The Inquisitives IC

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe took in the information and weighed his options. He looked around the room and considered the group. He nodded along slowly as questions were being asked. He considered weighing in with some of his own but didn’t quite find the moment, or someone else asked them first. This was more than fine with Scribe. Apparently Rukh had assembled brighter than average minds, hungry to put their intellect to the test.

When Thorn bluntly stated he’d accept, scribe used the moment to size him up. There was something about his behaviour that Scribe couldn’t place. Before he had the chance to think it over though, Oswins enthusiastic idea pulled him back into the room. Scribe however only had time to make a innocent shrug of the shoulders when Caedmon torpedoed the idea and zeroed in on Thorn, so Scribe put his attention back on the half-elf and watched him closely, waiting for an answer.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin looked disappointed as Caedmon shot down his idea and the others deemed it not worth the time to response. So this is going to be the no-fun party? he grumbled. He looked over at Caedmon. We are going to have to blend in, a man in full armor showing up at a bar and not drinking is going to stick out like a sore thumb. Its guess too bad you aren't a Medani, this sort of activity is definitely more their wheelhouse About 25% of his critique was sincere, the other 75% was a petty reprisal for refusing the pub crawl. He glanced over at Tsorak and Thorn. I don't think there is going to be enough shadowy corners for both of you, so are you two good to share?

Spoiler: OOC:

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I don't have anything to add at this point, I'm ready to move on to the next scene.

[Kvard51]

Thorn leans forward into full light. He looks at the Deneith scion through eyes squinting againt the sudden increase in light. Turning his head to take in the whole group, he nods as if making a decision. "Thorn. Bravick Thorn. And your Cannith friend is right. Not about a pub crawl, but we should approach this tavern as if we are old colleagues out for an evening on the town. We don't want to be obvious about our agenda until WE decide to be obvious. I suggest we leave here as we came in, seperately. Then, make our way to the Half-Pint by the turn of the hour. I'll head there straightaway and reserve a table for six."

[3SecondCultist]

Footsteps behind the double doors cause the old half-orc to turn around and grin. "You'll have to hold on just a moment; it sounds like our food is here!" Rukh watches with obvious delight as several Ghallanda waiters bring in steaming platters under silver dish covers and place them all in front of you. The viceroy himself, a rotund looking halfling in a crisp suit with a very his dragonmark on one side of his neck, waits until the last plate has been placed before you before politely clearing her throat.

"Master d'Tharashk and guests, welcome. For your meal this evening, the kitchen has prepared several dishes in the Sharn Fusion style to suit a varied palette. At this end of the table we have hot spiced chicken in panya leaves, a southern Brelish delight. We also have a Reacher's garden salad and lentils with selas spice dressing, for anyone not possessed of a carnivorous disposition." As the Ghallanda viceroy calls out each entree, a server reaches over to expertly pull the cover off and reveal the predictably delicious looking food item. "Moving right along, we have kettle-fried spider, garnished with redeye berries plucked from our orchards right here in Sharn! Oh, and you must try the king's favorite, our very own in-house Beef Boranel. We slow-roast the side of beef both before and after the bread and mushroom stuffing so that it doesn't lose an iota of flavor. And finally, at the far end we have fire-wrapped golden fish, caught this morning in the Straits of Shargon." Your host finishes his presentation by placing several drinks on the bar in the north-west corner of the room, which include Karrnathi ale, Windshire Rainbow wine from Aundair, Thrakel Berry Brandy from Flamekeep, as well as a freshly brewed pot of tal tea.

Rukh extends a hand to the viceroy, who takes it warmly. "Thank you as always, Kelso. Your hospitality is appreciated." After a little inane small-talk, the halfling disappears with the wait staff, letting you enjoy your meal and continue your conversations in peace. Clearly not willing to wait any longer, the dragonmarked inquisitive begins to fill up his plate with a generous helping of the beef, along with some of the spider and a vanishingly small portion of the spiced lentils. "Where were we? Ah yes, the ir'Rooles. I did some research into the family when they first put me on retainer some years ago. Their business largely consists of heavy textiles and the cloth business both domestically and abroad throughout Khorvaire. They own a factory down in UnderSharn, as well as a few distributor stores in North Towers, in Lower Central. They mostly sell blankets, bedding, that sort of thing - not clothes that people wear. I checked it all out personally, it all seemed above board to me."

