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Ladies and Gentlemen,
This is the home of my Ptolus campaign. The stars of the campaign are as follows:
Shar-Nym Nadal, human rogue played by Dryder
Yarag Rau, human fighter, played by French Wolf
Simon "Gallows" Gellner, human paladin of Lothian, played by James Keegan
Aerian, human rogue, played by Steve Geddes
Zilroy Specterbane, human Cleric of Lothian, played by Hogarth
Tusker Tall, half-orc druid, played by Shisumo
Hintal, gnome sorcerer, played by Sleepy
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Kingsday, 2nd of Newyear, Year 721 of the Imperial Age
A biting wind whistles through the streets of Ptolus. It is an hour ‘til sunset in Midtown and the streets are still bustling with workers going about their business. Shops and taverns are full, even if only because so many want to take a few minutes break from the chill. The sky is overcast and cold rain drizzles on those unfortunate enough to be outdoors. Still, a fresh rain will at least wash away some of the stench of sewage and sweat that so often permeates the crowded streets of Midtown. Hats are pulled down over ears and hands are thrust firmly in cloak pockets.
You are finishing your day’s business and perhaps considering a goblet of ale or a mug of hot cider at one of the taverns, such as the Ghostly Minstrel. As you wander the streets, you see the standard corner performers setting up for their nightly talent show. The jugglers are blowing on their ice, cold hands to get blood moving through their fingers again.
Earlier in the day…
Aerian:
“I need you to poke your nose into some potentially dangerous business. There is a master thief in town called Shilukar. I have some concerns about him being more than just a simple cat burglar, but I don’t want to influence your judgment on that. Head over to Midtown and listen around. See if you can pick up any chatter about this Shilukar. Be discreet. He’s likely to be extremely dangerous. Don’t go looking for him yourself. If you get any information, bring it back to me. Be careful, my boy.”
Gallows:
You find Davrel pouring over ancient and dusty tomes, with scribbled notes on parchment surrounding his workplace. For a man usually so meticulous, his current state is practically chaos. He raises a finger as you step into his office, “One minute, Gallows.”
“Sorry about that,” he says, “I’ll get right to the point.” He always does. You look into the Dwarf’s brown eyes that have never held for you the slightest shred of pity, but now that you are wiser, you see the presence of friendship and deep respect. Today though, you also notice lines of worry creasing his face.
“I’m interested in birthmarks, Gallows. Specifically birthmarks that take the shape of arcane runes. Such a thing is the stuff of myth and legend, but I’ve been hearing recent claims of children born with such marks. I won’t tell you more right now, as I don’t want to bias your judgment. Sorry to be so mysterious. Do me a favor though. For the next couple of days, do some discreet investigating. Just bring up the subject here and there, see if anyone looks at you funny or says anything.” He offers a wry grin, “Of course, people always look at you funny, so I’m not sure how you’ll tell the difference, but you’ll think of something. Anyway, head over to Midtown tonight and have some ale. See what pops up.
Back to now…
Street vendors are still hawking their wares. Carts are set up with fruits and reasonably fresh vegetables for sale for a few coppers. A dwarf is haggling with a merchant over spinach and carrots. Another street vendor is just setting up shop to sell mulled cider. You can smell a hint of cinnamon as his cauldron begins to heat up. Hurrying parents are pulling along curious children in an effort to get home and fix dinner before their spouse gets home from work.
All in all, its just your average day in Ptolus…
DM:
"Discrete! When have I been anything but?" grins Aerian at his old mentor who merely raises an eyebrow in response.
"I'll keep my ears open, sure. If he's a master thief," continues the young man raising his hands in mock awe, "then I'm sure there'll be some buzz around the taverns. The city loves stories about people like that. Is he famous for any great theft in particular?"
After finishing his tea, Aerian will head down to midtown, wandering the streets and briefly watching the performers from the shelter of the shop eaves. He'll drift from tavern to tavern meeting regular contacts and friends and keeping his ears open for any tall tales or mention of the name Shilukar. Initially, at least, he won't press anyone for information - just keep abreast of any rumours or gossip.
