I haven't seen a naked body other than my own in two and twenty years, and now this! Shador averts his eyes and steps back into the corridor, this time wary of the large human's presence. Hearing Orthos' call, Shador rejoins his companions in the hall and begins to move in the direction Orthos is looking though he has no idea what is looking for. "Where did she go?" he asks Orthos as he passes him, rapier held at the ready.
Shador darts down the corridor in the direction of the rain-spattered window and visually inspects each door he passes along the way. Each one of them seems to be latched shut and many of them emit sounds of confusion or fear generated by the patrons within. Shador ends his movement directly before the great window, completely baffled as to the whereabouts of their foe. A flash of lightning outside rattles the building with the resulting thunderclap and Shador stands silhouetted by the flash for only an instant. Kaja is nowhere to be seen.
"She turned invisible again, just like when she stabbed me!". Othos points down the hallway. "I think she snuck down that way, but I could be wrong... Be careful when looking for her". Thinking of Kaja's initial attack brings Othos' thoughts back to the throbbing, bloody wound in his side. With a grimace, he passes his free hand over it, muttering a quick prayer to the Lady of Loss.
"She's likely gone." says the werewolf matter-of-factly, the lips and mouth moving in disturbingly perfect human diction. "Nothing to protect..." and head-flags in the direction of the stairs.
Cautiously the werewolf wheels its way over to Morn's body, tossing the corpse over onto its back and begins to search it over--more for papers or other information rather than valuables. He seems unconcerned, confident that the woman has fled, but also in his formidable visage that he will not be bothered in the meantime.
Cautiously the werewolf wheels its way over to Morn's body, tossing the corpse over onto its back and begins to search it over--more for papers or other information rather than valuables. He seems unconcerned, confident that the woman has fled, but also in his formidable visage that he will not be bothered in the meantime.
Shador hears a soft but solid footstep right next to him and suddenly, the woman materializes right beside him, making a flying leap shoulder-first into the glass!
Seeing the woman materialize near the window, Othos steps forward and hurls the tanglefoot bag with all his might against the window sill. The bag's contents explode all over Kaja and Shador both, but the experienced pair manage to twist in such a way as to avoid the worst of the bag's effects...
Torbjorn spends at LEAST one round standing around scratching his head, a gigantic red question mark popping straight up above him.
Why, I'll be... She is certainly full of surprises. Shaking his head in a mixture of grudging respect and raw hatred, Othos briefly turns back towards the stairway. "Gimble!", he barks, "She is leaping out through the hallway window!", before returning to the matters at hand. He shifts his blade over to his shield hand and sprints towards the window, hands weaving frantically as he casts yet another spell.
"No you don't, lass!" bellows the dwarf as the glass shatters around him. He casts his rapier aside and grasps for the fleeing woman, trying to wrestle her back into the hall.
Shador reaches out to grab the girl in mid-leap but her wicked curved blade lashes out and cuts him across the palm, a mere inch from severing his finger, and ruins his attempts to apprehend her. She impacts the glass, smashing the window outward and plummets 15 feet to the ground below amidst a shower of crystalline shards and torrential rain. She lands gracefully with a barely audible 'whuff' and turns to bolt down a nearby alleyway.
Seconds after the cacophany of glass, Othos rushes to the window and completes his arcane chanting, sending a searing bolt of energy into Kaja's shoulder. She winces and snarls up at the wizard but appears to possess quite the fighting spirit. A moment later, the party can hear the front door to the establishment opening and Kaja glances toward the door, wide-eyed, and begins to run. Gimble closes the distance between them, but Kaja is turning to run as the halfling approaches, his short legs not quite up to the task of giving chase to a taller opponent.
Othos spits as he stares at Kaja's rapidly disappearing form, willing his eyes to burn holes into her back. "It seems she got the better of us - at least for now". He then winces as he looks at Shador's sliced-open hand. "Here, here, let me take care of that", he says before casting yet another spell. "Let us grab Morn's possessions and get out of here - after that explosive exit, the Watch will be here shortly".
