HEALING We will use a “Slow Natural healing” optional rule.
“Characters don't regain hit points at the end of a long rest. Instead, a character can spend Hit Dice to heal at the end of a long rest, just as with a short rest. This optional rule prolongs the amount of time that characters need to recover from their wounds without the benefits of magical healing and works well for grittier, more realistic campaigns.”
Modified Long Rest Rule At the end of a Long Rest, a character regains spent Hit Dice, up to a number of dice equal to half of the character’s total number of them (minimum of one die). For example, if a character has eight Hit Dice, he or she can regain four spent Hit Dice upon finishing a Long Rest.
BROUGHT BACK FROM 0 HITPOINTS A PC cannot act in the same round that he is brought back from 0 hit points.
For example, if your PC is brought down to below 0 hit points in Round 1; another PC could heal him in Round 2, but your PC could only act in Round 3 again. I rule that the PC is 'dazed and getting his bearings' in Round 2 (may speak, etc.).
FLANKING Flanking provides advantage on melee attack roll (for both PCs & Enemies)
MEDICINE SKILL A medicine check DC 15 with one use of a healer’s kit allow for a reroll on a hit dice if you spend a hit dice during a short or long rest.
Moving through Occupied Spaces A character can move through a space occupied by a another creature as though it's difficult terrain. Doing so through an enemies position draws can provoke an Attack of Opportunity
"Tumbling" through an Occupied Space A character attempt to "tumble" through one occupied space in a round to move without provoking an Attack of Opportunity. To do so, the PC must make a contested Athletics/ Acrobatics check against the current occupant's Athletics/ Acrobatics check. On a success, the PC moves, through the space as normal via the rules above. On a failure, the PC is "blocked" and cannot attempt to move through that space for the rest of the round; their movement is also lost as part of the failed action.
Initiative DM will roll initiative for all creatures/ characters in combat.
Combat will be split into "blocks" where characters can post their actions for a given round. Each "block" is separated by the turns of enemy creatures. Once all PCs have posted, current block's actions will be compiled and organized and played out by the DM in the recap (in rolled initiative order) before moving completing enemy actions and continuing on to the next block/ round.
HARROW POINTS Harrow Points: After the Harrowing each of you have gained something called Harrow Points. Throughout the adventure you all will be faced with numerous situations where you will need to be quick on your feet or skilled with your hands. Until otherwise noted, each of you have gained a certain amount of Harrow Points that can be used in the following ways as a free action.
Dexterity Rerolls: A PC can spend a Harrow Point to reroll any Dexterity ability check (including initiative). The PC must abide by the new result (although if they have additional Harrow Points, they can use them for additional rerolls).
Dodge Bonus: A PC can spend a Harrow Point to gain a +1 bonus to their Armor Class for one encounter. They cannot spend more than 1 Harrow Point per encounter to increase his Armor Class in this manner.
Speed Increase: A PC can spend a Harrow Point to increase his base speed by 10 feet for one encounter.
Though these points cannot be replenished via usual means (Short/ Long Rest etc.), there will be times throughout the campaign where more Harrow Points can be gained. Your total amount of Harrow Points will be tracked on the table below.
Having spent much of his morning in his family carriage, traveling back and forth from the various estates in the city, even Kaisaras was beginning to feel annoyed by the bush beating of his father's case. Having taken on the figurehead role for his family, while the bad reputation of the recently concluded case regarding his father's clearly framed actions. Regardless of his subjective innocence, most people saw this as simply him making use of his connections with the guard to get off scot-free. Not only was that insulting to their family, but it was also entirely untrue. Still, gossip of this level was like water in the desert to the nobility, and they quickly lapped it up regardless of their actual beliefs. Words were weapons, after all, a point Kai had long since learned. 'That bastard might as well have served me poison with how venomous that smile was. The nerve....we need to get this fixed, and soon. Gods know how long I can deal with this before I order James to stab someone.' A deep sigh escaped the young man's lips as he momentarily dropped his mask and closed his eyes, letting the annoyance of the last meeting show on his face, as his chin hit his chest. It was only for a second, however, as in the next, his head rose again, returning the mask to where it was needed.
Standing to the side of the road as his carriage came to a stop to pick him up, Kaisaras Ironwood was a pristine example of young nobility. Posed with confidence, eloquence, and grace, it made his lean frame seem more imposing to the average passing citizen, more so with his passively fair stoic expression, sharp brown eyes, and dark bangs. Fine clothes of dark colors, trimmed with gold and a fine blade at his side, marked with the sigil of both his family and the Steel Brigade, gave people multiple reasons to not mess with this man...though the pair of moderately armored guards at his side would add a further reason in most first glances.
As he stepped up to his carriage, he frowned in surprise as he spotted a Harrow card sitting atop his spot, propped up so to clearly stand out as he entered. After a quick interrogation of his driver and guards, he found that none of them had seen who had delivered the card. Curious, he entered the carriage and had them begin to take him home. As the carriage began to jostle along the path home, Kaisaras plucked the card up and examined the thin material, noting the Twins. He generally wasn't superstitious, by a matter of principle, and wondered if this was someone's idea of sending him a proposal or threat. Flipping the card over, an eyebrow rose as he noted the message on the back. Giving it a quick read, he realized this was a lead, or at least a means, to rid his father and by extension, family, of the current stain plaguing and burdening their current affairs.
Action #2: History Check (DC10) - 9
Unable to recall the exact information regarding the location, Kaisaras furrows his brow and sighs again. Pressing his palm to his face, he massages his forehead. It would be some time till Sunset, time he could use. Not giving word to anyone, he allowed the carriage to return home. Once there, he gave his report to his father and mother, regarding the latest in annoyances from their fellow nobles, before retiring to his own room. Once there, he opened his closet and then opened the hidden compartment behind it. There, folded neatly, the clothes that he had used to investigate the fisher that helped free his father from the court. Noble clothes didn't do well in common grounds, he would need to be descrit. Doffing his fine clothing, he donned the more subtle attire of the ragged street clothes.
Now donning a leather best with dark shirt and hood, with a grey scarf and cloak , Kaisaras snuck out of his home and began to make his way towards Lancet street. It would be quiet the walk, so he made sure to bring a bottle with him, if anyone asked, he could pretend to be a drunkard, turned around by the various corners. Crossing the bridge from Eastshore towards the midland district. By the time he arrived at the address, it was just in time for the meeting. Half expecting this to be a trap, Kai gripped his rapier under his cloak. 'The things I do for others.' With yet another sigh, he entered the shop, that he found to be a fortune teller's residence.
Kurstin was tired. The bone-weary tired that comes from too many months with too little rest, from finding too few answers to too many questions, and from shouldering too many burdens alone. Like most humans at seventeen, he felt the burning desire to do great deeds and make a name for himself, but also the near-crippling self-doubt from past mistakes and missteps. He was a student at the Theumanexus College, smaller than the more prestigious and strict Acadamae. He was enrolled in a variety of subjects but exceled at artificiery – the practice of scribing runes and characters of power to make ordinary items have seemingly magical powers.
At daybreak on this morning, Kurstin woke with only a couple hours of sleep after another long night at the taverns and running the back alleys of Korvosa, facing another long day of classes. But his nighttime activities were not like most young men in the city. Instead of seeking his own pleasures, Kurstin was seeking rumors, wisps of information, anything to help him find his little sister, gone missing two years ago. He believes it was his fault, because he wasn't paying close enough attention to her that day, or he was distracted by the pretty girls from school, or any of a number of reasons he repeats over and over, beating himself up over it. The city guard looked for a month or two, but never turned up anything of much use. So Kurstin started looking on his own, between classes and at night, even though his studies have started to suffer because of the time he spends looking for his sister, tracking down leads and investigating clues.
