Campaign Log: Brothels, Archaeology, Mutants, and Other Questionable Elements. (PF)

[dilepoutee]

Looks interesting please continue. Do you have a table where the mutations came from?

Nice question :)

[NowhereMan583]

The 21st day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

In which Lu-Dingira's lunch is interrupted

At the point in time where this game actually took place, it was still summer vacation, and matching everyone’s schedules up was difficult. Makpov’s player and I were both working retail at the time, so we had no such vacation to speak of. Quimarel’s player had just gotten back from a trip, Hiddlebatch’s player was about to leave, and Tamarie’s player was currently visiting family. In a desire to get at least one session in before Hiddlebatch’s player left, I ended up running a sidequest that included only Quimarel and Hiddlebatch: they wanted to figure out what the deal was with their drunken gerbil-fairy. I apparently started the recorder late, because the recording starts with the two players having already given in to the instincts conferred upon them by advanced degrees in English: they’re in the library doing research. Specifically, it starts with me giving them an answer to a research question regarding the formal hierarchy of atomies (the species of fairy they’re dealing with):
“They’re ‘organized’ in the same sense that a wasp nest is ‘organized’: all the creatures involved have a vague, instinct-based idea of what the best course of action would be, and it works well enough for them to survive. More or less, they fly around, collect resources, stick people with tiny swords -- or put snakes in their backpacks -- and otherwise they just do what they feel like.”

Quimarel and Hiddlebatch debate the idea of getting the information they want out of members of the Intelligence Corps through diplomacy.

Hiddlebatch: We could say something like… we got stung by a fairy or something.
Quimarel OOC: Do they have stingers?
GM: Little swords.
Hiddlebatch: Yeah, so say one of them poked you… in a non-sexual way. Like, in a violent way.

There’s some brief concern that they might not be able to find out who the high-ranking members of the Intelligence Corps are, which is quickly solved when I point out that this information is actually in the setting document I gave them during character-creation. Since this branch of the Royal Intelligence Corps is directly run by Tribe Muck-Laugh, the title of Spymaster automatically goes to the chief of the tribe. Currently, the goblin in charge is Spymistress Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh, an elderly woman who regularly holds audiences with citizens of the town in order to maintain visibility and popularity. Talking to her would not be a problem, as long as you didn’t seem to be wasting her time -- you don’t get to be Chief Muck-Laugh by being a nice person.

It is also established that the extremely elderly chieftainess is unlikely to be interested in Quimarel’s employees, so their standard method of bribery is out.

Quimarel OOC: Not even the bedazzled boy-whore? [i.e., Makpov]
GM: Maybe the bedazzled boy-whore, but only because he’s just SO bedazzled. Generally, she is past that time of life.

Plans are hatched regarding how to subtly get information out of Zubynna. Quimarel suggests using her points in Craft [herbal remedies] to drug Zubynna with something that would increase her libido so that they can use the standard bribe-the-official-with-whores plan, but the logistics seem to be difficult. Also, it turns out Quimarel forgot to actually buy any ranks in Craft [herbal remedies] -- she just wrote the skill down on her sheet -- so she’d need Tamarie to do the actual brewing.

Hiddlebatch decides to go talk to the Kech and see if they know anything. It heads over to the Broken Stone and sits in the dining area on the first floor to wait for one to show up.

Quimarel OOC: You “sit down and stare”?
GM: I think she said “sit downstairs”.
Quimarel OOC: I like mine better.

For the sake of Hiddlebatch not spending all day sitting in a tavern, Lu-Dingira shows up for lunch fairly shortly. Hiddlebatch approaches him. “Excuse me. I have some things to discuss with you, and I think it would be better if we retired to a more private location.”

Silently bemoaning the apparent tendency of savages to disrupt his meals, Lu-Dingira takes Hiddlebatch up to the room the Kech are renting, and they sit down for a private chat.

Lu-Dingira: What is so important that you had to come speak to us?
Hiddlebatch: Well… it might not seem that important to you… but we’ve been having problems with local fairies. They are quite numerous, and we were wondering if you happened to know anything about them.
Lu-Dingira: Hm. Well, until a few months ago, we lived many thousands of miles away. So we have little experience with the local fairy folk.
Hiddlebatch: And you haven’t had any issues with them since you’ve been here, or seen anything odd, or…
Lu-Dingira: When we travelled here -- the part where we went over land, I mean -- we were in the company of Lord Bashant of the Thin Blades and Lord Jithanver the Blood-Drinker. Even the fairy folk seem smart enough to steer clear, so we never saw any.
Hiddlebatch: Oh. Okay. There have just been some strange goings-on in the area, and we weren’t sure if it was related to what you’d been doing, or if it might interfere with our plans or yours, or our mutual arrangement. So if you notice anything strange in relation to fairies, let us know.
Lu-Dingira: We shall.
Hiddlebatch: Anything else we need to know?
Lu-Dingira: There’s some unrest underground, but I think we’ve got it under control.
Hiddlebatch: With the big, horrifying creatures or the slaves?
Lu-Dingira: The former. They seem… oddly well-organized for big, horrifying creatures.
Hiddlebatch: Oh. That’s ominous. And how are your gods doing?
Lu-Dingira: I haven’t asked. They consider it impertinent to just pop in, you know.
[There is some brief discussion out of character regarding whether the Kech are religious. They aren’t, but it seems likely that Lu-Dingira just parsed “gods” as “rakshasa” and answered accordingly.]
Hiddlebatch: Maybe you should keep this. It may guide you in your quest. [Diplomacy: 22]
[Hiddlebatch hands Lu-Dingira one of H’s carven idols]
Lu-Dingira: Is this an important object in your culture?
Hiddlebatch: It is an important object in ALL cultures. This is --
Lu-Dingira: It is not an important object in MY culture.
Hiddlebatch: It will be soon. You see, this is from the god Khurgorbaeyag who, as you may have noticed, is working to spread his influence across the land --
Lu-Dingira: I have not noticed this.
Hiddlebatch: -- as is evidenced by all the individuals with strange mutations that make them superior to the other individuals. This is --
Lu-Dingira: I thought that was just how you people were.
Hiddlebatch: This is his totem. It will bless you.
Lu-Dingira: That’s nice of him. I’ll just put it on this shelf over here.

Hiddlebatch tries to evangelize at Lu-Dingira to make him into a follower of her heretical sect. He responds to her attempts by explaining his cultural beliefs, which he presents as superior. This is not acted out at the table, but the general gist of Lu-Dingira’s beliefs is that hierarchy and obedience are critically important, because something something social Darwinism. He also claims that he and his people were the first warm-blooded creatures to achieve sapience, and seems to feel that this gives him additional authority.

Hiddlebatch: Not a fan of the reptiles, then?
Lu-Dingira: Reptiles were the ones who created us -- so that we could be their servants. And for many generations, we served faithfully. Until their great empire fell, and we traveled across the sea...

He relates the Kech creation myth, which involves being uplifted from monkeyhood to serve as glorified homunculi / lab assistants for Aarakocra wizards, then, as they grew more numerous, an underclass for the entire empire, which was located somewhere over the sea to the west.. Lu-Dingira and his compatriots are descended from a group of Kech who were essentially sold to the rakshasa when the empire was in its final decline.

Hiddlebatch doesn’t care, ends the conversation, and leaves. Lu-Dingira notes how rude these savages are and goes to get his lunch.

Quimarel starts preparing for a meeting with Zubynna. First, she tries to figure out how to attract fairies. Her Knowledge [nature] check tells her that they just don’t operate on the same kind of logic she does¹, and virtually anything could potentially be construed as an invitation under the right circumstances.

Quimarel and Hiddlebatch press for more detail (Knowledge [nature]: 17) and remember hearing that there are certain things more likely to attract fey attention. Silvermoss certainly likes honey, especially when made into mead. Quimarel suggests that there might be certain flowers they find appealing, and I decide that’s probably true. Quimarel also remembers hearing that you can attract them with saucers of milk and bread, and that certain songs get their attention for whatever reason.

Hiddlebatch OOC: Can I sing some songs and see what Silvermoss responds to?
GM: You CAN, yes.
Hiddlebatch OOC: I assume I know some local songs…
Quimarel OOC: The traditional ballad “Hit Me Baby One More Time”.

Hiddlebatch decides to sing some hymns to Khurgorbaeyag. Silvermoss sings along, but makes up his own words. He doesn’t seem to react to one any more than the others. Out of character, Quimarel and Hiddlebatch agree that “Toxic” is a hymn to Khurgorbaeyag, but Quimarel’s player meant the Britney Spears song and Hiddlebatch’s player is loudly singing another song called “Toxic” which neither of us recognize.

Quimarel OOC: [picks up recorder] Dear future GM who’s listening to this… I’m sorry.

They go back to trying to figure out what to say to Zubynna. Quimarel wants to have some plausible reason why she might be having difficulty with fairies.

Hiddlebatch: Just say you were romping through the woods, and --
Quimarel: I do do a lot of romping.
Hiddlebatch: And, uh, and one poked you.
Quimarel: One poking me is not enough to be --
Hiddlebatch: THIS IS A SERIOUS ISSUE!
Quimarel: Not enough for me to bring it up; it needs to be something unusual.

Eventually, they decide that the combination of Makpov’s natural carrion stench and the smoke from the large hookah that Foxglove Winemist recently dragged into the common room (to “cultivate an exotic atmosphere”) is an unusual enough scent that it could plausibly attract fairies. By claiming that fairies are showing up and harassing her employees as a result, Quimarel has a lie that seems like a significant enough issue to consult Zubynna for advice.

