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[D&D 5E] Vi Eltera: Voyage to Cataclysm's Divide
mrpaku
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Vi Eltera- The Sundered Lands
50 years now. 50 years since the Last War. Since the peoples across the planet were in horrific open conflict, and the waters ran red with blood.
50 years since the Destruction of Dumant (still only whispered of), and the ascendance of the Uldari Alliance. And then, all that came after…
The endless rains, floods touching every part of this world, the ocean threatening to swallow all. Worse, the cloudless days, where the sun seems to draw closer and closer, baking the lands which remain and bringing the fires. The dreaded high-winds, which seem to appear from nowhere and tear through cities capriciously. The unceasing quakes, as though the earth itself were experiencing the pains being wrought above…
But, civilization struggles ever onwards, despite the world becoming a more threatening place by the day. Not all is darkness and despair. The peace which came after Dumant was destroyed has held (mostly) for all this time. Advances great and small have emerged in answer to the challenges presented. And despite the threats which loom ever larger, the peoples of Vi Eltera continue to strive…continue to move forward…continue to hope
Merton- Crossroads of the New World
Merton is a place, like many, which was altered almost beyond recognition since the Last War. The twin-fortress, two towers, and high city walls, once used as a remote staging point for the Uldari forces, have now become overgrown from within by great houses, apartment structures, lean-to’s and all the signs of burgeoning industry. The people of Merton are stacked densely atop on another, both those inside the city's neighborhoods and swelling districts, and those refugees and wanderers which spill out along the city walls, trying their best to remain on dry land
MERTON Map-
A-Fort Merton-North
1-Hanging Gardens/Sulking-Greens
2-Barracks
B-Fort Merton-South
3-Prison
4-Catacombs
C-West Tower- “The Judge’s Tower”
D-East Tower- “The Abandoned Tower”
E-Great Gate to the Rachis
F-City Center
5-Dumant Memorial Area (Day/Night)
6-Uldari Embassy/Cartographer
7-University/Library
8-The Salon
G-Market District
9-Open Air Market/Night Festival
10-Street Food Vendors
11-Goldclaws Goods
12-Artist’s Market
13-Oddities Market
14-Weapon/Armor Shop
H-Port District
15-Jolly Shipyards/Darkened Plankways
16-Docks
17-Tavern
18-Warehouses
I-Wall District
19-Joyous Shantytown/Mournful Shantytown
20-Food Bank
21-Outsider’s Bonfire
J-Upper Ward
22-Noble Houses (Day/Night)
23-Inn
24-Temple
K-Lower Ward
25-City Rooftops (Day/Night)
26-Common House
27-“The Lodge” Apartment Dwelling
28-The Great Forge of Uldari
L-The Quagmire
29-City Sewers (Day/Night)
30-The Black Market
31-Lamplighters Headquarters
It is in this place, “The Crossroads of the New World”, where the lives of four unlikely adventurers would cross paths…
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yEYxnJB4jZs
50 years now. 50 years since the Last War. Since the peoples across the planet were in horrific open conflict, and the waters ran red with blood.
50 years since the Destruction of Dumant (still only whispered of), and the ascendance of the Uldari Alliance. And then, all that came after…
The endless rains, floods touching every part of this world, the ocean threatening to swallow all. Worse, the cloudless days, where the sun seems to draw closer and closer, baking the lands which remain and bringing the fires. The dreaded high-winds, which seem to appear from nowhere and tear through cities capriciously. The unceasing quakes, as though the earth itself were experiencing the pains being wrought above…
But, civilization struggles ever onwards, despite the world becoming a more threatening place by the day. Not all is darkness and despair. The peace which came after Dumant was destroyed has held (mostly) for all this time. Advances great and small have emerged in answer to the challenges presented. And despite the threats which loom ever larger, the peoples of Vi Eltera continue to strive…continue to move forward…continue to hope
Merton- Crossroads of the New World
Merton is a place, like many, which was altered almost beyond recognition since the Last War. The twin-fortress, two towers, and high city walls, once used as a remote staging point for the Uldari forces, have now become overgrown from within by great houses, apartment structures, lean-to’s and all the signs of burgeoning industry. The people of Merton are stacked densely atop on another, both those inside the city's neighborhoods and swelling districts, and those refugees and wanderers which spill out along the city walls, trying their best to remain on dry land
MERTON Map-
A-Fort Merton-North
1-Hanging Gardens/Sulking-Greens
2-Barracks
B-Fort Merton-South
3-Prison
4-Catacombs
C-West Tower- “The Judge’s Tower”
D-East Tower- “The Abandoned Tower”
E-Great Gate to the Rachis
F-City Center
5-Dumant Memorial Area (Day/Night)
6-Uldari Embassy/Cartographer
7-University/Library
8-The Salon
G-Market District
9-Open Air Market/Night Festival
10-Street Food Vendors
11-Goldclaws Goods
12-Artist’s Market
13-Oddities Market
14-Weapon/Armor Shop
H-Port District
15-Jolly Shipyards/Darkened Plankways
16-Docks
17-Tavern
18-Warehouses
I-Wall District
19-Joyous Shantytown/Mournful Shantytown
20-Food Bank
21-Outsider’s Bonfire
J-Upper Ward
22-Noble Houses (Day/Night)
23-Inn
24-Temple
K-Lower Ward
25-City Rooftops (Day/Night)
26-Common House
27-“The Lodge” Apartment Dwelling
28-The Great Forge of Uldari
L-The Quagmire
29-City Sewers (Day/Night)
30-The Black Market
31-Lamplighters Headquarters
It is in this place, “The Crossroads of the New World”, where the lives of four unlikely adventurers would cross paths…
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yEYxnJB4jZs mrpaku on
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Posts
Iskra Hammerstrike and her father Thyrom had arrived in Merton the evening before, making the crowded trek along the Main Street and east through to the city’s Wall District. They had spent that night trying (and mainly failing) to get some rest after their long journey from Grjun Irgnor in the forests to the north. The locals in the shantytowns built in and around the area were pleasant and welcoming, but raucous, and their celebrations went long into the night.
The next morning, Iskra and Thyrom broke down camp, tied up their wagon, and began the long march back across town, to meet with Kezza Goldclaws and acquire a license for the open air market. A line of intinerants drew out before them, some on foot, some with wagons or steads of their own, all making their way trudging down Main Street. It’s raining this morning; it rains often these days.
Iskra looks up and takes in the high, solid walls of the city and the twin fortress spires overhead, their overgrown lush greenery visible even from down here. She can’t help but feel slightly in awe of the intricate, majestic stonework, and more than once Thyrom has to gently remind her to keep them moving.
Iskra is eager today; excited. If they manage to sell enough of their metalwork while here, her family should have enough to last the season; maybe even enough to take some much needed items home with them to prepare for the winter. The hustle and bustle of the marketplace is a highly welcome change of pace from the quiet solitude of the forests. In fact, an old friend of her from the North Uldari woods, a war orphan by the name of Romero Idazi was in town…she hoped to see him, if she got the chance to get away.
And then, there was that other thing she hoped to look into…but she dare not think about that just yet.
In front of Iskra rides a small covered wagon, pulled by a small pony and a grumpy looking halfling. The curtains at the back of the wagon suddenly draw back, and a small child emerges, looking nervous but fascinated. The small child sees the gnoll in front of them and gasps with surprise. After a brief consideration, the halfling child tentatively begins to extend his tiny, grubby hand in the gnoll’s direction….
Iskra, please give us a brief description of your character, a bit of their personality, their motivations, and their first impression of the city of Merton. Then: please roll a Persuasion Check to attempt to befriend the small halfling child, and a Constitution Check to feel the rain on your skin…
She is a generally cheerful person, taught from a young age to control her anger, and loves anything to do with crafts, spending most of her time in the smithy with her other father who stayed behind to keep working. A good amount of the metalwork on the cart was made by her.
She'd been to Merton before, however something about this particular trip feels different- she can't tell why, however she's certain something about this visit will be special!