And so, in his haze-like state this morning, the young artificer did not notice the strange card tucked into his notebook. He stopped at his favorite café – The Witch’s Brew – and got a double shot of hot káfe. He barely even noticed that Nephele, his favorite serving girl, had dyed her hair a bright green! He sipped his “magic potion” and trudged off to classes, dreading today’s lecture in mathimagics, and wishing that he didn’t have tonight’s practical laboratory in astromancy, but always happy to spend time in the ‘fishery’ – the nickname given to the artificiery, where students learned and honed their skills. It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon when the Harrow Card slipped from his book and landed on his desk.
“What the…where did this come from?”he thought. “I haven’t been to a soothsayer in months! Wait – there’s something written on the back…”He read the note, looked at the front again, and read the note once more. Kurstin was desperate to find any info on the whereabouts of his sister – it had been weeks since his last lead dried up. And now this literally fell into his lap! Kurstin thought about any Harrow readers he had visited that may have sent this. (DC10 History: 14) "Wait - I remember. This is the address for the shop of Zellara Esmeranda! Yes, I visited her establishment in the Midland District earlier this year. I didn't mention Lamm to her - but she must have divined it from our session. I wonder what he did to tempt the fates and offend her?" He would have to skip his astromancy lab – again – but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity!
Two hours before sunset, Kurstin gathered his standard night-time gear – an old set of studded leather armor, his backpack and belt pouches with some of his artificer inventions that helped him to search the city and protect himself from those who would do him harm. A light crossbow and his hammer. Common adventuring equipment he had accumulated. And, as always, he made sure that he had the small enchanted stone that contained a short recording of his younger sister laughing, which he made at her last birthday at home. He set off to the address, eager to finally retrieve his sister and perhaps ensure that nobody else had to endure what his family had by taking care of the man responsible for all of this - Gaedren Lamm.
Brock woke up to the sound of sizzling bacon as his eyes struggled to open. Every muscle screamed in agony as he sat up and rubbed his face. looking back down towards his sheets, fresh blood stains dotted the fabric where his scabs and healing wounds had fused to the sheets. "I'll kill that dried out piece of Sh!t if it is the last thing I do..." Brock would growl under his breath through clenched teeth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he'd wait a couple minutes as though strugging to force himself to stand up. It wasn't until his father shouted from the other room that he decided it was time to start his day. "Get in here lad! Breakfast ain't gunna eat itself ya know! Quit licking yer wounds and have some of this bacon!"His father Slate would shout. Once up, The nearly healed fighter would stretch his muscular body, sending the sound of cracking and popping bones and joints through the room. He'd then put on his fathers old set of armor that he always wore and head out into the kitchen.
The heavy armor was inexpensive and easily recognizable with oversized spiked shoulder puldrons and matching spiked bracers. Both Brock and Slate believed that "it is important to never stop promoting yourself, and no one wants to watch a fight between two nobodies... Wearing that armor around town is better than any business card." He could hear his fathers voice say in his head. His armor wasn't the only thing he used to keep his "brand" well represented. His hair was trimmed into a brown mohawk that swayed a bit when the wind blew strong enough. on his chiseled face he had a well kept brown beard and a new scar was forming over his left eye... a permanent reminder of his dealings with Lamm.
After eating breakfast with his father, He would take care of cleaning up the dirty dishes before heading outside to restart his training regimen. He'd head out back behind his home and clench his heavily calloused fist before approaching a large oak post embedded in the dirt. The wooden post and a pile of nearby rocks was all that remained of an old stone well. The post had sections that shimmered in the morning sun from where Brock had repeatedly punched and kicked them to where they were almost polished smooth like the handle of a well used tool. After working up a sweat beating the piece of wood for the first time since being mauled and left for dead, Brock moved towards the pile of rocks. After lifting the heavy stone from the top, he'd notice a tarot card laying underneath. "how'd that get there. No one moves these rocks but me... pops can't even move these rocks anymore." He'd say to himself before throwing the small boulder off to the side. He'd look at the card and examine the bear while rubbing his beard. Then he'd flip the card over and read the writing on the back. As he finished reading the note, he'd crush the card in his hand in stuff it into his pocket. "I know that place. A couple fans told me that she'd told'em to bet on me a few weeks back. Guess they earned a fair bit a coin that day." He thinks to himself. Brock then continues his work out, lifting the heavy stones and tossing them into the air.
Later Brock makes a quick supper for himself and his father before heading out into the street. Their small home was on the rough side of town and while most people avoided going out at night, the locals knew not to mess with Brock. The sun was just starting to lower and the fighter knew he wanted to be there on time so he better leave early. "A good fighter and showman never leaves his fans waiting". He hears his father say inside his head as he moves quickly across town.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Action #1
The morning broke like any other, early, grey and unpromising. Radgar woke before dawn and began his preparations for the day, starting by lighting his small forge-altar and asking for the blessings of Torag to strengthen his steel and to bring him through another day safely. He then turned to the small repairs he had set aside to complete in these early hours, the work that kept his belly full and a roof over his head, but no longer the work of his heart.
Once the stout dwarf had completed his morning rituals and chores he dressed quickly and practically, shrugging on his blessed chain mail over the padded gambeson that doubled as a hearth apron. Practical boots and a well worn hooded cloak completed the outfit. The tabard bearing the sigil of the Stonebreaker clan was his only nod to anything approach ornamentation, and even that was done in muted versions of the clans normal blue and silver. He slung his shield across his back and tucked his Warhammer in his it's artfully crafted harness on his belt, completing his preparations to face the day ahead.
At 73, Radgar was nearing the traditional age of full adulthood. He should have his own forge, a full hearth with apprentices learning from him and his own established mark. He should have his own table, where he could entertain the traders and merchants who sought the finely wrought armor and carefully crafted weapons he made. Instead, he spent his days wandering the wards, listening for rumors, seeking any information he could find about Dagnam. He knew who had taken his brother, that much was clear, finding him was another matter entirely.
Checking in with his contacts at the Watch, Radgar swapped the repaired bits of armor for newly broken or worn bits, promising to have them repaired by the next morning. He accepted the coin offered for his services - he needed to keep the forge and his belly fed after all - but he was mostly interested in the information and favors he collected from those transactions. Someday they would be the currency he would use to find and free Dagnam.
Action #2
As he took his mid-day meal at his customary tavern, he found a strange Harrow card tucked under his mug. Neither Esie the barmaid nor any of his companions had seen who left the card, it had simply appeared. History check 7.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Action 1 - 000
"Hark! Bear witness to the finest display of swordsmanship on this side of Korvosa! Behold, the apogee of blade artistry you'll ever get to see!"
The bustling main street of Korvosa's entertainment districts lead dozens of inns, merchant shops, taverns, and other buildings of business. Also calling this road home are several cart merchants and street performers eager to squeeze any possible coin from passerbies. One such performer is Danse - today, he occupied his traditional place along the dusty road heading towards the Bard's End. He ensured an ample distance from himself and his audience, for reasons that may become evident rather quickly.
"Observe!" He called out to the admittedly poor audience he had attracted. Ah, well. The mornings are usually slow.
Danse stepped into the light falling into the bustling streets. Like the usual, he donned a blue robe outfitted with multicolored laces and ostentatious woven patterns depicting warriors and battles. A closer look may reveal the garment to have fraying edges, and perhaps to originally have been a lighter shade of blue, had dust and grime not caked it over time. Danse was fine with the dirt. He'd been born with it, and he'd been raised in it.
