Urvan opens the door to see the ceiling slanting down steeply only an arm's length away.  Stairs so steep they are essentially a ladder head down into a cellar, and there is no light at all coming from that direction.  From the reflected light, he is pretty sure that the stairs go down 7 or 8 feet and open out to the right (back towards the pub).

Would he have heard Graham descend the stairs? Was he on the wrong track entirely? There was no time to question it with every second being precious.

Urvan took the stairs three at a time, down into the subfloor, hoping against hope that he was not too late.

Scarlet sighs.

"Yes, I am the one, sent by the lady Idalaiz. I gather you know her well? Pray, tell me all about it?"

She accepts that glass, and drinks gladly, for she is not looking forward to the long monologue she is to study for mannerisms and turns of phrase.

You didn't even think of asking the doped-out old woman watching the stew pot?  I mean, it wouldn't have helped, but ...  :-)

Urvan realizes that the stairs are too steep to take three at a time, but just jumps easily to the bottom, hoping that its location isn't an optical illusion in the darkness.  Landing cat-like, he peers into the dark room.  It is just a root and wine cellar, with a strong scent of onions.  It is only ten feet wide and extending maybe 20 feet.  It is crowded with the sort of supplies a publick house would need:  barrels of ale, a shelf along one side with wine bottles, two sides of beef hanging along with ropes of garlic, bins of foodstuffs, etc.  There are plenty of places to hide, but the noise from the crowd above still seeps through, meaning he probably wouldn't hear someone who is controlling his breathing well.

Suddenly, what little light Urvan is working with diminishes, and he looks up to see a head and shoulders blocking the opening.  "You there, what are you doing?" calls a deep male voice.

Almost simultaneously, Urvan can "hear" Boreas making a low growl as someone approaches him with a heavy scent of hatred and fear.  The lad realizes that there's no way he could actually hear this, it is more of a feeling.

08:28, Today: Zag, on behalf of Urvan Kron, rolled 25 using 1d20+7.  Acrobatics on stairs.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:52, Fri 06 Jan 2023.

You know, I got the impression that any conversation with that would be very slow, if he learned anything at all :)

"Looking for someone..." Urvan shoots back with irritation, but then a strange and uncanny feeling comes over him, and he realizes that Boreas has likely caught the  scent.

Graham had gone the other way, likely straight into the back loading area where Boreas had been commanded to stay!

Urvan doubled back and ran up the stairs. "I'm leaving, no trouble from me." He insists, energized now by his new lead and the potential risk to his good canine friend.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:16, Fri 06 Jan 2023.

Brennalia grins slyly, "Oh, the old snake.  Sure, I know her.  She's trickier than she lets on.  Back before she needed a cane to walk, she used to be quite the hot shit at court.  (Pardon my Gallic.)  She would act all demur, the quiet wallflower, but *I* know what happened to Count Escardiff.  Not that I have any problem with it; the old lech deserved what he got."

She rambles on about old court conspiracies for over an hour, needing little prompting to continue, as Scarlet learns to copy her speech patterns and mannerisms.  It's not exactly clear if these traits she copies are regional or personal, but it probably doesn't matter much.  People will see the similarities and assume exactly the sort of relationship she is trying to emulate.  Scarlet also notices that Brennalia seems to like her more as she starts to emulate her.  I guess people like a mirror, or, at least, she does.

Free Trait:  If you spend at least an hour working on the acting aspect of a disguise with a model to imitate, you get +2 on the disguise roll.  Once you've established such a disguise, you need only 5 minutes to get back in character for that one disguise specifically, which can be done while preparing the physical parts of the disguise (i.e. clothes and makeup), to maintain the +2.  You can only have your level / 2 such disguises available at a time.  If you spend the hour to establish a new disguise, you'll lose your connection to an old one.

After some time, Brennalia returns to why Scarlet/Naiada is here.  "So you're supposed to be *listening* for information that will *help* the Rheam's champions, like maybe that dream-boat, Heger?  Tell the truth.  You're going to slip a little somethin' somthin' in their food.  Right?  I know how the old snake works.  She's set you up with some concoction that will make them a just little slower.  That's it, isn't it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:54, Fri 06 Jan 2023.

