Eberron: The Secrets of War Group B IC

[Darkantra]

Since the Last War ended a fragile peace has settled over the nations of Galifer. War had become the main export and source of finance for practically ever power in Eberron but the destruction of Cyre brought the industry to a grinding halt. Every power had worked on their own secret plans and weapons, objects and spells that would bring pain and destruction on a scale that would dwarf conventional weapons. When Cyre was rendered a wasteland in 994 YK a different fate awaited these weapons; destroyed, hidden, disabled, they were all put to rest, for fear that their use would create a second Mournland.

The month of Eyre in 998 YK is like any other that you can remember; plenty of rain falls on the upper levels of Sharn and becomes drips of brown by the time it reaches the lower city. A few nights ago you were contacted by Sivis mail by someone that you’ve never met, but who is offering you a much-needed job. The note read as follows.

I have a proposition for you, if you are willing. You do not know me, but I have heard of you through various sources and am confident that you can assist me in getting back my property. Meet me at the Manky Goblin tavern in the lower city on the Far of this week and bring this letter. As incentive I will give you small bonus of 25 gold just for showing up and I give you assurances that there is much more to follow.

Signed,
Aelton Forsworth

The night is a wet one, the streets of the Lower Wards are unusually being buffeted by a storm that had rolled in a night ago. Rain cascades in sheets that seem to hammer at you as you trudge through the downpour. The denizens of Callestan curse their way through the downpour and run quickly from awning to alley on their way to whatever tavern they are seeking. After a few minutes of trudging through the streets you find your destination.

The Manky Goblin tavern is a dive of the highest caliber, the floor looks like it has never even heard of mops and the tavern is just light enough to not cause you to stub your toe every step. Hunched figures sit and stare into their tankards and every eye jolts to the door as it opens for you. When none of the patrons recognize you they turn back to their drinks and a low murmur of conversation rises up again.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to a nervous looking man in a dark grey cloak in a corner table. Upon seeing you he hurriedly waves you over to the table. On closer inspection the man is a half-elf and looks very nervous, his eyes dart around the room and he seems to be shaking his leg underneath the table without knowing it. His hair is tied back into a ponytail and is showing a speck or two of grey in the strands. A large cloak obscures most of his body but you can easily tell at a glance that he isn’t the strongest or toughest man. As you near the table his head bobs up and down quickly in acknowledgement and he motions to one of the chair around the table.

"H-hello, let's just wait for everyone to show up before we get down to brass tacks."

He nervously starts to pour what... appears to be ale into each of the seven cups at the table but fumbles the jug and ends up spilling more than half of it onto the table before frantically righting it. He gives you a sheepish grin before filling the cups only halfway.

"Sorry about that..."

[Miraqariftsky]

Earlier...

Emerald eyes started open in an instant, sweat-drenched shocks of red hair clung to a pale face. Humble breasts rose and fell in short and shallow breaths.

Slowly, the young woman on the dirty cot steadied her rapid respiration and tried to wipe her cold forehead with the back of her hand only to snatch it back at the last moment when she discovered the naked blade of a dagger in that hand. Her eyes narrowed as she slammed the weapon into the headboard and left it there, quivering.

Damned nightmare. Strange dreams, really... running away from giant dice dropped from blackness... She thought as she ran her left hand through her matted crimson locks.

Sinking back down into the relative comfort of a stringy pillow, she yelled incoherently when somebody knocked on the door. "Nro, yer dresses'll be finshed la'er, Mizzus Ren! Noontide! Still... dawn!"

But the knocking persisted. Her bleary eyes opened and then narrowed their gaze in irritation. She then jumped up and grabbed the dagger from its temporary sheath in the now-damaged headboard. Hastily donning her trusty trenchcoat of heavy leather and almost falling on her own tripwire, she yelled at the unexpected guest through the thin driftwood door. "SHADDAP! Keep yer pants on, whoe'er ya bloody are! I'm comin' a'ready... who in Khyber are ye anyhow?"

