EPISODE 15 – TYRANNY IN PHLAN

It is the Leafall season in Phlan, and the weather is pleasantly warm as CRAP takes a well-deserved break in the common room of The Laughing Goblin Inn (it is one of Sagin's days off.) You already have a reserved corner booth out of the way of the entrance, and the meal you ordered is laid before you. Your good friend Markoth Hasselpond, or just Mar, who works at The Laughing Goblin as a waiter, happily recommended the tavern’s famous cabbage soup. It is an old secret recipe that comes with freshly baked bread and a piece of cheese. Other dishes served on your table include a salty fish stew and the blackened catch of the day, both dishes using a popular catfish species caught directly from the Moonsea, which is a freshwater lake. Mar has also promised you a whole fresh apple pie as desert "if you be good boys and girls and finish your dinner proper". You are well familiarized with the extensive drink list of the establishment, but Mar's advice is to stick to light ale, stout, or the really strong stuff. As he puts it, "the wine list this tenday is just not particularly appetizing."

The Laughing Goblin is a somewhat famous inn at the docks of Phlan catering to the rough crowd of sailors, mariners, and mercenaries. The common room has two floors with a large, open space in the middle containing the bar, a stage, and a large fireplace. A number of booths line the walls, and tables fill the rest of the room’s open space. The only decoration in the common room is a large carved totem resembling a laughing goblin. The totem is clearly very old and is well-worn. The manager and bartender, Imizael, is reading a broadsheet in this lazy late-afternoon. Though she is human, her name is clearly elven (you heard the story before of how her mother was obsessed with elves.) Mar is taking advantage of the quiet afternoon to mop up a spilled drink and wipe down the tables. You know him to love storytelling and gossip much more than actually doing his job. 

You are not here only on a break, however. You have agreed to meet Captain Aleyd Burral of the Knights of the Black Fist here for an in-person debrief. Although your meal is already served, Aleyd is not late to your meeting. You planned to arrive early in order to enjoy your afternoon break a bit before it was time to discuss business.

(OOC: As it is now tradition, please go ahead and describe what your characters may be doing and use this time to share any info you’d like with your fellow adventurers. This is also my chance to remind you to share a description of your characters, as some of you may be sporting updated looks if you so desire. Don't be shy with details!)

Neya, a dark-skinned human woman in fashionable clothing. But, her appearnace hides years of training. She is currently nursing some tea while trying to eavesdrop on some conversations. Mostly for current events and how the overall mood of the town is after their partial success from the mission more than a month prior.

Perception: 5

While no business of the day promised the need for either weapons or armor, this hadn't stopped the halfling of the group, a ruddy brown skin individual with curly, red-brown hair, from still having shown up at the laughing goblin with at least what he deemed to be the "bare essentials". These namely being a worn but well cared for dark brigandine armor, leather vambraces, a recently required enchanted shortsword sheathed and sat within easy reach in the booth, and a belt laden with plenty of pouched surprises.

"Mn... This is gonna take some getting used to." Doozey absently minded mused after pausing to play with an errant lock of hair. Over the break his bangs had grown long enough to suggest some trimming might be in order. But as he'd already went about shortening the back end of his head enough that a ponytail wasn't needed anymore but five days ago, the thought of another hair cut left him grumbling inwardly a bit.

Yet following a glance at a certain gnome and honorary member of the C.R.A.P, the halfling blushed a little, before then promptly focusing on devouring the rest of his meal. 'C'mon ya silly git. Keep talk'n like that, 'n she'll start think'n she did a bad job helping ya clean up that mess we called a hair do before' Doozey sighed through his nose at the thought, then nodded.

Even sat on the ground next to the table, the dark furred tundra mastiff and Doozey's almost constant companion could've more than easily devoured his meal from the table. In fact, he very nearly slipped his portion on the table by unraveling and unglamouring a few vine tendrils. However, Biscuit hadn't really cared to break tradition; especially with Mar and Imizeal being kind enough to let him eat with the party. "So-..." Said Doozey after taking a swig of his stout. "You still remember what yer gonna ask her, Utar?"

Raist is pale.....even for an elf . His silver hair not helping with said paleness. Wearing his customary Grey robes trimmed in red and blue sits sipping tea as well perusing a notebook

Watching his companions ease into their wait after a very leisurely luncheon, the Orc cannot help but wish he could let his own guard down. He sits fully armoured in clearly well used full plate, dents and scratches from numerous battles and fights upon it. A simple cloth tabbard over it suggests he is no simple warrior, but rather dedicated to a holy order of some kind.

Indulging in a sip of his own stout. Bitter and malty and it feels like a meal in and of itself. Setting the mug back on the table, the Orc shakes his head and runs a hand through closely cropped hair. "Ah... I don't recall actually, it was a while ago that we last spoke of it. Best we recall it now and add anything else we've thought of!"

