Gryn thinks about Tuu'Saayn's question before answering, "Probably not, the grates are heavy and only a foot wide so its unlikely that they were abducted that way, if they were somehow sucked through by a monster of some kind they're already dead."
Thinking again about the absence of the watch, "I think we might find some answers as to what's going on over on the other side of town, where all the watch were drawn. At the very least we'll see what's so gosh darn important over there to draw them all."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Tuu directs a softly hissing, "Tsssssssst, ccompanies coming..." down the stairs. He remains in the shadows, hoping the dummy lock on the gate is enough to turn this new visitor away. He has no desire to cause harm to the ordinary folk in town.
***Is there any reasonable place to hide where he would remain unseen if they entered the tunnel to the stairs?***
Tuu directs a softly hissing, "Tsssssssst, ccompanies coming..." down the stairs. He remains in the shadows, hoping the dummy lock on the gate is enough to turn this new visitor away. He has no desire to cause harm to the ordinary folk in town.
Gryn and Gus hear only the faintest hiss from the stairs -Tuu's voice not carrying quite that far.
The water carrier stomps past Tuu'Saayn oblivious and tramps down the stairs, blinking at the unexpected lantern light
"What are you lads doing down here? Get on with you - I've work to be doing!"
He dips his buckets into the well, sets the yoke across his shoulders and sidles back up the spiral stairs - having to move almost sideways to fit the buckets through the narrow space.
The moment the heavy boots echo down the stairwell, Gus is already adjusting his goggles, sliding them back into place over his eyes with the practiced nonchalance of someone who absolutely should be here.
As the water bearer rounds the final step and squints at the lantern-lit scene, Gus snaps upright and turns toward them with theatrical efficiency, arms crossed behind his back, chest out, chin high.
“Ah! Excellent timing,” Gus declares, stepping neatly in front of the well with a dramatic flourish that nearly causes him to stumble into it. He recovers with only a slight wobble, gestures at the purification stone, and launches into a rapid explanation with the smoothness of someone inventing it all on the spot.
“Official maintenance. Routine inspection. Purification stone’s flow rate was clearly off-pattern, classic phase wobble from age or improper installation. It’s a known Dwarvish flaw in stones this size, actually, fascinating bit of engineering if you’re into mineralic arcano-harmonics—which obviously we are.”
He gestures back over his shoulder at the others.
“These are my apprentices. Well, apprentice-adjacent. One of them still thinks magic comes in colors. But they’re coming along.”
Gus steps forward, peering up at the water bearer with furrowed brows, flipping the conversation without missing a beat.
“But you, before we get on with our work, you’ll have to tell me who you are, and who authorized you to be here.”
He pauses, smiling with an unsettling mix of confidence and barely contained chaos.
"I'm Ivor - Ivor Buckets, most folk call me. Don't know nothing about no magic - I just carry the water. There's half the Market Council shut in here with us, and they need food and drink same as the rest of us. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get on with my work."
[He's uncertain of your credentials, but, like most people, he finds Gus confusing enough to throw him off balance!]
Torm works his way into the overcrowded chamber, chainmail clinks echoing of the damp stone walls as he moves.
"Amazing,"he mutters as Gryn tests the waters. "I wonder just how pure this water is? To the point of holiness?"
Torm inspects the water as well, searching for a sense of any radiant or holy properties.
Religion: 5
Torm looks disappointed, apparently not sensing anything from the water. He watches with curiousity as Ivor interacts with Gus and continues to fill his buckets, never questioning the source of the water and working in a business as usual manner.
Torm looks to Gryn and agrees, "We're probably doing more harm than good here. We should head to the north gate and check with the Watch."
Tuu'Saayn seems to simply appear from the shadows when the party is ready to move forward.
"Why? This makes no sense. Why lock the people out? It's fancy water, to be sure, but it's still water, and why lie about the plague?"
He appears lost in thought as they move on. He can't help but to look at the carnage near the ale vendor.