Between bites, the half-orc dabs at the corners of his mouth with a fine linen napkin. "The ir'Rooles have a modest estate up in Skyway, but I would not recommend going up there unless you absolutely needed to talk to the Lady Nora. Walking the halls of the rich and rarified has a tendency to draw attention. Now, I trust you all enough to tell you where I live. My residence is 112 Zephrah Spires, in Stormhold. It isn't too far from here, in point of fact. I will instruct my staff to keep an eye out for you and make you feel at home if I am not present, as I am not always at home. Furthermore, if any of you have need of a place to stay, I have a pair of guest rooms that are currently vacant. It will do for the time being."

[Starbin]

Alistair listened as the halfling announced the meal, nodding in appreciation. He thought to himself, himselfA far cry from school food ... or the slip you used to eat back in the day. Once Ruhk ‘broke the seal’ so to speak, others moved forward to get food. Alistair slowly limped forward, placing modest amounts of fish and chicken on his plate, and settling for tea. While the spread included a bevy of quality spirits, Alistair wanted his mind to remain sharp. He didn’t fear the food being poisoned - there was little purpose in it aside from wanton murder - but he wouldn’t be surprised if the booze was chosen to loosen the lips and cloud the mind.

Once the small talk ended, Ruhk returned to business. Most of the information was interesting and would be useful later. However one phrase set off a warning bell. Clearing his throat, he raised his hand a spine. ”in the spirit of sharing and honesty, I have a question. You mentioned you trust us ienough to share your home address. Why? What have any of us done to earn your trust to not undercut your endeavors, let alone share the hospitality of your domicile? For that matter, why have you chosen us in particular?

In the name of honesty and trust, of course.”

Alistair smiles politely and looked to Ruhk for an answer.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin was the picture of perfect decorum as he enjoyed this meal. The meal was quite good by any objective standard, but it did not elicit feelings of wonder from Oswin's perfect. He himself had enjoyed finer fare at numerous points throughout his youth in Upper Central. The spider was also a touch overcooked, although he was polite enough not to mention it outloud.

His approach to getting to know these strangers wasn't working as he had intended. He could adapt. It didn't matter what field one worked in, good design required trail and error. If one approach didn't work, then a different one would be required. If this group wasn't collectively interested in good cheer and merrymaking, then perhaps a more rationalist approach would get their attention.

If we are intending to work together, then it would be prudent to discuss our capabilities. Oswin addressed to the table. In contrast to his usual easygoing manner, he now seemed like he was all business. I am sure most of you have deduced this already, but I am an Artificer. I specialized in Chemistry and Alchemy. I do have practical experience through serving King and Country, so if a physical confrontation breaks out you can trust me to watch your back.

[JonRG]

Tsorak served himself a little bit of every dish, with the exception of the salad. He wasn't a damned rabbit. Tsorak also poured himself a large glass of brandy. The bottle cost more than he would earn in a month, and he could enjoy the taste even if the heady, drunken sensation was denied to him.

The dragonmarked dandy called for everyone's attention. Tsorak peered at him intently. Oswin didn't flinch, to his credit. He wasn't being a prat. It would be best to encourage that. "Very well. I am a sssscholar and a diviner by trade." Mission accomplished, he returned to his food and drink. Brandy needed to be savored, and there would only be so much time before they would get to work.

[Kvard51]

Thorn returns to his seat, a heaping portion of beef on his plate and the Windshire Rainbow, held by the neck, in his hand. He sits back down, moving his chair up to the table where he is fully in the light. His careworn face turns to each speaker in turn before he tkes a long draw on the wine. As he it the bottle on the table beside his plate, he says, "I have some experience as a bodyguard, and I am a proficient swordsman."

