Texxor and Arctos, accompanied by two of Texxor’s guards, hurry through the street of Lucimburic.  Texxor seems to be in a bad mood, he shouts at anyone in his way.. or maybe that’s just how Werewolves deal with traffic.  He’s not insulting, just quick to shout orders to “Get out of our way!”

The Temple of Arduinna is the largest temple in Lucimburic, but none of the them are as big as the temples Arctos recalls from the major temple complexes of home, like the ones in Mons Lucia.  Back home, this temple would rate only as “moderate”, and the construction… Dwarves would never use so much wood in a temple!

But he recognizes some of the statue work.  Arduinna is known in the Roman world as Diana.  The Dwarves recognize her existence and pay homage in the most minimal ways they can get away with.  Diana rates a couple of small statues in Mons Lucia, but the Dwarves have carved many more over the years- she’s a very popular subject for Human statue buyers.

The Temply priestess is  a Werebear, and when Texxor and Arctos arrives, she has company- two other priests, Marrungle the Weremink, and Graehl, and Human priest on a sort of “visiting priest” program from nearby Treverorum.

Arctos sort of recalls the man- but General Texxor certainly does.  Grael had accompanied Texxor’s troops in the Battle of Beda as their chaplain, the role Texxor assumes Arctos has with the Dwarves.

Texxor quickly describes the facts that Arctos has brought to him- this book, the “Book of Beasts” with some sort of hide cover.

”Oh my goodness,” Priestess Kolitya says.  “It’s back.”

”Explain,” Texxor growls.

”It was during the usurper time.  There were servants of the Demon Lord of Beasts.  You remember.  And one of the Unspoken came, and offered his services, and said he had been given the Book of Beasts and had the powers therein.  But the thralls of Baphomet through him out, because they said they had no desire or need for the unnatural beasts of the book.  Every creature in it is some abnormal abomination of natural beasts.  Owlbears.  Cockatrice.  Horrible things.”

He is no Lycanthrope, but during his time here, Graehl has learned a lot about Lycanthrope beliefs.  They believe their connection to animals is a sacred one, given to them by their goddess Arduinna.  It has not escaped their notice that there are no such things as Were-Griffons, Were-Hydras, Were-Owlbears, or other such Lycanthrope version of what they call “unnatural beasts” although there are Lycanthrope versions of just about every type of wild “natural” animal.  Possibly because of this, the Lycanthropes harbor a strong dislike for these “monsters”.  If the goddess cared at all about them, there would have been Were-Owlbears, right?  But there aren’t any, and this proves that Arduinna hates Owlbears.

Such a great hatred, that when then the Demon Lord Baphomet tried to subvert Lucimburic last year, even he was forced to reject the unnatural beasts, as he wished the Lycanthropes to accept him, and that would never be, if he had accepted the monsters.

To Texxor, this is very serious business.  This foe is not an ordinary assassin, but a foe of all that Lucimburic holds dear!  He gives orders to his guards:  “Hunt for this man!  Comb the city, every street, every grate!  You put a guard at every gate!  Drag him out, shout the moment that you find him!”

       Skippio faithfully follows his charge and accompanies Partre Arctos into the Temple
of Diana.

       Upon arriving at the Temple of Diana, and finally meeting 'Her' servants, Arctos respect-
fully bows as best he can using his Agnon for support, as does Skippio.  The Dwarven Patre moans
from his recent wound as he bends into his bow.

       "Greetings and salutations Patres and Priestesses O' Diana!  Mine nomen tis Patre Arctos
O' the Noble Avernian House O' Scopulos, Servant O' Mars, art Dwarven King, and Spiritual
Advisor and Counselor O' the Dwarven Legion."

       The Dwarven Patre listens closely as Grael speaks, and after hearing him out he begins
to tug gently upon his burned and tattered beard in thought.  Moments pass and the Dwarven
Priest finally speaks . . .

       "It . . . . the 'Usurper?  Wot doth he look like?  Doth thee hath a rendering O' him
so's one and all can know wot this Assassin looks like?"

        Arctos pauses for a reply, then continues . . .

        "The Usurper tis a hiding where the righteous doth na seek!  Doth any O' thee hath
a clue where that might be?  It couldst make art search much the easier, tutherwise this
'Usurper' l'e be like the proverbial needle in a haystack!"

