Elsol's walk back to the troop quarters next to the Eight and Two are in the company of the rest of his quartet, Koeri (a tiefling), Lenastor (a black dragonborn), and Menetavro (a minotaur). The monstrous nature of the rest of Elsol's troop was always a mystery to him, as it didn't seem like a coincidence. Whatever the reason, they are good people, when not under the watchful eye of the driders. The troop consider each other family, including Elsol. Koeri, with her sarcastic and dry wit, Lenastor, with his gentleness and compassion, and Menetavro, with his stentorian speeches and eloquent 7-word poems that he pulls from nowhere, have known each other for many years, surviving and bonding under the cruel ownership of Testrek Mevo. Elsol is, in fact, the newest member of the troop, though still more than 2 years in their company.
If driders had an archetypal weasel, it was Mevo. The troop know enough to travel in silence under Mevo's watchful eye, which wanders lustfully towards the female driders they pass. It earns him a hiss and more than a few reproachful glares. The matriarchal nature of drider society puts Mevo towards the bottom of the pecking order, something he flouts generously at every opportunity.
Back in their cramped quarters, complete with two sets of bunk beds and a table much too small for four people, Mevo leaves them to go carouse in the Eight and Two, which is what he does most days until they are set to perform. They are left to idle away their time, permitted to leave only to use the outhouse behind the tavern and mere strides from their room near the rear exit. Most practice their craft or tell each other stories or jokes or just sleep. Mevo has already told them he expects them to perform this evening, in spite of their brief tour of the surrounding towns, so only Koeri is not fiddling with an instrument on their return.
---------------------
Xev'ren has the longest journey from Glassgate of any of them, except Tilly. The Upper Ward is all the way across the city, roughly 2/3 of a kilometer to Kedukha Usi's residence. The female drider is a prominent merchant in Duskwell, earning her a place close to the noble residence and numerous slaves. She has several cooks and personal servants to maintain her house and her personal affairs. Xev'ren's job is essentially that of butler and footman to the male guests of the house. The driders do not maintain family units the way that humanoids do and most prominent females live alone, entertaining friends and courters regularly. Xev'ren most frequently works, cohabitates, and spends his downtime with the cook Theobold (human), the Weaver's serving girl Imryll (an elf), the cleaning servants Zisk and Zuk (lizardfolk twins, rare wild captures that demonstrate Usi's wealth), and the gardener Khark (a dim half-orc). He spends much less time with the house guards Bograck and Sikhar (dwarf brothers) that have been trained for exceptionally aggressive behavior towards outsiders. Usi also keeps a pair of halfling twins as pets, Turpin and Fara that rarely leave her sight.
Upon returning to the residence, Xev'ren takes up his daily tasks, which mostly amount to making sure the house is heated, lights are on, and the parlor and foyer are in order for guests. He answers the door a few time for messages and deliveries but no callers are expected today.
"Well you are all so welcoming, friendly, and, well gosh, nice. I can't imagine why no one would want to get too attached to you all." Lia says with an amused snort. "I'd guess I'd outlast most of you if it came to that, but I would never say so, as I don't know your skills or potential ability at this work. I'd likely wait to say something mean like that when I saw you struggling, just so I could make you feel even worse about yourself." She shrugs, turning her back on them as they are clearly not going to be of any use to her. She moves to which ever bed looks to not be in use and lays down, knowing from past experience someone would tell her what to do and when to do it.
Bayut is pretty well rested from the cushy wagon ride. Didn't even have to run he thinks, but didn't even get to run. Lazy is always jostling for top billing with glory, freedom, and vengeance. His sloganeering is another thing he's ribbed for, but everyone can get behind a little complaining. Dumb trip, then caged on the way back he says in the common room. Got to ride anyways. Acting free is a kind of vengeance I guess. (that's kind of a slogan, but softened) Y'unz pull anything over on Dulzi? He tries fishing for other ways to rebel, thinking about theft for the first in a long while
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & -Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
The three other messengers in the stable are playing cards. Two are tabaxi (cousins, as it turns out, Leaf Chaser and Swift as the Sun) and one is human (Marque). Leaf shakes her head. "No tricks. Pretty quiet," she says. "Swift stole an orange on a run."
