"We couldn't fool their tracking beasts long enough. How about we set up an ambush to kill the things, then run?" Sietnyas suggests. "Or I can try to hide the path we take up ahead."

In reply to Sietnyas (msg # 159):

“Sietnyas, you have a point. I’m thinking that we have an escape path that we make it difficult to get through and place Mol, with anyone else ranged and myself behind it. Those of you who are capable of fighting face to face get out front of the mess we use to keep them back.Let’s find a position where we can run two ways if we’re needing to escape. One path for the ranged folks with Mol and the other path for the front line crew. Froodle, I think we need you to move stuff and Sietnyas to get our paths plotted.” Frug wipes his sweating forehead, moving some grime around. Any keen observer can see behind his show of confidence with this motion as his hand shakes through the motion.
He holds his staff firmly with the other hand, with the thoughts of how this barely worked out for the smiths that he used to work with. They escaped from the darkness that got the edge of the community he had been building with… That seemed so long ago now. I’ve fought a dragon with Froodle, we can do this!

Drake seems to come to his senses and the dream state he has been in finally passes at the mention of being out front in the action.

‘Sounds like a plan to me’ he states

Froodle gets on with moving the biggest items he can find and lift to make a barricade

He's listened intently to Frug, he likes the idea of standing out front with friends tucked away behind cover. That's right up his street, so he gets busy picking up boxes, wares from outside business premises and even pulls a loose cart into a makeshift barricade, wedging the wheels so it doesn't roll away at an inopportune moment.

The pursuers may not come this way, but if they do they'll be met with an axe and shield before they can get to his old and new friends.

The exertion of moving heavy objects quickly tires him a little so he recovers standing in front of the barricade, making sure his armour and shield straps are tight while his axe hand isn't too sweaty.

He'll let those with keener eyes look for escape routes should they be needed but also be ready to respond and run should the shout come.

Froodle, please make a DC 14 Athletics or Endurance check. On a success you have a barricade that will take significant time for anyone to get around. On a failure, it still gets placed, but won't buy as much time as hoped for.

I believe this is the last check for the skill challenge, so if you succeed there's no need to for anyone to roll to find escape routes.

Froodle loves a physical challenge, he steps back to admire his handywork, confident that he'll se something that will protect his friends by making it take a very long time to dismantle

Froodle rolls 29 on d20+10 against a DC14 Athletics check

Sietnyas looks for a good spot for the ranged folks to try an ambush, with an exit path for a quick getaway.

Drake decides to try and slow their pursuers down by blocking the way.

He picks a narrow spot and grabs some nearby heavy detritus and pulls it into the passageway behind them.

Drake rolls an 18 giving him 34 against a DC 15 ans successfully blocks the way with heavy items.

One can say this much for Sharn: there's no shortage of sturdy building material around.

The two dragonborn rather securely block the way behind the party. It might be obvious which way the party has gone, but they definitely will not be easy to follow.

Mol is impressed. "That should hold them! C'mon, we're close to some of the outer fringes of the inn district. There are enough House Ghallanda clients in the area that a bunch of Daask grunts will probably steer clear. Let's go!"

Tuur keps suit, blade ready, sensing the danger of the situation and keenly keeps alert, to what is occurring.
With a strong defense ahead, in the sense of Drake, opportunities would arise.
He eyed Mol and followed just behind.

In reply to Tuur (msg # 168):
“Let’s make our way to that tavern!”, Frug says impressed with the design of the obstacle. I’m sure glad we don’t have to deal with that crap of fighting right now, but I hope that they know that I would from my speech, Frug thinks as he puts a hearty gnome pace in his steps. He feels the aches of the long day and thinks about the ale ahead, heck a warm cup of tea would suffice.

Froodle looks at Frug and gives a grunt of agreement.

He loves a fight but the mention of ale and food has a greater pull right now after the exertion of moving the blocks.

"Besides", he says, "it would be a shame to have evaded these pursuers only to turn and face them, let's see where Mol is going"

Drake smiles at Froodle knowing that the Dragonborn will be lead by his stomach.

Food and good company are always attractive and having not seen this part of the city Drake feels inquisitive as to where Mol
Will take them. Drake extends his stride to catch up with Mol heading to the front of the party knowing their backs are safe for now.