When she finally finished unbolting the second of the locks on her door and cracks it open just a hair, she was startled when the messenger announces, "Sivis post for a certain Watak Woeweaver... is this the correct residence, praytell?"

...

Presently...

Brown, muddy rain pours down from the higher levels of Sharn. A shadow of a woman emerges from the teeth of the storm. The lower half of a heavy trenchcoat whips about with every gust of wind.

The head is bowed against the battering storm, a dark hood obscuring the darkened face. Ragged wisps of hair gleam wetly, plastered against a sliver of forehead by the rain.

The right hand, enclosed in a gauntlet of hardened leather and tempered steel is thrust deep into a wide, wet pocket of the leathern trenchcoat. The left hand hangs low by the hip, cold rain dripping off white knuckles. Therein is clutched a finely-wrought sword, its naked blade flashing with every thunderbolt in the heavens above, a thin and shallow stylized flame serving as the blood-channel.

A hard gaze glares at the grey sky and the grey scraps of humanity drifting in the offal of this oh-so-great city. Blank eyes stare out from grimy faces, entire families living off the refuse of those literally living above their heads.

A voice struggling with emotion mutters beneath that dark cowl. "I hate it when it rains. Like the very gods and nobles are crapping on yer head..." Before she reaches her destination, the Manky Goblin tavern, more than a dozen silver sovereigns have left her fingers, flicked expertly into the grateful hands of more than a dozen paupers.

Barging through the establishment's doors, she glares at the patrons until they look away. Though cold and dripping, she strides boldly through, locking gazes with the nervous-looking Khoravar. Seating herself at his table after whispering into the ears of a passing wench for something "flaming hot", she turns to the halfelf and says, "Aelton Foxworth, I presume? Watak, at your service. Have you a rag I could borrow mayhap?" Upon these words, she sets her sword on the table and nonchalantly wipes the rainwater off the blade with two fingers...

[Kaihaku]

A young woman sits at the table with the others, her brown hair streaked with gold is up in a bun. She seems out of place first for her ecclesiastical clothing with its simple but predominant religious symbols and second, and more strikingly, because she looks as if she feels completely at ease with her less than pious surroundings. Her icons mark her as a follower of the Sovereign Host, more specifically of the Goddess of Wisdom, Dol Arrah.

"Oh, it's quite alright but please don't been in such a hurry..." Ingrid replies to their host as she helps him to slide the mugs across the table, "Who are we still..." ...waiting for? Her voice trails off as a fearsome woman, blade drawn, strides into the tavern and, after a curt glare to the all inside, strides to join their table.

Ingrid tucks a loose lock of still wet hair behind her ear with a finger, looking down at the mug of ale before and struggling not to stare at the intimidating woman who had just joined them or the blade she had set atop the table. Watak. Such confidence and disregard... She must be nobleborn. Ingrid ponders silently, biting back the questions springing into her mind, Here, she joins our brave circle, interested only in helping this poor man reclaim his lost goods. A faint smile graces her lips, Noble in heart as well as bloodline.

Her eyes wander over the others around the table, thoughtfully wondering of their motives and pasts.

[pingcode20]

The door swung open with a soft creak, and a figure in a noticeably large coat stepped in, lowering his hood.

"Fine hour for a meeting." he muttered, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it on a nearby hook and dusting off his blue tunic. An ornate looking rapier hung from his right side, embossed with the telling mark of a Cannith Artificer. Slung across his back was a well-aged fiddle,

"This had better not be about the cat again." he remarked, sitting down at the table and appraising carefully the other two who had arrived.

"Big job this time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the one who called herself Watak.

[The Bushranger]

The doors of the Manky Goblin swing open yet again, admitting another person summoned by the delivery of a certain note...