The gnoll is pulling their cart in absence of a pony or ox and doesn't look so much as winded by it, happy to chatter at her father. She spots the peeking child and gives them a good natured grin, nudging her father to extract a piece of candy from the man's pocket before offering it to the small halfling, the confectionery practically disappearing in her palm.
Geth, roll 1d20-1 for Not Scaring The Child
Geth, roll 1d20+3 for Summer Rain
[edit] Oh, it's raining Inspiration
Merchant-vessel The Lusty Maiden pulled into port that morning after a long voyage out of Harena to the east. As its crew busily worked to dock the ship and tie up their craft, they failed to notice one of the crates of merchandise popping open from the inside, and a lanky, heavily-covered shape emerging into the overhead drizzle. The metal-man looked around slowly: taking in the ship, its crew, the surrounding waves, and the carved-city within the nearby hill. Things had greatly changed in Merton since Echo had last been through here
Echo hitched the cloak tighter around his metal parts, cinched the hood around his neck, and descended down the side of The Maiden and into the city (taking care to land nonchalantly among the tourists and sailors). After, the metal-man pulls the cloak over his head, and discretely makes his way within the crowds, towards the Market District.
The Warforged walks lock-step and eyes-forward towards the center of the city, buried beneath the many layers of his robe. Echo has been locked inside a box motionless for the last month, but as always, his mind remains focused on the mission at hand: get warning to the embassy of what he’d learned in Harena; keep his eyes peeled for signs of JANOS; meeting up with a possible contact within the city, an “Arknor”, who may be able to further assist his work…
From beneath his hood, Echo’s eyes take in the sights: the teeming masses of people, the recently repaired stonework, the too-dense greenery growing down from the twin fortresses. Since his last time in Merton, the place had strangely become neglected in some ways while heavily improved in others. He wonders at the priorities of Judge Sylvas, taking obvious efforts to repair the infrastructure, while seemingly ignoring the needs of its people
Nearby along the crowded docks, a pair of goblins are deep into an animated argument about something. Playfully, one shoves the other, who stumbles clumsily into Echo’s legs. The small creature yells out in Common, “Oi! Sorry there, mister…” Rubbing his bumped knee, the goblin finds himself looking in shock at the metallic leg beneath the robes. “Say now… “ the goblin pips warily, pointing an accusing finger at the metal appendage…
Echo, please give us a brief description of your character, a bit of their personality, their motivations, and their first impression of the city of Merton. Then: please roll a Deception Check to attempt to keep the suspicious goblin quiet, and an Intelligence Check to see what’s changed about this place since you were here last…
https://preview.redd.it/s0qajatijhj81.jpg?width=473&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9a1ce5c56f9928dbb34844ea56bde5b1f32d3e21
Echo is clearly cautious in the crowd. They check their hood constantly, and move carefully to avoid bumping into people, while glancing over around regularly as if they were looking for something specific. In reality, they were looking to see if someone was looking for them. Too much time being an outcast left them with a constant need to assess their surroundings, and when they were in a city, it was always worse. Merton was large, and the crowds were almost overwhelming, but at the same time, Echo couldn't help but notice the spots of the city that looked unkempt. The greenery was overgrown, someone had stopped managing it.
Their eyes were distracted too long, though, as a goblin collides into their leg. Danger. Their mental processes kick into high gear, and a soft voice extends from their mouth as they bend their hood down a bit further. "Hello there, you seem to have fallen rather hard into the dock. Are you alright?"
Geth, roll 1d20+6 for Deception
Geth, roll 1d20-1 for Intelligence
Romero Idazi (former-Warphan/current city-slicker) stands in the morning rain and watches lazily as a half dozen Warforged models move the gigantic overhead pipe into place along the bridge. The Harengon had to hand it to the Inventor: only a genius could have designed a method of injecting liquid metal into the very joints of the city. The walls had all been reinforced, the massive plate the fortress rested on filled out to the sides in a more-than-thorough manner. The bridges of this place (each broken during the Last War) would soon be as good as new. Merton was becoming solid as a rock, if not more so.
A pity the Judge doesn’t throw the same level of funding at solving the city’s food crisis, Romero muses with a certain bitterness.
The Harengon knows he has it better than most in this place: his knack with the Inventor’s machines, combined with friendships he had among some at the college, made him one of the very few non-Warforged involved with the city’s renovation project. The pay was good…the perks even better…and what’s more, the shifts left Romero more time to spend on his “off the clock” activities. This was a very good thing on a day like today, when not only was a particularly tempting set of bounties in town, but an old friend from North Uldari as well: Iskra Hammerstrike, a gnoll raised by dwarves who Romero had played with in the forest when both were children.
The Warforged finished setting the pipe into place along the bridge, and each in turn shot a “thumbs up” signal back to the Harengon, who nods in answer. As Romero flips open the mechanical switchbox, his ears perk up, and he senses someone approaching from behind. Turning, he sees his friend Faelynn Mandre, a fellow at the college who works closely with the Inventor. The two exchange a quick wave, and seeing Romero poised to operate the switchbox, Faelynn crosses his arms behind himself and patiently waits for the Harengon to finish his work. Romero turns back to the bridge, eager to be done for the day, but distracted by the sudden appearance of his elven friend. We usually meet at the college, Romero thinks, as he cracks his knuckles and hovers his hand over the switchbox. Strange to see him out on a job site like this…
Romero, please give us a brief description of your character, a bit of their personality, their motivations, and their first impression of the city of Merton. Then: please roll a Sleight of Hand Check to properly operate the mechanical switchbox, and a Wisdom Check to intuit why Faelynn would’ve come all this way to see you…
As the Great Lift finally comes to a shaking, grinding halt, Arknor (tucked into a ball and sleeping on his pack as a pillow) jerks awake, and looks around himself with an instant suspicion.
Pulling himself to his feet, the Deep Dwarf stretches, rubs the sleep from his eyes, yawns…and begins coughing, horridly. Clearing his throat with a quick sip from his waterskin, the dwarf horks a lump of something dark and gritty down the elevator shaft. Surface air, the dwarf thinks to himself with disgust. How do the toplanders breathe like this?
Checking to see that his pack is secure, Arknor makes his way off the lift and into the surrounding corridors, which seems to be a mausoleum of some sort. Exploring the passages around for about twenty minutes, the dwarf suddenly finds he isn’t sure where to go. Imagine, Arknor thinks wryly to himself, finding my way through the warrens…past the sunken passage…all the way to the Uldari Lift, only to lose my way at the surface!
As soon as he thinks it, he hears something familiar, something he didn’t realize until now he’d come to miss over the past month: the sound of voices. Turning around and following the noise overhead, Arknor goes left and up the stairs at the next passageway, and finds himself coming upon a door. The voices (engaged in either argument or friendly banter, Arknor can’t be sure) are coming from nearby, and the distant din or a large city is coming from down below.
Arknor leans forward, presses the door…and finds it unmoving. Whether rusted or overgrown, the barricade before him has seemingly not been operated in years.
With a sigh of frustration, the dwarf takes a deep breath, and rolls up his sleeves. I will not be stopped by a door, Arknor thinks to himself with grim determination. I have come too far...and my mission to the embassy too important…
Arknor, please give us a brief description of your character, a bit of their personality, their motivations, and their state of mind after a long journey through the Underdark. Then: please roll a Strength Check to attempt to force the stuck door, and an Investigation Check to taste that surface air with some purpose
Iskra gives her head a vigorous shake, whipping built up water from her drenched fur. The constant rains aren’t even something that bothers her anymore; this is simply the way the world has always been.
The small girl giggles at the sight of the gnoll head wag. Seeing the offered treat, the halfling child’s eyes alight, and she snatches it up with a quickness, popping the entire thing into her mouth at once. Cheeks full, the girl shoots Iskra a wide, close-mouthed grin, juice dripping from the corners of her lips.
