A Misplaced Case
Adventurer's Guild, midday
The client's name is Rolv Jarvison, and for a somewhat unimpressive looking man -- a slim fellow with receding brown hair and a normally friendly expression -- you've learned two things. One, he is willing to pay and pay well for the return of merchandise belonging to his employer, a high-end restaurant in Alexandria called the Rosalian Rose.
And two, he can really, -really- swear. In two or three languages at least. It's almost entertaining, fishing bits of appropriate information out of the imprecations heaped on the thieves. After his latest blistering barrage of invective, he rests his palms on the table and takes a deep breath, getting his temper back under control.
"That's the story, then. These..." He chews off what might be another inventive foray into scatological cursing. "...culprits made off with a crate of wine. My employer has made it clear that reordering is -not- an option, so we need to get it back."
For the bulk of the briefing, Lani'kua remained silent, attentive, projecting an aura of calmness. One would think her to be silently reassuring the tradesman his problems will be solved, but in truth? She was *fascinated* by the man's inventiveness with language. Everything she knew about the sentient peoples of the world told her that *half* of the feats of biology he attributed to a pack of bandits was impossible, a third of them deeply blasphemous, and another quarter of them utterly confusing.
But! There was a job to do, and redressing acts of banditry was, at least, refreshingly straightforward.
"And get it back we shall," the lanky half-oruch rumbles. "Have no fear."
Though, privately, the paladin does worry about how much of the product has already been rendered... unfit for sale.
Menel can understand being a bit... upset about some lost cargo, and he's worked around enough mercenaries in his life that a few curse words aren't going to turn him around, but he's impressed by the variance of languages shown. Most people don't resort to other languages when they're this irritated. Unless they're *really* irritated. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the man with interest.
"Do you know where they took it? Or at least from where it was taken? We might be able to track it if you know where it was taken from at the very least." He has some skill in tracking and finding things so he might have some luck if they're lucky. Or not if they're not. This time of the year... It depends on a turn of the weather. "Seems like you might know something of these thieves and anything you tell us can help."
Bryn has heard more than a few curses in her (not so many) years, but she is cataloguing some new ones while (maybe) trying to minimize her grinning at the imaginative invective. Hopefully her tusks help mask her amusement a little bit.
"So ye really need it back, and not pre-drunk. Got it. Any ideas one where they'd go with it? Sounds like it ain' somethin ye just hock onna street, right?"
Maybe this job will only need a li'l scarin and they'll give it up? Not that she doesn't love a good scrap, but her wrapped-up blob of a forearm suggests she could use something on the easier end.
"According to my employer, the wine will keep, especially in this chilly weather." Rolv furrows his brow. "She said the problem is that it was something of a gift from a relative -- she didn't go into details -- and that it'd be impossible to replace, especially on short notice."
"We think they hauled it down into Goblintown for safekeeping." He makes a face. "Don't take this badly, but some criminals do try to use Goblintown for a hidey-hole, especially if they cross the right palms. It's not a big case -- twelve bottles, plus packing. So they could stow it in a room somewhere while they search for a buyer."
"It might be hard to just fence, though. The bottles are all marked with the winemaker's insignia -- I've not seen it myself but I'm told it's very distinctive."
Menel makes a face. "So we're looking in the city, for bottles of wine." He scrubs a hand through his snow-white hair. "This could be a mite harder than I thought it would be." He looks at his companions. "I don't suppose either one of you is any good at ferreting out information or finding wines? I don't even drink wine."
The swordsman looks a little embarrassed. "I wouldn't know where to look to find it." He looks at the man who is supposed to give them some information. "I don't suppose that there's anything else useful that you can tell us? Anything at all?" His wide sky-blue eyes are so hopeful looking.
Rolv gives Menel a look. "How much wine do you think gets drunk in Goblintown? I've been there, you know. It's -not- where you go for wine. Peppers, sure, absolutely. And rum. But not wine."
"Your best bet might be to start there in Goblintown, ask about a bit. Someone had to see something." He sighs. "Make a note of any money you have to spread around, I'll make sure Miss Liandra reimburses you."
Bryn nods reflexively as she listens, thoughts already drifting to Gobbertown. And wine- which quickly hops, skips, and jumps to ale, rum, and spirits. "Can find all kinds o' shite in GobberTown... but some things more'n'others. We'll find it. I can jus bat my lashes at folks," she grins tuskily, "or bat their skulls."
Menel blinks at the man. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. As much as any other drink?" Why wouldn't they drink wine in Goblintown? Menel will have to find out for himself it seems, he nods to Bryn and sighs thinking that this is going to be much more of a challenge than tracking bandits through the wilderness would have been, and heads off to go see if he can't find a bandit or two... in the city. - With his companions of course.