Quimarel’s Knowledge [local] reveals that while Zubynna’s schedule is irregular, changing depending on what she needs to do to maintain visibility and/or snuff out any opposition to her leadership before it gets serious, she holds regular “office hours” at the Intelligence Corps, can usually be found mingling in the Marketplace of Rats at some point during the day, and frequently eats at the Broken Stone. Quimarel decides to go talk to her in her office.


¹ In my campaign, the Fey and the Far Realm essentially form the z-axis of the alignment chart: they are fundamentally opposed in the same way Good and Evil are, but their thought processes and beliefs are so alien to everyone else that it just doesn’t map properly onto the two-dimensional good/evil/law/chaos moral structure that the rest of the world uses. In a nod to TV Tropes, I’ve mentally labelled their opposing philosophies Blue and Orange, respectively. As a consequence, Detect Evil on a fey creature results in the caster getting a result of “inconclusive” and seeing strange blue flickers for a few seconds.. On a micro level, with minor fairies like the atomie, that means that their behavior, culture, ethics, &c. are completely unpredictable from a humanoid point of view.

[Flashy]

I'm always ecstatic when I see that there's a new NowhereMan post on this thread.

[Leon]

Brilliant Read so far

[NowhereMan583]

In which the players have a pleasant conversation with an old woman eating a giant insect, wander off into the wilderness looking for fairies, and treat a holy man with suspicion.

The 22nd day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

Quimarel enters the Royal Intelligence Corps lobby, and the guards posted in front of the door that leads to the non-publicly-accessible parts of the building challenge her.

Cpl. Ogloya: What is your business here?
Quimarel: I have a question for the Spymistress.
Cpl. Ogloya: Is she expecting you?
Quimarel: No, this has come up rather suddenly.

The good corporal decides to go check with Zubynna to see whether she is willing to speak to the owner of the Squirting Squid on short notice. She is.

Cpl. Ogloya: She says that she is not terribly busy, and she would be happy to speak to a pillar of the community such as yourself.
Quimarel: Wonderful.
Cpl. Ogloya: I will lead you up so that you… find your way without… going anywhere you shouldn’t.
Quimarel: Of course.

The guard leads her through this huge scriptorium area where goblins are copying stuff down -- they and the guard are cagey about what they’re writing, and are careful not to let her see any of it. However, as she’s passing a desk, Quimarel sees [Perception: 22] that the goblin there is writing…

Quimarel [OOC]: Fifty Shades of Goblin?
GM: Fifty Shades of Greenish-Brown… no.

The goblin there is writing: “…According to our sources in Barlgilton, the assassination of the minister seems imminent, perhaps within the next three months…”

The PCs are aware that Barlgilton is the big city up north, about two weeks’ ride away if you have a fast horse.

At the back of the scriptorium, there is a stairway, which Cpl. Ogloya leads her up. The second floor is a small hallway with a few simple wooden doors, one of which Cpl. Ogloya helpfully opens for her. It’s a nice roomy office with a window and a desk that’s big (for a goblin). Zubynna is sitting behind the desk, which doesn’t seem to have anything on it other than her lunch -- perhaps she just cleared all the documents into a drawer. Or maybe she just doesn’t have anything to do today. The lunch in question appears to be an ankheg claw; as she talks, she occasionally picks it up and takes a bite, chewing up the exoskeleton along with the meat. She does not pause in her discourse to chew -- goblins don’t put much thought into table manners.

Spymistress Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh: What can I help you with? [crunch]
[Quimarel regales the Spymistress with “pleasantries according to her station”, etc.]
Quimarel: Normally I wouldn’t bother you; I know you’re very busy. However, we seem to be having some trouble with fairy folk, and you are one of the most learned individuals in town, so I was hoping you would know of some way of solving this problem. Little [hand-and-a-half]s keep bothering my customers, and they won’t leave one of my whores alone. Have you ever had a problem with these things?
Zubynna: Not… [crunch] …personally. Well, I know that they rarely venture into town.
Quimarel: Yes, we’re kind of on the outskirts; I think that’s why they’ve been so bold.
Zubynna: I suspect… [crunch] …that they may be doing this because they want something. [crunch] [chew chew chew] There’s something I might have to check.
Quimarel: What could they want? They tend to leave us alone, at least until recently.
Zubynna: That’s classified. [crunch]
[Significant pause as the two women stare at each other. Zubynna’s body language is more or less opaque; Quimarel [Sense Motive: 14] can’t pick up any telltale signs of deception or strong emotion.]
Zubynna: I… [chew] …have to speak to one of my… [chew chew] …employees about an ongoing project. [crunch] In the meantime, feel perfectly free to swat them. They’re annoying little things, and deserve it.
Quimarel: Thank you very much. Will you let me know if you find out?
Zubynna: I will send you a message. [crunch]
Quimarel: Thank you. I appreciate it.

Quimarel departs, and shares the content of the conversation with Hiddlebatch. “Apparently,” she says, “there’s an ‘ongoing project’ involving fairies. So I don’t know if there’s something special about Silvermoss, or if they just grabbed one… I don’t know what this project entails.”

The PCs go to consult Silvermoss, and ask if he can tell them where to find the rest of the fairies.

Silvermoss: Of course; I can guide you to where they frequent.
Hiddlebatch: Oh, we’re still concerned about your safety if you venture out of the chapel. Why don’t you just tell us where to find them? And here, have some mead.
Quimarel: Of course, if we just wander around in the wilderness for long enough, we’re sure to find some eventually.
Silvermoss: [drinks some mead] Okay, um, flying north, for… about ten hours…
Hiddlebatch OOC: How fast do they fly?
DM: You haven’t timed him.
Hiddlebatch OOC: Knowledge [nature] check… ha! Natural 20.
DM: Nearly twice as fast as you walk.
Silvermoss: …then, when you reach the field of red flowers, turn… right, and continue… until you reach an area with lots of snakes, then turn left… then eventually you’ll run into them.
Hiddlebatch: …how about we just go out into the wilderness carrying lots of mead and honey?

The PCs decide to wait until they get a message from Zubynna, then go looking for fairies.

Later that day, a messenger arrives at the Squirting Squid with a little sealed scroll, which he hands to Quimarel and waits, in case of response. Quimarel casts Detect Magic -- not magic.

The scroll reads: I can’t explain why they’re here -- it’s still classified -- but if you can catch one and bring it to us alive, we would reward you.

Hiddlebatch OOC: I Sense Motive on the paper. 16.
GM: The paper is… dead.
Hiddlebatch OOC: NOOOOOOO! WHYYYYYYYYYY!

The PCs discuss this new information, presumably out of the messenger’s earshot. (I mean, they never SAID “out of earshot”, but it’s only listening to the recordings later that I realize how much I could have screwed with them by having the messenger overhear.)

Hiddlebatch: When we go to see what’s going on, we should catch one and bring it back.
Quimarel: Why don’t we just give them… wait, they’d probably be suspicious if they got the same one back, wouldn’t they?
Hiddlebatch: You have terrible ideas.
Quimarel: That’s why I stopped myself.

Quimarel writes a response on the back of the scroll: Thank you for letting me know. I will do what I can -- please let me know if we can be of further assistance.

The PCs take some time to discuss whether Quimarel’s handwriting looks appropriately respectful. The messenger fidgets and waits. They send him back with the scroll, and head off into the wilderness.

[Random Encounter Table: 75-89 (lone traveller)]
[Lone Traveller Table: 50]

After a few hours walking in a generally northerly direction, around sundown, the pair runs across a lone traveller. It’s a goblin, in clerical robes that look crudely sewn. He seems fairly friendly, and goes out of the way to greet the party.

Kornnul Tribeless: Greetings, fellow travellers. Would you mind if perhaps I shared your fire this evening? It’s very dangerous to travel alone, and larger groups are best for safe--
Quimarel OOC: Sense Motive. 14.
Hiddlebatch OOC: 18.

They feel like the goblin is probably being honest about just wanting to share a fire and enjoy “safety in numbers” for the night. Hiddlebatch recognizes that there’s something… off… about him, but who is H to judge?

The goblin wears a wooden holy symbol, stained green and carved in the shape of an eye. Hiddlebatch recognizes the symbol as that of one of the new gods, Saurivuntyr the All-Seeing [Knowledge(religion): 24] Saurivuntyr, Hiddlebatch knows, is usually represented as a green dragon. He’s not really worshipped in these parts, but lately elves in green wooden masks, hailing from a land far to the south, have been wandering the area and spreading word of this new and powerful god, The goblin must therefore be a recent convert.

Hiddlebatch: So, we’re pretty far from any towns [Hiddlebatch has apparently forgotten that H and Quimarel are only a few hours’ walk away from home]; what are you doing out here?
Kornnul: Ah -- I am travelling to a chapel of Saurivuntyr. It is in the wilderness a few weeks south of here, and I must reach it so that I may perform my Ritual of the Mask.

Hiddlebatch casts Detect Magic, but the goblin is not inherently magical. There is a faint aura around his holy symbol, which might indicate that he has recently used it to cast a spell, but that’s about it.
They sit down with the goblin; he helps build a fire, and pulls out a rabbit he shot earlier that day for some food --

Hiddlebatch OOC: So he has no magical items?
GM: No.

Quimarel decides she wants to hear the guy’s story, so she “applies her conversational skills” to hear about his life and travels. His name is Kornnul Tribeless, and he is originally from Trisnedort, another Capran protectorate. The PCs are vaguely familiar with it, as it is dominated by Tribe Gloom-Foul, the other major goblin tribe connected to the Royal Intelligence Corps.