The newcomer is a woman, fairly tall and a little slender for her height, and as she pushes back the hood that protected her hair from the rain you see that she is what would be considered somewhat exotic-looking. Her skin is dusky, almost to the point of being grayish-purple, but not quite, being what in another world would be considered "Mediterranian" appearing, perhaps. She shakes out her hair revealing it to be pure white, which when combined with the skin tone could, for those who consider such things, be evidence that somewhere back in the family tree one of the dark elves, the Drow, happened to make more than just the acquaintance of one of her human ancestors.

As she approaches the table she's summoned to by the nervously-waving half-elf, you can take the measure of her eyes, being a piercing icy-blue, giving the appearance of looking through you and seeing what's beneath...yet at the same time friendly and cheerful, the eyes of someone who loves to laugh and enjoy time with her friends...and yet again, the eyes of someone who has seen far too much, lost far too much, hurt far too much...

You would be Mr. Forsworth, then? she asks as she takes a seat. Andromeda Russkij.

Those who followed the ways of the Circle of Song might recall having heard of an Orion Russkij, a renowned bard who traveled the the wilderness of Khorvaire, his violin speaking to the ears of the despairing, the hearts of the lonely, the minds of the hopeless; whose charm and chivalry were such that he even won the hand and heart of a dragoness...and who, in the senseless slaughter of the Last War, was killed along with his family by a party of Cyrean soldiers who had been driven to madness by the loss of their country, on the very night before the Treaty of Thronehold was signed.

There are those who whisper that on the darkest, calmest, windless nights, in the most remote regions of the wilderness, if one listens hard enough, one can hear the sound of a violin playing and the laughter of a happy family...

I presume our friends received the same note that I did.

[Miraqariftsky]

"Heh" Watak chuckles unsmilingly at the comment of the Cannith heir. The flames of the hearth gleam scarlet upon the sword's still-wet edge.

Her right hand closes on the pommel, hiding the symbol of rank that had been engraved there from the weapon's forging. The other caresses the blade itself, callused fingers rubbing oh-so-carefully against the flat of it to dry it off and avoid rust setting in.

As she cleans the weapon, her eyes glance sidelong at the one who had already been there. For the briefest of moments, those hard emerald eyes glare at the priestess and then the corners of her lips curl ever so slightly upward. The left, unclad hand snakes forth and lifts a brimming tankard to those full lips and she takes a sip with the faintest of bows, saying, "To the Church" A templar here, eh? We'll see how she fares, fair though she be...

Leaning back into her chair and crossing her arms across her chest, Watak drawls at the Cannith-man, "Well, the grand sir Aelton won't be payin' us all twenny-fie Galifars up front just fer comin' here. So then, I suppose thatta means he ain't wantin' a new shirt wove fer him or some cat-catchin' done... ain't that right guv'?"

[Darkantra]

"Forsworth, Aelton Forsworth." he greets you all by way of correction, "I had contacted six people for this meeting, and I am delighted that even four of you had shown. If you don't mind, I'd like to wait just a bit for the other two to arrive."

Aelton gives Murdock a serious look.

"No, I almost wish it were but this time it is much more serious," he then shifts nervously in his seat at Watak's comment, "Yes, umm to the church," he downs his half-cup of ale, "Now, don't fret, I'm a man of my word," he fishes around in his cloak for a moment before pulling out a small purse, "Here," he hands each you two platinum and five gold galifers, "I was, ah, hoping to give these out once everyone arrived but there's no reason to deny you this any longer... err," he hold his hands up plaintively, "Not that I was trying to deny you, umm, oh dear, I'm making a mess of this aren't I?" he fishes in his cloak again and pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to Watak, "I'm sorry, but this is all I have that is even close to being qualified as ragish."

Aelton finally manages to signal the waitress over, a hard looking woman with a tray that looks like it doubles as a club looms over the table and barks, "Watcha want?"

[The Bushranger]

Andromeda takes the coins and slips them into her pouch, then looks up as the waitress approaches.
I'll take whatever the strongest thing you have that's appropriate for humans is.

