Beyond the City of Thieves IC

[WalkingTheShade]

Feigning shock, Borgrim will stare at Rosa's loot, and exclaim: Rosa! How could you - I really expected better from you! But not from himself, obviously.

Rosa replies with only an empty, mostly expressionless, stare, yet the barest sign of a smile tugging at her mouth's corner betrays that the humor is not entirely lost on her.

[iTookUrNick]

"My mistake. My family did not provide me with much of an education in matters of natural science." says Ben, excusing himself.
He listens attentively to the indications of the old mage "Uhmm, I believe acquiring these things should not prove to be too difficult. I seem to recall that there was some sort of alchemical substance that turned weapons into silver. Correct me if I'm wrong".

He waits to see what the old man's reaction is going to be at the sight of their I'll gotten wares.

[Woggle]

Nicodemus looks where Rosa indicates. He snatches up the chart to study it closely and exclaims: "Ah! perfect, black pearl, lotus flowers, and hair of... uh, um," the old wizards flips the chart over, scanning it rapidly. "Hmm. I'm sure I can figure that out... might take a day or two, though."

Nicodemus, calmer now having found his list, surveys the rest of the items. He gives Borgrim the tiniest of winks. "Now, what shall I do with a thief... Ha! It looks like you've found most of what I'd left of value. If you think any of it will be of use to you, then consider it all a gift. If you can decipher any of it, the grimoire may contain a spell or two useful against Zanbar Bone. Keep the pipe, too. Gods know I'm too old to be fooling around with it!"

Nicodemus nods to César. "You are quite right! The pearls and lotus flowers, you should be able to find in Port Blacksand, and there are silversmiths who could craft arrow- or quarrel-heads. You'll need to find an alchemist, I suspect, for the silvering of non-silver weapons. Or a blacksmith familiar with the process, though those may well be hard to find."

The old wizard claps his hands together. "Exciting! I'll work out what sort of hair is needed. The three of you had better get along and find the rest of what you'll need, unless you had any other questions?"

[WalkingTheShade]

"Ah, thank you for these magnanimous gifts, Nicodemus. May I be so bold as to inquire on the function of this ruby? In the meantime, I must admit that I empathize with my colleague's sentiments. Me too must blame an incomplete upbringing for certain wants, upon which I put much effort for control and betterment. I blame it all on my poor mother. Where was I? Ah yes, the ruby. And also, it seems, from your notes, that you were working on a certain ritual, and curiosity too is one of my many faults."

[Kaptin Keen]

Look - let's not fool ourselves. It's going to be unicorn hair. Borgrim grumbles. Of course it will.

Borgrim sips his tea and looks deeply pensive.

We're going to need a virgin. Damn!

[Woggle]

Nicodemus waves away Rosa's thanks."There's no need for thanks. This saves me the hassle of having to come out of retirement! If I don't give you any help then I'll just have to wind up doing everything myself, which is what I'm explicitly trying to avoid. Oh, and don't apologize to me, of all people, for your upbringing. Mine was full of holes; as long as you don't insist on wallowing in ignorance, then you're on the right track, I say!"

The white-bearded wizard leans over to inspect the ruby. "Oh, that old thing, let's see... right, as I recall, it can be attached to a dagger or sword or the like, and you'd then be able to use that weapon as a spell focus just like you'd use wand or what have you. Never really used it myself."

"Ritual? I suppose you refer to my attempts to find a means to transport oneself, at speed, across moonlight. I regret I failed to find a solution to that conundrum, though I wasted enough time on it. It's a Fey specialty that may simply be beyond the grasp of we human-folk. All the fey I've come across are certainly none too keen to discuss it! If you're still interested when you're down with Zanbar Bone, I could see about organizing what notes I have on it into something that you'd find readable."

Nicodemus lets out a guffaw at Borgrim's mention of unicorns. "I would hope that even with a memory as aging as mine, I'd remember if it were unicorn hair! No, it shouldn't be anything that outlandish."

Spoiler: OOC

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The Ruby of the War Mage (Requires attunement by a spellcaster): allows you to use a simple or martial weapon as a spell-casting focus for your spells. For this property to work, you must attach the ruby to the weapon by pressing the ruby against it for at least 10 minutes. Thereafter, the ruby can’t be removed unless you detach it as an action or the weapon is destroyed. The ruby does fall off the weapon if your attunement to the ruby ends.

