Each of you has received a summons, embossed with the Royal Seal of House Nackle, imploring you to come to the Diplomat’s Hearth at the heart of Valance’s administrative district. You come from all over, some nearer than others but all converging on the district at roughly the same time. As you walk through the heart of the capital’s seat of power, you all notice the large, gleaming, new skyscrapers that announce the district as a symbol of Languedoc’s power and technological dominance to all visiting diplomats. The steel-frame construction that made these buildings possible is a secret that lies only with the clerics of the Church of the Engineer, and so you, like the population of Languedoc and its many visitors, perhaps view them with a mix of wonder and fear.
Its dusk now, near the appointed meeting time, and the Diplomat’s Hearth is easy enough to find, as it is one of the few older, pre-war buildings left in the district, its squat, mud-and-straw construction seems at odds with the rest of Valance. There are few people out now, some kobold and kenku-manned sanitation crews are cleaning refuse from the streets and spraying off coats of grime and industrial smoke from the buildings that wafted over from the adjacent Factory District. A few tourists are milling around the statue of Prince Kellen and the crew of the airship Brocc’s Folly, a massive bronze relief depicting Prince Kellen’s final stand against the Black Sorcerers of Granholm and commemorating the heroism of Kellen’s hand-picked officers, a motley assortment of all the kingdom’s races. In the years since the war’s end, these officers have become leading figures of Languedoc’s government and public life and are officially known as Heroes of the Realm. Those of you who live in the capital know that the dedication of this memorial over three years ago was King Brocc’s last public appearance.
The Diplomat’s Hearth itself is empty (which, for the time of day, is odd), save for three figures. Behind the bar is a young dwarven woman, who notices you come in with a start and seems very nervous, her gaze darting between you and the other two people in the room. On a small, makeshift stage, a handsome, very well-dressed tiefling is playing a rousing military march on his violin. The tiefling seems so caught up in the music he’s playing that he barely notices your presence. Finally, at a booth in the back is an old gnome, frowning heavily, his gray hair wildly askew across the top of his balding head, and with a magnificent big brush of a mustache across the top of his lip. As he sees you, he stands up on the seat of the booth and says in a deep commanding voice,
“Welcome, adventurers. Thank you for responding to our request so swiftly. Order yourself a drink, then join me and we can get started.”
As usual, Thalion Strongbow was early. He always moved quickly, on his feet or otherwise, and today was no exception. He had found it simple enough to find a cart heading into town to ride with - the driver was more than willing to let him on board when he realized he was the Strongbow of whom the countryfolk spoke with such high regard. Once within Valance's walls he went on foot, blending into the crowding masses with his hood drawn over his pointed ears. It wasn't long before he found the relative comfort (and lack of a crowd) that the Diplomat's Hearth had to offer.
As he entered he let the hood fall down, revealing his elvish features. He stood in sharp contrast to the brick and mortar of the building and particularly its inhabitants; a tall, rugged elf in weather-beaten leather and muddy boots was about as different in stature and appearance as the city-dwelling dwarves, humans and gnomes as one could get! Apart from perhaps the tiefling blissfully unaware of his presence. Despite the unfamiliarity of the big city the elf's face lit with joy as he entered the cozy room, the steadfast grimace that had been plastered on his face from the moment he saw those imposing buildings towering over him melting away in the warmth of the Diplomat's Hearth.
"Wench! A cider to get the taste of this city out of my mouth." He strides up to the bar and begins to search through his coinpouch when he notices the grizzled gnome trying to get his attention in the back of the tavern. He raises a brow and leans against the bar, arms crossed, rather more standoffish than one might expect in the presence of a such a gnome.
Grinhilla (Grin) arrives with that innocent wonder of a grandma walking through a tech store, everything is delightful and confusing at the same time. She titters a bit at the gnome with the deep voice and winces when the elf yells "Wench!". She does not order a drink, but approaches the gnome, nudging the elf in the back of the knee. "Jus' cause she be da one at de bar don't make she no wench, respec' da one's who dem serve you, les' de be da one's need served come time"
Alden makes his way through the city streets to his destination. This wasn't his first assignment but, it was the first one that seemed to have such importance to the Realm that he is a bit fidgety as he walks along. As he passes he has dressed in a way to not draw attention to himself. The hardest part of this is not to draw attention to his slightly longer, pointed ears and his eyes that appear to gaze deeper into a person than human's do but his experience has made this easier over the years.