Quimarel OOC: You know, this guy just encountering us in the forest [Quimarel is apparently forgetting that they are in the Wastelands, a steppe-like environment that only supports small clumps of trees here and there, near bodies of water]... “Dear Penthouse, you’ll never believe…”

Time passes in much this way. They hang out around the fire, Kornnul offers them some cooked rabbit, and the PCs get to hear about the all-seeing eye of Saurivuntyr, how it watches all of your misdeeds and judges you, how one day Saurivuntyr will melt this world down and build a new one from the ashes, etc.

Quimarel: I can respect that plan.
[pause]
Quimarel OOC: I would like to insinuate that I would be willing to give Saurivuntyr a show, wink wink nudge nudge. [Charisma check: 22]
GM: Let’s fade to black on this.

While Quimarel leads Kornnul off behind a nearby hillock, Hiddlebatch rummages through his bag. It’s mostly the kind of stuff you’d need for a long cross-country trip, such as preserved food (mostly jerky rations). There’s also a small scroll that seems to be notes he’s taken from sermons.

The 22nd day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The night passes without further incident, and in the morning the PCs and Kornnul go their separate ways. As he’s leaving, Hiddlebatch suddenly remembers something.

Hiddlebatch: Hey! Have you seen any fairies recently?
Kornnul: Yes, I have! Two nights ago, when I was sleeping, they took charcoal from my firepit and drew obscenities all over my face and clothing.
[laughter from the PCs]
Kornnul: Then they lit my shoes on fire. Luckily, I packed a spare pair.
Hiddlebatch: Whereabouts was this?
Kornnul: Somewhere north of here. There wasn’t much in the way of landmarks.
Hiddlebatch: Thank you.

They continue going their separate ways. When Kornnul is almost out of earshot, Hiddlebatch yells “Khurgorbaeyag could kick your god’s butt!” and runs away.

Hiddlebatch’s player expresses confusion that I actually had “poverty-stricken recent convert of Saurivuntyr” on my random encounter table. Quimarel’s player, who was my roommate at the time, explains that she’s seen me writing up tables for fun, so it’s not that unusual.

Note: the ascension of the dragon Saurivuntyr to godhood is entirely the fault of the characters in the previous campaign -- specifically, one character, played by Hiddlebatch's player. They have not made the connection, as far as I know. Probably they have forgotten the name of the green dragon to whom they gave the Robe of the Panoptic in exchange for services rendered.

[Steel Mirror]

I only just found this, and it is amazing. I laughed, I cried, I wasted an hour of my life (well not wasted, invested). Good show!

[DM Nate]

This is easily the best campaign log I've read so far. It's very creative, and I get invested just reading it. I also love the fact that all the players are women; it makes the story so much richer with interpersonal and social interactions, and less about simply hack-and-slash. (A bit of a gender stereotype, but true at least in my personal experience.)

I like your Blue/Orange use of morality for the Fey and the Far Realms. I'm also using that concept for my own Far Realms. (If it makes ANY sort of internal sense to the PCs...you're roleplaying it wrong.)

As stated before, I also really loved your cobbled mutations table. One of my own players just got her first 3 points of Taint, and I'm planning to make use of your table. (Instead of rolling, however, I'm planning to choose effects that allow her to roleplay the penalty to her WIS.) I'll let you know how that turns out.

Again, thanks for the story write-ups, and keep it up! Have you considered hosting the logs on their own dedicated wordpress or something?

[NowhereMan583]

I'm glad you're enjoying it -- and I'm sorry I haven't been updating much recently. My students just took their end-of-quarter tests, and work's been keeping me busy.

I'm honestly not sure how the all-female group happened -- I put out a general recruiting call over Facebook, with the prologue at the beginning of this thread as the hook, and for some reason all of the people interested were women. (My previous campaigns have all had about a 50/50 split.) And the two new players who recently joined (the log won't catch up to that for a while) are also women... I don't know, maybe my male friends are just not terribly interested in a high-social-interaction game with lots of mutants and minimal murderhoboing. I'm no psychologist, though.

Have you considered hosting the logs on their own dedicated wordpress or something?

I actually have it on this here Blogspot thing -- I wanted my players to be able to read the logs, but didn't want them coming here since I have a habit of getting ideas and advice from the Playground. So I post stuff there about the same time I post it here, along with a couple extra things like maps and charts, and then put a link to the new post on Facebook for them.

[DireSickFish]

Really enjoying the log. Very inventive players and you seem to be good at world building. That many random tables would scare me. Looking forward to the next update!

[NowhereMan583]

"Brief Interviews with Horrible Fairies", or "The GM Apologizes for the Dialogue-Heavy Update"

The 21st day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

When last we left our heroes… well, two of them… well, protagonists, at any rate… Quimarel and Hiddlebatch (and Makpov, but his player is not present, so he’s just shambling around wordlessly in case they need to kill something) were searching for fairies out of sheer curiosity: why did the Royal Intelligence Corps have a drugged-up atomie locked in a birdcage in their vault?

Actual answer: because I thought of it at the last minute and didn't expect the PCs to fixate on it to this degree.

They had shared a campfire with a recent convert of Saurivuntyr the All-Seeing, dragon-god of oracles and madmen. He seemed relatively harmless, and they took their leave peacefully, waiting until they were at the edge of earshot before Hiddlebatch shouted “Khurgorbaeyag could kick your god’s butt” and ran away, ineffectual butterfly wings flapping furiously.

After travelling for a good chunk of the day, the pair come across some red flowers, which had featured in Silvermoss’s directions, It’s not a whole field of red flowers or anything, but there are a bunch scattered around, enough to be noticeable. Hiddlebatch starts looking around [Perception:21], and spots a fairy apparently harvesting nectar from a flower not fifty feet away. Hiddlebatch decides to try and talk to it.

Hiddlebatch: Ho, fairy folk! We would speak to you a moment, in return for which we will give you mead and flowers.
Fairy: Score! What can I do for you?
Quimarel: Have you noticed anyone trying to catch a lot of you?
Hiddlebatch: Or fairies going missing?
Fairy: I did hear that young Silvermoss went missing.
Hiddlebatch: How long ago was that?
[long pause]
Fairy: It was… colder… when he went missing….than it is now.
Hiddlebatch OOC: How long do fairies live?
GM: You’re not sure.
Quimarel OOC: And they don’t have much of a concept of time… “colder” could just mean it was at night.
Hiddlebatch: Have you made any efforts to find him? Do you have any idea why he’s missing or who would take him?
Fairy: Well, he’s not part of my hive -- his hive lives a little bit north of here. But as far as I know, nobody knows where to start looking for him.
Quimarel: Well, we think there’s some sort of plot to capture fairies --
Fairy: My word!
Quimarel: We would like to speak to his hive, if possible. Is there any way you could lead us to them or at least point us in the correct direction?
Fairy: Yes. Hold on one moment…
[The fairy pulls a little bottle of liquid out of his pouch and uses it to sketch something on a leaf]
Hiddlebatch OOC: Sense motive… 20.
GM: You shouldn’t trust him.
Hiddlebatch OOC: With the map, or at all?
GM: At all. Including with the map. Just… no. You remember what you heard about fairy senses of humor from Silvermoss, and this guy looks way too cheerful right now.
Hiddlebatch: You know, in exchange for actually leading us to the hive, we would give you additional mead.
Fairy: How much more mead?
Hiddlebatch: [noting the relative size of the fairy and the mead bottles] A bottlecap?
Fairy: More mead than that.
Quimarel: A cup.
Fairy: I require enough to drown a gnoll.
Hiddlebatch: A gnoll?
Fairy: A gnoll!
Quimarel: [obviously thinking she can con the fairy into accepting a lesser amount] Have you ever seen a gnoll?
Fairy: That’s a gnoll. [points to Makpov]
[Out-of-character swearing ensues]
Hiddlebatch: Well, you get a cup or you get none.
Fairy: I’ll give you this map for a cup.
Quimarel OOC: All we have to do is take the map and avoid anything he points out on the map.
Hiddlebatch: We don’t have that much mead. How about some honey?
Fairy: How much honey? I will take honey as well.
Hiddlebatch: All right. Good. Lead us.
Fairy: Wait. I require enough honey to glue two goblins together by their face-parts.
Hiddlebatch: Well, fortunately for you, honey is very sticky, and goblins have small faces. So… here. [H gives the fairy honey, which he puts in one of his pouches.]
Fairy: Fine. Take the map anyway; I don’t want to carry this.
Hiddlebatch: Thank you for the map.
GM: Roll a Fortitude save.
Hiddlebatch OOC: NOOOO! [swearing] [sound of dice rolling] [more swearing] I ROLLED A ONE!
Quimarel OOC: [giggling] You gon’ die.

As Hiddlebatch grabs the leaf that the fairy had helpfully painted with Sassone Leaf Residue, under the guise of drawing a map, H suddenly feels dizzy and faint. [11 damage; 1 Con damage] The fairy starts giggling like a maniac, and Quimarel tries to smash it.

Hiddlebatch: But then we’ll have no guide!
Quimarel: Like he was going to guide us anyway!

Quimarel successfully does two damage. The fairy screeches at her and flies away. Quimarel takes out her sling and does two more damage… of course, neither the rocks or Quimarel’s fist are made of cold iron, so the fairy doesn’t seem at all hurt. Eventually he gets out of range and turns invisible.

Quimarel looks at the map, being careful not to touch it, only to find that it’s just a bunch of random squiggles.

The PCs continue onward, trying to follow Silvermoss’s directions. A few hours later, they spy another fairy.