As you sit in the Laughing Goblin, it is readily apparent that the large, dark, old tavern has seen better days. The woodwork is worn, the once-white plaster has yellowed, and the chandeliers are rusted and tarnished. The furniture shows the signs of heavy use and the scars of various brawls. Its aesthetic shortcomings are easily overpowered by the strong smell of cabbage soup wafting from the kitchen.

Despite her intentions of focusing on her hearing sense, Neya's attention is swept away by her nose. The powerful scent of the cabbage soup overtakes any ambient hubbub that could otherwise seem interesting in this moment.

Referencing Utar, Villonah suggests: "I thought the idea was to engage the captain regarding the Gray Patriots, was it not?" She extends her arms past Raist and his notebook to reach for a fresh portion of blackened catfish. Once she serves herself, but before taking a bite, she shifts to look at Doozey from a slightly different angle. It looks like she is examining her handiwork with the halfling's new haircut.

Doozey snorted at first, but then as the reality of Utar's forgetfulness really sunk in, he soon found himself sighing and shaking his head as well. "There ya go, Utar. And thanks, Villie!" He said with a bit of a grin. But then, it falters a little as he catches the look from Villonah. Absentmindedly, he goes to run a hand through his hair and says, "W-what? Do I... Does it look that weird?" Doozey asks, lowering his voice a little despite knowing it would do no good against almost literally everyone else at the table.

Raist looks up from his book.  "Ahh yes I did find a couple of things. , first of all as I said previously  jeralla is an off shoot of the cult of the dragon, considers herself a "chosen one" as it were.   Secondly as to her escape i have figured out what spells she used. Invisibility for one. And dimension door, which after some study I've figured out the distance she can 'port off too"    he pauses for another sip of tea. "The only other thing I have gathered is she came to here from Thar via the Moonsea, that's where she recruited that orc band"

Utar snacks the heel of his hand into his forehead! "I remembered that, thought you might have specific questions!"

The big Orc grins, all in jest. "We'll see Aleyd soon, I'm sure questions will pop up once she's here."

"No, no..." Vlillonah waves off Doozey's concern. "Just the opposite. I'm thinking I am quite talented. It is good to know that I have a separate trade to fall on if this "doing good for the realm" gig doesn't pan out." She can't help but giggle to herself at this point.

A minute later, when Raist shares more of his recent findings, Villonah looks pensive. "Something doesn't sound right. You told me the other Cult member, the two-headed kobold spy in her group, called the orcs over to kill Jeralla. But you are also saying that she recruited the orcs herself? I thought she had recruited kobolds."

Utar's comments are met with a nod from Villonah: "We better leave her some food then."

Neya takes herself away from her tea and responds to Villonah's question, "I think there might be some confusion infiltrating the matter. It was the spy that that called them to kill Jeralla and all else who happened to be in the area. I suspect he planned to fly back to his contact in order to survive the situation."

"Which brings up a worrying question. How many other warbands are the Cult in contact with?"

"I suspect they might be in contact with many given how splintered the Cult seems to be right now, even they might not know the number!  Jerella was operating on their orders as was her winged kobold lieutenant, it was just that neither seemed to be operating for the same master or to the same ends."

Utar pauses for another sip of his drink, "Which in all actuality might work in our favour if there is a stong element of in-fighting within the Cult.  Means we could take our eyes off of that issue for a little while at least."

Doozey can't help but snort, and with a dismissive wave of his hand muttered jokingly, "Oh get outta here, ya goober." When eventually he regains his composure, he returned to eating soup while keeping an ear open to the ongoing exchanges.

"Utar has a point, which honestly just means.... Who really knows? They've already tried to wrap up Graxx people in their nonsense alongside the hobs. And if it weren't for our encounter with the lizardfolk, I'd wager it would've only been a matter of time 'fore they got pulled in as well once their dragon 'overlord' took whatever bait they thought might get'em on their side." Doozey sighs. "Doubt she'd know but wouldn't hurt to run by the Cap'n if she knows or heard of any other potential warbands they could tap."

Villonah just extended her giggle following Doozey's response to her comment on her hair-clipping skills. The moment of levity seems to be thoroughly enjoyed.

Later, the gnome simply nods to show that Neya's explanation makes sense to her, but doesn't offer an immediate answer to the monk's question. Utar does that instead, counting the apparent fractured structure of the shadowy Cult of the Dragon as a partial victory and a weak point to be exploited in potential conflicts to come. Doozey then recounts CRAP's interference in the Cult's efforts to recruit many other groups around the Moonsea, including the barbarian tribes from up north, the local hobgoblin's militarized cell, and the lizardfolk from the nearby Twilight Marsh. The halfling could have included others as well, such as the Kuo-toa tribes peeking out of the Underdark, fiend-worshiping pirates out on the Moonsea, and even his own kin in the form of Halvin Redfoot. However, Doozey's point still sticks: regardless of how many doors CRAP and their allies have slammed in the Cult's face, there is no telling how many and what other recruits the Cult has successfully embraced. "The rate of change does not reveal information about the level," Villonah agrees academically. 