[Kaptin Keen]

Hmf, so some say berserk rage is a kind of magic. Could I use that ruby to channel even greater fury in combat? It's unclear whether the look on Borgrims face is one of hope. Quite possibly, it's a mix between disdain for all things sorcerous - and avarice, lust even, for anything to further enhance his already impressive physical combat presence.

[WalkingTheShade]

"Is that what mama barbarians tell their little cute barbarian rascals? Of course you're magic, my boy," Rosa smiles and gently pats Borgrim's shoulder. Zing. "Wait, does that mean all this time you have been a foul sorcerer in denial?" Double-zing.

Turning to Benedict: "Do you have any use for that focusing stone? It'd help me for sure, but it could help you too."

Spoiler: OOC

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Three of rosa's level 1 spells require material components. It'd be useful for her, but I'm fine leaving the ruby to Benedict.

[iTookUrNick]

"Please, keep it. I can manage without it, and it's way too flashy for me regardless. I feel like you can make better use of it." answers Ben, magnanimously. "If nothing else comes to mind to anyone, I think we'd better excuse ourselves here. I feel we've intruded enough already on this man's patience and... uhm... property. Time to find us a place to rest and plan our next steps. We'll be in contact." He carefully places his cup on a convenient surfaces and stands, ready to say goodbye and make his exit.

[Kaptin Keen]

As they make their way up the stairs again, Borgrim hangs back a bit, pulling Benedict back with him. When Rosa is safe out of easy hearing distance, he whispers: Um .. what is a 'zing'? Is a double-zing like .. a doppleganger?

[iTookUrNick]

"uhm, no. I assume it was a way for her to compliment herself on the sagacity of her comments. Just pretend she did not say them aloud." Be whispers back to the large man.

[Kaptin Keen]

So what now? I suppose we could ... go and try to find ... the ... ingredients? Info on raven cults? A defense against ... Borgrims brow furrows deeply, and he exclaims GAH! I give up - let's go get drunk! He sets off, decisively, towards the nearest, lowest dive.

[iTookUrNick]

So much for the tight schedule and all that, thinks Ben. "Well, I suppose a tavern is a good a place as any to investigate rumors. I seem to recall a likely place. Follow me."
.

Spoiler: Ooc

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local - (1d20+3)[11] to get to a tavern where he might ask questions about the cult

[Kaptin Keen]

No no ... follow me! Borgrim has utter confidence in his own ability to navigate the seedier underside of the city. He will grab any sufficiently scruffy-looking passer-by by the collar, haul him in close, and growl threateningly: Where is the nearest decent watering hole where a gentleman might get roaring drunk and engage in sporting fistfights?

Spoiler: Universal Social Skill:

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Also known as Diplointimidate: (1d20+3)[18] - and I'd like to point out that I consider charisma the wrong ability to link to intimidate. It should be plenty intimidating that Borgrim is weirdly oversized and seems angry and willing to beat up random strangers for information they may not have.

[WalkingTheShade]

Rosa, who was walking ahead, trying to prevent any other ambush, notices that Borgrim suddenly goes in a random direction. "Hey! I'm the one opening the way here!"

She tries to catch up with the half-orc before he triggers mayhem.

[iTookUrNick]

Ben realizes that his leadership has been ineffective and, after a moment of hesitation, decides to be the bigger man, metaphorically, and follows Borgrim.

[Woggle]

Borgrim strides with confidence north across the Singing Bridge as César and Rosa do their best to keep up. On the corner of Garden Street and North River Road, Borgim steps in the way of a human youth of perhaps fourteen, demanding to be told of the whereabouts of the nearest waterhole offering a decent chance of fisticuffs.

"th-the Dagger's down that-a-way, sir, but it's a quiet place and Mr. Sandwasp don't take kindly to those that start trouble," the youth says, pointing down the street.

He continues: "Y-y-you'll be wanting to head to the Mermaid, just over on Weaver Street. Much livelier there, sir." The youth indicates down Garden Street, to the turn westward onto Weaver Street. Not waiting to see how his advice is taken, the youth hurries off east toward Hill Street.

Having more or less received the information he desired, Borgrim continues his confident walk down the street toward the Mermaid. Turning the corner onto Weaver Street, Borgrim spies the silhouette of a mermaid sign a short distance away on the left side of the street. Below the sign, a few locals enter and leave the establishment through a heavy oaken door. Rosa and César follow Borgrim into the low-lit, slightly smoky interior.