Urvan scrambles up the stairs, the big man grabbing him and pulling him up the last two.  The man holds the boy by one shoulder and one wrist, and has a powerful grip.  However, breaking grabs was one of the first things Urvan learned in his family's form of martial arts.  He swings his free arm over the hand on his shoulder, breaking that grip just with the massive leverage imbalance.  He grabs the thumb of the hand holding his wrist and twists, forcing the big man to drop to his knees.  Urvan steps away easily and escapes through the back door.

Urvan turns left down the alley, realizing that this must connect to the alley where he left Boreas.  After two more quick turns, he sees the big dog still lying where he was left, but his hackles are raised and his legs are tensed as if for a leap.  The hated priest has just finished hugging the wall furthest from Boreas and turns to run into the crowded street.

Urvan was in a wild state of excitement.

If Graham reported back to Erastoo she would certainly be able to put the pieces together and realize that Urvan on the Page she had been searching for.

And yet it would not take anybody investigating here much effort to learn about this pursuit.

The damage was done, all that was left was to strike back first, while the Priest was alone and vulnerable, to take vengeance for himself, his family and the girl he had forced himself upon back at the Palace.

"Boreas, attack!" Urvan called and pointed to the fleeing priest.

Urvan was fast, but Boreas was all the faster and they had been training with the thick padded sleeves. He was confident that the animal could bring the Priest down, or at least slow him to the point where Urvan could come up.

What's more, the dog could smell him, Urvan knew.

The young man's desperation flickered back into hope. They were not done yet.

Are you really sure you're ready to kill this guy right out in public? 

Boreas has no trouble, of course, catching the priest in moments.  By the time Urvan has made it to he end of the alley, Boreas has attacked Gratham from behind.  (Roll an attack.)  Urvan emerges to see that the street is crowded, a woman is staring at the huge dog and screaming.  There is a guard station just a little way down the street, though Urvan does not see any guards emerging from it at the moment.

Gratham shouts "Demon Dog!  Get away, you foul monster."

You can't make this up...

Urvan emerges from the inn into the crowd and is forced to take in the reality of the situation. The screaming, the witnesses, the proximity of the guard station.

Boreas nips and barks excitedly but is unable to gain any real purchase, and as much as Urvan wants to run the man down and kill him, a desire so powerful that it surprises even himself, being faced with the sheer amount of people forces him off the chase, although he has to pry his mind out of its almost primal fixation to accomplish it.

"Heel" Urvan barks above the screaming, and with one last look over his shoulder, he flees.

Scarlet has been repressing an urge to yawn, as she had to focus on registering the baroness' turns of phrase and body language, but now she lets it out, shrugging with exaggerated insouciance.

"Some notion that is, my lady, that I am here to poison or drug some champion or the other. Say, by any happy coincidence, is my lady considering betting on one champion or the other? I do ask merely out of curiosity, without any ulterior motive, you understand. And would you happen to know what the betting odds are currently?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Sun 08 Jan 2023.

As Boreas breaks off, Gratham looks up and spots Urvan calling the hound.  Urvan can already see that the man's trousers are dark with urine.  The priest of Hera slowly raises a shaking hand and points, "Mormolyce!  Blood Servant!" he bellows, spitting in fear and anger.  He continues to shout as Urvan slips away.

What do you want to do next?  If you simply race directly away, there's no one who could possibly catch you.  If you circle back around to follow Gratham, then you'll need a stealth roll, hopefully better than your last one.

---

The Lady Brennalia smiles at Scarlet, "Naah.  I don't follow the betting odds.  I'm not even sure where you'd go around here to lay a bet.  I do know that my husband's fool brother doesn't stand a chance.  Put him in there with a half dozen eight-year-old children and I'd give him even odds, but that's about it.  Throw in an accountant with a well-sharpened quill and he's done for."  She laughs at her own joke.

She does seem to pick up on Scarlet's hint.  "But I'm keeping you.  I'm sure you have super secret stuff to do.  Anyway, we've got this bed here for you," she indicates the couch that Scarlet is sitting on, and points to a blanket on the floor beside it.  "Use it as you need, and we won't be watching your coming and going.  My husband thinks you really are a distant cousin.  He's a man and can't be trusted with any sort of secret -- it's not like men ever know what's going on, anyway."  She raises her glass in a gesture of salute and then drains it.