“Hey…hey!” the halfling riding up front shouts, wheeling his wagon around and rearing up upon his pony in front of Iskra. “Jest you leave her alone, wolfie! No wee-bites here! Yeah, that’s rite…I know yer kind!” The little man says, wagging a disapproving finger as onlookers draw back from the situation. Finally, the halfling spits, “In North Uldari, you’d be properly caged!”
At those words, a roar emerges from somewhere in the crowd. A sea of people begin to part from where the sound emanated, and a hulking figure with a golden fringe about their neck swaggers up to stand beside to Iskra, directly between the gnoll and the halfling and crossing their arms with deadly menace.
“Go,” the leonin orders the halfling. “Go now. And thank your daughter there that you get to go with unbroken legs.”
Sneering, the halfling whips the cart back around and makes a quick departure, his daughter waving a sad, silent goodbye to Iskra as they go. Shaking his head in disgust, Kezza Goldclaws turns to the Iskra and Thyrom apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout that. You get less of the wee bigots down here…but some still think they own the continent.” Grinning a smile of razor sharp teeth, Kezza steps forward and ferociously embraces the dwarf and the gnoll. ”Well how goes it, you two? The journey treat you right?”
Something is off about the city…something more than just the starving masses and the heavy construction. Echo is absolutely certain of it…but not what the “it” is…
Still rubbing her knee, the goblin nods up at Echo’s concern. “Yeh…yeh, I’m alright…” Stopping to get a good look under Echo’s hood, the small green humanoid’s face takes on a wary, curious look. “Warforged, ain’t’cha? An not one o’ the Inventor’s warforged, or ye wouldn’t be skulking round in a dress.”
Her companion still watching curiously from behind, the goblin steps forward toward Echo. “Listen shiny-friend, free word o’ warning: best watch yer’ ass around here. Me an’ Rin ain’t locals, so we don’t give a toss, but the people ‘live in Merton? Downright pissed with metal-men these days. Half the city’s broke an’ ain’t got enough to eat…and then the Judge spends money pouring’ metal into the ground an don’t even hire breathing things to do the work!”
Covering her mouth with her hand, the goblin whispers (with the coded terms and tone of a drug dealer), “What ‘bout Ooze? You looking to suck some Ooze?”
The gnoll's rough fur does a pretty good job of keeping the water from soaking too deeply into it, the shake enough to keep her dry. Mostly. She'll be glad to get somewhere dry and warm for sure.
Iskra watches the small girl with a smile, rolling her eyes at her when her parent pipes up, having heard this speech a hundred times before. She mimics the halfling's complaints with puppet-like jaw flaps and winks goodbye to the child as a familiar roar parts the crowd.
"Kezza!" With an excited squeal she drops the cart's pull frame, splashing past her father to give the leonin a hearty hug, "Oh, how I've missed ya, hon! How's Merton, have y' seen Russet lately?" Awkward pause, "...have y' seen Drums?" Probably for the best if not with that one.
She lets her father get a word in before breaking back in, "Oh, same ol' same 'ol trip. 's funny, the countryside, it stays the same, but Merton seems ta grow with each visit."
The gnoll walks back to the cart and with a hup! begins pulling it once more, keeping pace with the other two, "Can't wait ta get somewhere dry. You, um... you got any of that warm mulberry wine?" She gives her father an apologetic grin, "Look pa, I'm an adult now, I can drink wot I want." Despite her words she appears to hunch down a little bit when talking to him.
As a Rune Keeper of Urngorodrorr ("the Heart of All Mountains"), Arknor is a student of the magic of the deep places of the world, turned adventurer by the tumultuous events of recent history. Nearing a century old, Arknor is serious minded and steady, generally, and the dark times have put a sometimes cold edge on the difficult decisions he has had to make.
* * *
Arknor stands in the dim chamber - the last dark room, he realizes, that he might see for a good while. He takes in the fading smell of rich earth left behind him, the dry cobwebs (in as much disrepair as the rest of the crumbled room), and the tall stone arches overhead. Human work, he'd wager, but fine for them. The large double doors at the end of the room loom nearly ten feet tall, and the sounds of conversation are muffled through the old metal.
"Alright, then. Rune," the owl grabs Arknor's raised finger in its beak affectionately as he murmurs to the familiar. "We're here. Keep your eyes an' ears open." Seeing no mechanism, he shoves on the door. It doesn't budge.
The dwarf grunts, narrows his eyes, and raises one hand slightly under his cloak. Focusing on one of the doors, Arknor dilates his hand as if he were turning a knob. The door, suddenly half its normal weight, raises slightly where time and disuse had jammed it against the floor.
Again, Arknor steadies one hand against the door and shoves. Again, it holds firm. He takes a step back, and surveys the door again. Rusted, perhaps? After a moment, he raps on the door with his steel staff - three hard, echoing gongs against the metal door at a punctuated interval. Let. Me. In.
Then, he takes a step back and waits.
Geth roll 1d20-1 for Strength
Geth roll 1d20+5 for Investigation
Instead, they are greeted with curiosity. Whatever is happening in this city, the rulers seem to be inciting more anger against his kind, but it leaves behind the casual indifference of those who aren't affected. Still, the warning was important, Echo needed to be more careful as they traveled further into the city.
"I appreciate the warning. I am not looking for any trouble." The Warforged's eyes scan the crowds again, looking to see if anyone else might have picked up suspiscion. Their attention was caught by the goblins again, though. "Are you in possession of Ooze? Perhaps we could come to an arrangement."
Romero pulls a red rag from his back pocket, wiping some oil off his dark grey fur before settling his hands on the controls. "Be riiiiight with you, Funny Man," Romero says over his shoulder, sparing a moment to give a warm grin to his friend. He was the only person that could get away with giving Faelynn nicknames, a privilege he took advantage of at every opportunity.
When he came to Merton, Romero had visions of a better life. No more cold nights in the boughs of the Old Trees, no more scrounging for whatever scraps he could steal from a passing noble's caravan. Here in Merton, he'd have a good job, good friends, and a real roof over his head that wasn't sewn together from ruined cloaks. And he had found that life, for the most part. He had a good job that afforded him a good place to live, and he had good friends like Faelynn to thank for all of that.
But, Romero could never truly give up his Warphan ways. Everywhere he went he saw a mark, a score, an angle. He saw a chance to redistribute some wealth, to right some wrongs, and to cause a little chaos for the sake of good. "But right now," he mutters to himself, shaking his head to clear his wandering thoughts, "you see the end of your shift. Focus up."
With that, he sets his hands in motion. What is Faelynn doing here, though...
Geth, roll 1d20+7 for Sleight of Hand
Geth, roll 1d20+4 for Insight
Another cough sits at the edge of Arknor’s throat, and he again takes a small sip of the waterskin to wash it back. The Deep Dwarf had been to the surface a few times before, when circumstances had necessitated it. In his experience: the skies pressed down on you, the air felt thin and insubstantial, and the sun seemed designed to wound.
This time...there was something different, something that went beyond just atmospheric pressure. The oxygen seeping in from above feels thicker somehow; the airs bad. As if, not only had the surfacers managed to unleash the waters, they’d managed to somehow despoil the very skies as well.
From down the corridor behind him, a sudden, inexplicable gust of wind appears from nowhere and disappears just as quickly, blowing dust and cobwebs into tumbleweeds along the catacomb floor. Arknor makes a sign of protection across his chest. …well, this only makes things harder. Have the surfacers even realized yet?…
From the other side of the stone door, people can be heard approaching. Arknor hears hearty young voices speaking common, the tones of authority, mostly human and orc accents:
“...swear, I heard it coming from down here! A *thwock*-*thwock*-*thwock* sound!”
“...sa’hells is a “thwock” anyway, Chauncey? What the boys caught ye’ doing behind yer’ bunk last week? See, s’flighty bullshit like this why no woman in Merton’d touch you…”
“I ain’t popping at shadows! They wanted us ter watch the door, an I feckin’ heard something behind the door! What’cha want from me?”
“What I’m gonna want from you, we have ta’ move another big fuck-off door an’ I don’t find anything bigger than a titmouse again, is latrine-duty. A month’s worth!”
