Baldur's Gate, Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492

Welcome to Baldur’s Gate, a veritable nest of rats and vipers clinging to the rocky slopes overlooking the Chionthar River. From their high perches in the Upper City, the local nobles — known as patriars — gaze down with veiled contempt upon the common rabble in the grimy Lower City, which hugs the foggy harbor. The whole of Baldur’s Gate reeks of blood, crime, and opportunity. One can easily fathom why pirates and traders are drawn to this place like flies to a carcass.

Following the river farther east would eventually lead you to Elturel, capital of the holy land of Elturgard — or at least that was the case until a few days ago. The flood of refugees from Elturel has gotten worse since news first arrived that the city has fallen. Everyone is saying Baldur’s Gate is next, but no one truly knows who or what has claimed Elturel.

The patriars pay a mercenary army called the Flaming Fist to protect their interests in Baldur’s Gate, and by extension, the city itself. The Flaming Fist has gained even more power since their charismatic leader, Ulder Ravengard, claimed the title of Grand Duke a few years ago. Apparently, Ravengard is missing. In his absence, the Flaming Fist has sealed the city’s gates to staunch the flow of refugees. No one is allowed in or out.

All of this was brought to your attention shortly after you were drafted by the Flaming Fist to help defend the city. Your orders are to speak to Captain Zodge at the Basilisk Gate, which pierces the city’s eastern wall and takes its name from the various statues that rest in its niches and perch atop its battlements. Unseen beyond the sealed Basilisk Gate, a dirt road stretches through the Outer City slums to the bridge known as Wyrm’s Crossing, then to distant realms beyond.

Dozens of Flaming Fist soldiers are trying to control an angry mob of commoners eager to leave the city. Armed with only a vague description of Captain Zodge — a tall man with long black hair and a leather eye patch — it takes you a while to find him. A fight breaks out between soldiers and commoners, and you finally spot the one-eyed captain as he wades into the fray and begins throwing punches. Just another day in the City of Blood.

Not long after the skirmish between the Zhentarim and the Guild, in which Kaster was rescued by Kizeha, you have each separately received this summons to report to Captain Zodge. At this point, as a result of your work in the conspiracy against the Zhentarim, you know each other and have worked together for the past few weeks. So it is a surprise when you realize all of you have been summoned to meet with Captain Zodge.

Please introduce your characters!

Samosh squints up at the banner flying brightly in the morning sun above the Basilisk Gate. Maybe he can get this meeting with uh, he looks at the folded note, Captain Zodge over with soon. The Crooked Crock has an egg plate special on 3rd Days. Elly used to say too many eegs were bad for him. Well how can they be bad when he has the same shape? Ha!

He gives his ear a scratch and lets out a sigh, OK let's get this over with.

"Oh hey," he waves at you, eyebrows raised, "What are you doing in these parts?"

Peter Falden, a halfling, tall for his kind at just over three feet, stands on the outskirts of the skirmish looking for his quarry. This time, he's to report to his mark, not spy on him. Working for the Harpers in the past was much different for the halfling. It's not at all similar to working for the Flaming Fist. He wasn't used to "reporting" to anyone, and frankly, the note given to him with orders to report to Captain Zodge unsettled his stomach in a way that left him uneasy. His muscles tensed beneath a well-worn black cloak, causing his leather armor to expand slightly to accommodate the flex. Peter was also quite strong for a halfling. This strength, however, in no way impeded Peter's nimble athleticism. 

Peter strokes his long black beard, taking in the chaotic scene before him with his piercing brown eyes. Having seen so many seasons, Peter was no stranger to cacophony and sometimes welcomed it. It helped him avoid detection or escape encounters more times than he could count. This particular one, though, was different. He had no desire to assist in suppressing the populace or to help the Flaming Fist with their tyrannical rule over them. However, he'd been tasked with reporting to this Captain, and report he would. The note requesting his presence didn't have his actual name written on it. No, he kept his real name secret—a necessity while working as a Harper spy. The name written on the note was Brock Blackbeard. The alias he used to protect his family from the unsavory folk Peter dealt with in his line of work. Most people just called Peter Bees for short. His new companions were no different.

