Supreme monk-u business; 3.5 monk fix campaign.

[Doorhandle]

You are enjoying a fine discussion and finer teas with Spiritchaser Tzao. In the courtyard of the righteous fist's resplendent Lao-sin temple, the biting winds and harsh sun are only minimally uncormfortable. Despite the unpleasant subject mater, involving the rise of unkempt spirits in the land, it is in all a good day...

Until an imperial messenger rudely slams into the table at high speed from an unknown height. He chokes out a last message before dropping a scroll envelope, as a package unrolls from his back and lands near the shattered table.

"...M-mail..f-ffffffor you, sirrrrrr"


What do you do?

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OOC thread:

[manwithaplan]

Malark blinked, unmoved from his seat despite the initial shock wave. He cautiously threw a glance to the sky above, confirming that no further intrusion was imminent, and then got to his feet.

"It's wonderful how far the mail service has come," he remarked, ignoring the scroll and moving directly to the parcel rather rudely dropped onto the floor. "Used to be you had to go and pick it up yourself."

Kneeling beside the box, he began to fiddle about with it, trying to pull it open.

"It might be my new gloves. Fingerless and everything, so I look cooler and all that."

[Jormengand]

Tessa buried her face in her hands. It was going to be one of those days, wasn't it? She supposed that she would have to go and get the scroll that Malark was completely ignoring, wouldn't she? Why yes, yes she would.

She jumped onto the table for dramatic effect, and then picked up the scroll and unraveled it. It probably said something more important than something about new gloves.

I mean seriously, what kind of monk wears gloves?

[Vhaidara]

Sean, meanwhile, flexed his fingers. The new gauntlets he'd been given by the Order ot the Silver Fist really did fit quite well. He watched as Tessa fetched the scroll.

[Illven]

Lucy crowds over Tessa's shoulder.

What does it say? She asked.

[Doorhandle]

Tzao looks down at the collapsed form of the messenger, as if uninterested. Then he slowly takes out a series of strange geometrical tools, and sets to work predicting the exact passage of the formerly airborne informant.

“Seems to be about a mile due east. The angle indicated a parabolic arc. He wasn’t dropped so much as thrown…”

Tessa buried her face in her hands. It was going to be one of those days, wasn't it? She supposed that she would have to go and get the scroll that Malark was completely ignoring, wouldn't she? Why yes, yes she would.

She jumped onto the table for dramatic effect, and then picked up the scroll and unraveled it. It probably said something more important than something about new gloves.

I mean seriously, what kind of monk wears gloves?

You open up the scroll, and find encased within a page's worth of wretched libel.

“To whom it concerns:

That sham you call a dojo has interrupted me for the last time.
I, upon my honour as magistrate, demand the following:
*The immediate surrender and exile of all members of the “Righteous order of almighty fists” within the Lao-sin Feifdom.
*The immediate instalment of I, Exemplar Cao, as Exemplar of Cao-sin Fiefdom.
*The immediate execution of “exemplar” Dun Mao.
*An imperial pardon and a parade in my excessive honor.

If my demands are not met within demands within the next three days, it will cease raining messengers, and start raining hellfire. And do hurry; the imperial courts hate loosing messengers.
~
Yours: Honoured Servant Exemplar Cao.

The scroll lacks any seals indicating true imperial authority. Whoever this guy is, he’s not a genuine imperial subject…

Malark blinked, unmoved from his seat despite the initial shock wave. He cautiously threw a glance to the sky above, confirming that no further intrusion was imminent, and then got to his feet.

"It's wonderful how far the mail service has come," he remarked, ignoring the scroll and moving directly to the parcel rather rudely dropped onto the floor. "Used to be you had to go and pick it up yourself."

Kneeling beside the box, he began to fiddle about with it, trying to pull it open.

"It might be my new gloves. Fingerless and everything, so I look cooler and all that."

The vaguely rectangular parcel is covered in various seals, and is somehow heavy with malice and portent. It’s addressed to the imperial garrison of Lao-sin, so it's certainly not your gloves unless they've seriously messed up your order.

...None of the other parcels are addressed to you either. Your gloves may be covering the sweaty palms of whoever is launching messengers as we speak!

Tzao observes the scroll impassively, as per usual.

“From this note and the trajectory of our expired friend; This ruffian could be found at the ruined watchtower a two miles of here, atop the Wailing plateau. If you leave within the day, you may be able to apprehend him before he can…attempt to make good on his threat. It is never good for anyone to fake that much authority.”

He then turns to Malark's packa- I mean, the item he's holding.
"Officially you should leave that for the garrison. Unofficially, I want to see what justifies placing 15 seals on one box."

[Illven]

Don't worry. We'll bring him to justice. Lucy stated tumbling. Do you want him alive or dead, chief?

[Doorhandle]

Don't worry. We'll bring him to justice. Lucy stated tumbling. Do you want him alive or dead, chief?

Tzao turns to Lucy, invisibly amused at her insistence on back-flipping everywhere.