Danse splayed his arms wide, allowing his face to get caught in the sunlight. A touch dramatic and more than definitely ostentatious, but in Korvosa, that's what the folks loved. And as an entertainer, you had to make ends meet somehow. The more lavish, the more lucrative, or so he'd heard a bard tell him one time. The apparent Half-Elf's skin became highlighted in the arcs of sun - or, at least, what you can call skin. It is difficult to trace Danse's elven heritage as nearly all of it is inked with colorful, expansive, flowing tattoos. Curling up the left side of his neck is a blue-green peacock, feathers opened like the fans Danse has seen ladies of prestige wave around on scorching days. Wrapping around the other side of his face rests a brilliant orange phoenix. The two tattoos intertwine with each other, resembling an aerial combat between two winged beasts. As Danse speaks, the wings of the inked birds provide the optical illusion of movement, and Danse talks plenty.
This performance, he drew two simultaneous scimitars from scabbards across his belt. In one deft motion, he ran both across his mouth, spitting a wad of blood at his heels as if to prove the sharpness of the blades. In tune with the motif of his tattooed face, the hilt of one blade is blue-green, and the other, a vibrantly dyed orange. "Now - watch carefully," he announced, rising both blades into a v-shaped formation with straight arms, akin to a bird about to take flight. "You are about to experience the mystical art of Bladesinging, a style of fighting that transcends the ancient settlement of Korvosa itself!" In reality, the historical aspect to his performance was all but a ruse, but performances were enhanced by an air of mystique.
In one motion, Danse spun both blades while crouching, falling to one knee. He bowed to the audience, each blade neatly tucked away to his side, as if treating them as equals. He then raised his back and stood, body immediately twisting and swirling. The blades slowly picked up speed until they were indistinguishable from discs of metal, whirling at Danse's side. Suddenly, one blade flung through the air, and Danse twisted and turned, the other blade whirling in a figure-eight in one hand. He spun around, catching the blade in his offhand, and swapped techniques to a dizzying display of turning around in circles, the scimitars seeming to form an active barrier of metal which guarded him from the outside world. Unfortunately, the group of observers had obscured him from the ongoing passerbies, thus limiting his targeted audience. I should rent a stage. Perhaps that would bring more wandering eyes.
After several minutes of this magnificent display, Danse slowed his spinning. In one final display of glamour, he flung both swords upwards, sending them a dozen feet in the air. As the onlooking crowd's eyes were drawn upwards by the hypnotic blades, Danse quickly lit a match, placing it into a designated pocket in his robe. In the same motion, he loosened the collar of his cloak, revealing his chest and throat to the audience. The blades returned, expertly timed to reduce their spinning speed, and plunged downwards. In a daring feat of performance, both blades landed into Danse's mouth, each sinking to the hilt. The match ignited several strategic, insulated areas of his coat, lighting his arms in a harmless blaze of red-tinged, sulfured fire. He'd picked up sword swallowing from the same circus he'd trained in. It wasn't as dangerous as people made it seem, but that was all part of the performance, no? Better to let them assume.
Similar to his face, the underside of Danse's chin, and all around his neck, were fully inked with tattoos. This time, a glorious tattoo of a red dragon enveloped Danse's chest, rising up to the maw where the neck ends. Both scimitars now buried to the hilt, the display of the dragon tattoo, combined with the allegory behind the twin battling birds being consumed by a higher entity, became evident. The small crowd whooped and cheered, but only a small amount flicked more than a silver in Danse's direction. What more do these people want?
Danse extracted the blades, attempting to hide a wince as he does so. Nobody said it wasn't dangerous, and he might have reopened a wound somewhere in his esophagus from training. He scooped up the measly coin he'd earned. It could possibly last him the day. Lucky day. I might be able to save some coin from performances tonight. Perhaps I can buy a place for my own sometime.
Danse restored his scimitars to their scabbards, turning and walking to his small amount of gear. He sat, cross-legged, against a stone building, rifling through his possessions. Card tricks for the evening? He procures the deck from the small holster, and begun shuffling, refreshing his routine in his memory. After a moment, he frowned. Something was amiss. He rifled through the deck - there was one card too many. One by one, he made it through the deck - until eventually, he stumbled across a card he'd never seen. He had his own Tarot Cards, but this card - the Joke - he'd never seen before. Danse chuckled. Whoever placed this here definitely had a sense of humor. He flipped it over, admiring the unique art on the front side, and the placid smile on his face melted away. Now understanding what had transpired, he jogged his memory, attempting to remember any enemy of his former enslaver. An enemy of your enemy is a friend, or however the saying goes, and Danse was keen to make friends. History! 8 - unfortunately, the slight stinging sensation he felt from his performance distracted him from locating the source of this note.
He'd heard of Lancet street, and is familiar with the lay of the town, backstreets included. Taking his scimitars and meager belongings, he confidently approaches at dusk. The thought of an ambush had crossed his mind, but the anger he felt against Gaedren perservered.
Action #1: Kaisaras arrives at the address and enters.
Stepping into the Fortune Teller's shop, Kaisaras gave a strange look to his surroundings. He generally wasn't a superstitious person, and didn't put to much faith in the things like fate or destiny. That said, the various trinkets that littered the area gave him weird vibes, and he had no desire to purchase anything. Making his way to the table, he sat himself down in the spot facing the door. He would like to be able to watch people as they entered. If they snuck in....well he doubted anyone worth their salt would find trouble sneaking around an extra chair or two. Relaxing into his spot, he casually read the note left behind, but made no motion to drink or eat what was offered. No telling if there was poison or some other offhand drug, he didn't come all by himself to act like some prince of the sewers over a loaf of stale bread and cheap wine. Gods help him if he caught himself falling for something so pathetic.
As he waited, he mentally went over any cover he might need while hiding his true identity. Hopefully it would be a quick meeting and then he would be able to leave with the details to track down Gaedren. Once he had that worm....the rest would be easy. 'Well, easy compared to the annoyance of having to deal with these past few weeks.' Sighing slightly, he waited for others to show up.
Action #2: Kaisaras' introduction
From his seat at the table in Zellara’s shop, Kaisaras still with his hood pulled up, gives a brief nod to the others. His eyes move from side to side as he leans into the back of his seat, head tilted downwards to better hide his features beyond that which his scarf and hood already did. Arm's crossed, he spoke up, giving his usual voice a lower pitch and slight accent, "If no one else seems to want to go first, 'll start. You can call me Kai. Got a message on the back of a Harro' card leading me here. Same for you all?" He cocked his head to the side slightly, while raising his chin to motion to the others in the room.
AT SUNSET Kurstin arrived one bell before sunset, and decided to hang back and observe the building for a bit. He was hoping this wasn't a trap - if it was it was fairly elaborate and he didn't think that he had uncovered such a great amount of information to be targeted, but one can never be too careful on the streets. And so it was that young Kurstin saw the first man arrive and enter. A rather nondescript man, with common clothes and travelling cloak. It could go either way...a rogue or another person with a grudge against Lamm. Only one way to find out.
The young man enters the shop, its layout and decorations the same as his previous visit. He was still most enthralled by the tapestry with the dancing angels - it was a hopeful sight beside the other, darker ones. The incense smoke was just as thick and sweet as before. The one difference Kurstin notices is the number of chairs around the seeing table - six instead of the usual three. He nods to the first man who entered, and approaches the table. He picks up the note and reads it, looks under the table to see the bread and wine bottle, and puts the note back. Kurstin shrugs, and walks around the shop, looking at the incense burners and tapestries until the rest arrive.
THE ARRIVAL Once the rest of the group is in place, Kurstin follows Kai's lead. Holding up his Harrow card - The Wanderer - he says, "Greetings. I am Kurstin. I'm looking for my little sister, who I think was kidnapped by Gaedren Lamm two years ago. I'm hoping to find a new lead tonight...all of the rest of my investigations have been dead-ends or meaningless excursions."