DM
Once he's payed for his drink, he'll start to mingle, gripe about the weather despite the fact that it rains quite often in Ptolus and try to bring up the matter of the runic birthmarks.
"You know, it might not rate as the strangest thing I've seen in this city but I saw a young kid the other day that must have had a tattoo or something on his wrist! Some rune mark or other out of a wizard's tome. I was almost as wroth as a hanging judge when I thought of what sort of parent would do that to their child."
Diplomacy check: 1d20+7=17
Tusker steps out of Myraeth's Oddities, his freshly-bought scrolls tucked safely away, and raises his cloak against the late winter chill. For a moment, he wishes that he had chosen endure elements this morning, but shakes his head with a self-deprecating grin. "Getting as whiny as an elf," he murmurs to himself. Looking around, he decides a pint and a warm meal will do almost as much as the spell might have, and calm his belly rumbles to boot. He considers Danbury's briefly, but decides another drunken argument with a gnome isn't wise; instead, he heads down toward the Ghostly Minstrel, already sniffing to try to figure out if it's the chicken or the mutton tonight.
Yarag sits down in the Ghostly Minstrel for some food. He stares around briefly to make sure no-one knows him. Out of habit he checks and wipes the cutlery clean, a look of faint distaste showing.
Then the warrior checks to make sure his quarterstaff is close by, his shoulder and back muscles twisting under a slightly dirty silk shirt.
"So what did you do today? tomorrow? and..." he mmbles under his breath.
Then Yarag takes a drink of hot cider and closes his eyes, hoping to rub some life into himself.
"On the docks, yes that was what one did. One must make efforts to remember one's place and make something of oneself in this City."
How many times had the last words of his father come back to mind, to haunt him?
What was he going to do now?
Nym's still waiting at a corner somewhere in Midtown, to get picked up by Gannon and Fank. He's very nervous about what's going to happen tonight, but Nym got a plan - not to the liking of his two "workmates".
The wind chill's him to the bone, he definiately needs some new, warmer clothes!
If only he could've asked his father what to do tonight...
Damn, on these chill nights Nym misses his father more than anything else.
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Nym's still waiting at a corner somewhere in Midtown, to get picked up by Gannon and Fank. He's very nervous about what's going to happen tonight, but Nym got a plan - not to the liking of his two "workmates".
The wind chill's him to the bone, he definiately needs some new, warmer clothes!
If only he could've asked his father what to do tonight...
Damn, on these chill nights Nym misses his father more than anything else.
You see a large man with an eye-patch walk into the Ghostly Minstrel. Not too far behind, a half-orc carrying scrolls walks in.
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DM
** spoiler omitted **
Patron 1: I heard they was birthmarks
Patron 2: (to Patron 1) Yeah, well I heard you're full of drek
Patron 1: Piss off
Patron 3: One of them Balcazar kids has one
Patron 2: And how would you know?
Patron 3: Seen it with me own eyes. Wife dragged me to one of those drekking plays at Cloud theater. Kid was in it. I saw it on his arm.
Patron 1: What was you doing at a play?
Patron 3: Unlike you drunken sots, I am a man of culture
The conversation deteriorates from there.
As you look around while sipping your cider, a half-orc walks into the Minstrel.
As you look around while sipping your cider, a half-orc walks into the Minstrel.
Tusker steps into the warmth of the inn, breathing deeply of the aromas of food, ale, and people. He grins, tusks gleaming in the firelight, then heads for a table. When a serving girl passes, he waves at her. "The mutton, cheese, bread, and spiced wine if you have it."
Zilroy sighed, a small beer untouched before him at his table. His wife returned the flowers he sent -- again -- and his sleep was disturbed again last night by dreams of his great-grandfather. The crapulent old spirit still wouldn't stop cajoling him into taking another stab at the life of a delver, not even after the deaths of Rhao and Rolscon.
He raised his eyes and was greeted by the sign of a brutish half-human...thing. Hmmm..., he thought to himself, if I had to have some kind of adventure, I'd like that sort of bloke to be between me and anything pointy. Just like Egan, but less hairy.
