[And now you can all assume your characters know what was said in all those previously secret conversations with the mysterious voice, and I don't have to type it all out again!]
We can (literally) only imagine Tuu'Saayn's impassioned speech, as he strives to persuade his comrades that the voice in his head is real, and not imagined - and that only he knows the truth of what is happening.
You will have to decide for yourself how convincing you believe him to have been...
Could he bring them back? Could a power such as his be twisted by the light to restore order and right wrongs? Would I wager my soul to undo my mistake? Is it even possible to sell a soul just to unburdon it?
His head hurt. His stomach was twisted into writhing knots. His mind raced from thought to thought, spinning from problems to mysteries to more problems. He thought of the halfling he met shortly after leaving the monistary. The bitter smelling herbs he smoked brought measure of calm, a reprieve, however brief, from the raging dumpster fire of thoughts in his mind. He wished that halfling was with him now.
***OoC: none of this was spoken, just a peek behind the curtain as Tuu'Saayn continues to battle the guilt of causing those deaths***
As the initial shock of hearing such profanity, such beautifully simplistic profanity, wore off, Tuu'Saayn motioned the others to follow. He led them beyond the pillars, to a point where he previously felt no connection to the voice of the tempter. Black eyes darted back and forth, expecting some hells spawned monstrosity to leap forth to devour him at any moment. He began sweating again, beads forming on his brow even in the cool night air. When he was certain that nobody else was close enough to hear he told them his story.
"Moments after my trick set off a riot in the market, I heard laughter. I was dashing back to join you, and there was nobody near me. I heard it in my mind as clearly as I can hear your words from a few feet away. In our haste to enter the well of dashed hopes, I paid it little mind. Indeed I didn't give it a second thought, consumed as I have been by guilt for causing such destruction and loss of life." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and drawing a deep, calming breath. "When we reentered the market, the voice spoke to me. It offered me a bargain. It said that I had unwittingly done its bidding, and it would spare my life in exchange for a favor owed. A "simple act" it said. Through questioning the entity, I learned that it fancies itself a knight, serving a lord. I asked it of you all, what your fate was to be should I agree. It said it kills when it must, and the rest do not matter. It warned me of an uprising, where those in here will organize against each other; they will spill each other's blood. This is the will of its master, the lord it spoke of. He called all of these things appetizers. I believe that the missing citizens, the locked well, the missing watch, all of it are part of a larger plan; we, and those unfortunate souls on the wrong side of the gate, are pawns on their game table. I believe that it will get worse in here before it gets better. We have seen the serving of the appetizers, I was warned that the main course was to follow."
He pauses for a moment, and a breath, allowing his companions to digest the story he just shared with them. His head fell slightly forward, his eyes on the ground. "I would be dishonest to say that I did not consider his offer. The chaos of this place eats at me, as do my own failings." he said softly. His head quickly snapped up, his thin shoulders pushed back and he stood tall, proud and defiant. "I rejected the bargain. My loyalty is not so easily bought."
"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.”
Gus is quiet throughout Tuu’Saayn’s tale, a rare thing in and of itself—no jokes, no snide interjections, not even a startled squeak when the phrase “appetizers” is delivered with such grim certainty. He listens, truly listens, his oversized eyes locked on the tiefling with a mix of curiosity and quiet calculation. And when Tuu finishes—head bowed, voice heavy—Gus doesn’t speak right away.
Then, softly:
“Well.”
He steps forward, his expression sharpening now, more serious than usual, but still distinctly, unmistakably Gus. He gently taps Tuu’Saayn on the leg with the back of his hand, since the tiefling is a bit too tall for a shoulder pat.
“You did well,” he says simply. “You heard the whispering thing in the shadows offer you a seat at its bloody banquet and you, told it to stuff its appetizers where the abyss don’t shine. That’s not failure, Tuu. That’s grit. That’s gumption. That’s guts.”
He clasps his hands behind his back and starts pacing in a circle again, as if this helps him think.
“We're pawns, are we? Hmph. Maybe. But pawns have teeth. And this pawn bites back.”
Then he turns, eyes gleaming behind his glasses.