Ducking his head, he digs into the beef with gusto.

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe too grabs a plate and places a few things on there, some salad and a bit of the beef Boronel. He pours himself a glass of Karrnathi ale before sitting down again to listen politely to Rukh. All of this, the dinner and the tardiness, he had come to learn to expect from the half-orc. Scribe was increasingly at ease and much less paranoid than some of the others. He noted their apprehension and concluded they would make fine colleagues. He liked people that didn't take things at face value, and always looking beyond the obvious was a good trait in this line of work.

He listened as the others spoke and ate a bit here and there to put the people around him at ease. He had discovered that joining in their rituals, like eating in this case, tended to humanise him and he gathered that with his earlier encounter that might not be such a bad thing.

When Oswin spoke, Scribe nodded in an interested manner. He acknowledged Thorns response with a nod and piped up himself.

"I help young criminals find their way again, so I'm pretty well versed in Sharn law. I do have some practical tricks up my sleeve though, and amongst other things I am a capable lock-whisperer".

Scribe turned to Alistair, and looked at Rukh. He had become used to Rukh opening his home to investigators, although Scribe had never taken him up on the offer. Still, he was curious for the half-orcs answer.

[3SecondCultist]

"Mhm, yes I can see how my gathering such a crew might be somewhat confusing. On paper, the lot of you might not seem ideal. But this is not my first time partnering up or asking for help from outside sources. Ask Scribe over here if you don't believe me: I've been fortunate enough to have use of his services in the past." While still working on his meal, the inquisitive seems to take a moment to think of his answer. Eventually, he gently places his cutlery down and takes one more draught of the Aundair red.

"My reasons for choosing you are twofold. The first is versatility. As I am not entirely certain what might await at the Half-Pint - or really wherever the evidence might take you, as can sometimes happen on these cases - it is sensible to be prepared for anything. I'd say that hiring two mercenaries, a second story legal expert, an ordained smuggler priest, an accomplished arcanist, and a canny inventor is a good start. The second and perhaps more important reason is your connections. Between the six of you, you have or are currently building contacts with most of the key players with interests in Sharn's underbelly, both legitimate and otherwise. That means you will be tapped into information that I would not otherwise be privy to."

Rukh takes one more bite of his beef before settling to the back of his carved wood chair. "And to answer your other question, master dwarf - I trust very few, but I do my homework on everyone. If nothing else, I am a detective. Assume I already know all of your secrets and our partnership will run much more smoothly." His deep tones are remarkably matter of fact, and yet he makes a point to catch each of your gazes as he speaks. The subtle promise there is unmistakable.

[JonRG]

Something flickered in Tsorak's chest. Heartburn, most likely. A yuan-ti did not feel anxiety, discomfort, or fear. So what if this orc knew about the Daask? They were connections that could be explained away easily enough. Tsorak had to wonder, how much could the old orc have learned about the yuan-ti? Perhaps he could discover that truth in due time. In the interim, Tsorak focused on the food and drink before him. His brandy was about half-gone, but the others seemed like they might take a while. He idly sloshed a little more into his glass. Waste not.

[Starbin]

Alistair nodded to Ruhk and raised his mug of tea. ”Thank you for your honesty ... and well said, Master Ruhk.”

Alistair continued to eat and drink, listening to the discussion. Ruhk shared enough answers to satisfy the older dwarf ... and also cloak a subtle threat inside a civil response. It wouldn’t do to presume Ruhk was as altruistic as he might lead them to believe. He was clearly an information broker ... and knowledge is power.

[OMG PONIES]

"I help young criminals find their way again, so I'm pretty well versed in Sharn law."

