We don't know whether or not this has anything to do with our real investigation though. I think we should try to figure out what that... thing was.
Search Posts
First things first, I need a minute to prepare for any combat we may face. Orson spins slowly, tracing a circle with his staff on the floor, chanting quietly. Eventually, a strong-looking humanoid figure gradually appears out of the air. This is my Companion Andrealphus. He'll be my main contribution to our fights. Where shall we start today?
Let's get off the street at any rate. Back to my house the inn. Orson leads Kuldra back to the room.
Orson hauls Ada up to her feet. Seems like she's paralyzed. I don't know much about poisons and diseases, do you?
Orson moves around to grab Ada and drag her away from the dogs, hoping Kuldra can keep them distracted.
Person recognizes the vulnerability of his position and considers playing dead but decides to stand up and assume a defensive stance.
That's it. I'm summoning him first thing in the morning every day for the rest of my life. Orson moves as wide as he can to loop around the hounds to try and establish a flnak with Kuldra.
Orson goes as well.
Fine then. It's just a dog, probably got in a fight. I'm going back to bed.
Oh, oh no. Here we go again. Orson grabs his staff and hovers his hand over the handle of the door and whispers to the others. On three?
Agreed. My house isn't too far, and we can resume when we have daylight and witnesses. Unless you'd rather chance it with an inn? On second thought, that might be better. Nobody will know to check there.
Perhaps we should check in with the Inspector. Some extra legitimate authority can't hurt our investigation... much.
Orson stands up, coughing violently, and takes a mental note to find out what that thing was. Is the fortune-teller-oh, nevermind. I was too busy dying to catch a good enough look to identify the thing, do either of you know what that was?
Ok, either I get out and run right now or I am about to die. Come ON!
So this is probably where I die. Orson struggles to wriggle free.
Not having the time needed to summon his favored ally with the creature right there, Orson holds his staff in front of him as if to strike with it and tries to identify any weaknesses it might have.
Clearly the stress is getting to him however.
No! Stop! Orson gestures as if to grab at Madam Larua. Ok think, no time to summon Andrealphus. Divine. Find the aura. Orson follows Kuldra.
Orson nods his head at the rear window. Do these spirits usually have a physical presence? Or are you expecting company from the rear? It seems something is coming.
Sorry, I've been having trouble lately of the newer posts not showing up in my campaigns tab. I thought nobody had posted after my last one.
Naughty children during the Bloody Jack killings. That certainly bodes ill. I guess we need to know what these spirits know. Orson stands silently awaiting an answer from Larua.
Did he explain what exactly he meant by naughty? That's a pretty vague description.
Thirty years ago, you say? That's quite a long memory you have, ma'am. He must have made quite the impression. Do you know what he was looking for, or trying to accomplish? No offense meant, but I don't imagine you have many people coming back again and again and again so often you'd remember them decades later.
Orson has absolutely no idea what to make of all this riddlespeak and stays silent.
Orson reaches out with his hand, baffled. Wha- oh all right.
Here it is. Hope neither of you have dinner plans.
It is odd that he would hide this flyer in a cart like this. Let me see that for a minute.
Did you have regular dealings with Bill? Did he waffle on these agreements regularly?
Orson taps his forehead. He just said they sold the cart, Miss Hopper, and it has been thirty years since he was contracted. He then returns his attention to Schimp. Bill's been murdered, I'm sorry to say. Did you have any dealings with him before? Was failing to fulfill a contract common behavior for him?
I'm the only party member who hasn't jumped ship, it seems, and I am a spheres of power wizard.
I'm still here. I was under the impression that the others had left since Herk hadn't posted in weeks and Grey had seemed to taper off too. I thought the game was dead.
That's not the issue, I'm afraid. Can we sit down? There's something we need to discuss and I am afraid it will take a while. We're here on behalf of the Watch.
Orson takes the initiative. We have come to speak with one Mr Grindlylow about Old Bill. The man who made this He holds up the mechanism.
Somebody cared enough to kill the man, so he must have been doing Something Somewhere... Orson scratches his chin as he walks, again, sidestepping puddles and passers-by as easily as breathing.
His spell over, Orson drops his hands. He grimaces a moment, but shakes it off. Well, it doesn't look like any strong magic was used in here, but I don't know if it would have taken much power to flay a body like this. Absent other leads present here, I have no better ideas than to start at the victim's usual haunts.
I have an idea. Please give me a moment. Let's see if there are any magical traces about. Orson holds his hands out and closes his eyes. He begins murmuring and his fingers begin twisting in complex motions.
Orson turns and makes eye contact, nodding as he introduces himself. Orson. And I'll try my best. He goes back to scanning the room after Grey introduces himself. Agreed, Mr Herk. We don't yet know if the footprint belongs to the assailant. Please, give me a moment.
Orson wanders across the room, tracing his staff through the air. I must agree with the older gentleman. If you want me poking my head into this sort of business, it will cost someone.
Orson walks confidently, moving almost preternaturally as he avoids puddles and rodents without even noticing they are there. Perks of having the spirit of the city living inside your head, it really doesn't want you to slip and spill your brains onto the cobblestones. His coat is red and black with a complicated sigil on his breast pocket with the phrase ::Min athrad ambar:: Elven: stitched in curving elven figures- it's the official motto of a mid-tier school of wizardry that had opened a campus somewhere in the city. His shirt is, as always, impeccably white and his trousers seeming fresh-pressed. Only his boots, well-worn and broken in as well as curiously stained, show any signs of the frequently messy work he finds himself involved in.
We Cross the World Usually when Orson is sought after by the constabulary, it's to assist in the discovery of dead bodies or to assist behind the scenes by way of manipulating the minds of others. In any event, it was usually far preferable to searching for dropped baubles and women who have finally left their awful but better-paying husbands. Never known Muncy to get so shaken up by the sight of a dead man.
Woohoo! Quick disclaimer, I've never actually played Spheres of Power before, but it looks pretty simple, so hopefully I won't be messing up too much. |