[Leon Stormchild]

Xaen shook his head as he walked through the Lower Wards. Gods, I hate this part of the city. So ragged, so poor, so...confining. He looks at the note in his hand. But, then again, I could really use the money. He stops in front of the Manky Goblin for a moment, then pushes through the door and walks in. He notices the nervous half elf, and the several others seated near by, and walks over towards them.

Anyone looking at him would see a somewhat short drow with an immensely graceful stride. He wears simple clothes, but occasionally one catches a glimpse of what almost looks like leaves beneath them. His white hair is pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his crystal blue eyes constantly move, constantly aware of his surroundings.

When he gets to the table, he tells the serving woman, "Ale," then turns to the half elf. "You the one that sent this letter?" He looks at the others assembled, then at the purses sitting infront of them. "Eh, you must be. Alright," he says, sitting, "Payment first and then you can tell me all about this job of yours." As he sits, the more perceptive ones see that Xaen wears a small pendant of a stylized dragon on a simple cord around his neck, and that occasionally he reaches up and idly plays with it. Also, those who are more perceptive, notice that, while the drow looks unarmed, he carries himself as someone who is.

[Miraqariftsky]

A 'kerchief? Hey, even I respect these..., run her thoughts as she swipes the square of cloth from her patron's hand and, using merely a corner, wipes dry the blade of her father's sword. Watak gives it back to him and as she draws her hand back, smoothly palming and pocketing the downpayment with a grin of thanks. "Sorreh, lhesh'ka Forsworth. Ain't so good wi' me letters sometimes f'I wasn't schooled none"

Popping out a gold piece, she flips it into the air and onto the waitress' waiting tray. "Some flaming hot stew, if ya please... beef jerky and good barley bread as well. Cuppa tal and a good ol' pitcher o' water ta round it off"

Taking another pull at her ale, she peers over the top of the tankard, briefly studying the two new arrivals. One seems to be a chip of the other... Both fighters, quicklike, not lumberers... An' this chap, looks like Yalenne, might he be her worthless dad? Looks like he might be too young, but ya never can tell with elves, though...

[Inhuman Bot]

Slowly walking through the streets of lower Sharn, Gell makes his way into the tavern.

Well, this is the place...

Seeing his patron, he walks over and sits down.

"So.... Who are you? he says to the other adventurers there.
"I'am Gell, a warrior of the shadow marches."

[Darkantra]

"Gell, Xaen, it's excellent that you have arrived! We can talk about payment after... *harrumph*"

Aelton tries to cough and surreptitiously point at the barmaid, who easily notices the gesture and snorts. Seeing the barmaid glaring at him Aelton mistakes the reason and gives her a crooked smile.

"Nothing more for me, thank you. Anyone want anything else?"

[Kaihaku]

"I'm Ingrid." The young woman of the cloth replies with a friendly smile, "I'm not from anywhere so interesting as the Shadow Marches, just Breland." She glances around the table, eagerly waiting the answers of the others but, somehow, completely missing the toast to the church.

[Leon Stormchild]

Xaen looks up from his drink. "Shadow Marches? And Breland, eh? I've been there." He shrugs. "Somethin' tells me the lot of us 're going to be workin' together. 'Name's Xaen. Y'needn't know much more." He still is idly touching the pendant at his neck, and those who fought in the last war may recognize it as the symbol of the mercenary band, the Grey Dragons.

[Kaihaku]

"Nice to meet you." Ingrid smiles.

[The Bushranger]

The white-haired young woman shrugs slightly. I suppose I'll have some stew as well...
She looks around at the others at the table.
For those who weren't here when I introduced myself, my name is Andromeda Russkij. You may call me Rommie, everyone does. She sighs. I am merely a Brelander looking to forget what I lost in the war.

[Inhuman Bot]

"I see. In what ways have you trained? I am a berzeker warrior. My style is simple, and my skills mostly include fighting on the front lines."