“B-b-but Cap’n! Latrine’s bout a mile-long!”
“Good! Should keep you off my floor fer’ ‘bout eighteen hours er’ so!”
The heavy stone door before Arknor begins to slowly, creakingly inch open, and as pebbles fall and the ground softly shakes, the Deep Dwarf suddenly finds himself face to face with what appears to be (based on their mutual uniforms) some of the City Guard: a contingent of three orcs and three men. Pushing their way as a team into the catacombs, their eyes begin to adjust to the light. After a few beats, they mutually take notice of a small, grey man and his bird standing nearby, their arms crossed and waiting impatiently.
Across each individual face, the City Guard looks as though they have just stumbled onto a ghost.
The largest of the orcs (possibly the Captain, from the shoulder pads and extra insignia upon his armor), dumbly replies. “Oh. Oh shit.”
The smallest of the men (Chauncey, from the sound of his voice) points triumphantly at Arknor. “Ha! See! I told you!”
Arknor: Please roll an Insight Check to get a sense of the six City Guardsman before you. Then, roll some sort of Charisma Check (Persuasion, Performance, Intimidation) to make a proper first impression with these guys and (hopefully) get them to assist you
The Goblin-lady contemplatively begins to stroke an (imaginary) beard at the Warforged’s question. “Maybe yes…maybe no,” she says, syrup-sweet. “Nothing Rin an’ I are “holding” right here-an-now, ye’ mind…can’t jest’ be moving that shit round in the open on the Mainland! Unless,” and here she begins to chuckle, darkly. “Apparently, less yer’ a famous Inventor wit an’ brigade o’ Robots!…”
“...so,” she adds softly to Echo. “Theoretical, maebe’…were a Warforged in a dress ter’ turn up this evening down in the Market’s “Tangle”? Tween’…let’ say between 8 n’ 10 tonight?…I’d tell em’ ter’ ask around about “Rin” an’ “Tin”…jest maybe’ we’ll hook ye’ up fer a full tank o’ the “stuff”, fer,” Again, Tin begins to stroke an imaginary beard, and this time take’s on a businessman’s tone, “Lessay’…50gp. Pricey, no doubt…but!”, the goblin points out quietly. “...nowhere else in town ye’ gonna find the stuff these days, that don’t come straight from the Inventor ‘imself!”
As she finishes her pitch, Tin shrugs nonchalantly, pulling her own cloak up over her head and waving back to her impatient companion. “…offer this as a favor, ye’ mind! Rin an’ I, we getting’ on a boat tomorrow, headed back Ezo-way…be just as profitable fer’ us ter’ bring the taste with us! Jest doing ye’ a favor, here…”
Echo: Persuasion, Intimidation to move Tin the Goblin on when/where to meet tonight, and how much you’re willing to get charged for “Ooze”. In addition, please roll an Insight Check to glean things the Goblin and her partner may be hiding right now…
“Ayyy, I’ve missed you too, my luv! Ahahaha…well, Merton’s a shit heap!” Kezza replies good naturedly to the gnoll as they help Iskra pick up the wagon once more. “Gets a bit worse each day, really!” The Leonin’s tone is playful, but there’s something behind the eyes, quiet and sad, which suggests that they aren't really joking...
“Russett’s well! If, more n’ a bit caught up in his work these days, but then that’s always been Russett, hasn’t it? And honestly its to be expected, with the way the “Save Merton” project has taken over every facet the city! Which reminds me…mentioned to Romero you were probably getting’ in town today! He should be getting’ off his shift here soon; said he was hopin’ to see you!”
“Drums…well D.D.’s…” Kezza seems to be trying to find the right way to delicately phrase what they want to say, and coming up short. Finally, they settle on a resigned shrug and a playful “what-are-you-gonna-do” lift of their arms. “Ya’ know D.D.! Bless his, obnoxious, trouble-making little heart…” There’s a story here, but for whatever reason, it sounds as though Kezza would rather not talk about it right now.
“So listen!” the leonin says, looking to change the subject. “We got a space in the open market all ready for ya’…for up to a whole week, if you need it! Running at, let’s call it…10gp a day! Thyrom, I made sure it was in a covered space with plenty of sunlight like you asked to highlight yer’ pieces…and, if yer daughter wants to have a wee’ nip,” Kezza winks playfully over at Iskra. “…I’d say she earned it, by dealing with your orney ol’ self all these years! Matter o’ fact, I heard there might be a “party” down in the Tangle this evening…”
Iskra: Insight Check to listen to what Kezza’s not saying about himself/your friends/Merton; Persuasion or Intimidation Check to get them talked down from 10gp a day/find out some more about this “party in the Tangle” later
The Inventor’s machines are utterly inscrutable to most peoples within the city. Absolutely massive, intimidating contraptions of shaking heavy metal, whirring-sharp gears, and spurting hoses of hot liquid death, which (along with the Inventor’s army of workhorse-Warforged) seem to accomplish impossible tasks that would normally take a dozen-score of men a dozen years. The Judge is a loud and proud fan of this “machine incursion” these last six months, pointing at the fortresses’ defensive history and strategic value. The citizens of Merton tolerate the machines, but no more. Most are utterly terrified of them, and simply wish they would all go away
…For whatever reason, Romero has never had a problem with the sudden development in technology that came after the War
To him, the switchbox is simply a clever little puzzle box. You flip the first two switches (bottom, then top) one after the other to start the “game” (a pair of engines which Romero’s ears can hear starting deep beneath his feet and the bridge, one after the other); swivel the whole box underneath itself to expose the levers hidden into the handle (frankly, a stupid design in Romero’s opinion, but who’s to say why “geniuses” do these things); wait until the hose reaches a certain tension, (somewhere exactly halfway between “tired snake” and “iron rod”), then activate the lever underneath the handle. Afterwards, wait exactly four seconds (or, until the noise from the hose began to maintain a certain “chortling” sound), and spin it back around, slamming it into place with finesse to complete the process.
As Romero expertly operates the box, along the main remaining joints of the broken bridge a series of magical green-glyphs (there one second, and then gone the next) spring out for fifty, a hundred, two-hundred feet, leading all the way up to the Judge’s Tower. Wherever the lined glyphs glow, a solid cage of liquid metal begins to grow a branch-like “spine”, complete with backbone and ribs for infrastructure.
The assisting Warforged break out into a symphony of synchronized clapping at Romero’s work, metal hands banging against one another at the sight of the perfectly created bridge-supports. Exactly five seconds later, the clapping is cut off at-once, and the Warforged collectively get back to work: half cutting open boxes of stone bricks, and half beginning to mix solid a cement-like substance in nearby vats as connective compound…
The clapping starts up once more, this time quietly and flesh-upon-flesh, as Faelynn approaches with a proud look and a wide smile. “Excellent work, my Harengon friend! It’s no wonder the Inventor trusts you to operate these devices…it’s though you were born to it! Which, err, reminds me…” Faelynn grins; too widely, too many teeth. The elf is holding something back, Romero thinks to himself. He always does this…butters me up, right before asking me to do him a favor where I inevitably get to “go talk to the Inventor” for the College’s sake…
Romero: Deception, Performance, or Intimidation Check to try and get a favor from Faelynn before he can (inevitably) ask one of you/to make him tell you why Romero is always being made the go-between in these sorts of situations with the Inventor; Intelligence Check to piece together what he’s holding behind his back right now
After a brief moment to wave goodbye and thank the warforged for their work, he turns and starts walking with Faelynn away from the job site. "Alright Funny Man, lead the way. You look like you're about to burst so you better let out whatever you've got bottled up."
Geth, roll 1d20 for Charisma Check
Geth, roll 1d20+2 for Intelligence Check
She gives the cart a stronger tug as one of its wheels gets stuck in a ditch, dislodging it with a wet slop. "Oh, buns 's around this year? Great, I missed 'im last year when he was 'busy wi' work'." She blows a raspberry at that, "Save da city an' all dat, but ya gotta take a break, yanno?"
