After untold adventures and experiences, some rewarding and some nigh devastating, you find yourself in the city of Caeritso, located toward the eastern edge of the somewhat unfortunately -- though appropriately -- named region of Dungshire.

Caeritso is a small city, with a population of just more than 8,000 citizens. The local population is primarily human, with some elves, though the elves are a vast minority. A minor trading outpost along the Livadian River, the city is halved by the winding course of the river; on one bank -- the eastern -- the Hydra's Ward, and on the other -- the western -- the Armorer's Ward, punctuated by the Day Market toward the northern wall.

Additional residents (again, mostly human, and some elven) live outside the walls of Caeritso, mostly along the river just beyond the southern wall -- a small enclave of river-going elves -- and along Godstep Road, which heads easterly.

You have been in Caeritso for 2d4 days, and if you so choose, you can post here establishing (a) how long you've been here, (b) what adventures and misadventures have come before (no impact on game, just for storytelling kicks), (c) what brings you to Caeritso (again, no impact on game), and (d) how you've occupied your time in the city so far. Be as fun and colorful as you so feel!

You can also make any appropriate History, Investigation, Perception, and other such rolls to see what else you've learned or know about the city. And if there's any other character-creation or equipment-procurement you need to do, there is a small city about you. It has shops and such.

Five days.

Noon sat their outside the tavern, a dim and dingy establishment in the Hydra's Ward by name of Keep Out, on the bench, straight-backed, a mug neatly between both hands. In the vessel was mead, mixed with tea leaves from his mother's cupboard. It tasted of home, and now gave way to the flavor of loss. It wasn't yet noon, and Noon was on his third drink.

Five days, and I haven't seen them. Soufi should have been there by now, would have been heard down the road of this empty city, blathering on with excuses for being late, flashing a smile as sharp as a blade. Any minute now he'd hear that bozo brag about how they fought off those giants, how their separation in the caves did little to deter their navigational prowess. They'd boast about how they showed up like they promised and how Noon was wise to listen to their advice. To run away.

Even now, Noon prayed that's what he'd heard. The walls of rocks from the cave-in that had separated him from his cousin seemed to smother every other word. It was just Noon's luck that the giants were on Soufi's side of the wall. Some sounds did come through clearly: Loud foot stomping, Soufi's mad laughter, something crunching. Very loudly.

Soufi's promise that they would see each other again was what stayed with him. As per tradition, when Turners were separated on the job, they waited five middays at the closest town tavern. Turners didn't tend to show up on time, but hours were more significant than days.

And Soufi, despite their carefree nature, was never late.

"Just a little longer," he muttered. His nimble fingers scratched at his scalp, catching the golden loc-coutrements in the glow of the ascendant sun. "That chodi-kufat owes me a drink." He took a long pull of his mug, hoping that the drink would steady his nerves. Had there been a moistness to that sickening sound? Was that Soufi's work? Was that Soufi's demise?

The sun shifted to its peak, though the clouds did not seem to relent.

Soufi wouldn't make it.

Noon prayed he heard it all right.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:37, Thu 12 Nov 2020.

Eight Days

Charinida has been in Caeritso for over eight days now and on some of those days she went to visit her long time friend the Magistrati and hope that he might enlighten her on some of the things that he has been doing over the years.

Dressed in a nice Robe that was of dark blue in color with some gold and white trimming.  Around her neck was an amulet of rainbow patterns.  Her steps were carefully placed upon the ground as if destiny was guiding her every step.  As she approached the home of the Magistrati she gave a silent prayer to the Goddesses and asked for their guidance.

Knocking upon the door she waited for someone to answer, hoping that Argent hasn't been wed yet and a surprise to her.

Four Days

Gorrim had retired from a mercenary band after a recent and exceptionally bloody Pyrrhic victory against the drow in the mountains. It's taken weeks to get the taste of drider out of his mouth, but in a place named 'Dungshire', it wasn't exactly a step in the direction he'd hoped for...

