[My apologies - the characters are still establishing themselves & I'd assumed Tuu'Saayn as chaotic as the rest!
Given his Lawful alignment and the known absence of the Watch, might he have stayed to ensure his scheme went smoothly, and trusted the heavy lifting to his Comrades? Or even go back when he realises the chaos he's unleashed? I'm happy to retcon that, although it will put you in combat - or we carry on, and you get to feel really bad about it later.
If we had a big enough special effects budget, the creepy laughter would be voiced by Morgan Freeman - so it's a shame that only Tuu'Saayn's heard it yet!
The player-characters here are the fulcrum around which the nights events will revolve - even very small actions on your part will greatly affect the eventual outcome.]
Gus, mid-cheer and red in the face from passionate sideline coaching, suddenly goes still.
His eyes glaze over, with memory.
A flashback: Young Gus, maybe fifty years younger and only moderately soot-covered, sits in a lecture hall carved from petrified mushroom cap. A gnome professor with a head like a cracked teapot is shouting over the din of unruly apprentices:
“Leverage!You’ll need it one day!A long bar and a fulcrum, and you can move the world!”
Gus, in the back row, lazily etching runes into a spoon, mutters under his breath:
“Or you could just cast Levitate, old man.”
Back in the present:
Gus blinks. A hush falls over his soul. The sound of Tuu’Saayn’s spear straining against the drain echoes.
He whispers, almost reverently: “…This is the day.”
His head swivels like a caffeinated owl. “We need a fulcrum! A brace! A… pivoty… wedgey… thing!” He darts off in a hunched sprint, rummaging through market. “Something strong, something stupid, something that won’t get me arrested if I break it—ah! Who am I kidding, I’ll take anything!”
He yells back at Tuu'Saayn' (and perhaps Torm to hear) “TUU! I’M COMING BACK TO YOU, WITH PHYSICS!”
Then, mostly to himself, with a tear in his eye: “They told me magic was everything… but Professor Crankshaft was right. Leverage is beautiful.”
Perception to find the components to help Tuu'Saayn: Nat 1 +2
Tuu'Saayn wipes the sweat from his eyes and looks at the jacked up point of his spear. He glances at Gryn, veins popping out on his bright red face and neck. He looks to Gus, bouncing around, shouting encouragement, and generally having the time of his life. Between them, it looked like you could scrap together enough muscle to piece together a fairly puny orc.
He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath. Quickly he regains his calm composure. Releasing a long, slow exhale he says, "This is not working. Perhaps we should find Torm and try the locks on the gate."
He moves with quick, measured steps. No need for stealth, his diversion had worked entirely too well, and those left standing in the market were whipped into an ale fueled frenzy. He cringed with each splintering table, chair, and barrel. The cries of pain tore through him in silent waves of guilt. Focus, Tuu'Saayn! He quietly berated himself for his failure with the lock and failed success in the market. There was nothing left to do but push forward. He just hoped the good they would do would balance the scales with the chaos they (he) had caused.
He rounded the corner as the first lock popped under the force of the crowbar. Seeking some form of personal redemption he eyed the second lock like a sworn enemy who had ruined his family name (if he had one), burned down his house, and shot his dog with a crossbow. His internal battle waged as simmering frustration slammed against a wall of practiced focus.
Taking a few deep breaths, he at the very least appeared calm. "May I?" He asked Torm, nodding his head towards the second lock.
Thieves tools: 6+2=8.
" My failure is complete." If a tiefling could get redder, he would look like a wizard's Fireball. Pulling himself together, he continued to breath and work back to centered as he moved quietly out of the way, giving Torm room to do the job he couldn't.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
His head swivels like a caffeinated owl. “We need a fulcrum! A brace! A… pivoty… wedgey… thing!” He darts off in a hunched sprint, rummaging through market. “Something strong, something stupid, something that won’t get me arrested if I break it—ah! Who am I kidding, I’ll take anything!”
Perception to find the components to help Tuu'Saayn: Nat 1 +2
[Nat 1? Ouch!]
And so it all comes down to Gryn: There's no sign of Torm, Tuu'Saayn has run off somewhere, and from his shouting, he vaguely realises that Gus wants something to help move the stone slab. Unfortunately, Gus is too distracted by the sheer beauty of his new plan to manage the practical part.