“I want him OUT, yes. I would prefer him alive, as redemption cannot be achieved whilst dead, but his state ultimately doesn't matter so long as he’s no longer throwing courtiers at us.”

"Heaven bless your path."

[manwithaplan]

"Yeah, mate, stuff it. Let's bust her open!"

Malark was immediately pulling at the box, hoping to open it in the least destructive way possible. It was very rude to open somebody else's package without putting it all back together afterwards, you see.

[Illven]

Come on. Lucy whined. I wanna stop the bad guy.

[Doorhandle]

You try to gentility open the package, but it almost seems to unwrap itself before you can attempt to do so. Images of ruin wind like worms across the surface of midnight blue box—just large enough to contain a human skull.

What is it about a music box that would interest the Garrison?

Tzao is both wary of the box, and slightly confused. "That is...less exciting than I thought it was. Ah well, I suppose I should return it to it's rightful place."

edit: he begins re-wrapping the box... unless you want to take it?

Spoiler

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Place your knowledge checks in the OOC thread, if you wish. You may also do so to discover more about Cao, or even the messenger's dynamic entry. Which knowledge you use doesn't matter so much, but if it's more appropriate to the topic (like knowledge: nobility for Cao), the check will be easier.

[Illven]

Music box bad! Lucy comments.

Let's go stop the bad guy. She says grabbing Tessa and starting to push.

[Doorhandle]

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You begin the long trek to the ruined watchtower, leaving the calm watchfulness of the dojo and the opium-scented city for well-worn tracks and unsteady bridges. While few of the Lao-sin watchetowers are in good repair, the ruined tower is notable for being the most damaged and little else, hence the self-explanatory name. The wind and sun beat upon your brow: the bridges being one of the few places you can suffer from sunburn and windchill at the same time. Upon several of the mesas there appear to be large bloody foot-, or perhaps handprints, with no sign of their owner, but the route to the first camp is unmolested.

At sunset, you come upon a beggar, under a particular owlike rock. He raises his oddly proportioned arm, jug in hand, awkwardly asking for change.

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Survival checks if you please: or anything else you think may help, like mundane items, ect. There is no penalty for failure here, but a good roll will allow you to make it in comfort or at greater speed.

Also, speak up if the're something you want to investigate.

[manwithaplan]

"Evening, mate!"

Malark's call to the beggar echoed across the twilight-tinted path, protecting his new acquaintance from overhearing him as he whispered to his fellow monks.

"Alright guys, this man is a golden opportunity for profit."

Reaching into his pouch, the street fighter withdrew a single shining coin, which he presented to the man as he went to kneel in front of him.

"You seem like an honest bloke. You think you're poor, sitting under your rock with your jug and few coins. But you are wrong, sir, just as you were wrong when you chose your profession. Because, well, look how that turned out. Anyway, I say you are not poor, for that container you have there is a work of art. In these parts it won't fetch a price, but slap on some paint and that there is the perfect centrepiece for my dining table. I don't own a dining table, you see, but there's no time to get caught up on semantics. Right now, in this very moment, I will offer you this beautiful copper piece in return for your jug, that I may have a better use for it. Then you'll be halfway to a loaf of bread, which is practically a day's feed! What do you say, brother?"

Spoiler: Stuff

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A jug is worth 3 copper pieces. If this man accepts my trade, I can sell it for a copper and a half (somehow) and have made a 0.005 gp profit. It's the perfect crime.

Malark has Survival, for some reason, so I will roll that as well.

Survival (1d20+6)[15]

[Illven]

Lucy glares at Malark.

We're supposed to be heroes! She berates, hands on hips.

[Doorhandle]

"Evening, mate!"

Malark's call to the beggar echoed across the twilight-tinted path, protecting his new acquaintance from overhearing him as he whispered to his fellow monks.

"Alright guys, this man is a golden opportunity for profit."

Reaching into his pouch, the street fighter withdrew a single shining coin, which he presented to the man as he went to kneel in front of him.

"You seem like an honest bloke. You think you're poor, sitting under your rock with your jug and few coins. But you are wrong, sir, just as you were wrong when you chose your profession. Because, well, look how that turned out. Anyway, I say you are not poor, for that container you have there is a work of art. In these parts it won't fetch a price, but slap on some paint and that there is the perfect centrepiece for my dining table. I don't own a dining table, you see, but there's no time to get caught up on semantics. Right now, in this very moment, I will offer you this beautiful copper piece in return for your jug, that I may have a better use for it. Then you'll be halfway to a loaf of bread, which is practically a day's feed! What do you say, brother?"

Spoiler: Stuff

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A jug is worth 3 copper pieces. If this man accepts my trade, I can sell it for a copper and a half (somehow) and have made a 0.005 gp profit. It's the perfect crime.

Malark has Survival, for some reason, so I will roll that as well.

Survival [roll0]

The beggar seems to look at you sideways for a few seconds, then suddenly straightens up and says:
“5 copper. It’s an investment industry.”