Still, he'd come here on a chance meeting of an old friend who was here to settle a grudge of sorts. Fellow named Zwangy or some such stole a boat from him! Good enough reason to track the old mucker down. Besides, a good clouting is just the thing to get one's mind off of days past.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:53, Fri 13 Nov 2020.

Three Days

Three stinkin, flea-bitten, sweat grubbin days.

Now look, Hiram didn't have that much a grudge against Zhuang Yi, even with the dwarven predilection for grudges. Far from it. He understood why that belly-scratchin two-bit mongrel cur would steal his ship, since Hiram had done the same thing once or twice before to other pluggers. But it was just bad for business, because now this sorta thing had to be sorted out so that all the players could be square. Even-Stevens. So everything else had to be put on hold, with suppliers gettin ancy and buyers gettin impatient, all so Hiram could sit down to a little chat with Zhuang Yi.

He just had to find the bugger first.

Caeritso seemed like the kind of dig Zhuang Yi would make use of. Out of the way, not too big, not too many officials to take official notice, but not so small that you needed to have a connection to the dockmaster before he accepted a bribe to keep quiet.

So that's what Hiram had been doing: trying to figure out which one of these up-jumped burgher bumpkins had palmed Yi's coin and erased his shipping records from the register. Find that guy, make him squeal, and bam: there's the trajectory to the next port. But the problem with corrupt city officials is they don't bloody well hang a shingle, and don't much care for strangers coming round sniffing out their dirty laundry.

So after pulling into town on a cart -- he, Hiram Glasgie, on a cart! -- made a social call to one Millicent Hidge, a halfling as wide as she was tall, but never a better forger or cook you'd meet. Retired, of course, and a grandmother to boot, whose fortunes had gone more-or-less straight since they last met long time ago in Virmauwan. She'd put him up in the attic for the duration of his stay here, hopefully not too long a stay, and poured about 2 gallons of stew down his gullet saying something about puttin some meat onto his frame. Twenty-eight grandkids and this woman still needed an outlet for her mothering.

So that's been nice.

Not so nice has been the progress or lack thereof on which cricket is on Zhuang Yi's payroll. He needed some way to get in with that bunch. Earn their trust. Get them to put their guard down. And when that happened... well, there was a reason he'd asked Gorrim to meet him here. Hiram was still quick on his feet, but three months of Graemwilk fever following an infected grick bite leaves a dwarf a bit weak. No matter. Gorrim was the kind of dwarf a dwarf could rely on. He knew about grudges. The nice thing about Gorrim? With him around, when you ask politely, folk tend to respond polite, too. No need to ask hard. That's much better for business.

Yup. Just needed to find a way to do a body a favor.

Two days

Well, it was a nice enough town. It could have been worse. Father's largesse could have run out at some flyspeck village miles back. At least here he could _<shudder> get a job. Maybe he should have kept the damned lute, after all.

Well, time to make the rounds and see if anyone needed a professional duelist to play stand in. Not the most gratifying occupation, but it paid well last time.

OOC:
15:40, Today: Secret Roll: Dominic rolled 23 using 1d20+5 with rolls of 18.  perception.
15:39, Today: Secret Roll: Dominic rolled 8 using 1d20+2 with rolls of 6.  investigation.
15:39, Today: Secret Roll: Dominic rolled 19 using 1d20+3 with rolls of 16.  History.

Argent grunted from effort and frustration as the new front door he was trying to hang at his parent’s modest home hit the edge of the frame. Again. It had been three days since his return, though the first was mostly spent catching up and pulling weeds. That was enough though for the feeling of the carpenter’s know-how fading from his mind to be familiar. He had enough time for one more try...

Mopping his brow with a white rag, Argent walked back to the modest home he had a clerk rent in advance of his arrival. Carpentry tools rattled softly in the wooden box he carried as he rounded the corner in this, the most densely packed part of the town. He seemed mildly surprised to see he had a familiar visitor.