Mol's relief is clear when the adventurers turn away from their hasty but tough barricade. She leads them on, apparently very sure of her path. Not long after they've moved on, they can hear gruff and frustrated voices, as the pursuers reach the barrier. There's some pounding and even some splintering, but the noises fade behind them and the silence of the vacant section of the city encloses them.

But it's not long before new sounds reach them: sounds of commerce, industry, food, and comfort. Sights and smells, too: they begin to encounter functional lanterns, the by-ways are cleaner, and the stink isn't quite as rich. Mol takes a route that, for a time, doesn't bring these sensations closer, until she heads up a ramp, and through a narrow gap where two pieces of amazing architecture almost but don't quite touch.

On the other side is what looks like the back wall and porch of some sizeable establishment, though what purpose the windowed chambers originally served is unclear. In fact, it's not even clear if which side of the windows and doorway were originally the "outside", though now it's clearly the side the party is not on. From the other side comes light and the smell of food. Mol indicates that the group should wait and she disappears through the door.

In a moment, a man comes to the door and looks the party over. He's on the older side and bears some resemblance to Mol. He's wearing nondescript work clothes. Perhaps he works in whatever establishment the party is currently outside of.

"Hello," he says, "Mol says you helped her out. We're much obliged for that. We can't give you much in the way of a reward right now, but we owe you a favor. Just ask for Gre," it sounds like the color. "In the meantime, do you need anything here in Castellan? You won't need help finding a place to stay, unless you're very particular, but maybe there's something else we can help with?"

---

The party is in Castellan. This is still technically Lower Dura.
The party is in the rear of some place of business, likely an inn or tavern.

Sietnyas was a bit relieved that their pursuers gave up, at least temporarily, without a fight. All the better.

"Is 'we' just you and Mol?" Sietnyas asked. "Or something bigger?" he looks around, trying to figure out what sort of place the girl had led them to. "Right now we're just looking for a certain inn. The Bell Book and Candle. It should be not too far, maybe nearby."

Sietnyas did not believe in coincidences. Who knew what power meant for them to meet the girl, but the Dragon's Breath was as likely as any other. "Do a lot of people come by here? There might be a thing you could do for me. I'm looking for a stone. Not valuable, just a stone. Fits in the hand, with shape so and so..." he tries to gesture with his hands, scratching it on some nearby surface if need be. "Very, very hard. Smooth, lots of scratches here and here... very plain, I think, to humans. But a very nice yatikk color to kobolds, and a few other underground folk. I would like to know if you see it, or hear of it."

In reply to Sietnyas (msg # 173):
Frug has taken a seat, but not on anything that he would transfer the filth of the day onto. Glad to have someone else doing social interactions, he does his best to listen, but his thoughts dwell on the possibilities of that fight just recently behind them.

Gre nods, not surprised. "Yes, Mol thought you might be looking for that. Well, unless any of you have a way to see magical writing, or you trust someone who does, I'm afraid you're out of luck. It's an arcanist establishment, and they don't want just anyone stumbling in."


Gre takes this in, nodding. "Alright. I've heard stranger requests. I'll be on the lookout."

---

Frug is the only member of the group that can readily make out markings placed and hidden by magical, but his is quickly able to discern the existence of them, for the magical advertisements abound on surfaces throughout the district. Apparently, there are several establishments that cater to those with magical ability and they apprear to be in competition with each other for clientele. Sigils and marks overlay each other, some even appearing to fight each other for dominance. In other places, the marks appear to have been mostly removed, sometimes by the direct destruction of the underlying surface, usually with what appears to have been the application of elemental energies.

But, the Bell, Book and Candle either has a team dedicated to keeping its advertisements up, or it has earned the respect of the others, for Frug is able to lead the party almost directly to the entrace of the magic tavern - or what should be. Instead, it's garbage midden, in the back of an ally, at the end of a row of increasingly unappealing inns and taverns. It's no where anyone with a working olfactory sense would like to hang around for any length of time.

It's also heavily watched, Frug notices. He can't make out their exact locations, but he can tell that there are at least three magical eyes in the viscinity. This serves to explain why, after a moment or two, Inquisitive Crivens teleports into the alley.

