Runzyl puts a hand up to shield his keen elven eyes from the driving rain as he scans area below.
Runzyl catches a glimpse of a figure running down a darkened street below before turning a corner and disappearing from view.
Runzyl snarls and mutters an elven curse as he spies the figure. Knowing that such a drop would be suicide for him, he turns away from the ledge and glares at the cook, shaking his head as he obliges her by stepping away from the ledge and returning to the main room.
His blood stills and he feels the rush of adrenaline drain from him as he takes a seat. The severity of his injuries becomes readily apparent to him in an instant and he begins to recoil slightly from the pain, clenching his teeth tightly.
"He's... gone. Over the edge... don't know how he survived the fall. Running... still." Runzyl winces with each breath.
"Blast," growls Trose, "that'll make things stickier."
He looks at the woman, "You need any help? Looks like the mastermind behind this little kidnapping plot got away."
He glances around at the carnage, whistling softly, "Well, then. I expected things to go worse than that. You guys have got serious skills."
He checks his companions, noting that Ezreal looks badly hurt.
"Is that all yours?" he asks, pointing at the blood covering Ezreal, and going over to check him more closely when he sees how pale Ez has gotten.
"This looks bad," he says after poking at the wound a bit, and noting that the cut is deep enough to make a big flap of skin. "We'd better get you to a healer."
He grabs a relatively clean bar towel, shoves it against the wound and says, "Can you hold that there and walk, or do we need to rig a stretcher?"
He notes that the elf looks wounded, as well and says, "Good fight. You want to come with us to the healer?"
He notes that the elf looks wounded, as well and says, "Good fight. You want to come with us to the healer?"
Runzyl simply nods between breaths.
The woman simply shakes her head and says to Trose, "I'm OK. We need to get going before the Watch get here. I don't need their heavy boots trampling over my business." She pauses, seeming the have recovered a lot of her previous poise and coolness with impressive swiftness. "You're right, you people have some skill and pluck, and this is obviously turning a lot more serious than I expected. Are you looking for work?"
"You're right, you people have some skill and pluck, and this is obviously turning a lot more serious than I expected. Are you looking for work?"
Runzyl raises an eyebrow and smiles, almost laughing, and nods again.
Janosz looks inquisitively at Trose. "We could use some work" he mouths silently.
He turns to the bugbear doorman. "How do you plan to lose the bodies?"
Trose chuckles, "Lady, I think it's safe to say that anyone who doesn't come herer for the ale is looking for work. So, yeah, I'm looking, Froglegs is looking, my guess is Ezreal is looking, and I'm sure the elf is looking."
He glances at the warforged, "You, I don't know about. You sure held your own in that fight, though."
He looks back to the lady, "How many are you looking for? If our recent adventure is any indicator, you probably need us all. You're right, though, we need to not be here."
He starts ushering folks out the door.
Runzyl winces again as he stands, returning the weapon to his breakaway sheath on his back and follows the others out the door, steeling himself against the pain and maintaining a strong façade.
Lightbringer nods a silent thanks, warrior to warrior, to Trose after the last gnoll is felled, then turns to survey the room. It would seem that his fellow samaritans are a tough bunch – the rest of the gnolls have been dealt with – although it appeared that the ringleader had escaped – and the woman had been healed. Perhaps the halfling was House Jorasco?
The warforged shakes his head slowly as the blood covered elf returns to the main room, announcing that the human had escaped. That man was evil. To stab the woman so casually … of course, he had seen worse during the war, but he still found it difficult to comprehend such pointless evil – and dishonour.
“Yes, we should get the wounded to a House Jorasco enclave. But hold a moment ma’am,” he addresses the woman, holding up a large hand. “Sadly, I think you have more to fear from Daask reprisals rather than from the Watch in this corner of the city.” He raises his voice slightly. “The rest of you too. I am heartened to see so many come to the aid of a stranger, but we are likely marked by Daask now. Ma’am, if you have a safe place to go to, I will accompany you there. But you too should seek a house of healing on the way, to have that wound examined.” He nods at Nox, trying to convey that no disrespect for the halfling’s healing skills are intended.