"We will have to come up with...other meeting arrangements" Berzeral says to Othos, an edge to his voice, his eyes touching briefly on Torbjorn before returning to the bloodied scholar. "I still have errands to perform."
He picks through the dead man's possessions, giving the room a quick search, still in his massive lycanthrope form. It was unfortunate that the dark skinned woman escaped, but perhaps less of a shame than if they had killed her--for her death would have been senseless and ungratifying. It was bad enough that this craftsman had to die in his nightclothes, attacking blindly those who meant him only a little harm. Killing of the worst sort, unpremeditated and haphazard.
"Where shall we meet?" the cleric asks, before turning toward the stairs, his monstrous form melting back into its more accustomed lean and rangey human shape.
As you poke around in Morn's room, the two women huddled in the corner cover themselves completely with the blanket clutched tightly to themselves, sobbing uncontrollably. A few doors in the hallway unlatch to creak open just the tiniest bit and then promptly shut and latch again as soon as the occupant sees the group still standing around.
Gimble chases Kaja to an alleyway but it is all for naught. The girl's long strides quickly leave the halfling behind. He grudgingly walks back to the tavern and takes a seat in the chair that Kaja had recently filled downstairs.
“Excuse us, ladies – but it is only fair that we relieve Morn of his ill-gotten gains, don’t you think? See it as a tithe, which we will put to far better use than he ever did”, Othos asks amiably as he picks up the late, unlamented knife-dealer’s belongings. He pats Torbjørn on the shoulder as they emerge back into the hallway. “You did well tonight, and we are most appreciative”, he mutters in a low voice. “Our offer still stands. Now, go get some sleep; you have had a rather rough night, losing your ship and all. We will be back in touch in a couple of days. And now, for a small distraction…” He whoops and hollers loudly. “Patrons of the Efreet’s Djinn! The whoremonger Morn is dead, felled by the blades of the Crusaders of Purity! Our arrival signals a new era in this wicked city – an era of cleanliness, piety and morality! Keep his cruel fate in mind as you go through your daily lives! Long live the Martyred One!!” . Let the Watch figure that one out… Grinning, he jogs down the stairs. “Time to move on, my friends”.
Shador rubs his fingers over his palm. The pain was still there slightly, but it would fade with use. "Thank you, Orthos, for the healing. If I knew she was so quick with her blades I would have just run her through and be done with it. Alas, I wanted her alive and must live with this tingle in my fingers until it works itself free." Shador stops to pick up his rapier, sheaths it and then hurries to follow the others out of the building.
“I also hoped to catch her alive, but she had other plans. While I am not entirely satisfied either with the outcome of our little adventure, it is by no means a loss. We have his keys, and we have this”, Othos says as he shows his companions the weird rune. “As I see it, we need to do two things – initially, we need to get the things Berzeral needs for my houseguest, and then we should look at Morn’s business and apartment. I am certain that we will find further clues there”.
Othos considers Berzeral's question briefly. "Hmmmm.... How about at my place again? Do you plan on bringing even more people there, by the way? Perhaps someone to take care of her?" He turns to Shador and Gimble as Berzeral shambles off. "Let us get out of this damnable rain and take stock. I have floor space, sleeping mats and warm food. Any takers?"
"A dry, clean floor will suit me fine. Let us return to your rooms, Orthos, while we consider our next action. Perhaps I can have a look at those runes when we are in a dry place; I may be able to tell you more about them." Shador joins the others in the rain and moves along the muddy street doing his best to stay wary given that Kaja escaped and is presumably still a threat. As he travels, Shador quickly goes over what he knows of Morn's personal information in an effort to recall where his home may be.
