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You arrive at The Stinky Cauldron just a few short minutes before 8 pm. Your travels were delayed by several Acid Rainstorms or you would have been sooner. But it is the Rainy Season, so you just count your lucky stars to have found shelter in various ruins along the way.
You ask around about the tavern before you enter. Apparently, it's one of the seedier establishments in Goramitar, which is saying something. Goramitar is very loosely governed by a terrible Black Dragon named Tyranitl'et who exerts very little over the few ruthless nobles who rule the small towns except for the occasional act of terror or demand for tribute. Many unspeakable things go on Goramitar's shadows and they all come to a head at The Stinky Cauldron Inn.
You find a large two-story cobblestone building in the town of Hifalter with a sign above it. The sign depicts a large black pot with green stench-lines rising from it. The Stinky Cauldron Inn. You take a deep breath and push the door open.
You glance around the room. There seems to be some kind of quarrel breaking out at the near-end of the bar, two drunk patrons are arguing quite loudly. Elsewhere, what appears to be a archmagi of some sort, by the robes, sitting on the far end of the bar. He wears black and gray robes with arcane insignia all over them. He sports an almost-cliche black goatee with his long black locks. At a table, a dwarf in black, vicious-looking full-plate is pounding back ales as it drips into his long red beard. No one is wearing a name tag to the effects of "Hello... My name is Mr. Morgino."
You approach the bar-tender, a wart-faced Lizardfolk with what would politely be called a surly sneer upon his face. You ask him about a meeting with a Mr. Morgino. As you do, his eyes flash with understanding and some of the hostility in his face seems to wash away. He directs you to a table in the darkest, far corner of the bar. He asks, though it's really still more of a demand, that you to wait there for him.
Fatal Tragedy scans the room and grimaces. They say the manner of a man can be judged by the company he keeps. If he indeed owns this ... establishment, or at least is well known here, Fatal is not terribly optimistic it would be interesting.
He lingers at the bar after talking to the Lizardfolk to take in the other patrons.
Perception (1d20+6)[22]
He takes an interest in the insignia on the seeming archmagus, seeing if he recognises it and what he knows of the organisation. Knowledge Arcana (1d20+11)[24]
The air in the room seems to be a bit tense, like people are expecting something.
Knowledge Arcana for Fatal Tragedy
Spoiler
You don't know whether they belong to a specific organization or not, but you do notice them as runes typical of the writing a wizard would write in his spellbook.
"Alright, I ready. You wait here unless I call. Take Lorris." He slips a small green gem, about as long as the halfling woman's finger, into her hand.
Okay boss. The halfling looks up at the roof. "I'll wait up there. It's a nice night."
"Be careful Tzim. This guy has secrets you don't."
"I will be. Now, you two play nice with each other."
Ibera closes his eyes for a moment, then slips inside, quietly sorting through the surface emotions of those around him. He smirks at the archmage near the end of the bar, picks some dust from his own black robe and gives his own black beard a little stroking before approaching the bartender.
Spoiler
Using Empathy for 8 minutes of surface emotions.
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Avi of Jason by Cealocanth.
Forumite cancels posting: interrupted by RL.
(the_JJ will be (mostly) AWOL for the foreseeable future.)
The man who calls himself The Porter has been studying the entrance to The Stinking Cauldron for the last hour, watching beings enter and exit. Entrances and exits mean a great deal to the Porter. Regardless the venue or the color of the carpet, a good entrance is a terrible thing to waste, and a good exit none the less so. If this Mr. Morgino was as powerful as he seemed, it would be a good idea to impress upon him just who he was dealing with. Porter licked his lips. Magic items of the quality Moringo was peddling meant power indeed. A grand entry was in order, something that would both keep the scum that usually frequented the tavern away, and make Morigino take notice. His studies of the interior of the Cauldron, through the grimy windows and glimpses through the swinging door, had been sufficient for what he had planned. And his study of the nook he was in now, and the exterior of the Cauldron, was enough for an exit, should one arise. He stands, and walks steadily towards the tavern, reflecting on how exits can be of even greater importance than entrances, on occasion.