A stern-faced woman of mixed human and hobgoblin parentage situated behind the bar nods toward the trio as they enter. At the right end of the low hall, a small peat fire smoulders in a fireplace, warming a number of patrons seated around it. A dwarf sitting on a stool nearby accompanies himself with an oud as he signs shanties in a gruff, but tolerable voice. A number of tables to the left are already full or nearly so, presumably the place is busy around evening mealtime. The barkeep calls out:

"Find a table if you're looking for a bite, otherwise come on up to the bar. Welcome to the Mermaid. We've got plenty to drink, and soup and fish-pot-pie if you need to warm your bones. I'm Esme Rognar; call me Esme." The matron waves over a younger woman with similar goblin-ish features.

[WalkingTheShade]

As the youth scampers away, Rosa gives Borgrim an odd look. "By all the gods, both holy and profane, really, you could have just asked either me or Faust. No sense running around town like a headless chicken!"

---

Rosa enters the bar behind Borgrim. "Thanks for the warm welcome," says Rosa, as she walks up to the bar and leans on it. "I'm parched. Pour me a pint, Esme."

Rosa puts a few copper coin on the counter, then turns towards the room, both elbows on the bar, and gives the place a second glance. "You know, Esme, I had heard rumors about your establishment, but I must admit it's a lot cozier than what I had come to think before visiting."

Spoiler: OOC

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Anyone Rosa knows? Anyone threatening to keep an eye on? Anybody looking shady? Perception - (1d20+5)[9].
EDIT: Move along, nothing to see. This sure looks like a nice place to hang at.

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim beams at the room in general, and all but bellows: Ho and well met, gentlefolk. I robbed several small men on my way here, and my mood is expansive and companionable. A round of ale for everyone. Is there a game of cards or dice?

Addressing the barkeep, he goes on - slightly more discreetly: Good woman, I'll buy one round for everyone. And .. if you don't mind, you might introduce me to your charming daughter.

[iTookUrNick]

Always cautious, Ben lets the others walk in before him. Ignoring Mr Grim as the useful distraction he is, the warlock gives a long, hard look at the patrons; his raven, perched comfortably on his shoulder, seems to do likewise. When satisfied, he begins to think about gathering some intel. The innkeeper is the usual go-to figure, but he is open to more likely candidates. In his head, he is already asking questions. Discretely, as not to spook a possible informant.

Spoiler: OOC

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I want to see if there's anyone worth noting in the establishment. A fellow league member, a mysterious figure, something like that.[roll=perception=1d20+7[/roll]
I also try and fish for rumours, possibly by speaking to a likely subject. I think that would be... persuasion - (1d0+6)[7] in 5E?

[Woggle]

Esme the barkeep arches an eyebrow at Borgrim's boast of robbery, and shoots a glance toward César. She seems to consider for a moment and then shrugs, as if to say none of my business. She pours a pint of bitter into a large stein and slides it over the bar to Rosa.

"Here you are, miss. Ah, you're quite right, the Mermaid does have a, ahem, rambunctious reputation. With all sorts mixing here things can get heated from time to time, and I don't mind a lad or lady letting off a little steam, but I keep to a strict line: anyone pulls a weapon in here and Olgar 'll have out in the street with a flattened face waiting for the night's watch. Oh, and NO BREAKING THE GLASSWARE!" Esme shouts the last line loud enough for all to hear. It is met with a loud cheer and a raising of tankards from the patrons.

"But that isn't needed very often. As long as you don't stir the pot too much, e'ryone's welcome." Esme takes two copper pieces and drops them into the coin purse at her waist.

Esme turns to Borgrim, asking: "Let's see a little coin, shall we? We've only just met, so I'm not giving you a tab yet. I assume from your boasting you can cover a few silver?" Esme sighs heavily at the mention of her daughter, and gestures toward her when the young lady approaches. "Dear sir, may I introduce to you my daughter, Niamh."

Niamh rolls her eyes at her mother and gives Borgrim an exaggerated curtsy. Then she spins on her heel with several tankards in tow, her loosely braided hair twirling about behind her as she sets off toward one of the tables. "On m'way!"

