Let's get away from the docks,Nat suggests. Some nice little tavern on some quiet street, nowhere anyone would be looking for us. As they get further from where they were, he will keep an eye out for a tavern where they can rest and talk through their next steps.
(Nat is a newcomer to the city, and doesn't really know much. What are our options? As they are moving away from the docks, what kind of area are they moving through? What can they see?)
Nat looks around this ill-omened city of doom, searching for any place where he might hide and pretend, just for a moment, that he hadn't been stupid enough to come here:
It takes awhile. The party enters one tavern but it's full of city watch so they leave but eventually mud-city far from the docks they find a seedy enough place that they're presence isn't overly scrutinized. Shuffling in those with injuries get a look but nothing pressing. A dwarven barmaid comes over to the table and asks what the party will have but doesn't linger after orders to chitchat. The tarven is a mix if races but a distinct lack of humans makes the place standout. It's a single story with low windows looking out into the street and a large hearth at tgr center that is unlit. There's half a dozen tables but only four are occupied by different groups of elven, dwarvish, and wee-folk.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
"See, I knew you could find the place" Drake would say to Nat before coughing into his hand. As he sits down at the table, he would look to his companions. "Well what the hell was that?" He would grumble quietly to the others.
Nat orders an ale for himself, but is too beat to flirt with the barmaid.
A shitshow, that's what that was, he answers, keeping his voice low but unable to keep the exasperation and contempt hidden. An embarrassment. "Oh we're so powerful, look at our cool special cloaks, we're the real power in this city, blah blah blah..." And what happened to them? Slaughtered in their own home base, in less time than it takes to tell a decent joke. They are a joke. Or were. Thank the Gods I never actually joined.
Retiog sits nursing his wounds. He snorts at the triton's observations. "There had to be much in-fighting to have that level of infiltration." Turning to Duc, he adds, "I would not want to be seen with that cloak any time soon... There seemed to be many drow with them. I wonder if it is the same group that we ran into below that mountain?"
The dwarven woman returns with the party's orders. It's nothing special. A decent mixed of dwarven ale, a savory pie, and a mash of vegetables with a gray tint. It smells good but looks a little haphazardly made. It's hot and seems to be the standard meal that liters the tables of the other patrons in varying degrees of size.
The tavern is quiet for the most part. People are talking but keeping their voices low. It's out of politeness or privacy the party doesn't know.
OOC: what's the plan?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
"It seemed well orchestrated, and we don't know anything about the other group, were they helped by traitors to the order, infiltrators and just capitalising on poor defenses of a rival. Either way, we are done with the order, I see no reason to stick around, I'm happy to have a meal with you all but then I guess we can all go our separate ways again, I'll be throwing the cloak on the first drain I walk past and not looking back. I advise you all to do the same." Duc then starts tucking into her meal ravenously hungry.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Drake would eat his meal in silence... not sure what to do next. "We... could start our own gang" The kobold would say to the group still looking down at his plate of food.
Nat grins at Drake's suggestion. We could hardly do worse, I suppose. But he shakes his head. I don't know. I wanted more than just to be a petty criminal on the streets. I guess I thought I had the chance at that.
He pauses, takes a long drink, and sets the tankard down.
But yeah, I think we should leave town, together or separately. I don't know if anyone's looking for it, but I don't want to bet my life that they're not. Hells, that's a depressing thought. Hey, you know what? We lived. Here's to us. He raises his tankard, somewhat half-heartedly, for a toast.
As the party laments over what could or should have been a little boy wanders in the tarven. He looks around before spotting them and darts up to the table with a rolled piece of parchment. Placing it quickly the small boy darts away back into the street. The parchment sits beside Duc's elbow.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Without acknowledging the boy Duc takes the parchment and before unrolling it looks at each of the others "My money is on Gimble, nobody else would care, if that is the right word."She opens the parchment and reads the contents to herself.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
We're nothing to him, says Nat. Poor Gimble. Having to escort us around all day, pretend to be inducting us, all the while knowing we would be dead before midnight. It must have been so boring for the poor fellow. Part of me really wants to find him and express my sympathies. But the other half doesn't give a damn, and so far, that half's winning.
"The Order has fallen. Stay away. Meet me at the place we hired horses".... In common is talks about autumn vegetable harvest are bad and villages outside the city might starve come winter.
Nat's Stealth: 28
Duc's Stealth 12
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
Stealth 13
Nat and Drake make into a near by alley undetected but Duc and Retiog catch a few glances from the dock dwellers attempting to put out the fire.
Where's the party headed?
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Let's get away from the docks, Nat suggests. Some nice little tavern on some quiet street, nowhere anyone would be looking for us. As they get further from where they were, he will keep an eye out for a tavern where they can rest and talk through their next steps.