As he passes the statues that draw attention for most he barely notices having seen them so many times. His focus is on his assignment.
As Alden makes his destination he will wait for a time from a place across the street watching and waiting, taking note of any who come and go from this establishment.As he waits his gaze is slightly distracted for a short moment on the results of a city based on technology only. His elven half seems sadden at the death of nature and magic as technology seems to take hold of the city. Alden refocuses and watches the Inn intently. Once he is satisfied, not seeing anything that would cause him pause, he will cross the street and enter the tavern.
Upon entering and hearing the words of the gnome, Alden will nod the the gnome, ordering nothing. Aden will take a sat at the gnomes table and wait.
The Order of the Oiled Cog had recieved the missive straight from House Nackle and would not be ignored. The Order had a long tradition of serving the House and the city of Vallance and they tapped one of their youngest and rising stars. Nevlav was honored to recieve the nod from his order and was thankful for the opportunity. He garnered hmself in his issued chain mail, slung his tower shield on his back and took up his pick and strode with purpose through the streets.
He briefly called greetings to the few he knew as he walked and saluted others. He gave the statues with a fist to his heart as he walked past, being sure to avoid the tourists else they think he be apart of the local actors dressing up for sketches again. He internally wished his King long life.
The Diplomat's Hearth was new to him but not altogether an unfamiliar set up. He stepped through the door and nodded to the nervous dwarf and takes in the people already inside, an elf and halfling at the bar and what looks to be a fine upstanding member of the city watch over by the older Gnome. That is obviously who he was meant to contact to he stepped lively over and stood before the table, "Nevlav Inimeg, Order of the Oiled Cog here to help sir." He regretted the tint of excitement in his voice, he was suppose to be professional not a fanboy.
OOC: DM does Nevlav recognize the gnome? History: 9
Yoric arrives and sees the others having arrived before him.
Yoric is a Halfling with short sandy hair that curls close against his head. His hairy feet stick out from a set of comfortable black pants, with a criss-cross pattern of brown and amber on his shirt. He has a dark brown cloak pushed back from his shoulders.
He sets his pack down at the bar and orders. “An ale, please,” he says to the dwarf woman with a small friendly smile. He then admires the skills of the Tiefling, if not the music.
To the gnome: “I’m not sure why you’d want me here, sir. These others look tough, or knowledgeable but I’m simply a musician, and it seems you have one.”
If the young Dwarven woman is offended by Thalion calling her wench, she doesn't show it. Almost robotically, she says "Yes, sir," and she begins to pull a draught from a keg from under the bar. Thalion, you can tell she seems very nervous and her hand is shaking as she pulls the pint of cider, leading to a cup with a large amount of foam on top, especially for a cider. As Thalion pulls out coinage, she looks for a moment at the old gnome, then back at you. "Oh no, sir. These are all on the house. The old gentleman is paying for everything." She then lowers her eyes quickly and moves to serve Yoric (Do the two of you want to give me a Perception check?)
Nevlav, with your background you recognize the older gnome instantly. He is Admiral Tevis "Flintlock" Garrock, the commander-in-chief of Languedoc's armed forces. He is generally beloved by the rank-and-file soldiers for his rapport with them Some of the more hawkish members of your order have suggested that he is too concerned with the lives of soldiers and overly cautious. Nevertheless, he is beloved for masterminding Languedoc's final victory in the War of Magick and Machines. He greets you warmly as soon as you stride up. "Ah, I'm glad ye made it, lad. I asked for you meself. Knew your parents. Fine folk they were. I feel better having you on this thing."
He actually comes around to each of you individually and introduces himself, not even shying away from either of Yoric or Grin, as many of the Languedoc gnomes you've both encountered have done. As he gets to Talion, he sizes the ranger up and his manner becomes a bit brusque. "I know who ye are, friend. An' I can assure ye, whatever you think of me or King Brocc, rest assured what Ah'm asking you all to do will only help save people's lives. Join us. Please."
He returns to his seat and takes a big swig of a dark porter. He looks at the tiefling hard, but the musician does not seem to notice, and continues scraping away on his violin. As Yorick speaks, the gnome chuckles.
