The Inquisitives IC

[3SecondCultist]

"The Inquisitives"

I've been here a week, and it's still hard not to get overwhelmed by this city. The towers rise up until they disappear into the clouds. Lights gleam in a thousand windows. Skycoaches work their way through the maze of bridges in the shadows of the massive spires, and up above I can spot the burning point of an airship's elemental ring. Staring into the sky, I nearly walk into a massive warforged juggernaut. It's my first time seeing one... but there's so many things I've never seen about this place. A tattooed elf haggles with a masked halfling, arguing about the price of lizard meat. A gargoyle watches me from a high perch. I gather my senses and keep moving.

It's not until I reach the lift that I realize the warforged stole my purse.

- Wrendil's Guide to Breland, Chapter VI (On Sharn)

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Taking a Case

The stench of cheap beer of burning candle wax and spirits that have been drunk and regurgitated fills the air as you step out of the chill breeze of early spring and into the foyer of one of Middle Dura's best reputed establishments. Ghallanda Hall might have seen better days, but it's one of the best watering holes this side of Menthis. Here, booze and conversation flow freely, with the patrons having come from all over the Underlook ward and beyond to take a load off and relax as best they can. You see a trio of half-elves with flowing golden hair - triplets, by the looks of them - up on the stage, one of them belting out a well-known tune: 'The Lhazaarite's Lament'. The half-elf's siblings plays the accompaniment on a slightly frayed lute. The sounds are pleasant, if somewhat drowned out by the sea of increasingly drunk patrons.

But of course, you're not here for any of that. The reason for your arrival lies in your pocket.

The letter found its way to you this morning, delivered by a Sivis courier. The envelope was elegant, with fine postage and your name and current address clearly printed in elegant letters on the front. The missive within was short almost to the point of being cryptic: it simply asked you to 'come to Ghallanda Hall at 9 pm, and ask for the Old Orc'. The letter called you out by name, but did not specify how the writer knew your identity or where to find you. To some of you, this missive comes as a great surprise - to others, it was expected, delivered by a known intermediary or through more transparent channels. The initials at the bottom were signed only 'RT', and offered no elaboration. And still here you are. After all, in the City of Towers, grander opportunities have been seized on less.

The Hall's hosts are consummate professionals, nodding sagely when you drop the line from the letter. Quickly, you are led through the ascending raucous floor the two-floor tower tavern and to a door to a room that lies near the inn's kitchens. "In through here, please," the halfling hostess says to you as she guides you into a surprisingly well-furnished room, complete with a long table, plush chairs, and several high glass windows that offer you a remarkable view of the district and its long-spanning bridges under Eberron's twelve moons. Several potted plants of various colors brighten the dark stone, and you can smell the scent of varied meats and steamed vegetables from beneath silver dishes. Long-stemmed silver glasses gleam under warm candlelight. This cannot be anything but a dinner party in the making.

However, as of this moment, there doesn't appear to be any old orcs here waiting for you. Whoever this 'RT' is, they appear to be late. Nevertheless, you are not alone at the dinner table. Within minutes, several other people are ushered through the door, and before too long nearly all of the chairs will be accounted for.

Spoiler: OOC

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Welcome to the IC thread! All of your characters will have received versions of the same letter, which was brief enough that I didn't bother writing it out in its entirety. Feel free to arrive in whatever manner you see fit - I'll give you all time to post before we get on with things. You may also choose to describe what your character's been up to in the few hours leading up to this meeting in Ghallanda Hall.

Spoiler: Intelligence (History) DC 12

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While many of the finest inns have left Underlook, one exceptional establishment remains. Ghallanda Hall was the first outpost House Ghallanda established in Sharn, and while it is not as fancy as the enclave up in Dragon Towers, it still makes for an impressive place. The service here is quite good, and most customers leave satisfied with their stay.

Spoiler: Scribe

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As you are the only one who has worked with this individual before, you know who 'RT' is: his full name is Rukh'arrn d'Tharashk, and he used to be one of the best regarded inquisitives in Sharn. He used to work for the Globe Information Agency - the largest and most prestigious inquisitive agency in the city - as one of their independent contractors. Word around town was that he was being groomed for leadership, but he preferred casework to politics and when he passed up a promotion, the Agency saw it as a snub and forced him into early retirement three years ago.