"Ah, there you are. I knew you'd make it before too long." He looks around. "And it appears that you were able to shake your tail. Don't worry, they'll soon be back. So, let's go in, shall we?" He gestures to the thickest, dirtiest part of the midden, which the party notices isn't quite as odoriferous or visibly distinct as it had been. Crivens looks apologetic about the illusion. "Keeps out the higher-class riff-raff."

---

The inside of the Bell, Book and Tavern is one of the most cramped spaces anyone in the party has ever visited in Sharn, including the sewers. "The 'owners' don't really own the property," calls Crivens from the back of the line, as the party moves down a hallway whose panelling the dragonborn can just barely avoid scratching, "and a smaller space is easier for the club members to keep hidden and secret. Oh, not that we're doing anything here we shouldn't. Not any moreso than most folk.

Suddenly, the eladrin appears at the front of the party. "This ought to do," he says indicating a small side room, just basely big enough for the party. There's a handful of stools of various sizes and sturdinesses, and a small table. Once everyone has been crammed in and drinks requested from a hazy disturbance in the air, Crivens says "So, you're interested in taking the fight to the Emerald Claw. You're clearly not without talents, but what makes you think you won't simply become a tragic story in the chronicles?"

---

Status:
Party seated in a small room in the Bell, Book and Candle.
Light provided by various magical sources.
There are other beings around, in various side rooms. They appear tolerant of Criven's non-magical guests.

In reply to DM Paul (msg # 175):

Frug tilts his head a bit and looks at Crivens, places his index finger and thumb on the top edge of his beard. After some quick thoughts he asks a question to try and get a read on this fellow. “Our first encounter with this group was what brought about meeting you. Which then took us on quite a bit of a trek to meet you here. What seems to me is that you might be wanting the Emerald Claw dealt with more than we’re wanting to deal with them. What’s in it for you if the Emerald Claw has a fight taken directly to them?” At the conclusion, Frug gives his beard a pet and ends with moving his hands one on top of the other on the table. His head then tips to the other side, all while keeping his eyes on Crivens and hopefully reading his response for some information other than what’s actually said.

Drake watches Frug stare at various blank walls with puzzled intrigue. Eventually ending up in the alley Drake wonders if Frug has been following his nose, rather than anything more magical as the odour from the detritus in the alley seems far more pungent than elsewhere.

Criven’s arrival sparks further intrigue and Drake is happy to go along once matters have been explained and the magical entrance revealed. The Dragonborn squeezes himself into the narrow passage and feels his Frost sword scrape along the panelling and bang with a rhythmic cadence as it hits the narrow wooden beads between the panels along the corridor.

Turning into the side room Drake turns around like a dog trying to find the most comfortable spot as he descends his bulk onto a stool. He grins his sharp toothy grin  as he observes Froodle having the same difficulties.

Froodle likes the sound of taking the fight to the Emerald Claw, but then he likes the sound of taking a fight to anyone.

He ponders their situation. Crivens is asking about their credentials, yet as Frug has explained to him, there must be some belief in their abilities as a party already as they have been steered to this location.

Froodle awaits a response from the reply given by Frug, while feeling a little uncomfortable on a stool that looked a little sturdier than it feels. He is conscious of the tight space and tries to move carefully if at all, partly because he is wary of the stool collapsing, but also not wanting to catch his comrades with his razor sharp armour.

At least he has a drink to sip, he thinks, as his mind wanders to the smells coming from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but frankly I didn't think it was worth talking with you further if you weren't willing to travel in the darker parts of Sharn, or couldn't manage to find a moderately well-hidden location.

"I don't imagine you want to deal with the Emerald Claw. But you have dealt with them, and now they're going to make you pay for that. You could probably get them to leave you alone if you dropped your lives here and headed out into, oh, the Mournland, say. But if you want to stay in Sharn, they're going to make life miserable for you.

"Anyone else, I'd tell them to get their affairs in order. But for you all, since you're on the Claw's bad side already, they represent opportunity. Want to get your hands on some gold, or some choice bits of artifice? Want to save some folk from captivity, blackmail or harassment? Just want to beat up some people? Not a single power group in Sharn likes the Emerald Claw, so have at it!