Peter wades into the fray with an uncanny grace. Dodging the melee while expertly avoiding attention from all of the combatants. He arrives next to Captain Zodge and is surprised to see the rest of the group he'd recently worked with also reporting to the Captain. Peter calls out to the Captain to announce his arrival. "Bees reporting as ordered, sir." With a voice deep and gravelly, filled with a bass that suggested a confidence that Peter wasn't at all scared of his current situation.

     "This can't be good, Ralph," Kester says worriedly as he prepares to head out.  "Not good at all..."  As he speaks, Kester Cloverpot checks various straps and ropes that he has rigged around the giant dog in front of him.  It's basically a home made contraption all rigged up to keep the saddle, the only real piece of the contraption, steady and in place.  

     "The Flaming Fist!  How do they even know me?" He asks, his alarm rising but his hands remaining calm as they fasten and check the haphazard kit he has upon the hound.  "I'll tell you how - They know!  They must know!  How else would they even know me?  It's not fair though.  No, not at all.  All I did was help someone.  Heal the injured, ya know?  It's what we do.  I didn't know what they were up to!  I had nothing to do with nothing..."

     The hound lets out a deep chested "Huff!" by way of answer.

     "You're right.  You're right.  Of course you are right...  I should have gone to the guards, or even the Fists, first thing and reported it all,' Kester agrees.  "After all, someone must have or I wouldn't be in this spot, right?"  The mastiff has no reply to this.  Not even a tilt of his head.  "Well, it is what it is.  Nothing to be done for it now except do as told and find out what we have coming to us..."

     "Rrrrrw?" the Mastiff inquires, his left ear lifting.

     "I... I... I.  What I have coming to me.  Of course I would never let them do anything to you," Kester assures, digging his hands into the scruff of fur on either side of the giant beast's neck and giving him a good scratch.  That done, Kester takes a step back and gives their companion a quick look over...

     Ralph is a giant.  To Kester, anyway.  Ralph is a very large dog to most anyone else but Kester has a slightly lower perspective than most.  A bit shaggier than most, Ralph not Kester, with light brown fur, soulful eyes, a constantly wet snout and a jaw that hangs open with their tongue hanging partially out more often than not which gives them a smily, happy if somewhat dopy look.  Their barding, if it could be called that, is slapdash except for the saddle.  But it works for Ralph and Kester and allows Kester to ride with ease as well as use the hound as a bit of a pack mule as well.  Ralph never seems to mind.  Ralph seldom minds much of anything.  He gets plenty of exercise, to spend time with his person, and eats the choice bits of every meal.  Ralph is a happy doggo.  Except when he is not...  But that doesn't happen very often at all, at all.

     Honestly, Kester's own gear is just as slapdash.  There is nothing fancy or particularly noticeable about the Halfling known as Kester Cloverpot.  His cloak and clothes are... fine.  No holes, no stains but definitely not fancy at all.  His armor is about as home made as Ralph's barding.  Several thick pelts have been adequately, in inexpertly, combines to make passable Hide Armor for him.  Several families had contributed to it's making and gifted it to Kester before he headed here to Baldur's Gate.  The thought and the work that went into it made Kester fill with pride but, truthfully, he would have been happier with something a bit sturdier.  Something metal, perhaps.  How good could hide armor be?  It certainly didn't protect the bears or the beavers it was made from...  But Kester chides himself every time that thought enters into his head.  They could just as well have sent him off with nothing now, couldn't they have?  Besides, if Kester has anything to say about it he'll be having no need for armor at all, at all.  He was no fighter, that much was a certaintude. 

     With a sigh Kester decides he can put it off no longer and reluctantly climbs up upon Ralph and into the saddle.  Ralph sits like a good boy to help out but it's still a bit of a struggle for Kester to climb up.  He's in shape...  Just not a particularly fit one.  But once in the saddle he gently prods Ralph and the pair head off into the city and make their way through the crowds of overpacked streets and head off in search of Captain Zodge!