GAME: Menel rolls Diplomacy: (4)+5: 9 GAME: Bryn rolls diplomacy: (17)+3: 20 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+8: (18)+8: 26
It goes better than you'd expect. It seems one of the gang that swiped the goods managed to offend a local arvek weaponsmith, Targlen. And Targlen has an excellent memory. After some cheerful chitchat with the trio of adventurers, Targlen points them towards a row of rough-looking homes that are already showing signs of being rebuilt upwards. Such is the fate of construction here in Goblintown -- if you can't build -out-, build -up-.
"They were awful eager to go to ground," Targlen growls. "I might be wrong, but I don't think this was a -normal- grab-and-run. I think they were lookin' for whatever they grabbed."
Bryn loves her some chitchat, too, and likes weapons, so Targlem is easy for her to jack jaws with. She turns her eye at the houses pointed to, then snickers. "Maybe they hid it TOO good... or one of 'em's got their own plannin." Either way, if it's bad for them, it's better for those looking for them. "Thanks."
Menel keeps his mouth shut at this point, having realized that his polite banter doesn't fly well in this area. For some reason people keep side-eyeing him. Which makes him flush in embarrassment and... that makes them side-eye him more. Oh well. Menel lets Bryn and Lani'kua do the talking. When they finish talking though he nods politely to the weaponsmith and moves toward the rough looking homes pointed out to them. "How do you think we should go in?" He asks Bryn. She seems to know better than him.
"Don't mention it," Targlen says laconically, before returning to his work. "Hope it works out."
Taking up a position not far away lets you study the house in detail. A bit larger than some of the construction going up around it, though it's still only one story. The building next door is already on two stories with a roof and you're pretty sure the half dozen goblins there are building -something- on the roof. Needless to say, 'construction standards' are not a thing in Goblintown.
Coming back to the house in question, there's a door, and a couple of shuttered windows. Smoke rises from the chimney, indicating there's a fire laid in there. Presumably someone's keeping warm.
Bryn eyes the house for a few, then looks up at the gobbers working on it, then back to Menel. "Which ye like more; hard 'n loud or soft'n sneaky? I'm better wit the first ones. Ain' really the quiet type."
"Speaking personally," Lani'kua rumbles, "As long as there aren't *too* many other ways out, the loud approach will serve us well enough. After all..." Her smile is wide and tusky, and might not entirely be of the friendly type. "Perhaps this time they *will* know what's best for them, and not fight. We can only hope."
Menel smiles a little. "Guess I'm glad I'm not the sneaky sort. Or I might have reason to cry. No, lets go in nice and clear. I don't want to give them any reason to think that we won't give them a good what's-for if they don't turn over the goods."
Bryn grins tuskily back at Lani'kua and nods to both. "Alright! Le's do this!" She steps up to the door and gets ready to knock on it. With her shoulder.
The trio lines up in front of the door. The goblins next door are watching with interest. Two of them are making bets.
Bryn drives her shoulder into the relatively flimsy door, taking it right off its leather hinges. The door hits the floorboards with a crash as the adventurers charge in.
Inside it's a bit of a hovel, really. Large enough, with four bedrolls set around the room, a large crate pressed up against the wall, and a roaring fire stoked in the fireplace in the east wall. A doorway leads to the second room of the house, covered only by a thin curtain.
A pair of scruffy-looking fellows jump up as the door crashes in, and one yells, "Cor! It's the watch!"
Both of the men whip out blades, and from the other room can be heard shouting as well. It seems negotiation is not in the cards today...
GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+3-2: (8)+3+-2: 9 GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+5-4: (1)+5+-4: 2 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+5-4: (13)+5+-4: 14 GAME: Menel rolls Diplomacy: (4)+5: 9
Menel draws his left-hand blade from his sheathe, moving toward the thief who threw the bag at Bryn and swings, but the thief easily dodges the blow and he frowns. "Come on, there's no need for this! Just turn over the goods to us!" He knows it's probably not the most effective line of words ever spoken, but he has to try. He doesn't really want to hurt anyone. Which... Might be a fatal flaw.
GAME: Lani'kua rolls diplomacy: (6)+8: 14
"Worse," Lani rumbles, drawing her bow as she moves into the room, sliding to one side to pick up a good sight-line. "It's *adventurers.* You've stolen from the wrong people, friends. And you'll only be able to rely on our kind and forgiving natures for so long... Perhaps it's best you don't *test* the limits of our patience, yes?"