[Darkantra]

The barmaid stares at the gold for a moment before biting into it. After a moment of gnawing on the galifer she grunts and spits the coin back onto her palm.

"Oh we gots some strong stuff, just you wait little girl." The barmaid walks off with a cackle at Rommie. While she's gone Aelton quickly hands out the last two handfuls of coin to Gell and Xaen. In a minute the barmaid returns with her platter full. She drops a bowl of stew in front of Rommie and Watak, and leaves a large loaf of semi-fresh bread and a plate of jerky in the middle of the table. She then takes the last item, a large tin tankar, and places it carefully in front of Rommie.

"Thudrud, that's all I think ya can 'andle girl. Next time ya come back we can up ya to somethin' else. That'll be 2 galifers for tha drink, that other piece covered tha rest."

Once the barmaid receives payment she give Rommie a wink, "Try not ta be sick on me table, girl."

Bushranger

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When you drink the Thudrud, I'd like a Fortitude check please

[pingcode20]

Murdock Teguan
Murdock reached into a pocket and produced the note, which he unfolded and showed to his client before folding it back up and tucking it away.

"I've eaten." he said, his manner becoming businesslike in an instant. "You wouldn't be calling six people together on request if you didn't have an important job in mind. So what is it?"

His elbows were on the table now, fingertips pressed together.

[Darkantra]

Once the food is delivered Aelton nods and starts into his problem

"All right, on to the task at hand. I was, that is to say my home was, robbed last week. I woke in the dark to a loud crash and I uh… I ran out of my bedroom to see two darkly cloaked figures fleeing out of my study window. Luckily Mr. Tibbins wasn’t injured, I think that he might have spooked the robbers. But I digress, they stole a number of small knick-knacks from my travels, some jewelry that has been passed down through my family, some coin and,” he pauses here, eyes wide, “a package of research materials. It is imperative that you get that package back!”

“Since the treaty of Thronehold was written I’ve been spending my time researching the demise of several families of Brelish nobility. It is sad, but the war claimed a great deal of good and noble people. Why,” his eyes flare with passion, “Drassen ir’Balach’s treatise on flesh grafting for those with burns was remarkable! If he had survived the attack on Sword Keep ninety years ago, the world might very well be a different place.”

Aelton snaps out of his memories and coughs loudly.

“Well, to sum things up I had recently, and quite accidentally truth be told, found a reference to the ir’Balach family estate out in the countryside. The family died with Drassen and his estate was effectively lost. Drassen hadn’t been very popular in the Brelish court so he was quickly forgotten. So, I found an account from a friend of the family from two hundred years ago that didn’t just describe the manor and the area around it but also the ir’Balach family crypt. This is my chance, my big chance to lead an expedition on the very soil of Breland to uncover the personal notes of a medical genius, I’d be sure to get tenure then.”

“But now, with that robbery everything has gone horribly wrong. I don’t care about all of the valuables that they stole but that folder had all of my notes. Someone of capable intellect could put everything together and go out to rob the tomb, or worse they could just get rid of it when they find out that it’s worthless on it’s own. Which brings us to the crux of you all being here.”

“I want, no I need you to find the thieves that took my notes and get them back. Do what you want to the rogues, I don’t really care about what happens to them. All that matters are the notes.”

He grins at you and taps his nose, obviously proud of this next part

"I'd like you all to come back to my apartment to search for clues, I left everything exactly as it was after the theft and stayed at the University for the last few days so everything should be exactly as it was. I do have something to help your search though, when the crash noise woke me up I heard a raspy voice say in the goblin tongue," Aelton coughs and suddenly his voice sounds like it came from a goblonoid, ""Haar rhan, Muurac, maagaan o shuulkhar!” or in common, “Get back here Muurac, you coward!" This Muurac must have been one of the robbers, logically."

[The Bushranger]

Rommie gives the barmaid the hint of a smile as she hands over the two coins.
It's that good, is it? All I can say then is that I'll do my best.

She quietly eats the stew while she listens to their prosepective employer's tale, then goes to take a sip of the drink...

