of woodsman and others who appear as though they might be rangers. Perhaps he's simply distracted by his favorite swinging hips and memories of times he felt that attraction might be something she desired as much as he did.

The assembled folk eager for food are more and more turning toward the seductive performance of Aldelenna, captured by every sway of her hip. While most are able to keep the pace of the bawdy songs, some are captive, merely mouthing the words, eyes captured by a seductive gaze, a twist of the hips, a twirl.

Thanksgiving was a bad situation, but the game is going to get moving forward again. Please indicate if you can continue in the discussion thread.

What is Finlogan scanning for specifically? He's not a city dweller, so out-of-placedness is going to be hard to quantify for him. Let me know and have Fin roll the appropriate check (likely Perception, but you can argue for an alternate)

Distracted though Fin's music may be, Aldelenna's is more than competent, honed by many months of covering for her mentor in a hall much like this, if smaller. Still, her patrons in Kassen were mostly from the lumber consortium, a group that defined rough crowd.

In an environment like this, joyous revelry and participating in the music and fun helps you blend in more than distinguishes you. Soon, your little stretch of table too is overwhelmed by merriment.

"They made trouble at the wrong time. The bar was full and sailors aren't shy about fighting. In other parts of town the keepers of public houses have less luck keeping them out and pay a higher price for it." Puglas shakes his head. "They're out recruiting, oft enough. You never know if it's a boy behind the mask or thrice decorated veteran of the war against Molthune. Be careful of those priests boy."

Back on the streets you do notice that the presence of the priests picks up as you move further into the city. The Forest Bounty is a large feast hall located on the northern edge of town. Like Puglas' establishment, it is busy, serving food and drink to the many folk of the city, from travelers passing through to guards and common folk.

When you enter a serving maid points you to a nearly empty table.

It's a long hall, open at the front and back and made from enormous timbers. The whole of it is filled with wooden tables and benches. Dozens of people are gathered here—eating, drinking, laughing. The mood is joyous as one of the tables carries a bawdy song and the folk surrounding smile and laugh.

While unable to provide a map, Puglas does draw a sort a sketchy map with his finger, using several mugs of ale as buildings to try to give you an idea how to get to the feast hall.

The fish is spicy, but tasty. These are varieties you don't get in Kassen, fresh from the lake and some of them fairly massive cuts. The fish must be big, but you catch in conversation that Puglas himself used to be a fisher. The arm he lost was not lost in a war, but to the massive gar mounted over the bar.

Despite the words of fear over the masked priests, you do note that there don't seem to be any here.

"Reginar comes and goes as he pleases. He's a ranger. That's their way." He looks both Cole and Fin up and down. "You have the look; I know you understand."

He leans back. "As for whether it's odd. Not particularly. Right now he has other things to deal with, I reckon. Even a ranger has a need to eat, and in the city, hunting down prey to eat is frowned upon. He'll still be keeping tabs on the Forest Bounty, and no doubt you'll find him there... eventually."

He glances at Aldelenna. "I wish I had a map to share with you miss, but even if I had, lately things have been changing so much I'd not trust much of it. Molthune holds everyone's attention, and right or no, people are apt to pay less attention to the stones under their feet."

Puglas pocket's Hansyn's coin and takes note of where Cole and Hansyn have taken their seats.

He turns to Aldelenna.

"Ah, lady, I fear the patrons here would not listen to your pretty music and would be looking for... baser pleasures. You're not that kind of lady, I can tell. Sit with your friends. My rates aren't so high that a song is going to make them notably lower. And your young friend seems to have more than what's required."

After a brief spell Puglas follows one of the staff to the table. The fare is, unsurprisingly, fish. On the other hand, the drinks aren't watered down, which is surprising. Puglas sits, a mug of his own on the table.

"This Reginar has been here, but not frequently, not lately. He comes now and then for information. Like any good barkeep I hear everything—" he smirks. "Or at least try."

Puglas glances around the common room and it's not lost that the final words come when he's not likely to be overheard.

"It's been a good month since he's visited the taproom, but I hear tell that he may have been seen at Forest Bounty, a feast hall deeper in the city."

Unlike in town, the barkeep here doesn't even blink an eye at serving Hansyn. The drinks he sets on the bar with a speed that you don't expect for someone managing with one arm. He taps the bar. "I'll be seeing your coin before the fish goes fryin'"

But it's a friendly banter... the fish is already being prepared. You don't need Hansyn's ever darting eyes to notice that.

"Reginar, you say?" he scowls. "I know that name. Give me a spell and I'll remember." He glances you all up and down. "I'd be guessing you're from the towns inland, in the forests. Save for maybe that one." He nods toward Lodric. "Though he might as well still be there. He looks lost for all the clothes fit."

The press of people is worst near the docks, but you don't really stray far. As might be expected of an inn called "Gar's Last Meal," the inn is not far from the docks, though far enough, you note, to attract more merchants than dock workers.

Fin seems confident in following Captain Walren's rather vague directions to the inn.

He's right. It smells of fish. A giant gar is mounted on the wall above the bar. Puglas himself is a grizzled old veteran of the lake, conspicuously missing one arm. He seems cheerful enough behind the bar, and he keeps his customers in good spirits.

The inn itself seems nice enough, if you don't mind eating and sleeping in a fish market.

