Vic tries to tail them, taking advantage of the noise and commotion of the group to move through the shadows.  She also looks for a way to slip into the mesh tunnel, should it be needed..

13 stealth

"Oh dear, nasty creatures those, surprised you can work with them here, are there many of them lurking around?" The young white-haired waterdhavian noble asks with a worried glance to his sides. "Just to make sure we are not wasting the precious time of your esteemed boss, do you have a spindle inverter coupler by any chance? We are interested in purchasing one. If you can show us one I will make it worth your while." He says with a polite smile to the young man with the oil-stained overalls and dangles a pouch of golden coins before him.

Persuasion: 11 Another roll if help action is provided: 6

Rusk glances at the dangling pouch of coins, and for a brief second, Archael sees the young man’s pupils flicker with interest. But then, just as quickly, fear reclaims his features. His eyes dart to the scrap towers and shadowy corners beyond the mesh.

“You don’t understand,” he mutters, voice tight. “No one skips a word with Korga. If he found out I did... well, he'd string me up and feed me to the dogs." He swallows hard. "You’ll see him. That’s the only way.”

A sudden metallic clatter cuts the air.

From the far edge of the junkyard, a howl erupts—deep and guttural, followed by a violent scrape of claws on rusted metal. The Voidmaws—spindly-limbed, matted with oily fur, and eyes gleaming with starlit malice—erupt from behind a wall of crushed hulls, bounding toward Vic's last known position. One of them lunges with a snarl, jaws snapping shut inches from her as she ducks instinctively. Its chain jerks taut—held fast by a burly, soot-caked handler with a horned helm and a glowing brand across one arm.

“DOWN, you void-cursed mutts!” the keeper bellows, yanking the leashes. The beasts rear and buck, trying to tear toward Vic, but they are—mercifully—restrained, though barely.

Back at the mesh tunnel, Rusk's face drains of color. He draws a short, grimy sword with a shaky hand and spins to face the party. With a sudden clang, he unlatches a panel in the cage wall. A narrow door swings open, revealing a crooked path deeper into the scrapyard's heart.

“Out. Now,” he growls. “You all see Korga. He’ll love sortin’ this out.”

He gestures sharply with the sword, ushering them toward the center yard where Vic now stands—eyes wary, surrounded by snarling Voidmaws and their glaring handler.

Tahlia swallows.  She wonders if they have gotten in over their head... but then again, this was a part they needed whether they help out this rock or not.  But Djoser might be right in the fact we should stick to our mission and come back when we are stronger.  She definitely did not feel strong now as she follows the man's direction towards the center of the yard.

Trying to mask her abject terror, Vic smiles brightly, and steps back away from the beasts.  She looks at the keeper and calls out  "Oh nice guard critters you have here, to be sure.  They got keener ears than I thought.     We might be interested in learnin more about them, from Korga, after all.   We may be needin somethin' of the type.  How do you keep 'em from turnin on ya? ."

(15 deception)

Staying safely out of reach of the beasts, she will rejoin the group.  

The keeper grins wide, revealing stained teeth. “Sweetmeats,” he growls, patting one Voidmaw’s flank. The nearby thugs chuckle darkly. One spits, “Ain’t nothing like seein’ Korga do feeding time.” The keeper snorts. “Maybe he’ll give you a demonstration.” Laughter echoes through the yard as Vic masks her revulsion, the stench of the beasts thick around her. The party is herded deeper, the scrapyard swallowing them in twisted iron and menace.

Tahlia follows along, glad that Vic was with them again as she was starting to worry about her new friend.  

As they trek further into the den of this creepy place, she wonders if they came to do business or actually become food for this voidmaw, and she can't help but shudder.

The path winds through a graveyard of twisted steel and shattered hulls, where towering walls of junk lean inward like rusted titans about to topple. Acrid smells drift in waves—burned oil, alchemical tang, wet leather gone to mold. In narrow clearings, puddles shimmer with unnatural hues, and old spelljammer parts groan faintly in the breeze, their enchantments long since soured.

At last, the trail spills into a wide clearing, ringed by makeshift chain-link fencing reinforced with girders and lashed plating. It forms a crude dome, corralling the chaos outside while maintaining a semblance of order within—a crater of pitted metal and power.

At its center, under jury-rigged lanterns, sits a slab-sided trestle table formed from a scorched spelljammer hull, still faintly bearing its maker’s sigils. Seated atop a crate, legs splayed and posture arrogantly loose, is a hulking half-orc with a chain-wrapped pauldron and cruel iron studs across his leathers. Korga “Spineshank” Thuln gnaws a glistening, blackened bird leg the size of a boar’s thigh. Grease drips into his beard as he tears flesh free with tusk-lined jaws.

One of the guards leans in and whispers, jerking a thumb toward the adventurers.

Korga’s eyes narrow. He rises like a stormcloud on broken legs, slams the roasted leg to the table, and backhands the thug aside with a snarl.

"Who," he bellows, voice like a forge’s roar, "dares interrupt Korga’s supper?"

Djoser steps forward through the warped light and acrid haze, calm as ever.  He doesn't flinch at Korga’s roar or the violence it portends.  Instead, he inclines his head slightly, hands folded in front of him, and speaks in an even, deliberate tone.