"Dried orange peel," Swift says, wrinkling her nose.
A drider leans over the tall half-door of the stable and says, "Marque, message to Four Chapels."
Four Chapels is the area south of the city outside the walls. The human stands and leaves with the message in hand, saying only "I comply, Weaver," as he goes.
-----------------------
Xev'ren does not have the freedom to move about the city the way the cook or even Usi's attendant girl can. But in the late evening, about an hour before the merchant drider will retire for the evening, she dismisses him from his duties. With a practice bow and an "I comply, Weaver" he is able to leave for the servants' quarters. He tells Theobold and Zisk and Zuk that he is running a quick errand and to cover for him if the Weaver requires a footman or butler for the rest of the evening. Zisk and Zuk are a bit nervous at the request but Theobold nods over his hot iron skillet.
Quickly and quietly, he heads into Duskwell, looking as a servant would on an important errand for his Weaver.
I will let Veth decide to go lift some goods or explore a possible base location.
----------------------
Lia is not shooed from the bed but the other pickers lazing about still chatter about her.
"This one has spunk."
"Spunk doesn't pick fruit."
"Cleve had spunk."
Eventually the half-elf gets up and heads out into the orchard to see how the fight ended up and Lia manages to doze for a bit, or at least rest, and consider how she might be able to accomplish her tasks of squirreling away some useful items and maybe escaping the high-security orchard for an hour to scout one of the locations.
Elsol sits on the edge of his bunk, quietly practicing with a pan flute. While he appears to just be playing notes, in his hand, a small illusion appears whenever he plays a specific melody. Perfecting it, he smiles slighly and lays back, staring at the ceiling.
Xev'ren is going to head to check out the root cellar, the red x at B5.
Walking calmly, and with his eyes down cast Xev'ren heads down the street. To any casual observer he is just attending to some task by his master, or at least he hopes it looks like that.
After resting for a bit, and thus not immediately starting to appear to be casing the joint, Lia gets up and heads outside. She strolls around the grounds, checking out the guards, the paths in and out of the place, and taking in the overall layout of the farm. She is most interested in any smaller-than-usual options for getting out, ones that the bigger folk might not have considered as a potential breach in their security. It is not likely they have had many individuals her size as guests here before after all, or at least that is her way of thinking. (Let me know what you want for any rolls and such...)
Walking the perimeter of the orchard, she sees through the light fencing that the orchard is placed just north of the city wall and is surrounded by tenements. It is not a large, open farm like the slightly more distant food production facilities outside of Duskwell. As she wanders the orchard, examining the small apples and pears, the driders patrolling the outside of the fence peer over at her, noticing her lack of actual picking. There are not many low-hanging fruit, picked clean this late in the season. So the driders do not give Lia much thought.
On the north side of the orchard, Lia notices a pile of soil, already sprouting weeds and grass. It does not quite reach high enough for even a tall human to hop the fence, but it does put enough pressure on the fence that some of the planks have separated from the ground. It will take a small amount of digging to widen the gap enough, but Lia, and probably nobody else, could fit through then.
---------------------------
Xev'ren enters the Southwest district, once named the "Crafter's Ward" but now either unnamed or whispered as Dridertown by the slaves. The driders have even taken a likely to this unofficial district name. It isn't so much that there are more driders in this part of the city as they are everywhere. But Dridertown is home to a lot more of the poorer driders, low on the social ladder. Most of them are males and do not have the ability to punish slaves using the collars. Few of them have slaves of their own and even the messengers do not like to come to this part of the city, mainly because the cultural shift is unnerving.
The driders in the neighborhood Xev'ren is passing through are in the streets, engaged in drinking and merrymaking. Most of them are male, although there appear to be a few females taking advantage of the loose morals of the males. They are wearing masks, playing their own music, and general carousing out in the open. As Xev'ren looks up at the noise, he realizes he is noticed, having stepped too close to the party, though still far on its periphery.
"Oh, look, look," a drider says, clearly inebriated. "A little two-leg. Have you come to make merry, two-leg? Here, some mead."