The complex and potent cocktail of hormones and emotions that welled up with Urvan was enough to cause the youth to gnash his teeth practically tremble as he ran. It was not fear, but the co-mixture of rage, anxiety, fear, vengeance, confusion and a host of other feelings.

Had he utterly failed? Had he been discovered? It certainly seemed so. They knew of his existence and now they had put that nebulous notion to a face, his face.

Mormolyce, the Priest had uttered it himself. A word strangely familiar but without a definite shape in his mind. Had he heard it? Seen it somewhere? He could not recall.

What he did know if that the notion of the Priest reporting to Erastoo was a potentially lethal one. If he could not run down the Priest in the crowd, he would have to circle around and try to catch him  some other way, hopefully alone, and now Boreas had his scent.

Trying to work out the trajectory of where Graham had gone, Urvan slowed, caught his breath, and began a wide circle in search of his quarry.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:11, Mon 09 Jan 2023.

Urvan makes a large circle -- with his speed almost no one could keep up with him.  He keeps an eye out for Gratham but does not spot the man.  Finally he approaches the intersection from the opposite direction in which he fled; any commotion that the disturbance caused seems already to be died down.  No one has noticed him, and it doesn't appear that anyone is looking for him in particular.

Even from a distance he can see the wet spot where the priest soiled himself, and the tracks lead not towards Olympia, as he expected, but deeper into town.  Perhaps Gratham has a room nearby or -- this is a disconcerting thought -- perhaps there is a temple to Hera that houses him.  His ranting about a demon dog and a blood servant might get some traction there.

12:39, Today: Zag, on behalf of Urvan Kron, rolled 4 using 1d20.  luck.

---

Ricka wakes up, anticipating another busy day.  With the crowds of people arriving for the Olympic Games that start in another 3 days, the demand for message-bearers is limitless.  On her usual route, she skips the terrible tippers, but instead makes herself available in the marketplace for the wealthy visitors to wave her down.  Even though they frequently refer to her as a 'page' (Yick!), they usually tip well.

Zana circles high above, riding the thermals that come off of the paved streets.  Ricka looks up to see the eagle in a dive.  When the bird next appears, she can see something in its claws, probably a rabbit.  Either someone with a vegetable patch is now grateful, or someone raising rabbits for meat is now angry.  Well, they should have a cover on their run, then.  Zana disappears behind some trees, headed to the mountain for a meal and probably a nap.

Aristotle approaches Ricka, waving.  He is in his late teens and one of the most senior of the message-bearer apostles of Hermes.  "'Why no tip' is looking for you." he says.  "Before you ask, I have no idea."  Ricka knows that "Why no tip" is the nickname all the messengers have for Deacon Levician Whyneks, the spymaster who is her real master.  Since he usually tries to stay distant from her publicly, him asking for her specifically implies that it is something important.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:26, Tue 10 Jan 2023.

Everybody's having a good day, that's nice, Ricka remarks to herself as Zana soars out of sight.  A beautiful bright breezy day, the messengers are all making a killing in tips, Zana caught herself a nice lunch, the city is all buzzy with anticipation of the games, and Ricka is feeling content and well-adjusted in her new routine.  So even if a summons from Deacon Whyneks - whom she definitely does not know very well at all and who is certainly not her secret assignor of illicit extracurricular activities, no, not at all, what a ridiculous notion - even if it's out of the ordinary, she's feeling optimistic about it as she heads for his office.  Until and unless he indicates otherwise, she'll maintain character as just another random messenger girl, summoned for some ordinary messenger purpose.

Ricka arrives in Whyneks' office and shuts the door.  He gives her an odd look, and she realizes that he is still struggling over some decision.  Finally he speaks, "We've had something come up.  You're the right person to take on this task, but you're still so young, and I worry you're not ready yet."  Ricka bristles a bit at being called 'young' but she knows that she still is, at least in his eyes.