As talk turns to business her father moves to walk beside her, listening. "Ooh, da big market? You hear that pa, no side street fer us this year!" The dwarf gives a grunt of acknowledgment, ever the talker. He frowns at the mention of the party, but at this point it's years too late to actually stop Iskra when she makes up her mind.
And said mind is laser focused on that last tidbit, "Party ya say... well." She gives Thyrom a Cat Ate The Canary grin, "'s only fair ta relax after a long day of sellin' wares!" Grunt. "Glad ya agree! So about this market fee, ya sure we couldn't talk ta the head honcho, make sure 'e's not scalpin' us?"
Geth, roll 1d20+5 for Insight
Geth, roll 1d20-1 for Persuasion, Her Best Skill
The metallic device Faelynn has clutched behind his back is…vaguely familiar to Romero. Part of some sort of arrangement the college had worked out with the Inventor to share facts and resources, he thinks. The Harengon knows most of them are planted in shallow holes at the edges of South Uldari’s new “shoreline”, but a few (maybe, a couple dozen?) have been planted twenty feet down beneath the city proper at key points. Romero’s fairly certain they’re to test…alkaline properties in the soil? Ocean acidity-creep? Something like that…
Faelynn’s smile turns slightly sheepish at being caught out by his friend. “Alright then, Romero, you’ve got me! Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time the college has asked to make you an errand-runner…but!”, the Elf is quick to point out, “Remember, it was us that suggested you for the apprenticeship in the first place! ” Faelynn is flustered, but dug in: whatever backroom arrangements were involved with Romero’s hiring, the collegiate Elf simply believes fair is fair, and the Harengon should be happy to take on the occasional odd task in recompense.
“So…to business!” Faelynn continues warmly, withdrawing the dart-like device from behind his back and presenting it to the Harengon. “We…that is to say, the fellows at the University and I…were hoping you could approach the Inventor…and ask him about this…” The Elf presses the contraption into Romero’s arms with gentle care, wrapping a cloth of felt around it as he hands it over…
Faelynn continues, “As part of the University’s ongoing assistance in the “Save Merton” project, we’d requested theses probes be planted around various parts of the city, to gain a better knowledge of the ongoing aftereffects of “Dumant’s Destruction”. One of the Mage-Adepts retrieved one from the shoreline yesterday for preliminary calibration purposes, and, well…” Faelynn looks nervous to even think the next part, but eventually whispers to Romero in hushed tones. “…it had been damaged. And not incidentally, either…the devices were expertly opened, the cables stripped, and then the probe resealed. By…someone who knew what they were doing…”
Romero knows Faelynn well enough to hear the part the Elf won’t say: We are starting to think the Inventor may have sabotaged his end of the deal on purpose. We don’t want to rock the boat by directly accusing him. But, if you…
Faelynn watches the understanding wash over his friend’s face, and apologetically adds, “Look, all I’m…we’re…asking is for you to ask him a straight question about it! You know how this works…he gives any of us from the University the run around, afraid we’re simply there to steal his concepts…but you!” The Elf’s cloying grin washes over his face, and he bends down to grasp the Harengon by the paws. “He likes you! It can’t be denied!”
“Please?” Faelynn implores. “Tell you what…do this…next round at the Tavern is on me!”
From their shared place at the front of the cart, Kezza listens eagerly to everything Iskra has to say. The Gnoll can tell her friend is secretly sad about something…but, as soon as Kezza takes note of Iskra watching them, they give a great big belly laugh, and the moment is gone. “Tell ‘im!” Kezza goads playfully in regards to Russett, pressing the cart harder onwards. “The ol’ Book-Bird needs a bit o’ jolt that ain’t just coming out of read-pages!”
Kezza watches Iskra playfully bicker with her father, a small, prideful smile upon their face the whole while. It’s clear the Leonin is quietly delighted at the whip-smart young lady Iskra has grown into. Taking care to be respectful of Thyrom, Kezza nods back to the Gnoll at talk of tonight’s party. “Aye! Scavenge crew on the beaches a few days back found a dozen crates from an old merchant craft washed ter’ shore: four full boxes o’ salted meats, four full boxes o’ salted fish, four boxes o’ assorted spirits, an’ some of em’, m’lady,” Kezza winks over to the Gnoll. “Just so happen to be that Mulberry wine you liked so much!”
Kezza laughs infectiously as the trio pull the cart into the middle of the open market. Secretively, they add to the tale, “…see, the City Guard told the scavenge crew to turn the find over, for, ya’ know, “the good of Merton!” “ Kezza snorts derisively, and helps Iskra prop the wagon next to a ready and waiting merchandise stand. “…Scavenge crew told em’ back, “Thanks, but we’ll distribute it among ourselves, before letting the Guard get the first an’ best this time!” Thus,” the Leonin’s grin is ear to ear this time. “…party in the Tangle! You already both have V.I.P. invitations, curtesy of myself! Tonight, after the sun goes down in the market…”
At talk of the market fee, Kezza suddenly thinks twice, and then waves dismissively at the Gnoll. “Yeah…know what, on second though, forget it with the fee. Never could say no to you, could I? Frankly, the artist’s market’s just lucky to have you two here…an’ you need it more than we do!” Grinning playfully at Iskra, they add, “Tell you what…save me one of your art pieces, to hang up in my storefront! We can call it good and settled. Oh, and here,” the Leonin adds, taking a small vial from out of their apron and quickly tossing it into Iskra’s hands. “Catch! It’s not Mulberry wine, buts its better for you, in a pinch! See,” the Leonin adds defensively as Thyrom rolls his eyes. “Not just a bad influence on your girl, “dad”!”. Afterwards, Kezza departs with a smile and a wave…
"Thanks for your help hon, be seein' you later on? Maybe at the party?" Wink.
Their wares are arranged in categories, starting with useful household items and replacements on one end, then a small supply of protective gear (Iskra is wearing more than the stock they are selling), followed by decorative items ranging from the most popular deities (and some more obscure, but still legally worshipped), symbols of good fortune, replicas of old coins with a hole through them, to just outright jewelery crafted from semi-precious metals (no gold here).
With years of practice, items of more value (or easier to snatch) are closer to the sellers, with cheaper or bulkier pieces resting by the front of the stall. Even a gnoll is not enough to deter thieves in this town, not when they can simply melt into the crowd.
In dwarvish she asks her dad, "Do you want to take first shift and I keep an eye out for thieves? Look, I may have thrown it a bit strong, but that thief isn't coming back to our stall today, mark my words! Okay, fine, I'll take first shift."
As a finish she grabs the wooden platform from the bottom of the cart that everything was stacked on top of, flipping it to reveal a sign, the carved letters painted in with dark brown:
"METAL ART & PRACTICALS
Crafted with dwarven precision,
tested for gnoll endurance"
"Look, I'm telling you, if they're going to whinge about me, at least we can get some promotion out of it." With that she stands herself behind the stall, trying her best to not loom above people and wearing a wide smile, lips together to conceal the teeth, the dwarf sat on a chair to the side, arms crossed and seemingly asleep with an aerodynamic blackjack hanging casually off one wrist.
"Come one, come all, metal works wrought in traditional Dwarvish ways all the way fra' North Uldari! No impurities to make ta' pots crack under heat, no cheap modern metals tha' will leave green marks on your skin! We're only 'ere a week and when we're out, we're out!" She clasps her hands (good way to hide claws), eyes nearly completely closed with the broad smile as the peanut gallery begins to fill. Sure, come look at the brutish gnoll, don't forget to tell as many others about her and hey look, that's a nice pot to replace the one little Jaiff broke last week, Dwarven make you say.
Geth, roll 2d20k1-1 for Performance
"Good day, sirs, I thank--" Arknor's introduction is cut off by a sudden spasm of coughing, hard enough to make his eyes water and Rune flap her wings irritably. This damned surface air...
Geth roll 1d20+4 for Insight
Geth roll 1d20+2 for Persuasion
His curiosity gives way to a smile as Faelynn dramatically grabs his hands. "Oh Fae," he pretends to swoon, "I though this day would never come! Yes! A thousand beers, yes!"
