Traveling north out of the great central courtyard, you move out into Plaguemort. To your left and right as you emerge is a long, curving row of two or three houses built to hug the massive stone walls. Judging by their construction, these are the homes of more well-off residents: they actually look habitable. Further down the half-rough, half-cobbled roads, you spot better examples of the typical Plaguemort dwelling: shanties and shacks built from refuse and propped up by whatever is on hand. With its mongrel architecture, Plaguemort is almost like Sigil. Even the Hive is visited by the Dabus, though, and its clear that almost nothing beyond the half-hearted ministrations of its residents is keeping the whole thing up. You pass humans, tieflings, a few muttering githyanki, even gnolls and minotaurs here and there. There are also a few knots of people that clearly don't belong here: visiting merchants and craftspeople darting furtive glances back and forth and trying to maintain their composure while fingering weapons or staying close to their guards (those that have 'em). When they see you, they don't say anything: but there's almost a sense of relief seeing even so motley a crew as yours. Everyone here has an almost starved look about them, even those that look well fed.
The houses sit in knots, often leaning on each other for support. Depressing stalls sit here and there, selling threadbare junk or sickly, caged livestock.
“We can’t just keep wandering the streets like this,” Thorn mutters, looking around but not really taking in the details in favour of the big, depressing picture.
“Oi, berk,” he says, suddenly collaring a scrawny (and most importantly lonesome looking) human. “Eye of the Dragon – where?” He glowers at the man, lip curled into a half snarl, half sneer.
Thorn grabs a lone human in a grey vest and slacks. He's thin, with a weak chin and beady eyes. When he opens his mouth, though, his teeth are all sharp and pointed: maybe he isn't entirely human after all. He sweats a little as he gives you directions.
"Eye of the Dragon, that's up this way,"he begins, pointing to a street that leads to the northeast,"... until it forks: you go left, then take a right and another right. The inn's on the inside edge of that block, facing the wall."
You let him go and he takes off down the street with a backwards glance, a green kerchief in his back pocket flapping. You take maybe four steps before you're hailed.
"Eye of the Dragon, eh?", says a commanding voice behind you. You turn and there are three men in black armor: the speaker is a tiefling with a long braid of brown hair. He has angular features and a cocky smirk on his face. His eyes are lizard-like and cold. The man and woman behind him are very large humans. You can see that the woman carries a device with a hinged jaw on the top: planar mancatcher, first popularized by the Harmonium.
"That's a popular tavern for visitors to our fair city. You've payed the Arch-Lector's toll when you came in, right?", he smiles charmingly, but his lizard eyes kind of ruin the attempt. "These convenient roads and thoroughfares aren't free, you know."
"Well of course we paid the Arch-Lector's Toll! We'd have to be barmy to walk around here if we didn't pay it!"
" 'Barmy', right. Well, just making sure. Our little community is always growing, you know, so every little tariff helps. You'll have to...", you'd love to wipe that smug smile off his face,"... forgive me and my associates for pestering you like this and taking up your valuable time. Cagers, you see, they come in through a portal, they don't pay the tolls and well, we can't have that can we?"
The obsequious tiefling brushes some imagined dust from his cloak as if he's got to get the thought/implication out of the air in order to continue your delightful conversation.
"Well. Well. I am Captain Mortai of the Hounds, our benevolent Arch-Lector's militia. I do hope you'll be staying for a time: the Festival is only a day away and while it may pale to Sigil standards, we are all so looking forward to it. Enjoy your stay and if you need anything, I and all of my men are at your disposal."
Captain Mortai motions to his meatshields and they start to walk away.
At first when the Hounds approach, Gray's eyes go a little wide; for some reason, his first thought was They're coming for me! To take me to the five! But as suddenly as that thought crosses his mind, it leaves. That's odd, and utterly irrational he thinks.
As Swire and Captain Mortai speak, however, yet another realization comes to him. When the three Hounds are comfortably out of earshot, the Scribe rummages out his journal, looks for a page near the middle, and softly quotes:
"The path to realization stands closed;
Guarded by the dog with the drake's eyes;
Treachery befalls the Six."