For Shador:
Flush with newfound loot and perplexed by the significance of Morn's strange token, the three companions wander back to Othos' apartment. Along the way, Othos picks up some good-quality meat and fresh fruit from a small all-night grocery store, intent on throwing together a hearty dinner once they got back to his quarters. "I am genuinely puzzled by this diagram, or whatever it is. However, if it is an approximation of a magical sigil, I could probably find it in my personal library. The other thing it could possibly be is a part of a larger whole - a large rune, or a piece of art, possibly a map. Fascinating..." His voice trails off. "But first - food and rest!"
Accustomed as he was to sleeping in dangerous or unclean places, Shador had no trouble finding a corner in the relative luxury of Orthos' apartment in which to curl up and rest. The warm meal filled his stomach and made him groggy, and he drifted off to sleep with images of the mysterious symbol dancing in his head.
While Othos, Gimble, and Shador return to the relative safety and comfort of Othos' apartment to dine and rest along with Berzeral's recent charge, Berzeral himself sets out into the downpour and makes his way across town to the far north sector of town where various guild halls, traders' unions, caravaners and their guards, and all manner of foreign merchant folk mingle comfortably beneath the roofs of the numerous meeting houses and temples found in this area. Lanterns still burn even at this late hour and the city's guard patrols are not far away, watching from within small shelters situated near major intersections. Berzeral travels to the guild hall where the Hyenas make their home, a small, squat building with few windows and only one story above ground. Above the door is a crude painting of a hyena in an aggressive stance. There is also a small overhang that shelters the area immediately in front of the door from the rain. With the parchment from Morn's backpack safely tucked away into his own sack along with the keys he discovered and Morn's gold ring, Berzeral strides up to the doorway and out of the rain.
Stepping under the overhang immediately and drastically changes the scents Berzeral experiences. While in the rain, the presiding smell was the faint scent of refuse and waste in the city's gutters combined with the earthy scent of mud. Now, an acrid, pungent scent assaulted his nostrils. It was a smell Berzeral recognized: human urine. The doormat had been soaked in it. This was the Hyenas territory and they wanted all to know who held sway here. Those who were especially keen on such things, like Berzeral, recognized the mark as denoting a safehouse for the Malarite faith. It was also a warning, however: Herein dwells a predator.
It was not long after Berzeral knocked that a dark-skinned man adorned with several piercings along his eyebrow, nose, and ears answered the door. The scowl on his face was one of open hostility and he glared at Berzeral even as he stood before him. After a moment, the man sniffed the air, looked Berzeral up and down, and grunted, motioning for Berzeral to enter before shutting the door behind him.
"Wolf-brother. Why you come to us?" the dark man asked flatly, an accent denoting his Calishite heritage. In one of the back rooms, Berzeral could hear the distinct sounds of someone sharpening a weapon on a whetstone.
...women through windows...werewolves in the hall...the Crusaders of Purity??
Torbjorn's head spun, the adrenaline of the non-attack finally simemring down in his bloodstream. His confusion was so deep that the only action he could muster was to stand and gape at the bizarre scene before him. The small, weasly-looking man had known his name...had they met? His spinning head held no answers, but he knew trouble when he saw it, and this day had brought him more trouble than he'd seen in the past eights months at sea.
After what appeared to be the end of the battle, Torbjorn stumbled back to his room, the breeze from the shattered window causing him to shiver and realize his nakedness for the first time. For a moment, he simply stood in his room, staring at nothing while Helg continued snoring loudly, completely unaffected by the ruckus just outside his door. Then, without warning, he sprang into action. Quickly climbing into his clothes and grabbing his things, he made for the door, pausing only long enough to glance back at Helg and consider waking him to inform his friend of his plan. No, Torbjorn thought, better not involve any more innocents in the wrath of the gods. with one last look, he turned and made his way quickly down the hall, silently following the strange and motley band of strangers who had somehow gotten themselves wrapped up in this mess with him. Perhaps one day they can escape Her wrath, he thought, or perhaps at some point they can help ME...