[Perception roll if you want to find something that will help]
" My failure is complete." If a tiefling could get redder, he would look like a wizard's Fireball. Pulling himself together, he continued to breath and work back to centered as he moved quietly out of the way, giving Torm room to do the job he couldn't.
[And, over by the gate, the Gods of Dice are not with us today. Torm can try another test of Strength or Athletics - especially if he can persuade Tuu'Saayn to help. It's not going to be subtle, but it could get the job done...]
Gus, mid-hustle looking for material he could cobble together to help,, freezes mid-stride as he sees Tuu’Saayn straighten from the grate, defeated but composed.
“Wait. Wait. Was I really about to apply mechanical principles like some sort of sweaty, math-loving academic?” he mutters, scandalized at himself. “Crankshaft would be so smug. ‘Leverage, Gus!’ Pfft. I'll leverage this, old man.”
He brushes his hands off with a theatrical flourish like the mere thought of manual labor might stain his soul, and begins trailing after Tuu’Saayn, who’s already heading back toward the gate like a man with nothing left to lose but his dignity.
Gus jogs to catch up, eyes drifting past him toward the ale vendor’s stall, now a full-blown battlefield of overturned benches, sloshing tankards, and two men in an argument about whether table legs make effective flails.
He allows himself a satisfied nod. “Chaos and beer, the sacred gnome duet. Good job, team.”
As they reach the gate, just in time to see the first padlock groan and snap under Torm’s crowbar, Gus slows to a saunter. He watches Tuu’Saayn line up again with the second lock. The tools come out. The breath slows. The moment sharpens.
Gus leans in, hands on knees, grinning like a halfling at a bake sale. “You got this, champ. Just remember: whisper sweet nothings to it. Locks respond to emotional vulnerability.”
Click.
Nothing.
Gus winces, placing a gentle hand on Tuu's shoulder like a cleric delivering bad news.
“That’s alright, that’s alright,”he says, voice soft as a bedtime story. “Failure’s just the first step on the staircase of success. Or in this case, the second failure is. But who’s counting? Not me. I don’t even like stairs.”
He eyes the crowbar in Torm’s hands, then down to the lock, then back up again.
“…but if we were counting, I’d maybe suggest... a bit of pry and physics. Not because I respect it, but because it seems to be winning today.”
Gus steps back, arms folded, offering Tuu a sympathetic nod.
“Don’t worry. When all this is over, we’ll say you softened the lock up for the crowbar."
***OoC was typing Tuu'Saayn's actions when the others added theirs. As he was borderline obsessed with the lock I think he would have been driven to get past that gate. That being said I hadn't seen Gus's post until after I sent mine (possible danger of doing this on a phone the majority of the time). That got things a bit muddled. Sorry for the confusion. Tuu'Saayn would have gone to check the gate while Gus looked for what he needed, so it should still work within the overall flow.***
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tuu'Saayn's only concern at this point is to live long enough to see that lock (and all others like it) die. Not just die, but die in a gruesome way, shattering the dignity and esteem of the lock. Furthermore, he secretly wished for a lock hell of some sort. A place of infinite treasure, each secured by the same lock that has defied his will and broken his spirit. In this hell a band of audacious rogues pick said locks with impunity, pilfering their guarded goods, and rendering them impotent to perform their sacred duty.
Tuu'Saayn gladly agrees to help with ANY plan that destroys that $>$;$&@_>+; lock.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
As more and more of his companions abandon the stone slab in favor of the gate Gryn sits down with a heavy sign.
"It must be magically sealed!" he finally exclaims to no one in particular, just to have something to say that may excuse his ineptitude in lifting the stone slab.
After a moment he gets up and makes his way back to the gate to see what is transpiring there.
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.”
As they reach the gate, just in time to see the first padlock groan and snap under Torm’s crowbar, Gus slows to a saunter. He watches Tuu’Saayn line up again with the second lock. The tools come out. The breath slows. The moment sharpens.
Gus leans in, hands on knees, grinning like a halfling at a bake sale. “You got this, champ. Just remember: whisper sweet nothings to it. Locks respond to emotional vulnerability.”
Click.
Nothing.
Gus winces, placing a gentle hand on Tuu's shoulder like a cleric delivering bad news.
“That’s alright, that’s alright,”he says, voice soft as a bedtime story. “Failure’s just the first step on the staircase of success. Or in this case, the second failure is. But who’s counting? Not me. I don’t even like stairs.”
He eyes the crowbar in Torm’s hands, then down to the lock, then back up again.