The other fellow jumps up -- and it's suddenly apparent he's a -gnome-. Smoothly, the scar-faced little gnome whips out a rapier as he moves forward. "Fall back," he says to the thief. "Help Kurl get the crate out of here. Menken and me will handle the longshanks."
GAME: Bryn spends ONE use of BARDIC PERFORMANCE.
Look how lenient and patient they were? The brigands had their chance, their choice; and they chose violence. As a child of Khor'Dagorlth, this suits Bryn just fine, and she makes the choice clear as she starts to belt out (wit hints of growl)., "Ye heard 'em! They wan' blood! Spill it! Break 'em! Crack'r skulls!"
GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+4: (13)+4: 17 GAME: Telamon rolls 2d6+4: (11)+4: 15
Yet -another- guy comes charging out of the other room. This one keeps his sword in his sheath, instead moving over to the crate.
Meanwhile, the thief backpedals, avoiding any further swings, and runs toward the shuttered window at the back.
Menken laughs grimly, striding forward. "Indeed. These are fops, not worth a warrior's time." The massive sword falls from its sheath as the dwarf rears back, and slashes into Menel, dealing the young warrior a serious wound. "Run, little pups!"
GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+5-2+1: (14)+5+-2+1: 18 GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+5-2+1: (19)+5+-2+1: 23 GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+5-2+1: (13)+5+-2+1: 17 GAME: Menel rolls 1d6+2: (4)+2: 6 GAME: Menel rolls 1d6+2: (3)+2: 5 GAME: Menel rolls 1d6+2: (2)+2: 4 GAME: Menel rolls Diplomacy: (7)+5: 12
Menel draws his second sword grimly. "I did not want this, but you have given me no choice." His swords weave a deadly dance now, cutting into the dwarf before him without mercy, blood splattering the ground as his weapons sing a song as ancient as time itself. His own wounds ache but his body moves to his command without question and without mercy.
GAME: Lani'kua rolls 1d6: (1): 1 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+6: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d4+1: (4)+1: 5
"Pups," Lani sighs, as she sees the thirst for blood is real. "Well, as you like it..."
Slipping up behind Menel, she rests her free hand on his left shoulder. "Courage, friend. You walk with the gods this day, and do their work. *You,* on the other hand..."
Turning to the dwarf, she extends the same hand to point at his blood-spattered face. "*You,* I prophecize ruination! You walk under the shadow of the Fell Tower, and unless you turn away all you cherish will fall to rubble under the moon's eye!"
Perhaps her speech takes a turn for the archaic, but there's no denying the clear, bell-like tones her voice takes, or the shaft of moonlight that -- somehow -- falls from the ceiling to mark the dwarf clearly for her allies to see.
The gnomish swordsman winces as Menken lays into Menel, and Menel returns the favor. "Blood and thunder, Menken, fall back and mend yourself up before they paste you." When Bryn starts chanting, the gnome whirls, and drives his small, razor-pointed rapier into her thigh. "...Hm. Didn't work as well as I thought."
GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+6: (17)+6: 23 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d4+1: (1)+1: 2 GAME: Bryn spends ONE use of BARDIC PERFORMANCE. GAME: Bryn rolls weapon0+1: (3)+6+1: 10 GAME: Bryn rolls weapon0+1: (8)+6+1: 15 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d8+2: (6)+2: 8
"Ye! Let the blood flow!" Bryn cheers out. She IS rallying her allies, even if the first major flowing blood is Menel's. She adds in a "Ha! Paste 'im!" when he returns the favor to the dwarf. Then there is the matter of the gnome that just poked her in the thigh. "That all ye got?! Didn' even feel it!" Bryn shifts her weight, bringing back her other leg to try and give him a swift kick in the face. Unfortunately, the only thing she connects with is another tiny pointy thing into her shin.
The muscled human grunts as he carefully picks up the crate, which clinks ever so softly. It's a race between 'cautious handling' and 'gotta get outta here' and he knows he won't get paid if it doesn't go right.
Meanwhile, the thief shoves the shutters open, gusts of cold wind blowing through the rickety house, making the fire in the fireplace dance as the thief begins to clamber out through the window.
At the gnome's urging, the priest backs up, growling. Holding his sword in one hand, he incants a spell, his wounds mending up somewhat.
GAME: Menel rolls Diplomacy: (15)+5: 20
Menel passes off his sword to Bryn, realizing that she's weaponless and that in this fight that simply will not do. He drops the other and steps back drawing his bow and calling out in a loud voice. "Are you sure you want to make off with those goods? Because there's an awful lot of arrows between you and the door."