        Upon hearing Texxor's command of searching out this Assassin, Arctos smacks his
Agnon upon the Temples tile floor and bellows . . .

        "Hold pon giving out that order General!  It mayst naught be wise to herald art
knowledge O' this vile Assassin presence.  Alesuria wished that we discreetly search
out the assassin, lest we alert him that we know o' their presence and current mission
and cause him to take even greater precautions to hide his presence.  Will thee naught
respect and abide her decision ser?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:06, Sun 07 Apr 2013.

“Not the usurper,” Kolitya the Wearbear priestess says.  “But someone who was here during that time.  He sought to join forces, but he Usurper, who was a pawn of the Demon Baphomet, drove him off, because such things a Lycanthrope cannot abide, even if being misled by a Demon.

“Unnatural Beasts,” the Werewolf grumbles.  “Never a good thing.  But if you prefer this search be done with stealth instead of speed, tis a good point.”

He redirects the guards- instead of launching into a direct and vigorous search, they are to pass the word to Wyllister and the other Wereweasels who were at the Security Meeting.

“As for the foe,” Kolitya says, “I recall something about this one who presented himself before the Usurper and the Demon-thralls of Baphomet.  Not a big person.  Just about the height of an average Human, but very thin, with yellowish-green eyes, and short, dirty black hair.  A greasy look about him.  But that might describe most of his kind, I suppose.”

They  explain further for Arcto's benefit, as he is clearly an outsider and doesn't know these things.

There are Were-forms of just about every “natural” animal.  Such is the wisdom of Arduinna, (This gets repeated a lot by Kolitya, and Texxor nods along every time she says it.)  No unnatural beasts have Were-Forms, no Domestic Beasts have were-forms (though their wild cousins do_.  Thus, Werelynxs, not cats.  Werewoves and Foxes, not dogs.  All the different Werefolk were created because each had a purpose and a part in the world.  And they all came to live in Lucimburic.  Now Lucimburic has WereOtters and Wereturtles and WereSwans and all manner of Werefolk... except for those who could not live here, because they needed a different climate, and a very few who rejected Arduinna early on.  That last category  includes the most hated of all Lycanthropes.  Sure, people don't trust the Wereweasels, but as Tawna demonstrated, even they have a place here and a role to play.  They are part of the tapestry of life here.

But not the Weresnakes.  They abandoned Lucimburic, and Arduinna's ways,  .

     
        "Doth this assassin hath a moniker to go with his description, n' doth he hath any
peculiar odors about him,"  asks the Dwarven Patre of the Werebear Priestess impatiently.
The Dwarf's thick eyebrows raise in anticipation of acquiring the name of the vile assassin
. . .  Arctos continues to lean heavily upon his Agnon for support, being that his 'Infernal
Wounds' still bothered him a tad.

      Upon hearing of the Wereweasels Security Meeting, the Dwarven Patre adds . . .

      "Mayhaps we should also hath tuther 'Security Representatives' attend this ere 'Security
Meeting' O' yours as well, ~~from the 'Too Talls', the Elves, mine fellow Dwarves, as well as
mineself. In so doing we can coordinate r'e efforts in catching this vile assassin afore he
hath ev'r the chance to cause us any great harm!"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:50, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

"Alas, Arctos, our security meeting is already concluded," Texxor says.  "Our plans are a secret, and each is upon his tasks.. yet, this was done all before news of this book reached us.  Still, we have a foe... we might as well begin tracking him down.  You say, where the righteous fear to go?  There are places of iniquity here in Lucimburic.  There are the remains of the shrine of Baphomet, for one.  And there are the cesspools in the Grund."

"It has been so long since he has been here, I don't think a Werewolf could find the scent," the Werebear priestess says.  "It would be masked anyway.  Any villain who has done the slightest preparation before facing Lycanthropes knows their detection of scent makes them the finest trackers in the world.  This foe knows us, from the sound of it.  He would have taken precautions."

"Probably got a dozen vials of peppermint oil," Texxor growls.