Caedmon keeps his gaze fixed on his plate, a neatly-portioned and balanced meal of proteins and vegetables. As the warforged speaks, the human chews on both his food and the automaton's words. What could possibly drive a war machine into the field of charity? From the dwarf he expected something like this--Alistair seemed like the church type--but not from a machine. Nevertheless, Caedmon thought it more appropriate to keep eating than to bring it up. After all, he didn't want to find his unmentionables in a vice grip anytime soon.

"My reasons for choosing you are twofold. The first is versatility. As I am not entirely certain what might await at the Half-Pint - or really wherever the evidence might take you, as can sometimes happen on these cases - it is sensible to be prepared for anything. I'd say that hiring two mercenaries, a second story legal expert, an ordained smuggler priest, an accomplished arcanist, and a canny inventor is a good start. The second and perhaps more important reason is your connections. Between the six of you, you have or are currently building contacts with most of the key players with interests in Sharn's underbelly, both legitimate and otherwise. That means you will be tapped into information that I would not otherwise be privy to

Caedmon politely places his silverware on the table, perfectly straight and in their proper places. "One clarification, sir," he says to Ruhk, rolling up the sleeve beneath his chain mail. "I'm no mercenary; I'm a Sentinel," he says with pride. The sleeve bunches up around his flexing bicep to reveal the Deneith dragonmark on his arm. "276th Batallion, specializing in protection and risk mitigation. I'll make sure the team stays safe, sir."

[JonRG]

"You are a well-funded mercccenary, then? Noted." Tsorak neatly laid his utensils across his plate and sipped from his glass. Ruhk was unlikely to give them any further details. He seemed the sort who preferred information to flow in the other direction. They would have to reach the Half-Pint to learn more.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin counted up the team in his head. A couple of bruisers, a couple of arcane magic wielders, an elderly priest who might be a touch hard of hearing, and last...

Oswin's ears perked up as he heard Scribe's self proclaimed profession. A warforged barrister? That was an unusual application for a Warforged to say the least. And a quite promising one at that. He would have to inquire about that later. This warforged seemed skittish, and Oswin didn't want to push it any further.

Oswin frowned as Ruhk responded to the dwarf's inquiries. He had been ready to go along with this investigation without any prodding, but Ruhk's behaviour was causing him to have second thoughts. Ruhk resembled Oswin's father far too much for him to feel comfortable around the man: feigning civility to induce co-operation, acting like he always knew the most of anything in the room, and willing to use his advantages in a dialogue to coerce cooperation.

Oswin knew he was here of his own free choice. He didn't have any secrets that could be used to coerce him. Annoy know him and vex him quite possibly, but nothing that was blackmail material. Could he say the same for everyone else in this room? He honestly didn't know. When Ruhk took his turn to look at Oswin, Oswin returned it with the most bored expression he could muster. Neeee-at. He let out with a slow drawl. Unmature? Without a doubt. However in Oswin's opinion subtle bs was best responded to with blatant irreverence.

Spoiler: Retcon

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Oswin finished his current drink, a glass of Aundairan Red to go with the beef, before he continued. The obvious fix that could be in this setup is that you haven't mentioned what the actual total for the reward is, and consequently what your portion of the take will be. Oswin shrugged. I honestly, I could care less whether my fair portion should be 300 or 3000. Call me conceited if you wish, but Money simply doesn't motivate me.


However Ruhk had implied something else that caught Oswin's interest. The implication that House Cannith had a stake in Sharn's criminal underworld. Oswin was aware that Cannith had numerous Factories down in the Cogs, but if there was some illegitimate business going on.. In return for my continuing to neglect to ask about the total reward, I want something else in addition to the money. He put the glass down on the table a touch more forcefully then he intended. In the future, I will ask you one question. I won't ask you to put life or limb at stake, but I will expect you to answer it to the best of your ability. Do we have a deal?

[Sgt. Suitable]

"Mhm, yes I can see how my gathering such a crew might be somewhat confusing. On paper, the lot of you might not seem ideal. But this is not my first time partnering up or asking for help from outside sources. Ask Scribe over here if you don't believe me: I've been fortunate enough to have use of his services in the past."

