A chilled, misty night hangs over the industrious mountainside city of Hupperdook, the scent of a recent rain on the air as you walk the muddied path. The nightly festivities have already begun, with the elevated section of the city known as the Idleworks Shelf alight with colorful lanterns and streamers. The distant sounds of music and firecrackers echo from hundreds of feet up the stairs of the mountain. You arrive at the quiet, dark soot-stained brick building in the Lower Tier, passing massive forges and partially constructed war machines. The sign reads Constabulary H... as the rest of it seems to have broken off some time ago. All the city’s industry has seemingly been abandoned for the night, while the workers of Hupperdook unwind in the celebrations of the upper city.
Each of you were called this night to Watchmaster Bram Gulchswattle office. After heading into the building, you find yourself staring at an empty front desk. The entire room is dark except for the light streaming out of a small office in the back. The letterhead on the door reads Watchmaster. Inside the office you see a gnome of middling age trying his best to complete a mountain of paperwork and occasionally answering a row of neatly placed sending stones on his desk. He briefly looks up to gesture to the open chairs and he loudly stamps another offending document. The chairs and desk are all gnome size. There is a couch nearby that can fit medium sized people.
The tall hooded figure glances at the chairs, then simply steps to the side of the door to lean against the wall. Muted purple curls of hair hang carelessly across his face, similar colored eyes peering at the gnome. His clothes are all black, trousers, shirt, boots, gloves, cloak, which makes the pin he wears all the more noticable. The silver symbol of the Soltryce Academy.
Kaelen enters the office with a dignified stride, his massive frame filling the room. His fur, the color of rich mahogany, seems to absorb the muted light, giving him an aura of subdued power. The intricate patterns on his fur catch the light as he moves, highlighting the natural grace in his movements. His amber eyes, deep and contemplative, scan the room, taking in every detail.
Feeling the compact size of the gnome furniture, Kaelen opts for the nearby couch, his bulk fitting comfortably on the seat designed for medium-sized beings. Despite his imposing stature, his presence exudes calmness and restraint. His hooves make a soft, muffled sound on the floor as he settles in, the weight of his past experiences and the responsibility he carries evident in his gaze.
Kaelen merely gives a subtle nod to the watch master and hooded figure. His large, calloused hands rest on his knees, his fingers adorned with prayer beads, a testament to his devotion. The mismatch between his formidable appearance and the serene expression in his eyes is a reminder of the complex nature of the minotaur.
On a night of celebrations, Nisha’s heart should have rejoiced at the occasion as the rest of the city around her did. The loud music, the explosive bursts of fireworks, and the flowing booze usually filled her with exhilaration. But while everyone else would indulge themselves in dancing, eating, and drinking, she’d relish all these opportunities to fill her pouch with gold without putting too much effort. All these poor bastards abandoning their inhibitions and drowning themselves in revelry would be practically begging for someone like her to come and rid them of their coin.
And yet, here she is now, victim to her own vices. Hers and Sleek’s. Her nimble fingers, usually adept at liberating purses from careless citizens, remain still at her side, and her daggers, sharp as ever, are sheathed safely away.
She walks the muddy path deliberately slowly, careful what tracks she leaves and sticking to the shadows. As her steps sink softly into the moist earth, she feels the seething rage simmering deep inside her again. She has been called for, torn away from the festivities of the upper city to descend into the soot-choked abyss of the Lower Tier. It's as if she is a dog, summoned by its master’s whistle, compelled to obey.
What bitter irony it is that on a night when the city revels in freedom, she is ensnared by obligation and compelled to tread the muddied path toward the unknown.
The constabulary looks as deserted as the rest of the buildings in this gods-forsaken place. Well, almost.