"I doubt this is the last time we see him," Gray says to everyone. I must remember to go back through my journal, see if any other verses apply to us after all ... he mentally adds to himself.
O.L.L.I keeps quiet, sensing the chaos in the air
Thorn nods in respect to Swire. “Bloody Cagers, coming here and looking at our jobs and doing our women,” he says mockingly, after Captain Mortai and his men are out of earshot.
“Right, let’s get off the street.” He sets off at a trot, following the directions given by the grey vested man.
The horrid sights of Plaugemort have deranged O.L.L.I's sensibilities
You skirt a brawl on the next block. A whole crew is beating the piss out of some poor fool. The day is hot and dry, though the roads (what there are of them) aren't too dusty, thankfully.
The Mortman's direction were correct, for you are soon rounding a corner to a block facing the barely serviceable northeastern wall. The Eye of the Dragon is an ugly but well-constructed two story building of stone with a thatched roof and a brick chimney breathing smoke into the reddish-grey sky. There isn't a wooden sign or other bill of faire outside like any other tavern; the windows are covered with iron bars and the typical swinging saloon doors are present in the door frame, you notice a heavy and dented iron door propped open on the outside of the arch. "The Eye of the Dragon" has been painted in red over the archway with some half-crude, half-recognizable red and green dragons painted on the outside walls. You can smell some meat cooking (it's early afternoon when you arrive) from within and while the smell doesn't speak of faire like the Tear of the Barghest, it don't smell half bad to those of you that need to eat. Within, you can hear a few patrons quietly conversing in the Planar trade language broken up by an occasional curse in Abyssal.
O.L.L.I looks about at the chaotic scene
"Fellow adventurers. This unit believes we have found our destination."
O.L.L.I scans the outside of the building for anyhthing of interest
"At last." Reghar says with menacing hunger.
From where O.L.L.I stands, there is little outside of what is expected about the outside of the building. The structure is constructed of common stones easily found throughout the Outlands. Security precautions (barred windows, extra thick exterior door) are understandable in light of conditions in Plaguemort.
Acclimatizing a bit to the chaotic and evil nature of the Gate town, you find a pattern among passers-by: everyone is either wearing or carrying an item of green or black, but never both.
O.L.L.I turns to his companions
"Attention fellow adventurers. Have any of you noticed that there seem to be two factions identifying themselves in either green or black clothing?"
Thorn listens a moment outside the doors for any overt sounds of trouble from within , before pushing his way into the inn.
"Oh, yeah, the rest of us never would of guessed, with the sign and all. I'll go in first. I've been thrown out of bars worse than this."
With that, he pushed open the doors and enters.
"The hide used for this armor is black."
O.L.L.I turns to his companions
"Attention fellow adventurers. Have any of you noticed that there seem to be two factions identifying themselves in either green or black clothing?"
The bariaur pauses a moment on his way through the door, shrugs. “The berk I asked for directions had a green rag in his pocket, and the hardhead impersonators back there wore black armour … can’t say I thought it overly odd. Know what it means?”
His pause gives Swire the chance to enter the inn ahead of him.
The taproom within is several degrees cooler than outside, thankfully and the shutters are drawn to only allow a few rays of sunlight to illuminate the room. You can see scattered tables of various shapes and quality with a large feast table pushed toward the rear of the establishment. The bar and the taps are on your right as you come in, along with a heavily armored and armed bouncer. Looking across the room, you note that there is another in an opposing position: between them, they have all the exits and patrons within view. They eye you as you walk in, but make no moves. A stone hearth sits behind the bar and a few cooking pots and a spit with what looks like a chicken cook are cooking on it, filling the bar with a more wholesome fragrance than the street outside.