Gallows approaches the half-orc (Tusker); he's obviously a fighting man, wearing his chainmail, weapons and shield along with the symbol of Lothian around his neck. He'd be handsome if he weren't missing an eye (covered by an eye patch of course).
"Try the cider, friend: finest around to keep the chill out of your bones. Forgive me for saying so, but you seem the type that knows the lay of the land. I got a friend that told me about some weird birthmark he saw around town and that got curious if anyone else had seen some. Arcane type birthmarks, like a letter for a language you'd never seen."
Tusker is a tall, broad half-orc, dressed tonight in a simple cloak over sturdy clothes and a small pouch, but the curved blade of a scimitar gleams beneath the cloak. Though his sounds are somwhat distorted by the large tusks that jut up from his lower lip, for the most part he sounds not at all like a typical half-orc - his accent is Ptolus local, and his Common is fluid and easy. "Not much for cider, but I'll stand you one all the same if you like," Tusker says, gesturing to the seat across the table. "Arcane symbols, eh?"
DM:
Tusker is a tall, broad half-orc, dressed tonight in a simple cloak over sturdy clothes and a small pouch, but the curved blade of a scimitar gleams beneath the cloak. Though his sounds are somwhat distorted by the large tusks that jut up from his lower lip, for the most part he sounds not at all like a typical half-orc - his accent is Ptolus local, and his Common is fluid and easy. "Not much for cider, but I'll stand you one all the same if you like," Tusker says, gesturing to the seat across the table. "Arcane symbols, eh?"
Gallows takes a seat, blowing his drink cool.
"Aye, symbols of some sort like a divine maker's mark. I've heard that there are different people, born high and low, with similar marks throughout the city. It'd take a brighter man than myself to make heads or tails of it, but I'm trying to figure it out."
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Tusker is a tall, broad half-orc, dressed tonight in a simple cloak over sturdy clothes and a small pouch, but the curved blade of a scimitar gleams beneath the cloak. Though his sounds are somwhat distorted by the large tusks that jut up from his lower lip, for the most part he sounds not at all like a typical half-orc - his accent is Ptolus local, and his Common is fluid and easy. "Not much for cider, but I'll stand you one all the same if you like," Tusker says, gesturing to the seat across the table. "Arcane symbols, eh?"
You may roll a knowledge check for either history or arcana.
You may roll a knowledge check for either history or arcana.
Tusker shakes his head. "Sounds bizarre," he allows, sipping appreciatively at his own drink, "but I'm afraid I can't help you. Never heard of such a thing. Why're you looking?"
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After Sunset...
Shar-Nym
The victim appears to be a small, human woman. She's thin, with long blond hair and only stands an inch or two over five feet. As soon as she sees the knives, she let's out a blood-curdling scream
Hintal
You make conversation through the din in the Ghostly Minstrel, or perhaps you're just trying to have a drink in peace. The patronage seems to be having a good time, but he crowd is mellow and there don't appear to be any troublemakers.
The calm evening is suddenly shattered by a high-pitched shriek coming from outside. You recognize this sound even though you've probably only heard it once or twice in your young life. It is the sound of pure, helpless terror.
"Favor for a friend, we'll say. Sorry if I've interrupted your evening, but if you hear anything..."
Gallows pauses in mind sentence at the shriek. Stands up immediately and gathers his arms, likely forgetting his cloak.
"Sounds like trouble; Ptolus is playing my song. Beg your pardon."
The one-eyed paladin heads for the door and the streets beyond.
Tusker stands up right alongside Gallows, the smile disappearing into a frown as they head for the door.
Yarag drops his glass and swipes his staff as he makes for the door.
"Apologies sir," he nods to the owner at his hastiness then he follows the other two outside.
Nym is just about to get to the woman's help, when he observes some folks coming out of the Ghostly Minstrel, apparently in alarm. Hoping they come because of the woman's screams, he waves at them to come quickly, showing into the direction of the alley's dead end.
As soon as he's sure this huge "thing" and the man with the eyepatch have seen him, he runs to help the woman, hoping to get help from those guys.
