Then let's start with the obvious question, shall we, Cath?
"Kouronath."
"Yes, sir."
"The rod of many detections entrusted to you. Who is attuned with it now?" Zavakk asks.
"Durambor, sir."
"Excellent. Gentlemen, if you would please. Join me," Zavakk says, reaching for the gold medallion around his neck. He rubs a circle around the edge with his thumb, mumbling something in a language that reminds you of dragons and lizards. A dimension door wreathed in flame appears. He steps through. "Come, to the Wyrm's Gate!"
Cath immediately follows Zavakk through the door. Zavakk was a man of action and Cath liked that. He had little doubt at the moment that it would not take long to find the boy and Norvalor.
"I defend him because he's a bloody ******* child, not some creature! All you see is the outer appearance you ******* racist!" Norvalor responds with with a cold stare.
OOC: I would like to think that he only know that something is watching over him and is giving him powers besides that he hasn't learn much yet.
The priestess of Myrkul cackles. "Such a temper. So much life!" she says, lifting her eyebrows high above her cold blue eyes. She laughs once more. "Yes, indeed, you might make a worthy test subject. As for your choices, your empathy. It would serve you well to learn the drow cannot be trusted. They're all mindless, gutless, sacklings," she adds venomously. She's 10 feet closer to you, Norvalor.
OOC Attempting to remove your hempen bindings requires either a Strength check to pull at them, or a Dexterity check to wiggle your hands through.
You are through the dimension door, Cath, and that much closer. The Wyrm's Gate is 60 feet from your present location. Immediately to you right is a large tent flying flags of the Flaming Fist. Two guards stand at the entrance.
The weather has shifted since your were last outside.
Gray clouds drift overhead, heading east. You smell rain on the humid air.
Zavakk is waiting for you and Kouronath to catch up. You can't be sure if his brow is furrowed or it rests naturally pinched. Either way, he seems agitated and pressed for time.
It goes without saying that interrogating someone takes time. A successful roll doesn't automatically imply success, and a failed roll doesn't turn the tables. Your Interaction determines how the Cloak cultist responds to you, round after round.
Vekka addresses the crowd, Gramdal. "My lord, Gravva, is in need of your expertise," the female orc begins. "Your particular skills."
She knows her presence comes as a surprise to Jhaval's underworld allies. She entered the room without introduction, without warning. Purposely? Probably. Doing so eliminated any opportunity the group might have had to consult each other, prepare for her arrival. And in that regard, she wields the upper hand. She, a female. She, an orc. She, an ambassador for the orc lord named Gravva, whom until now you have never heard. But like all orc chieftains, they rise and they fall, and they are replaced. But why send someone to parlay?
Every footfall Vekka places adds just a little bit more tension to that uncertainty.
Her scraping dry scaly gnarled toes she drags across the floor grate at the ears. Several henchmen grunt. They cannot hold back their disgust for her. The worst revulsion comes from a dwarf beside Khazari Moreun. His disrespect is clear. The lips he curls across his face might as well be a whetstone to sharpen his blade. His master, you notice, does not chastise the ill-mannered response.
Remember, Gramdal, the dwarves hail from the North. In all likelihood they crossed paths with the Many Arrow King.
You are through the dimension door, Cath, and that much closer. The Wyrm's Gate is 60 feet from your present location. Immediately to you right is a large tent flying flags of the Flaming Fist. Two guards stand at the entrance.
The weather has shifted since your were last outside.
Gray clouds drift overhead, heading east. You smell rain on the humid air.
Zavakk is waiting for you and Kouronath to catch up. You can't be sure if his brow is furrowed or it rests naturally pinched. Either way, he seems agitated and pressed for time.
"Eh, I be comin! These old dwarf legs may be tireless but they don't move as fast as yours." Cath calls out as he dashes forward to catch up to the dragonborn.
You are a quick learner. Few travelers know about the security device's properties. I trust the source of this information is reliable? Friendly? Zavakk says to you, Cath, in your mind.