Kolitya politely explains to the Dwarf:  Peppermint oil is produced by a few artisans here in Lucimburic.  It is a potent parasite dispelling agent- put some in your fur and you'll be clean of fleas and ticks.  But if you're tracking a scent, and you run across a puddle of peppermint oil... it's like staring into the sun.  You will go temporarily nose-blind.

Kolitya adds that it is also a treatment for Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

        Arctos looks to Kolitya, and then General Texxor as he speaks . . .

        "Answer me this, O' the to sites, which be closest to the wedding site of King Theoderic
and Aelasuria?  I myself insist that I be with those whom art searching for this vile assassin,
and wishes to accompany those O' whom go to the site that tis closest to the Wedding Site!
Thee wouldst hath bein none the wiser hadst I n'vr approached thee.  Besides mine god wouldst
frown pon me if I shirked in my expected duties.  I must go with those that hunt this abomidable
beast.  The sooner the better . . . I am armed and armored and I am at the ready!"

       The Dwarven Patre readies his shield and smacks it smartly, which sends a loud metallic
ring throughout the expanse of the Temple . . . so as to show that he's indeed prepared for
action.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 00:35, Wed 10 Apr 2013.

Graehl had stood by in silence, listening to the exchange between the dwarves priest and his hosts. He hid his face beneath a hooded cloak, a wooden staff clutched in his weathered hands. As Arctos demonstrated his readiness, the large man stepped forwards. "I shall aid you, dwarf. The Trickster has taught me a number of skills that you may find useful." Pulling back his hood, he revealed a sun bronzed face, and wild unkempt hair, still bearing a caught bramble from the forests. His darkened skin bore a number of scars, belying a warrior beneath the simple robes, and behind his experienced eyes burned the fire of a playful spirit, barely masked by a powerful passion.

         The wounded Dwarven Patre lithely shoulders his shield, retrieves his secreted
flask from within his heavy woolen raiments, removes its stopper, takes a good snort,
restoppers the flask, and promptly returns it from whence it came.  Quite unexpectedly a
satisfying burp escapes from betixt his lips.  Though the Dwarven spirts do help,  Arctos
whinces a tad in pain from his infernal schrapnel wounds that he still suffers from.
Arctos tugs gently upon his burned and tattered beard as he impatiently awaits Texxor's
expected reply.

         Upon hearing the strangers voice, the Dwarf looks to him with raised brow, and
realizes that he hasn't the authority to grant such a request being that this is Lucimbric
and not the Dwarven Kingdom, then turns his attention back to General Texxor for his expect-
ed reply to his very own request . . .

         Skippio, the Patre's Dwarven Personal Guard, looks to the lad, nods approvingly,
yet remains silent while patiently waiting upon his charge with his hand gently relaxed
upon the hilt of his scabbarded weapon.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:25, Wed 10 Apr 2013.

Texxor nods.

”You know our ways, and our places,” he says to Graehl.  “One such as Arctos could easily become lost.  Or worse.  I cannot take the time to guide him, I have a security plan to put into effect.  And it’s better.  I would be too easily noticed.”

”Should I help?” the Werebear cleric asks.

”No, Kolitya, you are obvious too.  To well known, to anyone who’s been here.  Our high priestess of Arduinna, after all!  Those who are less… visible… may be a better chance at flushing out the foe.”

Then the Werewolf general looks back at the young Dwarf.  “Speaking of visible, Arctos… are there steps you can take to look less like… you… and more like a more simple Dwarven traveler?  A visitor, being shown around by our local cleric, here?  We know, from what we have seen, that our foe is crafty and prefers to watch without being himself seen.  Odds are good that wherever he is, he will be cautious, and see you before you see him.  And you.. as you are… will scare him off.”

Kolitya adds:  “Clanging… that sort of thing… probably not a good idea, then.”

Texxor agrees.  “Now… you ask about the places we mentioned.  The remnants of the shrine of Baphomet…”

”Our old priory, never rebuilt after the battle with Baphomet,” Kolitya says.  “It hasn’t felt right, even though it is where Evil was defeated.”

”It’s very nearby,” Texxor says.

* * * * * * *

Indeed it is, and it is a partly destroyed building not far from the temple.  Walls, chimney, some parts of roof… and a lot of rubble.

