Bastion suffers severe cold and a near-constant rain throughout the winter months and tonight is no exception. The whole city is drenched, the twisting, narrow streets of the slums a muddy quagmire. As evening draws near, the traffic on the streets lessens as the long workday ends and people hurry for the relative safety of their homes.
After dark, the streets of the poorest ward in Bastion is not a place for the faint of heart. Gangs roam providing “protection” for the homes in whichever neighbourhood they claim as their own. Street fights between rival gangs are common, and the collateral damage is often extensive. From time to time the ward is patrolled by heavily armed soldiers from the church of Hextor, although very often these excursions are nothing more than an excuse to round up more conscripts to be sent away to the never ending war of conquest beyond the city gates. Even worse, members of the warlord’s tribe are known to occasionally hunt the warrens of the slums, chasing down innocent lowlifes and sacrificing them to their dark god, Erythnul.
The Strangled Chicken is a relatively large tavern in the heart of the slums. It is a stone building with panes of glass in the windows, a rare luxury in this part of town. It has a large common room and one or two private alcoves away from the raucous din of the main bar. The tavern also includes a kitchen and rooms for the staff and their families. The owner is a tough, no-nonsense half-orc called Conthus de Gore. Light shines from the windows and the loud sounds of locals enjoying themselves after a hard day’s work spills out into the surrounding streets.
Ivan enters the tavern, thought not for drinks. He looks for solace from the drudgery of his time in the city. People watching is becoming a pastime for him. He orders water and bread, intimidates a day-laborer off his stool, and sits back to watch the crowd.
A gust of wind and splatter of rain announces the next patron to enter the strangled chicken. Eland is not alone, as usual. He enters with a comely young lass under his cloak, 'protecting' her from the rain. He whispers something in her ear that makes her blush as they enter and the two part company.
Eland takes a good look around the room, looking for danger or perhaps another conquest, before he strides to the bar. He calls over the the bartender and boldy asks to be shown to Antius's private table.
A bedraggled young girl stumbles in through the door of the Strangled Chicken. She makes her way to the bar in a stream of apologies as she bumps into people, steps on feet, and generally makes a fool of herself. Anyssa finally lands against the counter, confident that she has established her reputation in the minds of all present. She graces the proprietor with a charming smile.
"Excuse me, sir, could you please direct me to Antius's private table?" she asks sweetly.
The cold blows in again as a tall, well-armed half orc enters the establishment. A smile appears on his face as he mumbles to himself, "My kind of joint." He strolls up to the bar and asks for Antius's private table and a pint of ale.
While looking around a sullen-looking dwarf slips in through the door and goes to the bar to order some spiced mead. After getting his mead he asks where Antius has his private table.
The door of the Strangled Chicken opens once more, and an elf with red hair and piercing gray eyes enters the room. He is wearing the clothing of a priest covered by a hooded cloak, and is wearing a wooden symbol of Corellon Lorethian on a chain around his neck.
He pauses near the doorway after closing the door, and scans the room for Altius.
A halfling walks into the bar, seemingly calm. He walks up to the barkeep and asks for Altius' table.
Ivan enters the tavern, thought not for drinks. He looks for solace from the drudgery of his time in the city. People watching is becoming a pastime for him. He orders water and bread, intimidates a day-laborer off his stool, and sits back to watch the crowd.
The main bar is a noisy, crowded room. There are several long, low tables, surrounded by benches in the centre with smaller tables and chairs arranged around the walls. Most of the seats are taken, filled predominantly with Bastion lowlifes relaxing on the way home from work. Simple meals are served, together with ale and cheap wine, the five or six staff members on duty continually dashing back and forth between the kitchens and tables, filling orders.
At one end of the room there is a slightly raised stage on which sits a half-elven bard. He is currently singing a ballad bordering on the heretical called “The Priest Went On His Way” describing the exploits of an inebriated priest of Hextor, trying to get home after a night overindulging. Every verse describes the priest’s encounters with various lowlifes, each of whom manages to dupe the priest out of more and more gold or to make him look stupid in some way.
“He came upon a beggar man he never had seen worse
The priest was cruel and pushed the fool aside with murderous curse
He didn’t see the poor man grin and quietly earn his pay
He lifted Padre’s belt pouch as the priest went on his way!”