“…but if we were counting, I’d maybe suggest... a bit of pry and physics. Not because I respect it, but because it seems to be winning today.”
[Nothing from Torm, so a little retcon to keep things moving...]
When Tuu'Saayn and Gus arrived at the gate, it was deserted - no sign of Torm, though a wrecking bar lay on the ground and one of the two bolts had been cruelly wrenched from its frame: Perhaps he had gone to seek them at the slab, and they had missed each other in the crowd?
After a minute or two working on the lock, Torm had yet to reappear, but Gryn arrived as well - also not having noticed Torm pass him in the crowd.
Tuu'Saayn looks at the crowbar and then at the lock and then back to the crowbar. He looked at the leather bundle of apparently defective thieves tools still in his hand.
His years in the monistary taught him many lessons. He was trained in combat as well as history. One of the most difficult for him was self assessment and honest reflection. He was of slight frame, nimble and quick, but weak in terms of brute force. Leaning into a crowbar was not an ideal strategy for him.
He took a quick assessment of the time that had passed. He may have created quite a scene, but the ruckus wouldn't last forever.
"Gus, I'm not sure you and I can get this one. Gryn, if you want to give it a try, Gus could you use the fuklrum spell you mentioned earlier? I know little of such sorcery."
If Torm comes back as they are preparing, he gladdly steps aside and allows the larger man to take over.
Gryn accepts the crowbar from Tuu'Saayn and steps up to the already loosened gate.
"Now that it's been busted off one of it's hinges I might have a good chance with this." Gryn holds the crowbar out in front of him, twisting his wrist to brandish the crowbar at different angles and admire the simple tool.
He then sets to work on the gate's remaining hinge.
Athletics: 15
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"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.”
"Now that it's been busted off one of it's hinges I might have a good chance with this." Gryn holds the crowbar out in front of him, twisting his wrist to brandish the crowbar at different angles and admire the simple tool.
Tuu'Saayn watches in stunned amazement as Gryn ignores the remaining padlocked bolt and instead tears the bottom hinge from the wall, muscles bulging under his chain shirt.
Now the gate is held by its upper hinge and the lower bolt: Still firmly shut, but very obviously battered.
[You're making progress, gradually, I think. You do know you can get Advantage on these rolls by cooperating, right? This way is certainly funnier though.]
***OoC: I'm beginning to think that "dummy locking" the padlocks back on the gate will no longer be sufficient to cover our tracks once when and if we ever get through. Also if we get in there and it really is the plague, or worse, nothing, Tuu'Saayn may end up back at the monistary with a nervous breakdown and lifelong phobia of padlocks and large metal gates.***
As Gryn moves to the gate and starts eyeing up the hinge Tuu'Saayn offers the following, "I think Torm got the first lock already, it may be faster to take out the other lock..."
He didn't understand the magic of fukelrum, but he trusted that the excitable gnome had something up his sleeve to help the process. If he sees that Gryn is struggling to break the lock he jumps in to help and add his strength, such that it is, to the effort.
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“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
***OoC. Tuu wouldn't stand by and watch the hinge take a beating if the other lock was already broken without saying something. Too much time has passed already and he is anxious to find the missing people.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
[Just go with it: It's not out of character for Gryn to do something random, and it hasn't put you any further from your goal.]
Now that the gate is secured at only two points, along a diagonal, it might be more vulnerable to the appliance of violence - or you could have another try at either the padlock or the hinge.
[All chance of subtlety has clearly gone - count yourselves lucky if you manage to gain entrance without bringing any of the wall down on top of you!]
Moments after forcing the first lock open, Torm hears Gus's voice cry out in the market . . . something about physics? Not entirely certain what that means, but concerned the gnome has fallen into some type of danger, he abandons the crowbar at the gate and heads back to the bustling market to try and find what ill fate has befallen the excitable gnome.
Searching the market and trying not to become involved in the ruckus at the tavern, Torm searches the market for Gus. He soon realizes that not only does he not find Gus, he doesn't see any of his wagon mates. "By Helm! Have they been taken as well?"
With a renewed vigor to save the group he rushes back to the locked gate. When he arrives, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he is seeing. Gus, Gryn, Tuu'Saayn are all standing at the locked gate which looks like it has been attacked.
Torm approaches the group and says, "Tuu'Saayn. Give me a hand with this." Grabbing the crowbar, he starts to work at the second lock with assistance from Tuu'Saayn.