”Azuth smiles upon my good timing, Mistress Eilservs. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

15, Yesterday: Argent Balgaire rolled 3 using 2d4. Days.
44, Today: Argent Balgaire rolled 13,13 using 1d20+5,1d20+4.  History, Perception.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Mon 16 Nov 2020.

She gave him a returning smile "As does the Lady of Mysteries. replying as she looked around the house and noticed a few things being worked upon.

"It seemed that my journey has returned me here.  This place has always reminded me of a peaceful place and it seems that I could use that about now.

At some point during the last two days, each of you has been presented with an opportunity, seemingly invited, almost, to meet with a man of whom you've never heard, and whom you've never met: Sir Jeffers. However that invitation was delivered or offered, though, such offer wasn't entirely explicit or clear, merely suggestive, encouraging, so you have the strong impression of being expected to meet with the fellow -- and that he is of some standing in Caeritso -- but without entirely being sure why, or how.

Noon was eventually rousted from the bench in front of the Keep Out by a slightly surly yet bemused fellow who might have been of the town guard, but didn't really seem to be, who had encouraged him to be on his way lest any trouble occur. So doing, that perhaps-guardsman handed him a small metallic token inscribed SJ saying that a Sir Jeffers might have work to keep his time occupied, should his time require occupation.

During their audience and resulting conversation, Charinida's friend the Magistrati mentioned a friend of his needing some assistance, in an offhand manner that required neither his visiting friend's immediate attention nor complete negligence. But the Magistrati did mention his friend by name, a Sir Jeffers, something not often done, suggesting that it was a name worthy of inquiry and not a name lightly given.

While half-heartedly and not entirely convincingly inquiring -- yet not quite entirely inquiring -- about the morality and corruptibility about various local burghers, one such official looked Hiram up and down stoically before nodding, almost winking before suggesting that perhaps the burgher he be needing be one Sir Jeffers. "Yes, Sir Jeffers, I believe, is who you need." The man even drew directions for Hiram.

Dominic holds a slip of paper on which is written: "Professional duelist. See Sir Jeffers."

And Argent's mother, frustrated by the askew and akimbo door not quite hanging in its frame now that her son is home, threw her arms up in the air not many moments ago, expressing her frustration and asking Argent to please go see Sir Jeffers, who should be able to help him set the door true.

Do you, as individuals, take the invitation?
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:06, Tue 17 Nov 2020.

Charinida couldn't refuse to help the Magistrati in this matter. Taking upon herself to aid as best as she could.

Looking at the Invitation she needed to see when and where the meeting was to take place so that she would make sure she had enough time.

"What'd I tell ya? Didn't take much to get the name of a stoolie dropped, just a bit of leverage in the right gap, know what I'm saying, Gorrim? That's the biddie's billet right there, an we's right here enjoying a spot o grub in the sunshine. What more could be natural, bee-youtiful day like today?"

Hiram drank the last of his coffee, and daubed the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

"How's about you finish that cannoli and we head over there for a chitty-chat?"

Dominic looks at the slip of paper, "Please. Gifted amateur at best. Being a professional is too much work." He goes to hunt up this Jeffers fellow.

"Can-o-what? I didn't bring any cans."

Gorrim says with a confused and furrowed brow. For all the strength and tenacity of the dwarf, Gorrim was about as well-traveled as a blacksmith's son. Exotic words were a weakness of his that he didn't often express or reveal if he could avoid it. Still, seeing as his comrade was ready to go, Gorrim threw back the remainder of his tankard of 'coffee', and latched his faithful mug back at his side. Walking beside Hiram, Gorrim mused his opinions.

"Manling didn't seem right to me. Seemed abit too enthused to sell out a money-lender. Don't seem right. Humans are usually greedy, and I don't see what he had t'gain helpin' us. Let alone givin' you a map. Physical evidence he helped ya, see?"

