Gus’s jaw physically drops, lips parted, eyes wide, and for a heartbeat, he is motionless. He then slowly, dramatically lifts one hand to gently close his mouth, blinking twice.
“…She what?”
He says it loud enough to draw a curious glance from a passing halfling child, before he immediately shrinks down, tugging the baker down by the sleeve into a huddle. His voice dips into a whisper.
“You don’t say… clothes from the dead? Like—dead dead? Because, that’s deeply unsettling and also weirdly specific.”
He glances quickly over his shoulder, half expecting to see a pale blue gown gliding silently through the market like some kind of elegant banshee. When nothing appears, he lets out a breath—but not too loudly.
He leans in again, this time his tone more measured, but still charged with curiosity.
“You’ve seen things, haven’t you? Has anyone ever gone into her stall and not come out?”
He glances to Tuu’Saayn now, wide-eyed, mouthing the words:
“Clothes. From. The dead.”
Then, back to the baker, voice hushed once more.
“Please tell me she actually made that lovely little ribbon we found behind her stall…”
"I ain't seen nuthin' - there's a lot of people die in a place this big: Maybe they don't need keepin' warm no more.
There's never much trouble in the market - too many watch around, for one thing - but there's been customers at her store, screamin' that those were the clothes they buried their loved ones in, gettin' dragged away by the watch for all their yellin'.
Has a bunch of washerwomen that work for her, and they're not ones you want to cross. Said Fenris fell and broke his back by accident, an no-one was going to call her a liar.
The ribbon? Aye, maybe she bought it, fair and square. Folks want to stay on her good side, if they know what's good for 'em."
Gus slowly turns toward Tuu’Saayn, eyes narrowing, suspicion written across his face in large, flour-dusted letters. He speaks out of the corner of his mouth, half-whispering, half-horrified.
“…It’s the washerwomen. I knew no one that neat had good intentions.”
Turning back to the baker, Gus lowers his tone, though the intensity remains.
“Have you seen any of these washerwomen around tonight? Hanging back by her stall? Hovering near the shadows? Whistling ominously, perhaps?”
He scans the market, searching through the stalls for any hint of the washerwomen
He scans the market, searching through the stalls for any hint of the washerwomen
There had been someone over at the bar who fitted that description: Tall, heavy-built, dark blue headscarf and red spotted white blouse, sleeves rolled up above the elbows.
She's still there: Looking pale and miserable, sobbing into a mug of cheap beer.
Gus’s eyes narrow the moment he spots her—tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, headscarf tied tight. Sobbing into a mug of cheap beer like she’s trying to drown something she can’t wash away.
He nudges Tuu’Saayn with the back of his hand—hard enough to get his attention, but subtle. “Tuu… over by the bar,” he murmurs. “Blue headscarf. Red spotted blouse. Looks like sorrow made a person and then poured beer on it.”
He takes a single eager step, practically bouncing with the impulse to run straight to her—then stops himself, straightens his collar, and smooths his coat with a deep breath.
“Alright, Gus,” he mutters to himself. “Play it cool.”
He strolls over with forced nonchalance, then slides onto the stool beside her like he belongs there. No fanfare. Just a gnome and his growing pile of suspicions.
He glances at her sideways, softening his voice, more kind than cunning, though still alert beneath it.
“Hey,”he says gently, resting his arms on the bar. “If I had a copper for every time I’ve cried into something brewed with questionable hygiene, well… I wouldn’t need to be investigating mysterious disappearances at midnight markets, let’s put it that way.”
He lets the words hang, before tilting his head slightly toward her.
“Tough night? You look like someone who’s seen something they can’t unsee. Wanna tell me what’s got you lookin’ like your heart’s been wrung out and left to dry?”
His voice stays light, but his eyes flick toward her hands, her scarf, the tears—watching. Waiting. Listening.
[Persuasion: 9] [Perception on her clothing and hands: 18]
[Perception] Her clothing is worn but well maintained. Her skirts are more patches than original fabric, but the blouse is fairly new. The muscles of her arms look like those of a blacksmith, her nails are trimmed very short and her skin is pale and clean.
[Persuasion]
She doesn't even seem to register Gus' words - starting straight over him and continuing to drink.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Tuu'Saayn misses the hand signal entirely, his eyes bouncing back to the fray of intoxicated farmers as if he expected trouble. The nudge, however, got his attention.
