Holy head case, brothers... You think that's our man?
Sverrir grunts an affirmative as he looks at the crazy prophet with dry eyes;
"Am thinking I'll need a nip or thrice to listen to this..."
As the approach the dwur shoots a dry aside;
"What kind'o potions did the monster wrangler gift us lads? Immunity to religious babbling hopefully!"
As you get closer, the man's voice become clear, he appears to be repeating the same rant over and over.
"Listen to me, you children of the Free City, and hear the dom that builds before your blind eyes. You in your house of gold and you in your hovel of mud and even you in your mail of metal, none of you are safe from the doom, from the Age of Worms. Oh yes, it is coming. Have you not heard the dead dragons roar? Have you not smelled the rot festering under your very nose? Have you not dreamt of the worm that walks, bringing decay to all the touches? Fools, you are all fools! Your doom is upon you! The end is in sight and none of you shall be spared. Decay is the future and the future is here!"
After a short pause for breath, he begins again.
Sverrir listens to the mad ramblings, and shares a look between his comrades when the man's diatribe mentions Age of Worms and the worm that walks
Grim faced, the dwur mutters an aside;
"Seems this crazed zealot knows more than these folks realise... Think its best fer all, if we have ourselves a word and save any more scaremongering for gentle ears eh?"
Perhaps we should offer him a meal, drink and that we take him seriously.
Sverrir eyes Markus with a look of doubt as they stand before the speaker;
"He's a prophet o' doom frien Markus! Last thing any o'us need is ffolk taking his scaremongering to heart... Worse he might attract kindred who'll supplicate his Age O' Worms! My counsel is to grab the old loon and make him sing like a mine canary!?"
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The dwur shrugs his broad-shoulders as he mulls their options;
"... Feh. Do what ye will. All I know is he gets nein o' my liquor!"
The man ignores you during his rant and when you try to interact with him when he pauses between repeats, he only looks at you blankly and says, "The prophet of the golden eye needs no sustenance." before starting into his spiel once more.
Leaving the man and his cryptic ravings behind, you continue on to the address provided by Allustan. A white stone wall surrounds a manicured yard of trimmed hedges and exotci fauna. A cobbled path, flanked by a pair of pools and rearing dragon statues, leads to a white marble manor house with gilded double doors and flickering golden lanterns. As you approach, the door opens and an aged elven manservant steps out to enquire as to your business at the estate.
Sverrir quietly takes in the grandeur of the place, as Lucid makes their introductions he adds his own request to the manservant;
"Been a long journey... perhaps some humble fair and a drop of something feisty to lubricate our throats ahead of discussions with your generous master?"
Dire, urgent business... Please. Markus gives a bow of the head.
The elderly elf nods and waves you inside. You are escorted a grand foyer dominate by a marble staircase lined with suits of ancient armor and topped by an ancient battel banner used as a curtain. Off to one side, a short hallway leads to a parlo where you are asked to wait. He serves you wine and fresh fruit before leaving you to await the sage. The parlor is lined with packed bookcases, framed by various oil paintings of faraway places and fantastic locales. All the furniture is gilt with fine gold tracery and padded with plush red velvet cushions. The floor is polished wood, but covered by a well-worn carpet depicting some forgotten battle between the forces of good and evil. After a few minutes of waiting, Eligos joins you in the parlor.
A middle-aged man wearing an open red robe with a silver breastplate underneath enters the room. His eyes are sharp weills of deep grey accented by specks of red. His hair, red like the setting sun, shows the first signs or receding. "My manservant, Pollard, tells me that you wish to speak to me" he says in a calm, even voice. "My name is Eligos. How can I be assistance?"
Sverrir looks a little disappointed with the wine, but shrugs his broad shoulders and pours himself a generous cupful, which he drains immediately and refills with a grin;
"Mmmm... Not bad... Warrants a second taste to be sure..."
As Eligos enters and makes his introduction the dwur reigns in his quaffing and allows the more learned of the group to set the scene.
Eligos reads the letter of introduction carefully and listens intently as Lucid recounts their tale. After he has heard all there is to tell, he says, "Although not my area of expertise, I do know a bit of what you speak and I am greatly disturbed. I will look into this matter, but it will take some time. There are man books to consult, and most are kept in the Great Library. I should have something for you by the end of the week or so. While you wait, might I recommend that you stay at the Crooked House in the Foreign Quarter? It is an excellent inn and the keeper and I are old friends. If you mention my name, I am sure he'll give you a discount on rooms. Also, a cleric of my acquaintance, one Trellar Morbane, is also currently staying at the inn. He's pretty familiar with the city and should be a fairly reliable guide, if you are looking for anything in particular."
"I shall contact you there when I have found anything of interest. Until then, I suggest that you enjoy the comforts the great city has to offer. Was there anything else I could help you with?"