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^_^
Fort save: (1d20+2)[9]

[Darkantra]

Rommie

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You remember, years before, your father telling you a tale of him getting kicked by a mule. He tried to do the tale justice but you just didn't understand what it must feel like.

Now however, you have a keen understanding, except instead of a mule it feels like you just got tackled by a rotting cow that's also on fire. You take 1 temporary Dex and Wis damage as the strange brew takes immediate effect. Strangely enough the taste, while repulsive in that same rotting bovine way grows on you.

[The Bushranger]

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"Strange brew"....eh?

Rommie shakes her head and sputters a little.
Pfew! This is the real deal, alright...exactly what I was looking for. So then, you basically want us to find these robbers for you, is that what you're saying?
She raises the mug in the barmaid's direction in thanks and takes another sip before turning back to the stew.

[Darkantra]

"Exactly, find the robbers and get my notes back and you'll receive a nice amount of pay," Aelton leans over the table and whispers to you all, "One hundred and fifty galifers," he sits back and looks at each of you in turn with a hopeful expression, "Is that acceptable?"

[Miraqariftsky]

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And lo! The explanation for the IC silence/inactivity during which time I was at school and then working afterwards! Watak was eating... a lot...

As the food alights upon the table, Watak falls upon it like a starving wolf on a fattened calf. Bits of chicken, leeks and rice spew from the slurping mouth as she chokes it down but even these do not escape the rapid flashing of the wooden spoon that soon clacks and scrapes upon an empty bowl. Cold, no-longer-frothy ale sloshes down her chin and neck as she slakes the sheer heat of the stew after every mouthful.

The bowl and the spoon clatter to the table as Watak suddenly gasps, her eyes wide. One hand spasms as her mouth opens and closes silently. Her face scrunches up in determination and she opens her mouth abominably wide, reaches in and then plucks out a large piece of unchewed chili.

She holds it up to the light, seemingly savouring the thig with her very gaze, caressing the folds of the foul fruit with her sight. Without warning, she draws it in and then bites. Her eyes water but she holds her ground and swallows the vicious viand.

She chuckles once more with that singular chuckle and then drains what remains of her ale in one long swallow. Slamming the empty tankard on the table, she belches and then grins. "Gods be praised, tha' was the best meal I'd had in MONTHS!"

Her right hand slips down to her coat's flank, flips and tucks away a flap of leather, then draws a dagger. Leaning forward, she slices off a chunk from the loaf of bread which she uses to wipe clean her bowl. Spearing a piece of jerky with her blade, she flicks it into her other hand and then stuffs it into the now semi-soggy piece of bread. Setting the dagger down by the communal platter for the others to use with the food if they so wish, she gives the others a nod and the smile of somebody content with simple pleasures. "Yepp" she says around a slow mouthful of the sandwich. "I never got enough for a meal half this good even when I finish weaving one dress a day..."

And then she adds with a wink, "Heh. O' course, that ain't all I do..."

Leaning back into her seat, after munching thoughtfully, she lowers her half-eaten sandwich, levels her green gaze on their host. "I may be a downtrodden crapsack who can't put two crusts together... heh... 'xcept tonight... but that don't mean I don't think"

After savagely ripping off another chunk from her sandwich, she says, "So lemme get this straight... Yer a Morgrave professor and ye got burgled. You been researching stuff about dead nobles and in particklar, this 'ere Drasse'm'Ballech fellow who ye say's a good doctor at curing burned flesh. And then ye say yon Muurac's one of the thieves and he scarpered outta there all craven-like? Is that all right, chib?"