Torbjorn followed at great distance from the group of men who had recently battled outside his room. The relative darkness and heavy downpour permitted even someone of his massive stature enough cover to shadow them without incident. As the group neared an apartment complex just up the road, he witnessed the wolfman exchange a few words with the thin man who had spoken to him and they went their separate ways. The thin man, the dwarf, and the halfling all headed up the stairs and into the apartment. The wolfman had a small bundle of things beneath his arm which he loaded into his pack and continued on up the road, headed north towards the Bazaar. Torbjorn waited at a darkened intersection until all sign of the group had cleared the road. A flash of lightning and the accompanying crackle of thunder startled him slightly but revealed the entire avenue in an instant. No hidden threats seemed to lay about the environs. Indeed, the rain-soaked streets of Calimport seemed empty now that the wolfman had gone.
Up on the second level of the apartment complex, Torbjorn saw the faint glow of a lantern being lit and heard the hushed conversations between the thin man and the dwarf though at this distance (and with the rain's interference) he could discern nothing of what had been said.
Odd, Torbjorn thought, they should have come after me and finished the job by now. But then again, I was laid bare to them at the inn, and they didn't so much as take the first step towards me. As the storm continued pounding his sodden hide, he studied the flickering lamplight and strained to hear something, anything, over the din of the storm.
An hour or more passed, with no change save a slight slackening of the mighty storm. Torbjorn stood as still as stone, thoughts and considerations flooding his head almost as fast as he could form them. Deception? This could well be a trick to lure him in closer to some miserable fate at the hands of Her henchmen. But that's silly, they could have done it without the slightest hesitation at the inn. Spying, perhaps? Possible, but why sneak and skulk around and offer him adventure, instead of simply punishing him outright? Mercenaries, hired to track him down, and taunt him for a while before striking their deadly blow? Again, possible yet very unlikely. Could they simply be a band of thieves, looking for plunder? COuld the slight man's offer be sincere? Torbjorn dismissed this out of hand; no one had ever had need of him on land, save unloading his ship from one port onto another.
Yes, but She made sure to take that home, that life, from you, he thought. As sure as the tides may roll, this entire mess you're in is HER doing. You should have known!
Not a single element of this made any sense to him in the least. As time quickly passed, he felt himself grow more heated and angry at his frustration, his inability to comprehend the night's events laid before him. Each thought came quicker still, and was dispatched with equal speed and mounting frustration.
Enough!!, he chided himself. Your Master always told you what to do when you didn't know what else to do! Stop avoiding the inevitable and face your uncertainty with your mind, and your skills!
A look of grim determination settled upon his rain-streaked face. With one fell swoop, he plopped his mighty horned helm upon his head and dropped his pack at his feet. Grabbing his mighty hammer in both hands, he made a dash across the street, in a dead run that continued up the apartment stair, taking the steps three at a time. He used his momentum to its fullest, crashing against the door with all his weight and bursting into the apartment, ready for battle.
Master always told me that the best defense is a strong offense, and it hasn't proven me wrong so far. The truth does tend to come out quicker when three stone of warhammer is flying through your immediate vicinity...
Darkness at noon! What was going on? Groggily, Othos rolls off his sleeping mat, grasping for his longsword. It couldn’t possibly be the City Guard? Had those two wretched whores talked? I should have killed… Huh!? "Good afternoon, Torbjørn", he manages to stutter when he finally gathers his wits, "or should I say good morning? It is hard to tell at this time of the day". Othos puts down his sword as he sees the Norseman’s stance and attire. Steel would surely not carry the day here. "I have to admit that I am more than just a little surprised at seeing you here at this hour - or does it perhaps mean that you are here to accept our offer? If so, could I respectfully venture to suggest that, as your night might not have been among the relaxing for you, you would probably benefit from a little food? Here, have a seat, as I warm up some tea and stew". Hopefully, that would slow the lunatic down a bit…
As the wooden door all but flies off the hinges to the accompanying sound of the young woman's shriek in the adjoining room, Torbjorn barrels into the common room of Othos' apartment. Shador is instantly awakened by the calamity and witnesses the mighty Northman's entrance only ten feet from his position on the common room floor! Meanwhile, Othos is awakened from his slumber in his own room to the left of the entrance and groggily staggers out into the common room, longsword in hand. The flash of lightning backlights the Northman, heightening the imposing stature of the man and illuminating the driving rain as it filters in through the doorway.