"If anyone is seriously injured perhaps we can help them," looking to Gryn and Torm in particular, his sad eyes pleading for help cleaning up the mess his diversion created.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Heading back into the market, it looks as if the riot is over: Without the intervention of the Watch, it lasted much longer - and without the presence of their trained healers, the consequences were much worse. Many are injured, some are still unconscious and three bodies lie still under hastily placed sheets - the Tavern Keeper and two of the Farmers.
At the northern edge of the market, the road is brightly lit with lanterns - but a portcullis blocks the roadway, and behind it the solid wooden gates are shut. A crowd of confused and worried looking people surround the gate - no uniforms that might belong to a Watch or Guards are visible amongst them, the guard posts are deserted.
Gus halts mid-step as they emerge from the shadowed stair into the market proper. His eyes flick instinctively toward the wreckage of the tavern, the overturned tables, the makeshift shrouds over the fallen.
He winces, not out of sorrow, precisely, but out of a vague unease, as if he’s realizing the consequences are no longer funny, even by his standards.
But then, his attention snaps to the northern gate.
His boots are already carrying him forward before he begins speaking, weaving through the stunned market-goers with a practiced ease. “Guards vanish, gates sealed, no one in charge?"
He turns to glance back at the others, the usual mischief in his voice tempered by a thread of genuine curiosity.
Gus pushes through the last of the crowd toward the front of the gate, eyes scanning for any symbols, mechanisms, or people who might tell him why the Watch has vanished, and who stands to gain.
Gus's eyes move past the loud ones and the leaners and the gawkers until they land, with pinpoint precision, on the short human woman doing her best not to look too interested in anyone’s belt pouch.
“Now here’s someone with a bit of purpose,”he mutters under his breath, grinning.
With the casual swagger , he sidles up beside her, close enough to chat, not close enough to be a mark.
“Bit of a ruckus, innit?” he says, chin-tilted toward the portcullis. “Where’s the city watch when you need someone to not be helpful?”
He lets the silence hang just long enough, then leans in slightly with a knowing grin.
“More importantly… how’s your take been?”He lifts a brow, as if asking about the weather. “I’ve always admired the art of the grift. Sleight of hand, reading a crowd, vanishing into foot traffic, it’s like poetry. But with lighter pockets.”
He turns, glancing at a distracted merchant patting down his belt pouch, then back at her.
“Not that I would ever pickpocket. I’m more of an... acquisitions strategist. Professional courtesy, you understand.”
Tuu'Saayn feels the bile rise in his throat. He begins to sweat and for a moment feels dizzy. His eyes are locked on the sheets, one painted crimson from underneath, the others with slowly appearing blood spots, more akin to some gruesome polka-dot design.
He allows this scene to burn into his soul.
Something much larger is afoot... he reminded himself. He turned his attention to the business at hand. He constructed a mental wall, shielding his focus from the gnawing guilt that churned in his gut. While Gus worked the crowd from within, Tuu'Saayn drifted silently to the side and observed the chaos from the side lines.
Perception also an 8
His guilt proved to be stronger than his ability to tune it out.
Gryn moves up beside the brawny dwarven woman who is knocking on the gate with a staff.
"Do they usually lock everyone in the market at the end of the day?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"A rightful place awaits you in the Realms Above, in the Land of the Great Light. Come in peace, and live beneath the sun again, where trees and flowers grow."
— The message of Eilistraee to all decent drow.
"Run thy sword across my chains, Silver Lady, that I may join your dance.”
Torm, disgusted by carnage at the tavern and the obvious failure of duty by the Watch, walks to Tuu'Saayn's side and places a bronzed hand on the Tiefling's shoulder.
"There has been far too much chaos in our brief time here,"he says in a low raspy voice, "The Watch has failed in all their duties. Citizens are abducted. Tavern skirmishes are allowed to escalate into massacres. The citizens are penned up like cattle awaiting the slaughter."
Torm gives Tuu'Sayn's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
"It appears our group has come upon this city in a most dire time of need. A need for structure and organization. We should find this Lieutenant Higgins. Which may require getting beyond these barricades."
Torm's deep black eyes fix on Tuu'Sayn, "We must bring justice for these people."