Athletics: 20 (16+4, rolled with advantage)
**OOC: Sorry for the absence. Weekends get a bit hectic with the kids soccer schedules, recitals, and typical house work **
Gus, watches as Tuu’Saayn glares down at the leather bundle of thieves’ tools in his hand, the same ones that betrayed him twice now.
His eyes narrow.
Then he follows that gaze… to the tools…
…and Gus freezes. Because he also has a leather pouch just like that, tucked in his pack. Practically untouched. Maybe a little dusty. Probably slightly sticky from some past confection, related incident. But tools nonetheless.
“Oh no…” he mutters to himself, as if he’s just remembered he left a cauldron on back at home.
With the casual subtlety of a street magician caught mid-trick, Gus immediately begins whistling. Loudly. And poorly. A jaunty, uneven little tune that is definitely supposed to make him blend in, but somehow has the opposite effect.
“Just a humble, law-abiding gnome observing the muscular destruction of property,”he says to no one in particular, eyes darting between Gryn prying off hinges like a man possessed, and Tuu’Saayn silently reassessing all his life choices.
The gate is now hanging by a top hinge strained and bottom bolt still locked but surrounded by splinters, dents, and the haunting memory of what it used to be.
Gus nods appreciatively.
“I mean… we could’ve just had success at picking the locks, but no—no, this? This is art.” He waves a hand. “Destruction with flair. I respect it.”
Just then, Torm returns, grabs the crowbar like a man reclaiming purpose, and starts working the second lock with the grim enthusiasm of a paladin who’s had quite enough of puzzles today.
Gus claps his hands together. “Yes! More crowbar! Break the lock of destiny! Split the hinge of fate! Apply torque in Helm’s name!”
He leans in toward Tuu’Saayn, murmuring just loud enough, “I could’ve helped. I have the tools. But I felt it would be disrespectful… to the narrative arc we’ve constructed.”
Pausing...
“…also, I’ve never actually used them before. Do they go in… twisty side first?”
With a renewed vigor to save the group he rushes back to the locked gate. When he arrives, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he is seeing. Gus, Gryn, Tuu'Saayn are all standing at the locked gate which looks like it has been attacked.
Torm approaches the group and says, "Tuu'Saayn. Give me a hand with this." Grabbing the crowbar, he starts to work at the second lock with assistance from Tuu'Saayn.
Athletics: 20 (16+4, rolled with advantage)
**OOC: Sorry for the absence. Weekends get a bit hectic with the kids soccer schedules, recitals, and typical house work **
Under the combined weights of Torm and Tuu'Saayn, the bronze padlock fails: The hasp torn free from the body with a satisfying click. Withdrawing the now undefended bolt, the gate hangs loosely from its upper hinge, folded back against the wall with only a little squeaking.
The passage beyond is less than three feet wide and six long, and the stone stair at its end spirals downward into pitch darkness. With the riot going on in the market and the dim light out on the edges, no-one seems to have noticed - though it can only be a matter of time until the vandalism of the gate is discovered.
[Don't fret the occasional 'outage' - I'll try & keep the game flowing, because a PBP is like a Great White Shark: It has to keep moving forward to live!]
[OOC: Gus has the mending spell, so he can use it to "clean" some of this up. I am asking for input into how much the spell could be leveraged to achieve that end]
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[My apologies - the characters are still establishing themselves & I'd assumed Tuu'Saayn as chaotic as the rest!
Given his Lawful alignment and the known absence of the Watch, might he have stayed to ensure his scheme went smoothly, and trusted the heavy lifting to his Comrades? Or even go back when he realises the chaos he's unleashed? I'm happy to retcon that, although it will put you in combat - or we carry on, and you get to feel really bad about it later.
If we had a big enough special effects budget, the creepy laughter would be voiced by Morgan Freeman - so it's a shame that only Tuu'Saayn's heard it yet!
The player-characters here are the fulcrum around which the nights events will revolve - even very small actions on your part will greatly affect the eventual outcome.]
Gus, mid-cheer and red in the face from passionate sideline coaching, suddenly goes still.
His eyes glaze over, with memory.
A flashback:
Young Gus, maybe fifty years younger and only moderately soot-covered, sits in a lecture hall carved from petrified mushroom cap. A gnome professor with a head like a cracked teapot is shouting over the din of unruly apprentices:
“Leverage! You’ll need it one day! A long bar and a fulcrum, and you can move the world!”
