Jervaise chews his lip thoughtfully as Mags and Ilorian discuss the trebuchet and its unusual payload. Finally, he speaks.
"I agree, even if it is not a particularly accurate weapon against people attacking a keep, the intimidation factor of such a device cannot be underestimated, and needs to be neutralised."
He sighs heavily.
"Whilst I am reluctant to cause civilian casualties, they may become unavoidable. Still, before we attempt to take out the trebuchet, there is something else we can do whilst they attempt to set it up - take out the alchemist and the lab responsible for creating the payloads."
Jervaise arches an eyebrow.
"After all, that would somewhat de-claw the device, would it not?"
Jervaise's frown deepens when the 'Cleric' comes out and casts a spell on the trebuchet.
"Can any of you tell me what she just did to it?"
Mags- You notice something peculiar-she doesn't cast the spell at all. The components are actually subtlely supplied by the crow on her left shoulder. The spell you decipher easily enough as a sort of mass version of fox's cunning (6th level; fox's cunning, mass). It seems to have effected the workers, and will no doubt assist in their trajectory calculations and overall duty.
|
As you mull over the situation, you no doubt note the nearby Temple of Asmodeus with its red spire and modern architecture. The tall iron doors open and a red-haired elf with featureless golden eyes strides towards the machine with a smile. On her shoulders are 2 small black birds, crows. She greets the workers and the crowd cordially, and they respond in kind, quieting to hear her speech:
"Bound in life, bound in war. Bless this machine, might it deliver us from our enemies...give them exquisite humiliation. Members! Remember your bindings and submit! Know our Prince of Darkness will protect us in this trial." She procures a scroll, and begins casting, a bright yellow light with a wooden chattering sound develops in her outstretched palm, pointed towards the machine. (spellcraft DC 21)
The crowd gives a triple "Ho!" and the woman makes her way back to the temple, her smile enduring.
(feel free to insert and edit this with any actions as always, this is what happens without anything)
spellcraft
By the gods, what in world was that?
Llyrann frowned prettily, "What I would like to do is steal one barrel and blow the other three to neutralize them cover up the theft. I dare say we could find a good use for a barrel of the stuff ourselves, especially at the Keep itself. Does anyone know how much a barrel of that stuff would weigh?
Failing that, Mags, you seem to know something of the material. Would setting off one barrel set off the others? Would simply boring a hole in the barrel set it off? Or dropping the barrel? I'm sure that I could easily cause someone to drop a barrel, and that wouldn't look nearly as suspicious.
In the meantime, lets get our own wagon to where it's supposed to be. I only want to attract the attention I want to attract." she concludes mischievously.
Manuvering past the siege engine, a stone building looms over the surrounding homes and shops, rivaled only by the temple across the street. A peaked roof sports a massive chimney merrily exhaling clouds of smoke heavy with the pleasant odor of roasting meat. Fiendish suits of armor stand guard next to the wide entrance of a place called "The Conquerer's Blade".
Inside is not a customer in sight, only some hastily abandoned card tables. The rider from before with the long red cape with gold trim stands with 4 guards and a chelish officer, casually drinking. They stop their conversation and stare at you in unison upon entrance. An old man behind the bar in a ridiculous outfit welcomes you apologetically. "Excuse the commotion, I'm Rhasper and this is my bar..."
"Can any of you tell me what she just did to it?"
"Not to 'it'," Mags replies, keeping her eye on the apparatus. "to the workers. Intellect boosting spell. The strange thing is, it wasn't 'she', either - well, unless that was a female crow, I can't tell from this distance - but I'd swear the bird on her shoulder was doing the casting. Odd"
Turning her attention to her friend, Llyrann. "I'd guess about a hundred pounds, give'r take. It's pretty likely that blowin' one would blow all if they keep 'em together like that, but I reckon dropping one may or may not be enough. You'd need to get the barrel to burst. Gonna make a hell of a big boom." She pauses for a moment, and then adds, "Oh, and there were at least five other barrels in this batch, by the way. Maybe more. The serial numbers skip around a bit."
Inside is not a customer in sight, only some hastily abandoned card tables. The rider from before with the long red cape with gold trim stands with 4 guards and a chelish officer, casually drinking. They stop their conversation and stare at you in unison upon entrance. An old man behind the bar in a ridiculous outfit welcomes you apologetically. "Excuse the commotion, I'm Rhasper and this is my bar..."