GAME: Lani'kua rolls ranged+3: (9)+5+3: 17 GAME: Lani'kua rolls 1d8+2: (6)+2: 8
With Menel having the thief with the crate covered, Lani'kua turns to the dwarf, narrowing her eyes. Some prophecies take care of themselves. Others, people complete on the road they take to avoid them.
Times like this? The gods help those who help themselves.
Lani'kua raises her bow, tilted at a slight angle to allow the stupendously long stave to bend without tapping the floor, levels the point of an arrow at the moonlit focus of her goddess' ire, and looses a long wooden shaft, aimed to bury directly into the dwarf's shoulder.
"Sit down, boy," the paladin rumbles to the dwarf.
GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+6: (3)+6: 9
"Oh for..." The gnome's expression twists up in exasperation as Lani'kua puts an arrow into his comrade. Nimbly dodging Bryn's kick, he pinks her shin with his rapier before dancing to the side. "I don't think so. We've got a nice healthy payday coming for this, and we're not interested in sharing." His rapier jabs out at Lani, but fails to connect.
GAME: Bryn rolls melee+1+1: (16)+6+1+1: 24 GAME: Bryn rolls 1d6+3+1+1: (3)+3+1+1: 8
"Got 'em onna run!" It's both a warning and a cheer from Bryn. "But ain' gettin 'way!" Then she finds her open hand is filled, care of Menel's generosity. "Ha! Tha's more like it!" She eyes the gnome a long heartbeat, but she turns her focus on the khazad: Menel's sword, Menel's payback. "Where ye runnin, to, lil' PUP!"
The word is accented with a very similar onomatopoeia: the sound of the lended blade burying itself into the khazad. This proves to be more than he can handle. Guess he's pasty, afterall.
The mercenary looks at Menel. Looks at the crate in his hands. Glances at the window, and the thief beckoning to him. Then the dwarf drops, and he slowly tries to sidle his way toward the window. Like he's not -really- trying to escape, no, really. He's not very convincing.
Which is why the thief whips out a smokestick, ignites it, and throws it into the room, creating a billow of smoke between the box-bearing merc and the heroes. With the wind blowing it won't last long, but while it's here...
GAME: Menel rolls Diplomacy: (8)+5: 13 GAME: Bryn casts Gallant Inspiration. Caster Level: 4 DC: 15 GAME: Bryn rolls 2d4: (5): 5
Menel rushes forward along the edge of the smoke with his bow in hand skittering to a halt at the edge of the line of smoke to hold the arrow level at the man who is carrying the wine bottles. "Don't make me shoot you." His jaw is set, but there's desperation in his voice, which cracks. He doesn't *want* to hurt anyone. Are those tears in his blue eyes, or is it just the smoke? "Please" He sounds sincere. There's music playing in the background. Maybe he means it.
With the dwarf finished according to the prophecy, Lani's eyes fall down, down to the gnome and his gnives. Taking a step back to put space between the two, she loops her bow over her shoulder, and unlimbers from her hip a weapon that isn't so much 'knife' as it is 'several sharp crescent moons arranged in a circular pattern.' The important thing is, it's almost as big as the gnome's face.
"I'd listen to the lad if I were you," the half-oruch warns. "More than enough blood's been spilled this day. Do you *really* need to add your own to the pool?"
GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+5: (13)+5: 18 GAME: Bryn rolls reflex: (15)+7: 22 GAME: Telamon rolls 2d4: (7): 7
The gnome snarls, "Don't listen to them, boyo! We've got a four-way payday in your hands -- well, three way, if we can't get Menken back up. He won't shoot an unarmed man." He rolls nimbly away from Bryn and Lani, and flips a bag at Bryn -- the tanglefoot mix inside splattering over her and slowing her movements. "Just hang on, I'm almost there!"
GAME: Bryn spends ONE use of BARDIC PERFORMANCE. GAME: Bryn rolls melee+1+1: (16)+6+1+1: 24 GAME: Bryn rolls 1d6+3+1: (5)+3+1: 9 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+3: (13)+3: 16 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d4+2: (4)+2: 6
First he jabs her in the thigh, now he splatters her with goo? How rude! Bryn is stronger (and a bit more agile) than the stuff, and she marches straight for the uppity gnome. "-He- ain't the one -ye- gotta worry bout!" She swings the small blade into the small man. "Sure yer gonna make it? That any of ye gonna?" Her words aren't exactly a verse, per se, but she utters them in tempo with her established beat, such as it was.
The mercenary doesn't move his feet. He's holding up the heavy wooden crate between himself at Menel, the two locked in a staredown. The crate looks pretty beefy, probably with a lot of internal padding, made of white painted wood with a curious marking on it: a crescent moon with a bird perched inside it.