“But if this ‘knight’, wants a favor owed... then it has an agenda. And if it has an agenda, it’s vulnerable to disruption.”
He spreads his arms with a grin that’s half mischief, half strategy.
“And disrupting people’s plans is, if I may say so, a particular specialty of mine.”
He looks back to Tuu'Saayn now, his tone softening again.
“You’re not alone. You made the hard call. Now let’s ruin someone’s main course, shall we?”
[Well, you can have a day or so to talk it over & come up with a plan - let me know if you need any more than that, otherwise more Bad Things will start on Tuesday...]
Torm listens to Tuu recount his conversation with the ominous voice, by the end of the tale Torm's usual scowl has dissipated and a look of what may be compassion can be seen in his dark eyes.
"Gus speaks true, Tuu'Saayn. Your choice is a noble one and not to be regretted. Well done, monk. I suspect Lieutenant Higgins heard a similar offer . . . but chose differently."
Torm looks across the disorganized crowd of citizens on the edge of becoming a self-destructive mob. His scowl returns.
"It will not be long before the entirety of the market becomes a larger version of what we've witnessed in the tavern. I'm afraid that was a mere foreshadowing of things to come. We need to find a way to unite these people . . . . or as Gus says, ruin the main course." In saying the last phrase, it appears Torm may have actually smirked.
Tuu'Saayn looks to each as they respond to his recounting of the mysterious voice and the dark warning that it gave.
He was in total agreement with Gryn: not good at all.
Gus and Torm had very similar thoughts, the appetizers have been served, may as well be a fly in the soup, so to speak.
Tuu'Saayn was beginning to think that subtlety and subterfuge had their chance, it was time to punch the waiter in the face.
"Order is the rock that the waves of chaos break against. Perhaps we can do some organizing of our own..."
The wheels were turning now.
"Our little thief mentioned a name, Artemis Seven Fingers, I believe. If the cutpurses sell to him, he may be in a position to muster the common criminals. If trouble comes from within, my eyes would look there first."
"The tavern remains in shambles, the people leaderless. The goodly folk, the honest vendors providing for their families and the unlucky travelers, such as us, will be caught up in this mess. Let's find out who speaks for the innocents, who has earned their respect. I don't see the watch appearing anytime soon, what hope the people look to must come from us. Let's help who we can and see about finding this Artemis chap."
Tuu'Saayn begins to work his way back towards the tavern. His gaze sweeps the stalls and remaining merchants. His black eyes scan rapidly for someone who may sell healers supplies, kits, balms, clean cloth strips, etc. He purchases what he can quickly find, paying asking price and moving on. When he arrives he begins to offer what aid he can. He offers the healing kit to anyone with the skills to use it proficiently.
Perception: 10 (medical supplies)
Insight: 10 (a trustworthy person)
He is looking for someone trustworthy, who seems genuinely interested in helping the injured.
At first, he listens the way Gus usually listens: head tilted, hands clasped behind his back, brows dancing with mild interest. But something shifts. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
Tuu’s words about the innocents. The market folk. The mention of order as the rock that chaos breaks upon.
Then, purpose.
And just like that, Gus stops listening like Gus, and starts listening like someone who suddenly understands the implications in front of him.
His eyes follow Tuu’Saayn as the tiefling begins to stride toward the market. He watches the way his friend moves, purposeful, with intention. Tuu was stepping forward. Becoming something more.
And damn it all… that meant Gus probably had to as well.
“All right,” he murmurs to himself, more to the cobblestones than anyone else. “Let’s go find this Eight-Fingers fellow and see if he’s as bad at math as his name suggests.”
He jogs a little to catch up, then settles into stride beside Tuu. After a moment, he glances up at him, not with a quip, but something closer to respect.
“You’re good at this,”Gus says plainly. “The leading. People don’t always realize when that moment’s come… when they stop waiting for someone else to fix it. You did.”
Then, a pause. Classic Gus mischief slips in at the edge of his tone.
“…Of course, I’m still getting the first bite of any sticky buns we find. Let’s keep the revolution grounded in some realism.”
He flashes a quick, sincere smile, then keeps walking.