Nisha makes her way to the only lit room leisurely. The Watchmaster might technically own her, but this doesn’t mean she will pretend to be thrilled at her own predicament. Surprisingly, there are others waiting in his office already. Good. Hoping she is the last to arrive, just so she can piss the Watchmaster off a little, Nisha quietly enters the room. Her dark cloak rustles softly as she moves, hood hanging low, obscuring her face from view, her distinct golden eyes and silver hair hidden out of sight. With a subtle bow to the gnome, done more to mock him than to show him respect, she finds herself a corner, arms crossed before her chest, her hands buried deep in the sleeves of her robes. Waiting for his orders.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Aeran Dormaris - L2 Paladin on his way to Phandelver
Gavyn is relieved to find he may not be the last one to arrive. He expected a larger group, although the room was beginning to feel cramped already. He stepped awkwardly, yet somehow with precision, over and around the legs and feet of the others in the room. Too many things hang off of the tortle's person, as if he is preparing for a two-day excursion into the forest. A mess kit clatters in his backpack and no less than three axes of varying sizes knock handles as he jostles for a position in the corner of the room. The tortle clutches a quill in one hand as he fumbles for a small pot of ink, setting it in the damp soil of a potted plant for lack of any flat surface to aid him. He unscrolls a piece of parchment, dropping a coil of rope from his belt in the process, for which he must squat to pick it back up, resulting in somehow stepping on his roll of parchment. The parchment creased now, he smooths it on the wall with a huff and several muttered words under his breath.
Perhaps most notable about the tortle is the shield that fits perfectly over the shell on his back, but no visible armor. For all the excessive packing he has done, Gavyn appears to have forgotten any kind of protection in the case of battle. His parchment no less creased, and with nothing else to busy him, the tortle turns around and gives a tight, anxious smile. Gavyn shuffles in place, causing more clanking and clattering as he surveys the minotaur, half-elf, and...what might be some kind of fey person. They are a motley assortment: scholarly, threatening, faithful. The tortles gives a nervous nod before turning to his occasional drinking partner sitting at the desk.
"Are...are we waiting for some others, Bram?"he says.
"And here he is..." Comes a voice from the door, the fashionably late slender figure of a white-haired tiefling dressed in a fashionable coat stepping inside, large bloodred bat-like wings on his back and a small talisman of some sort adorning his chest. "...I'm terribly sorry for keeping you all waiting. Nathaniel Mortmaigne...at your service." He adds with a graceful bow to the others in the room, quickly giving them all a scrutinizing look, curious why they had all been summoned here. He was used to working alone but teaming up with this motley crew might be an interesting challenge. He hoped it wouldn't keep him from eventually rejoining the festivities above, to him there was both lucrative work and pleasure to be found among the inebriated people celebrating in the night. "So, what gives me the pleasure of this clandestine meeting with these charming people?" He asks the Watchmaster, deciding to remain standing while curiously studying the others. The inclusion of the minotaur and the tortle seemed to suggest whatever service they were called here to perform it would not be particularly covert, but maybe they were simply put together to cover all angles of something unpredictable.
Bram Gulchswattle stands and pulls from his pocket a key ring with a number of keys and unlocks his metal filing cabinet. After a moment of rifling through the files he pulls one out and lays it on the table. There is a large red stamp on the folder marked confidential. "As you are aware we are war with the Krynn Dynasty and Hupperdook is responsible for creating war machines. 20 days ago, during a pitched battle at the border the Krynn Dynasty for the first time used war machines of their own. At first our generals figure they were crude copies of our own war machines, but they were not. The Kryn Dynasty war machine design came from Hupperdook. There is leak somewhere and I must plug it before the iron fisted King decides to take matters into his own hands."
In his eyes you sense flashes of some unknown horror Bram has witnessed. "Finding whoever the spy or traitor is paramount and not just for national security, but to save the civilians from an inquisitorial review from the king. Many innocents will perish if such a thing comes to pass. That is why I am calling in my favors and debts from each of you as the few guardsmen under my command are not suited for such a task. I have a tenuous lead. You must seek the information broker known as Ebar Hall, an alias I am sure. I have heard the information broker has ties to the Blushing Bordello in the Upper Tier. I need everyone here to work together to find Ebar Hall. Also no one can know I have asked you to complete this task. Strictly I should not have even told you about the leak, but something must be done before it's too late."