"Yer too modest, son. You...each of ye have been selected for yer talents. The kingdom is at a knife's edge, and I fear that forces beyond even King Brocc's control are driving us towards another war that will costs thousands of lives." He looks at each of you, his big blue eyes watery. "Tell me. What do you know about what the factory workers are calling The Clockwork Plague?" (Someone want to do a Medicine check).
"I and the order have down what we can to help with supplies and the scant healing we have but it does not seem like the usual curatives are working," Nevlav states as he relaxes some when hearing and remembering upon his parents.
While you are at the bar, you notice the dwarven girl is intently watching the tiefling. Her eyes flicker to him every few seconds and quickly look away. Its not clear if the tiefling has even noticed.
To his surprise, Flintlock finds the halfling bard is very well informed about the disease. As Yorick relates to the rest of you, the disease was first uncovered four months ago at an armaments manufacturer in the Factory District of Valance when 2/3rds of the workforce became ill within days. From there it quickly spread to some of Valance's heaviest industries -- steel mills, oil refineries, ship-building yards most prominently. The disease progression is always the same -- it begins with a heavy fever, fatigue and soreness of limbs. Over the next several days, the symptoms escalate to hallucinations, paranoia, and eventually complete organ failure and death.
"We believed at first, the poor sanitary conditions of Valance's working classes were to blame. But then others became sick. The king's leading gunsmith, the owner of an airship factory, a high priest of the Church of the Engineer. The disease appeared, in isolated cases in other cities as well. Always in technological circles. Our clerics and doctors are stumped. They've tried everything, and they cannae find anything physically wrong with these folks. The gnome pauses and strokes his mustache, suddenly looking very old and tired. He drains his porter and motions for the girl to refill his pint.
"The censors have managed to keep exact numbers under wraps, but we reckon as of now, about 200 people have died, with another five hundred in the throes of the disease currently. We've closed the Factory District and quarantined the population there, but new cases are still appearing, throughout the city and the damned factory owners are pressuring us to reopen and bring in more labor from the country. Three days ago, King Brocc reported his first symptoms. Our finest doctors, scientists and clerics have managed to slow the progression of the disease, but he is getting sicker."
There are those...at the highest levels that believe this is a plot by Granholm's sorcerers to bring us to our knees, and want to retaliate, before our army is crippled. But I'm not ready to entertain war, yet. Not while there are other possibilities. That is where you come in, my friends. You have an opportunity here to do a service to your king and nation greater than even that of the Heroes of the Realm."He looks at you all expectantly, and, as if on cue, the tiefling launches into a soaring, inspirational melody underscoring his words.
Thalion merely smiles at the tiny halfling woman and shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe my common is a bit rusty, but I always thought women serving beer in taverns were called wenches", he says.
He almost had the cider to his lips when he realized how much head there was on the amber liquid; he had been quite distracted by the others arriving and their interactions with the old gnome who had gathered them there, but now the dwarf behind the bar had his full attention. He narrows his eyes and levels a hawk-like gaze at the woman, keeping a weather eye on her nervous mannerisms.
Perception: 12
Whether or not he noticed anything odd about the dwarf he turns toward the soldier-gnome as he approached. His demeanor changed little and he didn't exactly show the respect one perhaps should to such a decorated veteran. However, seeing the shine to his old eyes and hearing his serious tone of voice he straightens his back a bit and stops leaning on the bar. "You have my bow and blade both, if it means ending this plague."
The elf patiently waits for Yorick to finish explaining the plague and then for the gnome to fill in the gaps in the story. His smile soured into a frown, brow furrowing, and he silently fumes. When the gnome quieted he was unable to contain himself any longer. "I knew this plague could only come from those wretched machines! I'll die before I let innocent countryfolk be exposed to it in these smoke-belching factories."
"Admiral sir," Nevlav starts and looks between those gathered, "while I assure you I will do everything in my power to help Languedoc none of these souls look to be healers of any repute. How can a mismatched group such as we do anything to combat this type of threat?" Nevlav looked worried to bring it up but stands by his assessment.
Yoric nods at Nevlav’s assessment and sighs as pinches the bridge of his nose. “A secret meeting in a dive bar with Admiral Flintlock... we’re not curing anything. But I’m betting it’s because you need to expand your list of healers. Where are you asking us to go, sir? And does it have to do with this Tiefling?”