You can't help but notice that the young man's eyes are completely black - there is no white at all! He is dressed in an old set of studded leather armor, with a backpack and belt pouches strung over his shoulders. He also carries a strangle looking-board with a trigger, and a light hammer.
action 1: Brock would make his way to the shop and step inside. The hulking figure would stand in the door way for a moment, struggling to dig the crumpled card from his pocket while coughing from the thick incense in the air. After retrieving the card from his pocket, he'd wave it in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air before making his way towards the table. The floorboards would creak under his thick steel-toed boots as the little light in the room reflected off his armored shoulders and bracers. Brock would stop before sitting down... looking at the two figures at the table. Before sitting down, he'd toss his crumpled card on to the table. "Hey kid, The name's Brock. You might know me as "Brock the Rock?" or maybe just "The Rock fist".... Anyway... you and yer dad here to talk about rippin Gaedreon Lamm's head from his shoulders?" The fighter would ask looking to the young man as he pulls back the chair and drops his weight on to the strained piece of furniture. The chair creaks loudly as though screaming in agony but it holds the large man. He would then grab a piece of bread and the bottle of wine before taking a large bite. If Brock cared that it was stale, he didn't show it before taking a quick drink straight from the bottle.
action 2: Once everyone arrived, Brock would look over each of the men at the table, sizing them up before speaking. "Well you all can call me Brock. Some of ya may already know about me if ya follow any of the fights taking place in the city." He'd say with a smile. "Not long ago Lamm hired me for a fight. Convinced me it was gunna be my ticket to the big show. Ended up tossing me in a pit to fight a damned Otyugh." Brock would say as he spit on the floor and gestured towards the very fresh scars running along his left eye. Scabs still clung to the wound. "The bastard left me fer dead after I got shredded by that garbage muncher... now I plan to make him pay.
Kaisaras raises an eyebrow from under his hood hearing the brutish-looking man's reasonings for chasing Lamm. Kurstin's introduction and reasoning was fair and noble enough, it also didn't give him reason enough to want to kill Lamm....revenge on the other hand...."I do hope you don't have plans to kill the man right away. He has much to answer for, not just to you, but to many. Bringing him in alive is the best way to help as many people as possible." Kai maintains his fake accent and tone, hoping to turn the man away from ideas of killing his only current lead to clear his family's name.
Also DC (5) History Check to recall that Otyughs are large monstrous creatures that live in the sewers below Korvosa. The city imported them as living garbage disposals and they're rarely seen above ground. Most people have not seen one in person.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
History: 18 Kurstin looks on Brock with a mixture of wonder, admiration, and horror. "I knew the city had those creatures in the sewers to dispose of garbage - but it's horrible to think you were made to fight one of them for sport!"
In response to Kai's statement, the young man shrugs and says, "I'm more interested in getting my sister back, and for that I agree that we need to take Lamm alive. After that, I don't care if you rip his head from his shoulders and place it somewhere else."
"I guess I don't have to kill him right away... maybe just rip his arms off... and at least one leg. Then ya can ask yer questions about yer sister and you can do... whatever it is ya want." The man would say as he wipes the wine from his beard with the back if his hand. "And there wasnt much sport to that fight, he tried ta kill me! Lamm made a lot'a coin betting against me after talking me up to all his heavy betting friends. That damn creature was huge, the only way I got loose from its damned grasp was to break off one of its teeth and stab it in the eye. Brock would reply as he looks from the young man to the obscured man.
Radgar settled into the table and watched as the others settled in and the fighter prattled on. Taciturn and reserved by nature, the dwarf was completely out of his element in the company of these characters. But when he heard Kurstin speak of a lost sibling, he shifted his gaze to the young man - noticing his blacked-out eyes for the first time.
'Oy, there boy, what's happened to your eyes?' not waiting for a response, the dwarf pushes on 'I'm looking for someone as well and I know who it was who took 'em, just not how to get him back if you know what I mean.' speaking as if a dam broke, the words come tumbling out in a breathless rush. 'but yer eyes, man, yer eyes? You ok?'
Kurstin smiles - but there is no humor in it. "I study artificing at the College, and while looking for a way to help me see better in the dark - kind of like you dwarves and the elves - I tried to use some of my newly-learned skills, and took a few calculated risks. I tattooed the runes for sight, perception, and starlight, plus some of the minor binding runes and the allegorical harmonic symbols, and after a period of time, the reagents I used for the ink actually absorbed and coalesced in my eyes, giving them this all-black appearance. But it worked - I have uncanny sight in the dark!"
'An artificer ya say, one of them tinkerers? Don't hold much truck with that sort of stuff. Give me a hammer and a hot forge and the blessings of Torag himself - that's how ye make things worth using, I say.' His words may be dismissive, but Radgar's body language and enthusiasm give him away. He's a dwarf and anyone who makes anything is inherently more interesting than anyone who doesn't. Leaning further in, he peers into the blackness of the eyes 'Ye can see in the dark? From some tattoos and sigils ya say? That's a nifty trick. Wonder if it would work on a helm..'
"Seeing in the dark is a pretty nice trick. The black eyes is a good thing I say. Helps ya to stand out. People will remember a kid with creepy black doll eyes." Brock would say with a smile. "Maybe once I'm a big time brawler I'll drop some coin fer a magic tattoo and some upgrades to my father's old armor." He would then gesture to his pauldrons and bracers.
Danse observed the street he'd run up and down many times during his rough and tumble upbringing. He smiled at the memories that were brought back from the charming sight. But still, he has a place to be, and a performance to run, in one way or another. He lounged back at the other end of the alley, peering at the passerbies who walk into the building of interest tonight. Four figures. Interesting. After a minute or more of enjoying the cooling night air, Danse pulled out his own deck of cards, prepared to host the introductory event to whatever grand finale they have been invited to.
Action 2 - 001
Danse pushed his way through the aromatic interior. Incense. How traditional. At least it will add to my grandiose entry. Incense was useful to accentuate the mystique of performances, but it was expensive, and it only travels so far in an alleyway. He took a singular moment to admire the elaborate tapestries and gaudy candleholders. Lovely. The tapestries took a particular interest to Danse, as they were similar in fashion and purpose to his flowing robes. I guess I'm not the only pretentious one here.
The last to enter, Danse certainly was not a disappointing arrival. Stepping through the tapestries was a brightly-colored Half-Elf with a fantastical array of tattoos - a peacock curling from his left jaw up his face, along with a phoenix on the other side, were most apparent in the hazy candlelight. Danse wore his traditional, dull blue, decorated robes, and he donned his usual performer's charming smile. As the group turned towards him, he ensured to connect eyes with each one for a brief moment - the hulking human with scars across an eye. The dwarf with a stalwart demeanor which permeates the air. The human with voids instead of eyes. And, finally, the hulking human, with scars across his face and fists.
Danse smiled, and bowed with a flourish. In the bow, he took out his own deck of tarot cards. Why not be theatrical? He then approached the table where the four of them sat, admiring the rugs below. "Well, I don't believe I've seen a group of people more in need of a good time in my entire life," he announced, laying a line of cards seemingly produced from thin air. He took a seat, placing his hands together and resting a sinewy chin against them. His hands were canvassed and wrapped with more tattoos, of all color and variety. "The name's Danse. Danse Macabre, or so I'm called. I'm not the one who organized this meeting, but please - I don't possess a mind for idle greetings. Humor be by taking a card, whichever one draws you, hm? I find it might introduce you to me in a more expedient manner than words." Ah, it's all a gag anyways. Let's see if I can make it worthwhile.