There is a dwarf with nondescript clothing quietly discussing something with a gaunt looking human, two dwarves in armor seated with them and not partaking in the conversation. A cluster of three gnolls sit at the end of the bar. They pick up their heads and sniff the air as Thorn enters. One watches your group, his head tilted to one side in a canine gesture of confusion as O.L.L.I enters. A human man with a skullcap and a grey beard sits and writes at one table away from the other patrons. Two cloaked figures share a meal in the shadows at the back. You catch a glimpse of a smooth-skinned hand here and there as they eat. A young woman with short red hair and a scar on her cheek waits tables; you can't help but notice the large, sharp looking dagger at her waist.
The bartender is a froggy looking man, maybe a tiefling like many residents. He has bulging eyes, heavy jowls forming a pouch beneath his weak chin and a too-wide mouth. As you get close a strange scent wafts from him: overpowering lilac and vanilla over rotten eggs. The other patrons turn their heads when he gets close.
"Ah!", he exclaims, almost as though you caught him by surprise walking in,"Greetings, travelers! Please.."
There's a salivary slurk as he sloshes toward the next sentence.
"... have a seat. My name is Gremulack, if you need anything."
Thorn sneers at the gnolls, hand resting momentarily on the hilt of his sheathed sword, before turning his attention to the innkeeper – then quickly turning his head away again as the stench hits him. “Gak! Ah … do you have rooms?”
Gray seems a bit unhappy by Thorn's asking about rooms ... "But, we've got important business! Why are we worrying about rooms now? We may not even be staying!"
Gremulack nods cheerfully, choosing to ignore your response to his pulverizing body funk.
"Yes, sir, we've got one room large enough for two and two single rooms remaining. Heavy locks, sturdy doors, barred windows. May be a bit cramped for six, though, if you all stay together. We allow patrons to sleep in the common room as well, if needed. It's also very safe: the only thing you've got to mind are the other patrons."
His smile falters a bit.
"Are you all... staying through the Festival?"
Thorn glances at Gray. “Figured a quiet place to discuss our business in private might be handy, no?”
He turns back (partly) to Gremulack and asks, “Festival? What does it involve?”
Gremulack's smile seems forced.
"Well, it's a celebration of the recent truce between the Hounds and the Illuminated. There'll be a parade, music, food and drink. I expect that a lot of bloody mayhem will ensue. Did I mention that we have the safest rooms outside of the Arch-Lector's palace?"
Thorn reaches into his money pouch, hesitates, and then with seeming reluctance flips the man a silver coin [ooc]cheapskate[/occ]. “Tell us more of the bad blood between the Hounds and the Illuminated? Who are the later anyway?”
Gremulack pockets the coin faster than you thought a man of his carriage could move. He motions you to a corner of the bar with fewer patrons to overhear.
"The Illuminated are a bunch of Primes lead by a wizard named Green Marvent. Wears nothing but green, he can command petitioners, tieflings and lesser tanar'ri without much effort. He reduces any naysayers to ash. The way things usually go here with the position of Arch-Lector, the head man is just the Hound that's had enough ambition to clear a space for himself, this time might be different. The Illuminated and the Hounds have been at it for a good few months... slurk.... I doubt this truce is going to hold all the way through the festival."
The tiefling wheezes for a second, his second chin inflating and deflating with every breath. Gods, does he reek.
"They stay at the The Bell and Whistle Tavern; you can tell their buildings by the green eye in the triangle."
O.L.L.I racks his mind for any information on these 'Illuminated'
Warden:
Oh and PS I got my Open Game Table book today. Nice job!
Warden:
** spoiler omitted **
O.L.L.I
And thanks, I got my copy last night. Jonathon Jacobs is going to do a 4e skill challenges book next that I may do some illustrations for, though the audience will be more limited, I think.
Warden:
And yeah, much as I admire your work, not gonna buy any 4E specific stuff ... Still too much good 1-3rd E stuff left out there to collect. Also got my Bastards and Bloodlines book today, real handy for Sigil, the multiversian melting pot, LOL.
Meanwhile, Swire is leaning against the wall, looking out at the bar.
Meanwhile, Swire is leaning against the wall, looking out at the bar.
Gray's eyes dart around quite a bit, trying to take everything in. He looks to see if anyone seems to be paying them more attention than he'd like.
