As they wait for their food, Gregor leans in and says, "I'm going to explain what all that was about... but before I do, I want to see how you interpreted what we were discussing. What are your thoughts?"
Falshen leans back, crossing his arms, and eyes Gregor for a long moment, his face remaining expressionless while he draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Leaning forward, he replies in a lowered tone, "I intend to answer your question momentarily, but I must ask a question of my own first and how I answer your question depends on how you answer mine. At the Portal, you said it is rare that our lines of work intersect; what is my line of work?"
Gregor smiles and shrugs, "It's an information broker's prerogative to pretend to know more than he lets on, Master Brightblade, but let's see if what I have bears any fruit: You are Falshen Brightblade, and your family is a minor branch of the Margester tree. Your Illuskan-based relatives are largely tied up in logistics, namely land and sea-based shipping. I know that one of your uncles got caught doing something... ignoble; however his scandal is shrouded in mystery. As is your purpose here... though this is mere speculation, I cannot but wonder if your business with Volo and some matter of family pride are interrelated."
He leans forward, "But now, we are in the thick of it and the time for guile has passed. If we are to work together, you must know my capabilities and I must know yours. I am Gregor Horsa, son of Morgan Horsa, and a thief of both information and items. I am also something of a wizard, though I'd prefer you not spread that last part around."
Falshen smiles, but the expression does not reach his eyes. With another deep breath, he replies. "Fair enough. With regard to your disclosure, you have no need to worry whether or not I will share it. As for your original question," here, Falshen leans back just slightly, as if trying to get comfortable. "I think it might be safest if I tell you a story... imagine a large series of gangs, more of a network really, spread out across many lands. This network operates in many legal and legitimate ways, but, for some of the less legals operations, they stick to the blackest shadows. Ah, now there’s a name – they’re a black network, hm? Now, let's also say this network has a foothold in a large, coastal city, much like this one - after all, the best stories draw inspiration from reality, do they not? If our fictional network were trying to gain leverage in such a city, but another gang opposed their efforts, our network might send in reinforcements. But, as with many large, multifaceted organizations, the inner politics can get unfriendly and rivalries among distant leaders can pit what should be allies against each other.
With the scene set, let’s invent some characters. Perhaps there is an information broker named… hmm… Gorsa? Not very original, but we’ll use it for the time being. Let’s say Gorsa is trying to help our local branch of the network by gaining the favor of a celebrity author named Lovo. Oh, and Lovo has a friend who looks an awful lot like a local nobleman, so much so that non-locals could easily mistake descriptions of the friend and the nobleman.
Now, while Gorsa is in the process of currying favor from Lovo, a new branch of our made-up network – one from far to the East, let’s say – has taken it upon themselves to introduce themselves the aforementioned nobleman and “insist” that he visit their new home. Unfortunately, at the time they chose to do so, the nobleman and his lookalike, Lovo’s good friend, were together. The newcomers, being unsure who was who, simply did the polite and practical thing: they asked both men to accompany them for a friendly chat at their home, a nearby warehouse.
Meanwhile, a local barkeep who boasts of dragon’s blood in his family tree happened to catch wind of this friendly encounter and was able to share that tidbit with Gorsa, once Gorsa made it clear that Lovo dearly misses his good friend. Gorsa, being a man of intelligence and tact, understands that demanding the newcomers bid farewell to their current guests might not be seen as a gesture of friendly hospitality from one network branch to another. As such, though he is loath to provoke any infighting, Gorsa will heed the barkeep’s advice and bring along some new friends who are not part of any network whatsoever and who might be willing to do the kind of rude insisting that Gorsa must try to avoid. Which reminds me, I forgot about another character – a charming young man named Shinesword – who, despite his public face as a wealthy scion, is a rather skilled investigator, the kind that investigates people and places better left alone by the more law-abiding citizenry. I shall have to think on his role in this story…”
Leaning back further in his chair, Falshen smiles at Gregor. “I’ve never been much of a story-teller, but I’d welcome any constructive criticism from a friend. What do you think?”
Gregor actually laughs, "A fine tale, and a well considered one. Though, it must also be noted that the tale might be further improved as we draw closer to the conclusion. Let us say that this Shinesword, admirable investigator though he may be, has perhaps some... finer points to pick up regarding the manner and demeanor of the residents of the dock ward. Until our hero has time to study such mannerisms in depth, his more... famous persona might suit him better. The newcomers might take more kindly to an honest nobleman than an obvious front, after all."
He smiles, "All told though, I am very impressed. I predict that this will be a profitable venture for us both."
Falshen chuckles and offers a toast, his voice, though still quiet, reverting to its former polish, "Just as I've never been a good weaver of tales, so may we say that Shinesword was never much of an actor."