Scribe nodded at this. "This is true.. He has been fortunate enough." The warforged raised his glass to Rukh and gave him a curt nod to indicate his jest was good-natured.

"Having worked for Rukh before, I can attest to the fact that this seems to be business as usual."

Scribe was in his element. Not only was he looking at the prospect of a nice little payday, he also got to flex his skills a bit, things had gotten a bit predictable and everyday over at the orphanage and this would be a nice change of pace.

[Kvard51]

The subtle threats didn't faze Thorn. He finished his Beef Boranel, took another long draw on the Aundairan wine, leaned back in his chair and gave the Tharashk a grim smile.

"Everything about me is available to anyone who reads the tabloids.
If your money's good, we won't have a problem."

[3SecondCultist]

A Pint Half Empty

Dinner proceeds apace, with rather limited conversation and a few more pointed glances and covert observations. Although none of you are completely sure in your measure of any other, there is the general sense that - at least for the time being - all of you are in the same boat. Rukh, for his part, is more than happy to finish his meal and call for a sky carriage back to his estate, but not before leaving all of you with directions to the Half-Pint. The half-orc wishes you all luck one more time before he departs, hobbling out of the dining room on his dark wooden cane after paying for dinner and leaving a generous tip for the wait staff's discretion.

The journey through Middle Dura is surprisingly lively, and you see more than your fair share of people up and about despite the late hour. Even as you cross the last bridge to your destination, you notice a pair of warforged stonemasons studying a crack running through the stone span. Dura Quarter is the oldest in Sharn, and it certainly shows here. Unlike Underlook, the rest of Middle Dura is closer to a lower ward than other quarters, catering to the working and lower class. All told, this is not where you imagine Drevan, a nobleman, would decide to spend his evenings. And still here you are.

The Half-Pint Tavern looks no different on the outside than any other storefront. The slightly scarred bricks and mortar sport a faded maroon sign, and there is a sturdy door with a good lock. It looks like the sign might have once boasted a passable depiction of a pair of figures raising tankards together, but the details have long since been eroded by the city. The entire facade is largely forgettable, but a few details stand out to you. The windows and blinds look to all have been closed, leaving you with no impression of the building's interior. What's more, there don't seem to be any lights on, with the exception of the lanterns under which several individuals loiter.

Three members of the Sharn Watch block front of the Half-Pint Tavern, various looks of fatigue and annoyance on their faces. In front of them, a nervous half-elf paces back and forth. As you watch, the half-elf turns to say something to the guard, which only brings a scowl to the human's face. A quick retort on the watchman's part earns a curse, which quickly escalates as the half-elf moves in for a swing. Before you know it, the half-elf is being knocked to the ground, steel wrapped around his wrists and escorted down the street and around the corner.

The two remaining guards, after making sure that the half-elf isn't going to cause any more trouble, take their positions up on either side of the door, watching any passers-by closely. Luckily for them, there don't seem to be all too many of those at this time of night, and those that are walking past in these neighborhoods are anxious enough to get away from the stern gaze of the law. By the looks of it, getting past them will be your first challenge.

Spoiler: OOC

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The Half-Pint Tavern

So the map of the area is up! The two guards look like they're actively guarding the door, not just hanging out randomly. They haven't seen any of you yet - I'm assuming you're a bit further away than the map indicates, but within line of sight. It's up to you how your group wants to handle this situation. By the way, in keeping with this game's structure, expect to see obstacles like this en lieu of lots of combats.

Spoiler: Wisdom (Perception) DC 18

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A keen ear can pick up some of Kylev's muttering as he is being dragged away. The half-elf is busy claiming that 'it was like that when he walked in less than an hour ago' and he has 'no idea what happened in there'. The guard, for his part, grunts for him to shut up.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Oswin looks around the group. Well standing here isn't going to get anything done. We need to know whats going on. I'll talk with the guards. Worse comes to worst I might not make it into the tavern, but I trust the rest of you will be able to meet our objective. Oswin carefully folded up his cloak and handed it over to the first party member who would be willing to take it. Once that was done, he adjusted his cravat, stepped out into the light and boldly walked towards the guards. He ignored the half that got arrested, and focused his attention towards the two that were guarding the door. Constables, what's the reason for this disturbance?