You notice that the cause of the dwarven girl's distraction seems to be the tiefling violinist. She flicks her eyes to him every few seconds then looks away quickly.
The moment that Yoric mentions the tiefling it seems to click in Thalion's head. The tiefling was the root of the dwarf's anxiety and also the only one in the room that had yet to make themselves known. Thalion turns toward the tiefling and holds up a hand.
"Silence yourself, tiefling, for a moment at least. Tell us - what is your purpose here? To regale us with song? Or drop eaves on our conversation?"
Thalion looks closely at the tiefling, turning his eagle eye on him instead of the dwarf.
(Can I roll a Perception or Insight check to see if the tiefling is hiding something?)
The gnome admiral nods. "Aye. Ye are not healers. But each of ye possess talents that sadly don't really exist within the structures of the royal government. Not anymore anyway."
He clears his throat, ignoring Thalion's outburst and focusing his comments on the Gnome Paladin he greeted so warmly at first. We have received a report from a credible source that a week ago, there were a few cases of this 'clockwork plague' among the ore miners in the village of Yellow Creek in the Northern Territories. We have also heard of a medicine man, a man calling himself Dr. Aleksei, who came down from the mountains, and with some sort of magical treatment cured these men. We ignored these reports, but now, with King Brocc's illness, we cannot afford to do so."
Flintlock drops five heavy bags of coin onto the table, and pulls out five tickets from his jacket pocket. "We want ye to travel to Yellow Creek via the locomotive, and make contact with the political officer there, a half-orc chap named Graddor. Find this Dr. Aleksei and bring him back. The Northern Territories was the center of that bloody Followers of the Knife cult, and this many years later, there's still a...distrust of the government there. A group like yourselves, especially with some of ye possessing arcane talents," he pauses, looking significantly at Grin and Yorick, "may prove more successful, and less incendiary, then sending a royal airship and a detachment of dragoons. Here's 100 gold each for yer expenses, and train tickets that are good to travel to Yellow Creek whenever ye want. I've also instructed my officers to grant access to Detective Lostchild here to the quarantined zone should ye wish to see it. Just don't touch any of the machines in the factories! If ye succeed, I've been given authorization to offer each of ye a boon from Prince Neskor hisself. Or gold, pure and simple, if that's what motivates ye."
As the conversation turns towards the tiefling, Flintlock's eyes widen and he raises his hands immediately, cutting Yorick off. "Now, now. There's nae need for ye to worry about him. He's just an entertainer I hired to keep prying eyes off our meeting."
When Thalion calls out to the tiefling, the gnome sinks back into the booth. The tiefling for his part, immediately stops playing his violin screeching unnaturally as he stops. He leaps off the stage and approaches the booth casually. As you all see him better now, you notice that he is very tall, and his skin is so deep red that it is almost mahogany in hue. He has long, dark hair and is wearing a pencil thin mustache that, in full effect, makes the pairing of he and the short, squat, gnome admiral seem ludicrous, like one of those comedy duos that grace Valance's stages. He meets Thalion's glare, amused, his smile growing wider and exposing his gleaming white fangs. He bows.
"It is as ol' Flinty, says, sires and madam. I am but a humble musician, here to swell your hearts and provides sounds so sweet that they would soothe even the most savage beast. Though I seem to have failed in my task with you, big man."he says, winking at Thalion. "You may call me Secrecy."
(Go ahead and roll an Insight check; Alden, can you roll a History check?)
Grin has sat eerily stoic and silent, those that haven't seen her move might think she is a wax replica. Right up until Flintlock mentions arcane talent, to witch her eyes dart to his for an instant, but then continue to look straight forward.
Each of you has received a summons, embossed with the Royal Seal of House Nackle, imploring you to come to the Diplomat’s Hearth at the heart of Valance’s administrative district. You come from all over, some nearer than others but all converging on the district at roughly the same time. As you walk through the heart of the capital’s seat of power, you all notice the large, gleaming, new skyscrapers that announce the district as a symbol of Languedoc’s power and technological dominance to all visiting diplomats. The steel-frame construction that made these buildings possible is a secret that lies only with the clerics of the Church of the Engineer, and so you, like the population of Languedoc and its many visitors, perhaps view them with a mix of wonder and fear.