Arctos and Graehl spend a lot of time poking around there, enough for the GM to catch them up in time to the rest of the activity in the other threads in the city.  They poke around the rest of the day, finding nothing, until it dawns on Arctos that the Divine Guidance he received made it clear that the Shrine was the wrong place.  “Where the Righteous do not go,” he recalls.  But the shrine.. ex-priory… was a battle sight.  The Righteous certainly went there, kicked butt and took names.  Wrong place.

The sleazy strip of bars, flop houses, pawn and junk shops, and brothels that is the heart of the Grund, the “Low Town”.. that is where it seems the Righteous would not go…

And they get there in the morning.

This is a narrow district along banks of the Alzette River along the east side of the city.   It has two main roads, Plaetis on the west bank and Bisserweg on the East, joined by the Munster Bridge which is the heart of the Grund.  It is cut off from the city by steep slopes, and looking up from The Grund one can see the Corniche, a grand balcony atop the main fortifications around the Ducal Palace and other government structures.   Stairs and one steep road connect the Grund with the rest of the city.  Despite the inconvenient location, the Grund is readily accessible by water, and so was a good entry point for visitors.  It has some places of interest for travelers, and has a concentration of taverns- built here to be readily available to travelers, the locals got used to coming down here too.

It’s quiet.  People here tend to sleep late, and those who are up are mostly off in the “upper town”, enjoying the festivities.

Graehl knows something about this place.  Some, not a lot.  It's not the sort of place he'd be spending a lot of time in.

After a fruitless search through temple ruins, Graehl gave an impatient glare to the dwarf as he announced the change of locale, but nevertheless, he led the way to the Grund and the Old Foundry, a large inn set up in a disused iron foundry beyond the city walls. "If we seek rumours, this is the place."

          Arctos turns to the newly me stranger and adds . . .

          "Let us first return to the Dwarven encampment so's I can get a proper shield cover and
Tabard so's to cover my identity appropriately, and to call upon my tuther personal guard in order
to buff up art current numbers.  Skippio's services are quite good, but let us bring mine tuther
personal guard Burris to accompany us to accomplish art task!"

(let's assume that since this is the morning of the next day, Arctos can already be appropriately prepared.)


The Foundry is an old and very large brick building.  Once upon a time, it was an iron foundry, and work was done on a massive scale, producing iron for export.  But it's been a long time since it was used for function.  Now it is a tavern, with rooms for short and long term rent- most without furniture, and some having not been used in many years.

The large "public room" up front was once where deliveries were loaded and unloaded- wagons full of ore being backed up right into the building, and wagons of iron stock and goods going out.  There were large arched openings, but these have been mostly bricked in, leaving normal doors.

It's early, and places like this have a gray, smelly silence in the morning- especially with the festivities up on the hill at the Clear Fountain Plaza drawing in many of the people.  What's left are just a few patrons who fell asleep on the spot the night before and haven't woken up yet, and a few employees cleaning up.  But the cooking and the brewing here never stops- soon the noon time rush will be here, and there are Wererats and Wereboars and others who will want to get an advance on the day's drinking.

Two of the employees, Wererats, are cleaning a large cauldron.  This isn't done often, but with so many visitors in town maybe they want to give at least an appearance of cleanliness at the Old Foundry, and draw in some new customers.

They pause when Graehl and Arctos show up.

"Having late breakfast?" one asks.  "You sit anywhere, you want ale and bread or Omelet with Extra Cheese?"*

*Wererats always assume omelets with cheese should have extra cheese, or it's hardly worth the effort.

          A Dwarven Legionaire looks about to find a choice table and set of chairs that would
afford himself and Graehl a fine place to observe those entering the Tavern through the front
door aa well as seeing out onto the street through the establishments front window . . .
thus allowing them to observe any passer byes . . .

          Once the disguised Arctos manages to sit down with the assistance of his spear,
his countenance takes on the deepest of bronze hues which reveals his intense embarassment
The Dwarven Patre covers his mouth while whispering to his newly met companion Graehl . . .

          "Ashamed I am lad as for one O' mine station naught to hath coins tis most
shameful.  The Dwarven contingent hath naught drawn any coin from the Legion Paymaster for
many a months now!  I canna pay for nither meal nor drink.  If'n I knew we wouldst be making
art way ere, I wouldst hath borrowed some coin for this ere occassion.  Mayhaps we should
leave lad so's naught to gathers any undue attention!"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:06, Sat 13 Apr 2013.