Romero laughs as he stuffs the probe into his backpack. "No worries, my friend. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."
After a few more minutes of conversation, Romero says his goodbyes to Faelynn, and turns toward the twisting streets that lead to the City Center. Okay. A quick stop to talk to the Inventor, then I should still have time to make it over to Iskra's stall before they close up for the day.
Geth, roll 1d20+2 for Survival Check
Arknor makes a small bow, making eye contact with the orc who appeared to be in the lead as he casts Message. "Sir. I am expected at the Hajat Ce'kilne." Arknor hoped that this guard would be familiar with the training yard and school where he was to meet Gurran Ensho, and gain some credibility by referring to a place in common. I believe that Ser Ensho would prefer I arrive . . . without spectacle."
Iskra’s salesmanship draws the crowds! True, she can tell from a few slack jaws some are only there to gawk…but those are gladly few and in between, and none hold a candle to the rude little Halfling from earlier. Soon enough, they’re not just watching the Gnoll: they’re looking over the pots…the pans...the artwork. A Hill Dwarf local, with tears in his eyes and tales of his mother’s cooking, purchases a full set of cookware, then another for his brother. A holy woman, hidden beneath layers of robes, gently asks to buy the All-Mother symbol (Thyrom should be happy to see that one go…he was afraid it might bring trouble). A trio of Gnome children try on earrings amongst each other, giggling delightedly as they inspect their reflections from an iron shield.
Another hour passes. As Thyrom catches a quick nap, the morning crowd comes and goes through the Art Market. Business remains steady, if not as exciting as those first fifteen minutes after opening. Iskra is just starting to get restless, when she notices a burly looking group, headed straight across the marketplace and making a beeline in this direction. It seems to be a High Elf (from the University or the City Guard, Iskra isn’t sure) standing at the head of a small squad of Warforged. As the Elf approaches, the robots all march up in unison in front of Iskra’s cart, and come to a sudden and synchronized halt in the middle of the street.
The cold looking Elf reads the hand painted sign carefully. He nods once at Iskra, nose slightly upturned (although the Gnoll isn’t sure if it’s because of her, or because his face always looks like that). He begins to inspect the merchandise: banging pots loudly against each other, biting into the coins (why do they always do that?), looking over the iron shield with bemusement. Apparently satisfied, he turns and snaps in the general direction of the Warforged, then walks over to Thyrom.
“We’ll take it,” The Elf announces to Iskra’s father. “All of it. Given the quantity and size of the pieces, I’d estimate you have…what, half a ton here? Maybe a bit less? Maybe a bit more? So yes, we’ll buy out your full inventory.”
“...at 350gp,” he quickly adds, withdrawing a hefty looking satchel from behind his back, and holding it expectantly in from of Thyrom.
Iskra: You’ve just found a buyer for every single item you brought to sell! And at a decent enough price (As Thyrom had explained on the trip down, to break even and just get through the winters would cost them about 300gp, if they kept their belts tight and nothing happened). But Iskra also knows what metal costs, and she knows the Elf is low-balling the both of you. You could easily get 400-450gp for this pile if you sold it patiently through the week
So! Do you choose to take the offer, and complete your first task? Or, do you wish to press your luck (maybe even offending enough to spoil the deal), and talk the Elf into upping the price? If so, let’s call it a History Check to explain to him the long term stability of the metals market
Iskra twitches an ear at the offered price; it's not bad, but also, not great, far from papa Dholeg's dream of expanding the smithy, even if you take into account wares already sold. She considers what Kezza had told her in the past and cups her paws, lowering her body and smiling toothlessly, "You must f'rgive my master, t'has been an exhausting day. Yer offer is generous, fer sure, but with the cost of metals risin' these days, I'm afraid that barely covers dat, let alone the work."
She spreads her arms wide, as if encompassing their wares, "'m sure you can appreciate both the quality of work and purity of the metals on display..." She lists some metal costs from memory, all exaggerated to what she hopes is a believable degree, then lets her words trail off, letting the elf draw his own conclusions.
Geth, roll 1d20+4 for History
Romero knows this city like the back of his hand. The ever changing shape of the market, the unspoken moods of the alleyways, the sights and schedules of the people…
The class divide is stark, and everyone knows it. Most places are safe enough come the daylight, but after the sun goes down, it can be a crap shoot in most districts whether you’d find a friendly hand or a waiting knife during your passage. No, during the day, you’re mostly looking at cut-purses, pickpockets…maybe the occasional grand larceny, just to keep the City Watch on their toes.
The Harengon himself feels a tug at his purse-strings on his way off of the bridge, and has to catch the hand of a young novice criminal attempting to filch some gold. Romero criticizes their technique firmly, and scoldingly demands that they to return home to their family.
It’s short walk from the docks to City Center if unimpeded, but today the streets are anything but. Wanderers and refugees fill the roads heavily this morning: a lot of new faces to remember. Romero takes them in, one-by-one. Some look like they’re hiding from someone, some use the anonymity of the crowds to forget themselves. Many just look hungry, scared, and desperate.
A Human Noble, walking in a garish velvet robe (Romero recognizes him as one of the old money from back when the place first became a city), and being carried within a entourage of heavily armored personal guards, belligerently demands the crowd to form a path for him. Eyes keen as ever, the Harengon gives the Noble and his crew a wide berth and a bow as they pass…the whole time, trying to suppress his urge to laugh. Along the Noble’s demanded path, Romero finds five feet away…ten feet away…fifteen feet away, tiny jewels, instantly recognizable from the Noble’s velvet robe. Someone should tell the gentleman his robe has been torn Romero thinks pleasantly to himself, pocketing the jewels…
Suddenly, the Harengon gets that feeling. His ears twitch involuntarily, and the hairs on the back of his neck are bristling. Being watched, he thinks. Standing up warily, Romero darts his eyes quickly about the crowds, seeing whose eyes were upon him at this moment.
It takes him a few seconds, but he finds her: a holy woman, wrapped in layers of cloth, watching him with suspicion.
The second Romero and the woman make eye contact, she turns, attempting to disappear into the crowd. Wait, the Harengon thinks to himself, was that…?
Romero: You’re pretty sure the woman who was just watching you is one of the Sisters of Mercy. She’s making a break for it! Acrobatics Check to try to run her down in the crowd; Perception Check to keep track of her in the sea of people
Geth, roll 1d20+5 for Acrobatics Check
Geth, roll 1d20+4 for Perception Check
Geth, roll 1d6 for Psi-Bolstered Acrobatics
If anything, the City Guard look even more on-edge as the Dwarf begins to speak (in between his coughing fits). They stupidly watch Arknor’s plainly stated request with mutual blank expressions, and look around to each other at a loss on what to do next. Though the Deep Dwarf speaks highly-fluent common, these fools act as though they hadn’t heard a single word! Each begins to place a hand to their weapon, and the Captain steps forward holding his hilt, about to say something aggressive, when he feels the voice speak up inside his mind…
At first, the Orc looks confused at what he’s hearing…then intrigued,…and then, absolutely furious. “Ser Ensho?!?” He spits in fury, ignoring the trail of drool which catches his lower-right tooth and bobs in front of his chest as he glares down at the Dwarf.
The City Guard looks around at each other, not sure what to make of the Captain’s sudden exclamation. Hesitantly, Chauncey steps forward, raising a nervous hand. “Say, errhm, Cap’n? Ain’t “Ser Ensho” yer’ brother?”
The Captain turns towards Chauncey, white-hot-hatred in his eyes. The rest of the Guard, each familiar with this particular mood, all find reasons to stare at their boots, or different empty corners of the room. Chauncey (as it slowly dawns on him that he’s just stepped in it) begins to turn a sickly white color right before Arknor’s eyes.