“I – we – can protect you much more effectively if we know what we are dealing with here. Why Daask want you. We can start with names, whilst we walk.” He raises his voice again as the open door allows the noise of the storm in. “I am called Lightbringer.”
The woman nods in greeting and then casts an appraising eye over Lightbringer. “You have been damaged yourself. Here, this should help.” She presses her hand to the warforged’s chest and appears to concentrate for a moment. Lightbringer feels a whisper of power through his body as the injuries he has sustained begin to heal themselves.
She suddenly tilts her head to one side, listening. “The Watch are on their way. We don’t have time for debate.” She grabs a beer mat from the bar and takes a pen out of a pouch at her belt, scribbles something hastily on to it and hands it to Lightbringer. “You can find me there. But please clean up a bit before you come to see me, especially him,” she says, nodding wryly towards to the blood-drenched figure of Runzyl slumped in a chair. “In the meantime, I can make my own way home, and I suggest you make tracks. Oh, and I would avoid the Jorasco healers for a few days, the Watch like to keep tabs on their customers. Your friend here,” indicating Nox, “seems quite proficient at the healing arts, as I can testify.”
She pulls out a jingling purse and tosses it to Trose. “My thanks to you all. That was for Heris, but I think you will make better use of it. Until later.” With that she pulls up her hood and heads out into the night.
The bugbear, presumably called Malag, shrugs phlegmatically at Janosz's question. "Gonna be pretty hard to cover this up, given the number of witnesses."
He leans down and starts dragging a gnoll corpse towards the door. "I'll just dump them outside, the Watch'll probably take them away. A guy I knew in the watch told me it isn't a crime to kill Daask 'cos they are from Droaam. Something to do with not being signed up to the Thronehold Treaty. I dunno...."
He straightens up again. "But the lady's right, you had best make yourselves scarce. The Watch around here aren't too fussy about shooting first and asking questions later, and even their question-asking can make your eyes water a bit, if you know what I'm saying. And a lot of them take money from Daask or the Boromars to look the other way. I just hope there aren't any reprisals against this place." He sighs, and resumes dragging his burden across the floor.
Throughout the planning and discussion, Ezreal gripped the bundled rags tightly to his (probably broken) shoulder and deep gash running down it. He could still move his fingers, but they were going numb while the pain in his shoulder raged on. At least he was still on his feet, albeit visibly pale and shaken. Though it would shame him to admit it, he could at least personally see the humor in being more seriously injured after five minutes in a Sharn tavern than at anytime during the Last War.
Eventually when he hears the sounds of watch whistles in the distance he interjects in the refined, but harsh accent of Khorvaire's oldest country. "Gentlemen- If we are going to House Jorasco, it is a perfectly good time for me. It seems I've cleared my whole evening's schedule (and the coin I'd have been drinking on) for a date with some halfling's sweet touch. Trose, Runzyl- if one of you wouldn't mind leading the way I promise I'll do my best to avoid butting into any heated haggling, political arguments or the like along the way as I'm now so well acquainted with the way things are resolved in this city of hyena-faced axe wielders. But now is the time as I'm really not interested in finding out how the watch interprets this queer notion of the law that Sharn seems to operate on."
Trose looks at the halfling, "Can you handle this much hurt? Otherwise, I can probably find a healer that works "behind the corn shed."
"let's go."
"There is no amount of hurt that Olladra cannot handle, where there are wounded there will be healed."Nox makes his way over to the blood drenched elf,"had a little fun did we, well let me have a look at you."
Nox then begins a familiar chant,"May the blessings of Olladra be upon us." the divine energy focuses in his hands and with a silent sigh passes on to the elf's wounds.
Runzyl breathes a sigh of relief as his wounds knit closed from the healing magic. He smiles and offers a nod of thanks to the halfling before standing and following the others outside.
Hearing the distant sounds of the whistles, Runzyl raises an eyebrow and looks to Trose, who seems to be the most knowledgeable of those assembled.