Spoiler: Persuasion check if required:

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(1d20+3)[6]

[Sgt. Suitable]

Scribe enjoyed the walk over there. He liked the Dura Quarter for some reason. He was impressed by humanities sheer stubborn resilience, and to him Dura had always been a testament to that. It was far from perfect, with imperfections showing near everywhere you looked. Still, as a whole, it had withstood the test of time, seemingly giving logic and reason a big Sharnish middle finger.

He loved it.

As they came across the scene, and stood huddled in the dark a ways away, he looked around.

”Seems as though we’re late.” He remarked casually.

Oswin had the initiative and Scribe watched him go. Himself he didn’t feel like he was particularly suited to chat up some Sharn guards tonight.

”I’ll take a walk around the building, see if maybe someone has seen anything.” I shouldn’t be long, anyone care to join?"

He took the right turn, and headed off in search of a witness, or maybe someone that heard more than they had.

[Kvard51]

Thorn walked through the Dura Quarter in grim silence. He was still unsure about being saddled with this motley crew of wannabe inquisitors. He would have to see how they handled the Half-Pint.

As they approached the tavern, Thorn noted the minor commotion. Of course, before he could share what he had heard with the group, the fop was already on his way to make a scene with his dragonmark or his money. Thorn grimaced. He hoped things wouldn't turn stupid before he could get the info they needed.

When the warforged suggested an alternate approach, Thorn decided to go with him. They were more likely to get in through the kitchen entrance, anyway. "I'll tag along. The back door is probably more accessible, anyway."

[Starbin]

Alistair was fairly reserved for the rest of the meal. He responded readily enough if engaged in conversation, but didn’t really initiate any discussions himself. While he took mental notes, he rarely provided anything of interest about himself. By the time dinner drew to a close, Alistair was more than ready to get to their mission.

The dwarf lagged behind the others as the group travelled towards the tavern, his limp pronounced and unchanging as they went along. He didn’t complain or ask them to wait up, however- he simply took the time to keep an eye on their surroundings, watching people on the streets watched and checking for anyone following them. His mind was already racing to figure out why the noble had come to this section of town, what events had transpired to get him here.

Once the group arrived at the tavern, Alistair tried to recall anything he had heard about the Half Pint. He murmured to the others, ”This place doesn’t exactly scream drinking establishment, does it? Seems a bit subdued for even this part of town. It might be best if we don’t completely split up. But checking around the building does seem like a good start. “

Alistair looked to the others, but planned on accompanying Scribe and Thorn on their walk.

---

[i]OOC - History - (1d20+1)[20] for any info on this inn and the area ...

Spoiler: Status

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AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

Oswin heads forward with the swagger and presence that only a dragonmarked heir can conjure. Stepping into the light of the dingy lanterns by the inn's door. As he gets closer, he notices that the guards seem wary, looking out at any other passers by or people on neighboring towers. Their spears and shields are already out, though they don't seem unduly eager to use them. Both members of the Watch turn their heads to look at the noble, their expressions stony and unmoved by his request for information.

"Move along, citizen," says the first, a burly looking man with a five-o-clock shadow and thin lips. "This area is an active crime scene, and we're not allowed to give out information to just any lookie-lou. Look for the story in the papers like everyone else." His partner, a older sort with a thick nose and a rash of pockmarks on his cheeks, simply stares at Oswin, as though to back up the first man's statement. However, in looking at the artificer you can see him notice the trio of the half-elf, the warforged, and the dwarf begin to head around the side of the building. His brows furrow into a slight frown, but he does not leave his post.

"Keep walking. I'll not ask again."


Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

While the artificer moves forward to engage the guard, the three of you have quietly agreed to head around the side of the building to look for another entrance. The voices of the Sharn Watch echo behind you as the light disappears and you proceed into the grimy alley. Despite Alistair's prior comment, you do notice a few souls during your investigation. A shutter closing above you prompts you to notice the gazes of several eyes watching the scene from other towers and buildings, likely just curious citizens. A few people stand at the juncture, moving away as you approach. Nobody seems to want to talk to you here.

Rounding the corner, you find yourselves at the head of another crooked lane, this one facing south. About halfway down, you spy the outline of a stoop and a back door. A few stray bottles lay strewn on the stone, some of which have been broken into glistening shards. The smell is unpleasant and there are puddles of stagnant water that lead from the mouth of the alley to the door. You can see a few spots of dried blood and even a hand smear along one wall. A small figure crouches huddled behind some crates where the alley meets the street on the other side of the Half-Pint, partially obscured from view. Their features are hidden underneath a shift, but there's no doubt that they're aware of your presence.

[Kvard51]

Thorn quickly slips the peace thong off his sword while watching the figure in the shadows.

”You might as well come out. There is nowhere to go and you are clearly injured. Let us assist you and you can tell us what happened before the guard gets involved.”

[JonRG]

Tsorak sighs, gently pinching the bridge of his nose. "Shadow, what an idiot..." he groans under his breath. His gaze flicks to Caedmon. "Should we... help him?" Tsorak didn't particularly care whether "Oz" got himself arrested or not, but it wouldn't do to have the guards upset and on high-alert. Not if they wanted to get any information.

[Starbin]

Alistair

As they walked around the building, Alistair noticed the guards glancing at them as they shuffled by. He thought back to the half-elf, and something dawned on him. ”I think I know who that was - Kylev Throth, the owner! He bought the place a few years back, with some backing from unnamed sources. I wonder if he’s been keeping up with his payments ... or if our mission is related to him by more than happenstance.“

As they rounded the corner, the three noted the blood and a figure hidden in the shadows. When Thorn spoke, Alistair frowned slightly, glancing at his other companions, then back. The man was jumping to conclusions, but they could discuss it later. Right now, they needed to keep their eyes open and see if there was another way into the inn. He cleared his throat and motioned towards the shadows. ”As my companion stated, we just need some help ... and you look like you could use some too.”

---

[i]OOC - Perception - (1d20+5)[12] for any Shenanigans. Sorry in advance for any spelling/attention to detail items - eyes were too heavy for much more ...

Spoiler: Status

Show

AC: 14 HP: 26 Init +1 Move 20’
Saves: Str +1 Dex +1 Con +2 Int +1 Wis +5 Cha +2
Skills: Stealth +3; Arcana/Religion +5; Insight/Medicine/Perception +5
Weapons: Warhammer (+3 / 1d8+1); lt crossbow (+3 / 1d8)
Spells: 0: guidance, thaumatugy, till the dead
1: command, identify, cure lt wounds, bless, guiding bolt, protection vs evil
2: augury, suggestion, silence, enhance ability
Effects: 60’ darkvision

[OMG PONIES]

"Should we... help him?"

Caedmon says nothing, but nods and steps forward. He places a hand on Oswin's shoulder and gently--but firmly--begins to pull him back from the guards.

"Keep walking. I'll not ask again."

"Understood, sirs," Caedmon says curtly. "But we're no lookie-lous. We were hired by one of the Sharn Sixty to find her husband, known to frequent the old Galleon here. Not to brag, but our team has eyes on from three separate Houses.

I won't do it without your say-so, but all we ask is ten minutes to look around quietly. We'll disturb nothing. If possible, we'd also like to speak with Throth since he's a friend of the missing man. then we're out of your hair like we were never here. Otherwise, I anticipate more publicity than any of us want. But it's your call."