Seconds later, a white-haired man in black robes appears from thin air in the center of the bar, walks casually to the bartender, and asks after Mr. Moringo, nose ever so slightly in the air. He glances at the corner table he's directed to, sniffs, and then disappear from the bar, only to reappear sitting at the table, back against the corner. He steeples his fingers, and watches the bar with narrowed eyes.
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Larissa approaches the establishment, a spring in her step despite the dreariness of her surroundings. She practically skips across the room to the bartender, responding to his sneer with a wide grin.
As Larissa approaches the place where she was directed to by the lizardfolk, she notices that several others have already arrived and smiles widely.
Hai-hai! The girl exclaims as she energetically takes a seat, looking at her companions. So, you all got letters too, I guess. This is going be great! Larissa says, the excitement in her voice seeming to seep into the air around her. Well, then, since it doesn't seem like this Morgino guy is here yet, how about we introduce ourselves? I'm Larissa, I play the cello to make people better at doing things. She explains, one hand supporting her head, the other running through and toying with her hair.
A disquieting chill seems to emanate from Porter, and his steepled fingers fold downwards, leaving him with bridged hands.
"I was not aware there were...others..." Porter says, after Larissa makes her introduction, his voice chilly, his expression composed. He looks around the bar, sizing up the patrons for others who may be joining their table. The magi? No, he'd be at the table already. The dwarf was heavily into his ale, but that could hardly count out a dwarf. The acid-spattered humanoid with claws at the bar looked like he could handle himself, and he hadn't joined a table yet. The bearded halfling gazing around the room with an intent expression was obviously looking for someone...
A corner of his mouth twitches momentarily, a smirk or annoyance, it's hard to tell.
"I am The Porter, mortal, and yes, it seems we've been called to a meeting."
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Ibera looks at 'the Porter.' As he drops into the bar next to him and asks after Moringo. Flashy. Prefers to go by job title, 'the' to imply uniqueness. Still, possibly powerful.
Proposed usefulness: Possibly negative. Dangerous as an unsecured crossbow.
Proposed uses: Distraction. Teleport mule.
Moment's later the girl bounces to the bar, announces the same. The girl... well, heh. He knew better than to dismiss little girls. She was bubbly, and also being very loud and obvious. Likely gaming it though, more likely to be trainable.
Proposed usefulness: Null. Presumably has some talents, yet to be revealed.
Proposed uses: Likewise.
Ibera nods at the other two. "I do believe I've also had some interesting correspondence." He tilts his head toward the table the bartender had indicated, right before the man had dropped out of thin air. I'm going to wait at the table.
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Avi of Jason by Cealocanth.
Forumite cancels posting: interrupted by RL.
(the_JJ will be (mostly) AWOL for the foreseeable future.)
After only a few minutes from when Fatal and Ibera take their seats, the door of the Stinky Cauldron flies open, if not by the force of the one behind it, then by the strength of the wind outside. Lightning flashes in the distance and rain has begun to fall in torrents. Fortunately, you are no longer in Arkios, so its strange weather poses no danger here; for whatever reason the acid rains and lightning storms are confined to Arkios alone. When the lightning flashes, it silhouettes a hunched figure in the doorway. As the lightning fades, you can see it is a very aged man, with a walking cane and long, straggly white hair that has thinned significantly on the top of his head. He wears plain brown leather vest over a white tunic and brown leather trousers. He wears a plain black robe, cut down the middle so it hangs open over the rest of his clothes. Nothing in his appearance is particularly imposing, however, when the other patrons turn to see who it is, they all fall silent. The quarrel at the front of the bar stops mid-sentence. The archmage, with a few gestures, disappears completely out of the bar with a loud pop that you can only assume was a teleport of some kind. Even the armor-clad dwarf stops gulping his ale for a moment.
The next most striking thing you notice, as he walks across the bar, is the way he moves. Though he uses the cane, he still somehow manages to move in a slinking way, slithering across the inn's floor like a cat on the prowl. His icy blue eyes lock onto your table immediately and he moves swiftly, for a man with a cane, to your table.