"What is that noise? And where are we going?"
Lightbringer stares in astonishment as the subtle power coursing from the woman’s hand knits the inorganic edges of his wound back together. A magewright? Or possibly something more powerful. He had almost resigned himself to having to find an armour-smith to manually hammer him back together.
Absently taking the beer mat that the woman pressed on him, it occurred to Lightbringer how easily she had taken back control of the situation … perhaps his Captain had been right, a warforged would never make good officer material…
“Unfortunately the woman may be correct about the Watch,” Lightbringer states as the group begins to move. “There are good patrols, but it saddens me to say that so many of them seem to be in the pockets of the criminals. I am afraid I don’t know any healers – I have little need for House Jorasco – can you hold out sir?” He asks, looking at Ezrael, “Or do any of the rest of you know any healers in this part of town?
“In the meantime, perhaps we should find the nearest elevator, and head downwards. The Watch are scarce lower than this, and although it takes us potentially into Daask territory, I doubt they will be looking for us there. Besides, there are places Daask does not have much sway. And I think we’ll stand out any higher up the towers.”
Lightbringer recalls the note in his hand, and brings it up to read, at a point where he is under a bridge or overhang, out of the rain.
Lightbringer then starts leading the group through the driving rain, towards a likely location of an elevator, where they can head to Lower Dura or the Cogs.
"Sounds like they're getting awfully close, fellas. Time to get going". While he had enjoyed cutting down the humanoid brigands, Janosz was not at all keen on confronting the police. "Here, lean on me", he says to Ezreal, gently supporting the bloody wizard as they made their way towards the elevator. "Just a little bit longer, and you'll be able to sit down".
As they walk quickly away from the tavern, Lightbringer announces, “It seems that the woman we aided was Karile d’Cannith. The address she gave us is Cannith Towers in Middle Central.”
So, House Cannith. That helped explain why and how the woman had repaired him. But what was a named scion of the House of Making doing in a goblin bar in Middle Dura? On the other hand – looking around – what were a ‘forged, a Valenar mercenary, a halfling healer and three apparent “House” humans doing in a goblin bar in Dura? Perhaps it wasn’t so unusual after all…
Seeing Frogshanks supporting the injured Ezrael, Lightbringer also offers his arm to the injured man, aware that it may not be accepted. Some humans – particularly war veterans – had issues with Warforged.
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Turning off one of The Bazaar’s main bridges, Lightbringer reaches one of the district’s main elevator banks, where a few late night shoppers huddle out of the rain, waiting for their ride home.
Lightbringer turns to face the group. “I intend for us to travel down to Lower Dura, in the hopes of finding a non House Jorasco healer for our friend here,” he gestures to Ezrael. “The Cannith woman is right, if Daask is looking for us they will likely try to do it through House Jorasco.
“I know little of where to find such places, but there is a tavern district below us I believe, where perhaps we can enquire as to the where-abouts of such places.
“Once that is taken care of, I can perhaps persuade Brother Erfan at the Shrine of the Silver Flame in Rattlestone to put some of you up for the night if it is too late and dangerous to return to your lodgings.
“I believe it might be best to visit Cannith Tower under the light of day. Does that sound like a decent plan?”
Runzyl nodded at the warforged. "I am not afraid to return to my lodgings in the Bazaar, but if this is as bad as you all seem to think it is, then I will stay with you. I owe the small one my services in return for his healing already, it would be dishonorable to leave his company now."
Lightbringer nods in respect at the elf’s talk of honour. He understands. Looking around to ensure that everyone else is in agreement, he prepares to board the next lift heading downwards.
Janosz nods at the warforged. "I like it too, mate. Lead the way - we'll be right behind you".
"I'm with you all then for now. Not very keen on showing up in the University district injured, covered in blood, and potentially expecting unfriendly late night visitors if this Daask is a serious as everyone seems to say. I don't think that would do much good to get me on this expedition as I know my current lodgings have a referral agreement with Morgrave. More than likely information flows both ways."
|
The party heads for the nearest elevator platform which, due to the lateness of the hour and the inclement weather, is mercifully free of traffic. The platform drops into the depths of Sharn, leaving the insistent peeping of the Watch whistles behind. In Lower Dura, it is very unlikely any members of the Watch will be encountered.