[Kvard51]

Thorn grimaced as he approached Ghallanda Hall. Another fruitless lead. I was sure this one was for real... He took a deep breath, hiding his disappointment behind a veil of anger. "I will find them..."

A promise, to himself and to her. Joiya. You can say her name, damn you...

Straightening his cloak, he brushed at the front of his shirt and walked to the entrance. His hand strayed to the letter that brought him here. But he had no idea who 'RT' was, and he knew the words, so there was no reason to pull it out again. He grunted, "Old Orc", as the House Ghallanda Hostess appeared, and followed her as she led the way to a door near the kitchens. Good, I'm the first one here. he thought as he entered the meeting room. Choosing a seat at the righthand side of the table that allowed a clear view of the door, he pushed his chair back into the shadowed edges of the lamplight. Now I wait...

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin cheerfully strode through the front door filled with confidence. This meeting would have hopefully prove to be interesting, and as much as he hated to admit it his current life of doing odd jobs for the Fabricators Guild was lacking in stimulation at the moment.

Well, that wasn't completely true. Finding out the cause of the sewage blockage had been a family of goblins that had taken up residence had been stimulation of an unpleasant sort. The babies were old enough to bite.


Thus was the reason Oswin had bothered to respond to the missive at all. He would have normally ignored any anonymous letters asking for a private meeting. He wasn't completely lacking any sort of common sense. However the location of the rendezvous had provided some amount of reassurance. House Ghallanada wouldn't tolerate overt violence against its Guests on their premises.

He recalled his father's lessons on the Dragonmarked, which had been drilled into his skull until Oswin could repeat them by rote:
Ghallanda Hospitality is famous throughout Khorvaire. The Common People regularly flock to establishments run by their Hospitallers guild to relieve themselves of the stress of day-to-day life. They are regarded as friends of everyone, King and Commoner alike.

Do Not Be Deceived By Them.

The Bearers of the Mark of Hospilitaty are not as innocuous as they wish to present themselves. People talk once they have a little drink in them and feel at ease, and their barkeep is always listening. Through their Hospices and Enclaves, they have access to an Intelligence Network that is second only to that of the Medani and the Phiarlen. Always guard your tongue and your thoughts while you are among them.

Oswin made pleasant smalltalk with the hostess as she escorted him to the private room. He apparently was the second one to arrive. He picked a chair with its back facing towards the door and placed his overcoat on it. A keen observer would notice that it was the one piece of clothing that was out of place with his appearance. The coat was made of thick leather covered with various alchemical stains and its various pockets were stuffed. It had been repaired multiple times, and a faint bear's head with a chevron could be seen on the shoulders. Oswin's outfit was accentuated by a cravat and a vest, which had a fine pocketwatch tucked into a pocket.

He sat in his chair and turned towards the dour faced man that was making an effort to keep himself in the shadows. He smiled, and spoke with the polished and refined manner of the aristocracy. Hello there good Sir! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Oswin d'Cannith. He pulled off his glove and extended his hand across the table.

[JonRG]

Tsorak breezed through the front door of Ghallandra Hall, mind on fire. The letter had come to his office at Morgrave University, where he had the misfortune of playing teacher's assistant to the mediocre xenoanthropologist Professor Joherra Nelview. It was very cryptic. The Daask could not have sent it. They would not venture this far from their stronghold, and they certainly would never visit an establishment run by halflings. Not with the Boromar Clan striking back at them. He was not afraid. Not ever. He presented himself before the hostess with a forced smile on his lips, respectfully inclining his head. "Good day." A Droaam accent saturated his words. Not bad for his third language. "I ssseek the Old Orc." The hostess nodded calmly and led him into the back. Her resolve was almost impressive for such a frail, small piece of meat. She left him at a table with others. Tsorak watched two men fraternize, then took a seat at the opposite corner of the table. He busied himself by checking his watch. Jeweled fingers tapped against his staff. Feigning a little impatience. It was a good habit to maintain, if a bit of a chore.

[OMG PONIES]

Ghallanda Hall was familiar to Caedmon, but tonight's invitation was less so. In fact, that the invitation called him here may have been the sole reason he responded...too many unknowns, otherwise. As the stout, auburn-haired hostess guided him to the appointed room, Caedmon even saw the table where he and his father had taken on their first joint mission back when Caedmon was a mere journeyman. His father's words still echoed in his mind: "If a sentinel is early, he is on time. A sentinel who arrives on time is late."