Ilorian looks around the room taking notice of the 6 men, especialy the red cloaked man from the gate and the chelish officer.
Sense Motive:
Perception:
We would be directed to stay at the bar the Chelish frequent, thought Llyrann. Still, nothing for it but to take the bull by the horns and convince him he likes it.
Llyrann strode boldly into the bar, yellow silk swishing, and addressed the bartender. "Master Rhaspar, how many rooms do you have available? I'd be interested in renting them for an indefinite period."
Il- You feel like the guards are more or less in good morale, eagerly taking orders from the man in the red cloak. The Chelish officer, however, seems distracted by his own thoughts. The red cloaked man himself seems extremely comfortable with the situation. Still, you feel his gaze from time to time, directed at you alone specifically out of the group.
The guards are equipped as before, 2 spearmen and 2 swordsmen. The Chelish officer carries a finely made falchion and a few unknown vials on his belt, in addition to a light crossbow. Looks like a well cared for chain shirt he has, under the all too well known red and black Chelish tabard.
As for the red-cloaked man, you see now he is wearing a strange mobile type of full plate, a longbow, a shield, and an exquisite longsword with a dim glowing sapphire in the hilt. He has long black hair and a leathery face.
Lly- Rhaspar looks you over for a brief moment awkwardly before answering. "Well, this is more of a tavern than an inn, but we have a few rooms for when the boys get out of control. This is sort of their breakhouse...we don't get many others, well...cept a few young ladies looking for husbands or somethin' free, ha ha ha." Despite his outfit, which looks 200 years old from some forgotton court, he is a charming old man with slicked back hair. "Anyways, id have to clean those rooms but you could have em cheap, day to day...maybe 4 sp. It would be the safest place in town, id say! There's always a handful of guards here, even Commander Blacklock frequents." They exchange a cordial nod. "...so? How about a Rhaspar special to get you thinking?" He holds up a clean, empty glass, scanning over you all.
Mags steps into the tavern, some of the bounce fading from her step at the sight of the soldiers. Avoiding their gaze for the moment, she takes a seat near the door, placing her backpack in the shadow of the table. Hopefully no one will notice the small pink nose that peers out from beneath the flap.
As she listens to the proprietor speak, a faint look of distaste crosses her face briefly, but at the mention of a drink she perks up. With a clink of coins, she drops a small leather pouch on the table. "How 'bout a round fer the house. These fine men-at-arms could surely use one as much as I. And you yerself perhaps."
"A round for the house!" Rhaspar busies himself with clackling glasses, smoothly palming the gold in a brief moment. "Might I suggest Corentyn Wine..?"
The man Rhaspar identified as Commander Blacklock glances at the others before walking abruptly away, directly up to Mags. "Id know who fills my glass. Who are you? What are you doing in Piren's Bluff?"
Ilorian- Straight up int check please.
Int
Illorian- Blacklock's voice seems familiar to you, but you can't place it.
Having secured horses, jackal, and wagon outside, perhaps another half hour has passed.
Startled by the man's approach, Magdelia casts a wide-eyed glance toward her companions and sinks somewhat lower in her chair. Never draw attention to yourself, the voice in her head reminds.
"Naught but a merchant, sir," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "Bringin' spices and the like fer the Baron's kitchen."
She nudges her pack with her toe, Plague slipping soundlessly back inside.
Jervaise spends time making sure that the horses are appropriately stabled and rubbed down, and the wagon is appropriately secured, before coming inside.
When he enters the tavern, his gaze passes swiftly over all of the occupants...
...specifically looking for yellow ribbons, and sizing-up the competence of the guards.
He accepts the proffered drink quietly, and leans against the bar, scanning the room...
Hearing the Commanders voice, Illorian puts two and two together. The way Blacklock looked at him when the group entered the tavern and that his voice seemed familiar leads Illorian to believe that they have meet before. But for the life of him he can not remember when or where.
Llyrann frowns. Her friend's social skills were not, perhaps, her strong point. This commander, however, might be a good match for her. Only one way to find out.