     "Don't know how I'd do it without you," Kester says to Ralph, leaning forward to give the hound a hefty pat upon their neck.  "Streets too crowded, not safe for someone my size to walk around, eh?  They give you a wide berth though, don't they boy?  Don't they?  They think you a big scary beasty, don't they??  Silly people...  Imagine it!  You!  Scary!!"

     The pair make their way through the streets like that, Kester upon Ralph and the pair getting far more consideration in the congested streets than Kester ever would have alone.  The rare time people don't automatically make space for the unlikely sight of the Halfling riding the Mastiff, be it from fear or curiosity, a deep chested and hearty "WOOF!" from Ralph is able to break up most knots of people and give them passage by them.  Still, it takes more than a bit to make it to Basilisk Gate and Kester is already debating himself about whether this is a bad idea or a terrible idea.  If he didn't think Ralph would think less of him he would definitely just turn around, head back home, and hope his entire time here could just be forgotten somehow...  But Ralph would never go for it.  Too prideful by half, his Ralph.

     Kester Cloverpot first spots the riot, as he approaches the gate.  Some might just call it a fight.  Others a scuffle, even.  Kester, not even being all of three feet tall (his way of saying two and a half) most definitely thought the throng of bodies and stomping feet and swinging fists looked like a riot!

     "Let's lay back a bit, eh?" Kester asks Ralph and Ralph complies, stopping and giving himself a shake.  Kester curses under his breath, he is clergy after all.  These shakes, though not uncommon, are the worst thing about riding Ralph.  Ralph puts his whole body into a good shake, from note to tailtip and everything in between.  Kester had seen humans attempting to stay atop "bucking bronco" before and he was sure they had it easy compared to a good Ralph Shake!

     "Oh hey," he waves at you, eyebrows raised, "What are you doing in these parts?"

     Speaking of humans, Kester was pretty sure this one was speaking to him.  "Oh, umm..." Kester replies as means to pause things and give himself a moment to look over the big fella.  Most all the people in this city are big and until you take a good look at them they all more or less look alike from down where Kester looks from.  Way too many crotches and butts for his taste, thank you very much!  That all should be below eye level, in a civilized society!!

     "Oh, oh!  You're umm..." Kester says suddenly, pointing and snapping his fingers at the Human.  "Wait a moment, I'll get it... It'll come to me...."  

     It won't.  Truth is Kester isn't sure he ever even got the man's name in the first place.  Kester hadn't wanted to be wrapped up in all that business and he had tried deliberately to not know what was going on or why.  So much for plausible deniability though, he still got this damn summons...

     "Yes, errr... Well," he continues, just glossing over the fact the man's name never did come to him.  "I'm looking for a Captain Zodge..." He says this quietly, ashamedly.  "I'm... err...  I'm guessing it has to do with...  well...  yeah..."

Kizeha... no... no, not Kizeha at the moment, but "Liatris Fargrove". Yes, Liatris Fargrove, an exceptionally tall but very wirily built "wood elf" as far as anyone except the most learned and/or exceptionally well-traveled would know. One that happened to be more a yellow-greenish skin tone and raven haired. Absolutely. Because, whatever else could she be? Sure, her skin was an almost sickly yellow green, her canines were sharper, and her nose flatter than most elves -- But so what?! Though unusual, it was no secret that elves came in all sorts of weird flavors...

In any case, the private investigator turned Flaming Fist conscript stood on the outskirts of the skirmish with her hands on her hips, calmly observing and analyzing the unfolding situation after having only just arrived in time to see Zodge wade into the thick of things. Though, the more insightful of those that have worked with her in the past know better. The shaded goggles she practically perpetually wore might've shielded her eyes and make her a touch trickier to read; but, a bad habit of chewing the bottom corner of her lips always gave away Liatris tendency get lost in whatever obstacle course of mental gymnastics her minded decided to conjure up in the moment. Never about morality or for any insignificant decision, but usual moreso over whether her current position of authority/job allowed for the execution of spontaneous action or not.

For on the one hand she was a conscript (or was to be one) of the Flaming Fist technically speaking and thus obligated to defend the city. On the other hand, her last orders, well, the summons mentioned only meeting with Captain Zodge, and the rabble rousers hardly constituted a threat to the city.

....

But THEN on the other hand...