After another few minutes of some internal debate, the deacon sighs and finally continues.  "Under all the chaos of The Games, the Vayu followers have been moving assets into the area, and we think that they are working with the Anahitans, planning an invasion."  Realizing that Ricka's religious education is probably lacking, he gives her a quick overview.

quote:

Vayu:  Persian god of the Wind, and the messenger of the gods.  However, I'm throwing in god of chance for the narrative value.
Anahita:  Persian goddess of War (and fertility, health, and healing, but war is the aspect we Greeks care about)

If you Google these, you'll arrive at the Hindu-adopted version of them, but I'm using these sources:  https://study.com/academy/less...rview-mythology.html   https://www.worldhistory.org/a...f-persian-mythology/

So, just as we're positing that Christianity never took hold in this world, I'm claiming the same for Hinduism.  I like the fact that the Persian version of Vayu is the messenger of the gods, putting him directly at odds with Hermes.  This background almost certainly won't matter, but I like to have the tapestry laid out.

"The avenue through which they are moving in is the gambling halls.  It's a classic move to control powerful people -- get them in debt, then leverage them with threats of exposure and ruin.

"We think that they always had fingers in the Luxor (the third largest gambling hall in Olympia), but never really controlled it.  However, they have recently taken over the Wynn (the largest).  The old manager, Senegrave, seems to have mysteriously disappeared, and your old friend Vinefinger has been promoted into his place.  He's just garden-variety greedy and evil, not intentionally treasonous, but he's also too blinded by his own ambition to understand what he's really getting into.

"His sudden rise seems to be sponsored by a group of Vayu worshippers that we've been watching, and they've been altogether too close to the church of Anahita.  Normally we wouldn't care which degenerate organization controls the gambling -- well, the priests of Hermes would, but not the rest of us -- but with the tie in with Anahita, we all need to worry.

"I'm looking for you to get some information about the organization.  Maybe find out what happened to Senegrave, maybe cut down Vinefinger if he's really guilty of treason, intentional or not.  We can get you placed in the kitchen, there, with a little cover for the work you're supposed to be doing, but we don't have anybody higher up in the organization.  The alternative is that you make nice with Vinefinger, and get into his inner circle.  But I'm not convinced that is even possible."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 16:21, Wed 11 Jan 2023.

Ricka just quietly contemplates this information for a long minute.  Going back to Vinefinger doesn't sound like the most comfortable plan ever.  In fact it sounds decidedly uncomfortable, especially as compared to the relative luxury she'd gotten used to over the past two years.  But if she could finesse it right, it would be a far sight better than scrubbing pots or kneading dough for hours every day.  Tiny fragments of a plan commence whirling in her head, mostly bouncing uselessly off of each other, but occasionally adhering under the force of their own gravity.

"Making nice with Vinefinger would be...  complicated but possible.  I'd just have to be sure I brought as a peace offering something he really wants, which in this case would be proof of whoever it was that actually stole from him in the first place two years ago.  How much time do you think we have?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:20, Fri 13 Jan 2023.

Urvan glances this way and that as he approaches the spot where the Priest had urinated on himself. It had not been long, and part of him was hopeful that Boreas might be able to perform one of the tricks they had been working on hunting small game around the outskirts of the Palace.

He let the hound sniff with interest at the puddle and he saw as the canine began to follow the scent in a particular direction.

"Can you track him boy?" Urvan asked with a hint of excitement.

(I had to go reread your prologue to recall what it is that Vinefinger was after you for.  It was just that you had been feeding information to Whyneks and he somehow figured out that it was you.  I know that when I wrote that, I was thinking that you actually were the guilty party, the mole he was looking for.)

Whyneks ponders.  "Maybe that is the best approach.  If he hasn't figured out by now that it is you working as a messenger, it's because he has forgotten all about you, or just doesn't care that much.  But if it gets back to his crew that you're still around, he will either have to make an example of you or else claim that the whole thing was his idea from the start, and his search for you was just to provide you cover to get inside the church and spy for him.  He's certainly clever and flexible enough to go for that, but there has to be something in it for him.  Perhaps step one is to figure out what that might be."

What would the DC be for tracking someone who is dripping urine?  DC 5?  Yeah, he succeeds -- even if you were to roll a 1.
 Generally, though, if you are using a skill of yours or your dog's, please go ahead and make the roll.