(You can assume Arctos has money for incidentals.  We don't track that level of money.)

pm

Looking up at the approaching wererat, Graehl simply muttered a quick, "I will pay," before addressing the waiter. "Ale and bread. And something for our visitor, too." He indicated Arctos. Lowering his voice, he continued. "In fact, I must admit that my friend here harbours a curiosity for the unnatural. He was hoping to find a creature of myth, an owlbear, perhaps, but I was sorry to inform him that such creatures are not always welcome within Arduinna's fair lands, and I could not help him, though I hoped I might find one in the Grund. It would seem we are out of luck, however."

 The Foundry workers are a little surprised to hear Graehl mention an Owlbear.

And so openly!  So bluntly!  They assume he must be joking.

"Even with all the strange folk visiting, nothing that strange," says the one who seems to have designated himself as waiter.  "Good thing, Arduinna has no love for such monsters."

But within each Wererat's soul is a core of Opportunism.  It is what they are.  And if there is just a sliver of a hint of a chance that this stranger really wants to find an Owlbear...

"Unless of course good sir has reason to want one," the Wererat whispers.  "And might have the means to reward those who might aid in such a search. Hateful they are, but there is always a way, yes?"

       Arctos becomes distracted from his new companions conversation, and finds his raven
hued orbs scanning the patrons scattered about the room, as well as those folk whom are
traversing the thoroughfare that could be seen through the Taverns window.  The Dwarven
Patre hopes to hear of any rumors that will aid their cause in finding the assassin, or
possibly even see their quarry in the Tavern or passing by outside.  One never knows when
the gods may bless their with their favor . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Sat 13 Apr 2013.

pm

Lowering his voice to match, Graehl subtly jingled the coin purse in his hands, as he added, "My friend is most insistent of his desire. He has travelled far and at great expense." Lowering his voice even further, he concluded with, "A large donation to the temple would accompany such a find, and I'm certain we would see to sharing the wealth with loyal were-creatures of the faith."

Graehl seeks information from the Wererats, while Arctos looks outside, observing the nearly empty street... the Elves going by... and doesn't hear anything that might have "clue" attached to it, aside from, possibly, Graehls' conversation.

Having been in Lucimburic a while, Graehl knows a few things about Wererats.  They are, in general, morally questionable.  Not in the manner of an Orc, who enjoys causing pain and dominating others.  But they have a strong desire for, well, just about everything.  Such a strong desire that when morality gets in the way of acquiring wealth, morality often ends up bound and gagged in a back room while the rat's greedier instincts take over.

Donation... that's a word that can get a Wererat's attention.  The both of them have a sudden, strong interest in Graehl.

"He'd pay to see an Owlbear?  What is, some kind of rich, sick freak with..."

The first Wererat's line of questioning is cut off by an elbow from the second.

The second Wererat begins in a different direction.  "Sharing wealth... we can always help someone willing to share wealth.  I don't know about an owlbear.  Never been one around here.  Your friend... any monster good, or Owlbear?  Cause Grikkis talked to a guy who was hanging around the brothel and saw a pretty strange creature there a few days ago.  Like a bird with four feet!  That unnatural enough for you, or does it gotta be a Owlbear?"

Graehl couldn't help but let a small smile curl his lips. "Excellent. Do you hear that, my friend?" Reaching into the pouch, he procured a gold coin, placing it on the table before him, before pulling out a second, placing it next to the first, but keeping his hand over it. "What more is there to know, servant of the Goddess?"

        Arctos, apparently a stranger in a strange land, decides Graehl should take the lead
in dealing with this particular breed of Werefolk.  Their motivations were not his, and they
knew the lay of their community better than he.  The Dwarven Patre nods his head approvingly
at what his newly met companion had been saying.

The coin disappears from the table as fast as… well, as fast it a Wererat can remove it from the table and place it into his pocket while maintaining an utterly non-chalant “who, me?” expression.  (About 4.2 milliseconds, for those counting.)