*******

Meanwhile, a grey-bearded fisherman scrapes his chair noisily as he rises from a table where a red-haired Cimmerian woman, a dwarf, and a bespectacled youth (who can't be more than 19 or twenty, and his well-made but understated garb make him the most out-of-place patron in the tavern). The fisherman throughs down several silver coins, scattering several small tiles of a game of sparrow.

"Alrigh! I'll not be robbed any longer! An' more an the miss'll have me beard, mark me!" He looks over toward Borgrim, and adds: "Why not try yer luck, y'eve money to spare! Mayb' yer young eyes'll spot out the cheats and ye'll be justified in punchin' their noses flat fer me!" The old fisherman stomps off toward the door. Esme calls out a goodbye which the fisherman returns with a shooing wave behind him, not looking back. The three remaining at the table look obligingly toward Borgrim, inviting him to sit down.

The red-haired woman leans back in her chair, a thick wool cloak thrown over one shoulder, showing off the polished bronze armband ornamenting her upper arm. "A round of sparrow for a silver? If you're out o' practise, we can play through a mock game. I'm sure my companions wouldn't mind." The robustly built woman looks to the dour dwarf on her left, who merely grunts in the affirmative. The bespectacled young man on her right nods vigorously, threatening to launch the spectacles flying off his nose, and agrees: "Of course, of course! No problem!" The three begin mixing the tiles together on the table, making a clattering sound much like the chatter of birds.

******

César attempts to engage a number of patrons with small talk, but he has no luck getting anything of substance from any of them, though most are quite polite. Perhaps it's the watch uniform which puts them slightly ill-at-ease. Or maybe they find something just a little unnerving about his raven. From what he can remember the Mermaid isn't frequented by any Guild of Free Traders members that he knows, as they tend to prefer the nearby Dagger tavern. Whose proprietor, César now remembers, he is slightly acquainted with.

A drunken halfling with thickly slurred speech insists on taking the opportunity to talk César's ear off about the intricacies of candle stick making, before getting emotional and going on interminably about his beloved nephew, Dander, back in Fang. "Fellas' jshust shush a gooood lad, u'no? Tkaes shush good care ofm broder, he does." And on, and on...

******

At the bar, Rosa takes quick stock of the hall but nothing causes her pause or alarm. Just a room full of an assortment of mainly working-class folk, with a strong non-human presence. She turns back to the bar and is about to let her guard down when and olive-skinned hand is place beside her on the bar. Glancing down, the back of the hand -- partially covered by a long tunic sleeve -- is tattooed with a rather convincingly down tiger paw with red fur. The man the hand is attached to slides a few coins over the bar toward Esme. The two share a quick look; Esme gives the tiniest of nods, and the hardened, middle-aged man's expression seems to say: 'I'm not here to start anything, don't worry'.

The man's long black hair is tied back revealing a weather-beaten brow. He gives a warm smile. "Mind if I buy the Bloody Rose a drink? It'd be an honour." He holds up his hands, palms forward. "I'm not trying anything, believe me. This definitely wouldn't be the place to do it. I'm as surprised to see you here as you are, I'm sure."

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim counts out ten gold, which he gives Esme. Credit is for chumps. Deduct one round for the room, plus anything I drink or eat during the evening, and we'll settle when I leave. And there'll be a decent tip for quick service, I'm sure. This last he adds while turning to Naimh, to whom he is weirdly courteous - for a man with more weapons than clothes: Young lady, I am Borgrim - enchanted. He bows politely in return. Bring my beer to yon gaming table - and if your time allows, mayhap we can have a drink together at some point.

Then, he goes and takes the fisherman's seat, introduces himself, pays the table, and picks up the cards: Sparrow! Yes. Maybe a mock round wouldn't be a bad idea. Borgrim makes idle chatter, introducing himself, telling tall tales, laughing whether he wins or loses. He plays intelligently, and to win, but it really isn't about neither the money nor the game. As he plays, he'll drop hints about Zanbar Bone, about the Raven cult, and so on. Being by no means a natural interrogator, this is all just normal conversation, but he will watch his opponents and note their reactions.

Spoiler: OOC

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Charisma check: (1d20+1)[2] - I can't really work out a way to use intimidate here, unless one of them is actually in the raven cult, in which case knowing a towering barbarian is after you, and actually at your table, might be plenty intimidating. If so, add proficiency.