A half-empty bottle of mead is thrust into Xev'ren's hands as the drider is joined by two of his grinning friends.
Does Dulzi live near here or is this just the shop? What else is around the stable?
Once Marque leaves and the driders are doing whatever they do, Bayut brings it up again with Leaf and Swift Yeah not only just recently, I need some ideas he taps out a rhythm on his stool Feeling antsy, and sick of not having nothing
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & -Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Does Dulzi live near here or is this just the shop? What else is around the stable?
It is just his stable and he lives a couple blocks away. He relies on the Glassgate guards and a single night watchman to keep an eye on his messengers when he is not around.
Leaf looks a little puzzled. "If it's not food and you don't eat it right away it'll just be taken from you."
Swift nods. "And anything not nailed down here is stuff we use," she says, gesturing to the lantern hanging from a bent nail on the nearest post and the blanket in her stable.
Indeed, there are a number of things not fixed to the walls that Gofer has not really paid much attention to before now. Besides the lanterns and blankets, the gaming sets, and instruments, there are several buckets for use as trash bins, a couple of water jugs, some chalk (but no slate), and a couple of tankards. Not inside the stable Gofer can think of at least an hourglass that the driders use for trips within the city and there is a chest of equipment that the driders use sometimes, containing at least one set of manacles, sealing wax and a seal, a merchant's scale, paper, and a quill and ink, possibly more.
Zanvoril starts trying to see wherever the slaves are being sold to get an idea of what the current bidders are looking for.
Perception: 15
Looking through the doorway, there is a large stage. It is hard to get a good view of it from this angle, but he can see some of the crowd, looking on with a bored detachment. Occasionally one raises her hand but the current sale goes quickly and the slave is not sold for much. A minute later, the auctioneer returns and points to one of the slaves caged adjacent to Zanvoril. It is the scowling one, and he (a human male, it seems) is escorted roughly from the cage and out the door onto the stage. The human walks out proudly and is not prodded much, probably for his compliance and for putting his best foot forward, which might earn him a high price.
A few minutes later, another pair of slaves are brought in and put into separate cages. They appear to be young, probably siblings or at least very close as they hold hands tightly through the bars. The fearful gnome woman who waved back is removed from her cage and sold next. She is prodded numerous times and practically dragged onto the stage to be sold. This sale is finished in less than a minute.
Zanvoril is next. How does he behavior to the auctioneer who comes to retrieve him?
Lia marks the mound of dirt in her mind as a likely place to exit. She would want to make sure that any digging she had to do wouldn't be noticed easily, as she wouldn't want someone to fill it in. She continues her round of the place, wanting to see if there were any other options, as wel as seeking anything that might fit the list of things they were suppose to try to get their hands on.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Zanvoril walks quickly towards the stage, eager to get to the next step of his destiny. He doesn't speak, but he smiles broadly and stands with shoulders back, spine straight, but head bowed looking at the front edge of the stage, summoning up the chaos within to help him convey the appropriate message.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
DM shield:
I(16): 8
P(12, 15, 18): 5
DN: 16 - Servant
DSB: 12 - Clerk
DSM: 5 - Entertainer
Lia finds no other good contingency holes in the fence. As she reaches the far eastern side of the orchard, she can see where the scuffle between desperate pickers occurred. A human and a half-orc both look bloodied and a couple of driders are still watching over the fence to see if anything will start up again but are quickly losing interest.
"Oi, picker," says a drider in undercommon behind Lia. "Pick me an apple from that tree. That apple."
-----------------------
The drunk driders boo at Xev'ren, convinced by his meek deference, and snatch back the mead. They shove him along on his way and quickly forget about him.
The servant makes it through the block party with little more than a couple of jeers after that and soon finds himself outside the sweatshop near the southwest city wall. Lantern-light emanates from the muddy, steamed-up windows but Xev'ren can make out humanoid figures sitting at tables working. A drider, towering over the largest of them, walks past the windows. Xev'ren can see little more than the legs and underbelly of the creature.