Because if Tuu was going to give these people hope and purpose, then Gus would give him something to hold onto too.
Torm realizes he's still gripping the young thief's collar and releases his hold. "You're fortunate our Gnome companion is not the vengeful type."
He glowers down at the girl, "Go. Find yourself a trade that doesn't depend upon the impoverishment of others."
Turning his back to the girl, without waiting for her response, he tells Gryn, "I'm afraid the Watch will be of no use to us right now. Let us assist Tuu'Synn in tending to those we can. Perhaps aiding the people will provide us a means of earning their trust and organizing them."
Torm follows Gus and Tsuu, catching up with them in a few strides. "I do have some proficiency with a medicine kit. I will help where I can. If I must, I can call upon the blessings of Helm to heal those in more dire need. Though I'd prefer to save those blessings for more extreme situations."
Tuu'Saayn begins to work his way back towards the tavern. His gaze sweeps the stalls and remaining merchants. His black eyes scan rapidly for someone who may sell healers supplies, kits, balms, clean cloth strips, etc. He purchases what he can quickly find, paying asking price and moving on. When he arrives he begins to offer what aid he can. He offers the healing kit to anyone with the skills to use it proficiently.
He is looking for someone trustworthy, who seems genuinely interested in helping the injured.
The market is large, varied and busy - even with the current disturbances, most of the stalls are still open: Tuu'Saayn has no trouble tracking down healing supplies on his way to the Tavern.
The Tavern is in the Southern portion of the market, close to the entrance gates, best positioned to attract new arrivals.
On arrival, he sees a familiar face - The curled teal hair and muscular build of the baker they had spoken to earlier, having apparently left her store to take care of the sick and injured. She is lifting the shrouded body of one of the dead onto a cart, to make more room for the living.
"Take them over to the Watch Station, and put them in the cells - the place might as well be good for something." she tells the driver.
She looks pleased to see Tuu'Saayn, but less certain about the rest of the group.
He nods to the woman and sets down the armful of supplies on one of the few tables that remain upright. The table begins to tip over immediately, one of the legs having apparently been removed by some unidentified, yet obviously violent, means. He juggled the remaining bandages to his left arm, reached out to catch the falling med kit with his right, and brought up a knee to steady the table. There stood Tuu'Saayn, brother of the Order of the Dragon, knee deep in chaos once more, this time too focused on his balance to even notice.
When he sorts himself out, he glances back over his shoulder. "Put it to good use," he says to Torm, tossing the med kit over his shoulder. His now free hand drops to stabalize the table and shift the pile of supplies to the far end. Shoving a mostly intact stool under the edge of the table completed his "repair" work.
"We are here to offer aid," he said to the burly baker. "It would seem that help will not be forthcoming from the Watch. Those with me are skilled in the healing arts, we can offer some help to the injured." He motions to the group, then calls Gus over with a quick head nod. "The streets whisper of ill tidings. When the Watch no longer watches, who will rise up to take what they desire? Who will rise up to oppose them?
He listens carefully to her, trying to get a measure of her honesty. He figures that Gus will have an idea or ten, as stirring the pot seemed to be his high strung companion's highest calling. He occasionally looks around the area, taking stock of the injured compared to the supplies. He may not be much of a healer, but he could certainly make sure that they had what they needed. It felt good to take action, to help where he could.
Gus’s head slowly turned toward Tuu’Saayn as his monkish companion motioned him over with that ever-serene expression, standing amidst the wounded. For just a moment, Gus’s face wrinkled in horror, healing? Did Tuu expect him to bandage someone? Touch open wounds?
But then, no. No, this wasn’t about antiseptic-smelling herbs. Tuu didn’t need hands. Tuu needed a voice. His voice. A smirk crept up Gus’s face. That much he could do.
He stepped forward slowly at first, hopping up onto the remains of a crate. “Friends! …Well, strangers,”he corrected with a little shrug. He waited until he had a few eyes on him before raising his hand, and with a snap, a puff of harmless green smoke burst into the air with a light hiss of prestidigitation, curling like mist around his boots.
“You all know what this place is… was.” He gestured wide with both arms, and behind him. “A place where you could come to laugh. To drink. To waste coin on bad mead and worse music.”