Gus, in the back row, lazily etching runes into a spoon, mutters under his breath:
“Or you could just cast Levitate, old man.”
Back in the present:
Gus blinks. A hush falls over his soul. The sound of Tuu’Saayn’s spear straining against the drain echoes.
He whispers, almost reverently:
“…This is the day.”
His head swivels like a caffeinated owl. “We need a fulcrum! A brace! A… pivoty… wedgey… thing!” He darts off in a hunched sprint, rummaging through market. “Something strong, something stupid, something that won’t get me arrested if I break it—ah! Who am I kidding, I’ll take anything!”
He yells back at Tuu'Saayn' (and perhaps Torm to hear)
“TUU! I’M COMING BACK TO YOU, WITH PHYSICS!”
Then, mostly to himself, with a tear in his eye:
“They told me magic was everything… but Professor Crankshaft was right. Leverage is beautiful.”
Perception to find the components to help Tuu'Saayn: Nat 1 +2
Tuu'Saayn wipes the sweat from his eyes and looks at the jacked up point of his spear. He glances at Gryn, veins popping out on his bright red face and neck. He looks to Gus, bouncing around, shouting encouragement, and generally having the time of his life. Between them, it looked like you could scrap together enough muscle to piece together a fairly puny orc.
He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath. Quickly he regains his calm composure. Releasing a long, slow exhale he says, "This is not working. Perhaps we should find Torm and try the locks on the gate."
He moves with quick, measured steps. No need for stealth, his diversion had worked entirely too well, and those left standing in the market were whipped into an ale fueled frenzy. He cringed with each splintering table, chair, and barrel. The cries of pain tore through him in silent waves of guilt. Focus, Tuu'Saayn! He quietly berated himself for his failure with the lock and failed success in the market. There was nothing left to do but push forward. He just hoped the good they would do would balance the scales with the chaos they (he) had caused.
He rounded the corner as the first lock popped under the force of the crowbar. Seeking some form of personal redemption he eyed the second lock like a sworn enemy who had ruined his family name (if he had one), burned down his house, and shot his dog with a crossbow. His internal battle waged as simmering frustration slammed against a wall of practiced focus.
Taking a few deep breaths, he at the very least appeared calm. "May I?" He asked Torm, nodding his head towards the second lock.
Thieves tools: 6+2=8.
" My failure is complete." If a tiefling could get redder, he would look like a wizard's Fireball. Pulling himself together, he continued to breath and work back to centered as he moved quietly out of the way, giving Torm room to do the job he couldn't.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
[Nat 1? Ouch!]
And so it all comes down to Gryn: There's no sign of Torm, Tuu'Saayn has run off somewhere, and from his shouting, he vaguely realises that Gus wants something to help move the stone slab. Unfortunately, Gus is too distracted by the sheer beauty of his new plan to manage the practical part.
[Perception roll if you want to find something that will help]
[And, over by the gate, the Gods of Dice are not with us today. Torm can try another test of Strength or Athletics - especially if he can persuade Tuu'Saayn to help. It's not going to be subtle, but it could get the job done...]
Gus, mid-hustle looking for material he could cobble together to help,, freezes mid-stride as he sees Tuu’Saayn straighten from the grate, defeated but composed.
“Wait. Wait. Was I really about to apply mechanical principles like some sort of sweaty, math-loving academic?” he mutters, scandalized at himself. “Crankshaft would be so smug. ‘Leverage, Gus!’ Pfft. I'll leverage this, old man.”
He brushes his hands off with a theatrical flourish like the mere thought of manual labor might stain his soul, and begins trailing after Tuu’Saayn, who’s already heading back toward the gate like a man with nothing left to lose but his dignity.
Gus jogs to catch up, eyes drifting past him toward the ale vendor’s stall, now a full-blown battlefield of overturned benches, sloshing tankards, and two men in an argument about whether table legs make effective flails.
He allows himself a satisfied nod.
“Chaos and beer, the sacred gnome duet. Good job, team.”
As they reach the gate, just in time to see the first padlock groan and snap under Torm’s crowbar, Gus slows to a saunter. He watches Tuu’Saayn line up again with the second lock. The tools come out. The breath slows. The moment sharpens.
Gus leans in, hands on knees, grinning like a halfling at a bake sale.
“You got this, champ. Just remember: whisper sweet nothings to it. Locks respond to emotional vulnerability.”