The root cellar, unfortunately, is directly adjacent to the four steps leading to the front door. Its entry is locked with a rusty lock attached to the old wooden doors that slant at a shallow angle from the ground.
---------------
Zanvoril does well in his performance, garnering interest from a number of bidders. Three driders in total drive the price up. Eventually only one is willing to go the distance, though.
The winner is the mine operator, as told by the auctioneer at least. The winning bidder sends one of her drider assistants to collect her new slave.
"Do you speak undercommon, two-legs?"
Satisfied that he is understood, he leads Zanvoril to a wagon, holding the human he sat with earlier that grimaced at him. He looks less pleased than he was before being sold and says nothing to his new work-mate.
After another hour of auctions, the mine operator adds two more to his collection, a female half-orc and female dwarf. The wagon leads them out of the city to the mine, where Zanvoril is unceremoniously deposited at the bunkhouse. They are far from anything (just beyond 6A on the city map to the southwest of the city walls) and, being late in the day, returning miners look exhausted, eating their meagre rations or falling into their bunks immediately. There are many, many miners here and numerous guards walk the premises. None of the slaves do much to acknowledge the new arrivals, leaving Zanvoril and the others to find an unclaimed bed. Now his mission can begin.
Zanvoril shrugs and thinks to himself, "So much for being a clerk or messenger, but this sounds fun! Could be some interesting things here." On the ride over, he quietly inquires as to the names of the others.
Once he's there, he finds a bed, and sits and spends the evening watching and listening to his new bunkmates, looking for anyone who might be inclined to inform or resist the driders.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As quietly as he can Xev'ren will sneak over to the locked door. If it's all rusted up that might be a good sign it hasn't been used in a good long while.
Zanvoril learns he was purchased with Sylgrael (the female dwarf), who is a recent capture like himself. She was on a trade route skirting the webbed forest outside of Duskwell when she was caught by the driders. Durgata is the half-orc, who was sold by her sweatshop owner where she had worked for 20 years making glassware. Her old fingers, scarred by years of blisters, could no longer keep pace with the shop's output. The grumpy human male is Rolfe, who was sold for spilling his Weaver's tea after 12 years of loyal service.
"We all end up in the mines, the fields, or the arena eventually," he says, clearly bitter.
At the miner's bunkhouse, Zanvoril does not get any sense of rebellious potential from any of the miners. These men and women are beaten down, especially after a hard day striking rock. However, he does note a few observations to give him some heart. One miner, a half-elf woman, keeps a small compartment of trinkets in the frame of her bunk. It looks expertly crafted to pull out easily and hide completely when not in use. A burly human keeps a clearly contraband amulet under his shirt, which he clasps as he offers healing to anyone who is injured.
"Do you have ale or even grog, Joril?" says a human woman.
He smiles kindly, saying, "Always a little, tucked away."
One half-orc takes Joril up on his offer, holding the amulet while drinking deeply from a large flask produced by Joril. The bruises on the half-orc fade and the miner nods to Joril, who tucks the amulet away, his thanks.
Finally, a minotaur serving stew into the crude wooden bowls of the miners stops his duties to help an older miner fix his spectacles. The minotaur produces a small tool kit and some steel wire from a hidden pocket in his vest. The man's spectacles take a minute of fiddling before they are suitable enough to rest again on the man's nose. All of this is done quietly and sometimes with people standing intentionally in view of the driders to ensure nothing is seen. Zanvoril has seen these things, however.
------------------
Xev'ren knows that standing in the street looking idle is cause for suspicion. He moves quickly and quietly to the root cellar doors. The twilight providing him cover makes judgment of the lock difficult, though. By touch, it is clearly rusted all over. It is hard to tell if the bumps around the keyhole are from rust or the use of a key or both, however, so the recency of its use is still in question.