Kaelen's massive form remained stoic as Watchmaster Bram Gulchswattle revealed the gravity of the situation. The minotaur's amber eyes reflected the seriousness of the matter at hand, his strong hands resting on his knees, fingers gently tracing the beads of his prayer necklace. His deep voice resonated through the room, resonating with a quiet determination.
"Watchmaster Gulchswattle, you have our pledge," Kaelen rumbled, his voice steady and firm. "We understand the urgency of this task. The safety of our city and its people is paramount. We will find this information broker, Ebar Hall, and put an end to this treachery."
The minotaur's gaze shifted to his companions, silently acknowledging the weight of their responsibility. His mind raced with thoughts of the innocent lives hanging in the balance. With a subtle nod, he indicated his readiness to work together although just meeting, his presence exuding the strength and determination needed for the mission.
"In unity, there is strength," Kaelen said, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "We shall uncover the truth and put an end to this threat, for the people of Hupperdook and for the peace we all seek. Our actions tonight will determine the fate of many. Rest assured, Watchmaster, we shall not fail in our duty. Whose with me."
Gavyn gives a small gasp, ohh-ing and hmm-ing as Bram unveils what has happened. His mind is racing with the implications of the battlefront, how advantages have been lost and tactics might change to compensate. His daydream is ruptured at the mention of the bordello.
"Oh,"' he says dumbly. "Ah, I see."
If tortles could blush.
Eventually he realizes he is still holding his quill and parchment. After first scratching on the parchment with a dry quill, he dips it in the ink well and jots down "Ebar Hall" and "Blushing Bordello". He pauses for a moment, brushing his chin thoughtfully with the quill feather.
"Um, pardon me Bram," he says. "Is it one particular war machine design that has been stolen? Or a handful of designs? Or all of them? It, uh, it might help to narrow our line of questioning, you see."
He glances at everyone as they enter, taking in their demeanor. Quite a motley crew, but someone like Braum knows all sorts.
Laine straightens as Braum talks. A leak... something like this should be routed out and remedied as soon as possible. To think the repayment for his favor would be something he would have done anyway.
The pale tiefling listens attentively as the Watchmaster briefs the team. He didn't care much about that stupid war, to him it was only a foolish display of power from poor rulers, but the implication of iron fisted King sending his thugs to Hupperdook made even the otherwise uncaring scoundrel care, there were lot of innocents that could meet with terrible fates if that would happen, himself included. He wouldn't even need Ezekiel to convince him this was the right thing to do, something to care about. He can't help but notice the tortle's awkwardness as the Blushing Bordello is mentioned. Nathaniel would have to be a good host at this place that was practically his home these days.
The pale tiefling frowns slightly at the very definite statement of the pompous minotaur. In unity there is strength was a good line for any tyrant that needed obedience from his subjects. He then gives the tall hooded man a curious glance, quite certain they would succeed was he. As the sending stone is put on the desk, the pale tiefling quickly snatches it up an pockets it. "Anything more you could tell us about this Ebar Hall? Also, what means are we authorized to use in order to accomplish this task, can we expect some leniency with the law should we find ourself in a situation where it was neccessary to do something not strictly legal?"He asks the Watchmaster with an amused smile.
Just as Nisha contemplates taking a nap while they wait, all the players in tonight's game have finally made their appearances, and Bram is ready to spill the beans. The rogue observes as the gnome heads to the metal filing cabinet and pulls out a folder with a very intriguing red stamp. However, her curiosity quickly wanes as she listens to what he has to say. A leaked design for a war machine? Of all the things he could have mentioned, mechanical architecture design schemes being leaked out is the last thing she expected to hear.
Nisha is a bit surprised to hear how deeply the Watchmaster cares about civilians and their safety, but whatever. If that’s what it takes for her to gain back her freedom, so be it.
However, as Bram keeps on going about sending her together with this random bunch of individuals to an actual bordello, the half-elf can’t help herself but scoff under the hood.