Gray has not been outside of Sigil in his memory (or even his own apartment and the surrounding area in months), and he's not sure he likes it. The Foundary and Hive didn't seem so bad, but this ... it feels like everyone is watching. Watching ... like the berks who gave him the carving. The Broken ... he had assumed they knew of him and his gift of prophecy from his book, but what if it was something else? Are others following him? How many others? Are they here? Will they be ... NO! Gray shook his head, like trying to jar something loose. This isn't that bad. Just calm down and think rationally.
"Can we get a room and discuss our next steps quickly then?" he says to Thorn, with a voice that actually sounds pleading.
Gremulack's too-broad smile returns, revealing a row of tiny teeth.
"For a single gold coin, that fine double room is yours for the night. Singles are five silver coins each; for one silver you can sleep on the floor after the bar closes for the evening."
O.L.L.I fishes for a gold piece and hands it to the slurking barman
"This unit thanks you publican Gremulack. We will take the double room for the evening. Will there be a possibility of renewing our lease should we decide to stay?"
There's a snicker here and there in the bar when the modron opens his gob. Gremulack eagerly drops the coin in the lockbox behind the bar.
"Of course, Sir Cube, of course! Please, follow me. Slurk"
The batrachian tiefling leads you up a rickety flight of wooden stairs to a narrow hallway lined with wooden doors. Everything up here looks like it's been made with scraps: the wood has irregular stains in the finish (when there is finish) and feature many scraps and nicks in the surface. He leads you to the last door on the right and opens it with a key. Inside is a cramped room with two cots (featuring mysterious stains) and a little end-table/desk/amateur woodworking project between them against the wall. There is a barred window on the left wall and directly in front of you, though.
This is what a gold piece will buy you in Plague-Mort.
"I hope this will be satisfactory, gentlemen. Slurk I'll be downstairs, should you require anything further."
Gremulack leaves, taking his stench with him and leaving the slightly more palatable mustiness of your room.
O.L.L.I sets to cleaning, using the Mending orison to repair the worst of the stains and cracks in the room.
"This unit does not require sleep, so he will stand in front of the door while you others rest." He offers
"I don’t think we need to sleep just yet," says Thorn . "But lets figure out what we do from here; we need to find Enoch. Do we just ask about? Do we try to draw him to us? Anyone here got a particular knack for gathering information? Keeping in mind that the berk’s not going by his own name or face chances are …"
He thinks for a moment. "'Course there's always magic. Divinations and such-like." He looks at Olli and Gray. "We got anything like that to help?"
"Well, shouldn't be that hard to find out who just came to town in the last few days. Not like any one would want to take a trip down here."
"Well, shouldn't be that hard to find out who just came to town in the last few days. Not like any one would want to take a trip down here."
"Good point."
"I don’t think we need to sleep just yet," says Thorn . "But lets figure out what we do from here; we need to find Enoch. Do we just ask about? Do we try to draw him to us? Anyone here got a particular knack for gathering information? Keeping in mind that the berk’s not going by his own name or face chances are …"
He thinks for a moment. "'Course there's always magic. Divinations and such-like." He looks at Olli and Gray. "We got anything like that to help?"
"Sadly, no. The spells that we would really need for that are beyond my ability. My most powerful spell would allow me to determine the location of an item, which might be useful except a unique item carried by Enoch I would have to have seen in the past, and it would have to be within about 500' of myself. I could always try a reading, but the cards are often fickle, especially when near the influences of the chaotic planes."
"I don’t think we need to sleep just yet," says Thorn .
O.L.L.I bleeps
"This unit is apologetic fellow adventurer Thorn, but the level of divine energy he is able to manifest is not sufficient to enable any relevant divinatory abilities."
Thorn looks a little put out, and mutters something that sounds awfully like “Well what good are you lot then?”, before shaking his head and scratching his brow with one long fingernail.
“Nah, I think Swire’s onto something, let’s ask about as to whether any Cager has arrived in town in the last few days, probably via the portal we used.”
EDIT: though I suppose there's nothing stopping us using Intimidate rather than Diplomacy to gather information ... only that it might get us into a few fights along the way.