Frozen Sick (2) BE7

The hefty feline moved closer to Tory, her whiskers tickling her fingertips before her cool nose poked her hand as she gave an inquisitive sniff.  Satisfied that all was well, she purred softly as she rubbed against your boots a few times before curling up under the group's table. 

As you contemplate your next move, the door flies open, slamming into the wall.  A woman near the door shrieks in alarm, a server turns too quickly at the loud noise and dumps a tray of empty mugs, two fishermen swore in a half dozen languages, snowflakes carried by the gale force winds blew into the tavern as if breathed by a great white wyrm itself; and there within the vortex of the chaos stood a gnome.  

"Close the durn'd door ye dolt!" called out a nearby dwarf, foam still hanging from his bushy mustache.  Within seconds of the door closing the inn returned to its usual buzz of activity.  

Gus: 

The door slams open with all the subtlety of a thunderclap, and for a brief, glorious moment, Gus Wobblewand stands framed in the chaos, cloak snapping in the wind, snow swirling about his boots,his hat sits slightly crooked, as his eyes move quickly, taking in the scene before him. In one hand, he holds a simple metal spoon like a badge of office.

He does not move immediately.

This is, in Gus’s professional opinion, an entrance.

He steps inside. Stops. Scans the room with a slow, deliberate squint, as if something has already caught his attention.

“Well would you look at that…”

He brushes snow from his sleeve, missing most of it.

“Gus Wobblewand,” he says to no one in particular.

“Senior Arcane Investigator.”

He moves through the room without hesitation, eyes flicking from face to face. One patron earns a brief, focused look.

“You’re fine… probably,” Gus whispers to him, entirely unprompted.

At the bar, he climbs onto a stool and leans toward the innkeeper. He taps the spoon once against the bar.

“I’ve just come from outside. There’s a dwarf out there doing an excellent impression of an ice statue.”

He tilts his head, studying the innkeeper more closely.

“Has he always been like that, or is that new?”

Arl, the bar keep, looks at Gus under thick, bushy red and gray eyebrows.  Being accustomed to serving all sorts, the gnome's grand enterance didn't seem to phase him.  "Gotta hold the handle tight, strong winds are always gustin' off the sea.  If ye have questions about poor Urgon check with Erlo," he says, pointing a thick finger towards the table near the stage.  Without waiting around for an order, Arl slides a mug his way; it was a safe bet that new faces usually showed up thirsty. 

Hearing the ruckus at the door, Cato reaches for the hilt of his sword as he turns in his seat to see what the fuss is about. Seeing what appears to be a moderately insane gnome brandishing a spoon, Cato takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. Returning his attention to the task at hand, " It seems to me that if the sickness causes one to freeze, we should stock up on items to keep us warm. What options do we have in a place such as this for potions, spells, or perhaps items to guard against disease?" As Cato talks, the cat continues to rub against his leg and pur contentedly. Never having seen a cat act so friendly without an offer of food, Cato begins to suspect that things are not what they seem.

**ooc I want to roll for perception on the cat, it tis sus. what do I do?**

***Roll me an insight check and animal handling or nature.***

Gus takes the mug and sips.

His face contorts into something deliberate, eyes narrowing, lips pressing thin, head tilting slightly. He holds the expression a moment longer than necessary, then lowers the mug with a quiet, satisfied “Mm.”

“You handled my interrogation technique well,” he says, studying Arl with faint approval. “Most people don’t. The pressure, the silence… it tends to unravel them.”

“Erlo,” Gus repeats, “Yes… exactly as I suspected.”

He slides off the stool, turning to Arl he holds his mug up and exclaims, "Try not to freeze" as he turns back towards the the table. Instead of heading straight towards it, he veers wide, pacing a slow arc through the room. Then another, tighter this time. Each pass draws him closer, his path narrowing with quiet intention.

On the final approach, he steps in cleanly and stops at the table, as if he has arrived there by design all along.

“Standard surveillance technique,” Gus says, tapping the spoon once against his palm.

“You’re Erlo.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“My advanced interrogation of the innkeeper indicates you may know something about the frozen statue known as Urgon.”

Like most folk do when meeting Gus Wobblewand for the first time, Elro was overcome by a brief stunned silence.  Takin in the gnome in all of his subtle glory, Elro finally responded, "I, uh, well, I was just speaking to these fine folks about that very thing."  He took another moment to shake his head and get back on track.   "Two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only for a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body.  The village’s priests of Moradin and Corellon used every spell they could muster to attempt to heal Urgon, but nothing they tried could stop the bizarre malady. Urgon battled the affliction for weeks, until his ever-slowing body eventually turned to ice.  Until yesterday, I and the rest of the community believed that Urgon’s sad fate was an isolated incident, most likely caused by something the dwarf came into contact with while exploring Eiselcross. Then I noticed Tulgi Lutan, a dwarf trapper, showing signs of the same illness."  

Elro paused briefly, looking at the three with whom he first met, before continuing, "If this crew doesn't mind cutting you in, perhaps you could all work together.  The wilds are not far from town, and danger lurks for the unlucky or ill-prepared.  I am sure that your, uh, advanced interrogation techniques, will prove invaluable to the investigation.  What say the rest of you?"  

Gus does not interrupt. He stands perfectly still, spoon held at his side, eyes fixed on Elro, a slight narrowing at the mention of blue veins. A small nod at Eiselcross. Another at the second victim.

"You don't say....."

When Elro finishes, Gus lets the silence linger just a moment longer.

“Yes… exactly as I suspected.”

He steps forward half a pace, just enough to place himself firmly within the groups space.

