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Visitor :  Dice Roller| Game Info| The Cast |
| 2: The Embers That Still Burn. Posted by The GM. | Group: 0 |
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| Author | Message | Page: 6 5 4 3 2 1 [all][bottom] |
 Ambush for delay. Tremor drew his knife and stepped to cut nets, and drop any lines that could foul the march of the armed men. It may mean not reaching, Storm reach, what reach do storms have? But the chance to hector and beset the armed men had to happen now and hopefully without them seeing it was a Halfling. Anuything that could be used, cut to create hazard, Tremor will attempt, while moving in the direction of Tap. Disguising his voice , yelling "Fire! Fire! It's Burning!| 19:08, Today: Tremor Enkau Valevine rolled 15,20,8,17 using d20+9,d20+6,d20+6,d20+5 with rolls of 6,14,2,12. Stealth, Sleight of Hand, Acrobatics, Performance. 19:14, Today: Tremor Enkau Valevine rolled 4 using 1d6 with rolls of 4. Hero Point to Acrobatics. Stealth, 15 Sleight of Hand, 20 Acrobatics, 8 +4 HP = 12 Performance, 17 This message was last edited by the player at 07:02, Fri 14 June 2019. | ||||||||
From his vantage it was easy to avoid discovery. Tremor was atop the roofs, and the bright sun discouraged looking up. That bought him the opportunity to bring down a huge swath of netting and the associated timber. The next would have to come from a different aspect, but a line of clothes hung on a pulley made it quite simple to bring down additional debris from the opposite side of the street. Tremor could hear the guard's frustration mount as they encountered a sudden, inexplicable set of obstacles. There were shouts from the street; to be expected. Tremor took a moment to observe the seven titanic statues of the Titanswalk; it was a perfect venue to observe the ancient relics, and Tremor wondered if Jaliah would appreciate it. Racing past the statues, Tremor scoured the Square; there was very little rigging above the wealthy section of Silverwall, but the Square included a tangle of debris. Scraping the edge of his blade along the blocks sent the contents of a precarious home down to the street. Then he hurled the blade to cut a rope across the street, bringing wood and netting down. He'd kept out of sight, keeping track of his quarry by the sounds of frustrated guards, and the shrieks of discomfited citizens. It was working; He'd developed an appreciable lead, but he'd still need to cross the square to where Tap had presumably continued to dicker over what constituted 'good' bric-a-brac. Deft use of his swing line brought him swiftly down to street level. Too swiftly, landing on an uneven bit of cobblestone. There was pain--the ankle, not so much a hazard as an annoyance, as his momentum carried him in front of a candlemaker's shop. A table there with several lit tapers inspired him. Tremor whispered 'fire,' then shouted 'Fire!' There was one of the Rubble Warren children there, standing beside the table. A girl, through dirty, it was impossible to tell if her grin held affection or menace. She tore the cloth from the table and spilled the burning candles down before flinging the cloth over the head of the startled shopkeeper. As Tremor set off on a flat-out sprint across the plaza away from the fire, he risked a look back; the waif was still grinning at him, and she put her finger up to rub her nose. Back on the far side of Eldred's pool, the peculiar statues in the center gave sufficient cover from the fracas by the candlemaker. By the sound of it the guards were now being exhorted to assist with extinguishing a small fire. He doubted they would, but the delay was enough. There was Tap, holding a figurine of a cat; its paws waggling. "Do you have one of these in the form of a dog?" Tap turned at Tremor's approach. OOC: (1d3 damage for the blown acrobatics) | ||||||||
The mind can walk many paths at once, they split the concentration, leaving the dangers of absent attention to needful things like navigation and movement. Fortunately training and practice allows mitigation of... some of the pitfalls. Diversion, deception, deceit. Slowing his pace and pitting a hand up to pat the 'forged as greeting. "Have you found a gift to pay our respects? A dog, oh, good choice. Let's finish here now, wouldn't want to be late." A light enough touch to both encourage speed and give a trail to the guards, should they inquire, perhaps putting together the unspoken destination as Delera's Watch. The use of the Cant by the young waif, Tremor resolved to track her down and make a gesture of gratitude. Keeping the transaction short or bringing it to finality, Tremor moves on t move Tap and himself away and in the direction one might go to the Watch, only then to