Matching rudeness for rudeness, Llyrann strides boldly up to the commander and a little to stick her nose down to his, emphasizing his bad manners. "Why Commander, " she exclaims, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "How pleasant it is to meet you as well. Since introductions were somehow overlooked, I am forced to introduce myself. Llyrann Stormbrow, at your service, I'm sure."
Llyrann drops a perfect, if icy, curtsy, and continues, "As for who she is, she is a friend of mine who will grace you with her name if she feels so inclined, something that seems less likely with each word that drops fetid out of your ill-mannered mouth. As for what we are doing in Piren's Bluff," Llyrann continues on without seeming to need to pause for breath, "Obviously we are special agents for the invading forces, come to open castle and keep to the army and slay, if we can, the Lord Vendikon himself, out of cold revenge for ancient wrongs done to us, with a wagon load of luxury goods, no less."
Jervaise- Yes there are stables and an area for the wagon. Its security can't be guaranteed. You could do a sense motive on the surrounding people or an int check based on what you've seen of the town so far (in lieu of a K-local check) or even just a straight up wisdom check to get a feel for criminal activity probabilities.
You dont see any yellow ribbons, and get the same sort of information Illorian did concerning the guards. Directly concerning competence, though, you notice Blacklock is fairly strong and seems to be in the prime of his life as a soldier...yes, you remember those days, when you felt you could throw yourself at anything and stand the night a barrel of ale down. The Chelish officer is harder to guess, but seems strong enough to put up a good fight if it came to it.
Mags- He responds, "I see, you must be the ones I heard of. I manage-"
Llyrann steps in boldly and says what she says...Rhaspar quickly and quietly retires to the back room, the drinks left on the bar. One of the guard spits and draws his sword, but his friend holds him back, mumbling something. (DC 15 perception)
"Pfft. I don't know who you think you are, miss, but security is my enterprise. If you want one iota of merchandice to grace the Baron's finances you will beg to deal with this fetid, ill-mannered mouth." He points at his mouth, which isn't smiling.
Perception:
Ilorian- The guard says to his friend "She's obviously being sarcastic, Donald."
Jervaise scans the crowd, trying to get a feel for what the locals are like...
Once inside, his keen Elven ears strain to hear what the guards mutter.
Over-hearing the 'chat' between Blacklock and Llyran, Jervaise sighs.
Great. We don't need to start a brawl *just* yet...
He then disrupts the tension in the air by butting in.
"My name is Jervaise. You must forgive my colleague. She is a Calistrian, and at the best of times has rather a savage tongue, let alone when she has just been chased into a town that is apparently now under siege. We do indeed have a wide variety of cloths and spices, and would dearly love to trade with the general populace, and the Baron himself. I dare say he likes good spices in his meals, and new suits of clothes...
I for one can recognise a soldier who is good at his job, and recognises the value of good trading relationships."
Jervaise- No one sticks out as being particularly off-setting. The wagon area is close enough to the main streets braziers that you could stand at the door and still have a good eye on it, which might be what you are considering when you hear the commotion and enter.
...
Blacklock cools visibly at Jervaise's quick words. "...women." He waves his hand in the air in Llyrann's general direction. "Alright, I'm a busy man, lets get on with it. Donald already mentioned tobacco...now thats a deal." He nods stiffly. "What else? Show it to me. Show me your goods." With that he drains his pint.
Blacklock cools visibly at Jervaise's quick words. "...women." He waves his hand in the air in Llyrann's general direction.
Illorian grins and shakes his head at the floor,Well that is a nice way of introducing ourselves to the Commander of the Baron's forces. I guess if you can't hide in the shadows, you may as well try to hide in plain sight.
He then heads to the unattended drinks on the bar and helps himself.
As the tension dissipates, Magdelia takes a deep breath and lets out a nervous chuckle. To Llyrann she says under her breath, "From here on out I'll just keep my mouth shut." She rises from her seat and goes to fetch one of the drinks lined up on the bar. Privately she gives Ilorian an arched-brow look as if to say That was close.
Jervaise smiles and nods.
"Of course. I have a small selection of samples with me now, but the best way to gauge the true worth of our merchandise is to see our main inventory."
"Now, in addition to our supply of tobacco, we have a wide variety of spices to tempt the palate and turn even the blandest of foods into ambrosia fit for the gods! Saffron and Cloves imported from Jalmeray; smell that aroma! Ginger sourced from Taldor; doesn't it just make your eyes water? Pepper from Katapesh; just imagine that spicing up a nice soup!"