Its dusk now, near the appointed meeting time, and the Diplomat’s Hearth is easy enough to find, as it is one of the few older, pre-war buildings left in the district, its squat, mud-and-straw construction seems at odds with the rest of Valance. There are few people out now, some kobold and kenku-manned sanitation crews are cleaning refuse from the streets and spraying off coats of grime and industrial smoke from the buildings that wafted over from the adjacent Factory District. A few tourists are milling around the statue of Prince Kellen and the crew of the airship Brocc’s Folly, a massive bronze relief depicting Prince Kellen’s final stand against the Black Sorcerers of Granholm and commemorating the heroism of Kellen’s hand-picked officers, a motley assortment of all the kingdom’s races. In the years since the war’s end, these officers have become leading figures of Languedoc’s government and public life and are officially known as Heroes of the Realm. Those of you who live in the capital know that the dedication of this memorial over three years ago was King Brocc’s last public appearance.
The Diplomat’s Hearth itself is empty (which, for the time of day, is odd), save for three figures. Behind the bar is a young dwarven woman, who notices you come in with a start and seems very nervous, her gaze darting between you and the other two people in the room. On a small, makeshift stage, a handsome, very well-dressed tiefling is playing a rousing military march on his violin. The tiefling seems so caught up in the music he’s playing that he barely notices your presence. Finally, at a booth in the back is an old gnome, frowning heavily, his gray hair wildly askew across the top of his balding head, and with a magnificent big brush of a mustache across the top of his lip. As he sees you, he stands up on the seat of the booth and says in a deep commanding voice,
“Welcome, adventurers. Thank you for responding to our request so swiftly. Order yourself a drink, then join me and we can get started.”
As usual, Thalion Strongbow was early. He always moved quickly, on his feet or otherwise, and today was no exception. He had found it simple enough to find a cart heading into town to ride with - the driver was more than willing to let him on board when he realized he was the Strongbow of whom the countryfolk spoke with such high regard. Once within Valance's walls he went on foot, blending into the crowding masses with his hood drawn over his pointed ears. It wasn't long before he found the relative comfort (and lack of a crowd) that the Diplomat's Hearth had to offer.
As he entered he let the hood fall down, revealing his elvish features. He stood in sharp contrast to the brick and mortar of the building and particularly its inhabitants; a tall, rugged elf in weather-beaten leather and muddy boots was about as different in stature and appearance as the city-dwelling dwarves, humans and gnomes as one could get! Apart from perhaps the tiefling blissfully unaware of his presence. Despite the unfamiliarity of the big city the elf's face lit with joy as he entered the cozy room, the steadfast grimace that had been plastered on his face from the moment he saw those imposing buildings towering over him melting away in the warmth of the Diplomat's Hearth.
"Wench! A cider to get the taste of this city out of my mouth." He strides up to the bar and begins to search through his coinpouch when he notices the grizzled gnome trying to get his attention in the back of the tavern. He raises a brow and leans against the bar, arms crossed, rather more standoffish than one might expect in the presence of a such a gnome.
Grinhilla (Grin) arrives with that innocent wonder of a grandma walking through a tech store, everything is delightful and confusing at the same time. She titters a bit at the gnome with the deep voice and winces when the elf yells "Wench!". She does not order a drink, but approaches the gnome, nudging the elf in the back of the knee. "Jus' cause she be da one at de bar don't make she no wench, respec' da one's who dem serve you, les' de be da one's need served come time"
Alden Lostchild
Alden makes his way through the city streets to his destination. This wasn't his first assignment but, it was the first one that seemed to have such importance to the Realm that he is a bit fidgety as he walks along. As he passes he has dressed in a way to not draw attention to himself. The hardest part of this is not to draw attention to his slightly longer, pointed ears and his eyes that appear to gaze deeper into a person than human's do but his experience has made this easier over the years.
As he passes the statues that draw attention for most he barely notices having seen them so many times. His focus is on his assignment.
As Alden makes his destination he will wait for a time from a place across the street watching and waiting, taking note of any who come and go from this establishment.As he waits his gaze is slightly distracted for a short moment on the results of a city based on technology only. His elven half seems sadden at the death of nature and magic as technology seems to take hold of the city. Alden refocuses and watches the Inn intently. Once he is satisfied, not seeing anything that would cause him pause, he will cross the street and enter the tavern.