The Captain stares at Chauncey as through trying to hate him to death for fully three seconds…takes a deep, deep breath…and turns back to Arknor, fingers pressed before himself in something between an apology and a threat, and with a suspiciously sweet tone. “Mister Dwarf…any guest of my br…Ser Ensho’s…is a guest of mine!” Clipping his heels together, he turns back to his guards, with a decidedly different attitude. “Sensitive package, my boys. Need to get this one to the Embassy, an’ keep all eyes off ‘im. Last thing the City needs is…” The Captain tries to find the proper words or tone, but he lands roughly on, “..more unwelcome visitors…”
The City Guard quickly move to assemble around Arknor, taking care to pull their shields and attempt to fully obscure the Dwarf in as thorough a manner as they can. Arknor, ever the professional, tries to brush off his building irritation. Well, he thinks, …on the “bright-side”, looks like I’ll eventually get what I need out of this. Even if I’m walking into Hajat Ce’kilne as a “Guarded Prisoner” instead of an “Honored Guest”…
Arknor: Info from your Insight Roll of a 20:
Orc #1 and Man #1- Cowards, both. They’re strong now with their walls and swords and armor and their men-in-arms, but they’d both fold like origami the second an actual threat presented itself
Orc #2- Competent and can swing an axe, but ultimately a gentle soul. Doesn’t want to be in the City Guard at all. Probably a family man, from the looks of it
Man #2- Arknor thinks this man might be an actual, legitimate psychopath. Probably only signed up to the Guard to hurt people. Likely very dangerous
Chauncey- Chauncey is Chauncey
Arknor is being perp-walked through the Fortress, down to City Center in between six guards. You’re not under arrest!…officially, that is, but these guys aren’t letting you leave their sight, either!
A lot of options here, but a few that come immediately to mind would be: find out further intimate details about the City Guards personal lives/the City (Investigation); sow dissent and discord among the City Guard with what you can already gleam of their personalities (Advantaged Persuasion); try to steal something from someone inside the cluster on the walk (Sleight of Hand); press the point on Ser Ensho’s little brother, because you like to poke the bear (Insight)…
Arknor addresses the lead orc again while he holds his ground in the doorway and lets his eyes adjust to the sudden bright light. "A moment, if you please. I envy you this," His hand rises towards the sky, palm upward. "But I am unaccustomed to it. Thank you -- Captain, is it? How may I address you?" He attempts to use the simple question and conversation to change the shape of the group while most of the guards still remain behind him. The orc has few options - he can ignore Arknor, or force the point of moving along immediately; or he can engage the Arknor's quiet questions, which would likely require allowing them to walk side by side, at the slower pace set by the squinting dwarf. Arknor was betting his curiosity would pull him into talking.
If he is able to converse with the orc:
Arknor considers his insights into the orc's position: a second son, overshadowed by the stature of his brother's prominence. But, perhaps, also a source of strength, ready to prove himself worthy. It was a risk to involve him. But against the foe poised against the Underdark and Surface alike, many allies would be needed. Many second sons would need to prove their worth.
"It is fortunate we met. You are a defender of the city, and my business here concerns its safety. I believe you should join our conversation, and hear what news I bring." Arknor continued walking calmly, eyes closed beneath the cowl of his hood as he slips into Rune's vision to note his path and observe the orc's reaction.
"The time is acceptable. Neither of us wish to engage in behavior that adds extra risk." Their head tilts slightly. "However, I would request that we negotiate further on the price. This is a high amount of gold, and I was able to purchase it for less in the last town. It would be more logical for you to secure sale here rather than risk transporting it to your next location in hopes of a sale there."
Geth, roll 1d20+6 for Persuasion
Geth, roll 1d20+3 for Insight
At first irritated that the Gnoll is interrupting his discussion, the High Elf eventually takes a notebook from his pocket, turning himself fully to face Iskra. Flipping to a page somewhere near the back, he seems to be double-checking some of Iskra’s numbers against numbers of his own. His face looks…impressed. Irritated! But impressed.
“Hmmph,” the Elf finally says, whipping the notebook shut and looking up at the Gnoll. “Well, you’re not wrong. I suppose I could go as high, as say…400gp. But!” he follows, shooting up a chiding finger. “Not a copper more!” To himself, he mutters, “…city’s pocketbook is tight enough as it is!” Withdrawing the coins from the bag, he begins to stack them on the counter in front of Thyrom and Iskra.
400! With what we sold earlier, that brings us up to 430gp! A princely sum indeed for a couple hours work! Iskra gets a sidelong glance at her father, and sees the Dwarf practically beaming from beneath his beard. Iskra’s heart swells with pride. She loved to make her father happy…plus, whenever such a mood caught him, he had a tendency to spoil Iskra, which she certainly didn’t mind!…
As Iskra and Thyrom count out the money with the Elf, the Warforged withdraw large, canvas bags from compartments within their backs, and begin to aggressively shove as much inventory as they can inside. The Gnoll watches somewhat sadly as the artwork gets roughly tossed in with the dinnerware. The Elf, perhaps seeing something on Iskra’s face, says (almost…apologetically?), “Every bit of this is going to the “Save Merton” project. Your shop’s metals will be melted down and transfigured into the alloys which will be the backbone of this city.” The High Elf gives a slight, forced smile. “You should both be very proud!”
The Warforged are beginning to run out of room in their bags. The Elf and Thyrom exchange words, and it looks like they’re agreeing on him leaving and returning with an extra cart to move all this. Thyrom catches eyes with his daughter, and without a word (just a grunt and a cheeky wink) she knows what he’s thinking: You did well today, lass. I’ll wrap up here…you go get a look about the city as you were hoping, maybe see those friends o’ yours. Meet back this evening for Kezza’s party in the Tangle. Taking one last look around to make sure everything is settled here, Iskra grins at her father, and turns towards the city…
Iskra: Persuasion if you were hoping to go shopping for something particular in the market; Perception to look around the city with the intention of finding Romero or Russett; Survival to look around the city with no particular goal in mind; if you had something else in mind for this time, let me know!
The chase is on!
Pictured- Rough visual reference of the South Merton Fortress. Note the size, the dangerous heights, and the massive hanging plants
As Romero darts/pushes/rolls beneath the crowd, the robed woman up ahead turns back and sees he’s in pursuit. Without wasting a second, she grabs a nearby fruit cart, and flips it into the middle of the street, causing cries of annoyance and panic as people slip on oranges and bananas en masse. Then, she’s off like a dart.
Romero follows as best he can, climbing over fallen bodies and doing his best to keep his head bobbing above the crowd. He follows her up one block…down another…for a moment, the Harengon thinks he’s lost her around a corner. Then, he looks up and sees a figure on the side of the Fortress walls, scaling hanging vines up to the next level with a quickness Romero didn’t think humans were capable of.
Clever trick, Romero considers appreciatively. But I know the ins and outs of these Fortress walls better than nearly anyone in the city! Romero’s up a vine the next second, arms going one after the other like synchronized clockwork.
He pulls himself up and sees the woman sprinting around the perimeter of the fortress wall, running with expert finesse along the narrow railing. Wow, she’s pretty good, the Harengon admits to himself. Unfortunate for her, I’ve got a little something she doesn’t…, and as Romero breaks into a run after her, he closes his eyes for a brief instant, and lets the psionic energy flow into his muscles, gaining a burst of unreal speed! Arms back and head low to cut down on drag, the Harengon flies like a bullet towards the robed woman!
Sensing something amiss, his target twists her head just slightly and casts her gaze back, making eye contact once more with Romero. Something about those eyes…and then, she’s smiling? But why would she be…
Slowly…impossibly…the running woman, once nearly in his grasp, begins to pick up an unreal speed of her own, and gradually…then quickly…she pulls away from Romero, a white blur which disappears up and around the perimeter, eventually out of sight.
Romero follows, huffing, and now getting angry. That’s impossible, he fumes quietly to himself, using the anger to fuel his run. No human has ever beaten me in a foot race. Some kind of…witch, maybe?