[OOC: Falshen has nothing else he wishes to discuss until the party regroups and will wait his turn until then, unless Gregor has anything to add.]
Falshen chuckles and offers a toast, his voice, though still quiet, reverting to its former polish, "Just as I've never been a good weaver of tales, so may we say that Shinesword was never much of an actor."
[OOC: Falshen has nothing else he wishes to discuss until the party regroups and will wait his turn until then, unless Gregor has anything to add.]
[Gregor has said his piece and is content to finish his meal, then retire.]
It's still dark out when Gregorand Falshenare shaken awake, the massive bulk of Gorbund looming over them, lantern in hand, nearly filling the tiny, spare room where they had bedded down for the night on a couple of military surplus cots.
"There’s trouble," rumbles the dragonborn. “A little fish tells me there’s blood in the water. The Watch is beating to quarters. Neighbors are battening down the hatches. If you want to go visiting the cousins, you better go now, you better go quiet, and you better get your shipmates first.”
The rogue and the wizard take their leave of their host and slip out into the streets of the Dock Ward, moving swiftly up Snail Street and back toward the Yawning Portal in the dark before the dawn. A tense silence lies over the city, a brooding apprehension. The air is hot, humid, and deathly still. In the lantern-lit gloom of Godswake, the few figures they pass seem only half-real, just the faded shadows of a street sweeper, a Watch officer, a half-elf beggar, a dwarven drunk.
Coming to the Yawning Portal, an old ostler lets them in the door and tells them where to find their new comrades, in a small suite of rooms on the second floor.
Gregor goes to Akai's room first, knocking on the door, he says, "Get up Firebug, we've found some fools who might need a good burning."
He hears the >thump< of someone rolling (or falling) out of bed, followed by the rustling of equipment and padding of footsteps. The door creaks open to show a bleary kobold still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Geeh... Akai was dreaming of glory and conquest, and you interrupt... and you get his name wrong..." He takes a moment to focus, and continues with a snort, "Hmph! These fools better be worth Akai's time, or your fuzzy face be joining them!" He closes the door and yields the way to Gregor. "Well? We waking the other fools first or going on our own?"
Gregor goes to Akai's room first, knocking on the door, he says, "Get up Firebug, we've found some fools who might need a good burning."
He hears the >thump< of someone rolling (or falling) out of bed, followed by the rustling of equipment and padding of footsteps. The door creaks open to show a bleary kobold still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Geeh... Akai was dreaming of glory and conquest, and you interrupt... and you get his name wrong..." He takes a moment to focus, and continues with a snort, "Hmph! These fools better be worth Akai's time, or your fuzzy face be joining them!" He closes the door and yields the way to Gregor. "Well? We waking the other fools first or going on our own?"
"Oh no, we'll get the others. This is a group activity, after all. Consider it a bit of a bonding exercise for our newly formed company."
Gregor goes to Akai's room first, knocking on the door, he says, "Get up Firebug, we've found some fools who might need a good burning."
He hears the >thump< of someone rolling (or falling) out of bed, followed by the rustling of equipment and padding of footsteps. The door creaks open to show a bleary kobold still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Geeh... Akai was dreaming of glory and conquest, and you interrupt... and you get his name wrong..." He takes a moment to focus, and continues with a snort, "Hmph! These fools better be worth Akai's time, or your fuzzy face be joining them!" He closes the door and yields the way to Gregor. "Well? We waking the other fools first or going on our own?"
"Oh no, we'll get the others. This is a group activity, after all. Consider it a bit of a bonding exercise for our newly formed company."
Gregor goes to Ian's door next and knocks.
Awoken from the knocking and Akai’s complaints, Irma opens his door to greet the rest of the party fully geared up. “Good morning Gregor, Falshen, Akai, we have a heading I presume?” Irma picks up his shield and hefts his war-hammer to his shoulder.
After several minutes of muffled curses and grumblings, Ian's door opens. Fully dressed and kitted, Ian says,
"Well, I take it that we have some business to conduct. I hope that you will explain the odd hour to conduct this business and also the..."
Ian raises his finger while yawning to signal pause and begins to wipe some sleep from his eyes. He then lightly slaps both cheeks of his face simultaneously in an effort to wake up.
"...presumed success of your dealings on the other side of town."
With a nod of greeting to Ian, mirroring the ones he gave to each companion as they joined the gathering, Falshen addresses the assembled party, "Gregor and I can fill in details on the way, but the short version is that Floon and Renaer are likely being held against their will at a warehouse in the Dock Ward. Gregor can guide us there, but we must hurry - the Watch is riled and everyone is going to ground. While we hope to resolve things amicably, there is a good chance we will need to be more... forceful in our dealings. Is everyone prepared for the possibility of a fight?"