Upon entering and hearing the words of the gnome, Alden will nod the the gnome, ordering nothing. Aden will take a sat at the gnomes table and wait.
The Order of the Oiled Cog had recieved the missive straight from House Nackle and would not be ignored. The Order had a long tradition of serving the House and the city of Vallance and they tapped one of their youngest and rising stars. Nevlav was honored to recieve the nod from his order and was thankful for the opportunity. He garnered hmself in his issued chain mail, slung his tower shield on his back and took up his pick and strode with purpose through the streets.
He briefly called greetings to the few he knew as he walked and saluted others. He gave the statues with a fist to his heart as he walked past, being sure to avoid the tourists else they think he be apart of the local actors dressing up for sketches again. He internally wished his King long life.
The Diplomat's Hearth was new to him but not altogether an unfamiliar set up. He stepped through the door and nodded to the nervous dwarf and takes in the people already inside, an elf and halfling at the bar and what looks to be a fine upstanding member of the city watch over by the older Gnome. That is obviously who he was meant to contact to he stepped lively over and stood before the table, "Nevlav Inimeg, Order of the Oiled Cog here to help sir." He regretted the tint of excitement in his voice, he was suppose to be professional not a fanboy.
OOC: DM does Nevlav recognize the gnome? History: 9
Yoric arrives and sees the others having arrived before him.
Yoric is a Halfling with short sandy hair that curls close against his head. His hairy feet stick out from a set of comfortable black pants, with a criss-cross pattern of brown and amber on his shirt. He has a dark brown cloak pushed back from his shoulders.
He sets his pack down at the bar and orders. “An ale, please,” he says to the dwarf woman with a small friendly smile. He then admires the skills of the Tiefling, if not the music.
To the gnome: “I’m not sure why you’d want me here, sir. These others look tough, or knowledgeable but I’m simply a musician, and it seems you have one.”
Paladin - warforged - orange
If the young Dwarven woman is offended by Thalion calling her wench, she doesn't show it. Almost robotically, she says "Yes, sir," and she begins to pull a draught from a keg from under the bar. Thalion, you can tell she seems very nervous and her hand is shaking as she pulls the pint of cider, leading to a cup with a large amount of foam on top, especially for a cider. As Thalion pulls out coinage, she looks for a moment at the old gnome, then back at you. "Oh no, sir. These are all on the house. The old gentleman is paying for everything." She then lowers her eyes quickly and moves to serve Yoric (Do the two of you want to give me a Perception check?)
Nevlav, with your background you recognize the older gnome instantly. He is Admiral Tevis "Flintlock" Garrock, the commander-in-chief of Languedoc's armed forces. He is generally beloved by the rank-and-file soldiers for his rapport with them Some of the more hawkish members of your order have suggested that he is too concerned with the lives of soldiers and overly cautious. Nevertheless, he is beloved for masterminding Languedoc's final victory in the War of Magick and Machines. He greets you warmly as soon as you stride up. "Ah, I'm glad ye made it, lad. I asked for you meself. Knew your parents. Fine folk they were. I feel better having you on this thing."
He actually comes around to each of you individually and introduces himself, not even shying away from either of Yoric or Grin, as many of the Languedoc gnomes you've both encountered have done. As he gets to Talion, he sizes the ranger up and his manner becomes a bit brusque. "I know who ye are, friend. An' I can assure ye, whatever you think of me or King Brocc, rest assured what Ah'm asking you all to do will only help save people's lives. Join us. Please."
He returns to his seat and takes a big swig of a dark porter. He looks at the tiefling hard, but the musician does not seem to notice, and continues scraping away on his violin. As Yorick speaks, the gnome chuckles.
"Yer too modest, son. You...each of ye have been selected for yer talents. The kingdom is at a knife's edge, and I fear that forces beyond even King Brocc's control are driving us towards another war that will costs thousands of lives." He looks at each of you, his big blue eyes watery. "Tell me. What do you know about what the factory workers are calling The Clockwork Plague?" (Someone want to do a Medicine check).
Yoric
perception 14
medicine 20
Paladin - warforged - orange
Alden Lostchild
"I know little to nothing of what plagues the city but have seen it's effects." he states.
After that he remains silent allowing the gnome Admiral to continue.