Torm scans the crowd, portcullis, gate, and walls. Looking for any sign or clues of Watch activity or access to the wall.
The sack of flour hits Gus square in the chest with a dusty whumpf, knocking him back a half step as a white cloud erupts around him. He stands there a moment, blinking through the haze, now looking like a very startled, very ghostly gnome.
He coughs once. Then again. Then lets out a resigned sigh.
“Well,”he mutters, brushing flour from his lapels, “that’s one way to end a conversation.”
Without breaking stride, he tugs a kerchief from his pocket, wipes his goggles clean with a practiced motion, and turns his flour-dusted face toward the portcullis. The half-elf’s rhythmic pounding echoes against the iron bars.
Gus ambles up beside him and clears his throat politely.
“Excuse me, fist-hammerer,” he says in a voice both dry and chipper. “Any particular reason you’re trying to tenderize the gate? Or is this just how people here greet doors?”
He glances once more toward the fading white footprints disappearing into the market crowd and shrugs. “Seems like something’s got everyone rattled. I’d hate to be the only one out of the loop.”
Torm scans the crowd, portcullis, gate, and walls. Looking for any sign or clues of Watch activity or access to the wall.
Perception: 0 ((aaaarrrrggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!))
[The gods of Dice have left early for a long weekend, it seems!]
The crowd are chaotic, leaderless, rabble, all moving randomly.
The wall is bare rock, roughly carved, and extends up out of sight into the darkness - other than the portcullis and gate, there are no visible openings or gaps.
“Excuse me, fist-hammerer,” he says in a voice both dry and chipper. “Any particular reason you’re trying to tenderize the gate? Or is this just how people here greet doors?”
He glances once more toward the fading white footprints disappearing into the market crowd and shrugs. “Seems like something’s got everyone rattled. I’d hate to be the only one out of the loop.”
Persuasion: 16
The young half elf looks down his nose at the dusty gnome - his hair is long, black, pageboy curls, his tabard and clothing are of very fine quality.
"I have to get back to the Sunlight Court - I have delivered my message, and they should let me through: The messengers of the Court are not to be stayed!"
He seems very full of his own importance, and quite young to be working.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Gryn thinks about Tuu'Saayn's question before answering, "Probably not, the grates are heavy and only a foot wide so its unlikely that they were abducted that way, if they were somehow sucked through by a monster of some kind they're already dead."
Thinking again about the absence of the watch, "I think we might find some answers as to what's going on over on the other side of town, where all the watch were drawn. At the very least we'll see what's so gosh darn important over there to draw them all."
Tuu directs a softly hissing, "Tsssssssst, ccompanies coming..." down the stairs. He remains in the shadows, hoping the dummy lock on the gate is enough to turn this new visitor away. He has no desire to cause harm to the ordinary folk in town.
***Is there any reasonable place to hide where he would remain unseen if they entered the tunnel to the stairs?***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Gryn and Gus hear only the faintest hiss from the stairs -Tuu's voice not carrying quite that far.
The water carrier stomps past Tuu'Saayn oblivious and tramps down the stairs, blinking at the unexpected lantern light
"What are you lads doing down here? Get on with you - I've work to be doing!"
He dips his buckets into the well, sets the yoke across his shoulders and sidles back up the spiral stairs - having to move almost sideways to fit the buckets through the narrow space.
The moment the heavy boots echo down the stairwell, Gus is already adjusting his goggles, sliding them back into place over his eyes with the practiced nonchalance of someone who absolutely should be here.
As the water bearer rounds the final step and squints at the lantern-lit scene, Gus snaps upright and turns toward them with theatrical efficiency, arms crossed behind his back, chest out, chin high.
“Ah! Excellent timing,” Gus declares, stepping neatly in front of the well with a dramatic flourish that nearly causes him to stumble into it. He recovers with only a slight wobble, gestures at the purification stone, and launches into a rapid explanation with the smoothness of someone inventing it all on the spot.