”Let us be on our way then. I hope not to presume, but you seem to suggest that some stealth is in order.”
Looking to the rest of the party, he says,
”So let’s keep our more... dazzling and flashy antics in check until called for if we run into some persons or beings that require forceful negotiation.”
Ian considers for a moment and continues with Falshen,
”I think we have the right team for this endeavor.”
Gregor leads the group towards the meetinghouse, explaining along the way that he'd like to keep this civil if possible, but that everyone should be ready for a scrap.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
As they wait for their food, Gregor leans in and says, "I'm going to explain what all that was about... but before I do, I want to see how you interpreted what we were discussing. What are your thoughts?"
Falshen leans back, crossing his arms, and eyes Gregor for a long moment, his face remaining expressionless while he draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Leaning forward, he replies in a lowered tone, "I intend to answer your question momentarily, but I must ask a question of my own first and how I answer your question depends on how you answer mine. At the Portal, you said it is rare that our lines of work intersect; what is my line of work?"
Gregor smiles and shrugs, "It's an information broker's prerogative to pretend to know more than he lets on, Master Brightblade, but let's see if what I have bears any fruit: You are Falshen Brightblade, and your family is a minor branch of the Margester tree. Your Illuskan-based relatives are largely tied up in logistics, namely land and sea-based shipping. I know that one of your uncles got caught doing something... ignoble; however his scandal is shrouded in mystery. As is your purpose here... though this is mere speculation, I cannot but wonder if your business with Volo and some matter of family pride are interrelated."
He leans forward, "But now, we are in the thick of it and the time for guile has passed. If we are to work together, you must know my capabilities and I must know yours. I am Gregor Horsa, son of Morgan Horsa, and a thief of both information and items. I am also something of a wizard, though I'd prefer you not spread that last part around."
Falshen smiles, but the expression does not reach his eyes. With another deep breath, he replies. "Fair enough. With regard to your disclosure, you have no need to worry whether or not I will share it. As for your original question," here, Falshen leans back just slightly, as if trying to get comfortable. "I think it might be safest if I tell you a story... imagine a large series of gangs, more of a network really, spread out across many lands. This network operates in many legal and legitimate ways, but, for some of the less legals operations, they stick to the blackest shadows. Ah, now there’s a name – they’re a black network, hm? Now, let's also say this network has a foothold in a large, coastal city, much like this one - after all, the best stories draw inspiration from reality, do they not? If our fictional network were trying to gain leverage in such a city, but another gang opposed their efforts, our network might send in reinforcements. But, as with many large, multifaceted organizations, the inner politics can get unfriendly and rivalries among distant leaders can pit what should be allies against each other.
With the scene set, let’s invent some characters. Perhaps there is an information broker named… hmm… Gorsa? Not very original, but we’ll use it for the time being. Let’s say Gorsa is trying to help our local branch of the network by gaining the favor of a celebrity author named Lovo. Oh, and Lovo has a friend who looks an awful lot like a local nobleman, so much so that non-locals could easily mistake descriptions of the friend and the nobleman.
Now, while Gorsa is in the process of currying favor from Lovo, a new branch of our made-up network – one from far to the East, let’s say – has taken it upon themselves to introduce themselves the aforementioned nobleman and “insist” that he visit their new home. Unfortunately, at the time they chose to do so, the nobleman and his lookalike, Lovo’s good friend, were together. The newcomers, being unsure who was who, simply did the polite and practical thing: they asked both men to accompany them for a friendly chat at their home, a nearby warehouse.
Meanwhile, a local barkeep who boasts of dragon’s blood in his family tree happened to catch wind of this friendly encounter and was able to share that tidbit with Gorsa, once Gorsa made it clear that Lovo dearly misses his good friend. Gorsa, being a man of intelligence and tact, understands that demanding the newcomers bid farewell to their current guests might not be seen as a gesture of friendly hospitality from one network branch to another. As such, though he is loath to provoke any infighting, Gorsa will heed the barkeep’s advice and bring along some new friends who are not part of any network whatsoever and who might be willing to do the kind of rude insisting that Gorsa must try to avoid. Which reminds me, I forgot about another character – a charming young man named Shinesword – who, despite his public face as a wealthy scion, is a rather skilled investigator, the kind that investigates people and places better left alone by the more law-abiding citizenry. I shall have to think on his role in this story…”
Leaning back further in his chair, Falshen smiles at Gregor. “I’ve never been much of a story-teller, but I’d welcome any constructive criticism from a friend. What do you think?”