“I’m going to a bordello,” she mutters under her breath incredulously before she catches herself and shuts her mouth. “With a bunch of very inconspicuously-looking individuals.”
Her golden eyes, hidden beneath her hood, remain sharp and calculating as she scrutinizes each of her unlikely companions. Quite unexpectedly for her, in a city full of dwarves and gnomes, the Watchmaster decides it’s a good idea to send every other race to do his bidding.
“He must be truly desperate if it’s us who he called upon. If it’s I who he entrusts with this information.”
“And here comes the hero speech,” Nisha rolls her eyes as the minotaur guy starts to talk. While he continues his tirade, the woman leaves her corner, getting closer to Bram’s desk. It is the folder she wants to cast a look at, but also to make herself clear to him.
“I hope the prize is worth this hunt, Watchmaster,” she speaks softly as she leans in slightly towards the gnome. “Ebar Hall and the Blushing Bordello, fine, but don’t expect me to play the hero. Secrets are indeed what I do best, and I’ll do what it takes to…” she stops suddenly, her attention grabbed by someone else’s actions.
“Would you look at that,” the rogue exclaims with dismay and tilts her head. “Mr. Gulcswattle here is just talking about how nobody can know what we are talking about tonight… And you are taking minutes of the meeting?”
The fact that the tortle deemed it necessary to write down such important, secret information bugs her. It’s almost as if this whole secret meeting is some kind of a joke.
“What happens when you get captured and interrogated, buddy? You burn yourself AND the informant with these little notes you are taking, not to mention potentially everybody else here as well.”, she asks harshly, crossing her arms before her chest.
If it were just the two of them, Nisha would make him eat that paper, but she dares not make a move in front of such a big audience… and especially not in front of the Watchmaster, lest he add some more sins she has to pay for.
It’s not the others Nisha has so much concern about, but rather her own skin that’s at stake, of course.
"The prize is seeing another day and being able to live the way you see fit without constant fear of death under the King's Inquisitorial Review." says Bram
Bram looks to Nathanial "I have never seen Ebar Hall but based on the information I gleaned from some criminals I locked away, who benefited from his information. I know he has no scruples and is willing to sell and trade secrets for a price. Is he linked to the Spy, I'd say there is a good chance of that. Yes, there will be some leniency, but only if you're in my custody. If taken by the Crownsguard then I cannot help you as I have very little sway with them."
Just the one, that's good. At least the enemy doesn't have their whole arsenal.
If things get sticky he could maybe swing something, send a message through the network and see what his fellow agents are willing to do for him. Fritz seems more lenient, perhaps him. He does hope that this group doesnt draw too much attention, but given the mix-matched appearance of the lot and the mouth on the girl.. he thinks it's unlikely. Just take the paper if it infuriates you so.
Gavyn is busily jotting down details of what he remembers about the war machine in question, muttering, "ah, yes" and "mmhmm" and "Master Cogspring, I think". When the fey woman directs her ire toward him, Gavyn nearly drops his parchment and quill. He sputters something, an apology or an excuse or perhaps defense of his actions.
"I was...uh...you see, no person would rightly know what this...uh...that is to say, by writing it, I will remember...I don't have to, of course."
He looks to Bram, whose expression Gavyn does not fully fathom. The tortle shuffles forward, his gear banging in the ensuing silence, and places the crumpled parchment on the desk.
"I think I have it remembered well enough," he says. "Should we, uh, perhaps be off then?"
A chilled, misty night hangs over the industrious mountainside city of Hupperdook, the scent of a recent rain on the air as you walk the muddied path. The nightly festivities have already begun, with the elevated section of the city known as the Idleworks Shelf alight with colorful lanterns and streamers. The distant sounds of music and firecrackers echo from hundreds of feet up the stairs of the mountain. You arrive at the quiet, dark soot-stained brick building in the Lower Tier, passing massive forges and partially constructed war machines. The sign reads Constabulary H... as the rest of it seems to have broken off some time ago. All the city’s industry has seemingly been abandoned for the night, while the workers of Hupperdook unwind in the celebrations of the upper city.