While coming near the thugs, he shouts "Let me do it, let me do it, please", in order to kind of stall Gannon and Fank - hoping this buys the woman (and himself) the time he needs until help arrives!
To the DM:
Zilroy follows the other good Samaritans out the door, a look of concern on his face and his holy symbol clutched in his hand.
"Lothian, grant your protection to the innocent, and Gramps -- if you're out there -- you can help, too," he murmurs.
Yarag tightens the chain shirt reflexively. The quarterstaff goes onto his shoulder as he marches across towards the commotion.
Speaking to his companion, "Gerald, I fear something is amiss my old friend. Silverthorn will have to wait for another night for a proper evaluation of it's solubility. Shall we have a look to see if we can help?"
Without really waiting for an answer, Hintal rises from his chair and moves with the rest of the crowd that seems to be going to help.
"Always a crowd for calamity, though I guess in this case that's a fine thing."
Tusker runs down the alleyway after the boy, trying to figure out what is going on. As the lights of the street fade into shadows, Tusker watches the world lose its color .
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Those exiting the Minstrel see a young boy waving his arms. You round the corner to see the boy approach two thugs attacking a small, human woman. One has his hand firmly clenched in her long, blond hair and is pulling her head back to expose her neck. The thug is tall and thin, with pale skin. His hair is black, as are his fingernails, both died with some type of henna.
The second thug is shorter but stockier. His hair is a natural brown color but his fingernails are also colored black. He has the look of a school yard bully about him. He is taunting the woman and wearing a sickening grin.
The young boy rushes up to the second thug and says something. "Piss off," the thug responds and shoves the boy aside roughly.
"Now then, pretty lady," says the second thug as he leers at the woman and reaches for her tunic.
Gallows draws his weapon and can't help but smile. It's not a pleasant sight.
"You know, there are few things simpler in life than a cowardly lot of back alley rapists and murderers. Almost like cockroaches, really; you think you've swatted them all, but as soon as the lights go out, there they are again. You don't seem like the brightest lot of cockroaches I've ever seen, so I'm going to say this very slowly and clearly: get your filthy, worthless hands off of her or I'll cut them off myself."
Zilroy flinches a bit at the two ferocious-looking customers, but he holds firm to his holy symbol and doesn't retreat.
"You won't get away with this, by Lothian. You may as well let that girl go now."
"I could use a hand, my friends," Tusker whispers into the darkness, and from the darkness, a huge feral dog steps into view on the opposite side of the men, growling fiercely at them.
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The taller, dark-haired thug looks from Gallows to the dog and back to Zilroy before making his decision. Her jerks his hand away from the victim's head, catching some of her golden locks in his rings. She yelps as he pulls a tuft of hair. The thug has decided he'd rather take his chances with the dog than deal with Gallows, Zilroy and the half-orc. He takes a few running steps and attempts to leap over the dog.
The dog snarls and snaps at the thug going by, but does not attempt yet to truly attack. [He's waiting for orders, and this thug is clearly running away and no longer a threat.]
As for the other thug, a deep shade of purple starts at his collar and slowly creeps up into his face. His cheeks puff out and he spits as he speaks with impotent rage. "Mind your own Lothian Damn business," he says in falsetto. Like all bullies, a coward at heart, he takes a step back from the frightened woman, but holds his dagger in front of him.
"That little bastard there made us do it," he says as he points to the young man who waved you into the alley. The thug takes one more look at the dog before backing himself into the wall brandishing his knife, which seems to look smaller and smaller by the minute.
"Brother?" croaks the woman through tears as she looks up at Zilroy.
[Edited: typos]
Gallows glances between Zilroy, the woman, and the young man (Nym?) before taking a few steps toward the remaining bully.
"This is precisely my business.,"he says," Sacrilege and attempted rape all at once? Not good, friend, not wise."
Jerking his head toward Nym. "We'll worry about this powerful enchanter that stole your will and forced you to turn your grabby hands toward this young woman later. Put that knife down and put your hands up where I can see them. The worst you'll face is a few short years in prison if you let up now, maybe less if you can tell us where your friend is heading."
