As to where Arutha is headed...

Your direct question summons a cloud over this meeting. The crew of the Troubadour turn silently toward the Grumblestone Brothers, waiting for one of them to answer. It's Blundr who replies. "We got a tip from one of our friends in the Flaming Fist. The caravan master you met on the road to Baldur's Gate, the dwarf. His name is of no importance. He relayed a rumor. Lieutenant Omaha sent a few men to investigate. And sure enough. Some orcs are using our boots to disguise their tracks."

Dundr snorts. "It's putting us in a bind, Arutha. If we don't clear our names it could cost us our license."

"More than that, brother," Blundr says. "Our reputation. That price is too high."

Symaliea steps forward. As does the half-orc named Skorbor. "The three o' ye are to escort these empty boxes to Egrant's Frontier Shoppe. He's in on the trap. We don't be knowing' whose planning the thefts. All we know is they break into his shop. Are ye sure yer still of for it, Arutha?"

Gramdal must enter the city by way of the Wyrm's Gate, where Zavakk is stationed.

How do you proceed? Will you go back to the end of the Line? Will you approach him?

Quote from AdventureHalz >>

Gramdal must enter the city by way of the Wyrm's Gate, where Zavakk is stationed.

How do you proceed? Will you go back to the end of the Line? Will you approach him?

Gramdal thinks for a moment. On one hand, he could try to persuade Zavakk to let him pass. Explain he was separated from the line when the thorn wall rose. Maybe even throw in a dash of how an Elf suddenly appeared. It may sound a tad crazy, sure, but the best lies are based on truth. Even in this case, it's more truth than lie. Merely a point of omission. Still, Zavakk would be no fool. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself right now. No, it's not the time or place. The back of the line would cost him time. Fortunately, a time frame wasn't stressed. The only real variable is the location of Lieutenant Omaha. Gramdal doesn't know his schedule. No, it was far more important to get into the city at this point. With that, Gramdal will take his place at the back of the line. Besides, who knows what else may happen here on the outskirts?

Ah, the Line. So many people. So much time to wait. Fortunately, the day is marching along and the sun is beginning to set. (I presume) Gramdal makes his way back through the Outer City, making it appear that he is browsing the goods, biding time? Zavakk is indeed at the gate, waving the rod of many detections over the people waiting to get into the city. He is joined by a Flaming Fist, a heavily tattooed human. This soldier looks like he's dabbled in the sword arts as well as the magical arts. As to which he prefers, who's to know?   

As the minutes pass, you recall the warning Zavakk spoke not so long ago. By morning the old alliances will have been dusted off...

Do those alliances include travelers, adventurers, perhaps persons loyal to Baldur's Gate in the Outer City? Hard to say for certain. It might benefit persons friendly to the Flaming Fist to live outside the walls where the laws do not apply.

When you return to the Line, make a Perception roll.

Gramdal does indeed make his way through the Outer City. He visits merchant shops and stalls. He takes his time. There's no rush since he's resigned to the back of the line. Eventually he does find a spot and tuck in. 

Perception: 11

Edit: Maybe it's the tedium of the line. Maybe it's just the weariness of the day finally creeping up on him. Whatever it is, Gramdal is just not as aware of his surroundings as he normally is. It's an odd moment, for whatever reason, where his guard is completely down. He zones out, lost in his own thoughts. ((Friggin' nat1 lol))

LOL. Nat1s. My favorite.

The last few hours have been full. Perhaps, you're right, Gramdal. Whether its due to the tedious nature of the Line or the result of the heat beating down on this day in Kythorn. Your senses are too dull to consider the shape lurking in the shadows of the Outer City. Nevertheless, it's not worth investigating.

You step back in Line, and in no time at all, you're approaching the gate.

"Hail, adventurer," a man behind you says. "Pardon my intrusion, dwarf. Perhaps you can help me." The voice belongs to a familiar looking traveler. Kelten Davers. He was the one who gave Cath the iron mountain dice set. His brother was a dwarf named Ordin. Kelten left the line. He went inside the Outer City, but has come back.

He whispers something. Make a Perception roll.

The voice causes Gramdal to start! He snaps around, brow furrowed and ready to give a good o guy lashing! His demeanor eases when he notices it’s Kelten again. Curious. He’s come back to the one, but it appears that maybe he’s here more for a favor than access to the city. “Aye? What’re ya needin’?”

Perception: 10

Arutha clenched his jaw at the tale he was told. "So my choice is to either, potentially allow some Orc's or thier sympathizers get thier hands on your excellent boots, or help and get to kill them instead? Seems to me, killing them is not only more beneficial but also more fun than sitting around doing nothing. I am a man of action, so let's set this trap." His face grows an unpleasant smile as he finishes speaking

Kelten speaks to Gramdal in thieves cant.