Elsol's walk back to the troop quarters next to the Eight and Two are in the company of the rest of his quartet, Koeri (a tiefling), Lenastor (a black dragonborn), and Menetavro (a minotaur). The monstrous nature of the rest of Elsol's troop was always a mystery to him, as it didn't seem like a coincidence. Whatever the reason, they are good people, when not under the watchful eye of the driders. The troop consider each other family, including Elsol. Koeri, with her sarcastic and dry wit, Lenastor, with his gentleness and compassion, and Menetavro, with his stentorian speeches and eloquent 7-word poems that he pulls from nowhere, have known each other for many years, surviving and bonding under the cruel ownership of Testrek Mevo. Elsol is, in fact, the newest member of the troop, though still more than 2 years in their company.
If driders had an archetypal weasel, it was Mevo. The troop know enough to travel in silence under Mevo's watchful eye, which wanders lustfully towards the female driders they pass. It earns him a hiss and more than a few reproachful glares. The matriarchal nature of drider society puts Mevo towards the bottom of the pecking order, something he flouts generously at every opportunity.
Back in their cramped quarters, complete with two sets of bunk beds and a table much too small for four people, Mevo leaves them to go carouse in the Eight and Two, which is what he does most days until they are set to perform. They are left to idle away their time, permitted to leave only to use the outhouse behind the tavern and mere strides from their room near the rear exit. Most practice their craft or tell each other stories or jokes or just sleep. Mevo has already told them he expects them to perform this evening, in spite of their brief tour of the surrounding towns, so only Koeri is not fiddling with an instrument on their return.
---------------------
Xev'ren has the longest journey from Glassgate of any of them, except Tilly. The Upper Ward is all the way across the city, roughly 2/3 of a kilometer to Kedukha Usi's residence. The female drider is a prominent merchant in Duskwell, earning her a place close to the noble residence and numerous slaves. She has several cooks and personal servants to maintain her house and her personal affairs. Xev'ren's job is essentially that of butler and footman to the male guests of the house. The driders do not maintain family units the way that humanoids do and most prominent females live alone, entertaining friends and courters regularly. Xev'ren most frequently works, cohabitates, and spends his downtime with the cook Theobold (human), the Weaver's serving girl Imryll (an elf), the cleaning servants Zisk and Zuk (lizardfolk twins, rare wild captures that demonstrate Usi's wealth), and the gardener Khark (a dim half-orc). He spends much less time with the house guards Bograck and Sikhar (dwarf brothers) that have been trained for exceptionally aggressive behavior towards outsiders. Usi also keeps a pair of halfling twins as pets, Turpin and Fara that rarely leave her sight.
Upon returning to the residence, Xev'ren takes up his daily tasks, which mostly amount to making sure the house is heated, lights are on, and the parlor and foyer are in order for guests. He answers the door a few time for messages and deliveries but no callers are expected today.
"Well you are all so welcoming, friendly, and, well gosh, nice. I can't imagine why no one would want to get too attached to you all." Lia says with an amused snort. "I'd guess I'd outlast most of you if it came to that, but I would never say so, as I don't know your skills or potential ability at this work. I'd likely wait to say something mean like that when I saw you struggling, just so I could make you feel even worse about yourself." She shrugs, turning her back on them as they are clearly not going to be of any use to her. She moves to which ever bed looks to not be in use and lays down, knowing from past experience someone would tell her what to do and when to do it.
Bayut is pretty well rested from the cushy wagon ride. Didn't even have to run he thinks, but didn't even get to run. Lazy is always jostling for top billing with glory, freedom, and vengeance. His sloganeering is another thing he's ribbed for, but everyone can get behind a little complaining. Dumb trip, then caged on the way back he says in the common room. Got to ride anyways. Acting free is a kind of vengeance I guess. (that's kind of a slogan, but softened) Y'unz pull anything over on Dulzi? He tries fishing for other ways to rebel, thinking about theft for the first in a long while
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & - Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods
Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
The three other messengers in the stable are playing cards. Two are tabaxi (cousins, as it turns out, Leaf Chaser and Swift as the Sun) and one is human (Marque). Leaf shakes her head. "No tricks. Pretty quiet," she says. "Swift stole an orange on a run."
"Dried orange peel," Swift says, wrinkling her nose.
A drider leans over the tall half-door of the stable and says, "Marque, message to Four Chapels."
Four Chapels is the area south of the city outside the walls. The human stands and leaves with the message in hand, saying only "I comply, Weaver," as he goes.