Intelligence check: (1d20+1)[21] to pick up the game, and not make a fool of himself. Should he spot cheating, he will be quite furious. Otherwise, losing is part of playing. He will bet cautiously, though.

Ha! That's so dumb =)

[iTookUrNick]

Cèsar resigns himself to listening to the halfling babble, interjecting with phrases such as "I see..." or "That is life for you, what can you do." or even "But what about them candles?". If they had gone to the other place, as he was suggesting, he was sure he would have gotten a much better response. Instead, he takes one for the team and keeps an eye on his two companions. He's sure 'Grim is about to get swindled and he wants to see how they plan to do it, but at times he also glances in Rosa's direction to make sure nothing is going awry.

[WalkingTheShade]

When she recognize the man's tatoo, Rosa's eyes narrow. "Roses have thorns, that's why they get bloody. But we're both off the job, aren't we? Time to relax." Rosa squints at the man's face. "Can't say I, for one, recognize you but I could be bothered to hear your name and sad story over a drink."

From the corner of her eye, Rosa notices the glint of Borgrim's gold. The more than obvious display of wealth makes her roll her eyes in front of the Red Tiger. "Country people..." her voices trails off in a sigh.

Spoiler: OOC

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Rosa is going to stay courteous and even a little flirty. It's not that she has any designs on that guy, but he might have useful information down the road, so let's encourage him spilling it out by himself.

Seduction: Charisma - (1d20+2)[16].

[Woggle]

Borgrim counts out ten gold, which he gives Esme. Credit is for chumps. Deduct one round for the room, plus anything I drink or eat during the evening, and we'll settle when I leave. And there'll be a decent tip for quick service, I'm sure. This last he adds while turning to Naimh, to whom he is weirdly courteous - for a man with more weapons than clothes: Young lady, I am Borgrim - enchanted. He bows politely in return. Bring my beer to yon gaming table - and if your time allows, mayhap we can have a drink together at some point.

Esme's eyes widen as Borgrim places down the gold pieces. She hesitates, then begrudgingly takes the coins. She gives Borgrim a stern look. "Don't let me catch you leaving here before we've settled! I'm not indebted to anyone in this world, and by Waukeen's silver girdle I'm not about to change that! And don't get any ideas thinking that setting down this coin gives you free reign to start breaking things. I've got my eye on you, young sir." The matron wags her finger to emphasize her point.

Niamh looks back over her shoulder and replies with an exaggerated accent and a half-smile: "Yes, sir!

Borgrim sits himself down at the game table and three other players mix the tiles and arrange them into the somewhat familiar four walls of sparrow. As the four quickly run through a mock game, the red-haired Cimmerian woman introduces herself as Moll, a sailor and traveller from far to the southwest. The young man sitting to her right is Yorick Whitgale, and the taciturn dwarf simply grunts when Moll attempts to get an introduction from him.

"Ha ha, our bearded friend hasn't had a fruitful evening, as of yet. Stay resolute, Stind! There's time aplenty to make back what you've lost, and more."

The mock game is enough for Borgrim to refresh his memory on the rules, and play begins in earnest. The three others play quickly, and Borgrim has little success in steering the conversation, what there is, in any particular direction. The dwarf, Stind, refuses to speak so much as a word, except to tell the table to quit chattering and play. Moll is easy-going enough, but she seems to sense some ulterior motive behind Borgrims questions, and the half-orc gets nowhere. Yorick is no better; the young man is a bundle of nerves, and it's a wonder the he can even manage to play and speak at the same time, never mind actually win the occasional round. Moll does most of the winning, however, despite careful and crafty play on Borgrim's part, showing a natural skill with the game. Luck is not fully on his side, though. Finally, when Niamh comes by to refill tankards, Moll lets slip a little something as the latest game is finishing:

"Well, I've heard there was a bit of commotion at the temple of At'ar, a week or so back. A brawl of some sort, I've heard tell, and the guards had to throw out a group of pilgrims. Some sort of odd sect or another --" But Moll is interrupted.

"Enough! I've lost 7 more silver while this OAF has been at this table, and I'll not have any more! Find another seat!" Stind crosses his arms and fumes. Moll shrugs and reaches for her winnings. Yorick looks apologetic, and adds meekly, "My profound, um, apologies, thank you for playing, perhaps another time? Of course, that's expecting too much, aha, sorry!"