He trails Gus to the the woman he indicated. He holds up two fingers and motions to Gus and the very sad and distracted woman. When the mugs of ale have been delivered he slips the vendor a few silver to cover the bill.
He missed a lot of what Gus had seen and been told, but his heart broke for this poor lady.
"Ma'am, my friends and I are new to town, but we know well the sight of pain and loss. Please share your troubles, perhaps we can offer some assistance."
[A pause to see how many of the original group are still responding: It might be that Tuu'Saayn and Gustavo are the only survivors!
If you haven't posted for a couple of days, you've got another eight hours.
I can run the 'investigation/exploration' and 'adventure' phases for only one or two characters, as long as I know - If anyone survives the 'adventure' portion, we'll do 'Milestone' level-up and then maybe the next part of the plot...]
Wiping his sticky hands on both the front of his shirt and his pants to try and clean them Gryn will then adjust his hat by making sure it is firmly on top of his head and adopt a jaunty style by giving it a little tilt to the left.
"Sorry about that but sometimes I get lost in my enjoyment of pastries."
Looking around at the others investigating and finally registering what Gus has been nattering on about...
"Do you think this Hildegard and her washerwomen have been making away with people to get their clothes on the cheap?"
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.”
"Here, take this," he says, offering her an ale. He then passes the rest out to the party.
"Please allow us to help. Who is Lisa? What do you know about Hildegard? Have others gone missing?"
With much sobbing and cheap beer, the washerwoman relates her story.
"Lisa's.. my boss - we work for Hildegard, and we were...coming back from the wells.
I was a little way behind when we reached the market..I'd stopped to listen to the music. Lisa was a little way ahead, but when I looked again she was gone, and her buckets were lying in the road, all spilled.
I looked all around for her, and I went to ask Hildegard what to do - but she's not at the stall, and she never leaves the stall when there's customers."
"Do you think this Hildegard and her washerwomen have been making away with people to get their clothes on the cheap?"
[Quite possibly - but now it seems they have problems of their own.]
Gryn Shadowquick had found a pleasant, quiet spot amongst all the chaos of the night market - a poor travellers temple, not dedicated to any particular god, but with carved stone plaques to many different deities. The gentle trickle of water covered the bustle of the market a little - running down the West wall and accumulating in a trough for the animals before draining away.
Now he was back, things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse.
"Thank you," Tuu'Saayn says with a sympathetic smile. "Please point us in the direction of the well. We will do our best to find your friend."
When they have a direction to start in he suggests to the group that they head that way to look for more clues and possibly a sewer entrance. If that proves difficult he looks near the watering trough.
"The Wells? Halfway along the West Wall - but they closed them off. Plague, they said. Like they'd even know such a thing."
A couple of minutes walk along the heavily shadowed roadway and this proves to be the case: A narrow entranceway, blocked by a heavy iron gate, with stairs visible beyond, spiralling down into the dark. A pair of dull bronze padlocks hold the bolts in place.
Back at the watering trough, the overflow is obvious enough - it flows out and into a gutter, and into a narrow culvert about a foot across. Looking along the ground, the line of the culvert underground is marked with a series of drains on the surface.
"Well I guess if Hildegard herself and another washerwoman was taken then they are not the ones behind the disappearances."
Gryn follows along to the well and looks at the drains that are spaced out along the route of the culvert.
"Only a foot wide, doubt this way can be traveled."
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.”
Gus tilts his head and approaches, goggles already shifting down over his eyes with a soft click. He reaches out and runs a hand along one of the dull bronze padlocks, fingers lingering as he leans close to inspect the mechanisms.
He straightens slowly, expression unreadable for once, the dim light catching in his goggles like twin stars.
“These stairs—this isn’t a route people use anymore. This is something someone wants forgotten.”
Gus glances over his shoulder toward the others, voice low and taut with tension.
He points at the gate with a grim nod.
“We're not getting answers up here. Whatever’s happening—it starts down there. And if I were in the business of snatching people away without a trace...”
Gus’s jaw physically drops, lips parted, eyes wide, and for a heartbeat, he is motionless. He then slowly, dramatically lifts one hand to gently close his mouth, blinking twice.
“…She what?”
He says it loud enough to draw a curious glance from a passing halfling child, before he immediately shrinks down, tugging the baker down by the sleeve into a huddle. His voice dips into a whisper.