Crivens notices Frug's look. "Alright, alright. Yes, they have people here and there in certain high places, so you might anger someone who can complicate things for you. But taking steps against the Claw, will start to earn you friends, and the better kind of attention, and some of the people working for the Claw are doing so because the Claw has something on them, and no one else can help. But what about you?"

The eladrin sits back. "Even though I'm not from Sharn, it's my town, warts and all. But the Claw is like a cancer. What's in it for me is that someone finally fight back at them, terrorize them for a while, maybe loosen the foothold they have here.

"You don't owe me anything. I'll even pay for your drinks tonight." He glances at the dragonborn warriors. "Within reason. There are plenty of other opportunities in the city, and I'm sure you can deal with any problems the Claw throws your way. No doubt they'll get bored after a few months."

---

Status:
Party seated in a small room in the Bell, Book and Candle.
Light provided by various magical sources.
There are other beings around, in various side rooms. They appear tolerant of Criven's non-magical guests.

"Making money is okay. Emerald Claw money spends as good as any other," Sietnyas offers. "And more friends is good. Only have a few, here above. Reporter fellow doesn't like me, I think, so maybe I become sad story in the chronicles anyhow unless I get good notice."

"You know, we met by chance, but sometimes chance, or luck, is just what people call the Dragons' Breath when they do not recognize it. You have to know the signs. It is a great mystery." Briefly Sietnyas seemed almost erudite, but he spoils it by chasing after and eating a particularly fat spider.

"Is there something specific you can point us to? Uh - if we are all interested?" he asked looking to the others.

Crivens looks uncharacteristically puzzled for a moment. "Reporter fellow? Oh, Daria Danno? I've told her those trousers do her no favors."


"Well, certainly." Crivens drains his drink and tosses the vessel over his shoulder. Its fall is gently halted and it's moved off to the kitchen under no obvious form of locomotion.

"For one thing, the Claw is constantly moving things into and out of the city. It's hard to be sure quite what, but there's reason to think they're bringing in weapons or monstrous creatures and sending out gold and other valuables in exchange. They use any route they can: sea ships, lightning rail, regular wagons, even airships. Of course, they have to maintain secret storage facilities for their goods as well.

"Just knowing what's in their shipments would be good, but if those shipments could be disrupted even better. And I'm sure you could find use for whatever gold or goods you might manage to take off them. Just don't let any monsters loose.

"Since you're in Lower Dura, I'd check out Precarious and The Stores," he says, naming the primary warehouse districts near the Dagger River, on the west side of Lower Dura. "That's quite a volume to search, so if you have any contacts around there, or any means of divination, that might help. You'll know you're close if either people start talking to you, or you start to feel like you're in mortal danger. But if they know you're on to them, they might move their operation before you find it."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:23, Sun 02 Jan 2022.

In reply to DM Paul (msg # 181):

“Well, I don’t want to go for a dunk in that Dagger River”, Frug takes off his hat and runs a hand through his greasy hair. After putting the hat back on he continues, “It’s worth checking out what they’re doing and I’m going to need some gold to get a church and furnace going. Didn’t think that I would be talking like this a few days back, but it’s important to me. If there’s a target on my back, I’ll struggle to get any progress towards that.”
“It feels like we can work together well enough to get through investigating this shipping and storing. Does anyone know folks out there. I can see if I can get any contacts from my fellow followers of the creative way, but it would be nice to know if any of you has a good starting point.”
Frug takes a big sip of his ale and thinks about the possibility of seeing lightning rail and air ships.

"She? Oh. She's not very curvy," Sietnyas said. Maybe it was an elf thing? That reporter did have a bit of an elf look. How could you tell, with elves? Not like kobolds. I mean, even if you were as nose-blind as most surface folk, you could always tell by the kattarvik scales. Oblong or oval, anyone could see.



"I've never been there," Sietnyas offered. "I've always wanted to see the ocean, though. I - hey! Maybe we could get a job there. They always need people to carry, right? Ships and warehouses? Job like that ought to help you find out what's going on shipping-wise."