Moll gives Borgrim a conciliatory smile. "Fine playing, my large friend. Please don't let Stind ruin the rest of your evening!"

All told, Borgrim is only out 4 silver pieces.

******

When she recognize the man's tatoo, Rosa's eyes narrow. "Roses have thorns, that's why they get bloody. But we're both off the job, aren't we? Time to relax." Rosa squints at the man's face. "Can't say I, for one, recognize you but I could be bothered to hear your name and sad story over a drink."

"Ha! that they do! Oh, where are my manners. My name is Jherak." The dark-haired man glances down at the back of his rough hands. "No, we've not run into each other. At least, not that I'm aware of. I've heard a few tales from some of the younger Tigers, though. You've got a bit of a reputation, to say the least. Some of the wilder stories aren't entirely earned, but you know how it is: Someone has a run-in, and then once the the events have been retold a few times it's unrecognizable."

Jherak continues over a few drinks, during which Rosa does her best to turn on the charm. Much to her disappointment, however, Jherak seems to either be immune, or more on guard than he lets on. Jherak rebuffs her apparent advances with a (perhaps) unexpected tact, coming from a worn, middle-aged bodyguard. She does manage to wheedle a little bit of info from the Red Tiger, though. Jherak mentions, in passing, a job gone wrong a few weeks ago:

"It was a wild story. When I'd first heard it, some of the others were pinning it on you, heh." Jherak shakes his head slowly. "Nah, to anyone familiar, it didn't sound anything like you. One of the poor bastards was torn by something from shoulder down to stomach, crossways. Don't know what did it; almost seemed like a giant bite, but with no teeth, and narrower. Like a hawk, but much, much bigger.Ah, it's made me think about a few other occurrences in the last year. There's definitely something that's moved into the city, whether wholly supernatural or not, that's not to be trifled with. Kinda thinking it's time to get out of the business, eh? Jherak stares down at his drink, swirling it slowly. He lets out a deep breath. "Might be there's things in this city that aren't worth looking for. That's my copper piece, anyway. Take it from an old -- ish -- fighter, however you like."

******

César humours the halfling for a little while longer, his attention mostly focused between keeping a watchful eye on Borgrim, at a game table, and Rosa, at the bar. Eventually the halting, Rupert Glinstone, says his goodbyes. By this point he is thoroughly sloshed. "Wellsh, if'n uvvv ever in need of any-y-y -- *hic!* any shilver-smithin done, youu know where to finds me! Don't, don't just make candlesticks, y'know! Can make other... stuff too! Well! Seventeen Candlestreet, besht, candles in t'port!" The halfling makes his way to the door in an unsteady but determined stride, turning to wave as he exited onto the street.

César turns over the small card the halfling handed him. In fine silver script, it reads:

Rupert Glintstone, Silversmith,
17 Candle Street
Specializing in candlesticks, candelabras, ornaments.
Custom work on demand.

César looks up to see Borgrim rising from his table, the sullen dwarf seated across from the half-orc wearing a particularly aggrieved expression.

Spoiler: OOC

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I took the liberty of rolling luck on behalf of Borgrim, since I'd neglected to ask for it and I wanted to get this post up. Unfortunately, Moll the Cimmerian was equally skilled, but luckier than Borgrim.

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim is happy. Oh, sure, he's made new friends and gambled, and since money is no concern to him, it's there to be spent anyways, it doesn't matter that he lost a few silver. No, what makes Borgrim happy right now is that he has something interesting to poke his nose in. Brawl, sect, a temple of some - one must assume - horrid god or other. Relics to steal. Good times ahead.

The only fly in the ointment is that even 10 gold wasn't enough to buy Esme's forgiveness-in-advance. So hopefully someone else will look for trouble with Borgrim, so he can suggest, in a gentlemanly fashion, that we 'take this business outside'. Meanwhile, he'll drink some ale, and quizz Naimh - if she has time - about the temple of At'ar, and whether she's heard any rumors of pilgrims stirring up trouble there. Also any famous relics she's heard of.

[WalkingTheShade]

He must like thin girls, quips the Joker. Or maybe the man prefers those 'younger tigers' he keeps mentionning, replies the Master. Keeps mentionning, as in 'can't keep out of his mouth', haha.