He takes the fifth and last remaining seat, pulls it out and looks at each of you in turn. When he locks eyes with you, a sharp tingle runs up and down your spine. For a moment, you can't breathe or move, the force of his gaze is so strong. But instantly, that sensation fades and you find yourself free to breathe and move again.
Then there's the smell. If the way he moved and his mighty gaze weren't so commanding, you would have noticed it immediately. Now you wonder how you could ever not notice it. He smells horrendous; it is so powerful you have trouble putting it into words. But, as your mind reels from your first real whiff, you realize that it is something not unlike the rotting corpse of a fish. Yes, dead fish and rotting chum.
Deliberately, he hangs his cane from the back of his seat and slowly, like a creaking oak, he lowers himself into the seat; the first real moment you've witnessed where his highly advanced age is apparent. He turns around to motion to the Lizardfolk behind the bar and then turns back to the table. "Gentlemen... And Lady. I regret that I was delayed in my arrival, but there were some circumstances beyond my control that needed dealt with. I am Mr. Morgino, or as you are welcomed to call me, Mr. M."
As he pauses, the Lizardfolk brings out five amber-colored meads to your table and places a drink in front of each of you. This is notable in that you haven't seen him serve any other customers in such a way. Mr. M then pulls out a bound scroll from his vest pocket and unravels it. He speaks a few arcane words and waves his hand at the table. The air around the table and behind your companions seems to shimmer for a moment, but then everything is back to normal.
"There." He says. "Some privacy." He slowly raises his lips in what you would be forced to call a grin, showing crooked and yellowed teeth, but the expression looks disturbingly unnatural and forced on his wrinkled face. His stench continues to assault your olfactory senses.
"I have gathered you four together today for a very special purpose. As you well know, there are a plethora of ruins from the ancient civilizations in Arkios and no small amount of old secrets and powerful artifacts to be discovered in these ruins. It has come to my attention that certain forces outside of my realm of expertise have aligned in order to recover three items of power hidden in ruins in Arkios. I simply cannot allow these items to fall into... what I shall call the wrong hands."
He looks around the table at each of you and the expression and movement remind you of a vulture sizing up its not-yet-dead next meal. As he speaks, he motions to each of you in turn, "So I have hand-selected each of you. Ibera for his talent in finding things that are lost, will be the invaluable eyes of the team. Not to mention his little strumpet on the roof. The Porter, for his talent in trans-dimensional travel, will be your swift feet. Fatal Tragedy, though I suspect that is not his real name, with his mastery of the divine arts and his body alike, will be your hands. And finally, this dear girl, Larissa, with her ability in two very unique forms of arcane power and her songs, will be the voice of your team. That is, if you all accept my offer."
"'What is that offer?' I hear you asking. Well, frankly, I have no need for further magical items in my collection. I have quite a few. You retrieve these items for me, and you get to keep them; along with anything else you find along the way. All I ask in return, is that you keep them out of the hands of my enemies." He pauses for a moment to let all that sink in and to allow the many questions swirling in your head time to coalesce and be asked.
Porter watches warily as Morgino makes his entrance and introductions, his eyes staring thoughtfully at each indicated member. Excitement rose in him, but he kept it in check.
"A bargain cannot be struck for the objects we are set to find. There must be some initial payment here, something that shows us you've the resources you claim to have, to know all this information, but be unable to take the items yourself."
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Ibera's eyes flash at 'strumpet,' but he lets the comment slide. He carefully wipes the edge of his mug, then sets the mead aside, undrunk. "Payment concerns me as well. I doubt you'd have us rescue these three pieces just to hand them to us, and besides, three split four ways very awkwardly, lest you are thinking we'll leave this job one less.
"My normal fee, I think, applies to a normal job." Ibera glances at the unknown quantities that circled the table. "This isn't normal, and I do believe I was promised artifacts of magical nature. Now," Ibera sets his hand on the table, tapping for emphasis. I've seen proof of your capabilities, and I don't need payment up front. All I need is descriptions of what we're up against and what we'll need to find to the best of your abilities. However, I do the job and I get paid. No surprises, no tricks, no welching. Not on my end of the bargain, not on yours. Agreed?"