Led by the impassive warforged, the group navigates through the winding streets to Rattlebones past tenements, decrepit shop fronts and dive bars. The streets are fairly clear – most the derelicts of the area have the sense to get out of the rain unless they are too befuddled by drink or dreamlily, and the criminal elements seem to prefer their comforts indoors on a night like this. Occasionally, moving between the buildings at ground level, the giddy heights of the City of Towers can be spied, shining lights reflected in puddles in the cracked and rutted street. But immediately around is only darkness.
Eventually, the shrine in Rattlebones is reached. Converted from the ground floor of a derelict mansion, a silver Continual Flame shimmers on a sconce above the double doors. Lightbringer simply pushes the unlocked doors open and enters, followed by the others. Inside, the original grand hallway has become the main congregational area, with circular rows of worn pews facing inwards to the pulpit and a tapestry depiction of Tira Miron and the coatl battling the demon. It is currently empty apart from a tall, ascetic-looking young man, his premature baldness making him look older than his years, sweeping at the dust on the cracked marble floor with a broom.
The man looks up and smiles warmly at Lightbringer, but his eyes widen in consternation as the rest of the group troop in. “Lightbringer, what brings you here at this hour? And who are these people – have you been in a fight?” asks Brother Erfan.
Meanwhile, Trose checks out the contents of the purse he was given. "Not bad, " he says out loud. "Fifteen platinum galifars. Our relationship with this d'Cannith woman could be fruitful."
"fifteen, thats quite a decent meal......or two"
Sometimes you have to take refuge where you can find it the mage bitterly reminded himself as he stumbled along with the group and made a beeline for the silver flame blazing above the temple doors. And gods it would be good to get out of this rain- but Hah! He choked back a sarcastic laugh, Wouldn't Yeorvos be proud to see one of his men holing up with a damned elf of Valenar AND one of Thrane's warforged IN a temple to their zealous god?! Well Yeorvos didn't neccessarily need all of the details of the trip did he? As long as he ended up on Morgrave's expedition the steps that led there were ultimately unimportant.
As the priest expresses his disapproval, Ezreal interjects "You'll perhaps forgive a naive visitor to the city of towers for not having sense enough to choose a more reputable drinking establishment, but now the damage is done. And that is where, soon I hope, your highly recommended skills come in." At the priest's initial hesitation, the mage exasperatedly continues, "Yes! Yes! I'll make the appropriate donation to the greater glory of the 'one true god' and all that. Now are we in business?"
The priest seems taken aback by the Ezreal's forwardness. "Um, we could always do with donations here, this parish is a poor one," he stammers, "What skills is it that you require?" He frowns as he notices Ezreal's wounds, and moves forward solicitously. "Please, take a seat, you are hurt."
He turns his gaze enquiringly to Lightbringer. "I could do with an explanation, but please make yourselves comfortable while I make some tea in the meantime." He hurries off and passes through a door at the back of the chamber.
Trose waits until the priest leaves the room before turning to Ezreal and saying quietly, "Ezreal, maybe things are different where you're from, but here, when you're a guest in someone's home, (and no matter what else he is, this is that man's home,) you should show a little more respect. I don't know how it is in your homeland, but my experience with Flame priests is that they're not really in it as a business venture."
He stops for a moment to get his thoughts in order then continues, "I don't know a lot about you, and I don't know if you're planning on taking the d'Cannith woman up on her offer of potential employment, but I am, and if you are, you need to rein in the attitude a bit. Otherwise," he stops and counts out three galifars, "Here you go. Good luck."
He pauses a moment, solemnly passes three coins to each of the others, and slips quietly back out the door.
Once outside, he pulls the hood of his cloak up, hunkers down somewhere near the shrine entrance, and tries to relax.
Running his speech back in his mind, he can hear his grandmother talking through him. It was a little eerie.