Then, an illusion of sound, screams echoed faintly and a crash of chairs.
“But now? Blood on the ground, the injured scream. And where,” he asked, turning a slow circle on the box, “where was the Watch?”
“They are gone. Maybe worse than gone. And that means this—” he pointed around at the crowd, at the wounded being tended to, at the people clinging to one another, “—this is up to us now.”
He stepped onto a higher perch, a table. His voice grew stronger, more focused.
“You cannot let what befell the tavern spread through this marketplace like rot. You cannot let fear break us into scraps for scavengers. This market was once safe because it was yours. And if you want that again, if you want peace, music, safety, stupidly overpriced pastries, this is your moment, we have to stand together.”
A burst of sparkling golden light shimmered upward from his fingertips, raining softly down like falling stars over the heads of the crowd.
“Stand together. Help each other. Hold the line until the true order is restored. Because if no one else will protect this place…”
He pointed toward Tuu’Saayn, calm and resolute amidst the wounded.
“…he will. And so will I. And so should you.”
He took one final step up to the edge of the table and looked over them, voice softening now with intent.
“And if we’re to understand what brought this storm down upon us, we need answers. One name has come to us. A man. A contact. A whispered figure.”
“Artemis Eight Fingers. If any of you know of him, tell us. For your neighbors, and maybe,”he added with a sly grin, “for a future where we can once again afford to drink something other than boiled alley water.”
He bowed deeply, then hopped down from the table, the last of the golden sparks winking out behind him.
“Tuu,” he said quietly as he passed, “next time just give me the nod if I’m supposed to inspire the masses. Less chance of me passing out at the sight of someone’s tibia.”
He listens carefully to her, trying to get a measure of her honesty. He figures that Gus will have an idea or ten, as stirring the pot seemed to be his high strung companion's highest calling. He occasionally looks around the area, taking stock of the injured compared to the supplies. He may not be much of a healer, but he could certainly make sure that they had what they needed. It felt good to take action, to help where he could.
"Thank you, good Sir. I've got three still unconscious, and I'd like to get them mobile again, just in case. The rest are minor wounds, burns, that sort of thing - we've got patients coming in from all over, now there's no way out of the Market.
The watch just turned and left, to a man, I think - I certainly haven't seen any uniforms since they closed the gates.
The rest of the Market Council are still arguing - and I don't imagine we'll be getting any help from those fools in the Citadel any time soon, either."
[Even with a natural 20, there's not much to be learned: Tuu'Saayn doesn't pick up any sense of a secret agenda, hidden motives or concealed beliefs - she's doing exactly what it appears she's doing, taking care of the injured and trying to keep them safe.]
“And if we’re to understand what brought this storm down upon us, we need answers. One name has come to us. A man. A contact. A whispered figure.”
“Artemis Eight Fingers. If any of you know of him, tell us. For your neighbors, and maybe,”he added with a sly grin, “for a future where we can once again afford to drink something other than boiled alley water.”
He bowed deeply, then hopped down from the table, the last of the golden sparks winking out behind him.
7
Gus' speech earns him a rousing round of applause from an appreciative crowd. Afterwards, one of the women bends low to whisper to him - richly dressed in dark swirling fabrics, in contrast to her bright lipstick
"I was with Artemis, in his store - he likes us to... keep him company on busy market days. He went out to see what was happening with the Watch and all the disturbance, and he never came back."
If Tuu'Saayn had high hopes for whatever Gus might come up with, he wasn't disappointed. The charismatic gnome hit the ground running, and had the people on board with a few well chosen words and some showmanship. He offered up an appreciative nod and smile.
"Where does the council meet? Who among them can be trusted?" Tuu'Saayn asked the woman, righting tables and chairs as they converse.
"Perhaps it would be worth a look in Artemis' shop as well," he comments to Gus after hearing the woman's words to him.
Gryn lends a hand treating the injured and bandaging wounds and hurts.
Gryn's Medicine: 16
"Everyone who isn't injured lend a hand to clean up the area and help see to the injured. Make yourselves and those around you comfortable, it looks like we may be here for a while."