Spoiler
And... apparently Mythweavers decided to eat half my sheet.
Anyway, I had the Inquisitor feat, so I'm going to burn my Focus, pick up a +10 to Perception, and stare this guy down.
Perception, (Sense Motive): (1d20+26)[33]
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Avi of Jason by Cealocanth.
Forumite cancels posting: interrupted by RL.
(the_JJ will be (mostly) AWOL for the foreseeable future.)
Porter watches warily as Morgino makes his entrance and introductions, his eyes staring thoughtfully at each indicated member. Excitement rose in him, but he kept it in check.
"A bargain cannot be struck for the objects we are set to find. There must be some initial payment here, something that shows us you've the resources you claim to have, to know all this information, but be unable to take the items yourself."
"You require a demonstration of my power?" Mr. M grins again, the expression just as much foreign to his face as it was before. He reaches out and touches The Porter's arm. Suddenly, The Porter seizes up and becomes rigid. He is unable to move or talk for a full-minute. "Do not worry, the effects are merely temporary and leave no permanent physical damage." He says to assuage the others' concerned looks. The Porter stays that way for a full minute before returning to normal.
"As for payment: you may think me old, but I am no fool. I have no desire to pay you up front for a job you may or may not be able to complete. Your payment depends entirely upon how well you do your job."
"I am unable to retrieve these items myself for personal reasons. Though it is certainly within my capabilities to obtain these items myself, I am... restricted... by another commitment I have made that does not concern you."
Quote:
Originally Posted by The_JJ
Ibera's eyes flash at 'strumpet,' but he lets the comment slide. He carefully wipes the edge of his mug, then sets the mead aside, undrunk. "Payment concerns me as well. I doubt you'd have us rescue these three pieces just to hand them to us, and besides, three split four ways very awkwardly, lest you are thinking we'll leave this job one less.
"My normal fee, I think, applies to a normal job." Ibera glances at the unknown quantities that circled the table. "This isn't normal, and I do believe I was promised artifacts of magical nature. Now," Ibera sets his hand on the table, tapping for emphasis. I've seen proof of your capabilities, and I don't need payment up front. All I need is descriptions of what we're up against and what we'll need to find to the best of your abilities. However, I do the job and I get paid. No surprises, no tricks, no welching. Not on my end of the bargain, not on yours. Agreed?"
"Concerning payment, my information suggests that each of the three artifacts I seek are hidden among a cache of powerful items from the old kingdoms. There should be plenty to go around."
"Unfortunately for all of us, I have little information on precisely what your opposition will be like. The items will certainly be well-guarded, whether by creatures or magic, or as likely as any, both. The opposing forces that seek these items are powerful and they will be devoting their full resources to it, I imagine. However, I know very little of what they plan."
"I will tell you all that I know about the items once we have all agreed to work together. After all, I must have every assurance that none of you were first recruited for the opposition. Any other questions?"
Fatal's nose wrinkles at the stench emanating from Mr Morgino. His paralysing touch, the smell .... reminds him of powerful unnatural beings of negative energy he had studied while in the Temple. He tries to recall if Mr Morgino reminded him of one that he had learned of before
Spoiler
Knowledge Religion (1d20+8)[17]
Despite his every instinct telling him know, the prospect of acquiring further power through magic appealed to him. This Mr Morgino looked like a natural adept of the way of True Knowledge from his bearing and his natural powers. Still, he didn't run headlong into trouble. Years of living in the wilds have taught him to plan out his routes from shelter to shelter.
"So, Mr Morgino, you don't know who might be after the same items and opposing us, you don't know exactly what is at those ancient sites, there may or may not be anything there at all ... tell me Mr Morgino, in our situations, would you accept such a commission as well? Surely a ... man ... of your means and powers would have gleaned some information to share with us. How would you have known these mysterious 'others' were after them in the first place?"