Caedmon had asked with youthful curiosity (since trained out of him), "But what if you're running late to meet a ward?" He could still remember his father's face, stoic and unmoving as the man was nonplussed by the question. "That does not happen to a Deneith," had been his only reply. Since that day, it had been clear to Caedmon that preparation was one of the keys to success. That wisdom had driven him this far in his career, and also helped him avoid any surprises. But tonight's invitation was nothing if not a surprise.

As he entered the meeting room, Caedmon was surprised yet again to find that three others had already arrived. He smirked and gave a quick nod, glad to at least be among professionals. He caught a friendly face in the Cannith man and his smirk settled into a full smile, as Caedmon knew Oswin to be trustworthy from prior dealings between their Houses. "Hello, Oz, pleasure as always," he said and shook hands with the alchemist.

Turning to the others, he said "I'm Caedmon d'Deneith. And you?" He did not yet take a seat, sizing up the social situation as well as the layout of the room. The others were new, but seemed to pose no immediate threats. Years of training could not be resisted, though. Even at what seemed like a friendly dinner party he was scanning for exits, keeping tally of the number of unknown people, and looking for anything that could be used as an improvised weapon should things turn sideways.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe eyed the revelry and it’s participants with a particular interest as he entered the establishment, although everyone in the room just saw the blank stare of a warforged scan them for the shortest of moments. There was a freedom in having consciousness, he thought to himself, and then choosing to inebriate yourself to the point where you lose it. To be was one thing, but to alter your state of being in such a way was beyond him. Not that he didn’t get it, he’d seen enough in Sharn that made him realise that a temporary break from your sorrows was something to induge in every now and then. It’s just that he couldn’t. Scribe would sip wine or brandy occasionally, to take note of the vintage and blend. It was an enjoyable thing. But as the toxins had no effect on him, drunk was a state he would never experience, and so it would fascinate him to no end.

“Pleasant evening?” He remarked, in form of a question, as he was led up to the meeting. As the halfling led him in he looked around the room. He had made sure that for this meeting he looked top notch. Like in the old days, clean and dressed every bit the gentleman. Nothing extravagant, though his dark vest did have a barely visible floral pattern sewn in a midnight blue color. Everything about his appearance was tasteful but toned down. Even if his clothes were a few years old.

He twisted his facial features to indicate fleeting pleasant surprise. He had not expected such a turn out, but then again with mr. d’Tharashk you never really knew what to expect.

“Good day, gentlemen. Quite the gathering, old Orcs are all the rage these days it seems.” He knew from experience that it was best to approach new people with a breezy, positive attitude. Unfortunately there were still those that were prejudiced against warforged, and he did his best to dispel any worries from the get go.

He took off his bowler hat and put it in front of him on table as he sat down.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin turned his attention towards the Deneith man who offered him a familiar greeting. Oswin briefly panicked as he tried to recall where he had met the man before. It wasn't coming to mind. Oswin hadn't been put into any sort of physical danger in his life until he enlisted in the Brelish Army, and once he returned to Sharn he had tried to stay away from notable Cannith business as much as possible. So it wouldn't have been any sort of fieldwork.

He blinked. Ah, no wonder he forgot. While he had been apprenticing as an Artificer in the House before being enrolled at Morgrave, he had been asked to assist with numerous shipments of Healing potions to House Deneith. Being a dragonmarked heir, he was invited into the actual business meetings and conversed with various Deneith members. Its possible that there had been other incidents as well, and Oswin had just forgotten them.

Ah Caedmon! I guess this rules out that the letter was a prank. Are you on the clock or is this personal business?

Oswin turned his attention away from the two shadowy figures. Shadowy quiet figures weren't particularly interesting. The newest arrival on the otherhand....

Social conditioning emulation? Well aren't you just adorable Oswin cooed at the Warforged, in a tone of voice that would be more appropriate for addressing one's pet. He stood up from the table and closely examined the Warforged, prodding his pinky into its left eye socket. He rattled off questions at a whirlwind pace. Whats the highest prime number you can calculate? What's your name? Did you pick it yourself or was it given to you? Who was your designer? I simply must know!