Hiddlebatch: Ho, fairy folk! We recently encountered a fairy who played a very cunning trick on us --
Fairy: Yes, we do that.
Hiddlebatch : -- but before he did so, he told us a fairy named Silvermoss has gone missing. We think that there may be a plot against you, and we’re trying to figure it out. Would you happen to be one of Silvermoss’s hive?
Fairy: I am!
Hiddlebatch: Can you tell us how long ago he went missing?
[long pause]
Fairy: ...well, I think there was snow on the ground.
Quimarel OOC: What time of year is it now?
GM: Mid-spring.
Quimarel OOC: So not too long ago.
Hiddlebatch: Do you know why he was taken?
Fairy: I know exactly why he was taken!
Quimarel: What did he do?
Fairy: Nothing! He was as innocent a fairy as ever… fairied!
Hiddlebatch: So why was he taken?
Fairy: He was taken… so that the big folk could hold power over us.
Quimarel: Hostage.
Fairy: Yes, that’s the word.
Quimarel: Have they made demands?
Fairy: They say they will harm him unless we use our [shifty eyes] talents to gather information for him.
Quimarel OOC: When he does the shifty-eye thing, I look around to see if there are any other fairies in the immediate vicinity.
GM: There probably are -- they can turn invisible.
Quimarel OOC: [swearing]
[Some high Perception checks reveal disturbances in the grass that should not be there, and plants bent as if someone atomie-sized were sitting there.]
Hiddlebatch: Is there any particular reason they took Silvermoss instead of any other fairy?
Fairy: I don’t think so. He had a weird snake fixation.
Hiddlebatch: What information have you given them?
Fairy: Nothing important. Just what big folk do.
Hiddlebatch: Like what?
Fairy: [incredulous] I don’t REMEMBER.
Quimarel: When do you meet these big folk that you report to?
Fairy: Sometimes. Usually when it’s light out.
Quimarel: Do they come to you?
Fairy: No. We write things down.
Hiddlebatch: Do you have any of these papers? We can give you honey?
Fairy: How much honey?
Quimarel: Enough to drown a robin.
Fairy: You could drown a robin with only a thimbleful of honey if you knew what you were doing.
Quimarel: Enough honey to drown a robin even if you were not doing it properly.
Fairy: That is sufficient.
Quimarel OOC: I speak their language. It’s a weird language that makes no kind of sense.
Fairy: I think I have one of the more recent reports around here somewhere…
Quimarel: Do you keep copies?
Fairy: Why would we do that? We don’t need them. Oh, here it is.
[The fairy hands them a little rolled-up leaf with some writing on it.]
Hiddlebatch: WAIT! Spot… or… whatever you do for… um… ooh, natural 20.
GM: It’s just normal ink this time.
Hiddlebatch: And the leaf? It’s a plain leaf?
GM: Knowledge (nature).
Quimarel: Twenty.
GM: It’s a harmless leaf.
Quimarel: I gingerly take it with my fingernails and I read it.

Leaf: The big folk who wear black robes to the south were doing many chanting things in the field filled with stones, and then other big folk arrived, but they were different-colored, and didn’t touch things, and floated above the ground.

Quimarel: We would like to work with you. We think we can get Silvermoss back.
Fairy: Oh my.
Quimarel: It might take some time, but if we’re careful, we can get him back unharmed and safe. But to do that, we need to know what the big folk you’re reporting to are acquiring. We need to know the same information. Do they come to you, or do you go to them?
Fairy: We go to them.
Quimarel: Do you leave the … leaves somewhere?
Fairy: Yes.
Quimarel: Could you show me where?
Fairy: There’s a hole in a tree outside the town to the north.
Quimarel: Are there any… landmarks?
Fairy: There’s a tree.
Quimarel: There are many trees.
Fairy: Not that many trees.
Quimarel: The big folk do not have eyes as sharp as you, and it can be difficult to discern an individual tree.
Fairy: Ah. It is the tree --
Quimarel OOC: If you say “with the leaves“ I will punch you.
Fairy: -- with the fairy nearby putting stuff into the hole.
Quimarel: Okay, if we go at that time, yes, but when you’re not there, it won’t have that landmark.
Hiddlebatch: Why don’t you take us there, since you were on your way with that report anyway?
Fairy: I was not on my way -- I was just holding onto it until someone else was ready to take them to the tree.
Hiddlebatch: When is the time you deliver them?
Fairy: When the spirit moves us.
Hiddlebatch: Can we see any of the other reports? Maybe that the other fairies nearby have?
Fairy: There are no other fairies nearby. It would take forever to go find them and gather them here.
Hiddlebatch: [points at one of the spots where the only explanation for the way that plant is bending is that someone tiny and invisible is sitting on it] There’s one right there!
Fairy: [blatantly lying] No there isn’t.
Quimarel: So if I were to, say, swat really hard right there, nothing would happen.

Hiddlebatch waves its hand around wildly in the general area. Two attack rolls later, the PCs hear a small screech. Something jabs Hiddlebatch in the hand, and H holds up the new wound for inspection.

Hiddlebatch: See? There’s a fairy right there.

The fairy has, in fact, appeared, since they can’t attack and remain invisible. It glares at Hiddlebatch, then goes and hides in the grass. Hiddlebatch and Quimarel start loudly offering mead for any fairy who has a report they haven’t brought in yet. [Diplomacy: 16]

Spokesfairy: There are no other fairies around. However, if you leave all the mead here, then we will make copies of our reports, and next time we bring them into town, we will also leave copies in a place that you tell us.

Quimarel gives the fairies some directions to the Squirting Squid, and tells them to look for a small box adorned with certain types of flowers, and put their leaves in there. She will also leave more mead in that box, so that the fairies will do the same thing next time.

Hiddlebatch tells the fairies that the Black Sands are the holy touch of an awesome god, preaches its heretical gospel of Khurgorbaeyag, and leaves them one of her terrors. For the next hour or so, she has another convert, but then the fairy in question forgets all about it.

There is some discussion about whether Hiddlebatch can make the fairies Tainted by making one of them eat some of the Black Sand H carries with her. (No -- you’re either born Tainted or you’re not.) H then suggests procreating with them, but the difference in sizes stymies this discussion.

The PCs narrowly avoid getting ambushed by Blood Hawks on the way home: my random encounter table is overruled by the fact that the GM wants to go home and get some sleep.

[DM Nate]

I love the way the faeries are being role played in this.

[NowhereMan583]

I love the way the faeries are being role played in this.

I feel like I missed an opportunity by having them all use useful environmental factors like "cold" to describe what time it was. If I had been really on the ball, the second fairy would have told the PCs that he was hungry at the time, or that "it was when the rats were nearby".

[razorfloss]

This is a fun read and your players are interesting

[DM Nate]

I feel like I missed an opportunity by having them all use useful environmental factors like "cold" to describe what time it was. If I had been really on the ball, the second fairy would have told the PCs that he was hungry at the time, or that "it was when the rats were nearby".

When I do write-ups, I take the opportunity to improve little things I missed the first time around, and then point them out to the players before we play again.

[NowhereMan583]

In which many steps are taken towards formulating a Plan, and many conversational digressions take place.

The 24th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

Upon returning to Noroiras, Quimarel catches Tamarie up on the events of the fairie-finding mission, making sure to mention how “shifty” Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh had been. She further speculates, based on the mention of “black robes” in the fairies’ report, that this is all to keep an eye on the Kech. She then explains her plan to get additional reports by promising to find Silvermoss and keep him safe.

Tamarie expresses some confusion about this, since they already have Silvermoss drunk in a cage in the chapel, at which point Quimarel gleefully explains that “nobody knows we’ve got him; we’re playing both sides.”

Out-of-character, it is explained that Hiddlebatch’s player is in China for… reasons. Something family-related. Quimarel’s player notes that H’s player is supposed to be watching her younger relatives over there, and that this is a better idea than it sounds because “she has the same energy level as your average toddler”.
Since it’s been a while between sessions, we also recap the incident in the Marketplace of Rats when Quimarel “won the hearts and minds of the people” and also made a citizen’s arrest of one of the prisoners from the underground complex, since it turned out they were mostly Capran criminals being shipped north for their sentence.

Quimarel: My new thing is apparently doing something and then getting credit for fixing it.

⁂

Due to the recent crime wave, Lord Noroiras (that would be the hereditary title of the governor of this particular Capran territory) has declared a curfew. Anyone who is out after sundown is liable to be fined and/or arrested, depending on their relative shadiness.

Quimarel is deeply concerned about this, seeing as it is liable to cut into her profits at the Squirting Squid. She briefly kicks around the idea of digging hidden tunnels under the town, but decides that the best way to handle this is to get the curfew lifted entirely. She ruminates on how to do this [Knowledge(local): 22] and decides that she needs to go to Lord Noroiras -- respectfully, in a formal meeting -- and convince him either that the crime wave has ended and the curfew is no longer needed, or that the curfew is making the situation worse.

Noting that it’s hard to prove a negative, and that it would be hard to do any of this without breaking the curfew herself and getting fined, Quimarel begins to formulate a Plan.

Makpov interjects with some ideas about getting additional funds through the stealing and smashing of non-specified “stuff”.

Quimarel assures Makpov that there will be time for smashing, and asks how big the fine is. Mssr. 20-sider tells us that is is 18 gold per person -- ridiculously steep for your average citizen, but an acceptable expense for successful business owners like Tamarie and Quimarel.

Tamarie points out that this is probably bad for the economy of the town -- businesses other than the brothel make a sizable part of their profits at night. In addition, it’s a mostly evil town (albeit in a petty kind of way) and “evil likes the dark.”

They decide to go to the other establishments in town and see if they can get some support from other business owners. First up is the Broken Stone, the town’s inn. They’ve had dealings with Drugoz the innkeeper before, so this should be fairly straightforward.