And over and over the wheels would've continued if not for the exchange between Kester and Shamosh reaching her ears. "Hmn. You two -- no, you three again?" Liatris chimed and approached the trio. " Interesting and marginally concerning." She added, before then becoming suddenly but briefly distracted rechecking the condition of metallic arm guards. She gives a more cursory once over the rest of her gear, a combination of well cared for scale mail and metallic leg guards overlapping otherwise unremarkable set of well-worn clothes, before then in looking once again to the ongoing riot, brushed aside a few errant dark locks of hair and murmured the word "g'lyck" in an exasperated tone.

"... I've concluded that there was no need to summon us here of all places if solely with regards to prior matters. Too many variables present." She looked down specifically to Kester and calmly said as if well aware of at least one flaw of the halfling, "So be at ease, Kester. But know I will not save you again should you decide to behave like a she'lak."

"That's quite a coincidence Kester, I'm here for the same guy." Bending down and  giving Ralph's face a good moosh, and ears a good rubbing, Samosh continues, "Ralph! Who's the good boy?! Yes, you are, Ralph's the good boy! Yeah, yeah, you want a snack? Uncle Sam has snackies!" He pulls a stick of dried venison from his pocket and offers it to the big dog.

"Is this like an academy meeting or something?" Look, Bees is over there, "BEES! Yo! Come on over! Pet the Ralph! Stop trying to look shady, it's daytime before breakfast!"

A desperate chattering voice approaches, drawing attention to a worried looking halfling pleading for mercy at the hands of two Flaming Fist guards who seem to be holding him captive.

His eyes manage to grow even wider when he recognizes some of you.

"I'm s-s-sorry. There seems to have been some sort of mistake. You see, I don't belong here. I'm just a humble street magician. I perform cantrips for rations and copper. I don't ask why or where it came from. S-s-so, if these fellows here are involved in something, I assure you, I know nothing about it."

     Ralph's tail immediately goes to a-wagging when Samosh calls him a good boy and starts giving him rubs and scratches...  But Ralph himself struggles to maintain his composure, looking back to Kester with desperate and pleading puppy-dog eyes.  The pleading eyes are joined by a rumbling whine of desperation when "snacks" are mentioned and the scent of venison hits the air.  

     Kester rolls his eyes and sighs.  "Alright, alright," Kester says reluctantly yet inevitably and hops off of Ralph.  Then with a quick gutteral word of Orcish he releases Ralph from his mount-duties and allows him to just be a doggo for a bit and enjoy the treats and attention.  

     "You really shouldn't when I'm in the saddle," he complains to Samosh.  It has the sound of an oft repeated and ignored complaint.  "He needs to remain controlled and attentive when ridden or he'll develop bad habits..."  Yet to all appearances Samosh is paying as little attention as anyone else who just wants to pet the dog and praise and reward him for just being him.  Not that Kester blames them, really - Ralph is a very good boy indeed!  But they're not the ones training him, or depending on his continues obedience...

     "I doubt it is a coincidence," Kester says reluctantly, turning his attention back to the reason they're here.  "If we're both here for Zodge then surely it must have to do with...  Well..."  Kester looks around to see if anyone is listening but, of course, given the chaos around them who knows, right?  Still, he lowers his voice and almost laughing fakes a whisper before finishing with "what happened the other night..."

     "Oh!  Uh, hello," Kester exclaims upon Liatris joining them out of seemingly nowhere.  Kester found her... off putting.  Wood Elf?  Hmph!  And so rude!!  "A shel'what??" Kester asks, not understanding the word but understanding her intent.  "All I did was save some poor one's life is all!  It is my duty as a representative of the Refined Unified Religious Order ((or Ru-Ro!)) to aid those in need!  I didn't ask to be dragged there that night but I shall remember, in deed, that you yourself are against such assistance if it is ever required!"  

     Immediately upon his outburst, on foot and away from Ralph no less, Kester regrets it and takes three steps back, ready to run if need be.  "I only just tried to help is all," he adds softly in what most definitely was not a whine. 

     "Oh look!  It's Bees!" Kester shouts immediately upon hearing Samosh call out, happy for the distractions.  "How's it going Bees??"  