Clicking his helmet back into place, Gorrim stretches his shoulder to the cacophony of reliving pressure and popping bones.

"Somethin' don't add up. Seems off is all I'm sayin'."

"You chuffin me, Gorrim? 'Din bring a can', HA!" He pointed at the pastry. "Wrap yer chompers around that little beaut, made special by Milli, and tell me it don't make you want to slap yer knee."

The smile faded for a moment. "But yer's not wrong. It's not this Jeffers character we need to aim at... but it's either this Jeffers character or the ponce what put us moving in Jeffer's direction. ... Or both. Could be both." The smile returned. "Or neither! Could be they's both on the ups-and-ups. And if that's the ticket, then a favor given gets a favor in return, and we get pointed to real villainy. See?"

With a wink and a smile he slapped Gorrim's back. "Always look for the good, Gorrim, my lad, my chum. No matter how things fall -- flat or otherwise -- there'll be a profit margin in that pile and make no mistake!"

Noon did not like being told what to do.

Yet being alone, in an unfamiliar city, leagues from any others of his loose-knit company, and feeling more than a little loose in the limbs from much in the mug, were not the optimal factors to a good telling off of the law.

He'd sat stiffly at first, eyeing the man hard as they attempted to coax him from his rather relaxing seat. There was no mistaking that he wasn't from around here, with his gaudy accessories and Turner-colored clothing. But what with the twinkle in this guard's eye? Devilment? Deviousness?

"As you wish," Noon said in a thick accent that was foreign and dangerous. He stood slowly, one tattooed hand clenching his mug like a maul, the other straying close to the hilt of his blade. The (guard?)man reached out as though to guide him around to the back of the building. Noon's eye caught the intent, and he relaxed enough to accept the coin that neatly feel into his now-empty mug. By the time the gentleman had wandered off, Noon smirked as hard as half a grin.

Sir Jeffers, Noon pondered, detouring from the back patio, taking the directions the (soldier?) gentleman had given him instead. It'd be a while before he'd try to reach Soufi again. Might as well see what trouble I can scrounge up. Soufi would have approved anyway; finding problems was the Turner way after all.

One way or another -- inquiring here, asking for directions there -- you make your way to the domicile of one Sir Jeffers. He lives in the Armorer's Ward, in a modest bachelor's apartment up one flight of stone stairs from street level, just off one of the more major thoroughfares in the south city. He greets you one by one as you arrive, indicating that the party, should it be a party, is of six, and he will wait until everyone has gathered before discussing the matter at hand.

Once all have arrived, the graying but still solid-bodied man at arms -- perhaps a retired soldier or other defender of Caeritso -- begins his tale, making a request of you individually, as well as as a group.

He tells you of a man named Darwell Umbruskor. The citizen of Caeritso by that name has long been known around town as an eccentric but ultimately harmless old sage. From most accounts, he keeps odd hours, rarely speaks a word to anyone, and lets no one enter his tower save for a few servants. Though quiet and somewhat mysterious, Darwell has done nothing to arouse undue suspicion.

However, Jeffers, the crusading warrior who just made your acquaintance, claims otherwise. According to evidence he recently came across, Darwell Umbruskor is both a necromancer and a dedicated priest of an evil power.

"Don't let Darwell's appearances fool you, as they almost did us. He may seem like just another fat old academic spending his days with his books and research, but I have learned that he has recently come into possession of an artifact of evil," Jeffers says. "Darwell's out of town and shouldn't return for two more weeks. We believe he's meeting with a few of his fellow servants of evil to hatch some diabolical plan involving the artifact. Someone of your talents and resourcefulness shouldn't have any problem getting into his place and making it back out with the item we're after. It's a gray, glass sphere that seems to be filled with swirling mists. Don't touch it, just slide this bag over it and carry it out to us." At this point, he pushes a sack across the table top.