Gregor actually laughs, "A fine tale, and a well considered one. Though, it must also be noted that the tale might be further improved as we draw closer to the conclusion. Let us say that this Shinesword, admirable investigator though he may be, has perhaps some... finer points to pick up regarding the manner and demeanor of the residents of the dock ward. Until our hero has time to study such mannerisms in depth, his more... famous persona might suit him better. The newcomers might take more kindly to an honest nobleman than an obvious front, after all."
He smiles, "All told though, I am very impressed. I predict that this will be a profitable venture for us both."
Falshen chuckles and offers a toast, his voice, though still quiet, reverting to its former polish, "Just as I've never been a good weaver of tales, so may we say that Shinesword was never much of an actor."
[OOC: Falshen has nothing else he wishes to discuss until the party regroups and will wait his turn until then, unless Gregor has anything to add.]
[Gregor has said his piece and is content to finish his meal, then retire.]
It's still dark out when Gregor and Falshen are shaken awake, the massive bulk of Gorbund looming over them, lantern in hand, nearly filling the tiny, spare room where they had bedded down for the night on a couple of military surplus cots.
"There’s trouble," rumbles the dragonborn. “A little fish tells me there’s blood in the water. The Watch is beating to quarters. Neighbors are battening down the hatches. If you want to go visiting the cousins, you better go now, you better go quiet, and you better get your shipmates first.”
Falshen gathers his gear snd looks to Gregor. "I defer to those with a... family right to go calling. If we are to go, lead on."
Gregor nods, "Let's grab the others."
Day 2 - Second of Eleint - Godswake
The rogue and the wizard take their leave of their host and slip out into the streets of the Dock Ward, moving swiftly up Snail Street and back toward the Yawning Portal in the dark before the dawn. A tense silence lies over the city, a brooding apprehension. The air is hot, humid, and deathly still. In the lantern-lit gloom of Godswake, the few figures they pass seem only half-real, just the faded shadows of a street sweeper, a Watch officer, a half-elf beggar, a dwarven drunk.
Coming to the Yawning Portal, an old ostler lets them in the door and tells them where to find their new comrades, in a small suite of rooms on the second floor.
Gregor goes to Akai's room first, knocking on the door, he says, "Get up Firebug, we've found some fools who might need a good burning."
He hears the >thump< of someone rolling (or falling) out of bed, followed by the rustling of equipment and padding of footsteps. The door creaks open to show a bleary kobold still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Geeh... Akai was dreaming of glory and conquest, and you interrupt... and you get his name wrong..." He takes a moment to focus, and continues with a snort, "Hmph! These fools better be worth Akai's time, or your fuzzy face be joining them!" He closes the door and yields the way to Gregor. "Well? We waking the other fools first or going on our own?"
"Oh no, we'll get the others. This is a group activity, after all. Consider it a bit of a bonding exercise for our newly formed company."
Gregor goes to Ian's door next and knocks.
Awoken from the knocking and Akai’s complaints, Irma opens his door to greet the rest of the party fully geared up. “Good morning Gregor, Falshen, Akai, we have a heading I presume?” Irma picks up his shield and hefts his war-hammer to his shoulder.
After several minutes of muffled curses and grumblings, Ian's door opens. Fully dressed and kitted, Ian says,
"Well, I take it that we have some business to conduct. I hope that you will explain the odd hour to conduct this business and also the..."
Ian raises his finger while yawning to signal pause and begins to wipe some sleep from his eyes. He then lightly slaps both cheeks of his face simultaneously in an effort to wake up.
"...presumed success of your dealings on the other side of town."
With a nod of greeting to Ian, mirroring the ones he gave to each companion as they joined the gathering, Falshen addresses the assembled party, "Gregor and I can fill in details on the way, but the short version is that Floon and Renaer are likely being held against their will at a warehouse in the Dock Ward. Gregor can guide us there, but we must hurry - the Watch is riled and everyone is going to ground. While we hope to resolve things amicably, there is a good chance we will need to be more... forceful in our dealings. Is everyone prepared for the possibility of a fight?"
Ian nods in agreement and replies to Falshen,
”Let us be on our way then. I hope not to presume, but you seem to suggest that some stealth is in order.”
Looking to the rest of the party, he says,
”So let’s keep our more... dazzling and flashy antics in check until called for if we run into some persons or beings that require forceful negotiation.”
Ian considers for a moment and continues with Falshen,
”I think we have the right team for this endeavor.”
Irma nods in agreement, “Aye, if it comes to it my hammer is ready for some uncivil discourse.”
Gregor leads the group towards the meetinghouse, explaining along the way that he'd like to keep this civil if possible, but that everyone should be ready for a scrap.