     "Oh, and Wendyl...  By the gods, did we all get called here??  This cannot be good.  This cannot be good at all, at all..." Kester adds upon seeing him dragged about, more of less over towards the group.  Unconsciously Kester himself sidles back to Ralph's side and grabs the saddle, readying himself to climb back atop in case they have to run off from yet even more trouble.

Bees looks over at the group gathering... his new allies. An egg-shaped man named Samosh, a fellow halfling that rides the largest dog I've ever seen, and a supposed wood elf named Laitris. Bees lets out a snort of derision. Yeah right, if shes a wood elf then I'm a goliath. Bees doesn't mind the deception and has no room to talk about deceiving people. It's been part of his job for a very long time. They call his name, but he ignores them as he waits for Captain Zodge to respond to his arrival announcement. He does see one of the allies, Wendyl was it?... a fellow halfling, being dragged to the group by two guards. 'That can't be good', Bees thinks, thankful he reported to the summons promptly. He knows he could have easily evaded capture should he want to and still can should the need arise, but his curiosity got the better of him, and so he stands here waiting silently. Almost everyone is here now, who are we missing... oh yeah, the Teifling. 

Captain Zodge is a tall human man of about forty years with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He turns at the sound of Bees' voice. He looks down at the halfling and then at the rest of the party that is quickly assembling before him. The two Flaming Fist guards drag Wendyl over and deposit him in front of Zodge, despite his protestations.

"We caught this one trying to sneak out of the city, evading my summons," Zodge announces and gives Wendyl a disdainful look. Turning back to the rest of the party, he nods. "Looks like you're all here...except, wait, where's the bloody tiefling? Never mind. You lot can catch her up when she arrives."

The Captain gazes at the chaos surrounding them, frowning deeply.

“The refugee crisis, as you can see from this mess,” says Captain Zodge, “has stoked fears that Baldur’s Gate might suffer the same fate as Elturel, of which nothing remains but a hole in the ground, apparently. Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard was visiting Elturel on a diplomatic mission when the city was destroyed. Coincidence? I think not.

“The knights of Elturgard call themselves Hellriders. A few of them escaped the destruction and think we’re somehow to blame for Elturel’s downfall. What a bunch of self-righteous rabble-rousers! We’re arresting them on sight, but that’s left us shorthanded to deal with another problem. For that, I require your assistance."

Zodge turns his frown on the party. "And if you're thinking of declining, think again. A little birdy has told me some interesting things about your...dealings in the city of late. Dealings that are quite illegal as I shouldn't have to remind you..."

Threnody Snowgrave didn't believe in coincidences.

For the better part of half a year now, she'd led the Ruddy Mummers, a misbegotten coterie of malcontents and vigilantes whose revulsion for the Black Network was their only binding purpose. The tentacles of the Zhentarim had been coiling quietly around Baldur's Gate, strangling the life-blood of her people with unseemly methods even those peddlers of vice in the Guild balked at employing. Slave trafficking, protection rackets and mass murder had become rife until the Mummers stepped in. At first they were small jobs - a knife in the dark here, a smuggler's den set aflame there, but gradually the Ruddy Mummers grew in size and scope. What had began as a drunken, hare-brained plot in a back-room of the Splurging Sturgeon had somehow spawned into underground guerrilla warfare against one of the most formidable mercenary companies on the face of Faerun.

Threnody had never sought leadership, but somewhere along the way her friends began looking to her to call the shots. Things had gone well, for the most part. She'd overseen large coffers of Zhent gold secretly substituted with counterfeit coin, their subterranean hideout in the Lower City infiltrated and provisions doused in blowfish venom, slaver captains garrotted in the moonlight as they stumbled out of brothels. But as every gambler knows, you can't keep drawing Bahamut and Tiamat at Three-Dragon Ante forever.

The stakes were higher than ever, but the plan should have gone well. The Guild were already fit to spit nails over the Zhentarim encroaching on their territory, so when a small crew of Mummers bearing forged seals marking their apparent loyalty to the Black Network waylaid a gang of Guild thugs down in Rivington, it should have been enough to set the Guild and Zhents at one other's throats. A false flag operation, simple yet effective. Or so she thought. When the Mummers slipped out of dank, misty alleyways to enact her scheme, they found they were hopelessly outnumbered.