A few short steps later and you're at the Wyrm's Gate. A long line of people winds away from the east entrance as they wait to get inside. They look irritated and bored, but what other choice to do they have but to comply with the new security measure. It seems to be working. The security checkpoint is manned by two soldiers. The rest are inside the city, where the work is.
"Next!" a halfling calls out.
"Kettletop," Kouronath mumbles with a light chuckle. "Haven't seen him in weeks."
The Fist soldier beside the halfling holds the rod of many detections. He must be Durambor.
Zavakk waits for Durambor to complete the screening.
When the gruff looking human notices his superior, he immediately straightens up. "Good morning, sir," he says, perplexed.
Meanwhile, the halfling addresses the front of the Line, apologizing for the interruption. The crowd grumbles, but it's the way of things. Luckily, the Fist uniform deters anyone from acting out of line.
Zavakk simply nods. His eyes shift. He exchanges no words with the city guard over the next few seconds.
"Of course, sir," Durambor replies, offering Zavakk the magical item. The dragon born twists the gem-encrusted dial, pressing different colored gems sequentially.
You notice he presses only the emerald and sapphire. The pattern is Rotate-Press. 1-2-2-1-1-1-2. When he is finished, the diamond gem is facing the ground. "Kouronath, if you would please direct us," Zavakk says, handing off the item.
"Where to, sir?" Kouronath has that same blank stare you've seen before, Cath.
"Why to the child, of course. That's why we are here," Zavakk says.
"What child, sir?"
Zavakk turns toward you, Cath, then back to Kouronath. "The boy. From yesterday. He's missing."
"What boy sir?"
Zavakk's eyes narrow. "Kouronath, do you not remember meeting the boy?"
The Fist shakes his head. "No. I don't know who yer talking about, sir."
"Yesterday, at this very spot, you sympathized with a woman named Kaiylin and her two children."
"I did?"
"This dwarf was present for the exchange. His knowledge of the events is pure."
Cath watches this exchange with interest. At first he thought Zavakk had erased the man's memory to keep the drow secret. Now he was not so sure. Is Zavakk giving him his memories back now? Or did someone else erase the man's memory?
Sending his thoughts to Zavakk again
When I came to find you at your headquarters he said the same thing. No memory of the child. Is this your doing or has someone else tampered with his memory?
Someone has tampered with his memory, Cath Redaxe. Who, I do not know. Why is at the crux of the matter. How can justice be served if the witnesses cannot recall the events? Zavakk says to you across your mind.
Then there is far more than a missing child going on here. There is more going on. Perhaps I did not lie when I said there was danger to the city if the very soldiers of the Flaming Fist can have their memories messed with. We need to get moving.
"Kouronath," continues Zavakk. "I dismissed you from your post and sent you home."
The Fist soldier stares blankly. His vacant expression is more than a little bothersome. He seems almost afflicted by some disease of the mind.
Zavakk presses his investigation. "Where did you go?"
"Home, sir," Kouronath says. Cath, you don't need a zone of truth to know he isn't telling the truth. The problem, you are coming to realize, is that he blindly accepts the gaps in his memory as though his condition was normal.
"Did you see your wife and daughter?" the marshal asks.
"I don't have a daughter, sir. I have four boys."
That's right. He does, Zavakk says in your mind. A few more questions and I can rule out imposter.
"Did you eat supper with your family?"
Kouronath offers a vacant expression in return.
"What about breakfast?"
The same frustrating blank stare.
"Kouronath," Zavakk asks gruffly. "When was the last time you saw your wife and family. That you recall?"
The middle-aged man blinks. He's at a loss for words. He now believe something is wrong. "I—"
Zavakk reaches for his gold medallion and conjures a dimension door. With the other hand he pulls his flame-tipped spear out of thin air. "To Kouronath House!" he shouts as he runs through the door, the befuddled Fist right on the dragonborn's heels.
Zavakk tosses the rod of many detections over his shoulder. It hits the ground hard and rolls several circles before it comes to a stop at your feet, Cath.
Cath reaches out and clasps the dragonborn's hand in welcome. "Hail and well met Zavakk." He says aloud.