[Starbin]

Alistair sat at a small table listening to the Lhazaarite's Lament, sipping a mug of water. He had been in the establishment for a number of hours, playing the part of a fan of bardic performances. It was enough time to have been taken up to the room initially, then find his way back down to the tavern floor and find a spot to watch both the half-elves perform as well as the stairwell he had been taken up. Since his original passing of the mundane password (Old Orc indeed), Alistair had counted five others to be led upwards - two humans, a half-elf, a warforged and a man with scales and snake-like features. Rubbing his chin, Alistair took a few notes in his book while watching the performers, obviously writing a review on the trio.

After a few more minutes passed, bringing the hour to nine bells, Alistair sighed and stood slowly, reaching for his walking stick. Leaving a few silver on the table, he didn't even acknowledge the waitress who swept by to collect the coins. Instead, he began the laborious task of trudging up the stairs to the room he had been taken to before. Once there, he paused to rub his hip, using theopportunity to listen for a few moments, before knocking politely and opening the door after a momentary pause. Stepping in, his gaze swept the room, taking in the same figures he had previously noted.

Smiling, Alistair bowed his head slightly to the assembled group, eyeing the table with apparent appreciation. Looking for an open seat, Alistair waved one hand and introduced himself. "Alistair Hasseldorf ... the slow, as it would seem." Slowly ambling forward, Alistair moved to an open seat with sight of the door, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this invitation, or are you all in the dark as much as I?"

As Alistair glanced around the room, he realized two of the group seemed familiar; whether from a random encounter on the streets of Sharn, or at school, he wasn't sure. But they had the look of academicians about them, so he was inclined to presume they were students or faculty at Morgrave. However, his eyes were drawn to the human fondling the warforged...

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe had meant to raise his arm to wave this intrusive person away but was slightly late on the draw. Before he knew it Oswin was all over him.

“What are you… No, wait.. Please don’t.”

It happened, these things. Ignorance came in all forms, and out of all of them this might be the one Scribe cared for the least. On top of that he knew he needed to assert himself right now, or else they would take advantage of him for as long as they could. He had made the mistake in the past to remain way to polite. It had made him feel, dirty, somehow. Used.

To be treated like this in this particular setting was increasingly unacceptable. He cared for how mr. d’Tharashk viewed him and considered him a valuable contact, one he wouldn’t mind working for every now and then.

This is undignified, he thought as he became increasingly angry.

Before Scribe could really mull over all the possible outcomes to his intended action, he stepped into gear to stand up for himself. As Oswin looked him over and started prodding his eye socket, Scribe clamped his metal hand tight around the mans private parts. It was an aggressive move to be sure, but one with the least showy dramatics and hopefully effective because of the intrusive nature.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest yourself?” Scribe mockingly answered in a similar way Oswin had initiated. He then rattled intrusive questions back at Oswin at a high rate.

“What did your mommy and daddy do? Are you an improvement to their line or are you testament of it’s decline? What was his spermcount? And was she fertile or did she just spawn you?”

He released his grip to give Oswin the chance to step back, if he wanted. Then, in order to defuse the situation a bit, Scribe calmly looked at Oswin and started answering some of the questions.

"I am Scribe. It is a name given to me by my maker, Baron Merrix d’Cannith. And the highest prime number I can calculate is a secret I’ll take with me to the grave, so to speak."

Scribe stood up and extended his hand towards Oswin, for a handshake.

"Pleased to meet you."

[Starbin]

Alistair paused at the table, halfway to sitting down as the two beings groped each other. He stared, nonplussed for a moment, before he collapsed into his seat with a hiss of pain. He rubbed his hip gingerly before commenting, "My apologies if I am interrupting something..."

[JonRG]

Tsorak smirked, then raked his eyes up Caedmon and Alistair's forms. "I am Tssssorak," he replied in clipped, accented Common, eyes focused on his watch, "and our employer should have been here already."

[Starbin]

Alistair looked to the snake-man, then smiled with unabashed interest. "Tssssorak? I am sorry, but I have never met one as unique as you. Perhaps later, you would share with me your origins, and something of your people?" Alistair wanted to know more, but wasn’t done with this situation.

[OMG PONIES]

Ah Caedmon! I guess this rules out that the letter was a prank. Are you on the clock or is this personal business?