"You will be arrested the moment Zavakk waves that stupid stick over you."

He goes on to explain the Order of the Gauntlet is investigating a lead concerning the orcs. The Order is concentrating its efforts on the countryside, where the orcs are.

Blundr thumbs you, Arutha. "See. Fighting spirit. I told ye, lads and lass. Worth the gold I paid him. And more," he says. And with that, Blundr walks over to a wall panel and pops it open. "I ain't letting ye go out in our good name, not without help."

He raises an arm to a rack of weapons hidden in the panel.

* A long sword with the pommel of a great black cat clutching a moonstone glows brightly with eldritch flame.
* A hand axe with cloud motifs etched into its blade hovers in the air.
* A round shield with a spiral of angry lightning twitches restlessly.
* A quarterstaff capped with a garden of blossoming flowers and vines catches the light.

Now that you've had a better look at him, Gramdal, you are almost certain Kelten's size matched the shadow you saw earlier in the Outer City. You can't be absolutely positive, but he's a close equivalent.

Several questions raced through Gramdals mind. Had this Kelten fella seen him fire at the guard? What else does he know? Who exactly is this Kelten? Hmmm. 

Insight check on the bit about being arrested after being detected by that stick: 18

At any rate, Gramdal will respond on The Cant. “When? More details? Talk at a tavern?”

Edit: it’s just not Gramdal’s night

"Yes, traveler," Kelten continues in thieves cant. "I saw your bolt strike. A lesser man would have made a lesser choice, and gone for the drow."

Still, Gramdal senses Kelten to be a man of many faces, many talents. "I am a recruiter with the Flaming Fist. I," he pauses, "recruit for jobs that, let's say, the citizenry knows nothing about."

"Let's discuss the details over a bitter brew." For the second time today, Kelten leaves the Line. Does Gramdal follow?

As a swordsman Arutha walked over and reached out for the londsword. Taking it in hand he tested the balance and feel of it as well as sharpness of the edge. "I am sure a blade like this has a history. I would love to know what it is."

He may have been off his game, but Gramdal knew when he’s been had. So he nods to Kelten and follows along like nothing was wrong. Best of pals they were, or so it would seem.”Aye! A pint or two to take the edge off a long day”

In your hand Arutha, the eldritch flames flicker and flare. You hear the roar of a great cat in your mind. You see the moon stone rise in your thoughts, ascending into a mantle of stars, coming to a slow stop to rest beside the moon. Not nearly as large, but paired nonetheless. Below the light of this nighttime sentinel, you see enemies before you. Not a single foe stands out. The sheer multitude is a wave of images, those vanquished by the blade you hold in your hand.

"Hello, warrior," the blade says in a throaty growl. "Do not be alarmed. I only serve the Light, day or night."

"Excellent," Kelten replies. "I good friend owns a tap room in the Outer City. Good company he is."

As Gramdal walks way he hears the voice of Zavakk clearly in his mind. You would have embarrassed yourself, traveler. I know what you were after. Still, consider this your only warning. Fire upon a Fist again, and I will have no choice but to stretch your neck. Prove your worth. Or leave the city.

Gramdal listens well to the voice of Zavakk in his mind. The only outward sign that anything may be happening is his brow tightly knitting for a moment. A slight is something a Dwarf never forgets. His brow is furrowed for a moment, but it passes almost as quickly as it came. For now, though, a drink! Something else a Dwarf never forgets is a good drink.  “I’ll have whatever you’re buyin’. “

Kelten leads the way through the Outer City, turning left, then right, back around then left and right again. Gramdal remembers the directions well enough, but you get the impression that someone is tailing you both, and Kelten doesn't want to let whomever it is know. A minute later, Kelten is lifting away a rumpled curtain. He steps inside the Giggling Banshee.

The scene before you is troubling. Sure, the taproom is located in the Outer City, but it looks as though it belongs elsewhere. Ten feet of stones is all the room you have before a wide staircase descends into the earth. Dim torches light the interior. Men and women are seated around the room, most of the patrons in various states of intoxication. Kelten waves to the tap keep, a black dragonborn. "gKnoxx," Kelten says. The "g" is silent, he explains. "Unless you want to test your reflexes against his sputum. He can melt flesh with a wad of phlegm—It's disgusting."

"Two," Kelten gestures, waving an equal number of fingers.

"Comin' righ' tup," gKnoxx says.