[3SecondCultist]

Caedmon, Oswin, Tsorak

The eyes of the first guard only narrows further as the obviously armed and armored Caedmon approaches. His hands tense on his spear, and you get the sensation that he is a few heartbeats from brandishing it in your direction. However, the Deneith agent's authoritative manner and calm words seems to have pacified the man's aggression. Both members of the Watch hear Caedmon out, exchanging a few glances at the mention of the Sixty, and then again at your group's involvement with the dragonmarked houses.

The elder of the two seems to come to a decision first, as he relaxes his guard before speaking up. "Well if you are who you say you are - and I'm not saying I believe you, mind - then I can personally escort you inside to check the scene out. Throth's headed up to the Daggerwatch Garrison for interrogation. He's considered a person of interest in whatever it is that happened here, but you're welcome to follow up with the desk sergeant there. We wouldn't want to break protocol in a case like this, especially if you've got influential backers. Gotta say the Watch has done things by the book, you know what I mean?" The faint smirk on his lips indicates that for all of his servility, this man has no intention on making things easy for you.

"Marius, watch the door." The younger of the two hasn't taken his eyes off of you, but he moves to unlatch the makeshift lock that the Watch has placed on the entrance to the Half-Pint. "Now, I'll take the three of you inside for five minutes and five minutes only. You got it?"


Alistair, Scribe, Thorn

The silhouette freezes for a moment longer before making themselves visible. As they slowly steps out of her hiding place, you see that they - no, she - is a young halfling, an urchin by the looks of her. Her clothes are quite threadbare, slightly too big for her in most places. Her skin, where not covered in grime, is puckered with old scars and raw blisters, the symptoms of living rough. She has no shoes, and her feet are cut or callused in most places. Finally, she has a scar that runs from her mouth down the left side of her neck. Her posture is still hunched, but you see that not only is she decidedly not injured, she doesn't have a trace of fresh blood on her.

"Beggin' your pardon sirs, I was just resting here. I don't need no help, not one bit." Her attention flickers from Thorn, to Alistair and back to the half-elf, as though not sure who to address. You get the impression that she isn't exactly used to people talking to her, because she fidgets and licks her lips several times as she speaks. "Don't think I can help you much, either." With that, the halfling girl begins to slowly back away from the three of you. She is already almost at the southern end of the alleyway where it opens back up to the edge of this tower.

Spoiler: Alistair

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Your keen eyesight notices not one, not two, but three hidden daggers and other blades on the halfling's person. The first is barely noticeable on the far left side of her waistline. The second is a razor blade wrapped up in her tangle of hair. The third and final weapon is attached to her right side ankle, visible only as a slight bulge near the hem of her pants.

[Sgt. Suitable]

The girl backed up and at that, Scribe carefully stepped forward. He knew she was going to bolt sooner or later and he made sure not to make any sudden moves. ”At least take this.” Scribe pulled a silver coin from his pouch and showed it to her. He pointed at the girl, and tossed the coin her way.

While he was sure to make just enough of a show when he showed her the coin, he was also sure not to show her his other hand, fiddling a short copper wire and bending it into the shape of an arcane rune.

As the coin flew through the air. He whispered, soft as a sigh, trusting that the magic would relay the message to her loud and clear.

“There’s more where that came from. The Stepping Stones Home. Ask for Harvey, tell her Scribe sent you. Coin, and food. For only a few questions."

[OMG PONIES]

"Well if you are who you say you are - and I'm not saying I believe you, mind - then I can personally escort you inside to check the scene out. Throth's headed up to the Daggerwatch Garrison for interrogation. He's considered a person of interest in whatever it is that happened here, but you're welcome to follow up with the desk sergeant there. We wouldn't want to break protocol in a case like this, especially if you've got influential backers. Gotta say the Watch has done things by the book, you know what I mean?...Now, I'll take the three of you inside for five minutes and five minutes only. You got it?"

Caedmon says nothing, but nods. He was surprised to have gotten any assistance, so he wasn't about to press his luck with anything else.