Click.
Nothing.
Gus winces, placing a gentle hand on Tuu's shoulder like a cleric delivering bad news.
“That’s alright, that’s alright,” he says, voice soft as a bedtime story. “Failure’s just the first step on the staircase of success. Or in this case, the second failure is. But who’s counting? Not me. I don’t even like stairs.”
He eyes the crowbar in Torm’s hands, then down to the lock, then back up again.
“…but if we were counting, I’d maybe suggest... a bit of pry and physics. Not because I respect it, but because it seems to be winning today.”
Gus steps back, arms folded, offering Tuu a sympathetic nod.
“Don’t worry. When all this is over, we’ll say you softened the lock up for the crowbar."
***OoC was typing Tuu'Saayn's actions when the others added theirs. As he was borderline obsessed with the lock I think he would have been driven to get past that gate. That being said I hadn't seen Gus's post until after I sent mine (possible danger of doing this on a phone the majority of the time). That got things a bit muddled. Sorry for the confusion. Tuu'Saayn would have gone to check the gate while Gus looked for what he needed, so it should still work within the overall flow.***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tuu'Saayn's only concern at this point is to live long enough to see that lock (and all others like it) die. Not just die, but die in a gruesome way, shattering the dignity and esteem of the lock. Furthermore, he secretly wished for a lock hell of some sort. A place of infinite treasure, each secured by the same lock that has defied his will and broken his spirit. In this hell a band of audacious rogues pick said locks with impunity, pilfering their guarded goods, and rendering them impotent to perform their sacred duty.
Tuu'Saayn gladly agrees to help with ANY plan that destroys that $>$;$&@_>+; lock.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
As more and more of his companions abandon the stone slab in favor of the gate Gryn sits down with a heavy sign.
"It must be magically sealed!" he finally exclaims to no one in particular, just to have something to say that may excuse his ineptitude in lifting the stone slab.
After a moment he gets up and makes his way back to the gate to see what is transpiring there.
[Nothing from Torm, so a little retcon to keep things moving...]
When Tuu'Saayn and Gus arrived at the gate, it was deserted - no sign of Torm, though a wrecking bar lay on the ground and one of the two bolts had been cruelly wrenched from its frame: Perhaps he had gone to seek them at the slab, and they had missed each other in the crowd?
After a minute or two working on the lock, Torm had yet to reappear, but Gryn arrived as well - also not having noticed Torm pass him in the crowd.
Tuu'Saayn looks at the crowbar and then at the lock and then back to the crowbar. He looked at the leather bundle of apparently defective thieves tools still in his hand.
His years in the monistary taught him many lessons. He was trained in combat as well as history. One of the most difficult for him was self assessment and honest reflection. He was of slight frame, nimble and quick, but weak in terms of brute force. Leaning into a crowbar was not an ideal strategy for him.
He took a quick assessment of the time that had passed. He may have created quite a scene, but the ruckus wouldn't last forever.
"Gus, I'm not sure you and I can get this one. Gryn, if you want to give it a try, Gus could you use the fuklrum spell you mentioned earlier? I know little of such sorcery."
If Torm comes back as they are preparing, he gladdly steps aside and allows the larger man to take over.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Gryn accepts the crowbar from Tuu'Saayn and steps up to the already loosened gate.
"Now that it's been busted off one of it's hinges I might have a good chance with this." Gryn holds the crowbar out in front of him, twisting his wrist to brandish the crowbar at different angles and admire the simple tool.
He then sets to work on the gate's remaining hinge.
Athletics: 15
Tuu'Saayn watches in stunned amazement as Gryn ignores the remaining padlocked bolt and instead tears the bottom hinge from the wall, muscles bulging under his chain shirt.
Now the gate is held by its upper hinge and the lower bolt: Still firmly shut, but very obviously battered.
[You're making progress, gradually, I think. You do know you can get Advantage on these rolls by cooperating, right? This way is certainly funnier though.]
***OoC: I'm beginning to think that "dummy locking" the padlocks back on the gate will no longer be sufficient to cover our tracks once when and if we ever get through. Also if we get in there and it really is the plague, or worse, nothing, Tuu'Saayn may end up back at the monistary with a nervous breakdown and lifelong phobia of padlocks and large metal gates.***
As Gryn moves to the gate and starts eyeing up the hinge Tuu'Saayn offers the following, "I think Torm got the first lock already, it may be faster to take out the other lock..."