Quimarel: I’m a little concerned about this curfew that’s happening. Have you noticed a drop-off in customers?
Drugoz: A little bit, but since most of my customers are staying in rooms above the dining area anyway, I still get enough to keep the place afloat.
Quimarel: Well, for now, but for how much longer? If word gets out about this, travellers aren’t going to want to stop here if they can avoid it.
Drugoz: Well, maybe they can’t avoid it. There’s no other town for twenty miles around.
GM: [quoting something Quimarel’s player said about the town where we live] “Just fruit stands and murder sheds from here to Jackson.”

The conversation drifts off for several minutes, as someone points out that there are also Waffle Houses. Quimarel’s character suggests that’s just a specific type of murder-shed, and discussion follows as to whether “murder shed with waffles” does in fact, as I assert, “sound like a really good time”.

Tamarie: Look, do you want to just “keep afloat” or turn a profit?
Drugoz: This business has been successful for three hundred years, and will be successful for three hundred more. [The rest of the town kind of grew up around the Broken Stone, which was orignially just an inn at a strategic point along a trade route.]
Quimarel: I’m glad that you’re so confident in your inn’s ability to survive in these rough economic times.
Drugoz: It helps that I have amazing amounts of booze. And also, I am pleased that I will not have to deal with hooligans bursting in and getting drunk and stealing my stuff.
GM: Make a Diplomacy check.
Quimarel OOC: Um… 8.
Drugoz: I think perhaps you are just worried that I will outcompete you in our market share.
Quimarel: Well, to be fair, we don’t offer exactly the same services.
Drugoz: It’s the same general idea -- I have wenches, you have wenches. I have mind-altering substances, you have mind-altering substances. I have beds, you have beds.
Quimarel: I daresay your wenches lack the finesse and training mine have.
Drugoz: Well, it’s not exactly the same business model, but if people can’t go to your place, they’re likely to come to mine. Where they will hit on my wenches and drink my booze -- and since the curfew prevents them from leaving, they’ll rent a room.
Makpov OOC: I think the GM has spent a lot of time thinking about this and is planning to open up a bar. With wenches. Maybe actually called “Wenches”, just to get to the point.
Quimarel OOC: Ale and whores!

Again, the conversation drifts off-topic, wherein we wonder whether Hooters is a bar (according to Makpov’s player, it’s a “breastaurant”), Quimarel’s player notes that there’s a similar business confusingly named “Twin Peaks”, and Makpov’s player ends up reading the recruitment page of a place called the “Tilted Kilt” aloud to the group for reasons unclear. There is some brief discussion of whether the fact that kilts are a traditionally masculine piece of clothing means that the business in questions offers “equal-opportunity lechery”, of which the table soundly approves -- this is shut down when Makpov ‘s player finds a page on the website with a “featured kilt girl”, whom we all agree appears “dead in the eyes”.

Quimarel thanks Drugoz and (probably insincerely) wishes him luck.

Quimarel: And let me know if you notice a drop-off in customers.
Drugoz: I will. Unless I think you’re just trying to edge me out of the market.

Quimarel walks away grumbling that they could have had a mutually beneficial arrangement.

The players ask if there are any other businesses in town that make profits after sundown, and I point them to the Flayed Faerie Tavern and Dance Hall. The players are universally entertained by the existence of a “dance hall” in this town, despite my reminder that this is a medieval setting, and that’s the kind of entertainment available to them.

Quimarel OOC: Twerking goblins everywhere.
Tamarie OOC: Is there twerking in this setting?
GM: It’s spelled with an “o” and only done up in the mountains.
Tamarie OOC: Tworking?
GM: Toe is an expert. [Toe is the orcish barbarian from the previous campaign -- he now rules the united orcish tribes in the western mountains.]

The party goes back to trying to formulate a Plan.

Tamarie: Can I kill somebody?
Makpov: Can I lick somebody?
Tamarie: Will killing somebody solve the problem?
Quimarel: Depends on whom we kill. Now, one of the options for getting rid of this curfew is proving it ineffective. So…
Tamarie: So we could go do some crime.
Quimarel: Since the peaceful petition isn’t likely to yield any results, we could just go on a crime spree. And as long as we’re not caught --
Tamarie: Yes. I have so many arms and nothing to do with them!
GM: Well, five arms and a claw.
Tamarie OOC: Well, the claw could act as --
Makpov OOC: [impression of the aliens from Toy Story] The claw… it has chosen…

The party goes back to planning, and wondering if they could “work their way up” to murder, and/or blame it on Drugoz the innkeeper, and/or just kill Drugoz the innkeeper.

Tamarie: I could write something. Like… blood.
GM: You want to just write “Blood”?
Tamarie: No, a note in blood.
Quimarel: Just “BLOOD”. Or maybe, “YOUR BLOOD”. [mimes examining something] “Wait, this is jam.”
Tamarie: A note in blood always gets their attention.
Quimarel: A note in jam really gets their attention. The ANTS…
Tamarie: No, it needs to be real blood.
GM: So you don’t want to kill anyone until later, but you’re okay with taking their blood now? How’s that going to work?
Quimarel OOC: We could just, like, borrow it. Pop ‘round for a cup of blood.

The PCs determine that they have at least a few days to work this through before they can expect to hear back from the Kech with a new assignment. (They insist on just calling them “the hooded figures” -- I blame “Welcome to Night Vale” for this.)

Quimarel: I say… we bother the guards. If we can make it too annoying for them to enforce this, they might either convince the lord to officially call it off, or just go, “yeah, there’s a curfew” and walk away. [pause] Or… what are our other options? Kill everyone in the garrison. Blood notes -- that’s a consideration.
Tamarie: [looking at her Int score] I’m really smart.
Quimarel: True.
Tamarie: So…

[long pause]
[laughter]
[Discussion of whether a 15 Int is “really smart”. It is.]
[Discussion of whether a 7 Int makes Makpov mentally disabled. It doesn’t, but the table places him around the level of “stereotypically dumb frat boy” -- something familiar to the players, since nearly all of us have taught freshman Composition classes during our time in grad school]

Quimarel: So how are they enforcing this curfew? Are they just patrolling?
GM: Yeah.
Quimarel: But there’s only, what, thirteen of them?
GM: But it’s also a really small town.
Quimarel: If we were to, say, divide their attention -- cause a ruckus in two other parts of town while one of us sets fire to the garrison… is the garrison made of stone?
GM: Roll a die. Low means stone, high means wood.
Quimarel OOC: Seven on a d20.
GM: Stone.
Quimarel: Not going to burn.
Makpov: I could run in and lick everyone.
Tamarie: Throw in a bomb and close the door…
Quimarel: Could we weaponize Makpov’s hallucinogenic saliva somehow?
GM: Um… probably? It would take someone skilled in the mixing of strange liquids, and, you know, alchemy, and that sort of thing… do you have someone like that?
[Tamarie’s player gets excited]
Quimarel: Tamarie, your time has come!
GM: It depends on what exactly you’re trying to do, how well you roll, and… any other variables that may arise.
Tamarie: So what kind of weapon do we want?
Quimarel: We could spray it over a large area. If we were to take the saliva and paint it on a surface, how long… does it have to be wet?
GM: Yes.
Quimarel: So we need to mix it with something that stays wet longer. Like, something oil-based.
Makpov: I have lots of oil.
GM: What? Why?
Makpov: Because I live in a brothel!
GM: Wait, do you mean, like, lamp oil, or, like, baby oil?
Makpov: Baby oil!
Quimarel: You know, any sort of lubricant is designed to not dry out… I bet we have a bunch lying around we could use as a base.
Tamarie: So what exactly are we doing with this stuff?
Quimarel: I’m not sure. We got distracted again.
[The party spends some time discussing delivery methods for Makpov’s saliva.]
Makpov: What if we talked to the guy who instilled the curfew, right? And got him to give the whores some kind of “be-out-late” pass? And then they come to the garrison with cold saliva drinks…
Quimarel: The first part’s a good idea. I may set up a meeting with the governor and plead my case. Point out that we have long been a supporter of the garrison…
Tamarie OOC: Was he elected?
GM: It’s a hereditary position. His grandfather was appointed to it.
Quimarel: … point out my status as a pillar of the community, and ask if there’s anything I can do to help change the circumstances so that the curfew is less necessary.

Quimarel goes to try to get an audience, but has some difficulty. [Diplomacy: 11] She manages to secure one, but it’s going to have to be brief.

[NowhereMan583]

I apologize if this counts as thread necromancy -- I'm finally getting around to continuing the story, and it seems like the best place to do it is on the same thread.

The 24th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty
In which there is an inconvenient amount of dialogue for an update following directly after a long hiatus.

The party is preparing for their audience with the governor.

Quimarel decides she should bring some sort of gift or tribute, and reflecting on what little she knows of the governor’s tastes [Knowledge(local): 8] decides to just bring him some of the Kech emeralds. The tiny infodump that Knowledge check got her consisted entirely of:

• Bertrand Stenholt, Lord Noroiras, is in charge of the town and surrounding countryside by order of Autarch Adamantia I Ravensblood.
• There’s no Lady Noroiras (at least, not since his mother gave up the title)
• He’s never visited the Squirting Squid.

This is enough, however, for Quimarel to include Makpov in this venture as her “sexy bodyguard”.

Tamarie: If you need me, I’m outside writing a note in blood.
Quimarel: WHOSE BLOOD? WHERE DID YOU GET THE BLOOD?
Tamarie: Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it. But I’m ready.

[At this point, the game is derailed for several minutes by the players talking about “Welcome to Night Vale”, which Tamarie’s player has recently listened to.]

They are led to speak to Lord Noroiras. Guards shepherd them through the outer walls, through a nice fancy garden --

Tamarie OOC: Through the walls?
GM: Through a gate in the wall.
Quimarel OOC: Oh, I was imagining just Kitty-Pryde-ing in -- “That was a power I didn’t know I had!”
Tamarie OOC: Welcome to Night Vale…

-- and into the governor’s villa, where they are led to a moderately fancy audience chamber.