"We are merchants, not meddlers.  We are interested in examining your yard to see if it holds what we need."

He lets a beat pass before continuing,  "We offer coin, not challenge.  Goods for coin, coin for services, services for goods, as Waukeen teaches."

((Hard Persuasion check rolled and failed for Djoser: 4d6 needs to be less than 11 = 19 [in log]))

Korga rises with a growl, tossing the roasted leg aside like a broken tool. His eyes narrow, and his lips curl into something between a sneer and a snarl.

“Coin, calm, and holy talk,” he spits. “You sound like someone thinkin’ they’re too clever to bleed.”

He steps forward, heavy boots crunching bone and metal fragments beneath him.

“You stroll in here, preachin’ trade, lookin’ down your nose like I’m some street-stall huckster beggin’ for your business?” He jabs a finger into Djoser’s chest. “You ain’t got the weight to make demands. You ain’t got the spine to set terms.”

He glances over his shoulder at the watching thugs and Voidmaw handler.

“Strip their weapons. Let’s see if the Golden Lady fills teeth like she fills coin-purses.”

Rusk gulps, and takes a step forward to take your weapons, while Korga steps back to his crate to watch the entertainment.

Initiative:

• Djoser
• Tahlia
• Vic
• Archael
• (Currently chained and held back) Voidmaw 1 & 2
• Thug (Rusk)

Djoser stands taller, his voice deepening.  "I do not think myself clever, Trash-Keeper.  What I do think, is that my friends and I are on a mission from GOD.  You do not have to aid in Her holy business, but you will not stand in Her way.  In Her name, I command you to grovel and reconsider the poor choices that have brought you to this moment."

[Djoser casts command, upcast at level 2, targeting both Rusk and Korga.  Each must make a DC 14 WIS save.  On a failure, they must lie down prone and then end their turn.]

While Tahlia appreciates the cleric's way with words, she doesn't like how things look at the moment.  They paid their so called entrance fee to talk to this bully and now he calls the shots?  she furrows her brow, not today.

She's curious if Djoser's command works, but as she awaits the outcome, Tahlia pulls out her lute, biting her bottom lip until it bleeds as she does.  Running her index finger over the small amount of blood on her lip, she starts plucking away at her instrument.  The tune surrounds the thug and the two voidmaws as she figures they are the most threatening at the moment.

CHA save of 14 or subtract 1d4 from all attacks or saving throws.

"We paid t' see ya, and then get this treatment!   Don't think so.".  Vic says.  If the spell does not work on Korga, she will use Silvery Barbs as a reaction, and then she rushes Korga, rapier drawn... (will wait to hear how the spell goes, but will use the advantage on her attack if he doesnt grovel)

(if her attack goes, 16 to hit, for a total of 19 piercing damage, with her glowing moon touched rapier) 

again- if the attack goes, (after her attack, she will then drop down behind the boxes and hide, not very well 10!)  rolls in this game are cursed! :) 

if korga grovels, she holds her rapier at his throat and uses her action to disarm him. 

Korga Wis Save: 4

Rusk Wis Save: 12

Quote from CyberusFaustus >>

Korga Wis Save: 4

Rusk Wis Save: 12

 Korga snarls, swaggering forward—only to freeze mid-step, eyes twitching with sudden dread. His bulk collapses with a thunderous clang, hands scraping the trestle table as he sinks to his knees. Rusk crumples beside him with a grunt. The lone thug and beast-keeper stare, wide-eyed, too stunned to speak.

Tahlia plays her tune directed at the other thug and the Voidmaws:

Thug Cha save: 14

Voidmaw 1 Cha Save: 5

Voidmaw 2 Cha Save: 14

Quote from CyberusFaustus >>

Quote from CyberusFaustus >>

Korga Wis Save: 4

Rusk Wis Save: 12

 Korga snarls, swaggering forward—only to freeze mid-step, eyes twitching with sudden dread. His bulk collapses with a thunderous clang, hands scraping the trestle table as he sinks to his knees. Rusk crumples beside him with a grunt. The lone thug and beast-keeper stare, wide-eyed, too stunned to speak.

Tahlia plays her tune directed at the other thug and the Voidmaws:

Thug Cha save: 14

Voidmaw 1 Cha Save: 5

Voidmaw 2 Cha Save: 14

 

Tahlia’s melody twists through the air—one voidmaw recoils, its limbs sluggish under the bane’s curse, while the thug and other hound remain unmoved.

Korga freezes, sweat beading beneath his grime-streaked brow as Vic’s blade kisses his throat with unnerving precision. His serrated cleaver clatters to the ground, the sound loud in the tense hush that follows.

He lifts his hands slowly, snarling half-heartedly before his bravado gives way to caution.
“Easy now… No need for blood. You lot ain’t just off-world scavvers, I see that clear.” He swallows, glaring sidelong at the groveling Rusk.
“Alright then. What is it you want, and how can Korga make it happen?”

With Korga's change in tune, Djoser smooths his robes and continues calmly, as though the prior moment's near-bloodshed never happened. 

"We seek a helm coupler for a spelljammer ship, with an archsteel chassis.  Free of leech spores."

"We have sufficient coin to bargain a fair price.  We are not thieves."