The thief, meanwhile, lets out an exasperated sigh. "So hard to find good help. Hey, pal, we told you to run along already!" He draws a knife, and throws it hard and accurately at Menel, the blade cutting into the young warrior.
GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+6: (20)+6: 26 GAME: Menel rolls 1d20+6: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Menel rolls 1d8: (4): 4 GAME: Menel rolls 1d8: (2): 2 GAME: Menel rolls 1d8: (5): 5 GAME: Lani'kua rolls melee+1: (14)+4+1: 19 GAME: Lani'kua rolls 1d4+1+2: (2)+1+2: 5
Menel feels the dagger hit his shoulder and instinct kicks in, an arrow's fletching flinging from his fingertips almost before he can think of the shot. He aims for the man's heart and his mind screams. "NO!" He takes a half step forward and gasps. "Dana preserve me."
He prays with all his might that the arrow is just a little to the side and the prayer proves true. The man is still breathing when he hits the ground. His blue eyes turn to the other thief and he looks at him with sorrow and such deep sympathy. "I don't want to hurt you all, but I will do what I must. Please, please put the box down." He'll beg if it's necessary. If it'll make this fight end.
"That's two," Lani notes, as Menel's arrow finds its mark. The poor boy doesn't seem to be taking well to violence, she muses, as she lopes forward. Should spend some time with him, and see what he's about...
"Think there'll be money to split in the Gray Halls?" she asks the small bravo, and her knife hisses as it rends the air in a wide, circular swipe that finds grim purchase in the gnome's flesh.
The bravo screeches as Lani's starknife slashes into his back, but he's sandwiched between two very angry oruch (well, one's a half-oruch but that's irrelevant at this point). Realizing that yes, he definitely -can't- spend money in the Halls, he curses and throws down his rapier. "Alright! ALRIGHT! I yield! Quarter!"
The merc, realizing he's not getting out of this without collecting arrows and other unpleasant souvenirs, carefully sets the crate down before backing away, his hands in the air. Bryn lowers her (borrowed) weapon after the remaining men throw down theirs. "Wassat so hard? Shoulda started with that, like theys told ye..." She nods her head to the side towards Menel and Lani, then heads across the room for the crate. That's what they came here for. Well, she's pretty sure, so she'll take a better peek at it to make sure.
Menel lets out a giant sigh of relief as the thief puts the crate down and he puts his bow up before he gets down on one knee and starts taking weapons off the man he nearly killed. His arrow gets stabilized and he calls over to the others quickly. "Need a healer here! Help! I nearly killed one of them! Stay with me buddy." He stays with the thief until someone comes to help him remove the arrow and get enough healing into the thief for him to tie them up and help with the others.
"Quarter," Lani echoes, flicking the blood from her knife. "Now... Join your injured friend, and it would be *wise* to be still while I save his life." Gesturing for the gnome to join the thief and Menel, she carefully kicks the sword away, toward the sword Menel left behind, and follows behind.
With her blade in its sheath, she kneels down next to the thief, her hands beginning to glow pale-blue-white as she looks up at Menel.
"Take hold of the arrow, and when I tell you, pull it free. You chose your target well, he'll have all the chance at life I can give him."
The gnome glumly goes to sit down next to the others, disarmed and defeated. The mercenary helps bind the dwarf's wounds, before sitting down as well. Clearly the fight's gone out of them.
Examination of the crate reveals twelve bottles, all still sealed and packed in neatly. Each bears a simple label and the wax-sealed corks also bear the same crescent-and-bird symbol on the crate.
Bryn looks over the crate and bottles, eye widening and then blinking. After making sure they're all present and intact, she looses a deep laugh as she carefully closes the crate back up. "Ye all were as dumb as guzzlin whiskey 'n pissin uphill inna brush fire... and wound up three times as lucky... Bryn carefully relocates the crate into the vicinity of her companions before taking a knee.
The wounded thief is being tended, which is good for him (and Menel, and maby Lani, too), but he ain' the only one wounded. She sets Menel's sword next to him and pulls out a yet-unused wand.
"Make 'im hearty, make 'im hale. Keep 'im breathin, I owes 'im an ale." Then she taps the wand to Menel to aid him even if his attention is on someone else.
Menel looks at Bryn curiously, but doesn't comment, his attention is focused on pulling the arrow out at the right moment. He waits for Lani'kua to say 'when' and then when she does, he pulls it free, not hesitating and praying for all he's worth that the thief survives another day. He doesn't care much about the strangeness of the ale or anything else, he only cares about the man he almost killed. Men really. He sheathes his swords when the operation is done and mediates on the fact that he came so close to killing so many people this day. There had to be something he could have done differently.
-End