Each of you were called this night to Watchmaster Bram Gulchswattle office. After heading into the building, you find yourself staring at an empty front desk. The entire room is dark except for the light streaming out of a small office in the back. The letterhead on the door reads Watchmaster. Inside the office you see a gnome of middling age trying his best to complete a mountain of paperwork and occasionally answering a row of neatly placed sending stones on his desk. He briefly looks up to gesture to the open chairs and he loudly stamps another offending document. The chairs and desk are all gnome size. There is a couch nearby that can fit medium sized people.
Please introduce your character as they walk into the office.
The tall hooded figure glances at the chairs, then simply steps to the side of the door to lean against the wall. Muted purple curls of hair hang carelessly across his face, similar colored eyes peering at the gnome. His clothes are all black, trousers, shirt, boots, gloves, cloak, which makes the pin he wears all the more noticable. The silver symbol of the Soltryce Academy.
Kaelen enters the office with a dignified stride, his massive frame filling the room. His fur, the color of rich mahogany, seems to absorb the muted light, giving him an aura of subdued power. The intricate patterns on his fur catch the light as he moves, highlighting the natural grace in his movements. His amber eyes, deep and contemplative, scan the room, taking in every detail.
Feeling the compact size of the gnome furniture, Kaelen opts for the nearby couch, his bulk fitting comfortably on the seat designed for medium-sized beings. Despite his imposing stature, his presence exudes calmness and restraint. His hooves make a soft, muffled sound on the floor as he settles in, the weight of his past experiences and the responsibility he carries evident in his gaze.
Kaelen merely gives a subtle nod to the watch master and hooded figure. His large, calloused hands rest on his knees, his fingers adorned with prayer beads, a testament to his devotion. The mismatch between his formidable appearance and the serene expression in his eyes is a reminder of the complex nature of the minotaur.
Campaigns:
Wildemount: The Felderwin Irregulars (2020) - Balassar Silverstone - Dragonborn Fighter (Rune Knight) Lv. 5 | Rise of TIamat - Aiwin Aralana - Wood Elf Fighter/Ranger (Arcane Archer/Gloom Stalker) Lv. 9
On a night of celebrations, Nisha’s heart should have rejoiced at the occasion as the rest of the city around her did. The loud music, the explosive bursts of fireworks, and the flowing booze usually filled her with exhilaration. But while everyone else would indulge themselves in dancing, eating, and drinking, she’d relish all these opportunities to fill her pouch with gold without putting too much effort. All these poor bastards abandoning their inhibitions and drowning themselves in revelry would be practically begging for someone like her to come and rid them of their coin.
And yet, here she is now, victim to her own vices. Hers and Sleek’s. Her nimble fingers, usually adept at liberating purses from careless citizens, remain still at her side, and her daggers, sharp as ever, are sheathed safely away.
She walks the muddy path deliberately slowly, careful what tracks she leaves and sticking to the shadows. As her steps sink softly into the moist earth, she feels the seething rage simmering deep inside her again. She has been called for, torn away from the festivities of the upper city to descend into the soot-choked abyss of the Lower Tier. It's as if she is a dog, summoned by its master’s whistle, compelled to obey.
What bitter irony it is that on a night when the city revels in freedom, she is ensnared by obligation and compelled to tread the muddied path toward the unknown.
The constabulary looks as deserted as the rest of the buildings in this gods-forsaken place. Well, almost.
Nisha makes her way to the only lit room leisurely. The Watchmaster might technically own her, but this doesn’t mean she will pretend to be thrilled at her own predicament.
Surprisingly, there are others waiting in his office already. Good. Hoping she is the last to arrive, just so she can piss the Watchmaster off a little, Nisha quietly enters the room. Her dark cloak rustles softly as she moves, hood hanging low, obscuring her face from view, her distinct golden eyes and silver hair hidden out of sight. With a subtle bow to the gnome, done more to mock him than to show him respect, she finds herself a corner, arms crossed before her chest, her hands buried deep in the sleeves of her robes. Waiting for his orders.