(Nat is a newcomer to the city, and doesn't really know much. What are our options? As they are moving away from the docks, what kind of area are they moving through? What can they see?)
Investigation check.
Drake would be able to help for advantage being more famailar with the city.
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Nat looks around this ill-omened city of doom, searching for any place where he might hide and pretend, just for a moment, that he hadn't been stupid enough to come here:
Investigation 16
It takes awhile. The party enters one tavern but it's full of city watch so they leave but eventually mud-city far from the docks they find a seedy enough place that they're presence isn't overly scrutinized. Shuffling in those with injuries get a look but nothing pressing. A dwarven barmaid comes over to the table and asks what the party will have but doesn't linger after orders to chitchat. The tarven is a mix if races but a distinct lack of humans makes the place standout. It's a single story with low windows looking out into the street and a large hearth at tgr center that is unlit. There's half a dozen tables but only four are occupied by different groups of elven, dwarvish, and wee-folk.
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
"See, I knew you could find the place" Drake would say to Nat before coughing into his hand. As he sits down at the table, he would look to his companions. "Well what the hell was that?" He would grumble quietly to the others.
Nat orders an ale for himself, but is too beat to flirt with the barmaid.
A shitshow, that's what that was, he answers, keeping his voice low but unable to keep the exasperation and contempt hidden. An embarrassment. "Oh we're so powerful, look at our cool special cloaks, we're the real power in this city, blah blah blah..." And what happened to them? Slaughtered in their own home base, in less time than it takes to tell a decent joke. They are a joke. Or were. Thank the Gods I never actually joined.
Retiog sits nursing his wounds. He snorts at the triton's observations. "There had to be much in-fighting to have that level of infiltration." Turning to Duc, he adds, "I would not want to be seen with that cloak any time soon... There seemed to be many drow with them. I wonder if it is the same group that we ran into below that mountain?"
The dwarven woman returns with the party's orders. It's nothing special. A decent mixed of dwarven ale, a savory pie, and a mash of vegetables with a gray tint. It smells good but looks a little haphazardly made. It's hot and seems to be the standard meal that liters the tables of the other patrons in varying degrees of size.
The tavern is quiet for the most part. People are talking but keeping their voices low. It's out of politeness or privacy the party doesn't know.
OOC: what's the plan?
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
"It seemed well orchestrated, and we don't know anything about the other group, were they helped by traitors to the order, infiltrators and just capitalising on poor defenses of a rival. Either way, we are done with the order, I see no reason to stick around, I'm happy to have a meal with you all but then I guess we can all go our separate ways again, I'll be throwing the cloak on the first drain I walk past and not looking back. I advise you all to do the same." Duc then starts tucking into her meal ravenously hungry.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
Drake would eat his meal in silence... not sure what to do next. "We... could start our own gang" The kobold would say to the group still looking down at his plate of food.
Nat grins at Drake's suggestion. We could hardly do worse, I suppose. But he shakes his head. I don't know. I wanted more than just to be a petty criminal on the streets. I guess I thought I had the chance at that.
He pauses, takes a long drink, and sets the tankard down.
But yeah, I think we should leave town, together or separately. I don't know if anyone's looking for it, but I don't want to bet my life that they're not. Hells, that's a depressing thought. Hey, you know what? We lived. Here's to us. He raises his tankard, somewhat half-heartedly, for a toast.
As the party laments over what could or should have been a little boy wanders in the tarven. He looks around before spotting them and darts up to the table with a rolled piece of parchment. Placing it quickly the small boy darts away back into the street. The parchment sits beside Duc's elbow.
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.
Without acknowledging the boy Duc takes the parchment and before unrolling it looks at each of the others "My money is on Gimble, nobody else would care, if that is the right word." She opens the parchment and reads the contents to herself.
Vhon - Level 2 Warlock - What shall become of the Drunken Sailor?
Lyreis - Level 6 Elf Fighter - Eberron: Omega
DM - Dzenda: The Cracks - DM - Dzenda: Whispered Tales
"What does it say? Why did that bastard abandon us!?" Drake would growl as his eyes flicker with rage.
We're nothing to him, says Nat. Poor Gimble. Having to escort us around all day, pretend to be inducting us, all the while knowing we would be dead before midnight. It must have been so boring for the poor fellow. Part of me really wants to find him and express my sympathies. But the other half doesn't give a damn, and so far, that half's winning.
The note is written hastily in Thieve!s Cant.
"The Order has fallen. Stay away. Meet me at the place we hired horses".... In common is talks about autumn vegetable harvest are bad and villages outside the city might starve come winter.
Sometimes a Nat 1 tells a better story than a Nat 20 ever could.