In his thoughts he answers the question given.
He went out sometime last night and had not returned by morning. I did not know he had left until a short time ago and came here as soon as I knew.
Then let's start with the obvious question, shall we, Cath?
"Kouronath."
"Yes, sir."
"The rod of many detections entrusted to you. Who is attuned with it now?" Zavakk asks.
"Durambor, sir."
"Excellent. Gentlemen, if you would please. Join me," Zavakk says, reaching for the gold medallion around his neck. He rubs a circle around the edge with his thumb, mumbling something in a language that reminds you of dragons and lizards. A dimension door wreathed in flame appears. He steps through. "Come, to the Wyrm's Gate!"
Cath immediately follows Zavakk through the door. Zavakk was a man of action and Cath liked that. He had little doubt at the moment that it would not take long to find the boy and Norvalor.
How would you like to handle it?
"I defend him because he's a bloody ******* child, not some creature! All you see is the outer appearance you ******* racist!" Norvalor responds with with a cold stare.
OOC: I would like to think that he only know that something is watching over him and is giving him powers besides that he hasn't learn much yet.
The priestess of Myrkul cackles. "Such a temper. So much life!" she says, lifting her eyebrows high above her cold blue eyes. She laughs once more. "Yes, indeed, you might make a worthy test subject. As for your choices, your empathy. It would serve you well to learn the drow cannot be trusted. They're all mindless, gutless, sacklings," she adds venomously. She's 10 feet closer to you, Norvalor.
OOC Attempting to remove your hempen bindings requires either a Strength check to pull at them, or a Dexterity check to wiggle your hands through.
You are through the dimension door, Cath, and that much closer. The Wyrm's Gate is 60 feet from your present location. Immediately to you right is a large tent flying flags of the Flaming Fist. Two guards stand at the entrance.
The weather has shifted since your were last outside.
Gray clouds drift overhead, heading east. You smell rain on the humid air.
Zavakk is waiting for you and Kouronath to catch up. You can't be sure if his brow is furrowed or it rests naturally pinched. Either way, he seems agitated and pressed for time.
Arutha, have you rolled the second skill check?
It goes without saying that interrogating someone takes time. A successful roll doesn't automatically imply success, and a failed roll doesn't turn the tables. Your Interaction determines how the Cloak cultist responds to you, round after round.
Vekka addresses the crowd, Gramdal. "My lord, Gravva, is in need of your expertise," the female orc begins. "Your particular skills."
She knows her presence comes as a surprise to Jhaval's underworld allies. She entered the room without introduction, without warning. Purposely? Probably. Doing so eliminated any opportunity the group might have had to consult each other, prepare for her arrival. And in that regard, she wields the upper hand. She, a female. She, an orc. She, an ambassador for the orc lord named Gravva, whom until now you have never heard. But like all orc chieftains, they rise and they fall, and they are replaced. But why send someone to parlay?
Every footfall Vekka places adds just a little bit more tension to that uncertainty.
Her scraping dry scaly gnarled toes she drags across the floor grate at the ears. Several henchmen grunt. They cannot hold back their disgust for her. The worst revulsion comes from a dwarf beside Khazari Moreun. His disrespect is clear. The lips he curls across his face might as well be a whetstone to sharpen his blade. His master, you notice, does not chastise the ill-mannered response.
Remember, Gramdal, the dwarves hail from the North. In all likelihood they crossed paths with the Many Arrow King.
"Eh, I be comin! These old dwarf legs may be tireless but they don't move as fast as yours." Cath calls out as he dashes forward to catch up to the dragonborn.
"Aye, dwarf," Kouronath pants. "The marshal leads the running exercises. He is unequaled!"
When Cath catches up he stops where Zavakk is.
"So what do we need to do?"
You are a quick learner. Few travelers know about the security device's properties. I trust the source of this information is reliable? Friendly? Zavakk says to you, Cath, in your mind.