-----------------------
Xev'ren does not have the freedom to move about the city the way the cook or even Usi's attendant girl can. But in the late evening, about an hour before the merchant drider will retire for the evening, she dismisses him from his duties. With a practice bow and an "I comply, Weaver" he is able to leave for the servants' quarters. He tells Theobold and Zisk and Zuk that he is running a quick errand and to cover for him if the Weaver requires a footman or butler for the rest of the evening. Zisk and Zuk are a bit nervous at the request but Theobold nods over his hot iron skillet.
Quickly and quietly, he heads into Duskwell, looking as a servant would on an important errand for his Weaver.
I will let Veth decide to go lift some goods or explore a possible base location.
----------------------
Lia is not shooed from the bed but the other pickers lazing about still chatter about her.
"This one has spunk."
"Spunk doesn't pick fruit."
"Cleve had spunk."
Eventually the half-elf gets up and heads out into the orchard to see how the fight ended up and Lia manages to doze for a bit, or at least rest, and consider how she might be able to accomplish her tasks of squirreling away some useful items and maybe escaping the high-security orchard for an hour to scout one of the locations.
Elsol sits on the edge of his bunk, quietly practicing with a pan flute. While he appears to just be playing notes, in his hand, a small illusion appears whenever he plays a specific melody. Perfecting it, he smiles slighly and lays back, staring at the ceiling.
Xev'ren is going to head to check out the root cellar, the red x at B5.
Walking calmly, and with his eyes down cast Xev'ren heads down the street. To any casual observer he is just attending to some task by his master, or at least he hopes it looks like that.
After resting for a bit, and thus not immediately starting to appear to be casing the joint, Lia gets up and heads outside. She strolls around the grounds, checking out the guards, the paths in and out of the place, and taking in the overall layout of the farm. She is most interested in any smaller-than-usual options for getting out, ones that the bigger folk might not have considered as a potential breach in their security. It is not likely they have had many individuals her size as guests here before after all, or at least that is her way of thinking. (Let me know what you want for any rolls and such...)
DM shield:
60
I(13): 19
Walking the perimeter of the orchard, she sees through the light fencing that the orchard is placed just north of the city wall and is surrounded by tenements. It is not a large, open farm like the slightly more distant food production facilities outside of Duskwell. As she wanders the orchard, examining the small apples and pears, the driders patrolling the outside of the fence peer over at her, noticing her lack of actual picking. There are not many low-hanging fruit, picked clean this late in the season. So the driders do not give Lia much thought.
On the north side of the orchard, Lia notices a pile of soil, already sprouting weeds and grass. It does not quite reach high enough for even a tall human to hop the fence, but it does put enough pressure on the fence that some of the planks have separated from the ground. It will take a small amount of digging to widen the gap enough, but Lia, and probably nobody else, could fit through then.
---------------------------
Xev'ren enters the Southwest district, once named the "Crafter's Ward" but now either unnamed or whispered as Dridertown by the slaves. The driders have even taken a likely to this unofficial district name. It isn't so much that there are more driders in this part of the city as they are everywhere. But Dridertown is home to a lot more of the poorer driders, low on the social ladder. Most of them are males and do not have the ability to punish slaves using the collars. Few of them have slaves of their own and even the messengers do not like to come to this part of the city, mainly because the cultural shift is unnerving.
The driders in the neighborhood Xev'ren is passing through are in the streets, engaged in drinking and merrymaking. Most of them are male, although there appear to be a few females taking advantage of the loose morals of the males. They are wearing masks, playing their own music, and general carousing out in the open. As Xev'ren looks up at the noise, he realizes he is noticed, having stepped too close to the party, though still far on its periphery.
"Oh, look, look," a drider says, clearly inebriated. "A little two-leg. Have you come to make merry, two-leg? Here, some mead."
A half-empty bottle of mead is thrust into Xev'ren's hands as the drider is joined by two of his grinning friends.
Does Dulzi live near here or is this just the shop? What else is around the stable?