"I and the order have down what we can to help with supplies and the scant healing we have but it does not seem like the usual curatives are working," Nevlav states as he relaxes some when hearing and remembering upon his parents.
Yorick (spoiler curtain down)
While you are at the bar, you notice the dwarven girl is intently watching the tiefling. Her eyes flicker to him every few seconds and quickly look away. Its not clear if the tiefling has even noticed.
To his surprise, Flintlock finds the halfling bard is very well informed about the disease. As Yorick relates to the rest of you, the disease was first uncovered four months ago at an armaments manufacturer in the Factory District of Valance when 2/3rds of the workforce became ill within days. From there it quickly spread to some of Valance's heaviest industries -- steel mills, oil refineries, ship-building yards most prominently. The disease progression is always the same -- it begins with a heavy fever, fatigue and soreness of limbs. Over the next several days, the symptoms escalate to hallucinations, paranoia, and eventually complete organ failure and death.
"We believed at first, the poor sanitary conditions of Valance's working classes were to blame. But then others became sick. The king's leading gunsmith, the owner of an airship factory, a high priest of the Church of the Engineer. The disease appeared, in isolated cases in other cities as well. Always in technological circles. Our clerics and doctors are stumped. They've tried everything, and they cannae find anything physically wrong with these folks. The gnome pauses and strokes his mustache, suddenly looking very old and tired. He drains his porter and motions for the girl to refill his pint.
"The censors have managed to keep exact numbers under wraps, but we reckon as of now, about 200 people have died, with another five hundred in the throes of the disease currently. We've closed the Factory District and quarantined the population there, but new cases are still appearing, throughout the city and the damned factory owners are pressuring us to reopen and bring in more labor from the country. Three days ago, King Brocc reported his first symptoms. Our finest doctors, scientists and clerics have managed to slow the progression of the disease, but he is getting sicker."
There are those...at the highest levels that believe this is a plot by Granholm's sorcerers to bring us to our knees, and want to retaliate, before our army is crippled. But I'm not ready to entertain war, yet. Not while there are other possibilities. That is where you come in, my friends. You have an opportunity here to do a service to your king and nation greater than even that of the Heroes of the Realm." He looks at you all expectantly, and, as if on cue, the tiefling launches into a soaring, inspirational melody underscoring his words.
Thalion merely smiles at the tiny halfling woman and shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe my common is a bit rusty, but I always thought women serving beer in taverns were called wenches", he says.
He almost had the cider to his lips when he realized how much head there was on the amber liquid; he had been quite distracted by the others arriving and their interactions with the old gnome who had gathered them there, but now the dwarf behind the bar had his full attention. He narrows his eyes and levels a hawk-like gaze at the woman, keeping a weather eye on her nervous mannerisms.
Perception: 12
Whether or not he noticed anything odd about the dwarf he turns toward the soldier-gnome as he approached. His demeanor changed little and he didn't exactly show the respect one perhaps should to such a decorated veteran. However, seeing the shine to his old eyes and hearing his serious tone of voice he straightens his back a bit and stops leaning on the bar. "You have my bow and blade both, if it means ending this plague."
The elf patiently waits for Yorick to finish explaining the plague and then for the gnome to fill in the gaps in the story. His smile soured into a frown, brow furrowing, and he silently fumes. When the gnome quieted he was unable to contain himself any longer. "I knew this plague could only come from those wretched machines! I'll die before I let innocent countryfolk be exposed to it in these smoke-belching factories."
"Admiral sir," Nevlav starts and looks between those gathered, "while I assure you I will do everything in my power to help Languedoc none of these souls look to be healers of any repute. How can a mismatched group such as we do anything to combat this type of threat?" Nevlav looked worried to bring it up but stands by his assessment.
Yoric nods at Nevlav’s assessment and sighs as pinches the bridge of his nose. “A secret meeting in a dive bar with Admiral Flintlock... we’re not curing anything. But I’m betting it’s because you need to expand your list of healers. Where are you asking us to go, sir? And does it have to do with this Tiefling?”
Paladin - warforged - orange
Thalion
You notice that the cause of the dwarven girl's distraction seems to be the tiefling violinist. She flicks her eyes to him every few seconds then looks away quickly.