Watak continues with the slightest hint of a smile. "Hmm, an' ye didn't disturb the crime scene... how thoughtful. Not that I'm ungrateful, but why did ye hire a buncha adventurers and not sic the Watch on them? What, they's all bad cops? Heh, I'm flattered. Heh"

She leans forward now, the motion inadvertently making the other dagger strapped to her hip tilt into a less shadowed position. She pops the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and chews slowly, deliberately. Wiping away the crumbs with her ungauntleted hand, she continues, "Do ya have any... enemies, mistah Forsworth? Methinks that those who stole from ye were after that folder and those papers deliberately. Everything else was just targets o' opportoon'ty, grabbed on the way out, or worse, they intentionally stole yer other stuff ta make it look like a normal robbery..." Yeah, that's what I'd do if I was there...

With that Watak leans back again, sitting straight in her chair, awaiting her answer. "Well, chief? Did I get that right? An', do ya have an'thing more ta tell us that might help in gettin' yer stuff back?" Yeah, and Muurac... I might know just the gobbo who might know him...

[Inhuman Bot]

"Do you have any idea of where these robbers might be? If so, do you know what catching them will entail?"

[The Bushranger]

I agree with Miss Manners here, Rommie tilts her head in Watak's direction, Why not just involve the local constab?

She would sense motive, but remember, temporary WIS damage.

She motions to the barmaid who's working an adjacent table. This Thud! is good stuff, and I managed to avoid getting sick, do I pass?

[Leon Stormchild]

Xaen just listens to the proposition, quietly counting the number of gold pieces. Hmmm...That's a nice payout for a relatively simple job. Something sounds a tad bit fishy. Then again, who turns down money like that?

He looks at Rommie, and at Rommie's drink. He waves to the waitress and flips her a few coins. "I'll have the same as my new friend here."

[Darkantra]

"A, ah, masterful summation Watak, err... though I'm not so sure what a 'chib' is. I contacted you all because I thought that each of your skills would be a great help to getting my research back, Murdock here is an inquisitive you know. Also," Aelton looks down at his cup and grimaces, "I didn't involve the guards because I broke one of Morgrave's most important laws; original copies and works cannot be removed from the library without a special writ. That document I spoke of before that had the account of the manor, it was an original copy and I was so close to finding the manor that I didn't want to take the time to copy it. I smuggled it out of the library and took it home. If the university finds out that it was stolen not from them, but from me then I'll be kicked out and blacklisted from all the other great academies of Khorvaire. If I go to the law, the university will know what I've done."

Aelton runs a hand through his hair.

"This isn't just about one project, this is about my entire life."

After moping for a moment he looks up to Gell.

"Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea. Like I said before, do whatever you need to do to track them down and get the notes back. This kind of thing is Murdock's specialty, that's why I contacted him."

The barmaid gives Rommie a slightly toothless grin and goes back behind the bar to fill another two mugs. When she comes back to the table she sets another tin tankard in front of Xaen and a small wooden one down in front of Rommie. She snatches the two gold from Xaen but waves off payment from Rommie.

"That'll do drow, an' girl if'n ya can drink that you'll pass, it be free ta any who can keep it down. S'called Scumble."

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Alright, fort saves from the both of you if you drink

[pingcode20]

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My last post got eaten last night. It was the Flying Purple Post Eater, I swear!

Now, social skill rolls for the interrogation.
Sense Motive - (1d20+6)[24]
Diplomacy - (1d20+11)[13]

The Diplomacy is more to press Aelton into recalling more useful information that he might not have remembered in the initial brief. Sense Motive is Sense Motive.

Murdock Teguan
Murdock leaned back in his seat, fingertips still pressed together. The antics of the others were interesting, but it was time for business, after all.

"I see. I must warn you, however, that forensics is not my specialty. Nevertheless, I believe you've come to the right man for the job. Now, I've got a few questions for you, regarding your research."

Murdock leaned in close again.

"It seems to me that what you're really worried about is the book, if I'm not terribly mistaken. Firstly, what do you remember about the contents of the book?"

"Secondly, do you recall the name of the book? Did you speak of the book to any of your associates? Anything you recall regarding this matter will be of use in resolving this. If your package were to be found, what would be your limit in event the thieves were prepared to ransom it?"