Once Marque leaves and the driders are doing whatever they do, Bayut brings it up again with Leaf and Swift Yeah not only just recently, I need some ideas he taps out a rhythm on his stool Feeling antsy, and sick of not having nothing
Galanodel Deacon Tosh - Less-than-Half-Elf Bard - & - Flitterbug - Pixie Sorceress : Meanwhile in the Westwoods
Amadow 'Tug' Rioux - Human Psionic Palooka : Revenge Heist - - - Gofer Bayut - Bugbear Paladin Messenger : Shrouded Sky
Zanvoril starts trying to see wherever the slaves are being sold to get an idea of what the current bidders are looking for.
Perception: 21
It is just his stable and he lives a couple blocks away. He relies on the Glassgate guards and a single night watchman to keep an eye on his messengers when he is not around.
Leaf looks a little puzzled. "If it's not food and you don't eat it right away it'll just be taken from you."
Swift nods. "And anything not nailed down here is stuff we use," she says, gesturing to the lantern hanging from a bent nail on the nearest post and the blanket in her stable.
Indeed, there are a number of things not fixed to the walls that Gofer has not really paid much attention to before now. Besides the lanterns and blankets, the gaming sets, and instruments, there are several buckets for use as trash bins, a couple of water jugs, some chalk (but no slate), and a couple of tankards. Not inside the stable Gofer can think of at least an hourglass that the driders use for trips within the city and there is a chest of equipment that the driders use sometimes, containing at least one set of manacles, sealing wax and a seal, a merchant's scale, paper, and a quill and ink, possibly more.
Looking through the doorway, there is a large stage. It is hard to get a good view of it from this angle, but he can see some of the crowd, looking on with a bored detachment. Occasionally one raises her hand but the current sale goes quickly and the slave is not sold for much. A minute later, the auctioneer returns and points to one of the slaves caged adjacent to Zanvoril. It is the scowling one, and he (a human male, it seems) is escorted roughly from the cage and out the door onto the stage. The human walks out proudly and is not prodded much, probably for his compliance and for putting his best foot forward, which might earn him a high price.
A few minutes later, another pair of slaves are brought in and put into separate cages. They appear to be young, probably siblings or at least very close as they hold hands tightly through the bars. The fearful gnome woman who waved back is removed from her cage and sold next. She is prodded numerous times and practically dragged onto the stage to be sold. This sale is finished in less than a minute.
Zanvoril is next. How does he behavior to the auctioneer who comes to retrieve him?
Lia marks the mound of dirt in her mind as a likely place to exit. She would want to make sure that any digging she had to do wouldn't be noticed easily, as she wouldn't want someone to fill it in. She continues her round of the place, wanting to see if there were any other options, as wel as seeking anything that might fit the list of things they were suppose to try to get their hands on.
Zanvoril walks quickly towards the stage, eager to get to the next step of his destiny. He doesn't speak, but he smiles broadly and stands with shoulders back, spine straight, but head bowed looking at the front edge of the stage, summoning up the chaos within to help him convey the appropriate message.
Performance: 19 (Tides of Chaos)
"I am sorry great weavers I am on a errand for my mistress and can not delay." Well shit Xev thinks to himself. Need to buy myself some time.
DM shield:
I(16): 8
P(12, 15, 18): 5
DN: 16 - Servant
DSB: 12 - Clerk
DSM: 5 - Entertainer
Lia finds no other good contingency holes in the fence. As she reaches the far eastern side of the orchard, she can see where the scuffle between desperate pickers occurred. A human and a half-orc both look bloodied and a couple of driders are still watching over the fence to see if anything will start up again but are quickly losing interest.
"Oi, picker," says a drider in undercommon behind Lia. "Pick me an apple from that tree. That apple."
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The drunk driders boo at Xev'ren, convinced by his meek deference, and snatch back the mead. They shove him along on his way and quickly forget about him.
The servant makes it through the block party with little more than a couple of jeers after that and soon finds himself outside the sweatshop near the southwest city wall. Lantern-light emanates from the muddy, steamed-up windows but Xev'ren can make out humanoid figures sitting at tables working. A drider, towering over the largest of them, walks past the windows. Xev'ren can see little more than the legs and underbelly of the creature.