"...What brings you to these parts anyway? You don't seem to be the camping type...
He seemed to twitch slightly upon the mention of the word "hero"...

[manwithaplan]

"Only investment you need to make is in some soap, mate. With this coin, you'll be one step closer." Malark spun the copper between his fingers, grin wide.

"I'm no camper, and I'm no hero, either. I'm Malark, and I'm unemployed. By choice, if you can comprehend such a thing."

[Vhaidara]

Sean scowls at his comrade attempting to cheat a sodding beggar. He directs his comment towards the unscrupulous Malark
Let me ask you something: Have you ever been hungry? Starving on the street?

[manwithaplan]

Malark looked over his shoulder, staring at his travelling partner. Resent showed itself deep in his eyes, likely born from frustration at the interruptions being made to his business deal.

"Yeah."

He turned back to the beggar.

"Honestly, man, this isn't about value. What's the jug for, holding your coins? I get the convenience, but you can put them in your pocket instead. Then you have an extra copper piece, which is worth more to you than it is to me, right?"

[Doorhandle]

"I totally have pockets! They're filled with a a lot of- I mean NO change! None whatsoever! "
The beggar looks around furtively before continuing
"I-I'll stay at five thanks, unless you'd just wanna make a donation. Kinda hard to collect valuable, valuable rainwater without a jug..."

The sun continues to set. Argument aside, yo'll need to make camp soon...or decide on pushing forward to the tower. Either way, daylight is wasting.

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The man seems...off but you can't put your finger on it...

[Illven]

Let's go!!!! Lucy whined, trying to persuade the group to continue on their mission.

[Jormengand]

Yeah, not being here, that was a plan. Tessa grabbed Malark and dragged him away from the beggar, hoping to get him away from the poor guy.

[manwithaplan]

"Alright, alright, no need to get all antsy." Malark went along with Tessa, pocketing his coin. Looking back to the beggar, he smiled.

"Catch you later, mate!"

[Doorhandle]

The beggar grins and waves you goodbye
"With a coin or two ya cheapskate!" "We better not catch him later, that may hurt..."

You march onward as the sun sets; The rays being briefly neutralized, then overtook by the cool of twilight, while the winds blow as per usual. The normal stone bridges are being replaced by rickety, if stable rope bridges.

Within another hour's walking, you come across the dilapidated ruins of the tower: still atop the tallest, and also the most worn, plateau for miles around. it;'s celery occupied: it's interior glows with firelight, and it's surrounded by feeble torches and dim lanterns.

Unfortunately it seems all bridge-based access to the tower has been cut...You can see a good attachment for a grappling hook, and (carefully!) looking down, you can spot a series of stepping stones leading to lower down on the tower's plateau.

What is your plan? ...Unless you're going to jump across like a maniac, of course.

[Illven]

The beggar grins and waves you goodbye
"With a coin or two ya cheapskate!" "We better not catch him later, that may hurt..."

You march onward as the sun sets; The rays being briefly neutralized, then overtook by the cool of twilight, while the winds blow as per usual. The normal stone bridges are being replaced by rickety, if stable rope bridges.

Within another hour's walking, you come across the dilapidated ruins of the tower: still atop the tallest, and also the most worn, plateau for miles around. it;'s celery occupied: it's interior glows with firelight, and it's surrounded by feeble torches and dim lanterns.

Unfortunately it seems all bridge-based access to the tower has been cut...You can see a good attachment for a grappling hook, and (carefully!) looking down, you can spot a series of stepping stones leading to lower down on the tower's plateau.

What is your plan? ...Unless you're going to jump across like a maniac, of course.

Let's go straight to the top. Villains love the tops of towers. Lucy suggsted.

[Doorhandle]

Let's go straight to the top. Villains love the tops of towers. Lucy suggsted.

With what dear lucy, with what? The're still a good 30ft of open space between you and the base, let alone the tower...

[Illven]

How tall is the tower?

[Doorhandle]

Ah, I see! I wasn't really sure how it all looked. Can we see anything at the bottom of the chasm in front of us?

The pillars are damn near bottomless. While they do end, it's only faintly visible to human eyes.

The upshot of this is that tying to jump the gap is not as suicidal as it seems, for you'll reach the other wall eventually...although grabbing it and climbing up it may be another matter. Fortuitously, the tower's plateau does seem to have plenty of vines upon it.

[Illven]

Who wants to throw the grappling hook? Lucy asked her comrades in arms.

[Doorhandle]

You suddenly hear a cracking voice cry out "I'M HELPING" as a grappling hook thunks into Malark's previous location! He made the test just in time...

You turn about to see a pair of goblins from behind your chosen anchor point! Of course, where ever there is one goblin you can see, there is 5 waiting in ambush.

Both wield rusty swords, but one is wearing an over-sized conical hat, while the other is wearing filthy breeches, with a distinctive mug. The later swings himself down the grappling rope screaming insults, one of which is of note:

"WE'RE COMING FOR YOUR 5, KARATE KID!"

THE BATTLE BEGINS. WHO TAKES THE FIRST MOVE?