Quimarel: Ah, this is moderately fancy.
GM: Well, he’s a lord, but his lands consist of pretty much this little town and some outlying farms, and it’s not exactly an old family.

Lord Noroiras looks down on them from… not exactly a throne, but a nice chair on a raised dais. He’s a fairly young human -- late 20s, early 30s -- with expensive-looking clothing and a goatee. There is brief confusion among the players about him being human, but they are reminded that, in-character, they would know that Noroiras’s status as a Capran protectorate comes with a governor from a noble Capran family, all of whom are human. The audience proceeds:

Lord Noroiras: Madame Smith, what can I help you with?
Quimarel: I’ve come to inquire about this new curfew that you’ve enacted in the town.
Lord: Ah, yes. Based on my perfect wisdom.
[suppressed laughter from the out-of-character peanut gallery]
Quimarel: Yes. Unfortunately, as I do not share your perfect wisdom, I was hoping you could tell me the cause behind it. Surely, with your perfect wisdom, you must have had numerous reasons to enact a curfew.
Lord: I did.

[long pause, as Quimarel waits to see if he is going to elaborate on that]
[laughter from the peanut gallery]
Quimarel OOC: We stare at each other for ten minutes. “Well, that’s all fine.”

Lord: As you have noticed, we have had a great deal of crime during the night lately.
Quimarel: Little bit.
Lord: And it occurred to me that if all the people and valuables were safely inside during the night, it would be harder for criminals to do crime to them.
[Makpov attempts to wave seductively -- he rolls an 8, and the Lord is unimpressed.]
Quimarel, quietly: What?
Quimarel, normal speaking voice: What kind of crime was going on?
Lord: Oh, there were thefts, and assaults, and… oh, I don’t know. The captain of the guard told me all about it. It was quite a mess.
Quimarel: Yes, I remember hearing something about the Intelligence Corps.
Lord: Yes -- there was a, a, theft most foul. Of some sort.
Quimarel: And for that to happen while the Intelligence Corps was there --
Lord: Right. And did you notice that it happened during the night?
Quimarel: I did. And you’re entirely correct about crime being more prevalent -- I mean, just the other day, I myself made a citizen’s arrest.
Makpov, whispering to Quimarel: What if, instead of putting curfew on the night, he just got rid of the night?

Quimarel OOC: How crazy does he seem?
GM: Not that crazy; he’s arrogant and kind of clueless, but not mentally unstable.
Quimarel OOC: All right, I can work with that.

Quimarel: Yes, I made a citizen’s arrest. I encountered a man… stealing.
Lord. The horror. Was it during the night?
Quimarel, dramatically: No. It was during the day.
Lord: My word.
Quimarel: Exactly.
Lord: What about implementing a curfew during the day as well?
Quimarel: I think it would be very difficult. As it is, the businesses are struggling. When people can’t move around at night, they can’t do their business; this is a town that thrives in the dark.
Lord: That sounds… unsavory.
Quimarel: Have you seen the town, sir?
Lord: Lots of mud huts and little goblins, right?
Quimarel: They like the dark.
Lord: Well, we’re bringing the light of reason and civilization. The light of culture and justice.
Quimarel: Plenty of culture can take place in the dark, or at least in dimmed light.
Lord: What sort of business are you in -- I’ve heard that you hire out maidservants, or something similar?
Quimarel: Along those lines. We provide various entertainment services for travellers.
[Makpov winks and wags his tail.]
Lord: Like juggling.
Quimarel: Sometimes.
Lord: My word. And you can’t do this during the day?
Quimarel: Well, by the time most people are through with their daily activity and looking for some entertainment, sundown has already arrived.
[Tamarie’s player makes an off-color comment about juggling balls at night]
Lord: Perhaps we should put forth an initiative encouraging people to rise earlier to complete their daily business.
Quimarel: We could try, but you know how people are. They’re very set in their ways; it’s difficult to uproot an entire culture like that. Also, if they arise earlier, there will be no light for them to do their business by.
Lord: Well… not that early. Look, it may be difficult for you Northern types to uproot an entire culture and bring it to the light of reason and civilization, but the enlightened humans of the South have all been educated in the finest institutions.
[As the above was said, the table gradually collapsed into laughter again -- it is possible that colonialism is inherently ridiculous.]
[Makpov makes another attempt to seductively wink at Lord Noroiras, with not much more success]
Lord: So as you can see, in our perfect wisdom, we have brought the light of culture and reason to these heathen Northern lands.
Quimarel: You keep saying “heathen”...
Lord: Not in the sense that I disagree with their religious practices -- it’s more of a heathen aesthetic. They just kind of look heathen.
[Tamarie’s player is offended on behalf of her character’s culture]
Quimarel: I agree that this town could use a little bit more culture. And to this end, I would love to have the workers at my, ah, place of business perform for the community. Unfortunately, as you know, the best time to do that is in the evening, when everyone is prepared to relax and thoroughly enjoy such a display of culture.
Lord: Perhaps we should declare some sort of resting period in the middle of the day for cultural purposes.
Quimarel: This is getting complicated.
Lord: You think that, because you lack my perfect wisdom.
Quimarel: It’s entirely possible.
Lord: Our audience is coming to a close; I have other appointments. However, you have made some good points. [Diplomacy: 24] So, in my perfect but nevertheless mutable wisdom, I will discuss with my cabinet the idea of perhaps moving the curfew to later in the evening. Perhaps we could standardize some height of the moon when everyone has to go inside… though it’s easier to do sundown.
Quimarel: Perhaps. Also, I know that you in your perfect wisdom do not often spend time with the less cultured “heathens”. I’m sure their, um, babble must seem very boring to you --
Lord: While there are many schools of thought that say a king should walk among his subjects, I was not educated in that school.
Quimarel: If you ever want to know how your subjects are likely respond to your perfect wisdom, I would be more than willing to offer my services. I am very well-versed in their behaviors and their patterns. I know how they think, and I am able to articulate it to you in a ways that might make more sense than their own… babble.
Lord: It is true that I often have difficulty understanding what the goblins are talking about.
Quimarel: They can be very difficult -- if you need a translator, I speak Goblin, as well as Gnoll, Halfling, Elvish, whatever you happen to need.
Lord: Does this help you with your maids-and-jugglers business?
Quimarel: It does.

Quimarel presents her gift, which Lord Noroiras appreciates, and is politely dismissed.


As Quimarel and Makpov were meeting with the Lord, Tamarie was leaving a “blood note” on the outer walls of the villa. When they go to collect their party member, they find the words “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” painted in blood. There is confusion, both in and out of character, as to where the blood came from.

Tamarie OOC: Don’t worry about it!
Quimarel OOC: Not what you want to hear from your blood supplier!

It is apparently very neatly painted, though Quimarel deems the kerning to be “a little off”. Luckily, nobody noticed Tamarie doing it [Stealth: 21]. Tamarie suggests this should be the group’s slogan, which meets with blank stares.

There is a brief discussion on the previous plan to aerosolize Makpov’s hallucinogenic saliva, which the party deems “a side project”. Makpov is offended by this, as he claims to have already gathered five buckets of saliva due to frequent hydration. Quimarel suggests they store it in jars so it doesn’t dry up.

GM: Where are you keeping five buckets of saliva?
Quimarel OOC: The usual place.
Tamarie OOC: With the blood.

It is decided that they will put it in some empty containers from the brothel’s small bar area, and store it in the cabinets with the other drinks, but clearly labelled “Hyena Spit: Do Not Drink”. A reference to “Arrested Development” follows.

Quimarel gets the group together to summarize what they know.

Quimarel: The dude is clueless, but he mentioned his advisors. [OOC] Who are his advisors?
GM: Technically, he mentioned his cabinet. You don’t know that he wasn’t referring to furniture.

Quimarel happens to know [Knowledge(local): 18] that a few second and third children of minor noble houses also live in the governor’s villa -- people who have similar education, but are not going to inherit any lands -- and they may well serve as advisors. At this point, a random die roll [1 on a d10] determines that none of them have ever visited the Squirting Squid or met Quimarel. This is considered a dead end.

While Quimarel “does upkeep on the Squid”, which Makpov’s player says makes her think of Quimarel holding a squeegee and scrubbing a kraken, Tamarie takes some of the spit to her workshop to construct experiments. It is decided that the primary thing they need to learn is how far they can dilute the saliva before it stops working, in order to make best use of the supply Makpov has bottled. They also want to know if there’s some way to build a resistance to it.

Quimarel also takes some time to be a visible public figure. References to the standard procedure of handshakes and baby-kissing lead her to declare that she is “kissing hands and shaking babies”. This is not taken literally.

In her laboratory, Tamarie has decided that Step One of the saliva project is “mix it with some different things and see what happens.” This goes poorly [Craft(alchemy): 7], and Tamarie wastes a couple hours combining it with other substances more-or-less at random, learning nothing except that mixing hallucinogenic saliva with wood varnish has no effect. She decides to try again and take 20; it takes all day, but she finds a solution in which she can dilute the saliva, producing a liquid that works just as well and dries more slowly, as well as effectively doubling their supply.

In the Marketplace of Rats, Quimarel attempts to gauge public reaction to the curfew [Diplomacy: 13]. She encounters a lot of people who admit to finding it very inconvenient, but is not exactly fomenting rebellion. Eventually, the market clears out and the sun goes down. The party decide to stay in and not cause trouble tonight.

That evening, however, they have a visitor at the brothel. I gather some reference images for this unusual individual.