A Wererat with a gold piece to spend is a happy Wererat.  But a Wererat with TWO gold pieces…

“You’se looking for a guy what talks to that creature.  If he can talk to a four foot vulture-dog thing,  he must know about other foul things.  Grikkis saw him, down at Woogum’s.   You know, Woogums?”

Graehl knows.   Woogum’s is Lucimburic’s brothel.  It’s run by a pack of Wereweasels, and is the kind of place decent people don’t like to admit they know about.  But everyone in town knows it’s there.  It’s on the south side of the Grund, not far from the Old Foundry.  It’s sort of on an island of its own, in the Alzette river… well, it’s an island if one regards that muddy little trash strewn slick that separates it from the bank as “water”.

“You knows I can’t go down there wich-uh,” the Wererat says.  “They see me wich youse and…”  he makes a gesture that indicates that he thinks this would be a very bad thing for him.

The other wererat throws his two coppers in: “It’s the weasels, you know.  A rat always knows when he’s in with weasels. They all have ways to make you pay.”

The first continues:  “Most people who wanna be left alone, they might take up a place here, and Fezzle will make sure they get left alone.  But if you really want no one stepping on your tail, and you got the shiny stuff what pays for it, you go talk to Woogums.  But I never said nuthin.  Nuthin at all.”

Lifting his hand from the coin, Graehl nodded with a smile. "Many thanks, blessed ones. Perhaps you could now fetch that breakfast."

        Arctos rubs his tattered and burned beard as he silently watches the strange
interactions twixt the Wererat and Graehl with interest.  Upon hearing of their
quarry being at Woogums, a Wereweasel Brothel, the Patre forces a smile at those
whom had provided the vital information that they were so desperately in need of.

        The Dwarven Patre thought to himself . . .
Things just couldn't possibly get much the worse, wot wouldst his better half think
O' him should she ev'r learn that he had been in such a place O' seech ill repute.
Octavena would probable use much the more than a rolling pin pon him should she ev'r
learn O' his current escapades!'

One of the Wererats says to his partner proudly:  "I am a blessed one!"

From his point of view, that is true.  He now has a couple of gold pieces.  For a typical Wererat kitchen drudge, this is a blessing.

The Wererats in the Old Foundry don't have much of a morning clientele, especially today, so Graehl and Arctos enjoy good service.

They make sure to trim any mold from bread before they serve it.  These are customers with Gold!

(And the Wererats can always eat the moldy parts themselves.  They are not typically very discerning.)

But then it is time to check out their destination.  Woogum's.  The Brothel.

From the outside, it is not a cheery looking place.  It has a very odd combination of opposites:  A large brick building on the riverbank (on its own little sort-of-island), it is very obvious.  But at the same time, it seems to have done it's best to hide.

The building is very plain, and very lacking in detail.  There is no sign.  The windows are small and all hidden by closed, latched shutters.  The main entrance is reached by wooden walkway that crosses the muddy slick that separates Woogums from the mainland, but the door itself has been half-closed in by solid brick, so that only one person can enter at a time.

Directly across from the entrance, there is a three story brick building with a large shop front with a wooden wheel hanging up.. but it looks like it hasn't been used for any business in years.  Nearby are small, crammed together townhouses, the sort where people with little money can rent a single room for long periods.

Nobody is around.  Not unusual for this time of day... and what with the Merchants' Fair and other activities drawing so many off.

But there is something slightly unnerving about the whole scene, and it is Arctos, with his Dwarven "Raven Hued Orbs"^(tm) who notices first what is amiss.

The shadows are wrong.  It's almost as if the shadows from the buildings have been stretched and darkened across the little bridge, so that people going in and out cannot be easily recognized.

It's not darkness like an obvious magical darkness.  Just deep shadow, and in daylight, deep shadow is effective in hiding features.

Looking around, they also see that the position of the other buildings, the curve of the street here, and the narrowness of the street all contribute to making the approach to Woogums a very discreet one.  It's a good place to go if you don't want to be seen going.

       Arctos looks to Graehl, then back to the disturbingly shadowed thouroughfare before
them.  The Dwarven Patre scratches his tattered and burned beard while he cogitates upon
what he's seen, then whispers . . .

       "Lad wouldst it be best to observe the comins n' goins from Woogum's by making
ourselves an observation post in that deserted shop with the hanging Wagonwheel?  Or
should we go into Woogum's to investigate further?"