Jervaise pauses briefly to let all of that sink in, before continuing.
"In addition to our stock of top-quality spices, we also have a selection of fine silks and linens. The silks are the best that could transported across the Crown of the World from far-off Minkai, and I dare say would make excellent clothes for the Baron and his entourage, or even showy banners and flags - just feel the softness of that material! Now of course, for slightly more mundane concerns, we also have a large stock of high-quality, well-woven Varisian linen - perfect for everything from tents to shirts!"
"Of course. I have a small selection of samples with me now, but the best way to gauge the true worth of our merchandise is to see our main inventory."
Assuming he is willing to follow, Jervaise will accompany him to the wagon...
Illorian follows Jevaise outside with the Commander and whistles for Spurger, who has been lounging on the bench seat of the wagon. The old wolf stretches lazily then drops to the ground and walks over to Illorian.
Illorian winks at the commander, “Looks like security isn’t just your enterprise around here. He may be old but if you got a piece of mutton in your pouch you better beware, he may lick ya ta death.”
Llyrann is known for many things, notably a lack of common sense, perception, and restraint. As the commander leaves the room to inspect their goods, however, even she realizes that the best thing for her to do right now is leave the commander alone. Still, the effort leaves her frustrated and disgruntled.
"I think we shall take you up on that offer of rooms, Master Rhaspar. How soon did you say you could have them cleaned and fit for habitation?" she asked with a dangerous glint in her eye.
Just to be nice, Llyrann picks up one of the drinks Mags purchased for everyone, downing it with the same, smooth motion. Eyeing the worn stools uncertainly, she decides to stand as she waits for her room to be ready, unconsciously fingering the butt of her whip.
Donald sheathes his weapon, his eye twitching. His friend continues, "Come on, how long till you're up? I know you've got a silver stashed away somewhere, maybe Janderfut will sell you a helmet for your big, brown face. Let's play." He gestures to a card table, Donald and the other guards continue a game of cards, ignoring you all.
(you passed a Janderfut's Bucket and Bellows smithy next to the trebuchet, easily visible)
Ilorian- "I see everything that gets inside those walls." He points to the tall stone barrier. "...and, if you were a good soldier you'd know that logistics support is the life-line of any military endeavor..."
Jervaise- After some time examining the goods, Blacklock responds "No, cloves and silk, that'll do. You can unload at the keep storehouse tomorrow, mid-day. I will escort you personally...and we can discuss price then, after I consult Baron Vendikon." Sounds like at the very least you have a recon opportunity for the keep grounds tomorrow.
Down the street a short ways the men continue to toil on the trebuchet, now manufactured. It looks like they are unloading the first barrel from the transport apparatus.
Llyrann- From a back door, you see Rhaspar peek out. "Oh yes, maam. Very soon, very nice. Benna will be along soon for the night crowd, she will handle the preparations..."
Jervaise nods his assent.
"Very well. I will make sure that the wagon is brought round at Midday. You will not be disappointed with our wares!"
Jervaise will make a show of going over the merchandise, until Blacklock goes back inside, and then turns to Ilorian: "Will your wolf be able to guard the wagon at night? Otherwise, I will rig-up my bedroll out with the wagon so that someone can keep an eye on it."
He pauses briefly, to make sure there is no-one else about, and then continues.
"Once we have settled-in, I think we should sneak out and pay the 'Alchemist' a visit to see if a 'fire-sale' could be arranged..."
Back inside the tavern, Jervaise will enjoy his mug of ale, and try to strike-up a conversation with the bar-keep, to get a bit more information about the town, the various businesses, and in particular...
"When we were rushing in through the gates with everyone else, I spotted a rather comely Half-Elven woman - I dare say they are not that common around here, so do you happen to who she is?"
Jervaise will make a show of going over the merchandise, until Blacklock goes back inside, and then turns to Ilorian: "Will your wolf be able to guard the wagon at night? Otherwise, I will rig-up my bedroll out with the wagon so that someone can keep an eye on it."
Illorian pats Spurgers head then scratches him behind the ear,"Yeah he can guard the wagon, and pity the bastage that trys him.