GM: Imagine this guy:

Tamarie OOC: Oh, no, he can’t come in.
GM: In these clothes:

[Makpov’s player starts laughing]

Ghoul: Excuse me.
Quimarel: Yes, sir, how can I help you?
Ghoul: I’m here on behalf of Ambassador Gurrigor.
[It has been mentioned before that Makpov is the “favored companion” of the ambassador from the independent town of Mormanori.]
Quimarel: Ah, yes, the ambassador. Do come in.
Ghoul: As you may be aware, there has recently been some sort of police-state, martial-law, curfew business.
Quimarel: Yes, I am aware.
Ghoul: Fortunately, since I am legally the indentured property of Tribe Tomb-Slime, it’s really inconvenient to arrest me. So I have come on behalf of Ambassador Gurrigor to try and negotiate some sort of arrangement, so he can continue to… visit his favorite companion.
Quimarel: Of course. What does the ambassador recommend?
Ghoul: The ambassador would like me to convince you to -- just prior to sundown each day -- send the gnoll over to the embassy to stay the night.
Quimarel: Every day?
Ghoul: Every day.
Quimarel: Well, as you know,we greatly appreciate the ambassador’s patronage. However, losing one of my finest workers for so long every day, especially with this curfew happening…
Ghoul: The problem is, most of the ambassador’s… hobbies… require him to be out during the night. And now that that is not feasible without being viewed as flouting the laws of another town, he finds himself with a great deal of spare time.

Quimarel knows, thanks to a natural 20 on a Knowledge(local) check, that the town of Mormanori is known for its high concentration of necromancers, which actually explains a lot about all of this. If Gurrigor is a practicing necromancer himself, that would definitely point to why he has significant-pause-hobbies that require him to be out and about at night.

She negotiates with the ghoul, and they agree that Makpov will spend two out of every three nights with the ambassador, for a fairly steep price. Before the ghoul leaves, Quimarel asks if he would like anything while he is here, and he walks off with some rotting dire-rat meat from the pantry. He says it is no substitute for human flesh, but Quimarel (taking this completely in stride) says that, tragically, such things are hard to come by here. The ghoul agrees that good human flesh is extremely expensive, and he couldn’t expect her to carry it just for a handful of gourmands like himself.

Half an hour later, the ghoul returns, and says that the terms are acceptable, provided that Makpov wears a certain outfit when visiting. Quimarel and Makpov want to see the outfit first -- it turns out to be a strategically-cut funeral shroud.

Quimarel OOC, laughing: Why have we not had a brothel in previous games?

They accept these terms, and the ghoul leaves.

[Flashy]

I am so freaking excited that this campaign log is back.

[razorfloss]

ARISE THREAD AND DO YOUR MASTERS BIDDING MAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. so excited that this is back

[MrConsideration]

This is my favourite campaign journal. Keep it up!

[NowhereMan583]

In which Tamarie enters the deep end of the alignment pool via a spontanous cannonball off the high dive.

The 25th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The party has decided that their current priorities are to figure out what to do with the spit and, more importantly, decide how to annoy people during the curfew. While Makpov rests from his visit with the ambassador, Quimarel and Tamarie discuss.

Quimarel OOC: Set phasers to tickle-tickle-tickle.
(Listening to this now, I wish I’d suggested “set phasers to ‘I’m not touching youuuuuu!’”)
[References to Community, Reading Rainbow, Wishbone, and the Venture Brothers inexplicably follow. Audio seems to suggest that Makpov’s player is using her phone to screen episodes of Wishbone -- I, who never saw Wishbone as a child, suggest that whoever came up with “reenact classic stories but with a Jack Russell terrier” was very stoned.]

Tamarie suggests “have a twork¹-off at the dance hall, or kill somebody.” Quimarel notes that these are very disparate options.

A couple Diplomacy rolls above 20 allow Tamarie and Quimarel to gather some useful information. I am briefly confused by the fact that Pathfinder doesn’t have a separate “Gather Information” skill. It seems that:

Lord Noroiras has moved the curfew two hours later -- “until the moon is about there.”
People are very concerned and deeply confused about the “blood note”. There are some conspiracy theories floating around, most of which are attached to the Kech or the recently-freed humans.
The population of the town think the blood note is a sign that everything is about to go horribly wrong.

Tamarie thinks that if she leaves a couple more blood notes, people will assume the existence of a “masked avenger”. Skepticism is expressed around the table. Quimarel suggests mixing Makpov’s saliva with the blood in order to make these experiences more surreal, and Tamarie makes an Alchemy check… 3. Her concoction won’t stick to the wall properly; it’s like writing with water and food dye.

Quimarel OOC, apropos of nothing: Do gnomes wear shoes?
GM: Um… I suppose they can go barefoot… but there are no gnomes in town.
Quimarel OOC: Whatever the… you know… things…
GM: Goblins?

It is established that goblins tend to not bother with shoes -- or, at least, not the poverty-stricken goblins that make up most of the population. Quimarel wants to try spreading hallucinogenic saliva on floors, to see what happens. A random die roll reveals that only the nicer buildings have proper floors at all, rather than packed dirt.

Tamarie decides to just leave some “normal” blood notes around town. She goes back to the wall of the governor’s villa, and repeats her previous procedure. (Stealth: 19) The table conversation veers wildly off track again…

Quimarel OOC: The Tongue-Mother! Bow before the Tongue-Mother! You laugh now, but three or four campaigns from now, you’re going to use it.
Tamarie OOC: Next week. Next week we will fight the Tongue-Mother!
GM: I don’t take requests ever since [Hiddlebatch’s player] asked to fight Hester Prynne last campaign.²

Tamarie decides that the obvious progression from “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” is to make sure someone dies during the day. There is some discussion on how this might be done, wherein Tamarie suggests she use her “Dust Form” ability to make someone sneeze to death.

Tamarie: And then I’ll die from being inhaled.
Quimarel: Then we can brand a sun on their face.
Tamarie: What, with my knitting needle?

Quimarel then adds that since the flag of Capra has a sun on it (a decision made just now, at this table, based entirely on the fact that her player felt like she remembered that being the “logo”, and we agreed it felt thematically appropriate), branding a sun onto their faces might have additional symbolism, what with Noroiras being a Capran protectorate.

Quimarel: If we burned that sigil into the flesh of your murder victim, that might link it to the governor.
Quimarel OOC: We’re taking a turn into serial killer territory here.
GM: And you two aren’t even the Evil party members.

Tamarie is plotting to leave one more blood note, and then a body. Quimarel decides to consult with her to make sure she doesn’t kill off anyone important. Tamarie suggests the innkeeper, Drugoz, but Quimarel thinks he needs to stay alive “for now”, because she has “plans for him.” Discussion continues in a somewhat hesitant, confused manner.

Tamarie: It doesn’t need to be anyone specific. Just some townsperson.
Quimarel: Nobody important.
Tamarie: Even a traveller.
Quimarel: Someone staying at the Broken Stone. Maybe we could even arrange for them to die in the inn…
Tamarie: Yeah…
Quimarel: I like the idea, but you need to make sure you have a way out.
Tamarie: Are there windows?
Quimarel: There are windows, but remember how well that worked out last time. And I will need to be far away.
Tamarie: How many people are there in the inn today?
GM: [sound of die rolling] Eight, including Drugoz and two bar-wenches. Five various travellers are staying there, not counting the Kech.
Tamarie: Could we just kill one out back? Leave him by the inn? It’s going to be hard to get into the inn, kill somebody, get out, and not be noticed.
Quimarel: Especially in the daylight.
[There is a long pause as the pair of them contemplate this problem. Several minutes go by.]
Tamarie, after her player has been staring at her character sheet for some time: Oh -- I can be invisible!
[pause for laughter]
Tamarie: Wait… no, I can disguise myself. And change my voice. And turn into dust.
Quimarel: Are any of those travellers roughly the same size as Tamarie?
GM: [sound of die rolling] No -- all five are members of a halfling trade caravan.
[pause as we look up the precise limitations of disguise self; Tamarie can make herself one foot shorter, which is tall for a halfling but not completely unrealistic]

Tamarie leaves another “blood note” and then, at Quimarel’s suggestion, uses some scrap leather from her tailory to practice carving sun sigils. She also mixes up a disguise self extract.

Not long afterwards, a tall (but slouching) male halfling is walking to the inn with a bouquet of roses -- Tamarie having noticed that she can change items she is holding as well, such as… a dangerously-sharpened knitting needle. (Disguise: 36) (S)he slips into the inn, up to the floor with the rooms for rent, and listens at the doors (Perception: 20). She hears some high-pitched snoring behind one of them, indicating a halfling taking an afternoon nap. Unfortunately, this all goes wrong when Tamarie tries to pick the lock. (Sleight of Hand: 6, Stealth: 7) Behind the door, she hears a halfling wake up and groggily snort. “Whuzzit? Huh? Whassgoinon?”

Tamarie opts for a different approach and knocks. “Housekeeping!”
“Who is it?”
“I have a delivery… from downstairs.”
A sleepy-looking older halfling opens the door.

Tamarie, OOC: STAB.

Luckily, four damage is enough to overcome an elderly first-level commoner’s hit points, and he collapses on the ground, bleeding out. Tamarie pushes so the body falls into the room, then takes some time writing “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT” and carving a sun sigil. She then casually walks downstairs and out the back door, where she turns into dust and drifts back towards the Squirting Squid as quickly as possible.

Shortly afterwards, they can hear a lot of shouting down near the inn. Looking from the brothel, the party can see a lot of commotion from near the inn, and the guards arriving to look at the body.