Rosa struggles to stay concentrated on the discussion despiste the confusing interventions of her ghosts. She slowly gives up her advances, trying to make the change appear as natural as possible.

"Might be there's things in this city that aren't worth looking for. That's my copper piece, anyway. Take it from an old -- ish -- fight, however you like."

"Or maybe it's time for bodyguard wages to go up to cover the growing risk?" answers Rosa, with a knowing smile. "I don't believe for a minute you'd get retired that easy. What is in it for you? A cottage in the country, basket weaving and feeding poultry?" Rosa's smile turns somewhat melancolic.

"Back to the subject. What you're talking about interests me. Some hapless chap tried to burgle an abandoned house on Garden, not long ago. Seems he ran into a sort of werecrow. Giant bite, no teeth, rings a bell? Don't ask how I know about the burglary," Rosa taps the side of her nose, "yet, I feel like I don't know enough. I'd be willing to pay for information on that burglar and maybe a friendly chat with him. And I do indeed mean friendly just like I'm having with you, alright? Learn anything, and send word 'Jherak wants another drink'. I'll meet you here in the evening. I'll pay for that drink and more, depending on what you dig up."

"And now, since you're such a gentleman, a free bit of advice: Some sorcerer or necromancer by the name of Zanbar Bone is going around the country side extorting villagers. He's got powerful sorcery to back his demands. I'd be surprised a guy like that is satisfied with country life, same way I know neither of us two would be," Rosa smiles again, mischeviously. "Thus it's a matter of time before Bone's crew make a move into town. Maybe they've already made some inroads. Those guys don't play nice. Keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground."

"Is there anything else you're willing to tell me about these," Rosa hesitates and mechanically clears her throat, adding with a wince, "suspected giant beak attacks? Who were the victims? Anything linking them?" Rosa opens her hand, discreetly showing Jherak the iron feather amulet resting in her palm. "The werecrow I know about was wearing this."

Spoiler: OOC

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It doesn't seem like this warrants a roll, as Jherak seems friendly and already willing to talk. Moreover, Rosa just gave him a lot for free, only because he seems a decent guy.

Just in case: Persuasion - (1d20+2)[9], Advantage - (1d20+2)[4]. Changing threads and games wasn't enough to throw off the scent, the RNG has indeed caught up with us!

[iTookUrNick]

Cesar thought he already knew how the evening was going: Borgrim would be cheated at the table, strong words would be spoken, transitioning soon enough into a brawl. None of that happened, to his surprise.

He is close enough to the game to hear about the disturbance at the temple. He makes a small note in his mind to ask about it to his pals in the service. More to the side, Rose is doing a flirting bit and falling flat, it seems. Best leaver to it though. He has a feeling his presence would not be of benefit.

He is shocked for a moment that the halfling is still talking to him. He takes the card at his insistence. "Ummm, custom orders. Interesting." he mumbles "Well, Mr. Glintstone, I'll be happy to come visit your shop. I think I can bring you some business, too. In the meantime, I wish well to you and your family."

[Woggle]

"I don't believe for a minute you'd get retired that easy. What is in it for you? A cottage in the country, basket weaving and feeding poultry?"

Jhekar smiles and shakes his head. "Heh, no, that's not me. Doesn't sound too bad once in a blue moon, though."

"Back to the subject. What you're talking about interests me. Some hapless chap tried to burgle an abandoned house on Garden, not long ago. Seems he ran into a sort of werecrow. Giant bite, no teeth, rings a bell? Don't ask how I know about the burglary," Rosa taps the side of her nose, "yet, I feel like I don't know enough. I'd be willing to pay for information on that burglar and maybe a friendly chat with him. And I do indeed mean friendly just like I'm having with you, alright? Learn anything, and send word 'Jherak wants another drink'. I'll meet you here in the evening. I'll pay for that drink and more, depending on what you dig up."

Jhekar spreads his hands apologetically. "I can't help you with any burglary; that's strictly forbidden. Not to say that it couldn't have been one of ours, but there'd be hells to pay if anyone found out. You'd need to ask around the Noose, probably -- or find a fence who knows something -- but that might be difficult, considering... well, who you are. As for the 'were crow', it'd have to be very big, from what I heard. Ogre-sized, mayhaps. But if I do hear anything, I'll pass it along. Since you've asked so nicely."