“Official maintenance. Routine inspection. Purification stone’s flow rate was clearly off-pattern, classic phase wobble from age or improper installation. It’s a known Dwarvish flaw in stones this size, actually, fascinating bit of engineering if you’re into mineralic arcano-harmonics—which obviously we are.”
He gestures back over his shoulder at the others.
“These are my apprentices. Well, apprentice-adjacent. One of them still thinks magic comes in colors. But they’re coming along.”
Gus steps forward, peering up at the water bearer with furrowed brows, flipping the conversation without missing a beat.
“But you, before we get on with our work, you’ll have to tell me who you are, and who authorized you to be here.”
He pauses, smiling with an unsettling mix of confidence and barely contained chaos.
Deception: 10
"Me?" The man seems taken aback by the question
"I'm Ivor - Ivor Buckets, most folk call me. Don't know nothing about no magic - I just carry the water. There's half the Market Council shut in here with us, and they need food and drink same as the rest of us. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get on with my work."
[He's uncertain of your credentials, but, like most people, he finds Gus confusing enough to throw him off balance!]
Torm looks disappointed, apparently not sensing anything from the water. He watches with curiousity as Ivor interacts with Gus and continues to fill his buckets, never questioning the source of the water and working in a business as usual manner.
Torm looks to Gryn and agrees, "We're probably doing more harm than good here. We should head to the north gate and check with the Watch."
Tuu'Saayn seems to simply appear from the shadows when the party is ready to move forward.
"Why? This makes no sense. Why lock the people out? It's fancy water, to be sure, but it's still water, and why lie about the plague?"
He appears lost in thought as they move on. He can't help but to look at the carnage near the ale vendor.
"If anyone is seriously injured perhaps we can help them," looking to Gryn and Torm in particular, his sad eyes pleading for help cleaning up the mess his diversion created.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Heading back into the market, it looks as if the riot is over: Without the intervention of the Watch, it lasted much longer - and without the presence of their trained healers, the consequences were much worse. Many are injured, some are still unconscious and three bodies lie still under hastily placed sheets - the Tavern Keeper and two of the Farmers.
At the northern edge of the market, the road is brightly lit with lanterns - but a portcullis blocks the roadway, and behind it the solid wooden gates are shut. A crowd of confused and worried looking people surround the gate - no uniforms that might belong to a Watch or Guards are visible amongst them, the guard posts are deserted.
Gus halts mid-step as they emerge from the shadowed stair into the market proper. His eyes flick instinctively toward the wreckage of the tavern, the overturned tables, the makeshift shrouds over the fallen.
He winces, not out of sorrow, precisely, but out of a vague unease, as if he’s realizing the consequences are no longer funny, even by his standards.
But then, his attention snaps to the northern gate.
His boots are already carrying him forward before he begins speaking, weaving through the stunned market-goers with a practiced ease. “Guards vanish, gates sealed, no one in charge?"
He turns to glance back at the others, the usual mischief in his voice tempered by a thread of genuine curiosity.
Gus pushes through the last of the crowd toward the front of the gate, eyes scanning for any symbols, mechanisms, or people who might tell him why the Watch has vanished, and who stands to gain.
Perception: 8
[on an 8, Gus is probably missing things that should be obvious...]
The Tavern - yes, with a little nudge, it could have been a work of art. An opportunity lost forever.
A dozen or so people are around the portcullis and gate - no-one seems to be in charge or know what to do:
Gus's eyes move past the loud ones and the leaners and the gawkers until they land, with pinpoint precision, on the short human woman doing her best not to look too interested in anyone’s belt pouch.
“Now here’s someone with a bit of purpose,” he mutters under his breath, grinning.
With the casual swagger , he sidles up beside her, close enough to chat, not close enough to be a mark.
“Bit of a ruckus, innit?” he says, chin-tilted toward the portcullis. “Where’s the city watch when you need someone to not be helpful?”
He lets the silence hang just long enough, then leans in slightly with a knowing grin.
“More importantly… how’s your take been?” He lifts a brow, as if asking about the weather. “I’ve always admired the art of the grift. Sleight of hand, reading a crowd, vanishing into foot traffic, it’s like poetry. But with lighter pockets.”