When Charinida entered into the establishment she didn't know who else was going to be there and when she did spot them all there she was a bit shocked at the group.  If Sir Jeffers thinks that this Darwell Umbruskor is a necromancer and a dedicated priest of an evil power.  The question is which evil power does he profess to.

"Greetings Sir Jeffers, are you sure he will be away for that exact time frame.  It would look bad upon us if he showed up when we were still inside. she asked and then thought for a moment.  If this man was a necromancer, then he would surely have some Undead creatures roaming his place as guardians.

Gorrim taps the side of his helmet idly as he thinks for a moment.

"I don't much hold with necromancers, it's true. But who's to say we aren't being tricked into stealin' for you an yours, Jefffers? Just as likely you're as rotten as he is, an want whatever evil do-dad for yerself? You seem awful keen on us getting it for you without touching it. There a reason for that?"

Gorrim inquires with heavy skepticism.

"An why, prey tell, can't you yourself seize it? From where I sit, it looks as though you wish to rob an old codger of somethin' shiney with fresh faces in town to take the downfall if things go south."

Jeffers looks sadly at Gorrim. "That's a fair point -- and a fair question," he says in a deep, slow tone. "It pains me greatly to not address the situation directly. I am a paladin of Tyr, so I much prefer honesty and playing straight." He wipes his face with his hand.

"But this mission requires talents I and my fellow paladins lack, and my primary concern is this: We dare not turn to the government, lest Darwell's influence and bribes merely delay any investigation -- or even reclaim the sphere should it be confiscated."

He then turns to Charinida. "That is the information we have. Generally, our information is sound."

"Awright, pally, so you're lookin for some second-storey work. This here group is pretty big for that kind of thing. Not that I have any particular experience perpetrating that kind of ballie... more like that's what I've heard." He said, smiling and tapping the side of his nose.

"But let's say you's already knew that, and you still want Gorrim here to sneak up a rope into this necro-mister's study. I reckon that means you think Gorrim will be plum useful with his specialized brand of 'assistance', for which he does the Halls of his Fathers proud.

"That's good to know. But better than that, yer paladinness, is you being all upright and honest - if not with the city, then with us! - about the sorts a things you suspect he's gonna 'assist' with. We talking a skeleton or two, or we talkin about shades of the Plaguelords of Draas'm?"

Noon was all steepled fingers and wrinkled brow. Now the vestiges of good drink had (mostly) left his system, He could ignore the pounding headache long enough to be thankful to the Turn for this opportunity. Soufi would never be able to hear the end of this: even if they were cousins, Noon would be more than happy to put another point in the Teyeeti basket. Soufi's Askana family had gotten a few too many wins for his liking.

As Sir Jeffers spoke, the Turner's seagreen eyes glazed over the rest of the would be "Liberators of Fine Goods." None of them looked the type, which would only made the excitement that much more liberating. Though the weak-armed dwarf looked more his type, at at the very least seemed to be speaking his language.

Yet any individual with considerable economic fortitude willing to pay for the skills of a Turner would always have Noon's attention, no matter the company they kept. Considering how this man called on him, if it was anything like how he got the attention of the rest of them, it proved that at the very least Noon would not be lacking for entertainment in this backwater town. To add, Noon could even understand this man's plight; the government was never to be trusted, as all they ever wanted to do was smother the vibrancy of life under bureaucratic nonsense.

"Achey! Very, very good." Noon's voice was rich as cream, perhaps on the edge of curdling. "Not'ing quite as...eh...para-dox-ical as having an 'onest man pay for a burklary. Speaking of pay..." Noon reached out and took the sack from the table, looking inside it as though the man left a surprise. Noon loved surprises. "In vwhat vay shall ve be...eh...kom-pensated? I'm shoor some of us vwould appreciate a bit of an...mmm...advancement?"