"Are ye here fer spirits, or just to block me door?" asks the barman.

Captain Walren seems happy to be in port, and pleased not to have to remind you of the name. He does point you in the direction of an inn. Gar's Last Meal. "Smells of fish. But that's probably better than smelling of the city for the lady Venssa. And Puglas, who runs the place, is your best bet for rooms cheap, and for finding your friend."

The press of people is oppressive, especially to Venssa and Hansyn, who are rather smaller than the rest of you. Parks may exist in the city, but if they do, they are not near the docks.

Perhaps Lodric knows.

Aldelenna's ruse has worked, but it still sets everyone on edge. Twice more as you approach the city over the next two days pirates come close, but perhaps word has spread, because they never come closer once they see the flag flying.

The city itself is a thing of splendor. The buildings are impossibly close, and numerous, and the noise is something that has to be heard to be believed.

Walren leaves you at the dock with a reminder to check in promptly with your contact, and be wary of the priests, for "they're worse to come upon on land than on water, I reckon!"

Perhaps the only one not shocked by the noise and bustle of the docks is Lodric.

Two of the Molthuni privateers stagger backward, hit by solid strikes from arrows shot by Fin and Cole.

They do not look happy and ready their crossbows.

The third, perhaps fiercer than either glares at the masked shapes of the Razmiran soldiers in a sort of shocked disbelief.

The two soldiers hit by arrows are more concerned for their wounds, but the third is studying the illusion as he readies his own crossbow

Investigate vs silent image: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7

He scowls, shouting something to his crew. The distance is too far to make much out, but the words "filth" and "mask" seem to predominate.

The boat seems to be changing course. Certainly the privateers seems to be ducking behind cover.

You can still target the privateers, but will be at disadvantage to hit. They remain in range despite the slowing and change of direction.

The captain looks at Fin, incredulous...

"They're readying crossbows! If you can fire first, FIRE FIRST"

He pulls an ancient looking spyglass from within the folds of his clothes and looks again. "Aye, they're making for us." He runs to the edge of the deck and scans the horizons. "No one to see and their boat is fast enough. Ewem! Get up here!"

He looks at the frustrated gnome. "I know lass, 'tis frustrating to sit and wait for doom to call. When they be close, do what ye can."

The captain shakes his head sadly. "If they fly the flag then Molthune is growing brave in their war. Use the ingots as cover if you can. They'll turn away a bolt, I reckon, though my profits may take a hit, my life is worth more."

Ewem grunts and shifts the sail.

"Their boats aren't the best quality, but heavy with iron as we are, they'll catch us, I'll wager. See there? They're readying crossbows. Some bow fire might hold them back... it'll have better range."

At Cole's comment Walren nods. "Ewem. Repair. Sailcloth and pitch." Ewem anchors the sail, locking in their direction and disappears down the hatch. Walren looks at Cole. "It's not a bad plan lad, but if they damage the boat and you use our repair supplies, we'll be dead in the water."

In the distance, the Mothuni vessel seems to get closer.

The day passes, and the feeling is tense. Walren seems concerned, though whether its the value of his cargo or the likelihood of pirates, you can't be sure.

It's nearing dusk when Fin and Cole note a sail on the horizon. Ewem is quiet, but it's clear from the way he shifts the sail on the barge that he's seen it too.

The lake is not a sight you prepared for or even could have. They call it a lake, but the word does it no justice. It might as well be an ocean, vast and seemingly endless. Knowing it is not makes no difference. The water seems to go on endlessly.

Only Lodric and Walren seem unaffected. Ewem—he just seems nervous, always on the balls of his feet and moving. You notice that the fishing spear that has always been in a corner is now always in easy reach.

Walren stays on top of the cabin, steering and watching that endless water. You note he keeps the shore in view—distant, but in sight, at all times.

On the lake, the wind is bitterly cold, and the rain is more often snow. The deck feels slick and unlike the pace of the river, here there are waves, rocking the boat and making that unsure footing dangerous.

"Keep sharp! All of you!" the captain calls. "Any sight of sail, you call out. We'll need to mark the colors."

"Razmiran is on the lake. Their missionaries, if you want to call them that spread the word of their god. Their methods are simplistic, if effective: accept the word of Razmir, or die on the blades of the faithful." Walren shakes his head sadly. "It is not like the gods we know, this living god of theirs. Ewem got some of his scars from one of those foul vessels, refusing to give up his belief. The men who held him were unprepared for a man who catches the fish of the lake barehanded. He escaped. But not without their torture first."

Ewem grumbles. "Not like masked men."

Aldelenna's playfulness brings a blush across the whole of Ewem's body, and enough of a reaction for him to swiftly cover himself with the freshly dried cloths. "Useful magic. Most magic stupid. Only destroys." Then he smiles. "Best kind fish. Food."

The day itself quickly becomes rainy, and Ewem and Walren take turns retreating, soaked, near the warmth of the stove. Flakes of white are mixed in with the water on their clothes.

Ewem strides in as the captain once again takes control. The sail is down, but the rain has the river gushing and if the lack of a sail is affecting your speed, you can't tell.

"Reach lake today." Ewem declares. He looks pointedly at Fin and Cole. "Now danger can come. Watch always!"