"And now, since you're such a gentleman, a free bit of advice: Some sorcerer or necromancer by the name of Zanbar Bone is going around the country side extorting villagers. He's got powerful sorcery to back his demands. I'd be surprised a guy like that is satisfied with country life, same way I know neither of us two would be," Rosa smiles again, mischeviously. "Thus it's a matter of time before Bone's crew make a move into town. Maybe they've already made some inroads. Those guys don't play nice. Keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground."

Jherak raises an eyebrow. "Bone, like the children's rhyme? I'll, uh, be sure to keep an eye out," he replies incredulously.

"Is there anything else you're willing to tell me about these," Rosa hesitates and mechanically clears her throat, adding with a wince, "suspected giant beak attacks? Who were the victims? Anything linking them?" Rosa opens her hand, discreetly showing Jherak the iron feather amulet resting in her palm. "The werecrow I know about was wearing this."

Jherak leans back. "Rich folk, attacked while under our protection. Moving goods, I think, though I wasn't working any of them. That's all I'll say." Jherak peers forward at the preferred talisman. He studies it for a moment and then shakes his head slightly. "No. Never one like that. Saw one worn by a Couatl worshipper out in Fang -- you know, them feathered flying snakes -- but that was painted multicoloured carved out of wood. And not a crow feather, either." Jhekar raises his eyes meets Rosa's gaze. "Don't know what sorta trouble you're chasing, lass. Well, I think I've overstayed my welcome. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Good luck." Jhekar puts his hands on the bar and pushes himself to his feet.

******

Borgrim waits for a moment to pry information out of Niamh. In the meanwhile he sets about being just irritating to provoke a request to 'take things outside' but subtly enough to maintain plausible deniability. Nudging an arm here, breathing down a neck there.

During a small break in her work, Niamh spares Borgrim a few moments of talk. "Well, I'd heard there had been a scuffle between a few visitors and the temple guards. Don't know any other details, sorry. As for relics, well, there's the Shaded Sun, a disk halfway eclipsed. It's about this big around," Niamh holds her hands out in front of her, forming a circle with her waist, "made of gold and onyx, I think. I've only seen it once, but it sure was pretty! There must be others in the temple, but I'd guess they keep them locked up. Oop, gotta run!"

Niamh hurries off to another table. Meanwhile, Borgrim's provocations have finally borne fruit. A burly young man, clearly drunk, and a sinewy hobgoblin approach. The hobgoblin clearly understands his friends intentions, buy his attempts and escalation are to no avail.

The burly drunk steps up to Borgrim, tapping a finger into the half-orc's chest. "Well, well, another orc. Thinks you can wander in from the country, an- an- walk around, all shirtless, eh? Well, I've had enough, eh? Shouldn't you be out in t'gutter? Ya, why don- don't we head out so's I ken put ya there, eh?"

The drunk's hobgoblin companion hisses a few words under his breath and puts a hand on the drunk's shoulder, looking worriedly at Borgrim, but the young man shrugs it off. "Nah! he's- he's gotta get wha's commin' to em!" The drunk looks back to Borgrim. "Well? Ya scared?"

César, for his part, had thought that he wasn't going to see his friend get into a fight tonight, but it seems he was mistaken. He watches the events unfold from a nearby chair.

[Kaptin Keen]

Borgrim is torn. For one thing, he really wants whatever information Niahm has - but what's more, he also really wants to know when her shift ends. And both of these things seem at odds with the other thing he'd like this evening, which is to teach this drunken youth some manners.

But there are more ways than one to educate.

I am Borgrim, young human. Called Wyldstrike, by some. This, he pats the oversized sword by his side, is Hastings. As is custom among my people, I named it after the first man it killed. That was this afternoon. Well, what can I say, it's a pretty new sword.

He steps in, crushingly close. Looks the young human straight in the eye, not blinking, not wavering.

Here! He says, pushing the sword into the humans hand, you take this. Wyldstrike. Good name for a sword, wouldn't you say? Better than Hastings, I reckon. Do you want to name this sword Wyldstrike, this night, young human? Consider well. Consider well, whether I'm scared ... or whether you are.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Intimidate: (1d20+3)[21] or, you know, it could be strength based =)

Having said the words, Borgrim steps outside, leaving the human with the weight of the sword, and the question of courage. Oh, and hoping distinctly that Niamh saw, and is suitably impressed.