OOC: Merry Christmas, folks!

The service alley swallows sound as readily as it swallows light. The moment Shenua steps into it, the bustle of Tarlowe Lane dulls to a distant murmur, replaced by the creak of leather, the soft clop of hooves, and the occasional drip of water from a cracked gutter above.

You pace yourself perfectly — close enough to keep the man with the horse in sight, far enough that he has no reason to look back.

He leads the animal with familiarity, not caution. This is not his first time here.

Ahead, the alley widens just enough to reveal a rear yard shared by several courier houses. Crates are stacked neatly against one wall; a tack rack hangs from another. The man halts near a side door — unmarked, weathered, and clearly used more often than the front entrances ever are.

He checks the alley once. Then again.

You have just enough time to press yourself into shadow beside a rain barrel before he reaches into his coat and raps on the door: three quick knocks, then one slower.

The door opens only a handspan. You don’t see who answers. You do hear a voice — low and controlled.

“Late,” it says.

“Not my fault,” the man replies. “Word came down this morning.”

A pause. Then: “You weren’t followed?”

“No.”

The door opens wider. The man leads the horse inside. The door closes.

You are left alone in the alley with the certainty that whatever passed through Tarlowe’s yesterday did not stop there.

And that this place — this back way — is part of a quieter route.

Iromae, the stablehand is still there, rubbing down the flank of a chestnut mare with slow, practiced strokes. He looks up when you approach, eyes wary but not unkind.

At the mention of the red scarf, he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Hard to forget,” he says. “Too clean for this street. Didn’t smell of horse or road. Stood over there —” he nods toward a post near the lane entrance, “— like he owned the place. Watched the courier offices, then left. Didn’t say a word to anyone.”

When you ask about the jumpy courier, his grip tightens on the brush.

“That one was trouble,” he mutters. “Horse spooked easy — felt it through the reins. Courier paid extra for feed but didn’t stay. Kept pacing like he was waiting on someone who never showed. Or did.”

He glances toward the alley behind the courier houses.

“They both looked the same way, in the end.”

You thank him, and he returns to his work, clearly relieved to stop talking about it.

Vorenus, you find what you’re looking for without seeming to search.

A narrow footpath cuts behind Tarlowe & Sons, barely wide enough for two men abreast, shielded by stacked crates and a leaning fence. It feeds directly into the same service yard Shenua slipped into from the other side.

Someone who knew the area would use it.

As you scratch and mutter and wander, you catch movement at the corner of your eye. The hooded figure from earlier has changed position again. They're no longer watching the front door. They're now watching the lane itself.

Watching you. Not openly. Just enough.

Then — after a heartbeat too long — the figure turns and melts into the crowd heading north. Templeward.

Vorenus turns and sees this watcher notice him, then head Templeward.  "Shit!" he instinctively crunches down, gathering his thoughts for a second.  He turns as he sees the service yard, looking for movement.  If he sees Shenua, great.  Even if not, he points his finger in a couple of directions, thinking of her and then also of Iromae, blasting out this message, "I've been spotted, one of those watchers in the courtyard, now headed toward the temple.  Meet up in the courtyard now, we need to get out of here.  They will be back to hunt and capture us!"

Giving one last glance to the service yard to see what is here, Vorenus then turns and walks calmly but with purpose back to the main courtyard, watching for Iromae and Shenua, then finding an out-of-the-way spot that he can watch for them again.  If too much time passes, he tries to send the message again, calling for a withdrawal and retreat from the area before the Temple guards arrive.  While waiting, he finds a "mole" on his forearm that he appears to examine and comment about to himself, as well as picking his teeth, finding an imaginary piece of food lodged in between his teeth that he makes a to-do about removing, while watching for his companions.

(ooc: Merry Christmas!)

Shenua is so focused on watching the scene developing a few steps away from her that Vorenus' message catches her off guard, and she gasps a bit more loudly than she would have wished. Fortunately, this happens when the man and the horse have already disappeared behind the door, and neither he nor whoever opened it should have heard her.

Concerned by the content of the magical message, she retraces her steps back — still careful, if perhaps more rushed than before — and finds herself back on the main street, where she looks for Iromae and Vorenus. Seeing the latter first, she walks up to him.

"What happened? Why do you say they are going to capture us!?"

She waits for him to respond and then adds, "Well, in any case, I think there's nothing else for us to see here. Clearly there is some kind of network happening. The man entered a side door, and it was very clear he's used that route many times before. It seems some packages do not stop here at Tarlowe and Sons and continue on using this secret route."

The tiefling stops and paces a little, then says, "So the hooded man went Templeward? Perhaps that's where this secret route leads as well. Should we continue there?"