With the end of each verse, those sitting nearby cheer the priest’s misfortune and join in the chorus, their singing compensating for lack of tune with an abundance of enthusiasm and volume. In the wall beside the bard’s stage, there is an open doorway leading to a short corridor with three private rooms.
Behind the bar, Conthus de Gore surveys his domain. He is a large, powerfully built half-orc with a nasty scar which begins at his hairline and marks a savage, red crescent running down his left cheek to finish at the corner of his mouth. Not a pretty sight, he barks orders to his staff, serves customers at the bar and keeps an eagle eye on things, ensuring nothing disturbs the steady flow of coins from Bastion’s lowlifes to him.
A gust of wind and splatter of rain announces the next patron to enter the strangled chicken. Eland is not alone, as usual. He enters with a comely young lass under his cloak, 'protecting' her from the rain. He whispers something in her ear that makes her blush as they enter and the two part company.
Eland takes a good look around the room, looking for danger or perhaps another conquest, before he strides to the bar. He calls over the the bartender and boldy asks to be shown to Antius's private table.
Conthus de Gore watches the half-elf as he enters. “It’s the room on the right,” he answers with a nod towards the passageway in the far wall. “He’s not here yet, but he said he won’t be long. I’ll send someone in with ale.”
“Oh, another thing. My girls don’t take kindly to distractions during work hours” he continues fixing his gaze on the young human,”and I don’t take kindly to it either…if you take my meaning.”
A bedraggled young girl stumbles in through the door of the Strangled Chicken. She makes her way to the bar in a stream of apologies as she bumps into people, steps on feet, and generally makes a fool of herself. Anyssa finally lands against the counter, confident that she has established her reputation in the minds of all present. She graces the proprietor with a charming smile.
"Excuse me, sir, could you please direct me to Antius's private table?" she asks sweetly.
The ugly half-orc barks a short laugh as he raises an eybrow at the slight girl. “First person I’ve ever seen staggering on the way in to a bar” he smirks, the nearby locals chuckling as they watch the exchange. Motioning with his chin, the rough bartender indicates the passage in the far wall beside the bard’s stage. “It’s the room on the right…try not to break anything.”
As he turns his back, busying himself with another order, the nearby patrons once more laugh at the newcomer, the nearest man performing an elaborate pantomime of protecting his ale from being spilt by the clumsy girl.
The cold blows in again as a tall, well-armed half orc enters the establishment. A smile appears on his face as he mumbles to himself, "My kind of joint." He strolls up to the bar and asks for Antius's private table and a pint of ale.
Conthus grins at the newcomer as he pours him a strong drink from a wineskin concealed beneath the bar. A strong scent of spirits rises from the cup as he slides it across the bar towards Grunthor. “You look strong enough to take that,” he chuckles. “the first one’s free…if you can finish it I bet you wont be drinking anything else.”
Calling over one of the serving girls, he orders her to lead Grunthor to the private rooms. “Take this while you’re at it,” he instructs, handing the girl a platter with eight mugs of ale and a few strips of meat. The serving girl takes the tray and deftly maneuvers her way through the crowd, leading the half-orc towards the private rooms in the back of the tavern.
While looking around a sullen-looking dwarf slips in through the door and goes to the bar to order some spiced mead. After getting his mead he asks where Antius has his private table.
The scarred half-orc behind the bar once more directs the newcomer to the back rooms. “There’s refreshments waiting for you,” he says. “Antius said he’d be here soon, some others are waiting already.”
The door of the Strangled Chicken opens once more, and an elf with red hair and piercing gray eyes enters the room. He is wearing the clothing of a priest covered by a hooded cloak, and is wearing a wooden symbol of Corellon Lorethian on a chain around his neck.
He pauses near the doorway after closing the door, and scans the room for Altius.
The room is a loud, busy place. The loud singing from the bard and his audience in the corner competing with the shouted conversations across the tavern as the lowlifes relax briefly after their hard day’s work. It doesn’t take long before Conthus notices the elf and sends a serving girl over to lead him through to the private rooms out the back.
A halfling walks into the bar, seemingly calm. He walks up to the barkeep and asks for Altius' table.