With a grin - one that shifted the chain connecting his nostril piercing to his earlobe - Noon added, "I'm also shoor it vwouldn't be too much trouble. For such a wor'ty cause." The Turner winked as he made to tuck the bag into the front of his sash, letting it fold over like a fashion piece at his waist. The color wasn't his favorite, but it brought a nice contrast to his ensemble.

Dominic reaches over and plucks the sack from Noon's belt. "That's for all of us, my friend. Not just you. I suspect it will last longer in someone else's custody."

Noon watches the man reach for the bag, letting him snatch it off his waist. Yet before the man can get a good grab of the sack, Noon snatches it right back, free from the man's grip.

"Who vwas to say it is for myself alone? Vwe are a team, aren't vwe?" He smiles, something sinister and dangerous just behind his eyes. The tension in his shoulders were the only tell-tale signs of being vexed. "But if you vwant to be ze bagboy so badly," he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders, "so be it," before politely handing it back out to the excitable man.

"But per'aps I can get your name, before you reach for my vwaist again?" He winked, relaxing back into his devil-may-care mien. "I'm Noon. Noon Teyeeti of ze Turners. And I believe ze rest of us vwere discussing business..."

Noon turns back to Sir Jeffers, waitin gfor the rest of the questions to be addressed. That kind of person, Noon thinks, glancing over again at Dominic with pursed lips, is the kind that will be the end of us.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Thu 19 Nov 2020.

Sorry, no. MY grip isn't as weak as you seem to think.

We'll let the DM Adjudicate.

All We know for sure is that you let it go to Dominic's grip.

Jeffers focuses his attention on Hiram. "We have not yet sought entrance to the tower ourselves, or we might even already have the artifact in our possession," he says. "We can't have the town guard involved in this. Darwell's padded the coffers of the town watchmen, and they've agreed to keep a close eye on his place. They're watching Darwell's tower like hawks, and fighting them will only get you thrown in jail. If they confiscate the orb after you've taken it, Darwell will have no troubles pulling some strings and using some bribes to get it back."

After the tug of war between the darker-skinned outdoorsman and bearded duelist is resolved, the sack back in the hands of the latter, Jeffers gestures toward the bag. "That is not just any old bag," he says. "It's a bag of holding that I expect back when you return. You can use that to carry the orb, and I caution you to never touch the accursed item yourself."

He then turns his attention to the slightly inebriated ranger. "Compensation is a fair expectation," he says. "Should you return with the orb, I will pay the party 3,000 in gold. I will also cover any healing you might require as a result of your foray into Darwell's home. That bag is all I can offer in... advance, as you say."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:04, Fri 20 Nov 2020.

"You's giving us a sack. One whole sack fer holding things. And this berg's got a whole stable of guards on the take watching the tower we's supposed to break into? Where's the percentage in that? We's get nicked for sure. Tell me you got some other way to get in there, or buddy, you can go pull the other one."

Hiram paused a moment.

"How long this wizard supposed to be outta his tower?"

Jeffers nods, listening. "Two weeks," he says. "Will be ample time for you to determine how to best gain access to the tower."

He spreads his hands, palms up on the desk top. "We need your help," he continues. "Stealth is far from our forte, but with the town guards keeping an eye on the tower, that's what we need. Can you help?"

Gorrim thinks long and hard as he silently looks over the tower. He looks briefly Hiram to give him a nod before addressing the Paladin.

"Alright human. If what you say be true, then lending a hand to this cause suits me. But if this turns out to be a trick, I will personally eat this orb and spit it in your eye."

Gorrim says with distaste in his voice as he hefts his armor.

"Let's get to it lads. Time's tickin'."

Hiram winked at Jeffers then stood and patted Gorrim on the back.

"Don't mind us, Commish. We's just gonna take a stroll round your beeyuteyful city; see if there's ways in, eh. See's ya in a bit."

Moving to the next thread: "The Way In, and the Beautiful City." link to a message in this game