A gibbous moon rises over the settlement of Cleric's Cross, casting a pale light over the cobblestone streets and simple buildings of wood and brick. The town is surrounded by a strong wooden palisade mounted with ramparts. Two stone towers flank the iron gates fortified with a heavy portcullis. Men and women in armor and cloaks of white, red and gold stand silent sentinels on the ramparts.

Down below, Cleric's Cross is packed with traders, adventurers, priests, tradesmen, farmers, and street performers. The town square is one mass of sweating, yelling, laughing bodies clamoring for the best heads of fish, the freshest vegetables, or the choicest slabs of meat. Urchins, dogs, and pickpockets run rampant, adding to the chaos. 

Locations of interest:

• The Grinning Ghoul tavern, and across the road from it the Sleepy Owlbear inn.
• The Church of the God of the Candle.
• The town square, where most of the shops are located
• The militia barracks, armory and prison
• The town hall
• The Crying Clown Theatre

Why is your character in Cleric's Cross, and what are they doing?

Valar is looking for a particularly crooked member of the militia, an officer who uses his title for unlawful activities. Valar is on a rooftop overlooking the barracks, hoping to catch a glimpse of his quarry.   

Nevitash pulls in his hides close to his body, not exactly comfortable with the teeming masses of humanity on the streets of Cleric's Cross. It was not like this in his grove, in the forests not too far from here. It was terrifying to the young dreamborn, but also exhilarating to see all sorts of people and things filling the town square. He checks the crumpled piece of paper his mother gave him before he left with the name of the Sleepy Owlbear inn written on it. It was here, his mother said, where he may be able to lay low for a few days, until he could book passage on a ship or caravan going....well, anywhere far from here.

Finding the inn, the young druid allows himself the briefest smile and then says to himself, but loud enough for any curious onlooker to hear, "Nevitash, old boy, you've really done it. This hasn't been hard, so far. Let's just hope they have a room for me. Then -- maybe I can explore this wondrous place."

Making his way towards the Crying Clown was a Tiefling as black as the night itself, he was cloaked and his sharp eyes scouted the area nearby as he approached the theatre. He moved to sit near the opposite building, just waiting till the act was over. He was expecting her to come out of there, after all she loved theatre almost as much as her research. 

Once every two weeks, Makariy's brother sends a little cart, piled with whatever goods they didn't need on the farm, to trade for gold and manufactured goods unavailable at the village - salt, iron, shoes, whatever their part-time blacksmith couldn't hammer out in his forge. The farm, of course, couldn't possibly spare an extra man as a guard, but Makariy is always available, provided someone keeps an eye on his goats, and he is grateful for a place to offload excess produce from his hives. 

Makariy doesn't conduct the actual sales himself, his presence more likely to deter prospective customers rather than attract them. He trusts his brother's business sense and collects his percentage of the gross after the market's end. Instead, after his circuit of the market (he rarely buys anything, but it's always prudent to be aware of the competition), he somehow finds himself approaching the tavern. Every time before he arrives at Cleric's Cross, he makes a solemn oath to himself, promising that he won't touch a drop while he's in town, yet almost every single time, he has to be helped onto the cart when it is time to leave.

Now he stands before the sign of the Grinning Ghoul, head tilted upwards as he rereads the sign for the seventh time, as if he didn't already know the building like the back of his own hand, deliberating.

"What the hell." He mutters, giving voice to his internal debate. "I'll just have one drink." Despite this, he makes no motion to enter the tavern.

One more job.  One more job and I'm free.  I'm almost done.  The job is done, and I just need to turn in the package.  It seems too good to be true.  I just want to be free to learn.  These jobs are getting too risky.  I just want OUT.

Jak is losing it.  All he has to do is deliver this scroll to Hara, the bastard of a dreamborn that has been his point of contact for a decade.  A decade too long.  And then I'm free!  Get to the Grinning Ghoul.  Deliver the package, and then Hara can't tell me what to do anymore... Or so she says.  It seems too good to be true.  

Jak pulls his long black hair back and covers it with his hood.  His green eyes pierce through the night, and his pale skin reflects the light.  Focus.  We're almost there.  They shouldn't recognize me.  The duke shouldn't know I'm here.  Okay.  We can do this.   

Jak strolls into the Grinning Ghoul.  He removes his hood, exposing his short blonde hair, admiring the tan.  I always like this one.  Jak looks around the tavern for the Dreamborn woman who has been his guardian and adversary for the past ten years.  

Oltheris walks through the down the road, wondering what he is supposed to be doing now.  Go to Cleric's Cross was all he was told.  About par for the course.  He was usually given simple instructions, and muddled his way through whatever might happen.  Not much guidance, just general directions.  He wasn't even sure if he was helping or hurting his Patron, he just did what came naturally.

As he makes his way through the market square, his stomach rumbles.  He decides it is time for a meal, and then a room for the night.  He asks for directions for a meal, and a stall keeper points him toward the Grinning Ghoul.  Oltheris chuckles at the tavern sign, finding the grim humor fitting.  He steps inside, finds a table and orders a modest meal.

It is the 23rd of October, 524 PC (Post Collision.) The air is crisp and chilly, and the trees have shed all but a handful of their red, orange and gold leaves.

Valar, after an hour of patient watching the man you have been waiting for strides out of the militia barracks. He is a tall, gaunt figure who walks with a limp. He glances furtively to the right and left before skulking in the direction of the lower east end, the most disreputable area of the town. If you want to follow him, I'll need a Stealth check.