“Careful fellas, another of the little blighters. Best watch your purse,” mutters one of the patrons with a scowl as the Halfling comes up beside him at the bar. Conthus de Gore glares at the patron, the warning look silencing those nearby before the barkeep turns to face Garret.
“My apologies sir,” he begins gruffly with a clumsy inclination of his head. “Antius’s private room is through the back. The room on the right. Elsie will show you the way.” Motioning with a wave of his hand, he directs a small, bright eyed half-elf to lead the Halfling to the back rooms.
Anyssa trips over the threshold on her way into the room, nearly bumping into the human gentleman already there before landing against a wall instead.
"Hello," she says cheerfully. "Are you Antius? No? Oh well, then I guess we just wait. Oh, look there's more coming." She turns and smiles as the others begin to trickle in.
The room is a loud, busy place. The loud singing from the bard and his audience in the corner competing with the shouted conversations across the tavern as the lowlifes relax briefly after their hard day’s work. It doesn’t take long before Conthus notices the elf and sends a serving girl over to lead him through to the private rooms out the back.
Damandor nods his head in thanks to Conthus and follows the serving girl to the back room, carefully threading his way through the busy tavern.
After entering the back room, he nods an unspoken welcome to the others in the room and then takes a seat, and soon appears lost in thought.
"I will do my best to remain as undistracting as possible, but some things are out of my control," Eland replies as he becomes distracted by the bards song. He gives Conthus a nod as he meanders towards the doorway. Eland stops long enough to join in a couple choruses of the bards song. He sees others heading toward the room indicated by Conthus and decides that he should be on his way.
Eland enters the room with a sly grin on his face, much like a child who knows he is up to no good. "Hail, fellow low-lifes. It would seem to be a good night to enjoy a warm hearth and a cold pint. Let's hope we have plenty of both." As he speaks he makes his way to the far end of the room so he can better watch the entry and get a good look at everyone as they come in. "I would introduce myself, but I think these things are better left until all have gathered and our patron has arrived."
Grunthor takes a little drink from the glass, gives a little woof, smiles at the bartender and says, "This is good stuff. Thanks." He follows the barmaid to the room in back. Nods his head to everyone already present, sits down away from the door and enjoys his drink slowly.
The room is small and cramped - almost completely filled by a large, heavy table with ten simple, sturdy chairs arranged haphazardly around it. Opposite the doorway is a well stoked fire, filling the room with welcome warmth. The raucous sounds of the tavern can still be heard, heavily muted by a large animal hide tacked to the top of the doorway.
Although not physically secure, the short passage and thick hide effectively isolates this room from the short passage beyond. It would be impossible to eavesdrop on conversations without lurking right outside the room, in plain view of the patrons in the main tavern and no doubt drawing swift attention from the gruff half-orc at the main bar. As each of you arrives, Elsie, the serving girl, deposits a tray containing portions of dry meat in the centre of the long table. She also distributes mugs of ale for those that want them, moving quickly and quietly about the room as it begins to fill.
Eland takes a pint of ale and a handful of dried meat. He absentmindedly picks at the meat and watches the others. He spends a little more time than appropriate watching the serving girl circulate. As the room begins to fill, he is suddenly struck with the notion that whatever this job is, it may not exactly be the safest endeavor and he wonders for te first time what Ashwyn has put him up to.
Damandor takes a small amount of the dried meat to eat, and asks the serving girl if they have something that is not fermented to drink saying, "Even a glass of water would be appreciated."
He continues wondering what task Antius has in store for them, and if it will allow him spread the good will of his patron Corellon. As he is deep in thought he absentmindedly chews a piece of the dried meat.
Anyssa trips over her chair, then misses the seat as she tries to sit down. She nearly knocks over her glass as she reaches for a drink, just barely catching it in time. She smiles apologetically. "Sorry. I'm just a bit clumsy."
A careful observer would notice that through all of these shenanigans no actual mess was created.
Grunthor sits back and watches the other people enter the room. He sizes them up and trys to guage their strengths and weaknesses. He trys to decide which of them he would trust at his back and which ones he wants to keep an eye on. He partakes liberally of the dried meat so he doesn't get too wasted on the bartenders secret drink.