Pulling around the back end of the Fortress, the Harengon can see City Center and the Dumant Monument down below, amidst the hustle and bustle of the market, and alongside the new sight of the huge spiderlike cage the Inventor is installing in the center of the city. But Romero isn’t looking for any of that now: his eyes dart out along the roofs and the crowds below, trying to find that strange woman…
“You did very well!” a voice rings out sweetly from a nearby rooftop. Romero whips his head around, looks up and over: there she is, on a rooftop above him, that is easily a thirty foot jump from here. With one look, he can tell: that jump is impossible, too. He begins to consider that the Sisters of Mercy reputation has been very well earned…
The woman smiles with kindness, legs dangling from the side of the roof and kicking playfully. “Haven’t had such a workout in awhile!” she follows up politely. Then, leaning in with curiosity towards Romero, she asks, “Have you always had it, then? The “gift”?”
Romero: Persuasion or Deception to talk the woman into giving up information about herself or her sisters; Perception or Insight to try to figure out what her “deal” is; Arcana or Religion to focus on the “how the hell did she do that” nature of your encounter; Investigation to see if there’s any pathways up here on the roof by which you can cut her off. You’re unable to physically reach her right now from your current location, but you’re under no obligation to engage her in a conversation, either
She does feel sad that their work is getting melted down... however, everything in a smithy is made with purpose, and if the purpose is to be material, well, who is she to argue. Everything really precious to her she is already wearing, the metal pieces crafted by both herself and her other dad.
Getting an okay from Thyrom she practically bolts down the market, spooking a number of people in the process, her mind racing with possibilities. Kezza? No, no, she'll see them at the party. Drums is Drums, he'll show up when people least expect (or want) him. Romero would work, but she only now realises she doesn't actually know where he's currently employed. Something to do with reinforcing foundations? Below ground then?
She shakes her head. Well. She knows where Russet is almost certain to be, the bird practically lives at the library. She rubs the earrings on one of her ears absentmindedly... he might also be able to help answer some questions she didn't have the courage to put into letters.
Geth, roll 1d20+5 for Find the Birdy
((OOC: It looks like Romero has just gotten himself into some intrigue, don't want to impose on that! ))
“Hey…hey!” The Captain shouts, reaching a futile arm out to grab the bird but too late to stop it from taking wing. “You cheeky little wizard! City Guard ain’t gonna be responsible if yer’ bird get eaten by some grubby tourist!”
The group, still mostly confused by the status of their current “guest”, stop abruptly in place to let the Dwarf soak up his first rain and sun in years from the passage doorway. Most awkwardly shuffle their feet, a few produce rolled cigarettes from pockets and begin to smoke. Chauncey, curiously watching the small creature’s hand rise to meet the rain, mimics the motion, looking up expectantly. He sniffs his hand, disappointed.
Arms crossed and still looking furious, the Captain answers without looking at the Dwarf, “Captain Kogan Enshoo, First Battalion, Merton City Guard.” The Orc is clearly hoping to move along as quickly as possible with as little talking as necessary, but a glance over at the Deep Dwarf tells him it’s a futile effort. With a resigned sigh, he pushes aside one of the orcs to siddle up directly next to Arknor. “I’ll watch this one personal,” he informs his companion. “Wizards are wily. Now, can we please,” his booming voices addresses everyone and no one. “Get moving?! Don't need ta' tell ya, higher priority tasks need being looked after…ain’t got all damn day ter’ babysit!” Here, he sends a glare Chauncey's way, who has begun to whistle tunelessly.
“Heh…join a conversation at the Embassy…wouldn’t that be rich. Ya know, I didn’t know better, I’d say you were tryin’ ter butter me up, friend. But right, I’ll bite…” As the City Guard and the Deep Dwarf emerge onto the top of the North Fortress and heads towards a set of nearby stairs, Captain Kogan wearily inquires, “What’s yer name, Dwarf? And what’s such a threat ter’ Merton that it dragged up one o’ you Deep-Dwellers for the first time in fifteen years?…”
What Rune Sees:
- Your group is currently descending a stairway which leads towards the Marketplace
- The center of the City (within the Marketplace) has scholarly men working on a strange, giant, crab-like contraption
- Across the way at the South Fortress, a Harengon is chasing a woman in a white robe in a footrace for the ages
- Captain Kogan's face says that he doesn’t trust the Dwarf one bit; but, a look crossed his face which suggested that he was considering such an affront might anger his brother, so he’s likely torn
Arknor: Deception if you choose to lie to Kogan about the coming threat; Intimidation if you want to tell him the truth, right now; Performance to stall for time by talking at great length about nothing at all until you reach your destination. If you have other ideas for a play here, I’m all ears!
What Echo Notices:
- That “bridgade of robots” comment was oddly specific. Did this goblin and her friend find some large nearby source of The Null used to power Warforged? Is that where their own “Ooze” came from?
- It wouldn’t be at all worth it for them to try to smuggle this stuff out from the docks; it would get discovered in a customs search short order. They’re trying to get rid of it right now
-...and Echo can see why. Hidden beneath the goblin’s robes along the right arm, he can makes out a large patch of odd “skin”: coarse hair sticking out from between dry red-scales. It’s been roughly cut/picked at, apparently to no avail
- A quick glance at the goblin woman’s friend standing patient nearby reveals that she never raises her head above her neck, and her face remains shadowed beneath the hood. From around the chin, several incongruous, mollusk-like appendages are poking out…
The goblin notices Echo’s noticing, and pulls her robe up further over her arm with a dark chuckle. “Heh, heh, heh…alrite’, so ya’ got me! Tin an’ me heard bout’ a big score…were hoping ta’ snag enough ta’ make a bit o’ “Mermaid’s Milk”, maybe some “Soul Fire” if we could get ahold o’ the goods. Course, when we were spoonin’ it out from the barrel, there were an accident…anyway. Tin an’ I are hopin’ ta’ make at least enough fer’ a ride outta this hole, fore’ we get strung up as “Primordials” an terned into jackets!”
Licking her lips and looking more nervous by the second, the goblin woman’s eyes dart about the crowd once more to make sure there aren’t being listened to. “Ye’ find us in the Tangle tonight…ask fer “Rin an’ Tin”…we’d be willing to part with it fer’ twenty, an’ call it doing each other a favor! Can’t go below that, an’ ye’ ain’t gonna get a better deal…fore that nutty professor shoots the ground full of the shit!” With a farewell nod, Rin draws her cloak over her head and disappears with Tin into the crowd, leaving the Warforged to process what he’d just heard
A barrel…a barrel’s worth of The Null!
Echo is already moving through the crowd, less concerned about being seen and more panicked about what he’d just heard. Is this Inventor mad? That amount of Null is incredibly unsafe taken together…the whole of this city is in grave peril! Thinking quickly, Echo remembers overhearing that the Inventor was in City Center today, working on some “huge project”…
Echo: Insight to attempt to deduce what the Inventor could be doing with a weapon-grade amount of Ooze; Acrobatics Check to get yourself to City Center ASAP!
As the Goblins retreat, Echo started moving quickly. If they had time, they would analyze the need for a barrel's worth of The Null. There could be numerous applications, some scientific, some less so. The amount of variables involved, however, was be lengthy and Echo would need time and focus to be able to attempt to parse out potential intention scenarios.
The pressing need of City safety, however, left them no time to secure a proposed usage. If the Inventory was working on a huge project and that project involved The Null in that quantity, there was a high probability of danger to the immediate surroundings and likely the entire city.
Instead, Echo needed to focus on speed and avoiding others as he rushes to the city center.
Geth, roll 1d20+3 for Acrobatics
"There were many goats, in gilded times - but hard years and fast spiders, as they say. It would take a small fortune to cover a man in butter at home. I have seen it but twice. Cherish your golden lotion, Captain. Dwarves go their entire lives unlathered in the many miles beneath your boots."
He offers the captain his hand. "Arknor Ironmantle."
"The business we have to discuss should wait until there are fewer ears about. Please be patient just a bit longer."
Geth roll 1d20 for Charisma if needed
Not sure that I'm really doing anything but asking him to wait, for good reason.