“You don’t say… clothes from the dead? Like—dead dead? Because, that’s deeply unsettling and also weirdly specific.”
He glances quickly over his shoulder, half expecting to see a pale blue gown gliding silently through the market like some kind of elegant banshee. When nothing appears, he lets out a breath—but not too loudly.
He leans in again, this time his tone more measured, but still charged with curiosity.
“You’ve seen things, haven’t you? Has anyone ever gone into her stall and not come out?”
He glances to Tuu’Saayn now, wide-eyed, mouthing the words:
“Clothes. From. The dead.”
Then, back to the baker, voice hushed once more.
“Please tell me she actually made that lovely little ribbon we found behind her stall…”
"I ain't seen nuthin' - there's a lot of people die in a place this big: Maybe they don't need keepin' warm no more.
There's never much trouble in the market - too many watch around, for one thing - but there's been customers at her store, screamin' that those were the clothes they buried their loved ones in, gettin' dragged away by the watch for all their yellin'.
Has a bunch of washerwomen that work for her, and they're not ones you want to cross. Said Fenris fell and broke his back by accident, an no-one was going to call her a liar.
The ribbon? Aye, maybe she bought it, fair and square. Folks want to stay on her good side, if they know what's good for 'em."
Gus slowly turns toward Tuu’Saayn, eyes narrowing, suspicion written across his face in large, flour-dusted letters. He speaks out of the corner of his mouth, half-whispering, half-horrified.
“…It’s the washerwomen. I knew no one that neat had good intentions.”
Turning back to the baker, Gus lowers his tone, though the intensity remains.
“Have you seen any of these washerwomen around tonight? Hanging back by her stall? Hovering near the shadows? Whistling ominously, perhaps?”
He scans the market, searching through the stalls for any hint of the washerwomen
[Perception check: Dirty 20]
There had been someone over at the bar who fitted that description: Tall, heavy-built, dark blue headscarf and red spotted white blouse, sleeves rolled up above the elbows.
She's still there: Looking pale and miserable, sobbing into a mug of cheap beer.
[On a 20, the clues shine like lanterns]
Gus’s eyes narrow the moment he spots her—tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, headscarf tied tight. Sobbing into a mug of cheap beer like she’s trying to drown something she can’t wash away.
He nudges Tuu’Saayn with the back of his hand—hard enough to get his attention, but subtle. “Tuu… over by the bar,” he murmurs. “Blue headscarf. Red spotted blouse. Looks like sorrow made a person and then poured beer on it.”
He takes a single eager step, practically bouncing with the impulse to run straight to her—then stops himself, straightens his collar, and smooths his coat with a deep breath.
“Alright, Gus,” he mutters to himself. “Play it cool.”
He strolls over with forced nonchalance, then slides onto the stool beside her like he belongs there. No fanfare. Just a gnome and his growing pile of suspicions.
He glances at her sideways, softening his voice, more kind than cunning, though still alert beneath it.
“Hey,” he says gently, resting his arms on the bar. “If I had a copper for every time I’ve cried into something brewed with questionable hygiene, well… I wouldn’t need to be investigating mysterious disappearances at midnight markets, let’s put it that way.”
He lets the words hang, before tilting his head slightly toward her.
“Tough night? You look like someone who’s seen something they can’t unsee. Wanna tell me what’s got you lookin’ like your heart’s been wrung out and left to dry?”
His voice stays light, but his eyes flick toward her hands, her scarf, the tears—watching. Waiting. Listening.
[Persuasion: 9]
[Perception on her clothing and hands: 18]
[Perception]
Her clothing is worn but well maintained. Her skirts are more patches than original fabric, but the blouse is fairly new. The muscles of her arms look like those of a blacksmith, her nails are trimmed very short and her skin is pale and clean.
[Persuasion]
She doesn't even seem to register Gus' words - starting straight over him and continuing to drink.
5 perception
Tuu'Saayn misses the hand signal entirely, his eyes bouncing back to the fray of intoxicated farmers as if he expected trouble. The nudge, however, got his attention.
He trails Gus to the the woman he indicated. He holds up two fingers and motions to Gus and the very sad and distracted woman. When the mugs of ale have been delivered he slips the vendor a few silver to cover the bill.
He missed a lot of what Gus had seen and been told, but his heart broke for this poor lady.