Graehl looked back to the dwarven priest. "You fear something from over yonder?" He smirked a little, the facade of piety displayed in the tavern dropped upon leaving it. "We're not well known here, so you're not likely to be rumbled." He took a few steps towards the bridge, before pausing and turning back. "I'm only here to help, though, so 'tis up to you, if your sensibilities keep you on this side." His voice had a slightly mocking tone to it, but his eyes showed that he meant nothing by it.

         Arctos ignores the talk of fear as the man doesn't apparently know anything about
the Dwarven servants of Mars, nor anything about the Dwarves of the Legion . . . or what
true fear is all about.  The Dwarven Patre continues to whisper while making his way to
Woogums door.
         
         "Mayhaps seeking out the bird with four feet wouldst serve us best.  Let us go into
Woogums to inquire."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:03, Mon 22 Apr 2013.

With Arctos leading the way they proceed across the narrow wooden catwalk to the door of the riverside establishment.  There is a door knocker here, and with no other way of making themselves known, the obvious thing to do is to knock.

When they do, a small observation portal in the adjoining wall clicks open.  After a moment of hestitation, gray-blue eyes appear behind the portal.  They look down and study the Dwarf for a moment, meeting Arctos’s own eyes.  Arctos has a naïve and youthful look about him, being a "young adult" Dwarf and with not nearly as many years behind him as his companion, and so the eyes quickly flick upward to the priest.


Graehl has been in town for a while, studying with the Werefolk, but he’s met only a fraction of them.  Not this one, apparently.  There is a gruff, puzzled sounding voice from behind the door.

“Alright, you’re not delivering breakfast, what’s this about, then?

       Since the Dwarven Patre's older companion obviously knows the in's and out's of the
'Were' community moreso than himself, he steps aside to let Graehl address the Wereweasel
about the four legged bird.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:07, Mon 22 Apr 2013.

Putting on another persona, Graehl leaned in to towards the open portal. "We's lookin' for a bit o' the old rough an' tumble," he said to the creature beyond, giving a conspiratorial wink. Pulling out his coin purse, he gave it a little jingle before putting it away. "Got the goods, too, so don' you worry 'bout that."

The two are admitted- but the nature of the narrow door makes it necessary for them to go in one at a time.

The interior is a small foyer, with shuttered windows on the walls and comfortable looking chairs.

The group is met be... well, he looks Human, but in Lucimburic, one never knows.  A heavily built woman with a face only a mother could love... and that's with some willing suspension of disbelief.  Splotchy, scarred skin leading up to an uneven hairline, with unkempt dark hair that is missing in places, showing more splotchy scars on her head.

"Welcome to Woogums," she says in a raspy whisper.  "You're first timers.  We like first timers.  We want to turn them into second timers.  But we have some rules, for everyone's comfort.  Weapons are turned in here, you'll get them back when you leave.  No one brings a weapon past here.  No magic, either.  Leave that to us.  Now... it's early, and I guess we're going to have to wake a couple of ladies up.  So tell me what we're looking for."

        Aghast at the thought of having to give up his arms, the Patre looks to Graehl and
quickly replies . . .

        "My friend, I knew naught that in order to hath a tumble and e' tickle that one
wouldst hath to give up their weapons.  A Legionaire can n'vr do seech a thing!  It's
against my training and sacred oath!  Mayhaps it best that I wait ere n' let thee hath a
goot time, so's r'e trip won't be a total waste O' time!  Hadst I only known!  Apologies!"

This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Thu 25 Apr 2013.

This message was deleted by the player at 01:34, Thu 25 Apr 2013.

Graehl let out a rich laugh at Arctos' words. "Got the willies 'as he? Awright then. I'll spend the coin by meself. Lookin' for a girl wiv odd tastes, like. You know: beasts and monsters and what have you. Heard they's beasts in the sack 'emselves." He gave another wink to the ugly woman. "Oh. And you don' mind the cane do ya? Did in me leg in the war, an' I find it hard to walk around these days." If the woman insisted, he would relinquish the staff and feign a limp. Either way, before leaving, he'd lean down to whisper in Arctos' ear. "Why don't you go and watch the streets like you suggested?"