"All business is House business, Oz," Caedmon said in a perfunctory manner, as if he was reciting something from his initial training. "I've disclosed the invitation and possibility of a request for side engagement with my direct command, and they've provided the necessary approvals." Of course, Caedmon knew he was reciting the protocol to nobody but himself at this point. Happened all the time with Canniths, minds moving from one thing to the next like a hummingbird.

Smiling, Alistair bowed his head slightly to the assembled group, eyeing the table with apparent appreciation. Looking for an open seat, Alistair waved one hand and introduced himself. "Alistair Hasseldorf ... the slow, as it would seem." Slowly ambling forward, Alistair moved to an open seat with sight of the door, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this invitation, or are you all in the dark as much as I?"

Caedmon furrowed his brow a bit, but said nothing...he could almost be sure he had seen the old dwarf listening to the musicians as the hostess had brought Caedmon back to the room. But conflict was not the way to make an introduction, so he simply made a mental note that this Alistair may not be as slow as he let on. "Caedmon d'Deneith," the younger man said, rising and offering his seat to the elder dwarf with an inviting gesture. "And I expect we'll find out together."

Scribe stood up and extended his hand towards Oswin, for a handshake.

Seeing the warforged grab Oswin by the crotch, though humorous, posed a risk of violence toward a member of one of the Houses. Caedmon, already out of his chair, stepped to interpose himself between his friend and the fancy machine. "Let's be a bit more civil, shall we?" he growled as firmly as he stood, seeming to direct the admonition only at the warforged and not the offending tinkerer.

[Kvard51]

Thorn took in the arrival of each newcomer without speaking, wondering what ridiculous game he was being drawn into.

A foolish Cannith, a foppish Warforged, a slimy magewright, a belligerent Deneith, a crippled dwarf, and himself - an excoriate Medani - all brought here by an unknown party for an unknown reason.

He almost stood and drew his sword when the Cannith who was mauling the Warforged had the tables turned. When the Denieth oaf - he might have a thing for the Cannith - started flexing his overlarge muscles, it was halfway out, but then the old dwarf seemed to defuse things...

Hopefully, this won't turn into a brawl before we find out what this is.

[Starbin]

Alistair shook the other human’s hand. "Aye, that we will." However, when the man turned to interpose himself in the situation, he cleared his throat and murmured, ”Agreed ... civility is certainly desired, by all parties. Perhaps consider we are likely under surveillance by a potential partner or employer, and let that guide your behavior.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak tipped his head to one side. That was... the first time someone had repeated his name back exactly how he had said it. His tongue flicked behind his teeth while he spoke. Obviously inhuman, just like the rest of him. "I sssssuppossssssse, yessssss. But," he swallowed hard and with obvious effort, said, "Tsorak would be fine too." He squinted at the dwarf. His face pulled at Tsorak's brain, though damned if he could place it.

[3SecondCultist]

You have been waiting for nearly ten minutes when the door to the room flies open, revealing a singular figure. At first blush, this person's silhouette is reminiscent of a typical half-orc, muscular with wide shoulders. However, a lot of his physique is exaggerated by a dark longcoat, which reaches past his knees. Your contact is in truth not all that fit, the age spots on his forehead visible thanks to a receding hairline that is more grey than black. Deep-set wrinkles form frown lines around his mouth and eyes, and his tusks look like they've been blunted somehow. He does carry a very fine cane of some kind of dark wood, which he leans on for support as he walks in. The Old Orc seems to appear exactly as advertised.

"Thank you for coming," he gravels as he heads across the room in order to pour himself a goblet of wine from a decanted jug on the serving table. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, but my damned leg isn't what it used to be. Ah sorry, where are my manners? For those of you who don't know me, the name's Rukh'arrn d'Tharashk, but everyone just calls me Rukh. And yes, before any of you ask, I am that Rukh, the same one who solved the Rokesko case back in '93. Of course, that wasn't enough for Velderan to keep me on… but enough about me! I bet some of you are still wondering why I've called you all here? It's really quite simple: I have a job that needs doing." While he speaks, Rukh pauses periodically to take a sip of his wine, before eventually sighing and settling down into the chair nearest the kitchen.

"You might as well all have a seat. I told the hostess to finish and run out our meals on my way in, so they shouldn't be more than a minute or so. House Ghallanda doesn't like to keep hungry customers waiting! If my pitch isn't to your liking, you'll still be more than welcome to a hearty meal and some company."