In the background, Mar leans his mop against the wall and sits at a nearby empty table to seemingly take a break. In response, Imizael only shakes her head as if she expects, and is used to, such behavior from her employee. A few patrons conclude their meals, leave money on their tables, and depart. It is too late in the afternoon for folks to come in to start their luncheon but too early for the evening crowd to begin paying patronage to the Laughing Goblin. CRAP is among the few groups of people in the tavern at this point, caught in between mealtimes but still enjoying some food, a phenomenon commonly known as "dunch".

Captain Aleyd Burral is expected any minute now.

"Could possibly that.one out bid the other.   Or the.ocs were.just.going to wipe all of them out..who knows"

"Exactly right, Raist.  Who knows? None of us are privvy to the inner workings of the Cult, we are only coming up against the sharp pointy bits of their plans once they set them in motion and most of the time we've been enough to thwart them.  I would like to think that the Cult is running out of potential warbands to add to their side, but others are looking to gain scraps of knowledge on their inner workings, I say we let them lead the charge this time, and we turn to focus on other things.  How have we each been enjoying a little well deserved down time?"

After some visible hesitation on the halfling's part, Doozey awkwardly clears his throat. "As entertaining as it was to see how some of ya took the obstacle course, I... I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being anxious during most of the downtime." Biscuit tensed up upon hearing the admission, before then raising his head and affixing the ranger with a worried look. "N-not that I'm try'na imply it was all a waste of time -- cause it weren't by any stretch of the imagination! Heck, given how things went the first go around, it was definitely necessary!"

"...Even so, I... I dunno. Guess I kinda restless when I know there's a fair bit more important things need doing." He further confesses.

Following Raist's prompt, Utar summarizes the takeaway from the conversation: the Cult's inner workings remain a mystery and their next steps still elude CRAP and their allies. Doozey agrees but admits that the sense of a need to act makes him a bit anxious.

As if waiting for him to finish his thought first, the Laughing Goblin's main door swings open once the halfling pauses to inhale his next breath. A human woman in a Black-Fist-themed plate armor walks through the open door, pointedly looking about. Grey-streaked blonde hair frames a face with the hard-won lines of advancing age and a violent life. Captain Aleyd Burral turns a stern gaze upon you and quickly moves closer. “I see you didn't wait for me to get started with your meal.” Before listening to any response or greeting you may offer, she casts a baleful eye at Mar and Imizael until they scurry away to the kitchen to “check the soup.” Two other tables are emptied as their patrons also decide it is about time they depart. Still, you are not the only people on the tavern floor, but those who remain are far enough from your table that your conversation feels private.

"How are the Saviors of Phlan?" She asks exchanging looks across the table. When her gaze meets Raist's and Villonah's she adds: "And more recent recruits, I presume?" 

Utar stands to welcome his former commander, only sitting back down once she herself is sat.

"Saviours of Phlan? I think we but stand on the shoulders of giants. Phlan's safety and continued prosperity requires far more than just the services of CRAP.  We were just discussing the fractured nature of the Cult of the Dragon at the moment, but in contrast it feels like all of Phlan stands strongly together, united."

Waiting for Raist and Villie to make their own introductions and for Aleyd to be served, Utar then begins to open the matter that drew them all together, "I thought it might be useful to begin with a debrief on our last encounter with the Gray Patriots before picking your brains on what our next steps should be."

Utar recounts their previous encounter with Sandor Kruhlek and in particular their encounter with his lietenant, Ruse. "She hit like a angry troll, I have only ever encountered such a blow once before and that was from your hand, Aleyd.  I suspect you might share a similar combat style, so I would appreciate any insight you could share in combating her specifically, was she a Black Fist in another life?"

"Mn. Good to see you too, Mam." Is Doozey's initial response to Captain Aleyd alongside a lopsided grin. Apart from that, he doesn't bother getting up if doing so wasn't necessary to make room for the good captain. But his gesture for her to help herself to a spot at the table is no less warm. He later winces at the title, still feeling it somewhat undeserved to varying degrees.

Though soon enough, he's dismissing the feeling with a faint shake of the head, before looking to Raist and Villonah. "Technically speaking, Villie here has always been something of an honorary member of our crew... at least as far as I'm concerned." Doozey said with Biscuit happily letting out a "Boof!" in agreement. "But you'd have the right of it with our newfound elven compatriot. Go on now. Introduce yerself, sprig." He said. A term the halfling had taken to calling Raist affectionately as the group trained and grow closer over the past week. From there, Doozey grew quiet to leave the floor open for everyone else. Only really chiming in when either asked to or when it seemed most necessary.