The root cellar, unfortunately, is directly adjacent to the four steps leading to the front door. Its entry is locked with a rusty lock attached to the old wooden doors that slant at a shallow angle from the ground.
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Zanvoril does well in his performance, garnering interest from a number of bidders. Three driders in total drive the price up. Eventually only one is willing to go the distance, though.
Mine operator: 53
Veterinarian: 39
Playhouse operator: 54
The winner is the mine operator, as told by the auctioneer at least. The winning bidder sends one of her drider assistants to collect her new slave.
"Do you speak undercommon, two-legs?"
Satisfied that he is understood, he leads Zanvoril to a wagon, holding the human he sat with earlier that grimaced at him. He looks less pleased than he was before being sold and says nothing to his new work-mate.
After another hour of auctions, the mine operator adds two more to his collection, a female half-orc and female dwarf. The wagon leads them out of the city to the mine, where Zanvoril is unceremoniously deposited at the bunkhouse. They are far from anything (just beyond 6A on the city map to the southwest of the city walls) and, being late in the day, returning miners look exhausted, eating their meagre rations or falling into their bunks immediately. There are many, many miners here and numerous guards walk the premises. None of the slaves do much to acknowledge the new arrivals, leaving Zanvoril and the others to find an unclaimed bed. Now his mission can begin.
Zanvoril shrugs and thinks to himself, "So much for being a clerk or messenger, but this sounds fun! Could be some interesting things here." On the ride over, he quietly inquires as to the names of the others.
Once he's there, he finds a bed, and sits and spends the evening watching and listening to his new bunkmates, looking for anyone who might be inclined to inform or resist the driders.
Insight: 9
Perception: 19
As quietly as he can Xev'ren will sneak over to the locked door. If it's all rusted up that might be a good sign it hasn't been used in a good long while.
Stealth: 18
Investigate:21
Lia glances over to make sure the drider is speaking to her. If it appears they are she looks to see which apple they might wish picked.
Zanvoril learns he was purchased with Sylgrael (the female dwarf), who is a recent capture like himself. She was on a trade route skirting the webbed forest outside of Duskwell when she was caught by the driders. Durgata is the half-orc, who was sold by her sweatshop owner where she had worked for 20 years making glassware. Her old fingers, scarred by years of blisters, could no longer keep pace with the shop's output. The grumpy human male is Rolfe, who was sold for spilling his Weaver's tea after 12 years of loyal service.
"We all end up in the mines, the fields, or the arena eventually," he says, clearly bitter.
At the miner's bunkhouse, Zanvoril does not get any sense of rebellious potential from any of the miners. These men and women are beaten down, especially after a hard day striking rock. However, he does note a few observations to give him some heart. One miner, a half-elf woman, keeps a small compartment of trinkets in the frame of her bunk. It looks expertly crafted to pull out easily and hide completely when not in use. A burly human keeps a clearly contraband amulet under his shirt, which he clasps as he offers healing to anyone who is injured.
"Do you have ale or even grog, Joril?" says a human woman.
He smiles kindly, saying, "Always a little, tucked away."
One half-orc takes Joril up on his offer, holding the amulet while drinking deeply from a large flask produced by Joril. The bruises on the half-orc fade and the miner nods to Joril, who tucks the amulet away, his thanks.
Finally, a minotaur serving stew into the crude wooden bowls of the miners stops his duties to help an older miner fix his spectacles. The minotaur produces a small tool kit and some steel wire from a hidden pocket in his vest. The man's spectacles take a minute of fiddling before they are suitable enough to rest again on the man's nose. All of this is done quietly and sometimes with people standing intentionally in view of the driders to ensure nothing is seen. Zanvoril has seen these things, however.
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Xev'ren knows that standing in the street looking idle is cause for suspicion. He moves quickly and quietly to the root cellar doors. The twilight providing him cover makes judgment of the lock difficult, though. By touch, it is clearly rusted all over. It is hard to tell if the bumps around the keyhole are from rust or the use of a key or both, however, so the recency of its use is still in question.