As for introducing ourselves to the good Achemist, I can't wait to do some remodeling with his wares."Illorian walks back into the tavern, leaving the old wolf in charge of the wagon for the night.
Looks up from his reading and says, toward the barmaid, "Might I have a menu? I am quite famished." Begins putting away scrolls looking around the place for the first time. "Oh and dear your best wine please."
Recognizing that look in Llyrann's eyes, Mags offers a sympathetic smile. "Thanks for stepping in," she says, briefly placing a hand on the half-orcs arm. Grabbing another drink from the bar, she walks toward the door, depositing the beverage on Lore's table as she passes.
Sipping at her own drink, she leans against the door frame and watches the work on the siege engine. She sees now how it works, and realizes that it is nearly ready to fire. Running out of time.
"What a fascinating piece of machinery," she says to the room with feigned excitement. "Looks like they'll be firin' it any moment now. I c'n hardly wait to see 'er in action."
Jervaise- Rhaspar goes on an on about the town, he mentions he is a retired bard with some relish. Beyond the first post information of structural layout and areas of interest, you learn that the Almir family has since ancient times accumulated wealth based on mining operations in the nearby mountains. You learn the First Light is a temple almost entirely forgotten by the people.
He mentions that two weeks ago, just after the Baron renownced his neutrality and vowed to hold Piren's Bluff for Cheliax, Chelish agents have been in and out. Sometimes they bring enormous wagons into the keep holding who knows what.
Regarding the woman, after a pause, he concludes "Ah, that must be Viaren. She owns the Black Candle apothecary on dusk lane, next to Argith's. I've heard the boys praise her herbal remedies. Personally I don't know her that well, she's one of those intellectual types..."
Lore- "Well, I can tell you roasted chicken is what we have. Okiria usually fires up the charcoal pit outside at nightfall on the street. But I happen to have some wonderful Corentyn Wine, and could send Benna for a fancier meal if that suits you."
After settling in, the rooms ready, the trebuchet lets off its first shot with a strange clangling sound. Shortly after...rrrrRRRRRZOOOMP! CRACKOW! (forgive my sound effects) You hear maybe the oddest noise you've ever heard, nearly deafening. Shortly after, a distant chorus of cheers. Reports trickle back, and eventually an excited man rushes in to the tavern to say [b]"A dozen men down like a splash of water!" The guards at the table enjoy the news, punching each other in the shoulder and slamming pint after pint.
Paellat- Just after watching the Asmodeus cleric cast her spell, you continued to the tavern. After a tense scene, you've now settled in and are perhaps making plans for the night. In fact...
Just after the explosion the bells ring, signalling an official nightfall.
Important note OOC: I didn't realize some of you were wanting to try and prevent the trebuchet from firing off, so lets pretend the last paragraph two posts above didn't happen. See discussion thread
The guards seeming involved in their game, and Rhaspar his duties, you begin turning your attention to the task of disabling the trebuchet. Your hasty plan might leave a bad taste in your mouth...its reckless and could kill innocents. Perhaps you feel there was simply not enough time. Still, you keep sight on the long term goal of seeming innocent yourself, a most professional attitude that Dakovya could be proud of. Outside, the sliced moon splashes a soft light on the rooftops opportunistically through the growing smudges of cloud...it will be a dark night.
Illorian request that Jervaise and Mags assit him with an issue out side with the wagon. While working and looking busy, Illorian fills them in on his plan so far. "We just need to split up how we fill in the others on what we need them to do. Mags can tell Llyrann in her room, I could tell Lore in elven away from prying ears, and Jerv take Paellat since you really need to be on the same sheet of music."
Lore- "Well, I can tell you roasted chicken is what we have. Okiria usually fires up the charcoal pit outside at nightfall on the street. But I happen to have some wonderful Corentyn Wine, and could send Benna for a fancier meal if that suits you."
With a wink and a nod. "No No my dear lady, the fired fowl sounds flavorfully fascinating, & the spirits will sweep away my sorrow." Then he continues his writing on his scrolls.
Having followed Ilorian and Jarv out to the wagon and listening to the plan, Mags says dryly, "Sounds like fun."
She spends a moment watching the men working on the contraption and surveying the area nearby. She'll need to be somewhat close when the time comes, but she'd really prefer a shadowy spot to keep from drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
Returning to the tavern, she grabs her pack, slinging it over one shoulder and approaches her friend, Llyrann. "Would you show me to our rooms, Llyrann? I wanna wash up 'fore the big show."