Zoldier's Curse of the Crimson Throne
Chapter 000 - Gathering
References Docs:
Map of Varisia
Map of Korvosa
Map of the Inner Sea Region
HEALING
We will use a “Slow Natural healing” optional rule.
“Characters don't regain hit points at the end of a long rest. Instead, a character can spend Hit Dice to heal at the end of a long rest, just as with a short rest. This optional rule prolongs the amount of time that characters need to recover from their wounds without the benefits of magical healing and works well for grittier, more realistic campaigns.”
Modified Long Rest Rule
At the end of a Long Rest, a character regains spent Hit Dice, up to a number of dice equal to half of the character’s total number of them (minimum of one die). For example, if a character has eight Hit Dice, he or she can regain four spent Hit Dice upon finishing a Long Rest.
BROUGHT BACK FROM 0 HITPOINTS
A PC cannot act in the same round that he is brought back from 0 hit points.
For example, if your PC is brought down to below 0 hit points in Round 1; another PC could heal him in Round 2, but your PC could only act in Round 3 again. I rule that the PC is 'dazed and getting his bearings' in Round 2 (may speak, etc.).
FLANKING
Flanking provides advantage on melee attack roll (for both PCs & Enemies)
MEDICINE SKILL
A medicine check DC 15 with one use of a healer’s kit allow for a reroll on a hit dice if you spend a hit dice during a short or long rest.
Moving through Occupied Spaces
A character can move through a space occupied by a another creature as though it's difficult terrain. Doing so through an enemies position draws can provoke an Attack of Opportunity
"Tumbling" through an Occupied Space
A character attempt to "tumble" through one occupied space in a round to move without provoking an Attack of Opportunity. To do so, the PC must make a contested Athletics/ Acrobatics check against the current occupant's Athletics/ Acrobatics check. On a success, the PC moves, through the space as normal via the rules above. On a failure, the PC is "blocked" and cannot attempt to move through that space for the rest of the round; their movement is also lost as part of the failed action.
Initiative
DM will roll initiative for all creatures/ characters in combat.
Combat will be split into "blocks" where characters can post their actions for a given round. Each "block" is separated by the turns of enemy creatures. Once all PCs have posted, current block's actions will be compiled and organized and played out by the DM in the recap (in rolled initiative order) before moving completing enemy actions and continuing on to the next block/ round.
HARROW POINTS
Harrow Points: After the Harrowing each of you have gained something called Harrow Points. Throughout the adventure you all will be faced with numerous situations where you will need to be quick on your feet or skilled with your hands. Until otherwise noted, each of you have gained a certain amount of Harrow Points that can be used in the following ways as a free action.
Though these points cannot be replenished via usual means (Short/ Long Rest etc.), there will be times throughout the campaign where more Harrow Points can be gained. Your total amount of Harrow Points will be tracked on the table below.
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM
Action #1: When Kaisaras finds the Tarot card
Having spent much of his morning in his family carriage, traveling back and forth from the various estates in the city, even Kaisaras was beginning to feel annoyed by the bush beating of his father's case. Having taken on the figurehead role for his family, while the bad reputation of the recently concluded case regarding his father's clearly framed actions. Regardless of his subjective innocence, most people saw this as simply him making use of his connections with the guard to get off scot-free. Not only was that insulting to their family, but it was also entirely untrue. Still, gossip of this level was like water in the desert to the nobility, and they quickly lapped it up regardless of their actual beliefs. Words were weapons, after all, a point Kai had long since learned. 'That bastard might as well have served me poison with how venomous that smile was. The nerve....we need to get this fixed, and soon. Gods know how long I can deal with this before I order James to stab someone.' A deep sigh escaped the young man's lips as he momentarily dropped his mask and closed his eyes, letting the annoyance of the last meeting show on his face, as his chin hit his chest. It was only for a second, however, as in the next, his head rose again, returning the mask to where it was needed.
Standing to the side of the road as his carriage came to a stop to pick him up, Kaisaras Ironwood was a pristine example of young nobility. Posed with confidence, eloquence, and grace, it made his lean frame seem more imposing to the average passing citizen, more so with his passively fair stoic expression, sharp brown eyes, and dark bangs. Fine clothes of dark colors, trimmed with gold and a fine blade at his side, marked with the sigil of both his family and the Steel Brigade, gave people multiple reasons to not mess with this man...though the pair of moderately armored guards at his side would add a further reason in most first glances.
As he stepped up to his carriage, he frowned in surprise as he spotted a Harrow card sitting atop his spot, propped up so to clearly stand out as he entered. After a quick interrogation of his driver and guards, he found that none of them had seen who had delivered the card. Curious, he entered the carriage and had them begin to take him home. As the carriage began to jostle along the path home, Kaisaras plucked the card up and examined the thin material, noting the Twins. He generally wasn't superstitious, by a matter of principle, and wondered if this was someone's idea of sending him a proposal or threat. Flipping the card over, an eyebrow rose as he noted the message on the back. Giving it a quick read, he realized this was a lead, or at least a means, to rid his father and by extension, family, of the current stain plaguing and burdening their current affairs.
Action #2: History Check (DC10) - 9
Unable to recall the exact information regarding the location, Kaisaras furrows his brow and sighs again. Pressing his palm to his face, he massages his forehead. It would be some time till Sunset, time he could use. Not giving word to anyone, he allowed the carriage to return home. Once there, he gave his report to his father and mother, regarding the latest in annoyances from their fellow nobles, before retiring to his own room. Once there, he opened his closet and then opened the hidden compartment behind it. There, folded neatly, the clothes that he had used to investigate the fisher that helped free his father from the court. Noble clothes didn't do well in common grounds, he would need to be descrit. Doffing his fine clothing, he donned the more subtle attire of the ragged street clothes.
Now donning a leather best with dark shirt and hood, with a grey scarf and cloak , Kaisaras snuck out of his home and began to make his way towards Lancet street. It would be quiet the walk, so he made sure to bring a bottle with him, if anyone asked, he could pretend to be a drunkard, turned around by the various corners. Crossing the bridge from Eastshore towards the midland district. By the time he arrived at the address, it was just in time for the meeting. Half expecting this to be a trap, Kai gripped his rapier under his cloak. 'The things I do for others.' With yet another sigh, he entered the shop, that he found to be a fortune teller's residence.
Action 1
Kurstin was tired. The bone-weary tired that comes from too many months with too little rest, from finding too few answers to too many questions, and from shouldering too many burdens alone. Like most humans at seventeen, he felt the burning desire to do great deeds and make a name for himself, but also the near-crippling self-doubt from past mistakes and missteps. He was a student at the Theumanexus College, smaller than the more prestigious and strict Acadamae. He was enrolled in a variety of subjects but exceled at artificiery – the practice of scribing runes and characters of power to make ordinary items have seemingly magical powers.
At daybreak on this morning, Kurstin woke with only a couple hours of sleep after another long night at the taverns and running the back alleys of Korvosa, facing another long day of classes. But his nighttime activities were not like most young men in the city. Instead of seeking his own pleasures, Kurstin was seeking rumors, wisps of information, anything to help him find his little sister, gone missing two years ago. He believes it was his fault, because he wasn't paying close enough attention to her that day, or he was distracted by the pretty girls from school, or any of a number of reasons he repeats over and over, beating himself up over it. The city guard looked for a month or two, but never turned up anything of much use. So Kurstin started looking on his own, between classes and at night, even though his studies have started to suffer because of the time he spends looking for his sister, tracking down leads and investigating clues.