It had been pure chaos, flashing blades and bloody screams, and they'd barely escaped by the skin of their teeth. The halfliing illusionist she'd hired had tricked the pursuing thugs with clever cantrips, the dog-riding bystander Kaster almost slain if not for the quick wits of that peculiar, flat-nosed elf Liatris - it had all been a f**king mess. The majority of her best men were in hiding now, and she'd been planning on doing the same - finding a winesink down by the docks to lay low in until it all blew over. But then the summons came, and she found herself jogging towards the Basilisk Gate, clad in cloak and black chainmail, spear and shield in hand, a conscript of the Flaming Fist.

With leadership came paranoia, but as her fiendish, blood-red eyes scoured the figures outside the blockade, the tiefling was wracked by pure suspicion. Too many players from last night's card game, when Beshaba had turned fortune against her. It couldn't be a coincidence. No, whoever had been behind the ambush was sending a signal, loud and clear. The message was as subtle as a steel-toed kick in the crotch: We know who you are, we know where you live, and you are ours now.

"You lot again! I just can't get rid of you, can I?" Threnody whispers, the fondness in her voice and smile scuttling the apparent edge in her words. Upon witnessing Wendyl being manhandled by the Fists, Threnody is tempted to step in and wrench the halfling free. But when Zodge begins his address, she glides to the rear of the group and maintains her silence until he's done speaking. 

"Bloody tiefling here, present and accounted for." The devil-kin raises a hand in the air, wiggling her fingers daintily to acquire the Captain's attention. "More than happy to help out if it protects the city... and if you'd be willing to let me know where this little birdy keeps his nest."

"If helping an old lady against a mugger is a crime..."

When Zodge gives him the Eye, Samosh shrugs, "How was I supposed to know she was the thief and the guy in government blues wasn't a mugger??"

"It's fine, it's fine...we're here, what do we have to do?"

Though she cocked her head slightly to the side as if confused at Kester's assertations, the look of confusion gave way a budding appearance of her being... Vexed? Disappointed? Angered? Hard to say in the moment, but she made no move to pursue Kester. Nor could she spare a word in time before the arrival of a certain wizard on the scene drew her attention, and very nearly a smirk out Liatris as well. Almost.

||"Looks like you're all here...except, wait, where's the bloody tiefling? Never mind. You lot can catch her up when she arrives."||

Liatris immediately snapped to attention more so at the authoritative tone to the voice over the actual source. But nonetheless, Captain Zodge had her full attention, or most of it in any event given the distraction that was they settling chaos. Or at least she dared to silently hope it was beginning to simmer down thanks to other present guards' continued work in wrangling the crowd around them. "Honestly I find it curious that the captain of a respected organization would accept the word of what I presume to be the local wildlife with poor vision, but... it is not my place to judge I suppose." Spoke Liatris, sounding genuinely confused yet nevertheless accepting of the circumstances as they were for the moment as she looked expectantly to Zodge. 

Referring to the missing Teifling, Bees thinks, Oh wait, never mind. There's the... why is she bloody? Was she recently involved in a skirmish? Bees considers this as the reason for her absence when she raises her hand behind the group and speaks up. She doesn't look bloody at all! The Captain must be from Waterdeep. I'm pretty sure they talk like that there. 

Bees points at Samosh as he speaks and nods as if agreeing with the large man. He snickers as Liatris talks about the Captain getting his information from a literal bird. Feeling no need to add to the discussion, the black-cloaked halfling walks over to Ralph and scratches the dog under his jowls. Taking Samosh's earlier advice. 

     "Illegal?!?" Kester exclaims in a bit of a squeal.  He is insulted!  Offended!!  He will not stand for such an affront on his honor!!  So he quickly scrambles back upon Ralph as quickly as he can, the mighty mastiff dutifully sitting down to make it a bit easier for him.  By the time Kester is situated any pretense of actually arguing his case with such an imposing figure as Zedge has banished and instead his eyes dart this way and that as he looks for possible escape routes.  

