Garth - the Former Rat's page

Ya picked the right time for it. Bastard’s a heavy sleeper, wager you’ll hear the snores soon as you’re in there. I’ll clear off for a bit, maybe take meself over to the pub...yeh, that’ll do. The Silver Banshee, few streets away, follow the signs for “Red’s,” - it’s the building right opposite that weird art gallery. I’d appreciate a report on what’s in the basement...and I wouldn’t say no to a cut of those tiles me solvents gonna help get loose.

He winks.

Not that you’re obliged to share of course. Cut and run if you want, the satisfaction of knowing what’s happened’ll be more than enough for me.

One last mostly respectful bow and Garth strides off into the winding streets, a final nonchlant wave of his hand the last you see of him before he disappears behind a building.

Dunno. He was just fine with me being in his bedroom, showed off the damn collars, boasted how he’d never be caught and be up to Opal within a year...

Garth’s eyebrow twitches at that last statement as he mutters something under his breath.

But he never once even considered letting anybody into the basement.

He grins again.

Makes you wonder what he’s hiding in there right?

Check the basement.

Garth snorts in response to Galayen’s question.

Yer lookin’ at a grand 50% of the idiots defences right now my fish faced friend. Me n Benny are the only guards and Benny ain’t here. Supposed to be - but I sent him off to the bar with a pouch full of silver ages ago. Better that than put up with him all night. And traps? You need people to install those kinda things, people inside the house where he’s keepin’ a bunch of throughly illegal slaves? Not to mention that they cost money. So no. No traps.

He thinks for a moment.

He’s got a wand of some kind. No idea what it casts, never seen it used. Likes to show off that he has it. Boasts that his rings are enchanted. One must be the control ring for the collars but I couldn’t speak for the other. Suppose he could order the poor bastards to attack you...but state they’re in? Useless for a fight.

And yes, those roof tiles really would be worth a pretty pinch of gold...dammit...

He kicks the ground in what appears to be frustration and produces a tube of alchemical solvent from his pocket, tossing it to the Dreaded Obsidian Claw.

Should get them loose without much problem. Was gonna be a nice little retirement package for me... then you come along spouting the old codes and now I’m stuck thinking about things that have no business being in me head. Heh, take it. Breaking the dicks bank’ll probably hurt him more than breaking his back ever would, I’ll earn enough from my report after tonight to keep me happy anyway.

You can get in through the front door, it’s not locked. Doesn’t even have one. Windows are all pretty good entry points too.

He grins.

Darned shame that I’ve suddenly been struck deaf, dumb and blind for the next couple of hours ain’t it?

A word to the wise then Miss. Don’t go trying to yank the collars off, that’ll like as not kill the poor bugger and set off an alarm into the bargain. There’ll be a control ring somewhere, gotta use that to deactivate them...or do you smash the ring? Sorry, not sure which, maybe do both?

Garth's eyes harden again, this time with disgust.

Aye. Collars. Slave Collars. Don't blame yeh for not knowing about em. Ain't something you see around here very often, least not since the Golden Lady made em illegal...Like Walker gives a s#*! about that sort of morality.

He motions the action of clipping something around his neck.

You gotta put them on yourself, somethin' in the magic means they can't just force one on yeh. Still - easy enough to threaten some poor sod or trick another one into wearing the damned things...

Once you got the thing on though? You may as well be a zombie. Can't think, can't talk. Maybe a little more dexterous than an actual undead but that's about it. You're stuck obeying the orders of whoever's wearing the control ring.

He spits on the gatepost.

The bastard in there's keeping slaves. 5...maybe 6 of em, not sure, he keeps em inside the house. Walker might not care about him being an evil s*#*head but even she couldn't ignore him parading them around outside.

At the mention of the code phrase Garth’s eyes widen slightly, the bitter grin dropping to slack-jawed disbelief for a second before...

Heh...haha...HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Collapsing back against the gate pillar Garth cannot seem to keep the tide of laughter down, whilst he does make an effort to not wake the entire street with his guffaws it’s pretty clear that something has struck him as tremendously funny.

The giggles persist for a good 30 seconds before he finally gets them under control, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes he takes the time to get his breathing back to normal before staring at the Dreaded Obsidian Claw with far more seriousness than he had used before.

Well now, I don’t think I’ll be needing to slaughter any Jabberwocks anytime soon, so may as well keep that lovers sword in its sheath for the...foreseeable future.

...

Didn’t get that? Don’t worry, Rat humour. Not very good. That phrase you just used? It means one of two things. If a Rat says it about you? Then you’re a monster who needs to be put down - the Jabberwock. But they give it to you? Then you’re the thing we need to kill the monsters... Whoever gave you that? They just named you their “Sword in the Darkness.” It ain’t something we give lightly.

He sketches an informal (but seemingly sincere despite the grin acknowledging the absurdity of it all) bow.

So then Mr. Vorpal Blade sir? What can this not-quite-useless adult of an ex-Rat do for you?

He jerks his thumb back to the house he is... guarding?

That the monster you’ve come to deal with? Just about finished up my investigation on the bastard anyway. Do whatever you like in there. I’ll say a collar malfunctioned, caused the poor buggers he keeps in there to go berserk. The guard here are sacks of dung to a man, they’ll buy it. News might even convince some other evil t~!&s that the collars aren’t worth it. Oh hey! Do me a favor? Check out what the hells he has in his basement? The one room I couldn’t case.

Gonna give a flat 50% chance that Garth will recognize the Dreaded Obsidian Claw - below 50 he does, above he does not

recognition?: 1d100 ⇒ 36.

Garth is a lean but well muscled human man of perhaps 20 or so years of age. His eyes widen slightly as he identifies just who it is walking towards him but otherwise shows no real signs of fear. He does however carefully slip whatever he was fiddling with back into a bag hung at his belt.

Evening yerself...friend. Reckon I might know why you're here...but I somehow doubt that me and the Claw himself have much in the way of mutual acquaintances.

He shrugs nonchalantly. A lazy grin playing across his face. Stark contrast to the vicious layers of bitterness and resignation in his voice.

Doubt you've had much reason to go chasing rats around the sewers down there.