Your kindness will not be forgotten. What is your area of expertise?
And, since we have some time to kill, is there anything we might do for you?
Sverrir shakes his head with a wry smile;
"Feh. You scholars... Eating into good drinking time this..."
The dwur claps his smaller friend's shoulder;
"Enjoy the dusty tomes frienn Lucid. I will drain the Crooked House's kegs for the both of us! Har!"
"I have no tasks that need doing at present, but I will accept any aid at the library that you offer. We will begin on the morrow"
With that you depart, heading to the inn recommended by Eligos. Following his directions you find the inn in the part of the Foreign Quarter known as "Midnight's Muddle". The Crooked House, is just that, and the whole building sits at a bit ot of a tilt. Its walls are all at odd angles, while none of its windows and doors are quite square. Despite this, the building looks to be in good repair, freshly painted and clean.
Stepping inside you find it to be brightly lit and full of bustling activity. Mention of Eliogos' names brings a bright smile to the face of Tarquin, the gnomish proprietor, and he welcomes you in like family. He sets you all up with your own single rooms for the very reasonable price of 4sp per day and throws in free drinks to boot. The taproom is full of light and boisterous noise, while outside the greatest city in the world beckons you.
Sverrir intersperses his time between putting a sizeable dent in the casks of The Crooked House, and assisting his comrades in any way required.
The dwur respects the clientele and does not cause trouble, but morosely retells the fall of his family and their ancestral mine. He does not dwell on the more sinister findings of the saga, merely suggesting the corruption that exists in Diamond Lake.
In one of his more lucid moments, the drunken warrior reminds his comrades of the signet ring of House Fairlan they recovered, and enquires if any of the patrons know of the mercantile house.
Markus plays host, getting a table and ordering some food and beverage.
Once the team is situated, he asks after their new ally.
The inn proves a welcome respite after so much time mucking about in the swamp. Senniki solemnly takes on the task of trying to negotiate the truce for the Lizardfolk. He is away most days dealing with the bureaucracy, often until late at night, but in the end he reports the negotiations a success with the Counsel agreeing to leave the Lizardfolk in peace, if they do the same.
Three days after arriving in the city, the party finds itself enjoying the comforts of the inn's common room with a few of the other patrons and locals. Tarquin absently wipes at the bar and the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional snore, fills the room. As the hour grows late, some of the patrons start to say their good evenings and head upstairs to their rooms. Markus is the first of the party to call it a night and head for his room.
A short time later, you see him descend back down the stairs and head over to Tarquin. He leans over as if to speak to the gnome, and when Tarquin comes over to see what he wants, Markus pulls out a dagger and drives it into the innkeeper's chest. Tarquin grasps at the dagger's hilt before slumping across the bar in a slowly spreading pool of blood.
Before the stunned common room has a chance to respond, Markus bolts back up the staircase. A cry of pain echos from above just before all erupts into confused chaos and a man, dressed in the robes of a merchant, stumbles down the stairs, clutching at bloodied arm and shouting for Tarquin. When he sees the downed gnome, he turns to the stunned crowd, "What villainy is afoot tonight?"
Markus' association with the rest of the party is well known and it doesn't take long for the crowd to turn an accusing glare on the rest of you.
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Lucid's first instinct is to move to Tarquin to help him. Someone help me here he says as he tries to assist in first aid to stabilize the gnome.
As the group turns towards him accusingly he swallows hard then loudly says.Something is wrong. That looked like Markus but was totally out character for him. Someone take over here so I can go investigate.
Seeing the assault, a tall dark haired man dressed in vibrant blues and gold rushes toward the downed gnome. As he moves, he produces a small book in his hand. Reaching the diminutive form, he brandishes the book, it's open pages fluttering as he begins to recite a prayer. The book briefly glows a soft periwinkle before suffusing the knife wound in the same color.
Sverrir is so shocked by what his ale-addled eyes witness that he actually spills mead down his beard and chin...
"By Hanseath's hairy breeksh! What the...!!"
As the crowd's look turn sour toward himself and his companions, the dwur drops his tankard and moves forward with a growl;
"Stan' backsh! Lest ye wishh ta facesh me! Eh? EH!?"
Sverrir is deep in his cups, and clearly angered and confused...
Senniki cries out, "Did Markus just stab the innkeeper? What was he thinking?"
When Lucid makes a move to aid the fallen gnome, the injured merchant shout, "Keep him him back!! Don't let the little fella finish what his big friend started. I think we have a band of cutthroats in our midst!"
The crowd grumbles in agreement and a couple of big locals move to block Lucid's path. No one takes an exception to Trellar wanting to help and manages to shove his way to the fallen gnome.
The merchant continues, "Someone get the watch, before these black hearted scoundrels try to escape. If any of them move, put them down. Hard."