GM: They kind of prod at it a bit, because they don’t have modern forensic techniques.
The party go on another round of Gather Information, to try and discern the town’s reaction. The townsfolk are, understandably, quite concerned. Furthermore, they seem to be trying to ascribe some sort of deeper, conspiracy-related meaning to all this.
Quimarel OOC: Aren’t goblins kind of prone to paranoia?
GM: Very much so. They are convinced that every other species is envious of their natural gifts, and allied against them to make sure that they have to live in crappy settlements like this one.
Quimarel OOC: What do they make of the fact that it’s a halfling death and not a goblin death?
GM: They’re kind of confused about that. Traditionally, they don’t get along with halflings, so they’re thinking, “maybe he’s on our side…”
Quimarel: The next death needs to be a goblin.
Tamarie: We’re already planning another one?
Quimarel: In for a penny, in for a pound. Of death.
GM: “A pound of death”?
Tamarie OOC: A pound of blood.
GM: That’s a lot of blood.
Quimarel OOC: You’re a lot of blood.

Quimarel goes back out among the people, and pretends to be aghast at all this, “clutching her pearls”. [Out of character, Tamarie and Quimarel suggest, via gesture, other things Quimarel might be clutching.] Quimarel makes it known that she is increasing security at the Squirting Squid, because if it could happen at the lovely Broken Stone, it could happen anywhere. She makes a very good show of being concerned but trying to keep a positive outlook so it doesn’t interfere with business.

A few hours later, after they have had lunch at the brothel, Tamarie heads over to reopen her tailory, since she needs to have some actual income. There is some discussion of Tamarie making tearaway pants for Makpov. After Tamarie has been working for a brief time, one of the wenches from the bar shows up. This is Yona Tribe Muck-Laugh, the goblin that Hiddlebatch scared witless the night the party broke into the Intelligence Corps HQ.

Tamarie: Can I help you?
Yona: You know, I saw the funniest thing today.
Tamarie: Uh-huh…
Yona: Around the time that someone killed that halfling, I’m pretty sure I saw someone turn into dust and fly away.
[A brief discussion ensues out of character, regarding how many people know Tamarie can turn into dust (“Nobody! Who would know that?”) and whether it would be too suspicious to kill Yona as well because she “knows too much”.]
Yona: Now, I’m sure you know why I’m here.
[The remainder of this conversation is peppered with Tamarie’s player complaining that she is “too pretty to go to jail”.]
Tamarie, worried: Why?
Yona: Do you know how someone can turn into dust? I hear you know all about magic stuff.
Tamarie: The technical term is “alchemy”; I use it for my job.
Yona: But do you know how someone could turn to dust?
Tamarie: No. Do I look like a witch? [Bluff: 21]
Yona: Oh -- that’s a shame. I really thought you could help.
Tamarie: I could help you get some new clothes.
Yona: No, I don’t think I can afford that right now. But if you happen to come across anything --
Tamarie: I’ll let you know.
Yona: I guess I’ll try and find someone else to ask. But you’re the only person I know who does magic stuff.
Tamarie: The only other person who does magic stuff would be Hiddlebatch -- that strange priest on the edge of town.
Yona: The guy with the butterfly wings? The person I saw looked nothing like that.
Tamarie: Who knows what Hiddlebatch can do?
[Discussion ensues on what to tell Hiddlebatch’s player when she gets back -- “While you were gone, we framed you for murder.”]
Tamarie: I’m not saying he did it -- I’m just saying I know a guy who does some magic things.
Yona: I will go check that out. Thank you.

The session ends with Tamarie holding her knitting needles and singing “My Friends” from Sweeney Todd.

¹ Spelling intentional -- previous jokes have established that, in this world, this dance form was invented by orcs.

² During the previous campaign, Hiddlebatch's player and I were in the same study group for Qualifying Exams, and one of the many books on our list was The Scarlet Letter -- and during the studying, she suggested that the party should fight Hester Prynne. I designed a setting-appropriate Hester -- a goblin with a bloody rune carved into her face, living outside of the city of Barlgilton with a half-fiend toddler -- but by the time the group was able to reconvene, the players had forgotten all about that conversation and just ignored the encounter altogether. This ended up having far-reaching consequences in the campaign world: the child grew to adulthood and has brought the Cult of Mephistopheles to a position of significant power in the area. The players will encounter this later in the campaign when they travel to Barlgilton.

[NRSASD]

Wow. This is quite the campaign journal! Please keep those updates rolling in, cause they sure are fantastic!

[NowhereMan583]

Wow. This is quite the campaign journal! Please keep those updates rolling in, cause they sure are fantastic!

I actually just started writing a new one a couple days ago. I should have it up sometime this week.

[NowhereMan583]

All right, it took way too long for me to sit down and actually write stuff, and it's still short, but here is an update:

The 26th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The next session begins with the party deciding how to deal with, to quote Quimarel, “that tiny inconvenient thing wherein Tamarie took a life.”

Tamarie’s stated, potentially-sociopathic intent is to “keep killing people until something changes.” At this point, she is pretty conclusively in the “Evil” sector of the alignment chart. First, though, Quimarel convinces her to find out how the townsfolk are reacting to the first murder before she continues on.

Out in the streets, the party notes some of the town guard standing near the Broken Stone and talking to three halflings. They deduce, with some prodding from the GM, that these halflings are the other members of the trade caravan to which Tamarie’s victim belonged. Quimarel and Tamarie have a hasty conversation where they establish that Tamarie was in the Squirting Squid making sandwiches during the time the murder occurred, in case anyone asks.

GM: ...because that’s what one does in a brothel.
Tamarie OOC: It was lunchtime! Whores gotta eat!
Quimarel OOC: They burn a lot of calories, all right? My girls work hard for their money.
GM: So instead of managing your OWN business, you were in the brothel making the employees lunch.
Tamarie: Well, I wanted lunch too.

Let’s switch gears for a moment, so as to properly appreciate the scene from the perspective of an NPC…

⁂

Specifically, let’s look at the halflings who are currently passing through town. Now, most halflings value home, family, and good food; even Quimarel, who -- let’s face it -- is a selfish little mercenary, puts in a genuine effort towards making the Squirting Squid a pleasant place to live and work. (Well, as pleasant as a brothel in a economically-depressed area can possibly be.) As Quimarel’s example indicates, there are a lot of variations on this “home and family” theme. The standard-issue Shire isn’t too common up in the Wastelands; halflings in this region prefer to band together with the rest of their extended family so their home can travel with them, in the form of trading caravans.

The Rootflowers, a small and tightly knit clan, are one of those many halfling families who have taken to travelling the Wastelands in trading caravans. They had stopped in Noroiras, intending to employ their usual combination of merchandise and entertainment. They even spent the money to get rooms at the inn instead of sleeping in their wagons -- an expense they usually don’t bother with, since their wagons are quite nice, but the Broken Stone is centuries-old and well-known among travellers, so they made an exception. However, the first day they were there, everything went wrong.

Conny Rootflower was, at 35, the youngest member of the trade caravan. She was a professional fortune-teller, which meant she could make the caravan a respectable profit off of the more gullible customers -- her legitimate prophecies (she’s a low-level Oracle) were an asset that she only used for her family’s benefit. She had come back from exploring the Marketplace of Rats to find the inn in a panic. To her horror, it emerged that her grandfather Seradoc, the clan’s storyteller, had been murdered during his afternoon nap. The Rootflowers’ room was smeared with blood, spelling out the ominous message “DEATH COMES IN DAYLIGHT”. In shock, she spent a long time sitting in the room, staring at the body, vaguely and incongruously aware that blood was seeping into her travelling clothes.

Eventually, her father Calkin took the body down to the wagon, so that he could give his father proper death rites. Her mother Merabella convinced Conny to change out of her bloodstained clothing and into her only other outfit -- the fortune-telling costume -- so the two of them and Conny’s brother Pammond could go talk to the authorities. Knowing how goblins tended to think, Merabella was concerned that Seradoc’s murder would go uninvestigated if they didn’t put the right amount of pressure and bribery on the local law enforcement.

The three halflings were, therefore, following the goblin guards around town and asking them questions about what they knew, how they knew it, who they suspected, and so forth. The goblins didn’t seem to be getting much out of their investigation, but at least they were going throught the motions of doing one: Merabella had watched in satisfaction as the guards systematically questioned all of the Broken Stone’s employees. Right now, they were following the guards through town, and Conny had just attempted some professional-grade mystic babble, hoping to play on goblin superstition.

It was at this point that the front doors of the large building at the end of the road opened, disgorging a halfling woman Conny didn’t know, and a half-elf that was clearly among the Tainted. Both of them approached Conny, who politely tried to avoid looking at the half-elven woman’s massive claw as they talked.

“Excuse me,” said the strange halfling, “I see you’re a fortune-teller.”

Conny was briefly taken aback. “Er, yes,” said Conny. “I run my family’s fortune-telling booth.”

“Would you like to do some work in the Squirting Squid?” The woman gestured to the large building they had just come out of. “Entertain the customers in the lobby, you know?”

“I’m… kind of busy. Trying to help with a murder investigation.”

“You’d think they would want to make a buck,” muttered the Tainted half-elf to the halfling woman.

“Yeah. I’m sorry for your loss or whatever,” said the woman, and the two of them returned to the building Conny now knew as the Squirting Squid.

“Who was that?” Pammond asked the guard. “They seem… offensive.”

“The halfling was Quimarel,” replied the guard. “She runs that brothel there. The mutant is Tamarie, the local tailor. Don’t let the claw scare you; she uses it for cutting cloth. Harmless.”

“Don’t you want to question them?” Merabella asked sharply. “They might know something.”

The guard seemed surprised. “Quimarel’s a pillar of the community, she is. If she knew something, she would have said. We can always come back here if we have to.”

They continued on, and Conny almost managed to put the strange, callous women out of her mind.

[NRSASD]

Enjoyed the update! Thanks!