Spoiler: Intelligence (History) DC 15

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The case of Shauranna Rokesko is several years old, dating back to 993 YK. Rokesko was an aide to Royal Minister Yarik Freul, a crown liaison to the Sovereign Host. The minister came to Sharn with his staff for an annual meeting with Onatar priests in the latter years of the Last War, and Rokesko disappeared for several days afterwards. It was a huge case that consumed nearly all of Sharn, involving three Dragonmarked Houses, several foreign interests, and two different Sovereign Host sects.

In the end, it turned out that Freul had been blackmailing Rokesko's father and she had found out about the arrangement, so the two of them had conspired to have her 'disappear'. The inquisitive agency that got the credit was none other than the Globe Information Agency, now the largest inquisitive business in Sharn.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin let out a small yelp of pain as he felt the Warforged's hands clamp down on his unmentionables. He waved Caedmon down as the Denieth man had stepped forward to defend him.It's all good Caedmon, it's all good. This one is unique! Oswin' hadn't expected the Warforged to possess a sense of dignity. While Oswin had grown up within the Cannith Enclave in Sharn, 'Warforged' and 'product' were used interchangeably. The ones he had encountered in the War had all been similar in nature: stoic, blunt, and barely possessing any sort of self-identity.

In response to the Warforged's questions, he grinned and said. My Mother is an Artificer; a damn good one. My Father is... lets not talk about him. His smile faltered a little. Whether or not I would be considered an advancement in the bloodline is a subjective matter, My Father had a chart of the family line going straight back to the War of the Mark, so thats a lot of ground to cover. His Sperm Count? No idea, while I also have no objective way of proving anything towards the last subject.

He let out a low whistle when Scribe revealed his Maker. A Warforged designed by one of the greatest Artificers alive? Whatever other feelings Oswin had towards Merrix, he had a great deal of respect for the man's technical proficiency. He took the outstretched hand. Oswin D'Cannith. Don't take this the wrong way friend, but I would love to get my hands on what makes you tick.

Oswin sat back while the Inquisitive gave his introduction. He had heard of the Rokesko case through his Father. House Cannith was traditonally tied to the affairs of the God of Smiths. Many in the house still claimed allegiance to Onatar, but Oswin suspected that it was more akin to lip service then anything else.

Let me get the obvious questions out of the way Rukh. If its a legal job, why not contract the services of your own House, or some other established problem solvers for hire? And if its an illegal job. He glanced over at Caedmon. Then I think you've made a grave misstep.

[3SecondCultist]

"The job is most definitely legal!" Rukh adjusts the spectacles - a fine pair, with copper wire frames and set in half-moon lenses - so that they rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. A wry smirk plays over the half-orc's lips. "Let's just say that I'm not on... great terms with my house at the moment. Or perhaps ever. You see, I used to work for the Globe Information Agency, the largest and most prestigious investigative agency in the city. But I can't stand workplace politics, and my replacement wasn't exactly a friend of mine. So technically I'm 'retired', and most of my 'family' won't deal with me now." He actually stops drinking to make little air quotes around several of the words as he says them.

"Ah right, the job! So there's a fellow who went missing, some 2 days ago. Normally in Sharn, that isn't a big deal, but this man is none other than Lord Drevan ir'Roole, a member of the Sharn Sixty. As an old retainer of the family's, I have been contacted by Lady Nora ir'Roole to find her husband in exchange for fair payment, which is substantial. But as I just mentioned, I can't be showing my face around investigating a case now. Truth be told, I'm not up for the legwork anyhow." Rukh stops to chuckle at his own joke. "I've asked around about potential enterprising adventurers in the area, and your names came up. If you help an old orc out, there's 300 galifars in it for each of you! Nothing illegal, just finding a man for his worried wife."

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin nodded sympathetically as Rukh discussed his issues with House Tharashk Family Problems? I get that. Say no more friend.

It didn't take long for Oswin to decide to join in. This sounded like it could be an exciting distraction from from his current affairs. The money was an added bonus. Truth be told, Oswin could have a comfortable life anytime he choose to,. However it would involve returning to the House Proper and doing whatever was expected of him, and would involve sacrificing certain freedoms that he would prefer to keep.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but the money was a nice bonus. Working for the Fabricator's guild gave him a decent living, but it did not pay as well as true Artificer work. That would be enough to repay his younger brother, and keep extra. Being in debt to his younger sibling did make him feel uncomfortable.