Aeran Dormaris - L2 Paladin on his way to Phandelver
Vesna March - L1 Cleric in Etharis
DM The Missing Farmer
Gavyn is relieved to find he may not be the last one to arrive. He expected a larger group, although the room was beginning to feel cramped already. He stepped awkwardly, yet somehow with precision, over and around the legs and feet of the others in the room. Too many things hang off of the tortle's person, as if he is preparing for a two-day excursion into the forest. A mess kit clatters in his backpack and no less than three axes of varying sizes knock handles as he jostles for a position in the corner of the room. The tortle clutches a quill in one hand as he fumbles for a small pot of ink, setting it in the damp soil of a potted plant for lack of any flat surface to aid him. He unscrolls a piece of parchment, dropping a coil of rope from his belt in the process, for which he must squat to pick it back up, resulting in somehow stepping on his roll of parchment. The parchment creased now, he smooths it on the wall with a huff and several muttered words under his breath.
Perhaps most notable about the tortle is the shield that fits perfectly over the shell on his back, but no visible armor. For all the excessive packing he has done, Gavyn appears to have forgotten any kind of protection in the case of battle. His parchment no less creased, and with nothing else to busy him, the tortle turns around and gives a tight, anxious smile. Gavyn shuffles in place, causing more clanking and clattering as he surveys the minotaur, half-elf, and...what might be some kind of fey person. They are a motley assortment: scholarly, threatening, faithful. The tortles gives a nervous nod before turning to his occasional drinking partner sitting at the desk.
"Are...are we waiting for some others, Bram?" he says.
Bram readjust his glasses "Yes, I am waiting for one more person to come."
"And here he is..." Comes a voice from the door, the fashionably late slender figure of a white-haired tiefling dressed in a fashionable coat stepping inside, large bloodred bat-like wings on his back and a small talisman of some sort adorning his chest. "...I'm terribly sorry for keeping you all waiting. Nathaniel Mortmaigne...at your service." He adds with a graceful bow to the others in the room, quickly giving them all a scrutinizing look, curious why they had all been summoned here. He was used to working alone but teaming up with this motley crew might be an interesting challenge. He hoped it wouldn't keep him from eventually rejoining the festivities above, to him there was both lucrative work and pleasure to be found among the inebriated people celebrating in the night. "So, what gives me the pleasure of this clandestine meeting with these charming people?" He asks the Watchmaster, deciding to remain standing while curiously studying the others. The inclusion of the minotaur and the tortle seemed to suggest whatever service they were called here to perform it would not be particularly covert, but maybe they were simply put together to cover all angles of something unpredictable.
Bram Gulchswattle stands and pulls from his pocket a key ring with a number of keys and unlocks his metal filing cabinet. After a moment of rifling through the files he pulls one out and lays it on the table. There is a large red stamp on the folder marked confidential. "As you are aware we are war with the Krynn Dynasty and Hupperdook is responsible for creating war machines. 20 days ago, during a pitched battle at the border the Krynn Dynasty for the first time used war machines of their own. At first our generals figure they were crude copies of our own war machines, but they were not. The Kryn Dynasty war machine design came from Hupperdook. There is leak somewhere and I must plug it before the iron fisted King decides to take matters into his own hands."
In his eyes you sense flashes of some unknown horror Bram has witnessed. "Finding whoever the spy or traitor is paramount and not just for national security, but to save the civilians from an inquisitorial review from the king. Many innocents will perish if such a thing comes to pass. That is why I am calling in my favors and debts from each of you as the few guardsmen under my command are not suited for such a task. I have a tenuous lead. You must seek the information broker known as Ebar Hall, an alias I am sure. I have heard the information broker has ties to the Blushing Bordello in the Upper Tier. I need everyone here to work together to find Ebar Hall. Also no one can know I have asked you to complete this task. Strictly I should not have even told you about the leak, but something must be done before it's too late."