Ivan moves towards the back where the curious assortment of strangers have gone. Maybe this was where the stranger told him to go he wonders.
He follows the barmaid to the back room and comes in. "..just because I could do that doesn't mean I would oh. Greetings, all. I assume we're all here for the same reason."
Shortly after all of you have arrived, the curtain is pushed aside and Antius enters. He is a tall, middle aged human with dark hair, greying at the temples and brown eyes. He is dressed in clean, well tailored clothes and looks decidedly uncomfortable in the current surroundings. He is not wearing armor, nor is he apparently carrying a weapon, an invitation for trouble when travelling the slums after dark.
It seems obvious that he’s not used to being in such a dangerous setting. Nonetheless, he greets the small gathering with a smile, acknowledging each of you as he takes a seat at the table. He indicates for you to help yourselves to food and drink before addressing the room.
“Excellent, you’re all here,” he begins. “Thank you for coming. I know I was somewhat cryptic in my initial discussions with each of you. Such secrecy is necessary I’m afraid…In a certain way, the more I tell you, the less help you can be. It is absolutely vital that our enemies not know we are meeting.”
Local Lore check:
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“What you need to know,” continues the tall human, “is that dangerous times are coming and that all of you are destined to play a part!” He seems to drift off into thought, a grim expression on his face as he nods to himself in private musing.
"If you wanted this to be secret, why here? Half the people out there would gladly say that half a dozen people came in looking for you for ten gold, if that."
12+1=13 I agree with the little one. Why here? I am willing to work for you, but I would like to know you are being careful.
Agreed. This is not the best place for such talk. You can get more privacy in the privy at the arena.
Rolled 18
"Don't you see, that is what makes it brilliant. The powers that be would not dream of any plots being hatched in a place such as this. They are to confident in the lure of their own coin." Eland gives this a minute to soak in. "I for one embrace the sheer recklessnes of it all."
Leaning back in his chair Flint says: "At least the beers good. So how exactly are we destined to play a part in the times to come?"
Anitus glances briefly at the curtain leading back to the main tavern, before returning his attention to the group seated around the table.
“The people trying to stop us would rather burn alive than enter a place like this,” he says with casual reassurance, although his voice has dropped noticeably. “But maybe you’re right, caution is paramount...We will meet more privately in future.”
"... So how exactly are we destined to play a part in the times to come?"
“In time, you will understand the importance of this secrecy.” promises Antius. “But for now, I must ask you to be patient a little longer – there is a strict order to this business and there are some things that you cannot know just yet. For tonight, I have a job for you. A job that pays well and which should prove simple enough, yet one it is vital be completed.”
“Just after midnight tonight, a skiff will arrive at pier eighteen. I need you to be there to receive a package.” He reaches into his vest and produces a small, black box and an iron key which he lays on the table. “The people you will be meeting expect this coffer from you in payment. They are trustworthy, but dangerous so make sure the coffer remains unopened before the deal is made. After the trade, take the parcel they deliver and make your way to an old warehouse against the city walls on Gutterspill street, next door to the abandoned glass factory.”
“That key will open the padlock to the warehouse. I need you to watch over the parcel until I can get there tomorrow at noon. From there, I will be able to be more forthcoming regarding the nature of this endeavour.” Antius reaches once more into his vest and produces several small pouches of coins which he passes around to each of you. “Here is twenty gold pieces, as a downpayment and a gesture of faith. There will be another thirty gold each for you tomorrow.”
“Needless to say, your primary task will be protecting the package once it has been delivered,” continues Antius. “There are others who want what’s inside. They mustn’t be allowed to steal it, nor to know where you take it to tonight.”
I'm in. I'm willing to carry the key, the box or both. People think twice before approaching me. But I will probably be on the front line if we run into trouble. Maybe the little guy might be better.
I will hold the box. Few could wrest it from me I promise.
The halfling leans forward excitedly. "Why didn't you say this paid so well in the first place? I'll carry the key. After all, I'd probably be unlocking the padlock one way or another."
"Wait, I haven't introduced myself, have I? Garret Highhill, exactly what you'd expect from a halfling."