He turns, glancing at a distracted merchant patting down his belt pouch, then back at her.
“Not that I would ever pickpocket. I’m more of an... acquisitions strategist. Professional courtesy, you understand.”
Tuu'Saayn feels the bile rise in his throat. He begins to sweat and for a moment feels dizzy. His eyes are locked on the sheets, one painted crimson from underneath, the others with slowly appearing blood spots, more akin to some gruesome polka-dot design.
He allows this scene to burn into his soul.
Something much larger is afoot... he reminded himself. He turned his attention to the business at hand. He constructed a mental wall, shielding his focus from the gnawing guilt that churned in his gut. While Gus worked the crowd from within, Tuu'Saayn drifted silently to the side and observed the chaos from the side lines.
Perception also an 8
His guilt proved to be stronger than his ability to tune it out.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
12
Looking startled, the woman grabs up the nearest heavy object - a sack of flour - and throws it at Gus, eyes wide in panic.
She turns and runs into the market, zig-zagging through the stalls.
[Ah, the only Lawful member of the party - the rest of the group may be wondering why he's a little distracted!]
Again, Tuu'Saayn heard that voice - but this time it was clear that it was only inside his head.
"Without prompting, you have done my bidding. I would offer you a boon - a bargain."
Gryn moves up beside the brawny dwarven woman who is knocking on the gate with a staff.
"Do they usually lock everyone in the market at the end of the day?"
"Are you crazy?" The woman keeps hammering on the door, so everyone has to raise their voices over the noise
"They never lock these gates: something must be wrong, up in the Citadel.
C'mon you idiots! My shift is starting, I've got to get back to work!"
Torm, disgusted by carnage at the tavern and the obvious failure of duty by the Watch, walks to Tuu'Saayn's side and places a bronzed hand on the Tiefling's shoulder.
"There has been far too much chaos in our brief time here," he says in a low raspy voice, "The Watch has failed in all their duties. Citizens are abducted. Tavern skirmishes are allowed to escalate into massacres. The citizens are penned up like cattle awaiting the slaughter."
Torm gives Tuu'Sayn's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
"It appears our group has come upon this city in a most dire time of need. A need for structure and organization. We should find this Lieutenant Higgins. Which may require getting beyond these barricades."
Torm's deep black eyes fix on Tuu'Sayn, "We must bring justice for these people."
Torm scans the crowd, portcullis, gate, and walls. Looking for any sign or clues of Watch activity or access to the wall.
Perception: 0 ((aaaarrrrggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!))
The sack of flour hits Gus square in the chest with a dusty whumpf, knocking him back a half step as a white cloud erupts around him. He stands there a moment, blinking through the haze, now looking like a very startled, very ghostly gnome.
He coughs once. Then again. Then lets out a resigned sigh.
“Well,” he mutters, brushing flour from his lapels, “that’s one way to end a conversation.”
Without breaking stride, he tugs a kerchief from his pocket, wipes his goggles clean with a practiced motion, and turns his flour-dusted face toward the portcullis. The half-elf’s rhythmic pounding echoes against the iron bars.
Gus ambles up beside him and clears his throat politely.
“Excuse me, fist-hammerer,” he says in a voice both dry and chipper. “Any particular reason you’re trying to tenderize the gate? Or is this just how people here greet doors?”
He glances once more toward the fading white footprints disappearing into the market crowd and shrugs. “Seems like something’s got everyone rattled. I’d hate to be the only one out of the loop.”
Persuasion: 16
[The gods of Dice have left early for a long weekend, it seems!]
The crowd are chaotic, leaderless, rabble, all moving randomly.
The wall is bare rock, roughly carved, and extends up out of sight into the darkness - other than the portcullis and gate, there are no visible openings or gaps.
The young half elf looks down his nose at the dusty gnome - his hair is long, black, pageboy curls, his tabard and clothing are of very fine quality.
"I have to get back to the Sunlight Court - I have delivered my message, and they should let me through: The messengers of the Court are not to be stayed!"
He seems very full of his own importance, and quite young to be working.