To be honest, I have nothing better to do. This sounds like it could be an engaging distraction. He paused for a moment as he contemplated this new challenge in front of him.

So what leads do you have? Where was he last seen? Whose company did he keep? Are you realllly sure he didn't want to just get away from the Missus?

[JonRG]

Tsorak peered intently at Rukh. He recalled the Rokesko case well enough. Professor Nelview loved to read The Inquisitive over her coffee and subject him to her insipid opinions. Weeks of her guesses and judgments (all wrong) before the true culprits confessed. This Rukh was a clever enough fellow. "What a... generoussss offer." Almost as generous as the cut Rukh would skim off the top. "Should we expect your lady to have hired anyone elsssse?"

[Sgt. Suitable]

Seeing the warforged grab Oswin by the crotch, though humorous, posed a risk of violence toward a member of one of the Houses. Caedmon, already out of his chair, stepped to interpose himself between his friend and the fancy machine. "Let's be a bit more civil, shall we?" he growled as firmly as he stood, seeming to direct the admonition only at the warforged and not the offending tinkerer.

This had Scribe doubt himself, and for a moment he was lost for words. Had he gone too far? He suddenly felt overly self aware and cocked his head slightly as he looked at Caedmon. Luckily Oswin made a show of brushing Caedmons help aside.

Oswin D'Cannith. Don't take this the wrong way friend, but I would love to get my hands on what makes you tick.

He couldn’t help notice the lack of apology from Oswins side, and decided he wouldn’t hold his breath for one. Scribe forced a smile back. Of course he could be civil. A short pause after Oswin spoke he nodded once. “And please don’t take it personal, but I hope you never do."


As he sat down again waiting for the old orc, one thing just didn't sit right with him. He mulled it over for a while and found it must have been what Oswin said to Caedmon.

it's all good. This one is unique!

Something about that sentence worried him, so much so that he remembered every intonation and detail about it.

Scribe didn't have time to worry more about it, because at that point Rukh'arrn made his appearance. Scribe sat back and took in everything Ruhk had to say. It felt good to divert his attention to more important and more immediate matters. Threehundred reasons to pay attention, the orphanage could use it.

[OMG PONIES]

"And yes, before any of you ask, I am that Rukh, the same one who solved the Rokesko case back in '93."

Caedmon keeps a straight face, as any professional should. His internal monologue is telling, though: Yet another Mark of Finding come-up who lucked into some tabloid case five years ago and hasn't let the towers stop hearing about it since, most likely. Wish Tharashk would stick to bloodhounding like nature intended.

"The job is most definitely legal!" Rukh adjusts the spectacles - a fine pair, with copper wire frames and set in half-moon lenses - so that they rest comfortably on the bridge of his nose. A wry smirk plays over the half-orc's lips. "Let's just say that I'm not on... great terms with my house at the moment. Or perhaps ever. You see, I used to work for the Globe Information Agency, the largest and most prestigious investigative agency in the city. But I can't stand workplace politics, and my replacement wasn't exactly a friend of mine. So technically I'm 'retired', and most of my 'family' won't deal with me now."

Caedmon's eyes narrow a bit at this, sizing up the tale to determine if it can be trusted or not. A Tharashk, even an excoriate, assembling as motley a crew as this just to do some finding he should be able to do by his lonesome...something didn't sit right with him. "Insight" - (1d20+4)[17]

[Starbin]

With the situation in the room finally settling into an uneasy truce of sorts, Alistair visibly relaxed, reaching into his satchel to remove a small notebook. When the half-orc entered the room, Alistair eyed him closely, smiling in response to the aged investigator’s greeting. He listened to the offer and the others questions, smoothing his beard periodically. Old Orc, indeed - Ruhk’arrn was exactly what one would expect.

And that was warning enough.

Why would a noble turn to an out-of-favor inquisitive for a real mission? Why would said inquisitive turn to outsource his help with unproven or unknown entities? Why would he need this many people to find a single lost man? Likely answers? A), Ruhk was not what he seemed. B) He had another agenda. C) This was likely a test for a larger task.

Regardless, there were too many questions to take this at face value ...

Aloud, he said, ”Aye, what other information might you have regarding the individual and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance? And why is his absence deemed a concern?”