"Ma'am, my friends and I are new to town, but we know well the sight of pain and loss. Please share your troubles, perhaps we can offer some assistance."
16 persuasion (+0)
"They took her. They took poor Lisa, and I can't find Hildegard and the gates are all shut and I don't know what to do."
For two silver, the bartender returns with six more mugs of very cheep beer
[Apparently, she has selective deafness for short people - it's very rare for someone not to even notice Gustavo, she must be truly distraught]
"Here, take this," he says, offering her an ale. He then passes the rest out to the party.
"Please allow us to help. Who is Lisa? What do you know about Hildegard? Have others gone missing?"
[A pause to see how many of the original group are still responding: It might be that Tuu'Saayn and Gustavo are the only survivors!
If you haven't posted for a couple of days, you've got another eight hours.
I can run the 'investigation/exploration' and 'adventure' phases for only one or two characters, as long as I know - If anyone survives the 'adventure' portion, we'll do 'Milestone' level-up and then maybe the next part of the plot...]
Wiping his sticky hands on both the front of his shirt and his pants to try and clean them Gryn will then adjust his hat by making sure it is firmly on top of his head and adopt a jaunty style by giving it a little tilt to the left.
"Sorry about that but sometimes I get lost in my enjoyment of pastries."
Looking around at the others investigating and finally registering what Gus has been nattering on about...
"Do you think this Hildegard and her washerwomen have been making away with people to get their clothes on the cheap?"
With much sobbing and cheap beer, the washerwoman relates her story.
"Lisa's.. my boss - we work for Hildegard, and we were...coming back from the wells.
I was a little way behind when we reached the market..I'd stopped to listen to the music. Lisa was a little way ahead, but when I looked again she was gone, and her buckets were lying in the road, all spilled.
I looked all around for her, and I went to ask Hildegard what to do - but she's not at the stall, and she never leaves the stall when there's customers."
[Quite possibly - but now it seems they have problems of their own.]
Gryn Shadowquick had found a pleasant, quiet spot amongst all the chaos of the night market - a poor travellers temple, not dedicated to any particular god, but with carved stone plaques to many different deities. The gentle trickle of water covered the bustle of the market a little - running down the West wall and accumulating in a trough for the animals before draining away.
Now he was back, things seemed to have taken a turn for the worse.
Tuu'Saayn ponders this new development for a moment before commenting.
"If the gates are closed they must be close. Unless.... is there a way in or out of here other than the gates? A sewer system perhaps?"
3
The bartender shrugs, and the washerwoman doesn't respond.
[average citizens have no idea what you're talking about!]
"Thank you," Tuu'Saayn says with a sympathetic smile. "Please point us in the direction of the well. We will do our best to find your friend."
When they have a direction to start in he suggests to the group that they head that way to look for more clues and possibly a sewer entrance. If that proves difficult he looks near the watering trough.
Perception 11
"The Wells? Halfway along the West Wall - but they closed them off. Plague, they said. Like they'd even know such a thing."
A couple of minutes walk along the heavily shadowed roadway and this proves to be the case: A narrow entranceway, blocked by a heavy iron gate, with stairs visible beyond, spiralling down into the dark. A pair of dull bronze padlocks hold the bolts in place.
Back at the watering trough, the overflow is obvious enough - it flows out and into a gutter, and into a narrow culvert about a foot across. Looking along the ground, the line of the culvert underground is marked with a series of drains on the surface.
"Well I guess if Hildegard herself and another washerwoman was taken then they are not the ones behind the disappearances."
Gryn follows along to the well and looks at the drains that are spaced out along the route of the culvert.
"Only a foot wide, doubt this way can be traveled."
Gus tilts his head and approaches, goggles already shifting down over his eyes with a soft click. He reaches out and runs a hand along one of the dull bronze padlocks, fingers lingering as he leans close to inspect the mechanisms.
He straightens slowly, expression unreadable for once, the dim light catching in his goggles like twin stars.
“These stairs—this isn’t a route people use anymore. This is something someone wants forgotten.”
Gus glances over his shoulder toward the others, voice low and taut with tension.
He points at the gate with a grim nod.
“We're not getting answers up here. Whatever’s happening—it starts down there. And if I were in the business of snatching people away without a trace...”
He looks back into the dark beneath the stairs.
“...this is exactly where I’d take them."
Investigation of the lock and gate: Nat 20+2