Gryn helps sort out the injured and points out debris for the able-bodied to clear away.
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.”
"Everyone who isn't injured lend a hand to clean up the area and help see to the injured. Make yourselves and those around you comfortable, it looks like we may be here for a while."
With Torm and Gryn both helping, the three unconscious men are woken, and numerous low-level injuries treated before the healing kit is exhausted.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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[And now you can all assume your characters know what was said in all those previously secret conversations with the mysterious voice, and I don't have to type it all out again!]
We can (literally) only imagine Tuu'Saayn's impassioned speech, as he strives to persuade his comrades that the voice in his head is real, and not imagined - and that only he knows the truth of what is happening.
You will have to decide for yourself how convincing you believe him to have been...
Could he bring them back? Could a power such as his be twisted by the light to restore order and right wrongs? Would I wager my soul to undo my mistake? Is it even possible to sell a soul just to unburdon it?
His head hurt. His stomach was twisted into writhing knots. His mind raced from thought to thought, spinning from problems to mysteries to more problems. He thought of the halfling he met shortly after leaving the monistary. The bitter smelling herbs he smoked brought measure of calm, a reprieve, however brief, from the raging dumpster fire of thoughts in his mind. He wished that halfling was with him now.
***OoC: none of this was spoken, just a peek behind the curtain as Tuu'Saayn continues to battle the guilt of causing those deaths***
***OoC: my own keen insight tells me that the DM wants more from that scene :) I'll edit and give his exact words to the party.
Guilt in G Minor: Tuu'Saayn's Song
As the initial shock of hearing such profanity, such beautifully simplistic profanity, wore off, Tuu'Saayn motioned the others to follow. He led them beyond the pillars, to a point where he previously felt no connection to the voice of the tempter. Black eyes darted back and forth, expecting some hells spawned monstrosity to leap forth to devour him at any moment. He began sweating again, beads forming on his brow even in the cool night air. When he was certain that nobody else was close enough to hear he told them his story.
"Moments after my trick set off a riot in the market, I heard laughter. I was dashing back to join you, and there was nobody near me. I heard it in my mind as clearly as I can hear your words from a few feet away. In our haste to enter the well of dashed hopes, I paid it little mind. Indeed I didn't give it a second thought, consumed as I have been by guilt for causing such destruction and loss of life." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and drawing a deep, calming breath. "When we reentered the market, the voice spoke to me. It offered me a bargain. It said that I had unwittingly done its bidding, and it would spare my life in exchange for a favor owed. A "simple act" it said. Through questioning the entity, I learned that it fancies itself a knight, serving a lord. I asked it of you all, what your fate was to be should I agree. It said it kills when it must, and the rest do not matter. It warned me of an uprising, where those in here will organize against each other; they will spill each other's blood. This is the will of its master, the lord it spoke of. He called all of these things appetizers. I believe that the missing citizens, the locked well, the missing watch, all of it are part of a larger plan; we, and those unfortunate souls on the wrong side of the gate, are pawns on their game table. I believe that it will get worse in here before it gets better. We have seen the serving of the appetizers, I was warned that the main course was to follow."
He pauses for a moment, and a breath, allowing his companions to digest the story he just shared with them. His head fell slightly forward, his eyes on the ground. "I would be dishonest to say that I did not consider his offer. The chaos of this place eats at me, as do my own failings." he said softly. His head quickly snapped up, his thin shoulders pushed back and he stood tall, proud and defiant. "I rejected the bargain. My loyalty is not so easily bought."
"This entity... says we're appetizers?"
Gryn scratches at the side of head briefly.
"That doesn't sound good."
Gus is quiet throughout Tuu’Saayn’s tale, a rare thing in and of itself—no jokes, no snide interjections, not even a startled squeak when the phrase “appetizers” is delivered with such grim certainty. He listens, truly listens, his oversized eyes locked on the tiefling with a mix of curiosity and quiet calculation. And when Tuu finishes—head bowed, voice heavy—Gus doesn’t speak right away.
Then, softly:
“Well.”