turn away once out of range of the shop, and continue to his original destination, the tailor. "We have persistent foes. The attempts to take the coin from you, us, continue. There are guards who have been hired or perhaps brokered who are right now trying to accost us, I managed to spot those they employed to follow us, and delayed them by a few tens of steps. This is going to be a problem unless I can determine who they take orders from. They have been confounded by the Traveler and underestimated us. The time may come soon when that notion expires, to be replaced with a healthier respect for our slipperiness. I am caught between now delaying the visit to the tailor for following the guards back to who they must report failure.. again. The counter weight is time, how much can I afford to fritter away in hopes I could follow them. How much have you left from the original sum entrusted to you Tap?" | ||||||||
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Tap was correct, the streets would know of these two and now, Tremor could describe them and with a little help from the Traveler, find them. Now it was the prospect of the street networks, the eyes and ears, eve hand, as he had found out. They needed to become allies. It was fine to hear Tap expound on possibilities, and there were some he had not thought of, not spoken of, or not imagined. Garreg still seemed the most likely, he would know who was assigned, who had been dispersed the coins and with... though why go through a cutpurse? Why bring the guards in and then have the guards bring in a cutpurse? Right person for the right job? The guard cursed both himself and Tap as stupid, yet they knew the failure of the cutpurse. maybe greed, not wanting to spend more coin or favor and just do it themselves and they pressed, perhaps having a limit within which it needed to be done, say.. before Tremor next reported. "Tap, you were given all the gold to spend by Garreg? Every time you have done this before always the same person gave you the coin to spend?" Tremor stopped just before they could get close to Nat'reths Fabric. It was a lot of money, could wipe out gambling debts, a stake in some sort of investment, buy an expensive gift or token of affection or just put a boot to the throat of a friendly, earnest, hard working, charming Halfling. The motive is the interesting thing. | ||||||||
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:37, Fri 05 July 2019. | ||||||||
"You have not mentioned Maarten d'Tann before. Tell me, start form the beginning, when did you meet him, what were his duties.You mentioned you liked him, did anyone not get along with him? Were there problems, whether personal or business?" Tremor will again try to coax and move the conversation around the actions both in the Distillery and outside of it. Paying attention to probe deeper on any connection to an expedition into Xen'Drik, which sounds to his ear as a way to simply explain a disappear an inconvenient person. What did Maarten d'Tann find or know? | ||||||||
Tremor gathered from Tap's innocent questions that the halfling d'Taan might have been placing himself at a position of profit in light of this negotiation. D'Taan had come to Stormreach two years previously, and offered his services as a skilled manager and restaurateur. He also ingratiated himself with the Stormreach social scene, and may have been the impetus for Varen Lassite's hosting of parties at Molou's. Although the tavern had been started by one of the city's founders, the family business (which had been a labor of love for Molou Lassite) was not as keenly looked after. The brewing and selling of the drink brought money, but it did not bring the family the kind of status that young Varen Lassite craved. Maarten changed all that; remodeling the bottle-production into a large, tastefully rustic venue, which catered to a crowd of nobles and socialites. He played up the 'artisan', the 'craft' and the exotic; bringing in foods from all over the city and providing a one-of-a kind experience for his well-off customers. The tavern did well, and Maarten d'Taan rose in status at Molou's. When the elder Lassite, Volen, began to take ill, Maarten d'Taan began to manage the distillery full-time. D'Taan would speak with Tap, not just giving instruction, but showing interest in the warforged's status and care. There are other ways of showing hospitality than just providing food and drink. Tap said that Maarten was a pleasant person to be around, and told stories that were called 'jokes,' and often ended with someone falling into a sewer. Tap averred that he'd once fallen into a sewer, and that it was to be avoided. Maarten thereafter ended his jokes with Tap's assertion that falling into the sewer was to be avoided. He was not an expeditionary type of person, though. There are (and were) expeditions into the jungles to procure the kuryeva fruits, and d'Taan managed their scheduling and outfitting; but never accompanied them. He said they were 'too dangerous,' but wanted to do what he could to secure the expeditions from harm. The fact that these 'shopping trips' as Garreg called them now, were unpredictably dangerous seemed to d'Taan an unsound aspect of the business. On the Continent, one in his position would entail a small squad of Deneith to accompany the Tulita bearers and workers, but there was no assistance from the House here. Maarten engaged guards of the sort that one could find in Stormreach; but found their unprofessional conduct generally caused as much misfortune as they prevented. This was how Garreg came to be involved; as guard and wrangler for the kuryeva expeditions. He'd had experience at some tavern called Barrett's Barnacle which Tap said was far outside of town. Garreg formed a group of roughs and toughs who, though unseemly, were at least effective in keeping the expeditions from disaster. It was clear that d'Taan was conflicted still. The primary source of the kuryeva was still a mystery; Tap recalled overhearing Maarten conducting quiet interviews with the Tulita workers and some of Garreg's toughs to try to ascertain just where they were searching and harvesting the fruit. But d'Taan was not adventurous enough to go along, especially once the Jorasco Enclave ceased their resurrection services. The Tulita were uncooperative as well, keeping their own counsel either through pride or fear, and giving d'Taan only enigmatic looks instead of the cheery assistance that a Ghallandan scion was accustomed to. But the Tulita's stoic nature was not impervious. There was a priest of the Silver Flame: Archibald Noeliss would offer the drow natives succor and healing, and the halfling called Capshaw said that he'd had conversations with Tulita that extended beyond two sentences. This was the path that would lead Maarten to discovering the secrets of the jungle, and he'd never need venture out of the city. And then, Tap concluded, he ventured out of the city, according to Garreg. When Maarten left, a manager was needed, and Garreg offered himself as the interim solution. Volen was too ill to take up the task. Garreg's toughs took up many of the positions in the distillery, and dismissed some of the employees that d'Taan had hand-picked. Tap, they kept, as the warforged was an uncomplaining worker who would suffer no ill effects from cleaning the toxic sludge that was generated by the kuryeva production. When Maarten did not return, Garreg simply made his managerial position permanent. Meanwhile the 'shopping trips' have gone back to being unpredictable and dangerous; but Garreg has proposed some new recipes for the kuryeva liquor that seems to have become popular, and require less of the kuryeva fruit. | ||||||||
It was sobering and the inferences that formed from the fulsome history Tap provided.. that put Garreg on the dangerous, if not murderous, list.And Garreg demanded an audience and Tremor had to walk in to a small office, elevated above the floor, with locked and secured windows, not to mention unbefriended, as yet, hounds. Which meant he must arrive with witnesses and it seem the proper thing. Which means a report to the guard and perhaps that meant Steeljack. Someone was interfering and targeted them for thievery. Who knows where that might lead? The carts, the origin of the fruit, the drow; Tulita. Outside the city, Barrett's Barnacle. Garreg, altering the craft of the fruit, was he smart enough, or just the hands being moved by some other? Jorasco, suspending... why? Well, the Karrnathi had a saying, Anfangen ist leicht, beharren eine Kunst. "To begin is easy, to persist is an art." "Tap, thank you for answering my questions. Many things trouble me, we do not have the luxury today to delve them, many tasks lie ahead of us. Onward to the tailor." | ||||||||
GM edit: I forgot Tap's response This message was last edited by the GM at 23:34, Thu 25 July 2019. | ||||||||
"Tap, know this one thing, keep it as a treasure when you think of me or.. you and I together, where ever that might be.That thing is honesty. You have been honest with me, given me honest council. That has value, almost beyond most traits accept for love, though it could be argued honesty is a form of love. It has not taken years, we have not suffered the slings and arrow of outrageous fortune, at least, not yet. Nor have we served together on a battlefield and put our life in the hands of the other. These... forces are usually the bonds that bring complete honesty. Just know that and it should dispel all disquieting thoughts you have about being of use or being helpful. No trouble could you be while being honest." As thee enormous shop came into view and as the Halfling passed through the gates of that City-State, as small prayer came to Tremor's mind, and a lesson from the Bear on display of wonder and the theatrical effect of scale as distraction and misdirection. The mind went to seek the dimensions and signs of egress in the floor plan. At the sound of the voice, Tremor turned to face the origin of the greeting. "Good Day. I need speak to a seamstress or tailor who knows how to flatter a Ladies form, yet.. can allow for a certain martial proclivity." "Oh, the dissertation I could give you as an answer to that question. The answer must wait, as our time here must turn to the task at hand. Just follow along, mayhap the answer will come to you as we engage the craftsmen here." This message was last edited by the player at 07:04, Mon 29 July 2019. | ||||||||
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"All of these are worthy questions and shall have answers.I am Tremor Enkau Valevine. The Lady in question shall be arriving... soon. The greatest need is the short hours I have to give. Thee will be an event in two days time and I nee to know that the garment in its totality can be completed and fitted by that sunfall." Tremor readies himself for the protests and agony imposed, but his training will aid him to detect the true motives and whether an honest deal can be struck. | ||||||||
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The Halfling moves to the dresses that rest on forms, looking at the fabric, pattern. "I am interested in neutral greys, the palette should be without any primary colors, it should speak to nothing but passivity. May I see the bolts you have in that range? Also, I have a great need to meet the tailor that will be working on this dress." Tremor will turn and look expectantly, communicating that he wanted to know to whom he was speaking. | ||||||||
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"Because where I was raised, we believe in looking professionals in the eye, so there is no mistaken delivery of detail or design. I want to see the craft at work and see the eyes shift from what is seen to that which is devised by artistic talent." It was enough for now to feel the cloth, and look beyond th ebolts in anticipation of meeting whomever would be summoned. | ||||||||
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"Well met Thy, your work is exactly what the Lady requires. You have the colors I require. What do you suggest for a hat? Something plain, that does not imply any authority." Tremor's eyes will keep the turbaned Kobold in his eyesight, but not look directly at him, looking for what, if any reaction he may have. "Your shop is named Nat'reths Fabric, for who or what is it named after?" | ||||||||
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Forcing... summoning, memories of Zilargo, the mountain, his home, the youthful memories of running through vines, eating dark red grapes, cousins, other childhood friends, the expectations, the challenge of Dirty Giant, the towering hound that guarded the outer rows."Yes, we have such a word, as all folk have I imagine. In my tongue Vek'aika, to say an more words in Common, "story of little or no consequence." The engagement, the wordplay, the memories, meant to carry the conversation away from the insight of aura reading and a probing of his actual motive. Unless... the aura ploy could be used to hide the fact that Tremor had on him some evidence that he had a visit with cousins. "I come here because I had received the referral." To the wall of hats Tremor walked, trying to assess more of the shops dimensions and wondering if these cousins also had a hidden subterranean room. With a show of examination of hats and looking at construction, in short order Tremor lay hands on the hat he spotted almost immediately.  "This one. Unless it is made by.. Tell me do you have someone who works here named Durak?" Time to stir. | ||||||||
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There are ways to wield confusion and engender trust, to appeal to vanity, in a way that a person comes to believe he is special, because all around him, pothers say he is special because of any number of things, lineage, magic, destiny, beauty, aura's must now be added to that list.Why this particular group of Kobolds would seemingly bolster what unfolded at their Cousin's shop, it could be coordinated, the voice of the Bear seemed to offer that observation, however, Eberron had many mysteries and to ignore them.. is the stuff of sorrow, made theater. Time, so little of it to do all he needed to do. "It means something. My selection of this hat. I can not ignore that you offer it as proof of rightness about some matter. Tell me now, is there something I must know?" The tone delivered was that of concern carried by curiosity. Tap must be taught the 13 basic rules of perception. It will serve him well in the days to come. How can the lessons taught by the Bear to willing and dedicated students, be rendered for the benefit of a damaged and seemingly unstudious 'forged? | ||||||||
Durak nodded. "There is much that you must know, As there is much that we all must know. As to proof? You hold it in your hands. Mog, Den, Vil, Ming, my cousins... I told them, but they are stubborn. Shall I explain to you the complexities of fate? I see you wish to know the truth. Then learn the truth of a fool. This is the way of the prophecy." Thy cringed "Oh no." High-hand put down his work and softly clapped his hands "Oh, goodie." Durak turned to a shelf full of spools of yarn and gathered a large collection of the yarn spools without regard for their color or organization. He turned, arms full of color, and a wide crocodilian grin. Then he flung the yarn in one swift motion. The spools unrolled and cascaded, the colors mixing and jumbling in a chaotic tangle. "Thus is all reality. Now if you ask me to find where the end of the red thread lay...." He shrugged hands wide. "If you knew the exact position of each spool, how much it weighed, how hard I would move my arms... perhaps you would know where each spool would land. Perhaps you would know where the red yarn began, and where it ended. But such knowledge is the domain of the gods." One of the bundles of yellow yarn bumped against Tremor's foot. Durak was squatting by the tangle waggling his fingers as he scanned for a red thread. "Ah!" He extended a claw and indicated the discovery. He gently teased the thread upwards just a fingerbreadth. "Let us say this is a person's fate; we've discovered it here by magic, or prayer, or natural intuition. But where does it lead, and whence came it from? Which way is forward? Now there are multiple schools of thought, but all dictate the careful examination of the thread in both directions." He spread his hands again in a curious fashion. "But this takes time, researching, watching, speculating. There is a better way." He tugged the thread just a bit. "A tiny change, a subtle nudge of fate." Tremor could see the strand wriggle in several places in the mound. "But which direction is fate? Which is the future-ward? Which the past? Here is where my gift come in; I see the auras, I see the future, and the past. I offered my gift to our obsessed cousin, and he rejected me. I told him that there would come a one to this place, and he or she would choose a hat of our making. For that is how the threads lay, and that is how I saw them. It does not matter if you take this hat, or who you are; I have been proved correct." Thy was already on his hands and knees while Durak chuckled and gloated in his strange triumph. He was carefully spooling threads into their proper places. "Apologies for my brother's behavior. I shall attend most assiduously to your lady's attire, I assure you." | ||||||||
Is this what it is like to be Tap? Are my explanations of motive, perception truth. SO here is where one might throw up hands and confess blindness to an entire world, yet... even if one could not see, with this apt description Tremor now knew this part of the world he could never see, those that could see, they still had to act upon that knowledge, wield it, that could be understood.That gesture, Tremor moved that motion of Durak's hands into his memory to be pulled out later, connected to what needed to be understood, rather than the bin of empty curiosity. Illusion could be a possibility. I am something to be umped, course altered, fine, how to detect that? Can I live with the fact that I may not? The Halfling turned to look at the hats display, then back to the prostrate form. Flattery? Honesty? Pride? Commerce? Inquisitiveness? Resignation? Of course the others might reject this gift, it ran counter to lives steeped in material... study, design. Yet the Host.. it abides and it is the Host that tried to give all of Eberron their wisdom, if you had ears to hear it. The impulse to reach for many of the hats and turn them over looking for that same... mark, it was powerful. "No apology needed. I confess, it is like being told that there are colors in the world that exist, unseen by all, almost all. I aspire to be prudent. That this has happened, the hat, my presence, now you all know, have seen this... are you now an observer? How might this be used to help me, help others spun into or around my yarn?" |
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