Having thanked the stablehand, Iromae is then surprised by Vorenus' words. Once she hears the message, she quickly makes her way back to join the others.  "Not sure I learned much. Both the man with the red scarf and the jumpy one headed off the same way. It's strange though. We're looking for what the red-scarved man was carrying. But sounds like he waited here for someone that never came. Could his bag have been intercepted before this point even?"  If that's the case, she's worried that they might have missed their target. 

Given Vorenus' urgency though, she figures they need to get moving. "Agree with Shenua, seems heading Templeward is about our only option. Let's move." 

OOC: I'm going to wait until at least Twombley replies to continue to make sure I'm not assuming his answer.

"Yes, let's head that way, to the temple.  He just... I have the feeling that he was going to report to someone.  Perhaps the guard.  Perhaps the masked one... I don't know.  I just have a feeling.  Let's head that way, but try to keep out of sight if anyone is approaching from that direction.  Keep an eye open for spots to hide.  Okay?  Let's go."  Vorenus lets Shenua and Iromae take the lead, he keeps watching ahead for any signs of coordinated movement, the guard, etc.  

The three of you peel away from the press of Tarlowe Lane and angle north, leaving behind the courier offices and service yards before anyone has reason to ask why you’re moving so quickly.

The city subtly changes as you go. Stalls thin out. The smells of stew and leather give way to incense and clean stone. Streets widen, but traffic slows — fewer carts and fewer shouted bargains. People here walk with purpose or with reverence. Some wear plain robes. Others bear small symbols at the throat or wrist, polished from habitual touch.

Behind you, nothing gives chase. Yet Vorenus’s unease doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens.

Ahead, the Temple District rises in gentle tiers, white and pale sandstone catching the daylight. Smaller shrines cluster at the lower approaches — wayside altars, charitable houses, minor chapels tucked into courtyards. Bells ring softly somewhere above, not in alarm, but in timekeeping. Order. Structure.

As you move deeper, you notice how visible everything becomes. Fewer alleys. Fewer blind corners. The spaces between buildings are deliberate, maintained: gardens, cloisters, and colonnades meant to be seen across. This is not a place built for secrecy ... which makes the idea of a hidden courier route all the more unsettling.

A pair of temple functionaries pass you, murmuring to one another. One glances at you — not suspiciously, but with the casual awareness of someone trained to notice faces. Farther up the way, a courtyard opens around a shallow reflecting pool. Beyond it, three distinct paths present themselves without announcing their importance: One climbs toward a larger complex crowned with banners and carved reliefs, its gates open, its steps busy. Another bends off through a covered walk where votive candles flicker even in daylight, attended by acolytes and petitioners. The last skirts the edge of the district, where older stone meets newer work — storehouses, records offices, places that support the holy without being holy themselves.

As they move away from Tarlowe Lane, Shenua finds that Vorenus' unease has settled into her as well, and she looks nervously to the right and left — and sometimes behind — watching for any guards about to jump on them. Even if she doesn't see anything like that, she doesn't quite calm down, and she keeps scanning the area, searching for the hooded man or even the man with the horse. He has to end up leaving his safe pasage and returning to the streets at some point, hasn't he? (Perception: lol, a natural 1) 

When the trio is faced with the three possible paths ahead, she studies them for a moment before speaking. "If I were a courier trying to go unnoticed, I think I'd prefer skirting the edge of the district," she says quietly. "It sounds like the least busy option to me. But what do you guys think?"

“Perhaps there is some path that is not obvious to stay out of sight.  Some hidden passage.  I say.. we should try not to be noticed here.”  Vorenus starts to reach for the disguise kit in his pack but thinks better of it, looking around, he uses his hands to slightly alter his appearance, putting a different look on his face, straightening his posture.  “I can use my kit, or a little magic, but nothing so obvious.  Now where would you go if you wanted to stay out of sight, run an errand while largely remaining unseen….”

Vorenus pauses for a moment, looking around, observing the ebbs and flows of people in the area..

Perception : 11

"I'm not seeing a hidden path," Iromae says to Vorenus. "Nor really anywhere that one might be located. But the path skirting the edge of the district makes sense. It is just a guess though."  

She notes those that are catching sight of them and lowers her voice a bit. "If we're worried about people having seen us, it's likely too late. These folks seem the sort to remember a person. We should just move on and not draw too much attention."  

As the group pauses, or just takes a moment here, she examines the other people in the area. Is there someone that doesn't quite fit the role of worshipper or acolyte?  Someone that might be keeping an eye out or working with these couriers. (Insight: 17)