Glad to know you. My name is Grunthor, Grunthor Firbolg. I am a Blacksmith by trade, adventurer by choice and a barbarian by birth.
Ivan. I wrestle at the arena. I seek to improve my skills.
The slight human girl smiles at the others. "And I am Anyssa. People call me Anyssa the Clumsy. Well, when they're being nice anyway." She tosses the purse up and catches it. "And this should go a long way towards appeasing my father's anger about my latest accident. Thank you, sir, for this opportunity," she says with a nod towards Antius.
To the group as a whole Damandor says, "Hello, my name is Damandor Yolanux. I am a follower of Corellon Larethian and am new raised as a priest at the shrine to Corellon in Bastian. I seek only to better the lives of my fellows in this city, in particular those of us that live in the lower classes. My hope is that the work that Antius has for us to do will further my goals of making life for all of us easier and less oppressive."
To Antius Damandor says, "Sir I will also accept the task that you have placed before us and do what I can to assist the group to retrieve and protect this item for you."
To the room, "I am Eland, minstrel, entertainer, lethario, and one who has a few tricks up his sleeve. It is a pleasure to make all of your aquantince."
To Antius, "It would seem my patron, Ashwyn, would have me set down this road you speak of. I will accept this task and look forward to seeing you at noon tomorrow."
Eland rises and slings his pack over his shoulder. "well companions, should we make our way to the piers together or split up and meet there in a short time."
Why don't we break into pairs and make our way to the docks. What is the current time. Do we have time to meander or do we need to head straight there?
That's as good a plan as any. Regardless of time, it's not really a good idea to meander in this neighborhood. How about the dwarf goes with Ivan, and Grunthor goes with Garrett. That just leaves Damandor, Eland, and me since we have an odd number. Unless someone else has a better idea?
"That seems to be as good a plan as any. should we depart or do we have time for more drink."
The slight human girl smiles at the others. "And I am Anyssa. People call me Anyssa the Clumsy. Well, when they're being nice anyway." She tosses the purse up and catches it. "And this should go a long way towards appeasing my father's anger about my latest accident. Thank you, sir, for this opportunity," she says with a nod towards Antius.
The tall man merely smiles at Anyssa’s deft display, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement. Looking you in the eye one by one, he thanks each of you silently as you agree to undertake his mission, smiling as Eland mentions Ashwyn and raising his eyebrow’s slightly as Garret describes himself as ‘...exactly what you’d expect...’ Although you are all strangers to each other, it’s clear that Antius has not chosen to approach you at random.
“I knew I could count on you all,” Antius replies to the group. “The enemies we face are dangerous, but their power is not without limit. Their greatest weakness is their constant strife, intrigue and conflict – remember this well when the tasks ahead of you seem insurmountable.”
“You must meet the skiff in around three hours,” says Antius, wincing almost apologetically as he continues. “I know there will be difficulties for you should you be found in the Race after dark, so you will have to tread carefully on your way to the docks. Remember, once you reach the warehouse on Gutterspill street – wait for me until noon tomorrow. Do not try and open the package without the correct key, it would be dangerous.” Antius remains in the room until all of you leave, unless you’d prefer him to go before then.
“I’ll make sure to slip the bartender and waiters some extra gold, to ensure that at least the staff remain tight lipped on our meeting,” he says. “Just to be sure.”
Anyone here know the way? We will need to stay mostly out of sight and will need a good place to wait when we get there. I just as soon get going soon so that we can check out the dock area. Shall we go in a group then?
I say we give the appearance of being smaller groups yet walk close enough together such that if there is troble we can all respond. It would make it easier to scatter or hide if needed as well.
"I would suggest that we stick together until we get to the Race. From there, we could split into small groups and give each other cover as we make our way to the docks." Eland cocks and loads his crossbow and pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. "is there a rear exit that we can use that will not be so conspicuous."
"Agreed. So, lets go."
Garret pulls up his hood and gets off the chair, ready to go.
"I think going out the back door might be more conspicuous," Anyssa pipes up. "It would be less suspicious if we went out the front looking really dejected. Like we didn't get hired after all. People don't ask questions they think they already have the answer to. And once we're outside we can go as a group without it seeming the least bit odd."