     If he could just get out of this neighborhood he might have a chance.  He wouldn't need to stop back at his room, most of his belongings were already on his own back or Ralph's.  It would be all about speed - making it to one of the other gates and getting out before Zodge's word made it there telling the guards to stop him.  Surely Ralph was quicker than whatever runners Zodge would have to summon and send out?  And surely it is easier to get out of Baldur's Gate than it is to get in?  And surely...  And surely...

     And surely, by the hells, there was no chance Kester was ever going to try to make a run for it.  In truth he couldn't even imagine trying to live as a fugitive.  He wouldn't know how.  He would go back to his little Halfling village and convince himself he was safe until the Flaming Fists showed up and taught him how they got that colorful name...  No thank you.  Flaming Fists were not to his liking, not at all at all...

     "I think he means an informant," Kester says, perhaps too quietly for the others to hear?  "Not an actual bird..."

Wendyl remains silent, lips puckered shut, eyes darting around the room, trying to ensure he isn't seen as a threat to any of the flaming fist guards as Captain Zodge gives them their mission. 

Zodge glares at Threnody. "That's Fist business," he says gruffly.

When Liatris mentions the local wildlife, Zodge turns to her. "Wildlife? What? No! Not that kind of bird," he says with exasperation. "Tyr preserve me," he mutters to himself.

"Yes, thank you," Zodge replies to Kester, pursing his lips. "A confidential informant. Now pay attention. I don't like to repeat myself.

Baldur’s Gate has long been plagued by followers of the Dead Three — the gods Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul. I thought we had wiped them out, but apparently not. These purveyors of fear and death are taking advantage of the current crisis to commit murder sprees throughout the city. As my appointed deputies in this matter, you’ll have license to kill these wretches on sight. Find their lair, and wipe it out. Eliminate anyone who gets in your way, and don’t worry about collateral damage.

If you do what I say, I’ll see that you each receive two hundred gold pieces in addition to my gratitude, which is worth considerably more.

A few blocks from the Basilisk Gate is Elfsong Tavern. A spy named Tarina hangs out there, gathering rumors for the Guild. She owes me a favor, so tell her you work for me. Ask her what she knows about the Dead Three. And, for the love of Balduran, be nice. Tarina has dangerous friends.”

Bees listens to the Captain as he describes his problem and asks our group to stop these evil cultists from their murderous rampage. "A noble goal. One I can get behind." The gruff halfling responds in his deep gravelly voice. Bees likes the prospect of stopping these evil cultists from killing any more innocent people in the city, but wonders at the Captain's permission to eliminate anyone who gets in our way. I bet he'd feel differently if it were him in our way.

Bees looks at the others and suggests, "Let's not waste time then, yeah?" He heads off to the Elfsong Tavern without waiting for the others, disappearing into the crowd in an instant. Thinking it wise to scout ahead for the group. If he runs into trouble or spots the potential for some, Bees returns to the group to warn them.

Stealth: 18

Perception: 13

Samosh smiles and nods. Good day for honest work. Hopefully the inn has decent food.

"Come on kids, let's go."

He likes to say stuff like that knowing he looks the oldest but might not actually be.

Liatris cupped her chin betwixt the crook of thumb and pointer finger at Zodge's initial response, and then murmured with furrowed brows, "Euphemism then?" Unfortunately, even with Zodge clarifying things (as she hadn't quite heard Kester), the spark of understanding in her face also carried a hint of some lingering hint of someone being a little too self-assured in comprehending the subject. Regardless, Liatris listened with rapt attention, though partway through began furrowing her brows in concern.

"Uhh... One more question, Captain Zodge. By eliminate anyone, are we to do so even if they display connection with the Patriars? Or is capturing them alive more preferred? Also, we are the only ones being assigned to this case, correct?" She asks, and upon receiving an answer (even if not a favorable one), simply nodded before moving to follow after Bees and Samosh. Yet, if as she did so there's any look of hesitance in either Kester and/or Wendyl, Liatris would stop and softly glare at them until they either made to follow or looked about ready to try and weasel their way out of the situation.