Gareth Shrike's page

Or we could try to find the Skulk community and talk to them.

So how are you doing?

"The inn," Gareth says, shrugging. "I'm not so sure we should be after sleep just yet. Dark is when the sneaky folk come out. Maybe someone will try ta incriminate the Sphinx and the rest a' the Carnival again?"

I wish you a speedy recovery.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12.

"The Skulks don't make their own shiver," Gareth says. "Someone's cooking it up for them as pay, and this is a human town. That being so, I doubt the ones who make the filthy stuff use the addicted Skulks for really important work; ye can't trust someone with dandelion fluff on the brain to do everything right. I reckon the Skulks were, first and foremost, set up to fail and get caught."

Welcome back. How was the trip?

Gareth nods. "Let's be outta here," he says. "I doubt there's more to be learned. But Sheriff? I'd take it kindly if you had your local healer in to see to Rogi. Get him cleaned up; give him back his dignity before whatever else happens."

To the Skulk, he says: "You care to have a word sent back to yer kin? Maybe spare them this kind of sad fate? Ye gotta see this is no way to live. The shiver's reaming out your people like a gourd, makin' 'em easy marks fer bastards who need expendable labour."

"Any idea how those two might be contacted?" Gareth asks. He hesitates, then continues: "Or just tell us who all deals shiver in this town. They'd be along there sooner or later, right?"

"Don't leave the Skulk behind," Gareth says. "Call it a gut feeling... He might not be here when we get back, or he might be dead."

Gareth frowns. "'Cause I ain't a yellow-belly, swill-swilling torturer, is why," he says in a level tone. "He already spilled most of what we need to know from him. Even if he's goin' to the gallows for murder, he should do it with what dignity he's got due to a man. Or a Skulk."

"Things don't rightly add up," Gareth says, frowning, from where he leans against the wall. "Regardless, the Skulk needs locking up. That, and a healer. He's sick from the shiver, maybe deathly sick. Got a healing-priest on call, sheriff?"

If you really want to, and the DM doesn't object, then go for it.

I did enjoy the bit with the paper crown, though. ^^

Archie...? :D *cue very old sitcom flashback*

"Time to pull the skulk out of the pit," Gareth says, curtly.

Gareth frowns briefl, but says nothing.

In the privacy of his thoughts, however, he chastises himself: 'Don't look at the woman. She just became a prime suspect...'

My local computer guy is wonderful at what he does. I seem to be back...

But most ominously, he has advised me to save up for a new laptop.
Can I hear you say 'Argh', y'all? :(

Ugh! I'm having computer problems again. The good news? Things should be fixed next week, maybe even later today. I shall return.

"I'll not peddle in such poisons," Gareth says, glowering. "No matter how convenient it might be."

"He did murder a man," Gareth says. "'Sides, look at him. He's on death's door already. He needs a Cleric to clean out the poison before he shakes hisself to death."

"This poor sod needs a doctor, as well as a jail cell," Gareth harrumphs.

"You were 'just' to kill the guards?" Gareth repeats. "Then who was to do the looting?"

Gareth taps Durnim on the shoulder and whispers: "I'm thinking we want the Sheriff in on this. It'll save time if she gets the confession from this sorry sod's own lips, and less dubious than if she has to go by our word. Filthy mess, this. Drug peddlers, abusing their victims even more than normal, bah!"

Gareth spits to the side, his face briefly twisted into an ugly mask of contempt.

"I'm not like that," Gareth says, his eyebrows lowering dangerously. "Even if you were a cold killer, I wouldn't leave ya to starve to death. You'd need to be much worse than a hired knife and a thief for that. Truth for truth."

Gareth grunts, and tosses the captive a single trail ration. "Your health," he adds with mild sarcasm. "Long as it lasts."

Sense motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8.

Gareth's eyes narrow threateningly.

"Ye're not rightly in any place ta negotiate, neighbour," he says. "Anyhoo, if it's food ya need ta loosen yer tongue, I can throw ye a trail ration."