He didn't understand the magic of fukelrum, but he trusted that the excitable gnome had something up his sleeve to help the process. If he sees that Gryn is struggling to break the lock he jumps in to help and add his strength, such that it is, to the effort.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
***OoC. Tuu wouldn't stand by and watch the hinge take a beating if the other lock was already broken without saying something. Too much time has passed already and he is anxious to find the missing people.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
[Just go with it: It's not out of character for Gryn to do something random, and it hasn't put you any further from your goal.]
Now that the gate is secured at only two points, along a diagonal, it might be more vulnerable to the appliance of violence - or you could have another try at either the padlock or the hinge.
[All chance of subtlety has clearly gone - count yourselves lucky if you manage to gain entrance without bringing any of the wall down on top of you!]
Moments after forcing the first lock open, Torm hears Gus's voice cry out in the market . . . something about physics? Not entirely certain what that means, but concerned the gnome has fallen into some type of danger, he abandons the crowbar at the gate and heads back to the bustling market to try and find what ill fate has befallen the excitable gnome.
Searching the market and trying not to become involved in the ruckus at the tavern, Torm searches the market for Gus. He soon realizes that not only does he not find Gus, he doesn't see any of his wagon mates. "By Helm! Have they been taken as well?"
With a renewed vigor to save the group he rushes back to the locked gate. When he arrives, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he is seeing. Gus, Gryn, Tuu'Saayn are all standing at the locked gate which looks like it has been attacked.
Torm approaches the group and says, "Tuu'Saayn. Give me a hand with this." Grabbing the crowbar, he starts to work at the second lock with assistance from Tuu'Saayn.
Athletics: 20 (16+4, rolled with advantage)
**OOC: Sorry for the absence. Weekends get a bit hectic with the kids soccer schedules, recitals, and typical house work **
Gus, watches as Tuu’Saayn glares down at the leather bundle of thieves’ tools in his hand, the same ones that betrayed him twice now.
His eyes narrow.
Then he follows that gaze… to the tools…
…and Gus freezes.
Because he also has a leather pouch just like that, tucked in his pack. Practically untouched. Maybe a little dusty. Probably slightly sticky from some past confection, related incident. But tools nonetheless.
“Oh no…” he mutters to himself, as if he’s just remembered he left a cauldron on back at home.
With the casual subtlety of a street magician caught mid-trick, Gus immediately begins whistling. Loudly. And poorly. A jaunty, uneven little tune that is definitely supposed to make him blend in, but somehow has the opposite effect.
“Just a humble, law-abiding gnome observing the muscular destruction of property,” he says to no one in particular, eyes darting between Gryn prying off hinges like a man possessed, and Tuu’Saayn silently reassessing all his life choices.
The gate is now hanging by a top hinge strained and bottom bolt still locked but surrounded by splinters, dents, and the haunting memory of what it used to be.
Gus nods appreciatively.
“I mean… we could’ve just had success at picking the locks, but no—no, this? This is art.” He waves a hand. “Destruction with flair. I respect it.”
Just then, Torm returns, grabs the crowbar like a man reclaiming purpose, and starts working the second lock with the grim enthusiasm of a paladin who’s had quite enough of puzzles today.
Gus claps his hands together. “Yes! More crowbar! Break the lock of destiny! Split the hinge of fate! Apply torque in Helm’s name!”
He leans in toward Tuu’Saayn, murmuring just loud enough, “I could’ve helped. I have the tools. But I felt it would be disrespectful… to the narrative arc we’ve constructed.”
Pausing...
“…also, I’ve never actually used them before. Do they go in… twisty side first?”
Under the combined weights of Torm and Tuu'Saayn, the bronze padlock fails: The hasp torn free from the body with a satisfying click.
Withdrawing the now undefended bolt, the gate hangs loosely from its upper hinge, folded back against the wall with only a little squeaking.
The passage beyond is less than three feet wide and six long, and the stone stair at its end spirals downward into pitch darkness. With the riot going on in the market and the dim light out on the edges, no-one seems to have noticed - though it can only be a matter of time until the vandalism of the gate is discovered.
[Don't fret the occasional 'outage' - I'll try & keep the game flowing, because a PBP is like a Great White Shark: It has to keep moving forward to live!]
[OOC: Gus has the mending spell, so he can use it to "clean" some of this up. I am asking for input into how much the spell could be leveraged to achieve that end]