Lorrin Meese's page

"Alright. Stage show it is. Presented in character, by Boratio Fishblower himself! ha ha ha! A satire on the Empire's continuous attempts to crush the last bastion of resistance in Cheliax! Let me get some of my best material together and I'll see what I can do. Lorrin, if you or your friends could help the rest of our gang organize the venue while I prep my material, that would be most appreciated!"

We can RP this or I can just roll

Actually, this is too big for any one bard, even you, Alfalfa. The whole team--all you little rascals are going to have to pull together to get this done. Whatever it is.

"That's... a ghaaaastly plan Aiden! geez! imagine poor Madge and her noodles hangling from strix' talons flying high above Pezzack's buildings!"

"Is that going to be part of your show?" Meese says with obvious disgust at the idea.

So once you've got an idea for something to to do everyone one is going to have to pull their resources and make a couple of DC 15 skill checks. You can get Meese involved too, even though he doesn't admit to it he has to have access to a press to print his posters and fliers. 'What skill checks?' you ask. Well that depends on what you decide to do and how you go about doing it. Justify your skill choice in your post. Each character gets to make one check per reasonably indeterminate block of time--so two--or go do something else with their time if they like. Each successful check earns you a propaganda point! Really good checks might earn you more. Earn enough propaganda points to earn strong city-wide public support for the Society, that blocks Loyalist propaganda from spreading.

Could the White Feathers

Help mitigate their efforts?
You have ways with words."

"Oh, and they are 'Thistles' not 'feathers,' my sahuagin friend." corrects Meese.

Seems like there are 20 million things going on, many of which have nothing to do with our mission, just people's personal predilections.

It's total anarchy in here!

"You can't really stop the Loyalists in town*, but you could certainly muddy the waters, spread counter-rumors. Maybe Jaks was a--I don't know--a cultist of Norgorber trying to smear you. You could conduct a PR campaign of your own. Put on a stage show for morale sake (I love a good bit of theatre), or help out where you can in the city, or the like."

* See EDIT above.

"Ah there you go. Now do you have a symbol of Pezzacki's resistance against the empire?"

"You could ask a hundred people on the street outside and get a hundred different answers to that question. Maybe you should leave the distractions to my friend. Not all of the revolutionaries in Pezzack think kindly of or even accept the idea of an independent Andoran."

"So what? We find a flag, put it up, and slip through the chaos."

"The Throne Defiant still flies its moth-eaten, Imperial, Thrunish banner despite several attempts to bring it down."

"Seriously, it has been handled. The White Thistles have pledged to stand with you come tomorrow morning. Now if there is nothing else, I'm sure there is another fire somewhere that needs putting out."

"That's the idea Aquavius. Lorrin, your printing press is not the only one in town I hope?" says the happy man, smiling.

"Alas, there are no known presses in town. The former Governor had them all seized just before the mob came for him and his Hellknights. Did you need some postcards made with your forwarding address?" Meese says with a smile. "Perhaps you should ask your friend the Printsmith."

"Well, I wouldn't call it a 'base,' but the clientele of the Throne Defiant certainly leans toward the diabolic throne."

Son collects a mwk composite longbow [Str +3] and 20 arrows.

Back at the Inkwell

"Well that was quick!" Meese exclaims, then adds "And bloody I see."

He pulls out a set of mismatched tumblers and pours some wine for everyone. "Drinks are on me. While you've been gone I put in a word with my friend in the White Thistles. He says he can arrange to provide you a distraction tomorrow at dawn. Just let me know when and where tonight."

The party has two nebulous blocks of time (Wealsday afternoon and evening, and technically a third--night, in which they are presumed to sleep) to do with as they will. What do you do?

"I was hoping you'd have suggestions, with you being familiar with this part of town and the folks in it. The Chelish Navy is coming, and your lot sits right near the entrance of the harbor... something that would draw their attention, as long as it's not settin' anything else on fire!"

Son of Cayden pauses. Hmm... fire... he thinks, before addressing Meese again.

"Sir, do you happen to have a flag of Cheliax or Thrune's colors? and do you have enemies in town which could fly such a burning flag from their building? That would be quite a symbol, aye... then, as the Chelish waste time and effort on your enemies, you could go house to house, inspiring the people with Amalia's fine words! their joining you in the fight against your enemies would be seen as assisting the Chelish Navy in overcoming the offenders! what a coup!"

"Hold, hold, hold! That is some operatic stage production you are putting on friend, but firstly, I do not know anything about you except your shoe-size, and potential stage talent. In fact, the only one among you that I do recall meeting before and who seems to have stayed the same is your gods damned necromancer--and well, obviously--necromancer."

"Still a distraction could be supplied, if you were to do us a good turn. The big square tower to the west of the city. It was once the hub of defense against the strix until they firebombed it from above. They're scouts have taken to roosting there to snipe and spy upon the town. Send them off and bring me the proof and perhaps I can arrange something. It'll take time to gather the men especially now tomorrow morning by the soonest." Meese then considers for a moment. "When you were telling me that grand tale, you mentioned enemies. You've been in town for at least a while now, have you made any foes?"

Son of Cayden very happily takes the drink, and clinks it with Meese's, "We plan to climb into a dead whale, seal it, sink it, and make it swim under the blockade with some highly experimental magic. This may be the last drink I ever have, now that I think of it,"

"Well it certainly doesn't sound like the first drink you've had today. Are you sure you aren't high on something? Honestly, flying seems saner."