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17.
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2.

Gareth harrumphs, then calls down to the Skulk.
"Looks ta me like you're in a spot a'bother down there. You understand me? You want out?"

Gareth sets off after Agnes at a trot, one hand dipping inconspicuously into the recesses of his duster.

Gareth moves to H8 and draws his pistol, but keeps it hidden inside the folds of his coat for now.
Sleight of hand: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21.

Gareth also starts looking around, though oddly enough, his focus seems to be mostly on the walls and floorboards.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10: looking for traces of ratholes, but also - Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14 - for other tracks of interest.

Thanks. ^^;

Um. What map? ^^;

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18.

"Ma'am," Gareth says, tugging his hat. "Condolences."

Gareth eyes the two guards as the group goes inside Mrs. Walden's house, but doesn't comment on them.

"That be the Sphinx you mean, ma'am?" he asks.

What is the neighbourhood like where the victim died? Is it very well-to-do, or a bit run-down? ... Any sign of rats? ;)

"Much obliged, ma'am," Gareth says, tugging on his hat again.

Gareth grunts.

"Stealing money doesn't sound like Sphinx behaviour to me. May we see the body? And the scene of the crime?"

Depending on the state of the place where Archivin died, I might be able to get us some surprise eye witnesses. ;)

"Ma'am," Gareth says, tugging on his hat's brim. "We've no wish to step on yer toes, mind. It's just that the carnival's boss wanted fer some folks to do on her people's behalf, what with one thing an' another."

Gareth whistles between his teeth.

"Ye're in big trouble, ain'tcha?" he asks. "People who offer big money for representation with their troubles usually are. Don't fear I won't do the job, 'cause it's worth doin'. But if I find out whodunnit, I'll chase 'em down, no matter who it is. If ye agree with that..."

Gareth spits in his hand and holds it out to Almara.

Gareth whistles between his teeth. "That's mighty generous, already," he says. "Question, though: who was killed, where were they done in, and who's investigating for the town?"

"Have to agree with my new mountain-born friend, here," Gareth says, mildly taken aback.

"A-yup," Gareth says, with a tug on the brim of his hat.

Gareth wouldn't go in for crazy binge drinking. ^^; Raised in a monastery, and all...

"I'm not sure who this Lady is, either, but I wouldn't want it said I'm ill-mannered," Gareth says. "Where'd she want us to meet her?"

I'm cool with it. ^^

"Dunno," Gareth replies to Azubah's question first. "That's something I wanted to find out."

To Durnim, he says: "I heard about sphinxes, growing up. They're said to be masters of riddles, the smarter ones. Riddles ontain kernels of secret knowledge from the ages. It sounded interesting."

"Shame, that," Gareth says, as he tugs his hat down to shade his face. "I was looking forward to meeting the sphinx."

It's three macho men, out for a walk in the zoo together! :D

"Waitin' fer the Sphinx, meself," Gareth says. He looks down, as if he's checking his boots for cracks in the leather. "I'll have a look. I'm here, after all."

"There's dragons what don't breathe fire, or so I've heard tell," Gareth says as she slowly comes closer. "Never heard of a dragon that couldn't talk, though. No matter. Maybe this one's a dullard."

Gareth shrugs, then extends his hand to Talgil, ilKhan and Durnim. "Well done, there. Gareth's the name."

I didn't do anything besides try to get people to move out of the big lizard's way. ^^; Don't suppose I'll get paid for that!

"I got no desire to kill a baby anything, man! I don't even like to eat veal or lamb! But do you have something to calm it down with?" Gareth calls back.

Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5 (untrained).
Initiative: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14.

"Everyone, try to stay calm!" Gareth shouts at the top of his voice. "Just get out of the creature's way, and don't trample each other!"

Untrained Diplomacy to keep the crowd from panicking and stepping on kiddies and such: 1d20 ⇒ 3

Yay! ^^ Travel safely, now...