He steps forward, his expression sharpening now, more serious than usual, but still distinctly, unmistakably Gus. He gently taps Tuu’Saayn on the leg with the back of his hand, since the tiefling is a bit too tall for a shoulder pat.
“You did well,” he says simply. “You heard the whispering thing in the shadows offer you a seat at its bloody banquet and you, told it to stuff its appetizers where the abyss don’t shine. That’s not failure, Tuu. That’s grit. That’s gumption. That’s guts.”
He clasps his hands behind his back and starts pacing in a circle again, as if this helps him think.
“We're pawns, are we? Hmph. Maybe. But pawns have teeth. And this pawn bites back.”
Then he turns, eyes gleaming behind his glasses.
“But if this ‘knight’, wants a favor owed... then it has an agenda. And if it has an agenda, it’s vulnerable to disruption.”
He spreads his arms with a grin that’s half mischief, half strategy.
“And disrupting people’s plans is, if I may say so, a particular specialty of mine.”
He looks back to Tuu'Saayn now, his tone softening again.
“You’re not alone. You made the hard call. Now let’s ruin someone’s main course, shall we?”
[Well, you can have a day or so to talk it over & come up with a plan - let me know if you need any more than that, otherwise more Bad Things will start on Tuesday...]
Torm listens to Tuu recount his conversation with the ominous voice, by the end of the tale Torm's usual scowl has dissipated and a look of what may be compassion can be seen in his dark eyes.
"Gus speaks true, Tuu'Saayn. Your choice is a noble one and not to be regretted. Well done, monk. I suspect Lieutenant Higgins heard a similar offer . . . but chose differently."
Torm looks across the disorganized crowd of citizens on the edge of becoming a self-destructive mob. His scowl returns.
"It will not be long before the entirety of the market becomes a larger version of what we've witnessed in the tavern. I'm afraid that was a mere foreshadowing of things to come. We need to find a way to unite these people . . . . or as Gus says, ruin the main course." In saying the last phrase, it appears Torm may have actually smirked.
Tuu'Saayn looks to each as they respond to his recounting of the mysterious voice and the dark warning that it gave.
He was in total agreement with Gryn: not good at all.
Gus and Torm had very similar thoughts, the appetizers have been served, may as well be a fly in the soup, so to speak.
Tuu'Saayn was beginning to think that subtlety and subterfuge had their chance, it was time to punch the waiter in the face.
"Order is the rock that the waves of chaos break against. Perhaps we can do some organizing of our own..."
The wheels were turning now.
"Our little thief mentioned a name, Artemis Seven Fingers, I believe. If the cutpurses sell to him, he may be in a position to muster the common criminals. If trouble comes from within, my eyes would look there first."
"The tavern remains in shambles, the people leaderless. The goodly folk, the honest vendors providing for their families and the unlucky travelers, such as us, will be caught up in this mess. Let's find out who speaks for the innocents, who has earned their respect. I don't see the watch appearing anytime soon, what hope the people look to must come from us. Let's help who we can and see about finding this Artemis chap."
Tuu'Saayn begins to work his way back towards the tavern. His gaze sweeps the stalls and remaining merchants. His black eyes scan rapidly for someone who may sell healers supplies, kits, balms, clean cloth strips, etc. He purchases what he can quickly find, paying asking price and moving on. When he arrives he begins to offer what aid he can. He offers the healing kit to anyone with the skills to use it proficiently.
Perception: 10 (medical supplies)
Insight: 10 (a trustworthy person)
He is looking for someone trustworthy, who seems genuinely interested in helping the injured.
At first, he listens the way Gus usually listens: head tilted, hands clasped behind his back, brows dancing with mild interest. But something shifts. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
Tuu’s words about the innocents. The market folk. The mention of order as the rock that chaos breaks upon.
Then, purpose.
And just like that, Gus stops listening like Gus, and starts listening like someone who suddenly understands the implications in front of him.
His eyes follow Tuu’Saayn as the tiefling begins to stride toward the market. He watches the way his friend moves, purposeful, with intention. Tuu was stepping forward. Becoming something more.
And damn it all… that meant Gus probably had to as well.