A few short steps later and you're at the Wyrm's Gate. A long line of people winds away from the east entrance as they wait to get inside. They look irritated and bored, but what other choice to do they have but to comply with the new security measure. It seems to be working. The security checkpoint is manned by two soldiers. The rest are inside the city, where the work is.
"Next!" a halfling calls out.
"Kettletop," Kouronath mumbles with a light chuckle. "Haven't seen him in weeks."
The Fist soldier beside the halfling holds the rod of many detections. He must be Durambor.
Friendly yes and reliable and concerned for the child. As I am, as well as concerned for Norvalor. Though I think he can take care of himself.
Cath replies using his mind.
Zavakk waits for Durambor to complete the screening.
When the gruff looking human notices his superior, he immediately straightens up. "Good morning, sir," he says, perplexed.
Meanwhile, the halfling addresses the front of the Line, apologizing for the interruption. The crowd grumbles, but it's the way of things. Luckily, the Fist uniform deters anyone from acting out of line.
Zavakk simply nods. His eyes shift. He exchanges no words with the city guard over the next few seconds.
"Of course, sir," Durambor replies, offering Zavakk the magical item. The dragon born twists the gem-encrusted dial, pressing different colored gems sequentially.
You notice he presses only the emerald and sapphire. The pattern is Rotate-Press. 1-2-2-1-1-1-2. When he is finished, the diamond gem is facing the ground. "Kouronath, if you would please direct us," Zavakk says, handing off the item.
"Where to, sir?" Kouronath has that same blank stare you've seen before, Cath.
"Why to the child, of course. That's why we are here," Zavakk says.
"What child, sir?"
Zavakk turns toward you, Cath, then back to Kouronath. "The boy. From yesterday. He's missing."
"What boy sir?"
Zavakk's eyes narrow. "Kouronath, do you not remember meeting the boy?"
The Fist shakes his head. "No. I don't know who yer talking about, sir."
"Yesterday, at this very spot, you sympathized with a woman named Kaiylin and her two children."
"I did?"
"This dwarf was present for the exchange. His knowledge of the events is pure."
Cath watches this exchange with interest. At first he thought Zavakk had erased the man's memory to keep the drow secret. Now he was not so sure. Is Zavakk giving him his memories back now? Or did someone else erase the man's memory?
Sending his thoughts to Zavakk again
When I came to find you at your headquarters he said the same thing. No memory of the child. Is this your doing or has someone else tampered with his memory?
Someone has tampered with his memory, Cath Redaxe. Who, I do not know. Why is at the crux of the matter. How can justice be served if the witnesses cannot recall the events? Zavakk says to you across your mind.
Then there is far more than a missing child going on here. There is more going on. Perhaps I did not lie when I said there was danger to the city if the very soldiers of the Flaming Fist can have their memories messed with. We need to get moving.
He answers back in his mind.
"Kouronath," continues Zavakk. "I dismissed you from your post and sent you home."
The Fist soldier stares blankly. His vacant expression is more than a little bothersome. He seems almost afflicted by some disease of the mind.
Zavakk presses his investigation. "Where did you go?"
"Home, sir," Kouronath says. Cath, you don't need a zone of truth to know he isn't telling the truth. The problem, you are coming to realize, is that he blindly accepts the gaps in his memory as though his condition was normal.
"Did you see your wife and daughter?" the marshal asks.
"I don't have a daughter, sir. I have four boys."
That's right. He does, Zavakk says in your mind. A few more questions and I can rule out imposter.
"Did you eat supper with your family?"
Kouronath offers a vacant expression in return.
"What about breakfast?"
The same frustrating blank stare.
"Kouronath," Zavakk asks gruffly. "When was the last time you saw your wife and family. That you recall?"
The middle-aged man blinks. He's at a loss for words. He now believe something is wrong. "I—"
Zavakk reaches for his gold medallion and conjures a dimension door. With the other hand he pulls his flame-tipped spear out of thin air. "To Kouronath House!" he shouts as he runs through the door, the befuddled Fist right on the dragonborn's heels.
Zavakk tosses the rod of many detections over his shoulder. It hits the ground hard and rolls several circles before it comes to a stop at your feet, Cath.