Kaelen's massive form remained stoic as Watchmaster Bram Gulchswattle revealed the gravity of the situation. The minotaur's amber eyes reflected the seriousness of the matter at hand, his strong hands resting on his knees, fingers gently tracing the beads of his prayer necklace. His deep voice resonated through the room, resonating with a quiet determination.
"Watchmaster Gulchswattle, you have our pledge," Kaelen rumbled, his voice steady and firm. "We understand the urgency of this task. The safety of our city and its people is paramount. We will find this information broker, Ebar Hall, and put an end to this treachery."
The minotaur's gaze shifted to his companions, silently acknowledging the weight of their responsibility. His mind raced with thoughts of the innocent lives hanging in the balance. With a subtle nod, he indicated his readiness to work together although just meeting, his presence exuding the strength and determination needed for the mission.
"In unity, there is strength," Kaelen said, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "We shall uncover the truth and put an end to this threat, for the people of Hupperdook and for the peace we all seek. Our actions tonight will determine the fate of many. Rest assured, Watchmaster, we shall not fail in our duty. Whose with me."
Campaigns:
Wildemount: The Felderwin Irregulars (2020) - Balassar Silverstone - Dragonborn Fighter (Rune Knight) Lv. 5 | Rise of TIamat - Aiwin Aralana - Wood Elf Fighter/Ranger (Arcane Archer/Gloom Stalker) Lv. 9
Gavyn gives a small gasp, ohh-ing and hmm-ing as Bram unveils what has happened. His mind is racing with the implications of the battlefront, how advantages have been lost and tactics might change to compensate. His daydream is ruptured at the mention of the bordello.
"Oh,"' he says dumbly. "Ah, I see."
If tortles could blush.
Eventually he realizes he is still holding his quill and parchment. After first scratching on the parchment with a dry quill, he dips it in the ink well and jots down "Ebar Hall" and "Blushing Bordello". He pauses for a moment, brushing his chin thoughtfully with the quill feather.
"Um, pardon me Bram," he says. "Is it one particular war machine design that has been stolen? Or a handful of designs? Or all of them? It, uh, it might help to narrow our line of questioning, you see."
He glances at everyone as they enter, taking in their demeanor. Quite a motley crew, but someone like Braum knows all sorts.
Laine straightens as Braum talks. A leak... something like this should be routed out and remedied as soon as possible. To think the repayment for his favor would be something he would have done anyway.
"We'll find the leak, of that you can be sure."
"So far 1 machine. The fast loading cannon. If they leak more from us the result would be disastrous." says Bram
He then reaches down to 1 of 4 sending stone on his desk. Take this one sending stone, so we may stay in contact with each other.
The pale tiefling listens attentively as the Watchmaster briefs the team. He didn't care much about that stupid war, to him it was only a foolish display of power from poor rulers, but the implication of iron fisted King sending his thugs to Hupperdook made even the otherwise uncaring scoundrel care, there were lot of innocents that could meet with terrible fates if that would happen, himself included. He wouldn't even need Ezekiel to convince him this was the right thing to do, something to care about. He can't help but notice the tortle's awkwardness as the Blushing Bordello is mentioned. Nathaniel would have to be a good host at this place that was practically his home these days.
The pale tiefling frowns slightly at the very definite statement of the pompous minotaur. In unity there is strength was a good line for any tyrant that needed obedience from his subjects. He then gives the tall hooded man a curious glance, quite certain they would succeed was he. As the sending stone is put on the desk, the pale tiefling quickly snatches it up an pockets it. "Anything more you could tell us about this Ebar Hall? Also, what means are we authorized to use in order to accomplish this task, can we expect some leniency with the law should we find ourself in a situation where it was neccessary to do something not strictly legal?" He asks the Watchmaster with an amused smile.
Just as Nisha contemplates taking a nap while they wait, all the players in tonight's game have finally made their appearances, and Bram is ready to spill the beans. The rogue observes as the gnome heads to the metal filing cabinet and pulls out a folder with a very intriguing red stamp. However, her curiosity quickly wanes as she listens to what he has to say. A leaked design for a war machine? Of all the things he could have mentioned, mechanical architecture design schemes being leaked out is the last thing she expected to hear.