The moment that Yoric mentions the tiefling it seems to click in Thalion's head. The tiefling was the root of the dwarf's anxiety and also the only one in the room that had yet to make themselves known. Thalion turns toward the tiefling and holds up a hand.
"Silence yourself, tiefling, for a moment at least. Tell us - what is your purpose here? To regale us with song? Or drop eaves on our conversation?"
Thalion looks closely at the tiefling, turning his eagle eye on him instead of the dwarf.
(Can I roll a Perception or Insight check to see if the tiefling is hiding something?)
The gnome admiral nods. "Aye. Ye are not healers. But each of ye possess talents that sadly don't really exist within the structures of the royal government. Not anymore anyway."
He clears his throat, ignoring Thalion's outburst and focusing his comments on the Gnome Paladin he greeted so warmly at first. We have received a report from a credible source that a week ago, there were a few cases of this 'clockwork plague' among the ore miners in the village of Yellow Creek in the Northern Territories. We have also heard of a medicine man, a man calling himself Dr. Aleksei, who came down from the mountains, and with some sort of magical treatment cured these men. We ignored these reports, but now, with King Brocc's illness, we cannot afford to do so."
Flintlock drops five heavy bags of coin onto the table, and pulls out five tickets from his jacket pocket. "We want ye to travel to Yellow Creek via the locomotive, and make contact with the political officer there, a half-orc chap named Graddor. Find this Dr. Aleksei and bring him back. The Northern Territories was the center of that bloody Followers of the Knife cult, and this many years later, there's still a...distrust of the government there. A group like yourselves, especially with some of ye possessing arcane talents," he pauses, looking significantly at Grin and Yorick, "may prove more successful, and less incendiary, then sending a royal airship and a detachment of dragoons. Here's 100 gold each for yer expenses, and train tickets that are good to travel to Yellow Creek whenever ye want. I've also instructed my officers to grant access to Detective Lostchild here to the quarantined zone should ye wish to see it. Just don't touch any of the machines in the factories! If ye succeed, I've been given authorization to offer each of ye a boon from Prince Neskor hisself. Or gold, pure and simple, if that's what motivates ye."
As the conversation turns towards the tiefling, Flintlock's eyes widen and he raises his hands immediately, cutting Yorick off. "Now, now. There's nae need for ye to worry about him. He's just an entertainer I hired to keep prying eyes off our meeting."
When Thalion calls out to the tiefling, the gnome sinks back into the booth. The tiefling for his part, immediately stops playing his violin screeching unnaturally as he stops. He leaps off the stage and approaches the booth casually. As you all see him better now, you notice that he is very tall, and his skin is so deep red that it is almost mahogany in hue. He has long, dark hair and is wearing a pencil thin mustache that, in full effect, makes the pairing of he and the short, squat, gnome admiral seem ludicrous, like one of those comedy duos that grace Valance's stages. He meets Thalion's glare, amused, his smile growing wider and exposing his gleaming white fangs. He bows.
"It is as ol' Flinty, says, sires and madam. I am but a humble musician, here to swell your hearts and provides sounds so sweet that they would soothe even the most savage beast. Though I seem to have failed in my task with you, big man." he says, winking at Thalion. "You may call me Secrecy."
(Go ahead and roll an Insight check; Alden, can you roll a History check?)
Grin has sat eerily stoic and silent, those that haven't seen her move might think she is a wax replica. Right up until Flintlock mentions arcane talent, to witch her eyes dart to his for an instant, but then continue to look straight forward.
Alden Lostchild
Insight: 18
History: 14
Alden listens to the overall conversation and the information provided by the Admiral.
"More questions than answers." he thinks to himself.
"Admiral" Alden starts, "You say our primary mission is to find Dr. Aleksei, then so be it." Alden pauses.
"I would like to ask a few questions Sir, if I may?" Alden pauses for a moment then begins.
"Has the first person to be infected from the plague been established?"
"Has the moment the King was exposed to the virus been established?"
"Is there any incentive we are to offer Dr. Aleksei to return with us?
"Does Dr. Aleksei have any known associates?, guards?. family? that we may be able to draw upon to deal with the good Doctor?"
"Do you know what connection the village at Yellow Creek has to the armament manufacturer in the Factory District in Vallance?
"What does the High Priest of the Church of Engineering say about the plague?"
Alden pauses again then says: "I am sorry Sir but the information my be pertinent to our task."