"Further, you actually sent couriers directly to us. So you do know what we're capable of, perhaps we are the only ones willing to aid you? If the items not falling into the hands of our enemies were so important to you, some material aid at the start would not be amiss."
"And ... I suspect your plan is not as secret as you would like it to be." He looks at the other patrons of the bar.
"So, Mr Morgino, you don't know who might be after the same items and opposing us, you don't know exactly what is at those ancient sites, there may or may not be anything there at all ... tell me Mr Morgino, in our situations, would you accept such a commission as well? Surely a ... man ... of your means and powers would have gleaned some information to share with us. How would you have known these mysterious 'others' were after them in the first place?"
"Further, you actually sent couriers directly to us. So you do know what we're capable of, perhaps we are the only ones willing to aid you? If the items not falling into the hands of our enemies were so important to you, some material aid at the start would not be amiss."
"And ... I suspect your plan is not as secret as you would like it to be." He looks at the other patrons of the bar.
Mr. M sneers at Fatal Tragedy as he asks his questions. When he speaks, his voice is low and raspy, seeming to contain a coldness and contempt you have yet to hear from him. "If I found myself in your situation, I would be grateful for the opportunity to acquire some all-too-rare-in-this-world magical items the Order of Robin haven't had the chance to destroy yet."
"I know others are after them just as I knew where to find you. I have my sources. However, my enemies are rather better guarded against spying then you lot were."
"As for material aid, make no mistake. I may be your 'mysterious benefactor,' but I am no charity. My magicks are mine. You'll have to earn your's. However, I will do what I can to aid you, and we will get to that once everyone has agreed."
"Finally, do not worry about the other patrons. To them, our conversation is a lengthy one about the days I spent torturing a former employee who betrayed me. How I left him on the brink of death for three weeks, healing him as needed to keep him just barely conscious to experience every last agonizing detail of his last days. And most of you seem to be enjoying the story, or at least forcing a laugh to hide your fear. I must keep up appearances, after all."
"So, what say you then? I know where The Porter stands, but how about the rest of you? Do we have a deal?" Mr. M's icy blue eyes light up in anticipation.
Ibera nods. "I'm satisfied. We have bargained well and done." He makes as if to stand. "I'm going to go get my girl down. This is bad weather for rooftop lurkers."
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Avi of Jason by Cealocanth.
Forumite cancels posting: interrupted by RL.
(the_JJ will be (mostly) AWOL for the foreseeable future.)
Fatal is enormously impressed by the reply. His questions, deliberately provocative, had garnered a reply beyond his expectations. Natural adept indeed.
"Ah, very good. Ibera, before you retrieve your lady friend, I propose a toast." He says, baring his crooked yellow teeth. "To our new contract..." He raises his mug of mead to toast you and waits for you all to meet it with your own before taking a gulp from his.
Porter raises a glass, and brings it to his lips, but doesn't sip from it. Setting it on the table, he leans forward, intent on hearing Morigno's next words.
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"I abstain from imbibing alcoholic drinks due to my vows but I will accept this toast toward our temporary partnership toward mutual benefit. Here I let the very earth sup and bear witness to this." Fatal pours the mead three times in a line on the ground ((Somewhat akin to libation))
"I abstain from imbibing alcoholic drinks due to my vows but I will accept this toast toward our temporary partnership toward mutual benefit. Here I let the very earth sup and bear witness to this." Fatal pours the mead three times in a line on the ground ((Somewhat akin to libation))
"Please, do not fret, Mister Tragedy. The drink may look, smell, and taste like mead, but it is not alcoholic. It is a special potion of my own brewing, designed to grant great powers to my allies. Please, both of you," He says, eyeing The Porter. "Drink." The last word is said with great authority, lacking in any sinister overtones, but certainly coming across as a command.
Fatal carefully sets the drink down. He says in a quiet but firm voice, "I have no need of further power. Perhaps it is more an issue of trust. If you would elocute the need for me drinking this and it does, I would consider obliging. If it is just a means for you to have control over us, I think I would politely decline."
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