Sverrir growls in growing anger at the merchant words;
"Put ush down?! Us! Longshanksh ye don know what hard ish!"
As the two lunks block Lucid, the dwur turns his ire toward them;
Step away foolsh. Now. Or I drop you both..."
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Senniki stands up, "Guys you're not helping the matter. I know we just witnessed our good friend and longtime companion, Markus, stab the innkeeper, but let's just try to keep our heads. I'm sure the authorities will be able to clear this all up." He raises his voice to the crowd, "Please! Everyone calm down. I assure you that we've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it."
The crowd seems oddly mollified by Senniki's words, but the injured merchant is having none of it.
"Did you hear that? They've killed before, but it's ok, because they thought their victims deserved it! I'm sure their buddy with the knife thought that our gracious host deserve it too. Taquin probably wanted them to settle their bill, so they gave him what he 'deserved'. Look at the little one. Using foul magics to tamper with the crime scene. I'm sure once he's finished, the guard will be convinced that we all stabbed the good gnome while they were at home drinking tea with their mothers!"
As the merchants words penetrate his ale-addled head, Sverrir turns angrily toward the injured agent provocateur;
"You... Schhut yer trap... Nae foul majicsh here! Nei from ush! Now schtill that voicsch or I break the jaw it comesh from!"
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Confident that his friend Markus did not just try to kill anyone and suspicious of the merchant's coming down the stairs just as the so called Markus went up the stairs Lucid suggests Sverrir, I am not entirely sure this fellow is who he pretends to be and doubt he is even really wounded. If he is its likely self inflicted. I recommend you grab him and hold him til the guard gets here. Do not hurt him, but do not let him get out of your sight either. I think you should just sit on him.
The merchant snorts indignantly, "I'm not going anywhere. Who else is going to stand witness to your villainy And keep your grubby little companion away from me."
Senniki yells in exasperation, "Everyone just calm down! He's not going anywhere. We're not going anywhere! Nobody is going anywhere!"
"That's where you're wrong boy-o,"says a voice from the doorway. "You're all coming with me."
Turning, you see that the city watch has arrived, a whole patrol of them. They round up everyone, both as witnesses and suspects, and they don't take the time to sort it out in the tavern. Everyone is locked in irons and chained together. Senniki, taking up on Lucid's suspicions, uses his detect evil ability to scan for auras. He passes along in a quiet voice that none of the guards appears evil, but the merchant does have an aura. "Everyone just keep calm. We'll be able to sort this all out soon, if nobody breaks any actual laws." He gives Sverrir a hard look when he says this last bit.
Trellar is relieved by a priest of Heironeous and he too is chained, coincidently in the same string as the party. A confused and bleary eyed Markus is dragged down the stairs by a pair of guards and also chained. Everyone is stripped of their equipment, but every item is inventoried and each person signs the logbook and is given a receipt for their gear.
Eventually everyone is moved out into the courtyard in front of the inn, where several prisoner transport carriages await. As you watch, the first few are packed with inn patrons before they are shut and rumble off to wherever prisoners are held for questioning. Finally it is your turn and Markus, Trellar, Lucid and Sverrir are helped into the back of one of the remaining carriages along with a pair of other inn patrons. When the door is shut, you find yourselves in near perfect darkness as you rumble away along the cobblestone streets.
Eventually the wagon stops and after sometime the back of the wagon is opened and you find yourselves outside a nondescript warehouse. Looking unsure, Senniki checks these guards with detect evil, but reports that they too don't appear to be evil. One at a time, your are led through a set of doors and down a stairwell and along a stonework hallway until you reach a large holding chamber with six iron barred cells built into the walls. Three of the other cells already have occupant. A pair of dirty men sit in one, a disheveled elven woman in another and the last appears to be occupied by a dead man.
You are all placed, one at a time, into the same empty cell.Lucid is first, followed by Trellar, then Sverrir. The three of you find await together for the others to be brought down.
Sverrir pokes Lucid in the ribs. "It might be the drink talking and I might just be seeing double, but doesn't that fella lying sprawled over there look a lot like Senniki?"
With Sverrir pointing it out and having seen the paladin beaten and ragged before, Lucid finds the resemblance uncanny.
At that time, Makus appears, being lead by a guard towards the cell.
Markus is brought down to your cell and the door is locked behind him. The guards leave, presumably to fetch Senniki, but as the wait lengthens, you eventually realize that they are not returning.
Lucid, Markus, Sverrir and a slightly bewildered gnome all find themselves in a slightly damp, and very cramped, jail cell. You have company in the other cells. One has a young elven woman in tattered finery, one has the unmoving body of the guy who looks like Senniki, one holds a shaven headed man in robes and one holds a pair of scruffy looking humans.