Nevitash, you push open the door to a simple wooden building. Inside is a comfortable lounge with a crackling fireplace, stuffed armchairs, and a bookshelf containing a number of classics. A bespectacled gnome greets you pleasantly when you arrive. "What can I do you for?"

I'yar, the play ends and a wave of spectators proceed down the stone steps of the theatre, discussing the performance. Among them is an elvish woman who seems to be getting on in years, but she still possesses a warriorlike aura that is evident in her eyes and her step.

Ducas, patrons pass you in a steady stream, but you notice that more enter the tavern than come out. 

Jak, you navigate the noise and commotion of the familiar smoke-filled tavern and soon identify your contact. Hara leans back in her chair with her boots on the table, casually taking sips from a glass of mulled wine. Her pale grey hair falls over her marble face and emotionless grey eyes.

Oltheris, a gnome with wispy golden hair behind the bar indicates for you to take a seat at the counter and yells for a bowl of stew from the back, which is set before you a minute later.

Stealth check: 13

Valar follows his target over the rooftops. Adrenaline pumps through his veins at the thought of future actions. Jumping over gaps in the roofs, he keeps his eyes on his target.

Jak sits down next to Hara.  The regular routine calms his nerves, overriding the anxiety of potentially getting free.

"Rumor has it that the couriers are delivering a big package tonight.  What a relief.  Hopefully, they can get it delivered soon."  Jak pulls out a flask and takes a large swig.  He places the flask on the table afterwards.

Jak looks around at the tavern, taking in the surroundings. Perception 7

Nevitash looks around in wonder at the cozy, genteel lounge his big violet eyes taking in it all. "This is remarkable! I've not seen the like of this place. Its beautiful." Looking at the gnome now, he starts a bit, not expecting to see someone so like in manner and appearance to Archdruid Brocc so soon. Was it possible that this gnome was kin, or knew Archdruid Brocc? Nevitash wondered and in a split second decided to be much more vague about himself than he intended.

"I am a... stranger, here. From....far away," he says, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "I would like a room, sir. With a bed. Please." He fumbles with his coinpurse and produces a gold piece. "Is... this enough for a week? I am not certain of the price of...well, anything really, sir. I have more than enough coin." He loosens the strings on the coin purse wide enough for the gnome to see it was indeed filled up.

As more customers streamed pass Makariy into the tavern, he was aware that his self discipline was rapidly losing ground in the battle against his desire for a drink. Giving it up for a lost cause, he sighed, twitching his cloak to smooth its wrinkles as he pushed open the doors to the tavern. He gives a grunt of recognition to any of the regulars he recognize as he makes his way to the bar, squinting to better see in the hazy air inside. 

"Beer." He grunts, raising one finger to indicate the quantity. "Nothing too strong, I need to stay sober." He shoots the barkeep a worried expression. "Don't let me get drunk, alright?"

I’yar stood up, letting the sharp air fill his lungs with cold refreshment, and approached the woman. “Its been a while. Do you have any progress on your research? You know what, let’s go to the Ghoul and see what we both found out.”, I’yar appeared in front of her, and extending his hand as a greeting as they used to do as a mentor and a student. 

The man, Lord Pallweather, does not spot Valar trailing him. He finally arrives at a disreputable pawn shop in the lower east end. The lord pushes open the door and disappears inside.

Hara regards Jak with those cold grey eyes that he knows so well. "The couriers are known to make mistakes." She says. "I trust that your wife is well?" During this last sentence her hands dance across the table, delivering a message in Thieves' Cant. 

Jak sees several characters of interest through the smoke. A human man you have seen on many occasions sits at the bar with a somewhat guilty expression on his face. Beside him a half-elf is wolfing down a bowl of stew. A man in a mud-stained cloak smokes a pipe at the table across from you.

The gnome chuckles at Nevitash. "Nothing so much as that, lad." He says. "Board is only two silvers a night." 

The bartender belts out a laugh. "That's what they all say." He mutters, pouring Makariy a large glass of foaming beer.

The woman looks I'yar up and down appraisingly. "I don't believe I've seen you since you left for The Stronghold six months ago. By all means, lead the way."

Jak's eyes twitch.  "Really?  I've seen them do good work.  Shara is in good health, though she sprained her ankle recently.  Do you want me to give her your well wishes?"  Jak puts his flask back into his coat and pulls out a pan flute, placing it on his lap.  As he does this, he puts his hand over his heart for a second before leaning back.  

Valar loosens his sword. Silence would be the best way to handle this. He drops down from the roof, and using his black cloak, complete with a mask and hood, for cover, he waits near the door. Watching. 

A wide smile exposes I’yar’s sharp teeth, as he turns on his heels to flank his teacher and guide them towards the Grinning Ghoul. “You know, I’m getting used to these firearms. Quite the tools they are. And it’s just so pleasant to spend time making ammunition for them, it’s almost meditative.”, I’yar started to talk, trying to make conversation with his oldest friend. The substantial stuff can wait till the Ghoul.

Oltheris looks up from his stew at the newcomers.  "Friend, if you need to stay sober, why are you ordering beer?"  He takes another bit from his meal and chews thoughtfully.

"Tell you what, I am new around here.  I will gladly help you out and watch for your drunkeness, if you will tell me a bit of this place.  Anything interesting or odd happen recently?"