And so, in his haze-like state this morning, the young artificer did not notice the strange card tucked into his notebook. He stopped at his favorite café – The Witch’s Brew – and got a double shot of hot káfe. He barely even noticed that Nephele, his favorite serving girl, had dyed her hair a bright green! He sipped his “magic potion” and trudged off to classes, dreading today’s lecture in mathimagics, and wishing that he didn’t have tonight’s practical laboratory in astromancy, but always happy to spend time in the ‘fishery’ – the nickname given to the artificiery, where students learned and honed their skills. It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon when the Harrow Card slipped from his book and landed on his desk.
“What the…where did this come from?” he thought. “I haven’t been to a soothsayer in months! Wait – there’s something written on the back…” He read the note, looked at the front again, and read the note once more. Kurstin was desperate to find any info on the whereabouts of his sister – it had been weeks since his last lead dried up. And now this literally fell into his lap! Kurstin thought about any Harrow readers he had visited that may have sent this. (DC10 History: 14) "Wait - I remember. This is the address for the shop of Zellara Esmeranda! Yes, I visited her establishment in the Midland District earlier this year. I didn't mention Lamm to her - but she must have divined it from our session. I wonder what he did to tempt the fates and offend her?" He would have to skip his astromancy lab – again – but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity!
Two hours before sunset, Kurstin gathered his standard night-time gear – an old set of studded leather armor, his backpack and belt pouches with some of his artificer inventions that helped him to search the city and protect himself from those who would do him harm. A light crossbow and his hammer. Common adventuring equipment he had accumulated. And, as always, he made sure that he had the small enchanted stone that contained a short recording of his younger sister laughing, which he made at her last birthday at home. He set off to the address, eager to finally retrieve his sister and perhaps ensure that nobody else had to endure what his family had by taking care of the man responsible for all of this - Gaedren Lamm.
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
History check 11
Action 1
Brock woke up to the sound of sizzling bacon as his eyes struggled to open. Every muscle screamed in agony as he sat up and rubbed his face. looking back down towards his sheets, fresh blood stains dotted the fabric where his scabs and healing wounds had fused to the sheets. "I'll kill that dried out piece of Sh!t if it is the last thing I do..." Brock would growl under his breath through clenched teeth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he'd wait a couple minutes as though strugging to force himself to stand up. It wasn't until his father shouted from the other room that he decided it was time to start his day. "Get in here lad! Breakfast ain't gunna eat itself ya know! Quit licking yer wounds and have some of this bacon!" His father Slate would shout. Once up, The nearly healed fighter would stretch his muscular body, sending the sound of cracking and popping bones and joints through the room. He'd then put on his fathers old set of armor that he always wore and head out into the kitchen.
The heavy armor was inexpensive and easily recognizable with oversized spiked shoulder puldrons and matching spiked bracers. Both Brock and Slate believed that "it is important to never stop promoting yourself, and no one wants to watch a fight between two nobodies... Wearing that armor around town is better than any business card." He could hear his fathers voice say in his head. His armor wasn't the only thing he used to keep his "brand" well represented. His hair was trimmed into a brown mohawk that swayed a bit when the wind blew strong enough. on his chiseled face he had a well kept brown beard and a new scar was forming over his left eye... a permanent reminder of his dealings with Lamm.
After eating breakfast with his father, He would take care of cleaning up the dirty dishes before heading outside to restart his training regimen. He'd head out back behind his home and clench his heavily calloused fist before approaching a large oak post embedded in the dirt. The wooden post and a pile of nearby rocks was all that remained of an old stone well. The post had sections that shimmered in the morning sun from where Brock had repeatedly punched and kicked them to where they were almost polished smooth like the handle of a well used tool. After working up a sweat beating the piece of wood for the first time since being mauled and left for dead, Brock moved towards the pile of rocks. After lifting the heavy stone from the top, he'd notice a tarot card laying underneath. "how'd that get there. No one moves these rocks but me... pops can't even move these rocks anymore." He'd say to himself before throwing the small boulder off to the side. He'd look at the card and examine the bear while rubbing his beard. Then he'd flip the card over and read the writing on the back. As he finished reading the note, he'd crush the card in his hand in stuff it into his pocket. "I know that place. A couple fans told me that she'd told'em to bet on me a few weeks back. Guess they earned a fair bit a coin that day." He thinks to himself. Brock then continues his work out, lifting the heavy stones and tossing them into the air.
Later Brock makes a quick supper for himself and his father before heading out into the street. Their small home was on the rough side of town and while most people avoided going out at night, the locals knew not to mess with Brock. The sun was just starting to lower and the fighter knew he wanted to be there on time so he better leave early. "A good fighter and showman never leaves his fans waiting". He hears his father say inside his head as he moves quickly across town.
Action #1
The morning broke like any other, early, grey and unpromising. Radgar woke before dawn and began his preparations for the day, starting by lighting his small forge-altar and asking for the blessings of Torag to strengthen his steel and to bring him through another day safely. He then turned to the small repairs he had set aside to complete in these early hours, the work that kept his belly full and a roof over his head, but no longer the work of his heart.
Once the stout dwarf had completed his morning rituals and chores he dressed quickly and practically, shrugging on his blessed chain mail over the padded gambeson that doubled as a hearth apron. Practical boots and a well worn hooded cloak completed the outfit. The tabard bearing the sigil of the Stonebreaker clan was his only nod to anything approach ornamentation, and even that was done in muted versions of the clans normal blue and silver. He slung his shield across his back and tucked his Warhammer in his it's artfully crafted harness on his belt, completing his preparations to face the day ahead.
At 73, Radgar was nearing the traditional age of full adulthood. He should have his own forge, a full hearth with apprentices learning from him and his own established mark. He should have his own table, where he could entertain the traders and merchants who sought the finely wrought armor and carefully crafted weapons he made. Instead, he spent his days wandering the wards, listening for rumors, seeking any information he could find about Dagnam. He knew who had taken his brother, that much was clear, finding him was another matter entirely.
Checking in with his contacts at the Watch, Radgar swapped the repaired bits of armor for newly broken or worn bits, promising to have them repaired by the next morning. He accepted the coin offered for his services - he needed to keep the forge and his belly fed after all - but he was mostly interested in the information and favors he collected from those transactions. Someday they would be the currency he would use to find and free Dagnam.
Action #2
As he took his mid-day meal at his customary tavern, he found a strange Harrow card tucked under his mug. Neither Esie the barmaid nor any of his companions had seen who left the card, it had simply appeared. History check 7.
Zoldier's Curse of the Crimson Throne
Chapter 001 - At Sunset
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM
Action 1 - 000
"Hark! Bear witness to the finest display of swordsmanship on this side of Korvosa! Behold, the apogee of blade artistry you'll ever get to see!"
The bustling main street of Korvosa's entertainment districts lead dozens of inns, merchant shops, taverns, and other buildings of business. Also calling this road home are several cart merchants and street performers eager to squeeze any possible coin from passerbies. One such performer is Danse - today, he occupied his traditional place along the dusty road heading towards the Bard's End. He ensured an ample distance from himself and his audience, for reasons that may become evident rather quickly.
"Observe!" He called out to the admittedly poor audience he had attracted. Ah, well. The mornings are usually slow.
Danse stepped into the light falling into the bustling streets. Like the usual, he donned a blue robe outfitted with multicolored laces and ostentatious woven patterns depicting warriors and battles. A closer look may reveal the garment to have fraying edges, and perhaps to originally have been a lighter shade of blue, had dust and grime not caked it over time. Danse was fine with the dirt. He'd been born with it, and he'd been raised in it.