Nym looks with awe up to that iron-glad Lothian fighter. Than he starts smiling, after he realized he was just called a "will-stealing sorcerer". Even if that fighter looks brutal with that eyepatch, he seems to be funny!
"Let her go, you little bastard! You can't blame me for a crime you obviously were about to commit! D*~!&%@!"
Nym waits, until the situation relsoves itself now, being fully convinced those people who just arrived are more than a match for those two littel Pale Dogs.
Zilroy keeps a suspicious eye on the ragamuffin as he moves to the woman's side.
"Yes, miss? The Church's light shines on both of us. Did these three men hurt you? If so, the light of the Daykeeper may be able to ease your pain. My name is Zilroy, sister. What's yours?" Concern plainly shows on his face.
The dog snarls and snaps at the thug going by, but does not attempt yet to truly attack. [He's waiting for orders, and this thug is clearly running away and no longer a threat.]
"You've picked up too much attention, buddy," Tusker tells the remaining thug. "You've got no angle here. You can't fight all of us, and you wouldn't get anything out of it if you did 'cept a beating. Get out of here while you're still intact."
"You've picked up too much attention, buddy," Tusker tells the remaining thug. "You've got no angle here. You can't fight all of us, and you wouldn't get anything out of it if you did 'cept a beating. Get out of here while you're still intact."
"Run off? Why? So he can find another victim, someone without a cadre of handsome, dashing rescuers?", Gallows shakes his head,"No, if I have any say in it you're facing a magistrate, followed by a gaoler."
He turns to Nym, trying to keep his good eye toward the remaining thug.
"Now what part did you play in this, exactly? You weren't out here looking for flowers to bring your grandmother, I'm sure."
"Now what part did you play in this, exactly? You weren't out here looking for flowers to bring your grandmother, I'm sure."
"I, I was just the one who should keep watch while those two are going to murder someone. I went with them to be able to help whoever was their target! I promise, I had only good things in mind. Those are Pale Dogs, and as I live in the Warrens, they wanted me to join."
Nym looks down on his feet...
"And father always said - keep away from those bastards! But how can you, if you're stuck in the worst part of this city - You're a champion of Lothian. I know, your judgement is right so I leave it to you to judge if I am saying the truth or not!"
Than he raises his head and looks hard into Gallow's eye!
"Hmmph. So this was pre-meditated? This attack was arranged, on this particular woman? Why? What were you being compensated? Do you know who hired you?"
Gallows turns to the cowering bully, seeming to revel in his fear a bit.
"You hear that? Premeditated murder, you know where that leads, eh? A long swing from a short rope and a crowd to watch, too. I'd say you're a very lucky man we caught you before you did something really stupid. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I don't know who hired us in person, but he/she is named Doffel. Those two wanted me to be initiated this evening into the Pale Dogs, but I know what's right and wrong - murdering a helpless woman surely isn't right!"
Nym whisper's into Gallow's ear:
"But sir, my mother and three sisters are in danger if those thugs get away. Could you tell them to keep away from my family? Otherwise I have to find a safer place for them. I am sure these thugs will "listen" to anything you have to say..."
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** spoiler omitted **
Zilroy keeps a suspicious eye on the ragamuffin as he moves to the woman's side."Yes, miss? The Church's light shines on both of us. Did these three men hurt you? If so, the light of the Daykeeper may be able to ease your pain. My name is Zilroy, sister. What's yours?" Concern plainly shows on his face.
Rain is falling in thicker drops, splashing on the pavement. The wind seems to get even colder as the rain picks up.
"I am Phon, Brother." Phon reaches out to Zilroy and grasps his hand. Tears roll down her cheeks, but she manages a few deep breaths and avoids collapsing into hysterical sobs. "I am not injured, though who knows if you and your companions had not arrived when you did..." She drops the thought and looks at the Gallows and Shary-Nym and then surveys the rest of the group. "The red haired man, is he with you also?"
The thug, seeing that attention is mommentarily distracted from him, and knowing that the massive dog has been dismissed, has decided to take his chances in a foot race. He spins on his heel and starts to run down the alley.
Gallows will run him down and likely punch him in the kidneys or otherwise restrain him if he can.