Mags- Above the smithy's workshop are dark 2nd and 3rd story windows with wooden overhangs perhaps 15-20 feet away from the engine. As you glance that way, the door opens and a bulky man wearing gloves leans in the doorway, watching the engine with interest. On his chest is a yellow ribbon. There are also dark allys on the east and west streets which might serve, the closest being about 30 feet away.
Illorian walks back into the tavern and sets down at the table next to Lore. "Friend Lore, do you have a peice of parchement and a scribing utensil? I must make a list of items needed for our travels when we leave Piren's Bluff."
Illorian writes out the plan for the attack in Elvish on the parchment then hands it to Lore.
" Would you please check my sums for the goods we need, arithmatic was never my strong point, and the Lady would flay me alive if I spent even one copper of her funds by my mistakes."
Illorian walks back into the tavern and sets down at the table next to Lore. "Friend Lore, do you have a peice of parchement and a scribing utensil? I must make a list of items needed for our travels when we leave Piren's Bluff."
"Certainly!" pulls out a second quill, some parchment & motions to the ink well. "Here you are, help yourself. How go the plans for this evening’s entertainment?" Begins looking around for his wine, once found he motions to the maid holding up his glass…. ”Another for my friend here as well.” then sits back down watching what Ilorian is scribeing.
Ilorian/Lore- No one in the Conqerer's Blade seems to be paying any attention to your conversation. But Benna the barmaid acknowledges your request, "Mm-hm! Yeah!" and turns to desperately trying to reach the top shelf wine.
A pair of fresh, lightly armored guards straggle in and take a seat at the bar. "Ready for a siege night, Brock? I'd say its been a while since in the roost." The other responds "Beats patrolling the south road...Shenk's dogs don't know what quiet is."
Having followed Ilorian and Jarv out to the wagon and listening to the plan, Mags says dryly, "Sounds like fun."
She spends a moment watching the men working on the contraption and surveying the area nearby. She'll need to be somewhat close when the time comes, but she'd really prefer a shadowy spot to keep from drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
Returning to the tavern, she grabs her pack, slinging it over one shoulder and approaches her friend, Llyrann. "Would you show me to our rooms, Llyrann? I wanna wash up 'fore the big show."
Knowing that something is up, Llyrann retires to their rooms for some girl talk.
Jervaise returns from the wagon carrying some ledgers.
"Paellat, when you have finished with your ale, could you please come with me? We need to go over the ledgers again. Being trapped inside a town under siege was not exactly part of our original travel plans, and we may need to adjust things accordingly."
Letting Plague out of her pack to stretch his legs, Mag's fills Llyrann in on the plan.
"The smithy'll be a fine vantage point for me t'do what I need to. If'n the smith'll allow it. He seems to be an Andoran loyalist so I'm hopeful, and I can warn'im to take cover t'boot. And if they see me going in, and not comin' back out til after.. should be enough of an alibi for me, I'm thinkin'."
Lifting the rat from the bed where he had already settled in comfortably, she gently tucks him back into the pack. "Sorry, friend, but ye need to come with me."
Llyrann/Mags- The back rooms seem to be, as Rhaspar suggested, an afterthought. They consist of hammocks, a strongbox, thin walls, and a flimsy door opening to the stables. Still, this may be the closest beds to your main target, the Baron's keep, and when combined with the traffic of guards you feel its an excellent surveillance position.
All- You assemble your plan cautiously under the guards and who knows who's other's noses. It seems the window of execution is here. You may have a concern for the General's men, you may just be acting out of a strong work ethic, you may despise this corrupted Baron's haughty defiance. Regardless the coming events of the night will leave a calculable impression on the tide of your operation...some could hope for a good beginning...
Making her way down the lane, Magdelia pauses for a few moments near the machine. She forces what she hopes to be a believable a smile or two to the guards on duty there, before making her way to the smithy.
"G'd'evenin', sir," she says to the man she takes to be the smith. "Lovely ribbon." She nods toward the yellow ribbon he wears. "I wonder if we could speak a moment. Concerning a possible commission I'd have fer ya. Inside, if we might. The night air doesn't suit me so well as it used."