“All right,” he murmurs to himself, more to the cobblestones than anyone else. “Let’s go find this Eight-Fingers fellow and see if he’s as bad at math as his name suggests.”
He jogs a little to catch up, then settles into stride beside Tuu. After a moment, he glances up at him, not with a quip, but something closer to respect.
“You’re good at this,” Gus says plainly. “The leading. People don’t always realize when that moment’s come… when they stop waiting for someone else to fix it. You did.”
Then, a pause. Classic Gus mischief slips in at the edge of his tone.
“…Of course, I’m still getting the first bite of any sticky buns we find. Let’s keep the revolution grounded in some realism.”
He flashes a quick, sincere smile, then keeps walking.
Because if Tuu was going to give these people hope and purpose, then Gus would give him something to hold onto too.
That’s what friends do.
Torm realizes he's still gripping the young thief's collar and releases his hold. "You're fortunate our Gnome companion is not the vengeful type."
He glowers down at the girl, "Go. Find yourself a trade that doesn't depend upon the impoverishment of others."
Turning his back to the girl, without waiting for her response, he tells Gryn, "I'm afraid the Watch will be of no use to us right now. Let us assist Tuu'Synn in tending to those we can. Perhaps aiding the people will provide us a means of earning their trust and organizing them."
Torm follows Gus and Tsuu, catching up with them in a few strides. "I do have some proficiency with a medicine kit. I will help where I can. If I must, I can call upon the blessings of Helm to heal those in more dire need. Though I'd prefer to save those blessings for more extreme situations."
The market is large, varied and busy - even with the current disturbances, most of the stalls are still open: Tuu'Saayn has no trouble tracking down healing supplies on his way to the Tavern.
The Tavern is in the Southern portion of the market, close to the entrance gates, best positioned to attract new arrivals.
On arrival, he sees a familiar face - The curled teal hair and muscular build of the baker they had spoken to earlier, having apparently left her store to take care of the sick and injured. She is lifting the shrouded body of one of the dead onto a cart, to make more room for the living.
"Take them over to the Watch Station, and put them in the cells - the place might as well be good for something." she tells the driver.
She looks pleased to see Tuu'Saayn, but less certain about the rest of the group.
He nods to the woman and sets down the armful of supplies on one of the few tables that remain upright. The table begins to tip over immediately, one of the legs having apparently been removed by some unidentified, yet obviously violent, means. He juggled the remaining bandages to his left arm, reached out to catch the falling med kit with his right, and brought up a knee to steady the table. There stood Tuu'Saayn, brother of the Order of the Dragon, knee deep in chaos once more, this time too focused on his balance to even notice.
When he sorts himself out, he glances back over his shoulder. "Put it to good use," he says to Torm, tossing the med kit over his shoulder. His now free hand drops to stabalize the table and shift the pile of supplies to the far end. Shoving a mostly intact stool under the edge of the table completed his "repair" work.
"We are here to offer aid," he said to the burly baker. "It would seem that help will not be forthcoming from the Watch. Those with me are skilled in the healing arts, we can offer some help to the injured." He motions to the group, then calls Gus over with a quick head nod. "The streets whisper of ill tidings. When the Watch no longer watches, who will rise up to take what they desire? Who will rise up to oppose them?
He listens carefully to her, trying to get a measure of her honesty. He figures that Gus will have an idea or ten, as stirring the pot seemed to be his high strung companion's highest calling. He occasionally looks around the area, taking stock of the injured compared to the supplies. He may not be much of a healer, but he could certainly make sure that they had what they needed. It felt good to take action, to help where he could.
Insight: 25 (nat 20)
Gus’s head slowly turned toward Tuu’Saayn as his monkish companion motioned him over with that ever-serene expression, standing amidst the wounded. For just a moment, Gus’s face wrinkled in horror, healing? Did Tuu expect him to bandage someone? Touch open wounds?
But then, no. No, this wasn’t about antiseptic-smelling herbs. Tuu didn’t need hands. Tuu needed a voice. His voice. A smirk crept up Gus’s face. That much he could do.