Danse splayed his arms wide, allowing his face to get caught in the sunlight. A touch dramatic and more than definitely ostentatious, but in Korvosa, that's what the folks loved. And as an entertainer, you had to make ends meet somehow. The more lavish, the more lucrative, or so he'd heard a bard tell him one time. The apparent Half-Elf's skin became highlighted in the arcs of sun - or, at least, what you can call skin. It is difficult to trace Danse's elven heritage as nearly all of it is inked with colorful, expansive, flowing tattoos. Curling up the left side of his neck is a blue-green peacock, feathers opened like the fans Danse has seen ladies of prestige wave around on scorching days. Wrapping around the other side of his face rests a brilliant orange phoenix. The two tattoos intertwine with each other, resembling an aerial combat between two winged beasts. As Danse speaks, the wings of the inked birds provide the optical illusion of movement, and Danse talks plenty.
This performance, he drew two simultaneous scimitars from scabbards across his belt. In one deft motion, he ran both across his mouth, spitting a wad of blood at his heels as if to prove the sharpness of the blades. In tune with the motif of his tattooed face, the hilt of one blade is blue-green, and the other, a vibrantly dyed orange. "Now - watch carefully," he announced, rising both blades into a v-shaped formation with straight arms, akin to a bird about to take flight. "You are about to experience the mystical art of Bladesinging, a style of fighting that transcends the ancient settlement of Korvosa itself!" In reality, the historical aspect to his performance was all but a ruse, but performances were enhanced by an air of mystique.
In one motion, Danse spun both blades while crouching, falling to one knee. He bowed to the audience, each blade neatly tucked away to his side, as if treating them as equals. He then raised his back and stood, body immediately twisting and swirling. The blades slowly picked up speed until they were indistinguishable from discs of metal, whirling at Danse's side. Suddenly, one blade flung through the air, and Danse twisted and turned, the other blade whirling in a figure-eight in one hand. He spun around, catching the blade in his offhand, and swapped techniques to a dizzying display of turning around in circles, the scimitars seeming to form an active barrier of metal which guarded him from the outside world. Unfortunately, the group of observers had obscured him from the ongoing passerbies, thus limiting his targeted audience. I should rent a stage. Perhaps that would bring more wandering eyes.
After several minutes of this magnificent display, Danse slowed his spinning. In one final display of glamour, he flung both swords upwards, sending them a dozen feet in the air. As the onlooking crowd's eyes were drawn upwards by the hypnotic blades, Danse quickly lit a match, placing it into a designated pocket in his robe. In the same motion, he loosened the collar of his cloak, revealing his chest and throat to the audience. The blades returned, expertly timed to reduce their spinning speed, and plunged downwards. In a daring feat of performance, both blades landed into Danse's mouth, each sinking to the hilt. The match ignited several strategic, insulated areas of his coat, lighting his arms in a harmless blaze of red-tinged, sulfured fire. He'd picked up sword swallowing from the same circus he'd trained in. It wasn't as dangerous as people made it seem, but that was all part of the performance, no? Better to let them assume.
Similar to his face, the underside of Danse's chin, and all around his neck, were fully inked with tattoos. This time, a glorious tattoo of a red dragon enveloped Danse's chest, rising up to the maw where the neck ends. Both scimitars now buried to the hilt, the display of the dragon tattoo, combined with the allegory behind the twin battling birds being consumed by a higher entity, became evident. The small crowd whooped and cheered, but only a small amount flicked more than a silver in Danse's direction. What more do these people want?
Danse extracted the blades, attempting to hide a wince as he does so. Nobody said it wasn't dangerous, and he might have reopened a wound somewhere in his esophagus from training. He scooped up the measly coin he'd earned. It could possibly last him the day. Lucky day. I might be able to save some coin from performances tonight. Perhaps I can buy a place for my own sometime.
Danse restored his scimitars to their scabbards, turning and walking to his small amount of gear. He sat, cross-legged, against a stone building, rifling through his possessions. Card tricks for the evening? He procures the deck from the small holster, and begun shuffling, refreshing his routine in his memory. After a moment, he frowned. Something was amiss. He rifled through the deck - there was one card too many. One by one, he made it through the deck - until eventually, he stumbled across a card he'd never seen. He had his own Tarot Cards, but this card - the Joke - he'd never seen before. Danse chuckled. Whoever placed this here definitely had a sense of humor. He flipped it over, admiring the unique art on the front side, and the placid smile on his face melted away. Now understanding what had transpired, he jogged his memory, attempting to remember any enemy of his former enslaver. An enemy of your enemy is a friend, or however the saying goes, and Danse was keen to make friends. History! 8 - unfortunately, the slight stinging sensation he felt from his performance distracted him from locating the source of this note.
He'd heard of Lancet street, and is familiar with the lay of the town, backstreets included. Taking his scimitars and meager belongings, he confidently approaches at dusk. The thought of an ambush had crossed his mind, but the anger he felt against Gaedren perservered.
Action #1: Kaisaras arrives at the address and enters.
Stepping into the Fortune Teller's shop, Kaisaras gave a strange look to his surroundings. He generally wasn't a superstitious person, and didn't put to much faith in the things like fate or destiny. That said, the various trinkets that littered the area gave him weird vibes, and he had no desire to purchase anything. Making his way to the table, he sat himself down in the spot facing the door. He would like to be able to watch people as they entered. If they snuck in....well he doubted anyone worth their salt would find trouble sneaking around an extra chair or two. Relaxing into his spot, he casually read the note left behind, but made no motion to drink or eat what was offered. No telling if there was poison or some other offhand drug, he didn't come all by himself to act like some prince of the sewers over a loaf of stale bread and cheap wine. Gods help him if he caught himself falling for something so pathetic.
As he waited, he mentally went over any cover he might need while hiding his true identity. Hopefully it would be a quick meeting and then he would be able to leave with the details to track down Gaedren. Once he had that worm....the rest would be easy. 'Well, easy compared to the annoyance of having to deal with these past few weeks.' Sighing slightly, he waited for others to show up.
Action #2: Kaisaras' introduction
From his seat at the table in Zellara’s shop, Kaisaras still with his hood pulled up, gives a brief nod to the others. His eyes move from side to side as he leans into the back of his seat, head tilted downwards to better hide his features beyond that which his scarf and hood already did. Arm's crossed, he spoke up, giving his usual voice a lower pitch and slight accent, "If no one else seems to want to go first, 'll start. You can call me Kai. Got a message on the back of a Harro' card leading me here. Same for you all?" He cocked his head to the side slightly, while raising his chin to motion to the others in the room.
AT SUNSET
Kurstin arrived one bell before sunset, and decided to hang back and observe the building for a bit. He was hoping this wasn't a trap - if it was it was fairly elaborate and he didn't think that he had uncovered such a great amount of information to be targeted, but one can never be too careful on the streets. And so it was that young Kurstin saw the first man arrive and enter. A rather nondescript man, with common clothes and travelling cloak. It could go either way...a rogue or another person with a grudge against Lamm. Only one way to find out.
The young man enters the shop, its layout and decorations the same as his previous visit. He was still most enthralled by the tapestry with the dancing angels - it was a hopeful sight beside the other, darker ones. The incense smoke was just as thick and sweet as before. The one difference Kurstin notices is the number of chairs around the seeing table - six instead of the usual three. He nods to the first man who entered, and approaches the table. He picks up the note and reads it, looks under the table to see the bread and wine bottle, and puts the note back. Kurstin shrugs, and walks around the shop, looking at the incense burners and tapestries until the rest arrive.
THE ARRIVAL
Once the rest of the group is in place, Kurstin follows Kai's lead. Holding up his Harrow card - The Wanderer - he says, "Greetings. I am Kurstin. I'm looking for my little sister, who I think was kidnapped by Gaedren Lamm two years ago. I'm hoping to find a new lead tonight...all of the rest of my investigations have been dead-ends or meaningless excursions."
You can't help but notice that the young man's eyes are completely black - there is no white at all! He is dressed in an old set of studded leather armor, with a backpack and belt pouches strung over his shoulders. He also carries a strangle looking-board with a trigger, and a light hammer.