Son of Cayden slides his glass for a refill, a certain... worry... now appearing on his face. "I'll have another, if you can spare it. Here: I smuggled these wading boots into Pezzack two days ago. I can testify that they have a good seal, and are very comfortable. This would be valuable to any fisherman or dockworker in this town. Paid 50 gold pieces for them. If you don't mind I'd like to take two copies of Amalia's chapbook. One for the world, and one for me."

Meese fills Son's glass again, and produces a pair of books to trade. "So how can I help you drown--in water that is?"

"Before all this trouble with Jaks turning out to be the notorious Printsmith we were were offering chapbooks of Amalia Wraxton's verse, signed by the author herself for a small donation (of 25 gp in trade goods per copy). I don't know if it is her best work, considering the last time she produced a major play it nearly burned the whole city down, but given the Chellish Navy's reaction today, all I can say, is it seems good enough for me."

The man picks up a pair of tumblers and pours himself a drink, which he in turn offers to anyone one else who'll have one with him.

"'Escape?' You mean from Pezzack? Through the blockade? HA! Do you plan on flying like strix?"

Viva Cheliax! Home of Iomedae! I should note that a person's faction is not stamped on them like a uniform, the people at the Inkwell are not all "White Thistles." In fact, Meese seemed sort of proud of that the last time you were here.

"The fire, go out? Interesting idea and an interesting bit of symbology. Come in! Come in! Our doors as you know are always open even if our walls are not up." He leads the party back into one of the salon's nooks.

"No wizard's cap this time friend?" he asks Reggie and then moves on. "So how can I help you?"

It seems like some folks are still not in agreement on everyone going to the see the White Thistles, but are themselves not not going, just suggesting that other folks (people they don't like maybe? ;)) should go elsewhere. That's fine but if no-one does, you're....

Outside the Inkwell

"Ah ha! Wizards, and not it seems!" Meese calls down from his perch on the ladder. "I am afraid I cannot philosophize today friends! There is too much reality in the air!"

Reggie (since he is looking that way) notes that the body of the former Chellish governor of Pezzack still hangs like a sad flag from the Traitor's Hook in Whaler's Point. None of the invaders have taken notice of him.

Lorrin Meese wrote:

"Say..." He says in a hushed tone to Aiden, "Those black robes you're wearing aren't those the sort worn by--you know--necromancers?"

Aiden chuckles. "Uh, no. No necromancy. I haven't even studied that yet." He grins at the man. "Yet."

"Riiight." says Meese. He smiles knowingly and quaffs whatever it is that he is drinking. On the other hand, while he remains cordial with Reg he seems slightly less friendly. It might be a height thing.

575 Just so you know I didn't forget you, I answered your warehouse location question back here.

Aiden is dressed in an oversized black robe that drapes on the floor. As tall as he is, he looks like a kid in his father's clothes. He wears round glasses and a dirty, ruddy scarf that he found in the back of the closet. Lastly, he carries his wand of Shield as a prop, flicking this way and that.

He wanders around the tavern, listening in to the various patrons and the get drunk.

"People assume that the author is either Jaks Arunai or a mysterious man named the Pamphletmaker. Some think both are the same. Perhaps we should wait and see who shows up."

"Some people think that I am the Printsmith!" Meece announces to the world in general. Everyone laughs (some perhaps a bit too knowingly)."But no. I, alas, am not." He looks theatrically sorrowful. Everyone laughs again.

"Your attempt at obfuscation was quite... well, let's call it an attempt at least. Lorrin Meese is the name. I tend the Inkwell. I haven't seen you lot about. Since when have the wizards taken an interest in politics. Or is it the longshoremen who have been taken by the spirit?" He says looking between the various members of the group.

"Say..." He says in a hushed tone to Aiden, "Those black robes you're wearing aren't those the sort worn by--you know--necromancers?"

She reads the sheet. "Wow. What kind of performance is it? A play? A poem recital? And uh... who is performing?"

No one directly answers and Meese merely smiles and shrugs good-naturedly. "Come and find out."

The ink on the flier is still a bit damp.

His eyes are instantly drawn to all the books lining the walls, not at all what he expected of a tavern. He starts looking at the nearer ones curiously, while the others talk.

Most of the texts pertain to history, politics, philosophy, and rhetoric. There are even a few small, translations of famous texts from Tian Xia.

"Easy there Clankings. Allow me to introduce the Inkwell's bouncer, Clankings."

The doors open on a homey, well-appointed hall filled with long tables and benches, and smaller tables and chairs along the buttressed walls. There are bookshelves full of books and stacks of paper with more paper pinned and pasted to the walls.

There isn't much of crowd this early in the day, but there are three men, two of whom seem embroiled in an argument. The third man, a middle-aged man of no little charisma stands between them turning to one of the men he says:

"Listen Swinson, the Inkwell is open to all, period. You couldn't pick a Loyalist out of the crowd anyhow--especially in the state you are in now."

"Aye Meese, but I seen this man in uniform fi'e year ago. I knows it." shouts Swinson. "You know the soldiers jest took off their uniforms and buried them! They jest waitin' to unearth 'em and take over."

"If he was wearing a uniform then it was the same uniform I wore when I was in the service. Now go to the common room and finish sleeping off whatever it was you were drinking last night." replies Meese sending the man off.

The target of Swinson's suspicions gives his thanks and returns to his bench seat.

"Ah new comers!" Snatching a bit of paper off of a table, the the man called Meese comes over and hand the group the sheet. "Welcome to the Inkwell."

Slide 4 has a copy of this handout.