[Kvard51]

Thorn listened to the Tharashk excoriate recount his offer. He had never heard of him, or his exploits, but his tale resonated. The Dragonmarked Houses asked much from their members, but seldom gave much in return. And damn sure don't embarass your House or you could find yourself on the outside looking in.

The premise behind the job seemed valid enough, and if all the reasons for needing a crew like this one to handle a simple missing persons case didn't all ring true, well, Thorn could use the money. He was strapped for gold and information, even shady information about trash that murder young women, never comes cheap.

As the others begin the standard questions, Thorn sits forward into the light and says, simply, "I'll take the job."

[3SecondCultist]

The investigative's smile widens at Oswin's rapid-fire stream of questions, holding a hand out and nodding his head as though to confirm that he has in fact heard everything that has been said. "Asking questions is of course within your right, and I'm glad to see the enthusiasm! I know a few details, passed on by Lady Nora. I'm... well, I have worked with the ir'Rooles before on an old case, so I expect she remembered me. I can't speak to what she think happened to him, but apparently two days is a long enough time for her to be concerned. As far as I know, we're the only ones looking into this disappearance. You won't need to expect any competition."

"As for leads, I really just have the one. According to Lady Nora, Drevan is known to frequent a specific watering hole in Middle Dura, a place known as the Half-Pint Tavern. He has drinking buddies there, friends he made in his wasted youth that he's never really shook. He typically goes down there to relive old times. In fact, he's friends with the owner, a Karrnathi half-elf by the name of Kylev Throth. He's been known to pay Throth in exchange for the keys for an evening before." Rukh seems to note a few of your skeptical gazes, sighing infinitesimally before continuing.

"Look, this is probably just a case of another member of the Sixty getting bored with playing the husband and stepping out. Nine times out of ten, Drevan got way from the wife and went on a bender. But on the off-chance that something did happen to him... well, it'll feel pretty good to earn those galifars either way."

Spoiler: Wisdom (Insight) DC 16

Show

Anyone trying to get a read on Rukh's intentions will find them to be largely genuine. He doesn't seem to be lying about his past as an inquisitive, and there are no tells that he is anything other than who he says he is. However, you pick up on the significance of the pause when he mentions Lady Nora. You get the impression that Rukh himself isn't 100% sure that the job he received is legit, but he is going along with it anyway... for some reason.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Maybe Oswin should have been more cautious about accepting everything he heard at face value. Maybe something fishy was going on, but to be earnest, Oswin really didn't care if there was. If there was some twist or threat of violence agianst him, he would simply deal with it when it came up.

So you're telling me, that our best lead is at a bar? Sounds like a win-win to me. We will either get useful information or we will have a fun time. Either way we win, although I'm not sure I would trust a Karranthi to run a hospitable establishment.

Oswin snapped his fingers as he came up with an idea. Oh, I know! We should do a pub crawl before we get there, that can be our cover story! He pointed at each of the assembled figures in the room. Pub crawl? pub crawl? pub crawl? pub crawl? Sorry Scribe, I guess it won't do anything for you. Do you mind being our designated coachman? pub crawl?

[OMG PONIES]

"pub crawl?"

Caedmon rolls his eyes at the suggestion, his largest show of emotion yet. "Business before pleasure, Oz," he jokes. "We'll need your mind at it's sharpest...it seems we have a job to do."

The sentinel meets gazes with the unnamed man seated in the shadows who had just taken the job. "Since we'll be working together, might we ask your name, sir?"

[Starbin]

Alistair watched the half-orc answer questions and one thing became abundantly clear - this man was good. For all the things that shouted LIE! Alistair could detect no falsehoods. No sweat on the upper lip, shuffling of feet, nervous hand wringing, shifting gaze ... none of the tell-tale signs that would indicate Ruhk was misleading them.

For now, he would have to accept the situation at face value, until he could find empirical evidence to the contrary. ”Thank you for the information, sir. I’ll accept the offer.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak sighed internally. Meat was so weak, inexorably bound by physical desires. Not that he could get drunk even if he wanted to. Tsorak idly rolled his staff in one hand. "What trade issss the lord in?" Someone had to ask for pertinent details. "Alsssso, where might we find Lady Nora if we have quesssstionssss for her? More importantly, where can you be found?" Tsorak stared into the orc's eyes, unblinking.

If Ruhk was playing some sort of game, he would live to regret his mistake.