He stepped forward slowly at first, hopping up onto the remains of a crate. “Friends! …Well, strangers,” he corrected with a little shrug. He waited until he had a few eyes on him before raising his hand, and with a snap, a puff of harmless green smoke burst into the air with a light hiss of prestidigitation, curling like mist around his boots.
“You all know what this place is… was.” He gestured wide with both arms, and behind him. “A place where you could come to laugh. To drink. To waste coin on bad mead and worse music.”
Then, an illusion of sound, screams echoed faintly and a crash of chairs.
“But now? Blood on the ground, the injured scream. And where,” he asked, turning a slow circle on the box, “where was the Watch?”
“They are gone. Maybe worse than gone. And that means this—” he pointed around at the crowd, at the wounded being tended to, at the people clinging to one another, “—this is up to us now.”
He stepped onto a higher perch, a table. His voice grew stronger, more focused.
“You cannot let what befell the tavern spread through this marketplace like rot. You cannot let fear break us into scraps for scavengers. This market was once safe because it was yours. And if you want that again, if you want peace, music, safety, stupidly overpriced pastries, this is your moment, we have to stand together.”
A burst of sparkling golden light shimmered upward from his fingertips, raining softly down like falling stars over the heads of the crowd.
“Stand together. Help each other. Hold the line until the true order is restored. Because if no one else will protect this place…”
He pointed toward Tuu’Saayn, calm and resolute amidst the wounded.
“…he will. And so will I. And so should you.”
He took one final step up to the edge of the table and looked over them, voice softening now with intent.
“And if we’re to understand what brought this storm down upon us, we need answers. One name has come to us. A man. A contact. A whispered figure.”
“Artemis Eight Fingers. If any of you know of him, tell us. For your neighbors, and maybe,” he added with a sly grin, “for a future where we can once again afford to drink something other than boiled alley water.”
He bowed deeply, then hopped down from the table, the last of the golden sparks winking out behind him.
“Tuu,” he said quietly as he passed, “next time just give me the nod if I’m supposed to inspire the masses. Less chance of me passing out at the sight of someone’s tibia.”
"Thank you, good Sir. I've got three still unconscious, and I'd like to get them mobile again, just in case. The rest are minor wounds, burns, that sort of thing - we've got patients coming in from all over, now there's no way out of the Market.
The watch just turned and left, to a man, I think - I certainly haven't seen any uniforms since they closed the gates.
The rest of the Market Council are still arguing - and I don't imagine we'll be getting any help from those fools in the Citadel any time soon, either."
[Even with a natural 20, there's not much to be learned: Tuu'Saayn doesn't pick up any sense of a secret agenda, hidden motives or concealed beliefs - she's doing exactly what it appears she's doing, taking care of the injured and trying to keep them safe.]
7
Gus' speech earns him a rousing round of applause from an appreciative crowd. Afterwards, one of the women bends low to whisper to him - richly dressed in dark swirling fabrics, in contrast to her bright lipstick
"I was with Artemis, in his store - he likes us to... keep him company on busy market days. He went out to see what was happening with the Watch and all the disturbance, and he never came back."
If Tuu'Saayn had high hopes for whatever Gus might come up with, he wasn't disappointed. The charismatic gnome hit the ground running, and had the people on board with a few well chosen words and some showmanship. He offered up an appreciative nod and smile.
"Where does the council meet? Who among them can be trusted?" Tuu'Saayn asked the woman, righting tables and chairs as they converse.
"Perhaps it would be worth a look in Artemis' shop as well," he comments to Gus after hearing the woman's words to him.
Gryn lends a hand treating the injured and bandaging wounds and hurts.
Gryn's Medicine: 16
"Everyone who isn't injured lend a hand to clean up the area and help see to the injured. Make yourselves and those around you comfortable, it looks like we may be here for a while."
Gryn helps sort out the injured and points out debris for the able-bodied to clear away.
"They're in the big tent, over by the North Gate.
Trusted? Depends on what you want to trust them with - your purse or your Woman are bad bets with some of them, but they're not all bad."
There was a big tent over that way, Tuu'Saayn remembered - it had been in the background while he was conversing with the voice.
With Torm and Gryn both helping, the three unconscious men are woken, and numerous low-level injuries treated before the healing kit is exhausted.