Next door (and even several rooms down), the stirring of awakened tenants can be heard.
A jolt of adrenaline surged through Shador as the huge Northman splintered the door and crashed into the room. His hand went instinctively to his swordbelt which lay nearby and he tumbled away, drawing his rapier and casting the belt aside as soon as the blade was free. "What in the Hells is this!" he shouted before he realized he was saying it. "You're the brute that tried to kill me in the hall! Come back to finish the job, have you? I -" Orthos' calm words were finally getting through to the groggy dwarf and he looked at his thin companion with mistrust. "You know this mountain ape, Orthos?" he said, gesturing at the huge man with the point of his rapier.
"QUIET, YOU!" Torbjorn pointed his warhammer at the dwarf with one hand, an impressive feat with a weapon that matched the dwarf's weight and nearly his height. "My business here is with those who would see an END to me, and anyone who stands in my way will rue the day!"
Turning to Othos, his eyes ablaze, Torbjorn all bus whispered, "What is it you wish of me, you pink and sniveling fool? If you seek my death, be prepared to waste the life for which you hold such low regard."
His huge fingers gripped the warhammer so hard, the leather wrappings underneath creaked in protest...
"Once again, Northman, you both underestimate me and overestimate yourself. If I had ever wished to see you dead, we would most certainly have exploited your states of both undress and confusion in the inn earlier in the night. Also, what drives you to believe that anyone seeks your death? As you so recently told me, you are but a simple sailor, nothing more than the first mate on the Fritjof Nansen. In what way does that mark you for death? Now stop your ridiculous posturing and put that hammer down". Othos shakes his head in amazed disbelief, as a vein starts throbbing on his forehead. He gesticulates wildly with his right hand as his vioce drops into an enraged snarl. "Your cognitive powers, or, should I say, the lack of such, baffle me. We entered the Djinn intending to speak to Morn; after a slight impasse, you burst out of nowhere and cold-bloodedly murdered him. Then, you come here, ranting about some imaginary plot against your person, when the simple truth is that nothing of that sort exists. Do you insert yourself similarly into all other things that just happen to take place in your vicinity? Methinks that your god, whichever deity you demean with your devotion, has cursed you and clouded your faculties".
Othos grits his teeth, regaining some self-control. "What do you intend to do, sailor man? Your ship is nought but a charred hulk, your friends little more than burnt shreds feeding the crabs of Calimport Harbour. You are alone in this notoriously unforgiving city - alone but for us. Now pay some attention to that voice of reason speaking within that huge head of yours. You did not rise to your position through wanton willfulness. Relax and sit down. At the very least, you can then kill me later".
This ought to be interesting, thought Shador as he listened to Orthos shout down the hulking human, glad that man's attentions were focused elsewhere. He took advantage of the situation and began slipping toward the door, not only to clear a path for escape but place himself in a favorable position should the brute decide to attack.
As Torbjorn directs his aggression at Othos, Shador quietly slips out of Torbjorn's peripheral vision and crouches low against the inside wall, using a small table for cover. The nearly non-existant lighting in the room makes stealth an easy task, but escape would not be easy for the skulking dwarf - the giant sailor stood directly in the doorway, his massive frame blocking egress entirely. Fortunately, the giant did not seem to notice Shador's change in position amongst the shadows. He was safe... for now.
Torbjorn stood still as death, nostrils flared, his eyes afire with rage. Surely he thinks me a fool,he thought, and this is foul magical trickery at play. How can this creature speak any form of truth? I mustn't let my...my...
Suddenly, a thought occured to him. He squinted his steely gaze and softly asked Othos, "And how, prey tell, did you know anything of the destruction of my ship, and the death of its crew?"