“Progressive onset. Arcane in nature.......Probably.  Environmental exposure with delayed manifestation.........Potentially. Classic presentation of symptoms.”

 His gaze flicks briefly across the others at the table, before returning to Elro.

“You’ve done well to bring this forward,” Gus says, with the tone of someone acknowledging competent assistance. “Most miss the second case entirely.”

A small nod.

“Fortunately, I’m here.”

He straightens.

“As for working together....yes. That aligns with standard investigative procedure.”

"And....," he looks at each of the occupants of the table.

“I will, of course, be leading.”

When Akira hears this newcomer so confidently state that “he will be leading” the journey, she scoffs to herself not so quietly, gets up from the table and walks up to the bar. She requests another ale and some dry chicken or whatever form of meat the barkeep may have.

She brings her ale and meat back to the table, sets it down on the top, grabs some meat, and crouches down below the table with the meat in hand, making kissing noises at the cat to get it’s attention. While she may not be the most fond of people(and she knows people aren’t the most fond of her) and thoroughly enjoys the company of animals. For many a journeys Akira has been accompanied by many woodland and land loving creatures of the sort.

While still crouching under the table with the chicken in hand, Akira pops up her head and looks at Gus and states:

”Aye if ye pipe down yer silliness I’d be willin to give ye a shot with us on this adventure. Sounds like tis gon’ be a cold one, hope yer preperd fer ice.”

She then pops her head back down under the table and begins to pet the sweet cat and continue to feed it the meat. She then takes her ale and the plate of food and moves them both under the table to continue playing with the cat.

11 on animal handling and 10 on insight

 The large tabby doesn't need to be called twice.  She responds immediately, taking bits of food from Akira.  When the treats end, she plops down, licks the back of her paw, and proceeds to tidy up her face fur.

Elro turns to Cato, "You will be fine in and near town, but you are right, if you travel for any length of time in the wilds the cold can catch up with you.  Pelc's Curiosities is your best bet for that sort of thing.  Some filthy scoundrels broke in a few months back, so I'm not sure what her stock is like."

Torwynn watched the big tabby accept Akira’s offering with all the self-importance of a duchess receiving tribute.

The moment the last bit of meat was gone and the cat immediately turned to washing her face, Torwynn laughed into her mug.

“Well,” she said, lifting one shoulder in amused surrender, “I trust her more already.”

Her orange eyes lingered on the cat, warm with amusement.

“Any creature offered free food in a room full of strangers and still chooses dignity over greed has better instincts than half the people I’ve met.”

The joke came easy, but Elro’s next words caught her attention fast.

A break-in.

That changed the rhythm.

Her fingers, which had been lazily drumming against the mug, stilled.

“Now that,” she said, grin returning in a sharper, more interested shape, “sounds like something worth following.”

She leaned forward, dark hair slipping over one shoulder, confidence settling naturally into the space she took at the table.

“Frozen dwarf, strange sickness, and someone bold enough to rob the one shop in town likely to carry wards, charms, or anything useful against the cold?”

A soft whistle.

“That’s either miserable luck…”

Her eyes flicked toward the others, bright with the spark of possibility.

“…or someone’s actions are starting to rhyme.”

The phrasing pleased her enough to take another sip of ale.

Then she set the mug down with a quiet, decisive tap.

“I’d rather judge this story by what’s been done than by the fear everyone’s wrapping around it.”

Her smile turned crooked again, lighter now as she glanced toward Akira, Cato, and Gus.

“So I say we stop by Pelc’s tonight.”

A beat.

“Warm tavern now, warm shop next, and cold dead dwarves can wait until morning.”

Her grin flashed wider.

“Besides, if our spoon-bearing investigator truly means to lead, I’d like to see how he handles a crime scene that hasn’t already frozen solid.”

Gus turns at the word "silliness", he lowers his gaze, finding the female elf beneath the table, and holds it there until she looks back. “This,” Gus says, lifting the spoon slightly, “is an investigative technique I’ve spent years refining… mostly.” He continues. “It’s already producing results.” He gives a small, satisfied nod.

He straightens, but only halfway, because the othe female elf is speaking now, and Gus listens. By the time she finishes, Gus is already nodding.

"Yes.....exactly as I suspected"

He takes a single step. “A frozen pestilence… and someone breaks into the one place that sells solutions to problems no one understands.” The spoon lifts slightly. “They weren’t stealing. They were trying to get ahead of it.”

Gus pauses, briefly, as if impressed by the efficiency of his own conclusion. “Which means…” A small inhale. “There are more.” His gaze shifts across the table, then returns to the initial elf he locked eyes with under the table . “That,” Gus says, “is why Senior comes before Arcane Investigator.” You know. “Sequence matters.”

He straightens. The spoon taps once against his palm. “We’re going to Pelc’s Curiosities.” A brief pause. "Bring the cat"

Before any of those seated at the table could react, the cat took off like a flash.  It was actually a bit shocking!  Despite her, uh, robust physique, the tabby was incredibly quick and nimble, darting under tables, between legs, and disappearing down the hall.  

Elro, an experienced adventures back in his prime, could only watch it all in stunned silence.  Once, twice, thrice even he began to speak, but the conversation had seemed to take on a life of it's own.  The distraction of the fleetfooted fleeing feline seemed to provide a small break in the fast paced discussion.  "Verla Pelc is a, uh, quirky shop keeper.  The elf keeps to herself, opening and closing on a whim rather than a normal merchant's schedule.  Like all merchants, though, she does respond favorably to the sound of coin.  If the closed sign is up, just knock on the door.  If she is in, she will answer, possibly in a foul mood," he adds with a chuckle, "but she will answer."