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
action 1: Brock would make his way to the shop and step inside. The hulking figure would stand in the door way for a moment, struggling to dig the crumpled card from his pocket while coughing from the thick incense in the air. After retrieving the card from his pocket, he'd wave it in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air before making his way towards the table. The floorboards would creak under his thick steel-toed boots as the little light in the room reflected off his armored shoulders and bracers. Brock would stop before sitting down... looking at the two figures at the table. Before sitting down, he'd toss his crumpled card on to the table. "Hey kid, The name's Brock. You might know me as "Brock the Rock?" or maybe just "The Rock fist".... Anyway... you and yer dad here to talk about rippin Gaedreon Lamm's head from his shoulders?" The fighter would ask looking to the young man as he pulls back the chair and drops his weight on to the strained piece of furniture. The chair creaks loudly as though screaming in agony but it holds the large man. He would then grab a piece of bread and the bottle of wine before taking a large bite. If Brock cared that it was stale, he didn't show it before taking a quick drink straight from the bottle.
action 2: Once everyone arrived, Brock would look over each of the men at the table, sizing them up before speaking. "Well you all can call me Brock. Some of ya may already know about me if ya follow any of the fights taking place in the city." He'd say with a smile. "Not long ago Lamm hired me for a fight. Convinced me it was gunna be my ticket to the big show. Ended up tossing me in a pit to fight a damned Otyugh." Brock would say as he spit on the floor and gestured towards the very fresh scars running along his left eye. Scabs still clung to the wound. "The bastard left me fer dead after I got shredded by that garbage muncher... now I plan to make him pay.
Action #1: Responding to Wreck/Brock's intro
Kaisaras raises an eyebrow from under his hood hearing the brutish-looking man's reasonings for chasing Lamm. Kurstin's introduction and reasoning was fair and noble enough, it also didn't give him reason enough to want to kill Lamm....revenge on the other hand...."I do hope you don't have plans to kill the man right away. He has much to answer for, not just to you, but to many. Bringing him in alive is the best way to help as many people as possible." Kai maintains his fake accent and tone, hoping to turn the man away from ideas of killing his only current lead to clear his family's name.
Great stuff everyone! I'll be posting tomorrow.
Also DC (5) History Check to recall that Otyughs are large monstrous creatures that live in the sewers below Korvosa. The city imported them as living garbage disposals and they're rarely seen above ground. Most people have not seen one in person.
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM
History: 18 Kurstin looks on Brock with a mixture of wonder, admiration, and horror. "I knew the city had those creatures in the sewers to dispose of garbage - but it's horrible to think you were made to fight one of them for sport!"
In response to Kai's statement, the young man shrugs and says, "I'm more interested in getting my sister back, and for that I agree that we need to take Lamm alive. After that, I don't care if you rip his head from his shoulders and place it somewhere else."
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
action 1: replying ti Kai and kur
"I guess I don't have to kill him right away... maybe just rip his arms off... and at least one leg. Then ya can ask yer questions about yer sister and you can do... whatever it is ya want." The man would say as he wipes the wine from his beard with the back if his hand. "And there wasnt much sport to that fight, he tried ta kill me! Lamm made a lot'a coin betting against me after talking me up to all his heavy betting friends. That damn creature was huge, the only way I got loose from its damned grasp was to break off one of its teeth and stab it in the eye. Brock would reply as he looks from the young man to the obscured man.
Radgar settled into the table and watched as the others settled in and the fighter prattled on. Taciturn and reserved by nature, the dwarf was completely out of his element in the company of these characters. But when he heard Kurstin speak of a lost sibling, he shifted his gaze to the young man - noticing his blacked-out eyes for the first time.
'Oy, there boy, what's happened to your eyes?' not waiting for a response, the dwarf pushes on 'I'm looking for someone as well and I know who it was who took 'em, just not how to get him back if you know what I mean.' speaking as if a dam broke, the words come tumbling out in a breathless rush. 'but yer eyes, man, yer eyes? You ok?'
Kurstin smiles - but there is no humor in it. "I study artificing at the College, and while looking for a way to help me see better in the dark - kind of like you dwarves and the elves - I tried to use some of my newly-learned skills, and took a few calculated risks. I tattooed the runes for sight, perception, and starlight, plus some of the minor binding runes and the allegorical harmonic symbols, and after a period of time, the reagents I used for the ink actually absorbed and coalesced in my eyes, giving them this all-black appearance. But it worked - I have uncanny sight in the dark!"
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
'An artificer ya say, one of them tinkerers? Don't hold much truck with that sort of stuff. Give me a hammer and a hot forge and the blessings of Torag himself - that's how ye make things worth using, I say.' His words may be dismissive, but Radgar's body language and enthusiasm give him away. He's a dwarf and anyone who makes anything is inherently more interesting than anyone who doesn't. Leaning further in, he peers into the blackness of the eyes 'Ye can see in the dark? From some tattoos and sigils ya say? That's a nifty trick. Wonder if it would work on a helm..'
"Seeing in the dark is a pretty nice trick. The black eyes is a good thing I say. Helps ya to stand out. People will remember a kid with creepy black doll eyes." Brock would say with a smile. "Maybe once I'm a big time brawler I'll drop some coin fer a magic tattoo and some upgrades to my father's old armor." He would then gesture to his pauldrons and bracers.
Action 1 - 001
Danse observed the street he'd run up and down many times during his rough and tumble upbringing. He smiled at the memories that were brought back from the charming sight. But still, he has a place to be, and a performance to run, in one way or another. He lounged back at the other end of the alley, peering at the passerbies who walk into the building of interest tonight. Four figures. Interesting. After a minute or more of enjoying the cooling night air, Danse pulled out his own deck of cards, prepared to host the introductory event to whatever grand finale they have been invited to.
Action 2 - 001
Danse pushed his way through the aromatic interior. Incense. How traditional. At least it will add to my grandiose entry. Incense was useful to accentuate the mystique of performances, but it was expensive, and it only travels so far in an alleyway. He took a singular moment to admire the elaborate tapestries and gaudy candleholders. Lovely. The tapestries took a particular interest to Danse, as they were similar in fashion and purpose to his flowing robes. I guess I'm not the only pretentious one here.
The last to enter, Danse certainly was not a disappointing arrival. Stepping through the tapestries was a brightly-colored Half-Elf with a fantastical array of tattoos - a peacock curling from his left jaw up his face, along with a phoenix on the other side, were most apparent in the hazy candlelight. Danse wore his traditional, dull blue, decorated robes, and he donned his usual performer's charming smile. As the group turned towards him, he ensured to connect eyes with each one for a brief moment - the hulking human with scars across an eye. The dwarf with a stalwart demeanor which permeates the air. The human with voids instead of eyes. And, finally, the hulking human, with scars across his face and fists.
Danse smiled, and bowed with a flourish. In the bow, he took out his own deck of tarot cards. Why not be theatrical? He then approached the table where the four of them sat, admiring the rugs below. "Well, I don't believe I've seen a group of people more in need of a good time in my entire life," he announced, laying a line of cards seemingly produced from thin air. He took a seat, placing his hands together and resting a sinewy chin against them. His hands were canvassed and wrapped with more tattoos, of all color and variety. "The name's Danse. Danse Macabre, or so I'm called. I'm not the one who organized this meeting, but please - I don't possess a mind for idle greetings. Humor be by taking a card, whichever one draws you, hm? I find it might introduce you to me in a more expedient manner than words." Ah, it's all a gag anyways. Let's see if I can make it worthwhile.
Zoldier's Curse of the Crimson Throne
Chapter 002 - Strangers
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM