Of all the cheap, skeezy, second-thought-inducing dives in the city, the unfortunately named Salty Seaman Inn down by the docks is easily among the top 10.

Owned by a man who, despite all his own protests to the contrary, is almost assuredly a washed up pirate captain doing a poor job of waiting out his retirement in the relative comfort of Tideswallow’s waterfront district; the Seaman plays home to some of the absolute dregs of non-Roe society. Sailors, dockworkers, deckhands, pirates, scavengers, lowlifes, and all manner of visitors who are only passing through Tideswallow for a brief respite before carrying on with their worthless lives outside the walls. On any given night, it is a veritable whose-who of societal outcasts, pariahs, and those who are unwanted but not so much so that they resign themselves to the Roe just yet.

In truth, the establishment itself isn’t half bad. The building is an architectural wonder (built to resemble the majority of a large ship, standing upright on its aft). The barroom is clean (if a bit sawdusty) and jam packed with trophies from the owner’s days on the sea (“But not as a damned pirate!”). The food and drink are passable-to-great depending on what you’re ordering. The upstairs rooms are emasculate. The basement rooms, on the other hand, are free to any who want to use them, but are also steeped in about an inch-and-a-half of standing saltwater most of the year. Really, the clientele and the owner’s constant attempts to make as bad a name for his own establishment as he can seem to be the only real reasons it has such a dismal reputation around town.

The bar itself is a well-known town landmark with a storied history you can hear all about from its various patrons and critics. Its owner, Mortimer, seems to be in a constant state of turmoil with the City Council over the naming conventions of his establishment. First called the Hag’s Tit (“After me dear old mother’s beloved pet bird, of course!”), former Lord of Entertainment Byron Shetharp forced him to change it under penalty of a fine so steep it would leave him indentured to the city for generations. Giving in only after a tavern brawl which ended in Mortimer losing several of his more important teeth and Lord Byron earning the moniker “Glass Eye” Shetharp, the name was eventually changed to the Fork’s Ewe (“From the old gnomish ballad about the lamb trapped between the two rivers. Don’t pretend ya don’t know it, ya glass-eyed old git! Here, quit walkin’ away so fast and I’ll sing ya few bars!”). Around this point, Lord Shetharp abandoned his seat on the council, uprooted his estate, and moved to Anvilreach. It is still believed to this day that Mortimer’s antics played no small part in his departure. The subsequent Lord of Entertainment proved to be less fun to pester. Lord Sulthor van Ellsworth, rather than meet Mortimer in person and play his games, simply began paying urchins to break the sign off the front of the tavern. Every time Mortimer would have a new one installed, another “accident” would befall it. Eventually, Mortimer gave up on the signs and simply painted the name The Salty Seaman over his doorframe. Not one to be outdone in terms of pettiness, Lord van Ellsworth began sending hoodlums in the middle of the night to paint over it. This began a weekly tradition that both parties still keep up to this day, almost nine years later...

As Shivom walked through the doors of the Salty Seaman, he was immediately glad he had skipped over this place and found a nicer spot to sleep. Rowdy, noisy and filled with oddball lowlifes, Shivom felt perfectly at home. However, while these places sometimes worked out as a place to stay, he didn't want to worry about his room getting burgled or any of the other hassles that came from living above a rowdy tavern.

Although a bit overdressed for this dive, his half-orc features were obvious enough that nobody batted an eye at his entry.

Shivom headed to a quieter end of the bar and ordered a beer. When the bartender brought it back, he said, "hey, I'm looking for Mortimer. He around this early?"

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 2):

The crowd was definitely loud enough, but still fairly thin. You suspect the taverns patrons tend to ebb and flow with the day’s work. For the time being, the patrons seem to be almost exclusively sailors off of the three ships moored in the harbor. A typical mix of humans, dwarves, a stray gnome here and there, and about a dozen kobolds sharing one of the large booths that make up each of the corners of the barroom. The noise is cacophonous and impossible to make out any one conversation in... but the bar itself is almost completely empty.

A single dwarf lies face-down in his seat, a small puddle of booze pooling on the polished wood surface before him. Aside from him, you have the bar to yourself. The bartender is a human man who looks to be in his late 50’s. His head is bald, but covered by a pale yellow bandana. He wears a simple cotton shirt with a tremendous open neck descending almost halfway down his torso. Overtop of it rests a sailor’s navy blue deck coat, stained and patched after many years of use. Various golden tassels and knots of rope hold the whole ensemble together. The rest of him isn’t visible behind the bar. He takes your question with a grimace.

“New in town, are ya?” He sets down the glass mug he had been washing directly in front of you. “Customary ‘round here to order a drink before ya start the small talk, ya know.”

"Sorry bud, a little cross-talk there. I'll have a glass of whatever beer you recommend," said Shivom. "And you're right about me being new in town. I'm kind of making the rounds and taking in the taverns. Haven't done a full-blown pub crawl, but maybe I will once I meet a few more people."


OOC: I thought I had ordered a beer.

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 4):

“Haha, no harm there. A mug of Timberfell will only run ya about 5 copper, and from there the talkin’s free.”
He takes the mug back and fills it from a cask beneath the counter. The frothy brown beverage he places back in front of you proves to be mostly head, but what liquid is in it winds up actually being a pretty passable light ale.

“So. As it would happen, my name just happens to be Mortimer. Odds are you’re lookin’ for me, I’d wager. So what can I do for ya before ya get this pub crawl of yours underway, stranger?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:18, Thu 24 Sept 2020.

"Well, a friend of mine told me this was a good spot to get out of the sun for a bit. He was right about that, nice place you got here. My type of folks. But it seems your bar could use a bit of entertainment," said Shivom. He spun on his barstool and surveyed the rest of the tavern. "I'm not seeing a stage, that's ok, I'll jump on a table."

Turning back to Mortimer, Shivom continued, "look, I don't sing, I don't dance, and I sure as fuck don't strut around strumming some elvish banjo thing. I'm more of a humorist. A bit of a jester, but without the tumbling or acting the fool."

With a tilt of the head, Shivom said, "give me a couple nights, see what you think. I can put out a tip jar and if you want to keep me long term we can talk after you see my show."

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 6):

He looks you over a bit. “A funny man with a bit of heatstroke, eh?”
His scrutiny grows. “Hehe... we’ll see. See if your sorta humor flies around here. As for that sunburn of your’s, we got a room downstairs you can rest up in to nurse that little annoyance...”

He passes a small brass key to you with the number 9 engraved on its plate.

"Appreciated, thanks", said Shivom, while pocketing the key and continuing to drink. "By the way, there's gotta be a story behind you painting the name of your place on the doorframe instead of hanging a proper sign. Looks like there used to be one, but it got ripped down or something. Big storm?"

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 8):

“Hey... right, outta towner. Let’s just say, somma the local lords and ladies and I don’t quite see eye to eye when it comes to what makes an establishment stand out amongst the competition. Nice atmosphere, good food, and decent drink are all fine and good... but give the folks a place they can remember the name of and have fun sayin’, and they’ll come back time and time again... Damn ‘Master of Entertainment’ don’t seem to see it that way though. But what’s he know, anyway?“ He chuckles to himself, then suddenly seems struck by some inspiration. “Hey your new around here; you heard any of the rumors about him floatin’ around yet?”

"I've heard the name of van Ellsworth come up, but hadn't heard much of him."

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 10):

He grins at that, clearly pleased to have a fresh audience for his whisper-spreading. “Not much too hear, that’s just it! Every one of those damned Council members has loads and LOADS of dirt that’s been brought to light about them over the years. All sorts of things from Lady Fairbrook leading a double life, to Lord Calme having murdered his old wife, to Lord Harper being in some sort of blood pact with a fiend. All sorts of things no one could ever actually prove, but that common folk can get a bit of fun out of spreading... But van Ellsworth’s somehow managed to go his whole tenure in his seat without so much as a single plausible rumor coming out about any skeletons in his closet... The youngest member of the council and not a single bit of real, viable dirt? That just don’t sit right with a lot of us...”

Pouring himself a drink of a similar vein to your own, he takes a swig and continues. “Soooo... what with those parties he’s always throwin’ up at his fuckin’ chateau (the pronunciation of the word is horribly butchered as Mortimer says it) has left folks plenty of opportunity to make up some more far-fetched ones about him. That he’s secretly an Imperial plant, here to spy on the city and work out its weaknesses. That he’s a vampire lord, who uses the parties to carefully drain blood from the city elite every week. That he’s working with a hidden cabal from the Court of Eyes to bring about some apocalyptic bullshit or something like that... It’s a lot of rot of that nature. So uh... if ya ever happen across some good info on the fucker, pass it along, will ya? We don’t get you... sunburnt types in here as often as ya might think. Could be some extra coin in it for ya.”

"No problem," said Shivom, "I'll keep my ears open. Might try toning down my act a little and get invited up there. But I'll give you the uncensored act tonight." Shivom stands up from his stool, saying "I guess I'll go check out that room downstairs and be back up in a bit."

As Shivom turns away, he asks as an afterthought, "say, around this town, which deity has the reputation for the most prudish strictures and uptight priestesses?"

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 12):
You can practically see the man’s grin overtake his entire face at that. “That’d be Lord Evangaline’s boys up at the Temple of Amaunator. And you start going after them, you’ll DEFINITELY find a crowd for yourself around here. Folks that come in on the ships fuckin’ hate those tight-ass, pious, sun-worshipping pricks.”

He starts to head off to tend to a couple extra customers who have come up and actually come to the bar. You recognize Ale, the tiefling from the Hag, amongst them. The rest appear to be folks who have shown up for the approaching Market Day events. Mortimer suddenly realizes you haven’t left yet and turns back to you for a moment. “When you’re ready to start, just jump up on that barrel table in the center of the room. No one uses it when there ain’t a major ship in port.” The one he points at is very obvious; a circular table supported by a massive barrel and topped with the huge wheel taken straight from a ship’s helm.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:17, Fri 25 Sept 2020.

"Thanks", replies Shivom as he heads downstairs in search of room #9. After finding it, he unlocks the door and enters.

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 14):

The room is... dismal, to say the least. From the door, there are a set of three wooden steps descending into the room. There’s a bed with simple sheets and quilts on it. A dresser with five empty drawers. A chest for clothes and items, with a thick lock and a key inside that can be fitted to the front of the chest for a little more peace of mind. And there is a sizable water spider perched in the back corner just between the wall and the dresser... sitting above about 2 inches of still saltwater that covers the entire floor of the room. All together, this looks to be a truly unpleasant spot to spend the night... but it was free.

Laughing to himself, Shivom thought, "well, checking this place out didn't take long. Of course, I've been in worse." Gingerly stepping over to the bed, Shivom laid down for a few hours rest before rising to take the stage that wasn't.

Rising a bit later, Shivom headed upstairs to the bar and slid the key across to Mortimer.

He headed to the big table indicated by Mortimer. Despite hitting the crowd cold, he wasn't concerned. These were his kind of people.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:08, Fri 25 Sept 2020.

Shivom jumped up on the table and launched into what could best be described as a vulgar spectacle.  Making a show of it and commenting on the fine quality of cigars that could be found in Tideswallow, Shivom snipped the end off a cigar with his enchanted cutter. Casting a minor illusion, he threw up a stained glass window, clearly of the Temple of Amaunator.   The window was full of prudishly dressed acolytes, halos, cherubs, iconic virgins, and practically oozed sexual repression.

“I hear the priestesses of Amaunator are real popular up in the office district,” bellowed Shivom.

Using his Gnomish Fire Starter to get his cigar going, Shivom inhaled deeply, as only a robust half-orc could.  Then he blew out an enormous smoke monster of a naked succubus with over-sized breasts. As the smoky succubus floated through the illusionary window, it shattered into a hundred pieces and fell away. Shivom shifted the illusion to a maniacal, female demonic laugh.

“Well, we got no use for them here,” he roared.

What followed was several hours of vulgar comedy, illustrated with smoke monsters and illusions.  While the illusions might have been static and immobile, Shivom wasn't and neither were his smoke monsters.  The poor illusions suffered all manner of depravity, including half-naked nuns of Amaunator bearing shocked expressions as kobolds and other smoke monsters engage in vulgar interactions. This level of depravity lasted for the entire show.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:29, Mon 28 Sept 2020.

In reply to Shivom Grozvog (msg # 17):
The response from the crowd is a mixed bag of very into it and very not. There seems to be little in the way of middle ground. The crowd generally loves the subject matter, taking great join in seeing the church of Amaunator taken down a peg, and a great deal of the men from the docks seem to adore your perverted illusions and smoke creations. The rest of the crowd, however, seems to be put off a bit by it. Regardless, no joke goes by without SOMEONE in the audience laughing. You suspect, had you had more time to cultivate a crowd who knew your style of comedy, this likely would have a been a sure thing. You make around 30 silver in various-sized tips tossed either to you or at you throughout the course of the show, as well as free drinks for the rest of the night... cheap ones, but still free.

By the end of it all, Mortimer seems pleased enough with the way things turned out. He has no qualms about letting you back in for more just about anytime things are going slow.

---

From this point on, The Salty Seaman can now be used as a free venue for your impromptu comedy routines without having to let them know ahead of time that you’ll be showing up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:21, Fri 25 Sept 2020.

Shivom swung by the bar before heading out. "Thanks for letting me have a shot at this. I'll see you around," he said to Mortimer.

Walking back to the Sleeping Dryad, his thoughts were consumed by his performance. "Well, that was kind of a mixed bag. Maybe I can work up a couple different acts and run them in different bars. Or maybe I could get a crier to drum up a specific crowd for me. Or maybe I need to spend some time assessing the crowd. Yeah..."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:40, Fri 25 Sept 2020.

Bartimaeus walked through the doorway of the tavern and looked for the proprietor. Seeing the deck-coated bartender he walked up, coughing slightly.

"A room, landlord, if you please. With a fireplace or, if not that, a thick mattress, a bed warmer, and wool blankets." He coughed. "Pardon me. And as much tea and honey as you can brew."

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 20):

A few of the patrons watch you come in, but none seem particularly concerned. Mostly just locals who note you as someone from out of town. A red tiefling man at the bar just beside where you come up gives you a brief look of scrutiny (you think... hard to tell as his eyes are pupil-less orbs of violet light) before returning to his drink. The rest of the tavern seems wholly relatively at ease. Its just those drinking currently who are a bit on edge. Likely folks just coming off of work and not truly into a relaxed mood just yet.

The bartender is a bald man in a bandana and sailor’s coat, looking for all the world like some washed up pirate. “Well the room’s no trouble, lad, but uh... huh... tea might be a wee bit old. And weak. And not really tea. Got some dried seaweed you could try steeping and all the hot water and honey ya can drink, anyway. Let’s see here... Room’ll be on the second floor, fourth room on the left. Room 9. Two silver for the key.” He reaches under the counter and places a little silver key on the wood in front of you. A large mug soon follows.

He wanders into a separate room behind the bar; what you can only assume is the kitchen.

"Seaweed... hmmmm." Bartimaeus considers the prospect quietly as the bartender walked into the back room.

"Lemons! Lemon and honey." *cough* "Surely a sea-dog like our landlord would know the value" *cough* "of lemons." he asked rhetorically.

He sank into silence, lost in the memory of the Abyss. ~~ What knowledge there, if any. Certainly things lost. But... what horror is to be found? ~~

He shook his head to clear his mind, and looked up to see the tiefling giving him a second glance. "Blessings of the Lord of Knowledge upon" *coughcough* "upon you. Pardon my asking: know you how long is it since the Gilded Hart arrived at anchor in the harbor?"

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 22):

He gives you a stern glance (again, a little hard to tell thanks to the lack of pupils, but you’re confident his gaze shifts your way for at least a second... probably?) but keeps drinking. Once you’re confident you won’t get a response, he finally replies. “Ain’t been more than two or three days, I’d wager. Arrived. Stayed a bit. Left this morning. Why? Lookin’ for a way out of town?” His voice is a deep, bassy growl with a significant midlands drawl affecting his pronunciations. The wide-brimmed cattle-driver hat and long coat he wears seem to support it, matching up with the typical assumptions you’ve heard about folks from that region. You’d put his age to be somewhere in the mid to late 50’s.

As you speak with the tiefling, the bartender returns with a small jar of honey and a pair of whole lemons. He also sets a small kettle and a suspicious looking little corn-paper pouch down on the bar in front of you. “You’re in luck lad. Told the cook we had someone lookin’ for tea out here and he was thrilled to share some o his own private stock. Guess he don’t get many opportunities to meet another tea-lover in this stretch of the city... Hot water’s upstairs. Little faucet in the hallway with the fire symbol branded on it. You’ll see it.”

~~ Two to three days?? ... time dilation ... ~~

Bartimaeus shook his head at the tiefling. "No, no. I found" *cough* "myself lost in" *coughcoughhack* "the stacks of the Bard College. I beg your pardon." he coughed again into his sleeve. "Time passes ... differently... in libraries, you know. My personal romantic theory is that the foundation of reality is knowledge, and as libraries contain concentrations of knowledge, reality, in this case expressed in the perception of the passage of time, warps. What this means, of course, is that at the limit, omniscience contitutes the singularity of knowledge, and a life's extension into the eternal. Knowledge approaches... rather, knowledge is ascendance." He looked up, smiled sheepishly, and laughed. "I asked for the ship but... really I was asking what day it was. Little wonder I'm starving."

When the landlord returned Bartimaeus drew four silver from his purse. "48 hours de minimus, I think, thank you." He brightened at the cook's store of tea. "You employ excellent staff, please give" *cough* "give him my compliments, and a month's blessings of skill and artistry upon your kitchen! And... would you ask your cook to conjure" *cough* "a soup for me? Bread, butter, and something heavy on garlic and ginger, perhaps?"

---

OOC:

B will head upstairs, hoping to take his meal there, unless more conversation with the landlord/tiefling is pending.

You mentioned 600gp in cash in the OOC thread. I thought an astrolabe/sextant/telescope equipment might fit well, but 5e doesn't seem to have entries for those, except the spyglass and that's underpowered at 2x magnification and overpriced at 1000gp. What do you reckon B could have on him for star-charting?

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 24):

The tiefling sips at his drink, still not looking at you directly. “Hmm. Time’s funny like that, ain’t it...”

The bartender takes the coin and offers you a toothy grin. “For a customer what actually pays when prompted? Nicest soup he can whip up. Give us just a moment.” He disappears into the back again and, about ten minutes later, returns with a ceramic bowl filled with a hot, dark red liquid. It seems a little thicker than what you had in mind, but the scent of garlic is strong upon it and a large hunk of tough bread rests balanced on the edge of the bowl. You can’t see anything else in the soup besides the liquid. “Rooms upstairs have a little table and chair setup in em, so shuoldn’t be too uncomfortable to eat up there, if that’s your plan.”

Bartimaeus nods at the landlord. "It is, yes, that it is. One last thing I suppose..." he looked sheepishly between his pack, his crosier, the keys, his soup, bread, tea packet, lemons, honey, and tankard, and asked, "ah, I don't suppose a" *cough* "lass would be able to help me up to my room?"

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 26):

The bartender chuckles and gives a loud whistle. A tough-looking middle-aged woman carrying a mostly-empty tray shuffles over from the opposite side of the room. The bartender nods to you. “Nerna, if ya don’t mind, this young man here could use a hand getting his things upstairs. Room 9, if ya would. Lad’s a bit worse for the wear, by the look of things.”

She looks at you, looks at your gear, and nods. She hefts your things and begins to move to the stairs, leaving you to bring the bowl and tea yourself.

---

The room upstairs proves to be a simple, yet oddly lovely space which does not seem to fit with the rest of the tavern’s otherwise dingy aesthetic. Cozy. Comfortable. Clean. All the things you would not have expected out of a little dive like this one. In the hallway you are able to easily locate the faucet the bartender mentioned. Two rest side-by-side over a small basin with a drain at its center. One is ordinary water, the other boiling by some arcane means when it emits from the copper tube.

The woman, Nerna, leaves your belongings in a tidy pile on the bed in Room 9. A small dresser, table, and two chairs also sit nearby as a simple fireplace sends warmth throughout the room. The flames appear to be burning nothing at all and no smoke arises from them. You suspect it is magically maintained in some manner.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:17, Thu 01 Oct 2020.

Bartimaeus thanked the bartender, took up the soup and tankard, and followed Nerna up to Room 9. He put tea on to steep. When she had left he gave thanks and ate his meal by the fire.

He rose and carried the tray with empty bowl and spoon upon it, and placed it on the floor just outside the door.

He unloaded his backpack and disrobed down to his nightgown. His armor and vestments, bizarrely dry, he placed near the hearth. His clothes he put away in the dressers. His books he laid out on the table. His astronomical instruments he placed near the window.

He hardly knew what time of day it was; only that it wasn't night. So he prayed Vespers.

Afterwards he turned down his bed, placed the warming pan at his feet, and climbed into bed, yawning.

He closed his eyes

~~ HORRORSBEYONDHORRORBEYONDHORRORBEYONDHORROR ~~

He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling.

And wept.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 28):

Hours pass in much the same manner. The fear never leaving. Never subsiding. Simply becoming more tolerable as the day turns slowly to night...

Around dusk, a knock comes at your door.

In reply to GM (msg # 29):

After some hours spent in the bed, by any account comfortable and the most he’d laid reclined in weeks, he moved to the desk and his books. Ailuros dozed on the hearth. He was reviewing the copy of the Drow history, taking notes of the way their language constructed place-names, when the knock came.

“Just a moment!” he said, writing one last reminder before standing and opening the door a crack. “Yes?”

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 30):

Another knock. A bit more forceful this time.

In reply to GM (msg # 31):

Sighing, Bartimaeus expected the worst and he opened the door fully, looking up with tired eyes. “Yes?”

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 32):
The moment the door is open even the slightest bit a heavy force shoves against it into; clearly aiming to either knock you down or aside. A small humanoid about 4ft tall rushes into the room around you, darting passed you before you can act. Behind it, still standing in the hallway, you see the red tiefling man from the bar glaring at you from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. He is holding the pointed tip of a steel cane toward you, his other hand gripping something on a belt beneath the folds of his long brown duster.

You hear his deep drawl as he steps toward you, much more forceful now than when he spoke downstairs.
“Not a sound, boy. One peep outta ya and this gets bloody.”

Ailuros hisses at the intruder.

Bartimaeus looks at the tiefling and says nothing.

But to every mind nearby, save the dwarf and tiefling, Bartimaeus reaches out with urgency:

---

OOC:

23:20, Yesterday: Bartimaeus rolled 13 using 1d20-1.  Str save.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 34):
You catch the door before it slams into you and hold it firm as the intruder attempts to barge through. Despite the intimidating display, you quickly put two and two together. Sharp as the cane may be, it isn’t just a weapon; it’s clearly something the tiefling needs in order to stay standing. Without it propping him up, there’s virtually no force he can put behind his attempt to force you back.

This man is clearly not in any shape to be fighting hand to hand.

Nonetheless, as you attempt to call out you see his eyes flare with pale violet flames, the tongues of fire trailing from the sides of his eye sockets as his voice comes once more. This time, however, his lips don’t move.

You feel dizzy for a moment as sense a strange force closing in around your mind. Sealing you in, almost. It’s oppressive. Suffocating. Yet it’s not your body it seems to be effecting, but your thoughts themselves. You immediately think back to that moment above the abyss out in the harbor and realize how similar this new sensation feels to drowning.

From somewhere behind you, hear the sounds of someone rifling through your belongings. A small voice speaks up behind you; reluctant, almost timid, and very young. “No others. Looks like it’s just him in here.”

The tiefling man nods. And waves his cane at you, motioning toward the bed. “Take a seat, boy. You and I are gonna have a little chat...”

---

03:38, Today: GM, for the NPC Ale, rolled 0 using 1d20-3 ((3)).
...whelp, probably should have seen that coming...
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:50, Fri 02 Oct 2020.

His consciousness assaulted, Bartimaeus nevertheless held the door firm against the tiefling."If you had asked to come in, I would have said yes."

He pulled the door open and motioned for the intruder to come in. Bartimaeus closed the door after he'd entered, walked to the fireplace, grabbed his vestments, and pulled them over his head. Indicating the chair opposite, Bartimaeus sat down at the table.

"How may this servant of the Lord of Knowledge help you?"

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 36):

“I feel like I ain’t making myself clear right now. You’re in no position to be acting all put upon. Because believe me, we can make this FAR more inconvenient for you if you’d prefer, so don’t get too comfortable.“ He begins slowly making his way across the room toward you, leaning heavily on the cane with each step. You notice he has a significant limp to his right leg whenever he moves. Again fixing you with that same, burning violet stare, he points two black-clawed fingers in your direction. “Now you’re gonna sit right there and keep your mouth shut. I hear one hint of a scream cross those lips, I’ll shut em for good. You try to resist this, and I’ll take what I’m looking for by force. You ken?”

His stare intensifies and you can see hints of that same violet flame trailing off the corners of his eye sockets once more. A second later there is a splitting pain in the back of your head. You’ve felt something like this once before. It’s the feeling of someone or something trying to enter your mind. To rummage around in your memories. It’s not a pleasant feeling, by any means.

As he concentrates, however, the other figure comes back over to him. You see now it is a small, green-skinned tiefling girl in a long cloak and hood. She tugs on one side of his duster as he focuses on you, prompting him to look her way a moment. Never fully taking his eyes off you, he crouches down so she can whisper something in his ear. The pressure on your mind fades.

After a few moments of hesitation, the man lets out an aggravated sigh. “...I.... apologize. I suspect I may be being a bit too... hasty here. You fit the description of some folks I’m lookin’ for. Fit it real, REAL closely. Disturbingly so... but... I suspect you may just be in the wrong place at the wrong time... That sound about right to you?”

He takes a seat where you indicated; sitting with some significant effort. “So instead of doing this by the books, we’re gonna try something a little unorthodox... I’m going to ask you a question. You’re going to answer honestly. And only then, if I don’t like the answer, are we going to go back to poring through your mind for it... sound fair?”

Bartimaeus reels from his mind being intruded upon and breathes heavily with sunken head and his hands palm-down on the table as the intruder talks.

"Fairness?" He half-laughs-half-coughs and looks up. "Fairness has nothing to do with this trespass. You are either righteous in your vengeful pursuit, or venial in unwarranted persecution. You must proceed to discover what you are, and must do so independent of my opinion on the matter."

He sits up with a deep but rattling breath and composes himself.

"What is your question?"

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 38):

He ignores your words for the most part, not giving any sign that he even heard you speak. Eventually, the question comes clear enough. Yet it holds precious little meaning for you. “What do you know of the Court of Eye? Where are they operating from? How many are there? I would hear everything you know of them.”

The little tiefling is beside him once more. Silently, she passes him a book that you quickly realize was one of your own; something from the College that you’d kept amongst your possessions. It seems likely the girl was rifling through your belongings while the man held your attention. The man looks down at it and raises an eyebrow. The girl simply looks up at him, her large blood-red eyes set and unblinking. When she speaks, it is in a small voice completely devoid of the accent and anger of her older companion. “I don’t think he’s one of them.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:58, Fri 02 Oct 2020.

"The 'Court of Eye'? I know of nothing by that name."

---

OOC:
Which book of mine?

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 40):

The little tiefling is holding Darker Than Night and the older one is now giving you a skeptical look. “Nothin’ at all? So, by your account, you’re just some random pilgrim come here without any knowledge of the Court, despite their striking resemblance to your own ways? A suspicious seeker of knowledge this far out of the way of the typical Tenebrian universities and archives. This is just one big coincidence? You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t exactly buy that as the full story...”

He takes the novel from the girl. Over the course of a few minutes, he gives the book a quick look over, clear scanning for any signs of notes or additions that may have been made to it. Putting it aside, he returns his attention to you. “Decent taste in literature, if nothing else... Alright, so let’s say I take you at face value here. What ARE you in town for? No one just happens across Tideswallow simply to take in the sights. You’re after something. And whether you know it or not, I’d wager the Court’s waiting somewhere along whatever path you’re on.”

"I said I know nothing by that name. Names define and constrain... there are things in this universe that transcend all constraints and are necessarily nameless... but among named things names set expectations and reputations, not all of which we want published, hmmm? Describe this Court and I might be better able help you.

"As for being out of the way of Tenebrian archives, that is precisely how archives are created: scholars go to where the knowledge is so that it may be brought back and catalogued. And it was in those archives... so much time spent there... that I found whispered hints of ... potential. In this city. My experience here so far makes me sanguine I was right to come.

"I am not a pilgrim; pilgrims seek places and geography is irrelevant. I am a scholar and lay brother of the Lord of Knowledge, yes. Possibly you think I seek answers? No. The presumptuous seek answers. I am seeking the question. If the Court becomes part of that search, then so be it."

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 42):

“And if the Court should choose to aid you in this search, you’d accept it?” He fixes you with a scrutinizing glare.

“No need to talk to me how archives come to be. I’ve seem plenty rise and fall in my time. The question here is why Tideswallow would interest you. Ain’t nothing here but darkness and cults. Cults like the Court. Who just happen to serve an entity eerily similar to this Lord of Knowledge of yours. They’re taking it to an extreme I’d like to believe a fella as... indiscrete as you wouldn’t dare venture toward. But worse things have been done in the name of knowledge before.” 

He stands, though whether to leave or to attack you still aren’t sure. “Word of advice. You run into more folks like yourself, steer clear of em. Folks around here tend not to go asking tough questions unless they mean to do something right nasty with the answers...”

Bartimaeus stayed seated when the tiefling rose.

"What has Nethan Rothfield become?"

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 44):

He raises an eyebrow, clearly taken off guard by the question. “Not... entirely sure I follow your meaning there. That supposed to be some sort of riddle? If you’re talkin’ about the composer, I’d imagine the answer’d be ‘dust’ or ‘a corpse’ by this point. Fella disappeared almost two centuries ago. Works are still popular enough, I suppose. If that’s your sort of thing... Anyway... you’re clearly not in a good headspace for all this right now.”

He opens Darker Than Night and runs a claw across the first page before closing it back up and tossing it onto the table. “Keep in mind what I told you. Anyone else here like you is most likely working for the Court; whether they know it yet or not. Don’t trust em. And if you happen to uncover any leads on it... well... keep me posted.” He turns toward the door and begins to walk out.“Mel, we’re going.”

The little green tiefling follows him obediently.

Bartimaeus remained seated, but before the diminutive tiefling exited the door, he sent:


Not waiting to see if the man stopped to listen, he spoke aloud.

"You see the difficulty that puts me in. Your ambiguity is damaging your stated intent by inhibiting my ability to discriminate between choices. I mentioned Rothfield for a reason. Maybe he is a lead to the Court you say you desire of me. Maybe he is not. You don't know, do you? Nor can I know without data and clarity, and you offer neither."

Bartimaeus rose and took the tankard, dropping a few pellets of dried tea leaves within, and walked out the door.

"I have no cup but this; perhaps Mel could fetch us two others and we may discuss the relevance of orchestral composition. I would enjoy it, and the company. But because you have found reason to trust me - or, at least enough reason to doubt your distrust - we would begin with your act of faith: opening yourself and your knowledge to me."

He filled his tankard with hot water.

"Do you take yours with lemon and honey, Mr. ...?"

---

OOC:

11:40, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 7 using 1d20+2.  Persuasion, Stay for Tea.
Ugh, brutal.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 46):

There is a moment where you’re confident he didn’t even hear you as he goes to open the door. Then, with a heavy sigh, he slowly turns back around. “Trust is putting it a bit above its pay grade, but sure. Lack of distrust. That’s closer to accurate.”

The little tiefling passes him a purple bag she’d had tied to her belt. From it, pulls out a pair Of simple tin cups; each with a single rune engraved at the bottom of the. He slowly makes his way back over to the table with Mel following close beside. “I mistook you for one of that, for that I apologize. But the fact that you’re here at all, looking for answers to some question or other, means that you’re going to fall into their sights sooner or later. They might come to you as a seemingly helping hand, or they might simply come through and abduct you in the middle of the night while you’re guard’s down. Either way, it wasn’t without good reason that I paid you this little visit... you’re far, FAR too open about who and what you are.”

“Now, I ain’t seeing where you’re going with this talk of composers and orchestras; but suffice to say you seem like you’re hopelessly lost in whatever it is. So... for the time being, let’s just say that this here’s a bit of neutral ground. Not a trust. Just a talk. A parlay... a palaver, let’s say.”Sitting down at the table, he pushes Darker Than Night aside to set the cups down before you. “Lemon’ll be just fine. And the name’s Verse.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:22, Sat 03 Oct 2020.

Bartimaeus drew his dagger from its sheath on his belt where it hung and cut slices of lemon.

"Verse. Pleased to meet you. I am Brother Bartimaeus." He nodded to the girl. "Mel, how do you do."

He placed a handful of tea leaves in their cups and his own, poured hot water from the teapot in each, distributed the lemons, and offered honey to Mel.

"I am being far too open about who and what I am. Very well: who and what am I?

"You oppose the 'Court of Eye'. Very well. Who and what is it?

"I doubt you act alone. Therefore you are an agent. Very well. Though I hardly expect your answer immediately - we lack trust; perhaps we'll get there - but symmetry demands: who and what are they?

"Let us start there, then we can turn to Rothfield."

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 48):

The solid violet orbs of his eyes make it difficult to know exactly where he’s looking at any given time. However, you’re confident you’re holding his attention. “What you are is obvious. For starters, a learned man. Something folks aren’t going to look to kindly on around here when you lord if over them with the way you speak. People are gonna think you’re trying to show off when you bash them over the head with your vocabulary. As for who you are, well that’s even more blatant. You’re a warlock. I won’t pretend to be particularly familiar with this Lord of Knowledge you claim to serve, Oghma’s worshipped by only a precious few where I’m from, but I know a bit... and that ain’t the sort of source one draws powers from like yours. I don’t doubt what you serve is similar to Oghma, in that it craves knowledge, but it ain’t some widely-worshipped god you can throw a clergyman’s robes on to show to the world...”

He sips at the tea. Following his lead, Mel does the same with hers. “As for the Court of Eyes, they’re far more up front about their worship. They serve an entity from the Far Realms who craves knowledge above all else. And they’re more than willing to commit atrocities beyond counting in order to satiate its hunger. I know they operate out of this city, it’s they home, their ancestral home. But any more info than that is... difficult to come by, I’ve found.”

He chuckles at your final point. “Now see, if ya hadn’t tried broadcasting that little warning of your’s to the whole of the Waterfront, we could have gone and pretended I was just another concerned citizen; trying to keep some out-of-towner from getting mixed up with the wrong crowd.... but you and I both know that ain’t the case now. So for the time being, let’s just say I’m a historian and an adversary of the Court. And leave it at that.”

OOC:

I don't suppose the specific reference to a Great Old One from the Far Realms would ping something for me, would it?

15:08, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Know (Religion), Worshippers of Eyes.
15:08, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Know (Arcana), Far Realm Eyes.

I mean, "a being craving knowledge with lots of eyes" sure sounds like it could be my patron Yog-Sothoth, except that so far as I, the player, knows, YS is omniscient... he already has the information.

"You offer good advice; I will henceforth endeavor to restrain habituated sesquipedalian verbosity." Bartimaeus winked and smiled. "But I did not, as you say, 'throw these robes on'. I am an oathtaken lay brother-scholar of Oghma. Truly. And the power imbued within me, though not of a kind with the clerical caste, is divine in origin. Shall we presume to constrain the possible avenues of deities? No. Though you are correct that the aspect of divinity residing within me is not the familiar clerical aspect."

He sipped his tea.

"But it heartens me, and should comfort you, that Whom I Serve does not crave knowledge; He is knowledge. One only craves what one lacks, mmm? ... Perhaps..." Bartimaeus reached over and withdrew his notebook containing the notes from the room. "Perhaps good faith will receive its own in return: a historian maintains his own catalog, doesn't he?"

He opened the book. "Cravings, you say? I have certainly encountered the cravings of others. See here:

  On the Bard College:                      “We hunger eternal, my craving not sated.”
  On the building in the Roe:               “Feed us and have your way forward ungated.”
  On the first building in the Town Square: “A snake craves a rat as a bird craves a worm.”
  On the second:                            “But my craving’s a privilege you have not earned.”
  In the Harbor:                            “So come now and feed me, and set yourself free.”
  On the Reef:                              “Only one taste of knowledge alone holds the key.”

"This poem was inlaid in mosaic on the floor of a study in the Bardic College, a guide for those trapped within the room's enchantment. It belonged to, I believe, Nethan Rothfield. I believe it still belongs to Nethan Rothfield, for a voice spoke to us when we attempted solutions to the puzzle.

"Yes, I say 'we'. And yes, the other is, like me, a warlock. He alleged to possess a room there when we met. He is hasty. He compacted with an Imp with little hesitation. He declined to respond why he desired entrance to that particular study. He called himself Vesryn, and like me emerged from the harbor when we passed through the puzzle's portal some few hours ago. I expected him to follow me in to this tavern, though he has not.

"Why Nethan Rothfield? Because music averts mortality; because he spoke of 'adding verses' when he blasted the souls of his victims." Bartimaeus accented the tiefling's name with a raised eyebrow. "Because he seeks to preserve and annul the passage of time. Because Rothfield left his life's work incomplete. And because he regrets the loss of his regret over the death of the woman he loved in life."

He closed and withdrew his notebook.

"Tell me, Verse, you who caution against openness: should we not be more than non-distrustful?"

He follows your words, without adding his own to the mix as you go. Just listening. Contemplating the meaning of what you are saying. Trying to picture some of what you describe. There’s no registering of your jab at his name as you emphasize it.



“That‘s... a lot to take in... a lot to process... You’ve been in the city how long, exactly? And already stumbled ass over tea kettle into something like this?”Slowly, carefully, he reaches into a holster on his belt just below the table. He withdraws a large grimoire of steel-bound leather with a round, violet gem on the face. The pages within are mismatched, containing numerous pieces of parchment that clearly did not originate within it. Various markers and small strips indicate specific pages for quick access. It is a type of book you are all too familiar with from your own time gathering secrets. A book of shadows, as some have come to call it. “Secrets... things best left where they lie.”

“Some belonging to others, like this Rothfield of yours. Others clearly still your own, hidden even from you...”He holds it out over the table a moment, then lets it fall.

“A patron who claims to be knowledge itself...Landing on the table, there is a THUD so resounding that the entire room shakes from it. The legs of the table wobble, nearly buckling under the weight of the tome. “...But with still so much left to uncover.”

He lets the room settle a bit before continuing. “Trust is all well and good. But as you’ll come to understand in time, I’m sure, there can be little of it between those of us who serve. We may work together from time to time, sure. But any lasting companionship should be left on the doorstep. Once you cross that threshold, trust becomes something of a liability.”

---

With those rolls, you would certainly be aware that eyes in general tend to have a great deal of importance when dealing with aberrations. Beholders, aboleths, all manner of unknowable creatures from outside your small corner of reality... but you would have heard rumors of things far beyond that. Things which make typical aberrations seem almost mundane and knowable by comparison. Amongst these, you would have heard only the faintest whispers of beings known simply as Elder Evils. Hadar is the only one whose proper name you would know, and even then you have been led to believe it is merely an approximation of a name the entity’s followers might call it in Common; not a true name. Others exist as well, but their specifics are even more obscure than that of Hadar. Your knowledge of Yog-Sothoth would point to a similarity, but not a sameness. As you said, “he” is omniscient, where as the entity Verse is describing is clearly gathering knowledge for itself. Or its followers are gathering knowledge for it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:26, Sun 04 Oct 2020.

Bartimaeus regards his book, then him, and nods. "Then we shall distrust each other enough to independently verify our discoveries. Satisfied?"

He points out the six locations indicated on the verse.

"These places I thought to examine first. The Bard College is, I believe, scrutinized. Or rather, additional scrutiny will come later. The harbor and reef can wait until I grow a set of gills, haha. Judging from our entrance in the college and exit from the room in the harbor, these locations are likely wayponts, but pregnant with deductive potential. That leaves the Roe and two in the Town Square: are you familiar with the buildings in these locations?"

Pausing a moment. "And there is the matter of the paladin. Allegedly left to succumb to her wounds in the sewers of the waterfront, or recover if she could. If she recovered, perhaps you've heard the story? If she did not... she lies there still.

"You've seemed somewhat intent on dissuading me from my course; I'm pleased you're content to advise discretion. In return, I'll consider your advice on where I shall proceed."

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 53):

He thinks on it a bit. “Nothing good comes out of the Roe, in what expereince I have with it... so might be worth a shot. That said, if this thing you’re talking about undid an entire adventuring party and tossed the paladin aside like she was nothing, it probably ain’t something you want to go messing with alone. Scout it out if you gotta, but know when to run.”

He shakes his head in  response to the buildings in the Town Square. “Can’t say as I’m particularly familiar. The Court’s my business. And I get the feeling whatever this is you’re following, it ain’t involved; at least not directly. Nothing of the Square’s come up in my investigations yet. Seems pretty devoid of any... outside influences. Might be places Rothfield once held some sort of sway or places he trusted to still be standing all these years later, if you’re hunch of this being his work is right.”

"Verse, thank you. I believe I will begin by heading to look through the Tideswallow city records; I think a map of the main sewers might be of assistance, if only to avoid stumbling into the Roe."

Bartimaeus stood. "I am pleased this interview ended with far less acrimony than it began. I hope future encounters are as productive." He indicated the horn hanging from its cord on the dresser. "By sounding that horn I can alert a particular individual: a long sustained blast indicates looking for you; three consecutive blasts that I require assistance. I hope if you hear it you won't be too overcautious in responding."

He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob without opening it. "The kitchen provided refreshing soup; I think I should remain retired for the rest of the evening, but another bowl may do me well. Is there anything else before we part? If not, good evening to you. Mel, delighted."

---

OOC:
B is not trying to be abrupt, but polite; I feel like the interview is drawing to a close.

I'll be staying in for the evening after having dinner, again soup and bread. I'll spend the long night reading the Drow history. I reckon I'll head out come daylight, so up to you if something happens over the night or if we FF to morning.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 55):

He nods. “Town’s got a couple ‘archives’ so just be ready to get the run around if you’re looking for something they don’t want found. My advice would be to find a way into the Office District. Lady Shadesworn, the Master of Lore & History on the city council, runs the official Archives out of that area. Far more complete than the public ones in the Town Square.”

He eyes the horn suspiciously, but says nothing on the matter, adding only “We’ll be around...”

Rising once more to leave, he and Mel both head toward the door. His pace is slow, but steady. Finally, as he exits your room to leave you to a night of relative relaxation, he tosses a small black orb over his shoulder. It lands on the table, rolls a bit from the momentum, then stops abruptly, much sooner than it should have. “If it’s the sewers you’re lookin to go poking around in, best to get the kobolds on your side first. They ain’t big fans of intruders. That’s their domain down there. Best to show some proper respect to em when you go.”

And with that he and the little green tiefling leave. You are alone with your thoughts once more and can proceed however you see fit from here.

Bartimaeus allowed Verse to leave before walking over to the table to examine the black marble on the table. He gave it a mostly cursory examination for a minute or two. Once he thought enough time had passed to allow Verse and Mel to depart, he descended to the bar and ordered another meal. Taking Verse's advice, he said little besides ordering and thanking the staff.

Once upstairs again, he gave his blessing and ate.

Having finished, he placed the used plates and silverware on the floor outside his door and filled his tankard with hot water, allowing fresh tea leaves to steep in the piping-hot liquid.

First thing: Mel had been rummaging through his belongings. He needed to see if anything was missing and did so.

Second thing: He then organized his thoughts on how to proceed.

• The dungeon explorer. Let's call her Mistress. Her intents may be revealed over time in the concealed pages. Perhaps her status could be discerned via divination.
• The locations in the Square and in the Roe. Those may be visited during daylight hours just to see what sort of activity goes on in them that is plain to the casual observer.
• The public archives in the Square. Verse told me not to spend much time on them; likely better to get a scrip from them saying I was looking for materials found only in the Office District. Should visit a tailor for proper attire when seeking an audience with Lady Shadesworn.
• Kobolds? Perhaps the orb will assist. At least Draconic is naturally within my capacity. They could assist with the paladin, since it seems likely they'd have run into her.
• The Court of Eye. A beholder-god perhaps? Something to keep a nose out for. Shouldn't be hard if Verse thinks they're open about it.
• An observatory. Something about that mosaic in the College. Something was there. But it was an enchanter's design so could well have been nothing at all.
• Copies of those books found in the College. Would be best to be better armed if that puzzle, or something like it, is found again.
• Both the harbor and the reef are tied into Rothfield's transportation network. Being able to survive underwater would be necessary.
• Drow language. Might want to pick up a grammar.

Third: properly examine Verse's orb. [Cast Identify, ritual]

Final thing: the pages written in invisible ink recovered from the College. He had exhausted his day's complement of spells, but using his Pearl of Power he restored to himself a spell slot and cast Invisibility to reveal the contents of the page. Also review the Tiny Hut half-scroll.

Once those organizational details were arranged, he refilled his tankard for another mug of tea and tucked into the Drow history for the rest of the night.

---

OOC:
I think that's everything? Lol, this game is going to require serious scratch pad use.

Going back through the your belongings, you find the majority of it is right where it should be. Clearly shuffled around a bit by a pair of tiny hands, but still where it belongs. The only thing missing is Darker than Night which now rests on the table, and some of the small baubles you came across in the College. Specifically, the 4 gold coins with the strange faces on them and the whittled stick that seemed to be the beginning of a wand. These you can’t seem to find no matter how much searching you do...


The orb appears to be nothing more than a large black glass marble. It rolls easily in the palm of your hand. As you proceed to cast Identify on it, you find that it does bear a simple enchantment upon it: a transmutation spell you are unfamiliar with. The effect appears to be similar to petrifaction. Flesh to stone, or in this case, crystal. You suddenly realize what you are holding is a crystallized eye, and it appears to function as a casting focus; a catalyst for virtually any type of magic to be case through or bound to. This one has a single spell bound to it already: Programmed Illusion... the trigger for which you can’t seem to determine.


The pages end up being a series of reports. Missives written to a “Master” occasionally referred to as “Valendeir” on some pages. A few of the pages simple report on various aspects of the waterfront’s shipping that she seems to think he will be interested in. Amongst the various economic intricacies which are almost totally lost on you, you note a brief manifest of various items she has specified are leaving on specific ships. It appears they intended to hit this once they were outside of Tideswallow’s bay. The shipments in question, however, are fairly mundane things overall. Corn. Cotton. Sulphur. A small shipment of wrought pig iron, too unrefined for making blades from. A boat carrying exclusively wood and charcoal which appears to have departed almost four months ago. A strange shipment of what appears to be just crate after crate of dirt and manure. And one circled shipment of what seems to be an entire boatload of shale, flint, and cracked marble, all too badly damaged to be worthwhile for building.

Beyond this, the notes go on to briefly touch upon the writer’s time in the city. A search for an easy access into the sewers is mentioned, though not elaborated upon. A simple contract which has been fulfilled and awaits renegotiating is brought up, but left vague. Everything about the writing style seems focused on giving as little information in as many words as possible, as though the writer was desperately trying to make up for a lack of discoveries during her time in Tideswallow.... all except for the second to last page.

This one seems to confirm your suspicions when it brings up the name Rothfield in several spots. The writer appears to have been chasing an artifact the old conductor once favored. Something her disappeared with when he vanished from his home in Twinpier some two hundred years ago. She managed to make progress following a subtle trail he left leading all the way from that north-western metropolis, all the way down to Tideswallow. It appears Rothfield likely faked his death in Twinpier, traveled in secret to the south, and began work on something unknown here in town under some assumed name. You find little else of use besides that, however...

After reading through all of this, you are fairly confident these were written by Milthrix’s mistress.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:19, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

~~ Light fingers, Mel. You took those coins with a crossed eye. Tedious. Little matter since you left the brass. But the wand... A wand? No... a baton. A conductor's baton, since Mistress seemed to know of Rothfield. It will be a key to something, no doubt. Drat. And you'd no idea of Rothfield, Verse. Tsk tsk. ~~

~~ And this. ~~ Bartimaeus held up the crystal eye. ~~ I seem to be full up on replacements for eyes. But a casting focus isn't something to sneeze at. What would it do with kobolds... and what image will reveal itself once the command word is discovered? And why did my majiks not reveal it... strange. It needs a more powerful persuasive... unless the illusion is tripped by location rather than command word? ~~

He rose to look out his window.

~~ Morning. Time to get started. ~~

Facing East he prostrated himself on the floor and gave obeisance of Morning Prayer. The he rose and considered his belongings.

~~ I will need to carry some of this, but hardly everything. I'll leave what I can do without if the room is burgled. ~~

"Ailuros, stay here, stay hidden. If someone enters observe them, but stay hidden. Flee if discovery leads to assault."

Bartimaeus walked out of his room, locked it, pocketed the key, and made his way to the Town Square. ~~ Plenty of tasks there need taking care of. ~~
This message was last edited by the player at 14:12, Wed 07 Oct 2020.

 The imperial guard officer had grasped at the chance to go on detached duty from the empire, to act as one of the instructors to a free city state’s guard force. Such duty might well lead to his being noticed by his superiors and led to promotion and a better posting in the future. So, Lieutenant Tavard of house Rylillion was bound for the city of Tideswallow.

 His orders had been short and precise. In a nutshell, he was to assist he city guard force to become more professional, and aid in any reasonable way to bring law and order to the fetid…ahem, to the city of Tideswallow. Tarvard  was informed he was a symbol of the empire, so he must be almost perfect to the citizens and officials of the city he was to serve in.

 Tavard’s first impression of the city, upon his arrival, and having reported to the local powers that be, he and his, where not welcome by all concerned. He learned quickly that the scarlet hued cloak of an imperial guardsman might be a symbol of authority, but also made a good target for rotten fruit and horse apples.

 His first days where spent in getting to know the local squad of city guardsman, and Tavard’s opinion of them was not great. Discipline and training were not what it might be, so he had them on the drill fiend, for weapons practice. That plus marching in different formations. Had his hands full, to be sure.

 This day, found the imperial guard officer, taking his men on a patrol of the city docks, more of a reconnaissance, and to allow the locals to see a guard presence. More than anything. The men where slowly shaping up in discipline, and training, or so thought Tavard. He had only had to have a few of the harder headed ones punished, before things started to take shape, the way he wanted things too.

In reply to Tavard (msg # 60):

The sight of a Tenebrian officer, lesser or not, amongst the rabble of city guard seemed to draw a crowd in certain parts of the city. The docks happened to be one such place. In front of one of the larger local taverns, a significantly-sized group of gawkers stood and sat about, watching as the scarlet-cloaked soldier put the relatively-well-motivated guards through their paces. Laughs burst out as some of the less functional of the brigade showed difficulty keeping up with the officer’s drills and commands; clearly not as used to having a proper enforcer in their midst as they should be. Surprisingly though, most of the drunkards watching and laughing saved their worst jeers for the local guards who were being put to task, rather than the outlander officer.

It seemed they found more enjoyment mocking the devil they knew rather than the one they didn’t.

After a good hour’s worth of watching, most of the crowd disappeared inside for more drinking, leaving only a few individuals watching the officer lead the men through their drills and march around the Waterfront.

Bartimaeus was quiet the rest of the way to the Salty Seaman. No complicated explanations; no further lectures on the nature of (un)reality. Just a steady pace in the middle of the night towards lodgings.

Upon climbing the stairs of the tavern to his room, he reached out to his familiar.


Stopping for her reply, he turned to Yshtar.

"You asked me for information. I will share. Documents and personal experience. And then you will share: I do not think it was mere cavalier bravado or sorcerous enchantment pushed you forwards. Are we agreed?"

---

OOC:
B's experiences in the College run through messages 54-150
URL: [link to a message in this game]

Rothfield's direct comments are in messages 108, 111, 139.

Journal entries we found are linked to in message 103 at the end of the paragraph beginning, "The diary proves".

Though it's not stated in the thread, it is conspicuous that Vesryn was looking for this door [Message 54]. He never did answer why. But V hasn't posted in a month, nor his player logged in the game for two weeks... so maybe this is a thread B/Y can follow with an NPC-V? DM, how's that sound?

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 62):

( Afraid not. If a player doesn’t come back, their character is gone; vanishing into the population of the city until they return. You could try tracking him down, but it would ultimately go nowhere until the actual player comes back. Given how many plot threads you’ve already got going on right now, that sort of search would really just be a waste of time right now. You could certainly try following the path he was on looking into that door, if you wanted to, but looking for Vesryn himself wouldn’t play out. )
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:56, Mon 26 Oct 2020.

Right on.

GM:

Given how many plot threads you’ve already got going on right now

So when I feel like a kitten in a ball of yarn, that’s more or less accurate? Lol.

Yshtar thought about the answer as well as the question. She replied in kind.
"I was curious at first but did not want to go down a bottomless hole on my first day in town. Something was calling to me. I believe it was the master of what lies beneath the mausoleum."

She gave a little thought about what has transpired.

"We must destroy it."

Her response was short. Direct.

~~ She wants to destroy Rothfield? ~~

~~ Why? ~~

~~ The man is malicious, clearly, but... so what? ~~

Instead he said, "Yes. He has a talent for latent enchantments as well as for necromancy. I would not be surprised if the latter were merely a means of prolonging his development of the former. But that is not what I meant.

"Faced with repeated warnings, your own subjection to mental influence, and obvious malignant potency, your instinct is to destroy him.

"Why?

"Why not flee? Why not work around him? Why not avoid his menace? Why not attempt to understand him? These reactions are reasonable, are they not? But without hesitation: destroy him. One does not have this sort of reaction without serious commitments to prior motivations.

"However much my responses are clothed in specialist argot that may or may not be within your experience, I have been truthful and open. It is now your turn.

"Who are you?"

She answered irritated.
"What is your game then Bartimaeus? Why don't you flee? Or what is your goal? I asked this before and you didn't answer."

Yshtar sighed. This will not lead anywhere.

"First thing's first. Who am I? I am Yshtar. I am many things. An individual tired of Tenebrian expansion. A monster hunter. Mercenary. A wild card in this game. This is one of the last ports around Tenebria that are not ruled by them. Maybe one of the most developed. I am not going anywhere."

She waited a couple of moments to let this sink in.

"What would you want to do with that monster? Leave him there locked up? That doesn't work, not really. Undead almost exclusively try to destroy life whenever they find it either in the short or in long term. This doesn't mean I'll charge in tomorrow evening. Don't mistake me for a fanatic. What I meant was that I was offended in being forced to open the tomb and going down there and I want him to pay for it. Now on to you. Why are you here and what do you want to do with it?"

She deliberately didn't want to call Rothfield by name.

“We never got settled into our relationship.

“You’re irritated? Yet you have no cause to be. I asked for your protection and have afforded your stay here as part of your compensation. You are in my employ. If you’re unhappy: go. We have no other obligations towards one another.

“However, may I remind you that your employment was undertaken because of a threat presented to my person. Prior to your sojourn into the mausoleum and judging from your attitude you dismissed my concerns almost out of hand. You now have a better measure of the threat Rothfield presents, but his threat was not the only one, nor the primary reason I engaged your services. These others are, relative to Rothfield, entirely mundane, and likely within your competence. Having realized I was correct about the undead whatever-he-is, I trust I won’t have to deal with further skepticism on your part regarding other parties? I hope not.

“But from what you say you’re either, unlikely, an agent of or, more likely, a fugitive from Imperial authority. Whatever the case may be I am disinterested in temporal political affairs. Best of luck to your endeavors.

“Now: as for me? The Truth of Reality is not some lost spoon in your kitchen which you know by size, shape, feel, and weight, that you happen to have misplaced. That spoon may be found through a systematic search of the kitchen not least because as you search you’re fully aware that what you’re looking for is a spoon. Understanding I risk stretching the metaphor beyond usefulness: I am not here to learn the Truth. I am not here to retrieve some Lost Book of Souls from the Shadow Transept, as popular fiction would portray field archaeoanthropology. I am here to discover more about what the shape of Truth is that I may better seek it. I don’t yet know if it’s spoon, fork, whisk, or straw-shaped, or even if it is a utensil. I cannot tell you for what it is I seek because I do not yet know what information will draw me closer to knowledge of the Truth.

“If you remain discontent with this answer, I don’t know how to make this clearer to you, and instead advise you to go. It will be my last attempt to allay your overweening suspicion.

“As to what I would do with Rothfield? I would do nothing unnecessarily. Nothing whatsoever. If my search leads me to Port Yoren in three weeks, I will leave him to his profane compositions. He speaks of his ‘ascension’ but remains trapped in this temporal prison. Though I do not say it with certainty, I doubt he possesses what I seek. Time will tell. But I do not flee because I believe Tideswallow yet offers insight.

“That was unpleasant, and happily behind us, one way or the other.” Bartimaeus grabbed the teapot. “Would you care for tea while reading what my researches have uncovered?”

---

OOC:

Y, have you had a chance to read through the threads? I’m ready to head to Milo’s shop, unless either you or DM want to stay here for a thing.

Yshtar gave a long thought about what the priest of Oghma said. She sighed and accepted the tea but didn't drink from it.

"Agent? Fugitive? Are all of your deductions so shallow or rather magnified to an epic scope? You hurt me."

She didn't seem hurt at all.

"Also you haven't told anything about yourself. Let me try some shallow deduction myself: Someone who caught a glimpse of how the multiverse works in a feverish dream now bent on finding that what is not possible? From within the rotting, empty shelves of an abandoned unsuccessful university perhaps? Never mind the answers. I'm not sure I'd believe them either way as they lack the one most important detail of why you came here in the first place and how did you know where to go. However I made up my decision: I quit your employ beginning tomorrow morning."

Yshtar watched him intently for a bit then continued.

"Now that we indeed have this unpleasantness over with I propose to work together as equal partners. I'm not really interested in what the Truth is whatever it is. However any practical applications or any material or immaterial gain that comes out of it is of interest to me. I don't know if I'd go out of the city right now but let's work together for now and see how that works out. I don't mind following your lead and helping you to fight the enemies you made though - you seem to be an interesting fellow with a very unique ideas and I didn't have anything interesting to do anyway."

"I allow the variance of my deductions to be as broad or narrow as I comprehend their importance; foolish to do otherwise."

He sipped his tea after it had steeped, and let pass the comments about his monastery. ~~ Ignorance or mischief; unlikely malice. ~~

"If you prefer equity to commission I'll not begrudge your compensation portfolio preferences.

"Now: my lead, as you say. Tomorrow morning - which will be in a few short hours - to Milo's. Thence to the City Records office in the town square. They shan't have what we're looking for, but it is from there we obtain a chit to request records access in the Office District. (Librarians prefer inquiries be made according to procedure.) We will likely require an audience with Lady Shadesworn to access restricted collections; I suspect this audience will be of interest to you for unrelated reasons? With luck the evening meal will find us possessing an appointment for such an audience.

"You are a woman of action ... are you prepared to subject yourself to the corrosive tedium of clerical administrata?"

---

OOC:

B will use the hours between now and morning (9am ish) to record and work through the astronomical observations he made.
09:38, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 8 using 1d20+5.  Know Arcana (star measurements).

"I don't mind looking through the records. There were things in the notes you had that are of interest to me as well. As for being a person of action or otherwise ... I have my hidden talents and interests."

Yshtar put down Bartimaeus' notes then she stood up never even touching her tea. She pointed at the star charts.

"For example you might want to look at this specific part of your chart. It might be useful to concentrate here so you don't miss something specific."

Afterwards she left for her room. attempts to leave the room...

16:22, Today: Yshtar rolled 14 using 1d20+2.  knowledge arcana (star measurements).
Yshtar takes a long rest.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:47, Wed 28 Oct 2020.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 71):
You indicate the four stars surrounding the strange celestial entity marked C on the autumn chart. Rather than looking for C, you feel it may be more prudent to  find a landmark near it, so to speak...


As you open the door to leave, you find standing behind it a human man about 6ft in height, facing you and the rest of the chamber with a wide grin. He ears simple leather armor beneath a body-length cloak, the hood a cavernous cowl that falls over the upper reaches of his face to conceal his eyes. A pale purple glow illuminates the interior of the hood while tiny white and black motes float about within it. A trio of chains act as a belt beneath the robes, their ends each tipped with a sickeningly jagged iron hook. They dangle just below his knees, but don’t seem to be moving in accordance to any actual motion he is making; instead either staying perfectly still or shifting only slightly as he steps forward to block the doorway.

“Now now, no need to be in such a rush. Plenty left to talk about, I think.”

He lifts an open hand toward you and you have just enough time to see a ball of light purple energy coagulate before the palm.

Then he fires.

---

12:56, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 10 using 1d20+2 ((8)).

14:27, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 2 Initiative using 1d20+1 ((1)).

This message was last edited by the GM at 18:28, Wed 28 Oct 2020.

Bartimaeus' eyes focused on the star chart and an inkling of a thought began to blossom with Yshtar's assistance. There his eyes remained when Yshtar rose and walked to the door, and there they were still when the hooded man spoke.

It was only after the purple energy crackled towards her that we was able to gather himself to respond. Seizing his crosier, an incantation imbued it with a copper nimbus, and he called upon the Lord of Knowledge for aid in defense.

---

OOC:
13:11, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 23 using 1d20+5.  Arcana, indicated stars.
13:10, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 6 using 1d20+2.  Initiative.

Reaction: Shillelagh
Action: Cast Guidance

Yshtar gracefully dodged the first attack. It wasn't much, probably just a warm-up. For a split second she risked glancing back at the priest of Oghma.

"Friends of yours?"

Afterwards she focused her full attention at the hooded figure. She unsheathed her two-handed sword, moved into melee range and attempted to dismember their assailant.


Actions:
Free:1st Item interaction (sword)
Move: Towards the hooded figure to impose disadvantage on ranged attacks
Action: Attack with greatsword
22:00, Today: Yshtar rolled 15 using 1d20+2.  initiative.
22:08, Today: Yshtar rolled 14 using 1d20+6.  attak with greatsword.
22:12, Today: Yshtar rolled 9 using 2d6+4.  greatsword dmg. (magic dmg)

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 74):

The man curses under his breath as the plate-clad woman simply tilts her head to the side, allowing the blast of purple energy to pass harmlessly by; doing little more than causing Yshtar’s hair to billow a bit in its tailwind.

His curse is followed by a hiss of pain as he suddenly finds a blade buried a good inch into his upraised forearm. Something seems to be keeping it from cutting any deeper, but the wound still clearly hit home. However, his grin remains beneath the hood. “Friend of his. Friend of yours. We’re all friends here...” He produces a small black bead from one sleeve and crushes it to dust in his hand before tossing its powdered contents at Yshtar; as you are currently blocking him from doing anything else from there.

Yshtar, you feel a strange tingling sensation run across your entire body for a split second. Make a Charisma Saving Throw to see if you can shake off the effect before it settles.

---

Initiative Order:
Yshtar
Bartimaeus (Your turn now whenever you’re ready.)
Hooded Man
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:19, Thu 29 Oct 2020.

20:36, Today: Yshtar rolled 9 using 1d20+5.  Cha save.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 76):

You force yourself to ignore the sensation, your own will overpowering whatever it was. It is gone just as quickly as it appeared with seemingly no effect. But the man’s grin never falters. He just steps back against the far wall of the hallway (Prompting an opertunity attack if you wish to make one as he moves away from you) and out of range of your sword. As he does, you feel a shiver run down your spine, but similarly shrug it off...

01:10, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 24 using 1d20+5.  Arcana, identify spell cast .

Or spell effect, I should say.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 78):

The spell is something you are completely unfamiliar with... and something about that both scares and intrigues you. In the split seconds that follow its casting, you wrack your brain trying to figure out why it seems so familiar yet so unusual at the same time.


Suddenly you are struck with understanding as you realize what you are looking at. Maybe not entirely, but the pieces that make it up, at least. This is a new spell built from the basis and components of ones you are already familiar with. Pieces which search, find, and create. Divination and Conjuration held together with a bit of Illusion. Something otherworldly in nature. To delve into the very essence of the target and make something from what it finds. Something very much like what it finds, but under the will of another... you’re unsure how you know this, but there is a certainty to it that you cannot deny.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:27, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

Yshtar didn't hesitate to take advantage of the man stepping back but the attack probably didn't connect. Maybe the dust caused a momentary hesitation, perhaps the space was too small for the sword after all. She almost stepped out into the hallway but instead took a more cautious stance and did not step out of the room after all.
Instead she made a few arcane sigils with her left hand and incanted a couple of words and a bolt of fire flew right at the man. She hoped it would ignite some of the components the man had but she did not hold her breath - this was not usually the case. The woman in plate mail then sidestepped inside the room so Bartimaeus could have a chance at anything else than watching the combat if he wanted.

11:24, Today: Yshtar rolled 8 using 1d20+6.  attack with greatsword.
12:38, Today: Yshtar rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  fire bolt atk.
12:39, Today: Yshtar rolled 5 using 1d10.  fire bolt dmg.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 80):

The man’s smirk only widened as the blade narrowly missed his position. Bracing against the back wall of the hallway, he appeared to be waiting with some noticeable eagerness for you to step toward him... only to scowl a bit disappointedly when you remained perfectly in place. The scowl quickly turned to as the firebolt connected, showering him in a brief blanket of flame. “Not just muscle and steel then? My my, how my new friends are so full of surprises tonight.”

"I have my hidden talents and interests."

This time Yshtar smirked realizing the obvious trap. Now she only hoped the priest of Oghma had something up his sleeve too instead of throwing a book at the man.

~~ Must not escape. Must pacify. Extract information. ~~

Bartimaeus held his crosier forward and invoked in a strange language, and a streak of ... not quite light... flew towards the intruder.

---

OOC:
11:41, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 3 using 1d10.  Blast damage [force].
11:40, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 15 using 1d20+4.  Eldritch blast attack.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 83):

The blast hits its mark.... and the man winces at the pain as The spell vanishes into his outstretched hand as he reaches out to catch it. A moment later he opens the other hand and sends energy right back at you; its bulk now tinged with violet light. The force of the blast striking you is enough to knock you backwards against the wall of your rented room. The wind is knocked out of you for a moment, but beyond that there’s very little there for it force you into. The singing energy of the blast itself, however, is agonizing as it pours through you.

“Sorry friend, seems you dropped this!” You can hear the subtly tones of barely contained laughter under his words.

---

12:01, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 14 To Hit using 1d20+2 ((12)) at Bartimaeus.
12:03, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 12 Damage using 1d10+2 ((10)).
Repelling Blast: You are pushed 10ft backwards.

Quick correction: your eldritch blast hit and he used his own back on you. Had mixed up your To Hit and Damage rolls at the time.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:54, Sat 31 Oct 2020.

In reply to GM (msg # 84):

[Free Action: talk]

From against the dresser where the Blast carried him Bartimaeus snarled.

“No friends of thine, churl, nor have you any but the lost and damned! But let’s not be strangers.”

Yshtar shook her head.

"I don't think our guest wants to talk."

Then proceeded to throw another fiery bolt at the intruder from the cover of the door frame. Hearing Bartimaeus' voice she glanced back to see whether he was doing alright.


10:52, Today: Yshtar rolled 4 using 1d10.  fire bolt dmg.
10:51, Today: Yshtar rolled 21 using 1d20+5.  fire bolt atk.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:54, Sat 31 Oct 2020.

“And how rude of an uninvited guest to not introduce himself!”

Bartimaeus stretched out his hand in a grasping motion.

---

OOC:
Mage Hand, pull back his hood.

Distracted by the sudden burst of fire erupting in his face, the man staggers a bit and doesn’t seem to notice the spectral hand Bartimaeus calls into existence beside him. Turning his attention instead to the more immediate threat, he points at Yshtar and says “Bind.”

As if alive, the four hooks at the end of his chain belt suddenly spring forward, closing the distance between himself and the armored woman. The chains attempt to grapple her, trying to pin her arms to her side as they coil around her. Yet as they bind themselves around you, you find whatever magic animates them to be little more than a parlor trick. All bark and no bite. You easily shake them off and they drop to the floor, pulling back to the man  in an almost sulking manner...

---

12:50, Today: GM, for the NPC Chains: Contested Strength, rolled 6 using 1d20 ((6)).
Go ahead and roll a Strength Saving Throw against it when you have a chance.

Mage Hand costs an action to cast and another action to control. You’ll be able to pull the hood next turn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:02, Sat 31 Oct 2020.

"Did Rothfield send you?"

Yshtar tried to discern whether the man reacted to the name Rothfield but she didn't even comment on the chains she was able to break off from. Although for some breaking the chains might seemed like a parlour trick, this feat took years of training on her behalf and a good deal of luck. She realized the man had some powerful magics at his disposal and his confidence meant he still had some reserves. From the half cover of the doorframe she hurled another bolt of fire at him.


16:55, Today: Yshtar rolled 9 using 1d20+4.  str saving throw.
13:20, Today: Yshtar rolled 6 using 1d20.  insight.
13:15, Today: Yshtar rolled 23 using 1d20+5.  fire bolt atk.
13:16, Today: Yshtar rolled 2 using 1d10 with rolls of 2.  fire bolt dmg.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:21, Sun 01 Nov 2020.

Bartimaeus smiled back, then grasped with his outstretched hand and immediately flung it aside.

---

OOC:
Ok, now pull his hood back.

13:31, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 7 using 1d20+2+1d4.  Intuition, expend Guidance to concentrate on Mage Hand.
Lame.

Another blast of fire collides with the man as he attempts to move from against the wall. Your question makes his grin contort into a grimace of utter confusion. “Roth-Field? Afraid I’m not familiar, my friend... But perhaps you could step out into the hall and we’ll discuss it further?”

Even as he says this, Bartimaeus’ spectral construct tears the hood back from the man’s head. What lies beneath is an... unusual sight, to be certain. A bald human man, his manic grin slowly returning to his face. His face devoid of any other features besides that mouth. The hairless dome of his head dotted here and there with about a dozen damp, pulsating mounds which produce the pale violet light you saw from beneath the hood. Upon realizing what you are looking at, a sudden disgust and horror overtakes you for a moment. These are eyes. Looking seemingly in every direction at once.... and then all focusing in on the two of you.

“Well now that’s not very polite, my friend... Not very polite at all.” He takes another step forward, his grin wide enough that it nearly tears at the corners of his mouth now. A hand reaches forth and a light purple haze begins to gather in the palm. Immediately a beam of violet enters plows forward toward Bartimaeus.

---

22:42, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 15 To Hit using 1d20+2 ((13)).
22:43, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 11 Force Damage using 1d10+2 ((9)).
Once more you are pushed 10ft backwards, propelled against the wall.

"Go to cover dammit!"

Yshtar told Bartimaeus after making sure he was still alive from such strong attacks. She then cast another fire bolt at the man.

14:26, Today: Yshtar rolled 5 using 1d10.  fire bolt dmg.
14:26, Today: Yshtar rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  fire bolt atk.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:27, Mon 02 Nov 2020.

Bartimaeus was hurled up against the wall, and he cried out in pain.

He dropped to the floor and crawled behind whatever protection the table offered; there, he pulled out his horn and blew a mighty blast... which was completely silent.

---

OOC:
Horn of Silent Alarm
3 charges remaining

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 93):

Half of the eyes stay trained on Yshtar, while the other half follow Bartimaeus as he crawls away to cover. Though an increasing amount of blood pouring from between his teeth, the “man” mutters: “Oh, now now, my friend. There’s no need to hide... The time for that passed the moment you began sneaking into the city’s forgotten nooks and crannies.”

As the next fire bolt connects, he stumbles a bit; seemingly rethinking his strategy now that so many of the projectiles had hit home. “Perhaps it would be best to give my more immediate friend here a bit of attention before we have our discussing though.”

Once more turning all of his attention to Yshtar, he prepares another blast of violet eldritch energy.... and curses audibly as it careens harmlessly off of her armor.

---

10:11, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 3 using 1d20+2 ((1))
Apparently my rolls are only any good when they’re against Bartimaeus...

Yshtar shook her head: Hitting her from a distance would quite difficult - even with the armor she should at least have half cover. Any sane enemy with a minimal tactical experience would have tried to run over their position. This man of many eyes was apparently not sane nor did he any tactical experience so the woman in full plate kept her distance trying to slowly wear down their enemy. She decided she talked enough for now and instead kept hurling spell after spell.

20:54, Today: Yshtar rolled 5 using 1d10.  fire bolt dmg.
20:53, Today: Yshtar rolled 15 using 1d20+5.  fire bolt atk.

Bartimaeus peeked out from under his cover, hoping to at least distract the warlock’s attacks with a blast of his own.

Distraction was all that could be hoped for, unfortunately.

---

OOC:
16:14, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 7 using 1d20+4.  Eldritch Blast attack.

Bookkeeping:
16:12, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 3 using 1d20+1.  Concentration to maintain Mage Hand vs DC 10.
    You and me both, DM. This dice roller is contagious.
HP updated to reflect 11pts of damage.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 96):

As Bartimaeus’ attack goes wide, colliding with the wall behind the man-thing, the figure makes one last attempt to fire a similar blast at Yshtar... but grimaces once more as she shrugs it off; deflecting the eldritch energy harmlessly off one of her pauldrons.

From down the hall back toward the staircase you suddenly hear the faint sounds of a struggle... and then a muffled, desperate screaming. The hooded man doesn’t seem to notice.

---

16:31, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 9 using 1d20+2 ((7)).

Additional Initiatives:
16:01, Today: GM, for the NPC Melody, rolled 7 using 1d20+3.
16:01, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 5 using 1d20+4.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:43, Mon 02 Nov 2020.

“Stop! Stop! Peace!” Bartimaeus cried.

~~ Get him talking. Delay him. ~~


Bartimaeus almost broke down in tears. “You’re right. You’re so right. I have been delving... It has become an obsession... Surely you must know it?! Know it’s call? How indeed can it be resisted?!?”

---

OOC:
16:41, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 12 using 1d20+2.  Persuasion.
16:41, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 22 using 1d20+2.  Persuasion. Deception.
Acting like I’m giving up.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 98):

The look of disappointment at his attack quickly shifts back to the toothy smirk. “Well there now, you see? Not so hard, is it?”

Despite the shift in tone, you can clearly see him readying another amalgam of violet energy in his hand, seemingly waiting to see if Yshtar follows suit with Bartimaeus.

---

Yeah, that’d have to be Deception then, despite the truth in the words themselves..

Yshtar sighed.

"And what do you want to do now?"

The question was equally aimed at the priest of Oghma and the man in the hood. I didn't need any aid to get rid of this clown. She prepared to cut down any enemies the Hood might send their way.

Ready action: If an enemy comes into melee range hit it with the sword regardless of any conversation taking place.

~~ We are taken in by those lies we wish to be true. ~~

He stood, placing his hands on the table and grimaced at Yshtar as he spoke.

"What do I want? I want to SLEEP! To lose consciousness. TWENTY MINUTES of OBLIVION! To be rid of the memory of those terrible sights if only for a MOMENT! How can you know of the burden I carry? Have carried! For so long." he cried. "...For so long..."

Bartimaeus turned to their assailant. "Can you help? Can you take away this awful weight? Who are you? Can your master? Who is he, and what must I do for him?" His face contorted imploringly.

And he stretched out his mind in the meantime, seeking a mind.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 101):

The man pulled hi hood back up, covering the horrific cluster of glistening violet eyes once more. The expression beneath it, still a grin of some manner, shifted to a much softer smile; a look of sudden understanding and almost relief. “Ah, so that’s it then. You have seen! This is wonderful, my friend, Wonderful! You have taken a first step on a road which few from the outside are chosen to walk. Rejoice, friend! You have a place here. Come, and all will be made clear. We’ve such wonders for you to bear witness to.”

The energy fading from his hand, he turned his attention to Yshtar once more. “And you, friend? Have you seen such majesty as well? Has your mind been touched by the possibilities outside of our sphere?” He takes a few cautious steps toward you. As he draws within 10ft, you can now see the fruits of some of your labor, as the burns and blade wounds across his figure have left him in a state where moving is clearly a bit of a challenge without some effort being put into it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:55, Tue 03 Nov 2020.

"I am not one to turn down power if offered." Yshtar added truthfully but then as the Hood or rather Mr Eyes came closer she felt the smell of his terrible burns she felt the revulsion of remembering his eyes. "But you are just one ugly bleeder if I ever saw one. I wouldn't want this kind of power. Do you have anything else?"

18:53, Today: Yshtar rolled 7 using 1d20+5.  deception.
For background anyone oblivious to this comic let me introduce you to the DM of the rings' relevant chapter: https://www.shamusyoung.com/twentysidedtale/?p=850
Previous ready action still stands.

In reply to GM (msg # 102):


“Heed her not! She knows little, and suspects less!” Bartimaeus pleaded, and turned to her. “Have pity, at least, and let him speak! His master might take away these visions... replace them with others!”

He threw himself on the floor, groveling, holding onto his staff as if a lifeline.

“Tell me where, please! Restore hope to one so long without. Who is this master of the Mystery of the Third Eye!?”

---

OOC:

15:12, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 8 using 1d20+2.  Deception, refresh. (If needed)
Woof. Overdid it there, Bart.

15:15, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 18 using 1d20+2.  Or Persuasion?

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 103):

He draws in a bit closer to Yshtar, now only about 5ft form you. “Oh you of so little faith... your eyes have not yet opened. But we will amend that.”

He stretches one hand forward, beginning to reach up to your head... it’s now up to you whether you allow his hand to make contact with you or if you react in some way before he does.

As the man closes in Yshtar didn't hesitate but tried to stab him with her greatsword.

21:01, Today: Yshtar rolled 12 using 1d20+6.  melee attack.
In the unlikely event that this attack actually hits, the damage is below. If it would be a killing blow Yshtar does a Knockout action instead.
21:02, Today: Yshtar rolled 9 using 2d6+4.  greatsword dmg.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 106):

He withdraws just at the last second, allowing your blow to slip past by mere inches. “Whore of the false gods! You’ll regret this course of action; of that much I can assure you!”

With barely an inch of movement, he hurls another coagulation of violet energy your way. Still shaken from the near miss of your massive sword, however, he clearly has a bit of trouble aiming and ends up slamming it into the doorframe beside you.

---

22:43, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 9 using 1d20+2 ((7)).

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 106):

He withdraws just at the last second, allowing your blow to slip past by mere inches. “Whore of the false gods! You’ll regret this course of action; of that much I can assure you!”

With barely an inch of movement, he hurls another coagulation of violet energy your way. Still shaken from the near miss of your massive sword, however, he clearly has a bit of trouble aiming and ends up slamming it into the doorframe beside you...

---

22:43, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 9 using 1d20+2 ((7)).

While Yshtar and the warlock began to struggle Bartimaeus began to weep.

"No! Stop! Don't!" He rose to his knees. "You don't understand!"

"How painful!" He put his hands on his forehead.

"Painful IT IS to know Ygg'traul gu'Unra Mal Thaaum'dIbeth!"

---

OOC:
Cast Dissonant Whispers on the bugger.
11:17, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 13 using 3d6.  DW Damage.
WIS save DC 12 for half

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 109):
As the cultist struggles with Yshtar, your spell collides with his mind and is utterly broken upon some mental barrier therein.

Now thoroughly aggravated with how this little ambush has turned out, he reaches out Yshtar one final time, now with a noticeably more cold in his doing so. The grin is gone. The amicable tone has vanished from his voice. There is now only a semblance of a man, aiming to end this as quickly as possible.
“You would turn your blade on an offer knowledge. Such is a slap in the face of all we stand for. I now offer you that knowledge once more. No longer as a gift now, but as a penance. Open your eyes and see, child of ignorance!”

With this, the man lunges forward, his hand locking around Yshtar’s forehead.


Bartimaeus, you watch as, over the span of about 6 seconds, the man reaches out, wraps a hand around Yshtar’s forehead, goes completely pale as a flash of violet light erupts from his palm, and then eases his grip; his own body now seizing violently though his physical connection to Yshtar does not break.

---

12:40, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 17 Wisdom Saving Throw, using 1d20+2.
12:53, Today: GM, for the NPC Hooded Man, rolled 19 Grapple Attack using 1d20-1 ((20)).
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:13, Thu 05 Nov 2020.

A whisper of a crone.

"We have such sights to show you."

Yshtar felt like she was old, old as the world itself as she peered into nothingness. She wanted to die, she wanted to scream in the nothingness of the purple light. But most of all she wanted was revenge. However her eyes were still blurry from the assault on her mind a second ago and the man was close. Uncomfortably close for that matter. She missed yet again with her greatsword which was probably too unwieldy for such close quarters fighting. She tried to clear her eyes with tears running down her cheeks.

22:00, Today: Yshtar rolled 10 using 1d20+6.  greatsword atk.

Whispers,
Would you describe the geography? Where those to are in relation to the doorframe?

Also, +1 for Hellraiser hooks.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 112):

The hooded man-thing barely avoids the blade as Yshtar makes her swing at him. Both are clearly exhausted from whatever transpired between them in the past few seconds. Yshtar has not left her spot, just inside the room, about a step away from the doorframe. The creature in the hood, meanwhile, stands shaking and convulsing slightly just a few feet from her; partially in the threshold and partially in the hallway. Though he does not seem to react to them, you can hear the sounds of a struggle ending in the hallway far to the left of the door; back by the staircase leading down to the bar proper.

Bartimaeus dropped the facade, gritted his teeth, and gripped his magic-imbued crosier.

A moment later he had appeared in the hallway behind the cultist, arcing his staff through the air to come down on his head.

---

OOC:
Bonus Action: Misty Step to hallway.
Attack Action: Attack.

23:27, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 23 using 2d20+4, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 19,18.  Attack with Advantage.
23:28, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 9 using 1d8+2.  Damage Shillelagh.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 114):

The blow knocks a few teeth from the man’s mouth as it slams his jaws together with a terrible CLACK! Though still standing, you can see this is a creature on its last legs. Its limbs are shaking violently, severe burns coat its arms and chest, blood is running thick from its mouth... yet still it manages to twist its visage into a terrible grin as it looks toward Yshtar.

“Seen.... never.... unseen....”

Now that you are out in the hallway, you become fully conscious of the struggle at the top of the stairs. Down the hall from you, you see three more of these hooded figures. Two lie slumped against either wall, completely still. The third is currently flailing wildly in an attempt to flee in your direction; the sharpened tip of a steal cane impaled through its back and protruding out its chest. Behind it, you see a red-skinned tiefling in a duster and wide-brimmed trail hat standing at the top of the stairs. His little green-skinned companion rushes after the impaled cultist while the older man simply walks forward casually; checking the two bodies left beside the stairs as he goes.

The little green tiefling leaps onto the back of the man fleeing toward you and stabs him once with each of the little daggers she has gripped in her bandaged hands. One gets batted away in the man’s flailing, but the other finds its mark. From behind her, seeing that their target still isn’t down, the red tiefling calls out and raises a hand toward him. “Enough!”

From his outstretched hand, four beams of violet light go careening down the hall after the cultist, searing into him with an agonizing wave of energy that immediately drops the hooded figure to the floorboards. Unmoving.

Now only your cultist remains...

---

00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Melody, rolled 3 Slashing Damage using 1d6+2.
00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Melody, rolled 4 To Hit using 1d20+2.
00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Melody, rolled 13 To Hit using 1d20+2.

00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 13 Force Damage using 1d10+5.
00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 13 Force Damage using 1d10+5.
00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 6 Force Damage using 1d10+5.
 00:54, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 11 Force Damage using 1d10+5.
 00:53, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 19 To Hit using 1d20+11.
 00:52, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 15 To Hit using 1d20+11.
00:52, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 19 To Hit using 1d20+11.
00:52, Today: GM, for the NPC Verse, rolled 24 To Hit using 1d20+11.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:07, Fri 06 Nov 2020.

Yshtar -oblivious to the carnage in the hallway- attacked the man once more moving in to attack his exposed neck.

"Just die already!"

14:43, Today: Yshtar rolled 25 using 1d20+6.  greatsword atk.
14:46, Today: Yshtar rolled 9 using 3d6+4. --> greatsword dmg+sneak atk

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 116):

Like a hot knife slicing through butter, the blade connects with the cultist’s neck, carves fluidly through the flesh, and comes to a halt three quarters of the way through the man’s throat; having caught and shattered his spinal column in the process. All at once the shaking stops. The tremors running through him cease. His body goes limp.

But the blood-stained grin never fades from his face...

---

That ends combat, unless you plan on attacking the two newcomers, in which case we’ll use the same initiative. He had 3 HP left.

Yshtar put the tip of the greatsword down and leaned against it as she saw the newcomers attack. She looked more steady after a quiet moment of contemplation. Clenching fists she asked a quiet question from the priest of Oghma afterwards.

"Actual friends of yours?"

She looked into the tieflings' eyes to try to discern their intent.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:00, Fri 06 Nov 2020.

"The entire world is your friend when the alternative is what this one had to offer." Bartimaeus replied. "But yes. These are they whom I had hoped would be close by." He wiped the stained head of his staff on the cloak of the cultist and said quietly, "I am sorry. About what you saw. If ... if you want to talk about it later, I'll be here for you."

Addressing Verse and Mel, he said aloud, "I presume I've just had the pleasure of meeting representatives of this Court you mentioned? Glad you hadn't wandered far." Bartimaeus indicated the corpses littering the hallway. "This room has seen more than its share of uninvited guests," giving Verse a sidelong eye, "after a brief chat, perhaps you might be able to recommend accommodations that are less of a Tideswallow terminal? I believe I have already rendered a downpayment to that purpose," he finished, turning at the last to Mel.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 119):

“Seems that way... though truth be told, we only stuck around here this closely because it seemed inevitable you’d attract their ilk eventually.” Looking back at the bodies and then inspecting the one of the cultist the two of you dealt with, the violet orbs of his eyes narrow and his attention turns to Yshtar. Then back to you. Then to your room. “Back inside. Both of you. Might still be one prowling...”

The smaller green tiefling is at his side by this point and hands him a rolled up sheet of parchment from one of the corpses back near the stairs.

"Certes," Bartimaeus replied, and stepped over the corpse into the room. "Won't you please come in?"

As he passed, he swept the crosier down and hooked the cultist's ankle, dragging him into the room.

"Now. Let us see what this fellow will tell us now that he is incapable of talking..." Not trusting the purpose of the growths around the man's skull, he covered the head with a blanket, and began to search the body.

---

OOC:

14:36, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 22 using 1d20+5.  Investigation, corpse.

After eyeing the tieflings for a moment she went into the room herself. She was not in position to argue with them - Bartimaeus' allies seemed quite powerful and had an impressive magical arsenal at their disposal. She crouched down near the dead man and the priest and looked him dead in the eyes ignoring his previous offer to talk about what she saw.

"Just who are your friends?"

The armor clad woman watched as the priest expertly investigated -or rather looted- the corpse and she didn't want to be left out of anything useful found. In all honesty her head was still hurting a bit from the strange vision she saw earlier.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 122):
Closing the door behind you (I assume) the two of you are joined in the room by Verse and Melody. The pair are cautiously glancing around, trying to ensure nothing is amiss within the chamber before finally settling a bit.

Between the two of you, you uncover 6 gold and 270 silver from various pockets and pouches around the man’s robes. However, you also uncover a small sack of beautifully cut amethysts on his person; likely once meant to be components for some spell or another. You’d place their worth to be around 100 gold for the entire bag. A second, similarly shaped sack holds a trio of the small violet marbles he had crushed and blown the dust of onto Yshtar earlier.

Finally, the hook-tipped chains around his waist catch your attention. As you are searching his body, you can’t help but notice the occasional twitch of movement from them. A slight shift in the links here. A jerk of one hook or another a few inches toward your hands there. Subtle, and not particularly dangerous, but there’s clearly some sentience of some manner to them.

Bartimaeus was silent as he searched the body. The gold, gems, and orbs were placed on the table. The chains were of interest, but they could wait. He looked for brands, tattoos, or other symbols members of cults so often wore.

Finding none of that sort he sat back on his heels and looked at Melody and Verse. "Allow me to introduce you all. Verse, Mel, may I present to you Yshtar. She had contracted to act as my bodyguard, but has since suggested we restructure our relationship. Yshtar, Verse and Mel are recent acquaintances of mine. I believe they mistook me for one of these types," he lightly kicked the cultist, "when we first met. Water under the bridge.

"I suspect the proprietor would rather there not be corpses cooling in his hallway. I'll be just a moment, then."

He stood and walked to the door.

"As I was their primary target, I will be obliged to read that scroll you found on one of the others. We can also discuss Mel's interest in those gold pieces found in my cabinet yesterday."

He opened the door and walked out, then quickly poked his head back in.

"Where are my manners... Tea, anyone?"

Yshtar nodded at the introduction. Verse and Mel? Probably aliases. She silently signaled no when the priest of Oghma asked whether they wanted tea.

"So who are you people? What do you do here? And who...what is this guy? Why did he attack us?"


The questions were aimed at either of the tieflings; they might give less cryptic answers than Bartimaeus. Meanwhile she stood up and looked at the obviously magical chains.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 125):

Upon surveying the room and hearing out the introductions, the red tiefling looks down at the green and gives her a quick nod. Melody, in turn, walks cautiously over toward the bed and sits down on its edge; clearly intending to sit out the discussion. Verse, meanwhile, turns his attention briefly toward Bartimaeus, calling out into the hall. He speaks with a deep, midlands drawl; an accent you’re quite familiar with from your time on the road. “The coins are safe. You can have em back soon enough. Just needed to be sure you weren’t in town to summon something with them.”

His attention then turns to you. “Alestor Verse. Pleasure. This here’s my daughter, Mel. We’re... we were just passing through town. Waiting on a ship east. But since it’s taking its damn sweet time gettin’ here, we’ve been stuck waitin’ in this little pit of an inn. As for him...” He gives the corpse a quick kick with the steel-lined toe of one boot. The skin unrelated slightly at the touch, giving off the unsettling semblance of a substance somewhere between a solid and a gel. “He’s something of a problem. An infestation, if ya ken. The ones out in the hall ain’t much better, but at least they seemed human. This one’s a bit further from the norm, by the look of things. Got a good look at something he shouldn’t have, most like, and it... well... it had an impact, i guess you could say.”

“Far as why he attacked you, I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m gonna assume he and his friends didn’t like the idea of outsiders snooping around their city. Probably worried you’ll find something that could be important to them. Or that you’ll bring attention to something they want to keep hidden.”

He similarly shakes his head when offered the tea. Mel, on the other hand, nods.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:33, Wed 11 Nov 2020.

Bartimaeus drug the corpses in the room one by one, then went out a final time, returning with a kettle of hot water. He steeped two mugs, gave one to Mel, and kept the other for himself.

"'Summon something with them', you say? That is a curious concern to have over a coin. But only the gold coins, not the bronze. Same mint, I should think." He lingered a moment and moved on to other topics.

"If they had been following me previous to yesterday's events, they would have been interested in me for the same reason you were interested in me. Perhaps your attention kept them away... If yesterday's city tour roused them against me, then they are either interested in cosmology, have a gnomish friend in a junk shop, a petty conjuror in the market, or keep their own bulbous eyes on what's happening underneath the Roe.

"Of course, I shouldn't be so ego-bound as to demand they were after me." He looked at Yshtar. "If you're pursuing a task in this city, possibly these are here to thwart you."

He shrugged and looked back at the corpses. "These will be from the Court you'd mentioned, I gather? And this one," he indicated the warlock Yshtar had finished off, "further into whatever transformation they promise?"

Bartimaeus sipped his tea. "For the benefit of my partner here, would you mind explaining what this Court is with slightly more detail than you'd offered me? Oh... and may I see that scroll, please?"

Still eyeing "Verse" and "Mel" as Bartimaeus cleaned up the corpses outside Yshtar asked further questions.

"So you were passing through town, met the priest of Oghma for a beer and a tea then decided you are such great friends that you would protect him from harm? This is very kind of you.

The last sentence was only partly sarcastic as realistically the two of them stood little chance against one not to mention another couple of cultists. Bartimaeus' further words clarified some things though. What he did in the College.

Then as the man continued further details started to arise. The court. She only heard of a folk tale of the Undying Court but that was a fairy tale surely.

"Is this court the one of Rothfield?"

It was a long shot and probably not his court but instead another evil cult of sorts which had to be exterminated in the long term.

In reply to Yshtar (msg # 128):

You watch as the stony expression on the old tiefling’s face suddenly cracks as your words reach him. He lets out a short, but deep series of laughs. “Hell no! I thought he’d make good bait! And it seems like that hunch was about right... though the fish that bit’s still a bit too scrawny for my taste. But the bait’s still intact, so no sense in not to tossing it back in... besides... now there’s a worm on two hooks, it would seem.”

He looks at Yshtar, then to Bartimaeus, then back to Yshtar, shaking his head a bit dismissively. “You too with this Rothfield nonsense... No, far as I can tell, whatever it is your friend Bartimaeus there is chasing underneath the city, it’s got nothing to do with the Court of Eyes. They’re far more concerned with what’s above and beyond, not below and locked away...”  He seems to trail off a bit as he gets a good glance at Yshtar’s eyes. “...you know. You saw her, didn’t you.”

 It’s a statement, not a question.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 127):

He sighs. “Alright... I suppose if one of you’s this far in already, might as well make sure you’re both on the same page at the very least.” He goes over and takes a seat next to Melody.

“The Court’s a... how do I put this... they’re a cult, plain and simple. A bunch of fanatics of a star-god from well beyond our realm. Or at least they think themselves to be. Truth of it is, they’re a perversion of a much older religion to that same deity. They seem to believe themselves to be her true servants and followers, while they simultaneously make a mockery of everything her tenets represent. The faith’s tactics have always been a little... gruesome, given the nature of what’s being worshipped. But never malicious. Not cruel for the sake of being cruel. The Court, meanwhile... they take it to an extreme that’d make the gods of the nine hells proud. Fervent bloodshed. Base, sadistic rituals. Corruption of the world around them...” He jabs the corpse of the eye-ladened cultist’s head with the tip of his cane. “...and of themselves in the process. Reason they keep to the shadows and all. Why they try not to stick out from the normal populace. Because the moment you notice them, they REALLY stand out...”

Bartimaeus let the jab about being bait pass unremarked. He’d expected it, frankly, and that was the reason he’d told them of the Horn before he’d used it to summon him.

But there was progress... “Pardon, but... they’re a mockery of the worship of which elder star god from Beyond? Precision on that point is relevant lest we waste our time.”

He turned to Yshtar. “Can you describe it? Or perhaps...” He held out his hand towards her forehead, seeking her consent to the stronger connection afforded through touch.

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 131):

Verse’s eyes narrowed at Bartimaeus’ question. “Names are dangerous things. Something I’m sure someone in your... profession is well aware of. Regardless, her’s ain’t spoken aloud by the sane. Not here at least. Beyond the veil maybe. In other lands. Forgotten realms. Mysterious dreams. Sunless rooms. The like... but not here. Here, all but the most lost call her by a sort of pseudonym. The Court and the actual religion, both. To them she’s known as Rask’Akhthalhat. The Violet Watcher.”

His interest piques a bit as the priest turns the conversation toward Yshtar’s vision. “Wouldn’t mind hearing that end of things either... what’d ya see, child? What’d this waste of flesh and eyes see fit to force upon ya before his flame flickered out?”

~~ Rask’Akhthalhat. The Violet Watcher. ~~

Those names meant little to him, but names had a tedious habit of changing.

---

OOC:
10:12, Today: Bartimaeus rolled 10 using 1d20+5.  Know: Religion.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:35, Fri 13 Nov 2020.

"The Court of Eyes?"

Yshtar probably never heard of this Court in particular but she didn't even strain her memory as the suppressed memories came up. She sighed and ignored Bartimaeus' annoying telepathy. How was he able to do that anyway?

"Fine. I'll tell you. Not that there was anything significant anyway." She furrowed her brow as she concentrated. "After a flash of violet light I was floating in darkness for what seemed like a millennia. Then I was floating under a purple sky with a dying violet sun. I saw empty vistas: Smooth, blank mountains, violet seas lapping against shores of strange geometries apparently stretching into the eternity. This is not much if I talk about it but there was a terrible sense of dread in that space. Would this be the domain of the Violet Watcher?" She paused for a moment. "So we have Rothfield who sits in the cemetery and is linked to the Bardic College. The Violet Watcher's goons follow us because of Bartimaeus' interest in the stars. There is the crusader who is after him for unknown reasons. Anyone else we want to add to the list that wants our heads?"

Bartimaeus put his hand down at Yshtar's refusal, and listened closely to her description.

But he smiled at her summary. "Yshtar, he is the crusader," indicating Verse. "And though we know the Composer is tied to the College, we remain ignorant of the purposes and interests of the Court, whether astrokosmological or otherwise. After all, Verse and Mel paid me a visit before I'd acquired the kosmoculum, yes? Who's to say their agents weren't also among the College; who's to say my erstwhile College companion wasn't one of them, though I think it more likely he succumbed to them than joined them."

He sipped his tea.

"May I suggest a course of action? I needs must return to Milo's shop to remit payment in full, lest this magic of his bind me. Then we must arm ourselves with knowledge: a legitimate religion will be known among the temples, though the cult will also have its agents there. Perhaps from there to the Archives. I don't suppose you have any pull with the Lady Shadesworn, do you, Verse?

"Dawn is only a few hours away. It would be the work of that much time to examine these baubles. And we might want to relay a word to the Seaman's proprietor before the chambermaid enters to find this distressing development."

---

OOC:
I don't mean to rush, but Tegan is just about to leave Milo's and now would be a decent time to catch him up -- no doubt right outside Milo's shop because he'd have locked up and skedaddled for several weeks, wouldn't he have, DM?

B would be interested in identifying the orbs and examining the gemstones, and having a look at that scroll Mel passed to Verse. After that, Y made a suggestion about reading the star map before we were interrupted by the beholderlock.

Yshtar raised an eyebrow looking and Verse who was the not-so-unfriendly crusader. From what she saw the man was capable of, the armor clad woman doubted she could provide any meaningful defense against his attack. Better not be on his bad side for now.

"Agreed. We could also visit some fortune tellers. Most are likely frauds but some might give us a glimpse in what's to come and who we'd need to watch out for."

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 135):

Verse listens intently to the description Yshtar gives, nodding along in places as she goes. “Domain or prison, definitely. Not sure which you got a glimpse into, but it ain’t the sort of thing that mortal folk are meant to be peering into. Bastard likely wanted to send ya into a fit of raving madness with it...”

He chuckles at the mention of the “crusader” moniker.  “Faltering as that may be, let’s not make any brash accusations here. I’m a writer. Just looking for a good story, which, as long as I’m stuck in this shithole of a town for a while anyway, I figure I might as well find here.”

The mention of Lady Shadesworn seems to pull his attention. “‘Fraid I ain’t had the pleasure. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d only been in town a short while. A meeting with one of the city’s esteemed council members... but if it’s an audience with the mistress of lore and history you’re looking for; well that’d certainly be a fascinating little meeting to sit in on, to be sure...

Hearing Yshtar mention fortune tellers seems to draw a bit of attention from Verse as well. “Best be a little cautious around that sorta thing in this city. Any one could be a front for the Court’s agents.

Identifying the beads reveals them to be catalysts for casting a spell your unfamiliar with. They can be crushed into a powder and thrown on a target within 10ft of you. Upon impact, the target must make a Charisma Saving Throw of 13. Upon failing, a spectral duplicate of them begins to form in the same space they currently occupy. If the afflicted target moves from that space at all on their next turn, the duplicate spawns as an aberration hostile to the target for the next 30 seconds. It ignores all other creatures in the area unless the afflicted target is dead or missing from the current plane of existence... They appear to be something that just anyone could pick up and utilize. Simply crush and throw.

---

Tegan’s actually at the town square’s library at this point. You’d still be able to run into him on the streets outside it though if you were to head toward Milo’s.

Bartimaeus thanked Verse and Mel for their assistance. "If you are looking for a story, are you sure you won't find one here? Are these cults passé in the literary world?"

He examined the items taken from the cultist, and spent a few minutes patting down the other more human cultists in case they had more curiosities on them. He then remembered that the chains had continued to move... what were those, he wondered.

After he was satisfied they had nothing more to offer, he walked down to the bar to notify someone about the corpses.

At dawn he packed his belongings - he had no intention of returning here - to set out to Milo's in the Town Square. He knocked on Yshtar's door wondering if she'd gotten any sleep after her experiences. ~~ Quite a night for her, ~~ he reflected. ~~ Ensnared by a necromancer's enchantments and shown vistas of the Far Realms in the span of hours. Quite a night indeed. ~~

---

OOC
Identify on the chains and attempt to remove them from the body.


Maybe we should wait until we see what the chains look like, but for a loot split:
B: 3gp, 135sp; 2 amethysts (~25gp ea)
Y: 3gp, 135sp; 2 amethysts (~25gp ea) [DM, is that what you had in mind for the gemstones?]
If the chains are separable and not linked to the Violet Watcher, whomever doesn't get the chains gets the three marbles? Otherwise a 1-2 split?

Shall we head to the Town Square, then, Yshtar?

In reply to Bartimaeus (msg # 138):

The chains appear to be a single linked set, formed into a belt. They come away from the corpse’s body easily enough, but the slight twitching in their links continues. Investigating deeper reveals them to a be enchanted with a simple semblance of life.

---

Yes, Verse appears to be actively ignoring you on the topic of the scroll currently.

Belt of Constriction: A simple magical item made from a set of interlocking chains worn about an individual’s waist. The chains coil about the wearer like a belt, while the four ends of their length hang at about ankle height. They are tipped with viscous-looking hooks, but are never a threat to the one wearing them. As an action, you can call upon the hooks to reach out and attempt to grapple a visible target within 20ft of you. The chains will extend to reach them before making a Contested Strength Roll against the target’s Strength Saving Throw. If grappled, the target takes 1d4 damage during each of their turns they remain grappled and need to succeed at a DC 13 Athletics Check to break free; attempted at the beginning of each of their subsequent turns after been grappled.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:43, Sun 15 Nov 2020.

Yshtar opened the door almost instantly. Her dreams were full of disturbing purple vistas and a colossal naked violet woman walking through it as it was all a dollhouse for her. All the while a concert was playing and specters of long dead heroes flew through the sky playing various instruments.
She did not sleep well. She was already clad in armor when the priest of Oghma knocked, only her metal gloves were missing, showing thin, pale alabaster white fists sporting green fingerless gloves. Black circles were under her eyes. Her voice was impassive.

"Is it time to go? I need a minute. Come in."

She left the door open and proceeded to don the gloves of the armor which she picked up from the table. Her things were all packed in a backpack on the floor and the bed looked like nobody slept in it at all.

I'd prefer the chains because of the vision but if you are attached (haha) to it then knock yourself out.
>> Let's go to the Town Square

OOC:
The chains are yours, Yshtar; I'll take the marbles.

See you at the Town Square!

The sun’s risen nearly to its zenith by this point in the day. The marine layer has all but faded from the seafront district; with only tiny pockets of mist sitting here and there in the corner between buildings. The outside of the Salty Seaman has stayed free of any such pockets today, and a sizable lunch crowd has descended upon the place to lean against the boards while they eat and drink.

A motley assortment of dock workers and sailors line the street just outside the inn, making it impossible to approach its doorway from any direction without being noticed by SOMEONE. But so long as subterfuge isn’t one’s aim, the door is wide open and there seems to be very few individuals actually seated inside. Finding a seat would be no trouble and one might even be able to get a drink or spot of lunch without having to shove more than a handful of drunkards aside today.

--From Tideswallow Harbor--

The trick to not being noticed was to not draw attention to oneself; being completely soaked aside, Mezzaline knew enough to know that trying to sneak into a tavern this early in the day with so many witnesses wasn't going to work. A room first, then she could deal with her overall mess.

Careful to not get too close to any sitting patrons Mezzy approaches the counter, looking for an innkeeper.

In reply to Mezzaline Thessaly (msg # 143):

Entering the building without any issue, you find yourself stepping into a dimly-lit tavern that appears to be constructed to resemble the galley of a ship. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all wooden boards, with numerous sea-faring decorations mounted all about the interior. The ceiling is considerably higher than you would expect for ship, but otherwise the look is fairly spot-on from your own experience with sea vessels.

A tall human man dressed in an outfit vaguely resembling a ship captain (though certainly one whose fallen on hard times) stands behind the bar, barely taking notice of you as he polishes out the inside fo a large copper bowl. A few platters of similar make are resting on the bar’s counter in front of him, most already cleaned and shined.

A few tables stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by barrels and simple chairs, while the rest of the seating appear to be booths lining every wall. A few patrons still remain in here. A half-elf man and human woman are quietly picking at a plate of what appears to be potato-based foods between them; not making eye-contact with anyone else in the room. Five men in the leather-and-steel of the City Guard are standing around a table where a red tiefling man in a long black duster and wide-brimmed trail hat sits; clearly in the middle of a heated argument or discussion with him. A quartet of gnomes are playing at some card game in one corner of the room; their voices low and their eyes shifty as they attempt to avoid the gaze of the guards and really anyone else in the room for that matter.

There is a general sense of foreboding and discomfort in the air... not exactly the most relaxing spot for lunch, but there’s a roaring fire going in a large fireplace near the middle wall of the room. You suspect it’d be as good a place as any to dry off a bit. A small hallway off to one side of the room leads to a staircase. You’re pretty sure the rooms that would be for rent are up there.

 Just as he crossed the threshold of the portal he placed his back up to the right side wall as swung his back pack from his shoulder to in front of him digging inside it. In the midst of doing such he peaked a side glance back out the doorway to see if anyone had followed after him or the woman.

 As he had fished out nothing from his pack he held it at his side as he made his way towards the fire. His eyes scanned the inhabitants over the main area taking note of everyone. He decided to place himself just to the right of the fireplace close enough to soak up some heat while not being directly in front of it, yet keeping himself facing in a direction that allowed him to keep his eyes one the room and the woman he followed.

Both surprised and not surprised by the nautical theme permeating the bar and a little impressed at how clean a dockside tavern was, Mezzaline gave the room one last look over, noticing a few people she didn't think she'd noticed before and keeping a small tab on everyone as she approaches the barkeeper.

She knows that if nothing else, she's going to stand out with how soggy she still is, dripping water and unable to shake the 'almost-drowned' look, and it was definitely 'almost'.

Making sure she has a few gold pieces in her hand as she approaches the bar Mezzy looks the barkeep in the eye, makes no notion of the fact she's squelching sea water almost everywhere and simply taps a gold piece on the bar.

"Greetings, good ser. I am in need of a room." It was almost a talent to keep a straight face after saying such an obvious thing, what with water still  dripping off her here and there - hopefully it gave her words a little more gravitas than usual.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:26, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

 After he had a moment to warm himself at the fire he walked over to the bar stopping about two arms lengths from the soaked woman. He looked her over one time as he placed his pack on the bar and then leaned on the counter top with his right arm. "So I noticed you running from the ship and you are soaked. May I asked what happened, are you ok?" he asked with a sincere tone just loud enough for her to hear.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 04:52, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

It took Mezzaline a moment to realise that not only did she have company at the bar, but she was being spoken to as well, blinking slowly as she acknowledges the man speaking to her.

"Am I?" She says with an unintended bluntness, closing her eyes and mentally kicking herself before she attempts to make amends.

"Ahm, excuse me, it's been...well, it's been a mess, to be polite about it." She looks about the tavern, unsure if she should single herself out as the sole survivor of a shipwreck just yet. News of that would spread soon enough.

"I'm hoping for a room, if only to clean and dry mysel-wait." What he said finally registers and her eyes go hard and wary. "Were you watching me? Were you on the ship?"

In reply to Mezzaline Thessaly (msg # 148):

The man behind the counter looks around you a moment to shout over at the guards in the corner interrogating the tiefling man. “Oi, there’s a fee fer harassing my paying customers, ya know! Said ya wanted a ‘talk’ with ‘im, not a bloody memoir. Either pay for the space yer takin’ up or get back to licking the council’s balls somewhere I ain’t gotta see ya!”

The response from the city guards is little more than an icy glare back in his general direction. None move to leave. The barman simply offers them a pair of fingers from behind his station and returns to what he was doing.

He eyes the pair of you a moment before directing his attention to Mezzaline. “‘Pologies for that. What’ll ya be lookin for then? One night? More? Proper room or just a space with a bed in it? ‘Cause we got both available.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:12, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

 He kept his composure as the man behind the counter yelled out, looking in the direction of the guards he put on a sly smirk as he turned himself towards the bar fully and opened up his pack as he started to speak in the same soft, low tone " No I was not on the ship but I did see you leave it in a hurry and well, a lady leaving a ship that does not normally have woman aboard does raise some questions." Turning his head to face her allowing a few seconds to pass "Though I know it is none of my business I am, of course, wondering if you are ok?"

 His facial expressions and attitude were very nonchalant even as he turned back to his bag moving some things around he pulled out a few coins and looked back to her with the same smirk he had offered the guards "Would you like something warm to drink or eat perhaps?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:45, Thu 14 Jan 2021.

Composed as best she can be given several overlapping factors, Mezzaline does her best to keep on top of her mood and nods once.

"Mostly okay, given I'm still a little soggy. On that note..." She turns to the barman and after a moment says "One night at least. Give everything a chance to dry proper." and then to Soren says "A hot meal, if you are still offering. Some warmth would be...nice."

 With a nod he held up his left hand and two fingers "Two bowls of something warm as well as two beverages perhaps a tea for me and whatever she would like." After he spoke his hand dropped down to the bag as he closed the top and slid it over to the right leaving room for his order when it arrived.

 His face once again turned toward her as he gestured with his right hand towards her "Where you mistreated on that ship?" his asked as simply as if he was asking about the weather. In the same moment he looked around the room for a table they might go to which or better yet, a spot closer to the fire as she might be more comfortable being a little bit warmer.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:16, Thu 07 Jan 2021.

"Mistreaded? No, on the contrary, they were fine shipmen. I know sailors, and I know their superstitions, and I happened to still be rather wet; I wanted to fix that." She says while not explaining how she got wet or ended up on a fishing ship.

She leaves some gold on the counter to cover a room and follows Soren once there's a little distance, opting to stand near the fireplace and making a half-hearted attempt to look like she had helped claim a table while attempting to begin drying off.

After collecting his bag he moves to the table closest to the fire place. He sits down and watches her by the fire. As he waits for the food and drinks he leans forward a bit and asks "So your new in town or..." he left the question open for her to respond as he was looking to see if she might know the town and some important people. He would have liked to spend more time by the docks collecting information but everyone seemed to busy to talk. Then this woman running from the ship drew his curiosity. Now hoping she knows the town to some degree, yet even if she is new like him then that works out just as well.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:43, Thu 14 Jan 2021.

Although the fire was warm, the heat felt strange and distant, and not just because of her overall soaked self - she'd stopped dripping everywhere for the most part, but was still wet and cold. Not having really had a chance to deal with it was certainly a factor, but even with all the time that had passed, she should have been dryer, and could only assume that perhaps it had something to do with-

To do with-

She reflexively coughed as she could feel the burning in her lungs again, turning away to cough into her sleeve as a mouthful of water escapes her, and Oh.

She wasn't ready to deal with that and instead turned to face Soren, putting on a neutral face and downplaying her strangeness. "New enough. I know of Tideswallow, but this is my first visit. And you?"

 He watched her actions, awkward and somehow off. His hand limply indicated to her in a lazy way "No I have also just arrived" he spoke with look of slight concern. "You have any other clothes, that cough sounded bad and that wet look might not be healthy at this moment?" He knew the only thing he had in his bag was his hooded cloak and a thin jacket he used for other activities. His look was sincere with concern but his body language seemed as if he was indifferent to the issue.He looked down briefly after he had asked his question. In a slow movement he leaned back into the chair sitting up straight then placed both his hands on the table clasping them together.

"Well, that's mostly why I want a room - to dry off my things, if nothing else. The fireplace will suffice until then." Mezzeline states rather matter-of-factly, absently waiving off concerns for her health.

"This is, sadly, not my first time being soaking wet at a dockside; comes with the territory of shipwright." She explains and shifts a little to let the fire dry her a bit more.

"But you don't seem like a seafarer; what bought you to the docks?"

The barman eventually swaggers over to your table, plopping a pair of steaming bowls down in front of the two of you. Whoever’s job it must typically be to serve clearly isn’t present, as his mannerisms and decorum are... lacking, to say the least. Still, the food looks warm, smells hearty, and appears to be completely palatable. With it he also places a piping hot cup of what you assume to be tea in front of Soren and another of what might be coffee of some manner in front of Mezzaline.

Whatever is in the bowls appears to be a slurry of grains, potato mash, and a thick broth with a few chunks of beef and various vegetables chopped up into it. It’s not pretty, but it definitely looks like it will hold you over for quite a while and is surprisingly devoid of any of the sea creatures you’d seen dragged in on the nets of the fishing boats.

Beside the coffee, he also places a small silver key. “Room’s number 211, just up the steps. Should be nice an’ dry for ya.”

Under his breath, he also mutters to Soren “Careful with that sorta talk, lad. Lasses in this town  tend to be less the damsel and more the dragon.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:43, Tue 12 Jan 2021.

Soren smirks to the barman and gives an acknowledging nod as he pulls the bowl closer prodding through it with his utensil. He takes a few bites letting the moment of silence between them linger  before replying "No not really much for the sea, though I have spent a good deal of time on ships."

After a few more mouthfuls he points down to his bowl then her bowl "It's not too bad and it's warm, come eat, then you can get to your room." he says with half a mouthful taking a sip of coffee then adding "Shipwright that sounds like fun is that how you ended up here, a job?"

Mezzaline lets the barmans comments of her being more dragon than damsel slide, instead taking both coffee and key with a soft but polite thankyou, immediatly taking a mouthful of the hot liquid and nodding again in thanks as their food appears, keeping her expression grateful despite the warmth of the coffee doing little to seep through her. Not a lot hot food could do for damp clothes, but still.

She was cold.

And unaware of the awkward silence that seemed to have driven the barman off, half-aware of Soren's question but nodding anyway. "Partially. Any good ship has a shipwright, work is not hard. Mostly I came here for...hmm, personal business...I think..." She goes quiet and withdraws a little - too much strangeness happened too quickly, and her arrival was already a difficult thing to explain without the rumors that would inevitably follow.

He offers a few nods as she speaks looking up to her in between shoveling spoon fulls into his mouth. He paused for a noticeable second as she ends her statement in a questionable way. He can kind of understand though, maybe she ended up here like he did and is just looking for an opportunity like he is. Once his bowl is empty of all solid foods he looks around "So does that mean you are going to be around for a while or do you think you'll be leaving soon?" once again his tone was very nonchalant. She seems well enough as an ally in these new lands. Would be kinda bad if she would be leaving. He thought to himself ,though he would also guess in this place it wouldn't be too hard to find allies.

"It... it depends." Mezzaline answers, although she isn't certain why - she knows nothing of the stranger opposite her save that he is, if nothing, decent to strangers.

"I still have some things to sort out." It wasn't a lie "And I can't imagine it would be hard to find work, as a shipwright." She alternates between coffee and stew, clawing any warmth out of them she can as she looks across the table.

"And what about you, mysterious stranger?"

He leans back in the chair as he looks around the room, scanning the area. He places his hands on his legs then speaks "Well I plan on sticking around for a while to see the sights and find some work. Then who knows I may stay longer or adventure may call." His eyes move to the floor it seems as if some movement may have catch his eye.

 "One really can't tell what might happen between now and next week. Though I really think this town might have more in store for you and me." he said as he looked back to her face with a smile. As if he had just remembered something he placed his bag in his lap and opened it once again looking through the contents.

"I'm not aware of Tideswallow having 'sights' to see, but I haven't been past the docks, so..." Mezzaline trails off, not needing to explain more as she finishes up eating while keeping an eye on Soren. She finds his words a little more cryptic than she likes but otherwise amiable.

It also occurs to her she doesn't actually know his name, and she blamed the fact that her morning had been exceptionally eventful.

"You almost sound like there's a 'we', and you haven't even offered your name yet. How strange you are." Mezzaline does her best to sound more teasing than accusatory - no sense pushing away decent people just because of strange days.

"Well 'We' as in two new people to these lands and city. Both fresh from the sea with a new start in life, in a place where no one is the wiser." he said in an excited tone. The type one would use when starting a new job or moving to a big city. He looked out towards the door and pointed "Not just the town and people but the lands outside. All kinds of adventures. It's going to be......something."

 He had turned back around any joy gone from his face as he finished off his drink. His face was as apathetic as one could be as he stared at her, or perhaps through her. His eyes never seemed to settle to meet her gaze or her face. Yet he was looking at her. In a flash as to break the silence that had just started he replied "Soren, and your name?"

Mezzaline looks darkly bemused - 'new' life could not be both more right and wrong in every possible way. It'd certainly been an interesting few hours, and as her mind traveled back to her arrival she shivered involuntarily.

Right. Still cold and damp.

She has to take care of that while remembering her manners and clears her throat a little, ignoring the sting of saltiness and says "Mezzaline. A little odd, but it is mine. Now, as much as I want to get answers out if Tideswallow, I'm very uncomfortable and I'm going to fix that." She stands up and takes her key and thinks about stalking off, but stops. Soren was a little odd to her, but he had been kind, and if nothing else, it would probably be good to have someone sort of trustworthy around.

"Here." She places a gold piece down on the table and gently slides it to Soren. "I shouldn't be too long, but I have to clean and dry myself and my stuff. Have some wine on me. I will be back soon."

He watches her ever move wondering how much of her demeanor is due to her comfort ,or lack there of, and how much might have to do whatever happened to her on that ship. As she slides the coin toward him part of him wonders if this gesture was meant as a slight against his kindness. Is she declaring my offer of hospitality is not accepted? pushing the thought aside for the moment. His manner gives nothing away as his eyes meet hers his lips part slightly as he looks back to the coin and then to the bar "By all means do freshen up. Would you like to go see some of the town when you return?"

Mezzaline pauses and shrugs. She hadn't really thought that far ahead, even before the insanity that had occurred with the shipwreck. Answers would be a start.

"Perhaps the dockmaster? I have some questions about...things..." She trails off and waives a hand dismissively. "I'll think about it while cleaning up."

Key in hand she make her way to the room she'd rented and inside with the door locked, dumps her gear onto a table and shucks her clothing, wringing out whatever water remained and started with both magical and mundane methods to begin drying and cleaning her gear and herself.

Focusing on cleanup helps distract her from thinking too hard about earlier in the day - she shipwreck the drowning, the not drowning - and the strangeness of everything up to this point. And the questions...

She's mostly through getting clean and dry and redressing as a violent coughing fit hits her and she collapses, coughing up more water than should have been possible as she vaguely remembered the crushing panic of being dragged under with the wreckage and the panic as her lungs burned and then - then it was a blur until she was dumped onto the deck of the fishing ship that rescued her.

Groaning as she got to her hands and knees and spitting the last of the water, Mezzeline slowly stands and redresses while both wondering who she would even ask about such a thing and how long it could be ignored - there was already too much to deal with today and it hadn't reached noon yet (As far as she could tell)

As clean and dry as she could manage and purposefully ignoring the puddle of seawater on her room floor, Mezzaline returns to the shared table. "I think I would like more drink."

Once she is leaves to go upstairs Soren looks back at the coin reaching forward to pick it up. He glances about the room looking over the people there his eyes checking people over. His eyes move over their clothes and checking to see who stands out. He puts one strap of his pack over his shoulder and then stands to make his way to the bar.

He stops to make some conversation with a few individuals to see what's going on in town and what places are worth going to see. One thing he is looking for are places where they rent rooms aside from the Inn he is at now. Some with an eye on him might think he is casing the place for a mark with some of the actions he is making.

When he finally gets to the bar he takes a seat. He waits to catch the man's attention before asking"Excuse me but what would you like me to do with the dishes as I noticed you seem to be short of help right now?" As he points to the table he used he then adds"Oh yeah and I'd like two cups of wine and how much do I owe you... uh, I'm sorry I forgot to ask your name."

As Mezzaline returns he nods then points to the barman and replies "Yeah I figured you would so I ordered two cups I thought it might be too early for a bottle." he looks over noticing she looks a little more lively. He smiles to her as he returns his attention to the barman.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:33, Thu 28 Jan 2021.

Mezzeline smirks with bemusement as she returns to her seat. "'Early' is just a concept, but you might be right." She says as she leans back a little to be closer to the fire and to finally take a moment to take in the tavern and its patrons properly.

OOC: 21:49, Today: Mezzaline Thessaly rolled 18 using 1d20+2.  Perception.

“Well no harm there, seein’ as I remembered not to give it. Name’s Mortimer. Ya can just leave the dishes on the bar here; someone’ll get around to em eventually, likely as not. As for the bill and the wine... Figure 5 silver should cover it; long as ya ain’t looking for a room as well.” He gestures over to some open space on the long wooden bar top, just passed a dwarven woman who appears to be passed out on her stool.

---

Mezzaline: The tavern proper is a single room with a high, slanted ceiling, with nearly every inch of it being made of wooden planks that immediately remind you of a ship’s interior. While it’s hardly bustling right now, likely thanks to the city-guard presence that is quietly dispersing as you come back down, around the room you can see a few individuals lounging about. The dwarven woman at the bar is clearly asleep; face down on the counter.

A group of five gnomes are quietly playing cards in a corner booth near the edge of the bar.

The red tiefling man whom the guards had been interrogating is now sitting alone with just the captain of the guards remaining; the rest of the retinue having been dispersed.  They wordlessly make their way out of the building while the captain remains behind, staring daggers at the tiefling from across the small table between them.

An elven woman dressed in furs and simple druidic ceremonials (bone amulets, runestones, antler-trimmed boots, a belt positively packed with herb pouches) enters the bar, sees its not completely deserted, and promptly tucks herself away in a small booth to avoid drawing attention. The bar tender eventually wanders over to her, takes a whispered order, and goes back to the bar; clearly in no hurry to fill it.

A small, hooded and cloaked individual wrapped in bandages beneath cloth-and-leather armor you’ve come to recognize as the typical outfit of a thief, pickpocket, or vagrant, is seated at another booth nearby and is glaring with solid, blood-red eyes as the guard captain across the room from them.

A human man and woman sit across form one another enjoying a drink and a very bland-looking fish-based meal at one of the small, squat barrel tables near the middle of the room. Your spot by the fire remains the only middle table occupied besides theirs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:42, Fri 29 Jan 2021.

Soren slides 6 silver to the barman from under his cloak,with a slight nod, within moments of hearing the tab. He follows Mortimer's finger over to the spot by the sleeping Dwarf and brings the two cups of wine with him to the table placing one cup in front of Mezzaline as he gently puts his cup down and quickly brings the used dishes back to the bar placing them far enough from the sleeping dwarf, in case she moves wildly in her slumber or wakes with a start. As he makes his way back to the table he adjusts some of his gear under his cloak.

 As he takes his seat he takes another look around then returns his attention to the young woman. A sip of the wine to get it's flavor and then a longer drink before setting the cups down. After he wipes his lips with a handkerchief he gestures to Mezzaline as he speaks in his usual tone "You seem to be doing a little better now that you're dry and warmer. Have you thought about taking a walk or would you rather have the rest of the day to yourself?""

Mezzaline took a moment to think while taking a large sip of wine. She had things she had planned to do before the incident that seemed pointless now, and yet she had no real idea of what else to do with herself immediately now that she was cleaner and dryer than before.

"Hmm..."

"I have no... current agenda that I can remember, and there is a lot of city to see..." She takes another sip.

"You seem to have a destination in mind - what's your plan?"

He sits watching the elven woman and the man who is staring at the guard. After a few sips from his cup he takes a longer draught setting the cup down when it is empty. He keeps his eyes on the elf for a few moments after the bartender walks away from her.

Without looking to Mezzaline he starts to speak in a bemused voice "No not really so much just wanted to see the area to know what the wares are, where the inns are, what kinda fun places they have."

He turns in his seat to look back out the door then to the guard captain, then to the man small man who is absorbed with the guard captain. He chuckles lowly and looks back to Mezzaline as he taps his fingers on the table while speaking "And uh find out if there is any place close by where they allow hunting or trapping." he shrugs "Maybe see what kind of illicit actives one can stumble upon in this city. They all have something If it be gambling, fights, smuggling, or if there is anything you can think of." He sat back into the chair and watched Mezzaline waiting for a response as half his focus was on the three people he had been watching.

"It's a large city, illicit activities are a given." Mezzaline says with another sip of wine. She wouldn't call herself an expert on vice, but she knew sailors of all kinds and once you knew who to ask, what to look for wasn't hard to find.

She does however give Soren a hard looking over, for perhaps the first time since they'd interacted. "You seem... ahm, forgive me for how this sounds, but not the vice inclined. Are you looking for illicit things because you can, or...?"

He smiled at her comment. He checks the cup as if he forgot he had just finished drinking it all as he asks "And what does a person who is vice inclined look like?" He sets the cup back down and starts to stretch raising his arms into the air letting out a low groan. All that time on the ship had made him board and stiff. Now that he was off the ship and on land he realized he spent most of it still sitting around.

 "It's just uh, good to know what kinda stuff goes on around town. What kind of people are around town. Also you never know when one might come across an item or piece of information that might benefit someone else if you don't know what the market desires." he spoke in a quieter voice as he checked his bag once again "Besides all that, having some connections in the shadows is always a good thing. Some thieves aren't all bad you know."

Mezzaline isn't certain she fully believes Soren's explanation for looking for some of the seedier people around, but it wasn't as if she expected the man to fully be an open book - it would be incredibly hypocritical of her if nothing else.

Finishing of her wine with another large sip she indicates with various tilts of her head or half-hearted waive and says "Well, lucky for you, we don't really have to go far - who do you prefer? The tiefling? The outdoorsy one? The obvious bandit? The bar is your oyster, as the saying goes." She says with a smirk, goes to sip her wine and finds the up empty, leaving her frowning in disappointment as she puts the cup down.

"If the bar is too obvious, I would wager a gold piece we'll find almost the same group of people at the dockside. Wouldn't take us more than fifty paces."

 He stood and started stretching, his cloak moved open revealing his blades sheathed on both sides of his body. After he straightened out his cloak he picked up his pack and slung it over his left should under the cloak, adjusting the cloak so it was over and on the inside of the pack exposing his left side.

 Taking another look around he shook his head as he spoke "Nah This place was fun but I'd much prefer seeing where all the fun is. The city is new to me and I'd much rather see what it has to offer." he left hand moved down to his dagger on his left front side as he leaned his hand on it for support or minor comfort but he seemed to have no intention of using it at the moment. His head tilt pointed towards the door "We might be able to find a bottle of wine elsewhere. If not a possible job offer."

 With his right hand he rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. Definitely wanna to get a good lay of the city, maybe a map. Maybe a vagrant or something could be a quick guide? He looked back to Mezzaline with a shrug. He wasn't even sure who she was or why she was in the city much less if she was going to stay. Alone or with company though he needed to get situated if he intended to make any kind of start in this town. Who knew he might even be able to increase the reach of the group to this city if all worked well.

"Well, if nothing else, I'd like to find the harbormaster for my own reasons, but there's bound to be someone or something you're looking for." Mezzeline says in agreement as she drops a gold piece on the table and stands, indicating to the door.

"You lead, you know what you're looking for."

He spoke as he made his way to the door "From what I learned before meeting you, we can find the harbor master then circle back around to the entertainment district towards some college. Not really much but I am sure in one of those areas we can find more information." As his foot crossed the threshold he turned his head towards her and added "Plus we can get to see some of the shops and other fun legal stuff to do in the city." The way he spoke the word 'legal' was as if the word itself was boring.

 Once outside he looked left and right, nodding to a few people, and instantly started walking off to the right back towards the docks. A bit of a bunch to his step weaving around people when necessary. He glanced back a few times to see is Mezzlina was following keeping one hand at his dagger and the other hidden under his cloak.

 When he reached the docks he stopped the first person who looked like they worked there, where they needed to go to see the harbor master.



OOC: I don't know if you want to switch to the docks or not. 
This message was last edited by the player at 06:03, Tue 16 Feb 2021.

In reply to Soren Wolfgard (msg # 180):

The scene outside is much the same as when you entered. The crowd has dispersed significantly, but several patrons are still out beside the tavern finishing drinks or simple meals. This time you take notice of one who is clearly not a patron, but likely the bouncer for the bar itself; you’re confident you passed him on the way in, but he seemed to pay you no mind then. This time, he turns his attention away from the gathered drinkers and raises an eyebrow in your direction as you pass his spot beside the door. “Everything quieting down in there, yet?”

A moment later, two more guards, their arms caked in drying blood from fingertip to elbow, come down the stairs and head out the front door behind Soren. They push passed without a word, clearly just wanting to be done with whatever business was going on upstairs. The bouncer nods. “Well that’s a good as a ‘yes’ to me.” He claps his meaty palms together and calls out to the rest of the patrons: “Alright, pack it in boys and girls! Back inside before you make any more of a mess on the siding!”
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:54, Sat 20 Feb 2021.

Mezzaline raises an eyebrow as she slows down a touch in following Soren out of the establishment, watching to see what else she can glean from the unusual actions of the guards and wondering how she didn't see it earlier when she was upstairs cleaning up blaming it on the rather stressful morning.

She would keep her ears open, however, and it's hard to avoid noticing the exceptionally bloodied guards leave just behind Soren. She shadows them enough to slip out the door without being immediately behind them, but it's all noticeable enough that all she can do is make light of the absurdity of the situation.

"Nothing to do with me." She says with a humourless smile as she moves to be out of the bouncers reach. "We might need different lodgings later. Where to?"

OOC: Intrigue!

Soren nodded to Mezzaline as he waited for her to catch up "I had already planned to go to one of the places, probably in the Roe" he had spoken matter-of-factly "I had heard it's the part of town where it would suit some manner of privacy. Not sure much about it except it is the 'run down' part of the city."

 As they had kept walking he had talked about making their way around from the docks to the east to the entertainment district and they could follow it round to the road between the town square and the artisan districts. This would give them the chance to do some window shopping and see the sights as well as mingle with the town's people and get more information. After that it would depend on the time of the day and what else they wanted to do. He had mad no mention at all of the guards if he had even seen them or not. Though if he did it didn't seem to have bothered him at all, perhaps not the first time he had seen such a sight, or maybe he was just oblivious to it.

-To the Roe-

OOC: I don't know what about the docks area I figured we would be going there because Mezzaline wanted to see the dock master. If it was for story purposes or a behind the scenes thing I dunno. Or we can skip a little time jump and be in the entertainment district doing some mingling, Whichever
This message was last edited by the player at 09:18, Tue 23 Feb 2021.