Nisha is a bit surprised to hear how deeply the Watchmaster cares about civilians and their safety, but whatever. If that’s what it takes for her to gain back her freedom, so be it.
However, as Bram keeps on going about sending her together with this random bunch of individuals to an actual bordello, the half-elf can’t help herself but scoff under the hood.
“I’m going to a bordello,” she mutters under her breath incredulously before she catches herself and shuts her mouth. “With a bunch of very inconspicuously-looking individuals.”
Her golden eyes, hidden beneath her hood, remain sharp and calculating as she scrutinizes each of her unlikely companions. Quite unexpectedly for her, in a city full of dwarves and gnomes, the Watchmaster decides it’s a good idea to send every other race to do his bidding.
“He must be truly desperate if it’s us who he called upon. If it’s I who he entrusts with this information.”
“And here comes the hero speech,” Nisha rolls her eyes as the minotaur guy starts to talk. While he continues his tirade, the woman leaves her corner, getting closer to Bram’s desk. It is the folder she wants to cast a look at, but also to make herself clear to him.
“I hope the prize is worth this hunt, Watchmaster,” she speaks softly as she leans in slightly towards the gnome. “Ebar Hall and the Blushing Bordello, fine, but don’t expect me to play the hero. Secrets are indeed what I do best, and I’ll do what it takes to…” she stops suddenly, her attention grabbed by someone else’s actions.
“Would you look at that,” the rogue exclaims with dismay and tilts her head. “Mr. Gulcswattle here is just talking about how nobody can know what we are talking about tonight… And you are taking minutes of the meeting?”
The fact that the tortle deemed it necessary to write down such important, secret information bugs her. It’s almost as if this whole secret meeting is some kind of a joke.
“What happens when you get captured and interrogated, buddy? You burn yourself AND the informant with these little notes you are taking, not to mention potentially everybody else here as well.”, she asks harshly, crossing her arms before her chest.
If it were just the two of them, Nisha would make him eat that paper, but she dares not make a move in front of such a big audience… and especially not in front of the Watchmaster, lest he add some more sins she has to pay for.
It’s not the others Nisha has so much concern about, but rather her own skin that’s at stake, of course.
Aeran Dormaris - L2 Paladin on his way to Phandelver
Vesna March - L1 Cleric in Etharis
DM The Missing Farmer
"The prize is seeing another day and being able to live the way you see fit without constant fear of death under the King's Inquisitorial Review." says Bram
Bram looks to Nathanial "I have never seen Ebar Hall but based on the information I gleaned from some criminals I locked away, who benefited from his information. I know he has no scruples and is willing to sell and trade secrets for a price. Is he linked to the Spy, I'd say there is a good chance of that. Yes, there will be some leniency, but only if you're in my custody. If taken by the Crownsguard then I cannot help you as I have very little sway with them."
Just the one, that's good. At least the enemy doesn't have their whole arsenal.
If things get sticky he could maybe swing something, send a message through the network and see what his fellow agents are willing to do for him. Fritz seems more lenient, perhaps him. He does hope that this group doesnt draw too much attention, but given the mix-matched appearance of the lot and the mouth on the girl.. he thinks it's unlikely. Just take the paper if it infuriates you so.
Gavyn is busily jotting down details of what he remembers about the war machine in question, muttering, "ah, yes" and "mmhmm" and "Master Cogspring, I think". When the fey woman directs her ire toward him, Gavyn nearly drops his parchment and quill. He sputters something, an apology or an excuse or perhaps defense of his actions.
"I was...uh...you see, no person would rightly know what this...uh...that is to say, by writing it, I will remember...I don't have to, of course."
He looks to Bram, whose expression Gavyn does not fully fathom. The tortle shuffles forward, his gear banging in the ensuing silence, and places the crumpled parchment on the desk.
"I think I have it remembered well enough," he says. "Should we, uh, perhaps be off then?"
"Yes, leave when ready and keep me updated." Says Bram.