His right arm held up the hammer across his chest, and let the head plop into his left palm a couple of times. "Choose wisely your answer, good sir," he said, "for it is critical to your continued survival."
Uh-oh. Suddenly somewhat concerned, Othos banishes a developing smirk from his face. “How I know? I know through the power of”, he takes a short dramatic pause and twirls his hands in a small flourish, “magic. I am a diviner, Torbjørn; I learn of many things. The hunger for knowledge runs thick through my blood. One of my servants watched as the Nansen was struck by a bolt of lightning which ignited its copious grog reserves. And before you return to your unfounded paranoia – no, I had nothing to do with it. While there most certainly are magicks capable of calling bolts of lightning from the tempestuous skies to sink ships and sear the flesh of the living, I have not mastered these. Nor would I have used them in such a roundabout way if I knew such powerful sorcery. Think about it – if I were such a mighty arcanist that I could sink ships without even being present and I sought your doom, why would I not have annihilated you in the same fashion, and at the same time?”
An idea strikes him. “Which, of course, is not to say that others could not have done so. However, the main figure in our argument is most probably not you, but your ship’s masters”. Othos starts pacing, running his hand through his hair. “There is no explaining why lightning struck the Nansen, yet spared the other ships at port. Have your superiors offended the Storm Lord or angered any of the mighty beings that dwell in the darkest canyons on the deepest of ocean floors? Have they, through impudent behaviours, attracted the unwanted attentions of the gods of the oceans? The masters of the seas are fickle and jealous beings, Torbjørn, which is yet another reason you might want to remain on land for the time being – at least until we find out why your ship and its crew met such an unkind fate. How does that sound – you do not crush my head like a moldy grapefruit, and, in return, I will help you in discovering the truth about your ship and its end?”
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Torbjørn's head spun like a tempest. As his eyes flicked from Othos' hands to his expression and back again, his mind raced. He knows! He knows of the captain's blasphemies! I should kill him and all he has spoken to! What if he...what...
As Othos finished his offer, Torbjørn's thoughts stilled. This man, whose arcane power was still undetermined, had offered him help. Help. To Torbjørn. To one who thought himself most unworthy. An offer to assist him in discovering the truth of what had happened this stormy night, and perhaps a chance at revenge.
And thus did Torbjørn find himself in very unfamiliar territory indeed: speech would not some to him. For some seconds, his jaw simply hung limp and open, his meaty arms slowly falling to his sides. After blinking heavily a few times, as if to rouse himself from the sudden shock, he looked at Othos with all the fire gone from his eyes.
"You offer me...assistance, in my time of need. And yet, I simply cannot believe that you do not have some ulterior motive, or wish some payment in kind from me and my troubled dreams."
His shoulders slumped, his rage subsided. Torbjørn slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving Othos' steely gaze. "Very well, sir. You have me at an advantage. What is it that you wish of me?"
A somewhat relieved smile spreads across Othos’ face. “Of course I have ulterior motives, Torbjørn – as you are well aware of, nobody ever does anything out of the goodness of their hearts. Instead, you would do well in looking at this as a mutually beneficial business relationship – together, we can accomplish things that we are unable to aspire towards as individuals. While I do not currently have a specific favour I require from you, I would like you to do two things. Initially, you need a good night’s rest. There is a decent enough hostel just down the block that will serve that need perfectly well. Secondly – you are an experienced, well-travelled man – so have you seen this before?”. Othos picks up Morn’s enruned purse, deftly drawing a replica of its strange design on a sheet of parchment, before giving the sheet to Torbjørn. “Does it ring any bells or awaken any memories?”.
“I would suggest that you collect your companion from your ship and meet me at the quay at midday, and we will then proceed to look at the wreckage of the Nansen. Hopefully, we will find some clues to the source of its bad fortune”. He gets up from the table and leads Torbjørn to the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go calm down my neighbours”.