To the folk of Lucimburic, “beasts” and “monsters” means two very different things, and they pride themselves on being the former and not the latter.  Beasts are only monsters when they are “unnatural beasts”, and those are considered abominations.

But here at Woogums, they know that the outsiders sometimes get these things wrong.. and they know that for every possibly kind of deviancy, there is a customer, including a few ordinary Humans who are intrigued by the idea of being intimate with something big, fierce, and hairy.

“You may have heard some things,” the woman says to Graehl.  “I assure you, some of what you’ve heard isn’t true, but much of what is true isn’t told.  If you are curious about that, we can arrange something.  What our customers ask, we provide, be it strange, or… well, even if it’s just to be left alone.  We serve.  Drop your weapons here… the cane… not a staff, is it, I hate that old gimmick?  If it’s just a cane it’s alright.  I think Lerra is the right one for you… not sure she’s here.  Must check.  I’ll be right back.”

“As for your companion,” the woman looks at Arctos with a puzzled, hard expression.  “You should know better than to think you can enter into our fine establishment armed like a whole militia troop.  We have rules, and decorum, here, this is no Wererat flophouse!  If you wish, you can return for your friend later, or you can sit here in our waiting room.  Or, you can wait in our sitting room.  Whichever.  But all of our guests, even outsiders, do not bring weapons into our lovely facility.”

The woman ducks into the interior doors.  Her voice is heard, asking “Is Lerra around?  Got a curious one.”

        Arctos realizes that he wouldn't really be able to see what had to be seen within
the unnatural shadows surrounding Woogum's establishment.  If their suspect passes within
the lobby, he'd be able to easily identify him without any problems, whereas outside he'd
probably pass right by without ever being noticed ~~~ no matter how hard he'd try to spot
him.  The dour Dwarf's raven hued orbs closely peruses wot lies within the waiting room,
then looks upon the horrid oountenance of the rules ridden 'Madame', grimmaces, and with
a sigh of relief he simply replies . . .

        "Ahhh . . . I shalt wait ere methinks!"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:49, Sat 27 Apr 2013.

"Tha's right. Just a cane." Graehl waited patiently for the woman to return.

Graehl is met by a Were-boar woman, Lerra.  She has a powerful, athletic build, and appears in her hybrid form- they’d surmised that Graehl likes women with a “beast” look.

And there is chatter, between Lerra and the woman door-guard, that eventually tips Graehl off to something critical:  There have been a few “Strange strangers” lately, but nothing like that freak who was here for a while and just insisted on staying in a room by himself most of the time, which he paid good money for.

Eventually, they learn that this “freak” is already gone- but he had left mumbling things about Lucimburic being much, much too dangerous.  And “no opportunities that aren’t suicidal”.  They can even get a rough description- short, thin, black hair, black eyes, and with a large, heavy looking leather pack. They have no idea where he went, but he was dressed for traveling when he left, and inquired about roads south.  It seems the extreme level of caution and protection around Lucimburic drove the Bad Guy away.

It is time to catch up these two into other threads, actually. The next round of “adventure” story arcs is beginning.

PM

PM
[Private to GM:

        I have no idea as to what thread that Arctos should jump into now . . .

(I accidentally put the wrong post here last week.  That explains a few things.  Now to straighten things out.  )

Following the brief but ultimately futile pursuit of the mysterious foe with the "beast book", Graehl and Arctos both report back.'

Arctos resumes his old position with the Dwarven troops, and will lead them homewards... but not too far homewards.   There are still problems with a Demon lord.

Graehl has a somewhat different course ahead of him.  He meets with Texxor, the commander of the army of Lucimburic, who is at the same time putting together Lucimburic's contributions to Theoderic's upcoming campaign.

"Theoderic has asked for a few of our best and boldest," the Werewolf general says.  "You have a good reputation from the Beda campaign.  I have volunteers from the warriors... more than I need.  Hector, Vollax... they will go, I'm sure.  A few more, possily.  But a cleric for them would be good.  I do want them back in piece."

Graehl knows the names Texxor mentioned.  Both are Werewolves- ferocious front line fighters, the elite of Lucimburic's military.  Both are, as he recalls, eager for battle.

Graehl reports to another thread, The Northern Front.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:09, Mon 06 May 2013.