Even though the puddle of urine is already nearly dry, Urvan can still make out the priest's first few steps away from it by the visible trail of splash drops.  Boreas, of course, has no trouble following the scent even after the lad can no longer see dried droplets.  After two and a half blocks down the busy street, the trail turns down a small but very pretty road lined with gardens in full bloom.  Three blocks ahead, he can see a temple -- the sort of non-denominational temple that will have a shrine or small chapel to each of the important deities.

Boreas, sniffing away, follows the gardened road for only a block before turning off to the left, where sits a small building, only 15x20.  It is painted sage green with white trim and is surrounded by flowers.  The symbol of Hera is on the door.

https://www.architecturaldesig...side-porch-560011tcd
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:05, Thu 12 Jan 2023.

[Aha, I'd been remembering the bit where Ricka was told that "word on the street" was that someone had stolen Vinefinger's money.  I'll snip a bit of Ricka's dialogue from that last post if you don't mind!]

"Do you think we can arrange for some other operation of his to get busted by the city watch, but then I could warn him just in time that a bunch of his guys are about to get pinched?  Maybe then he'd believe I'm not trying to burn him.  How long do you think we have, before the Anahitans are ready to invade?  Weeks, months, years?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:59, Fri 13 Jan 2023.

Whyneks nods, "A good idea to seal the deal, but would probably be suspicious if you lead with it.  Let's start with the job in the kitchen, you can find out what is really going on, and maybe you'll work out something he really wants.  There's a good chance that he is not as happy with the deal he got from the Persians as he thought he would be.  Get some specifics and we'll figure out how to rope him in."

Ricka asks, "How long do you think we have, before the Anahitans are ready to invade?  Weeks, months, years?"

The spymaster responds, "Months, at least, probably years for any of this specific action to take fruit.  They are going to wait until we are deeply embroiled with the Gauls before they do anything, but I don't even think that this is likely to impact that.  This is some deep planning stuff by them, probably by Saman Hanifnejad himself; it his sort of approach.  They will get some level of control over low level functionaries, and help them rise in the organization -- make them feel a sense of gratitude.  They they'll exploit them when they have power.  We want to cut that off before it even starts."

When you made post #141 above, it sparked an idea for what Vinefinger would want from you.  Think of it as an initial quest that is part of the larger task.

Urvan feels an echo of the same intense emotions from earlier in the evening come back to him as he catches sight of the symbol of Hera, and yet the consequences were still very real. Was he too late? Had Graham already reported?

Or was he still within?

And if he was, was Urvan really ready for this?

There was no time to waste, and only one way to find out. He gave Boreas a congratulatory rub down then made a slow perimeter of the building, trying to determine the best way inside.

A brief, ill-concealed pout at the notion of downgrading from fake message courier to fake scullery maid.  "... we're embroiled with the Gauls?"

Ricka has precisely zero sense of patriotic pride; she assumes she would have been just as happy growing up in any other city or country in the world.  (Or, more likely, she'd have been just as miserable.)  As such she's perhaps less personally invested in international relations than Whyneks might hope for.  But likewise he'd also be well aware that rather than queen and country, her loyalty is to Whyneks himself.  So she makes an effort to care about the things that are clearly of surpassing importance to him - stuff like rumors of war and big-picture political schemes.  Often, her efforts are even mostly successful.  Germaine to the subject at hand, Ricka has a vague suspicion that the Gauls are...  somewhere to the west?

Urvan slips up on the small building, trying to approach in a direction that anyone glancing out the windows wouldn't be likely to see him.  Since it is such a nice day, the shutters are open and he can see the sitting area in the front is empty.  (Glass windows aren't really a think, except for stained glass in churches and temples.)  As he makes his way around to the right, he hears a discussion,

"Mor-mo-lyce?  You say that's a blood servant of what again?"

"The Lahmians.  It's an ancient cult of people, not quite humans, that drink human blood to feed their immortality."  The second voice, clearly Gratham, is speaking very quickly, with an edge of panic.

"And this dog, it's a demon?"

"Yes, blast it.  It's an offspring of Cerberus, and shows his ties to Hades.  The thing breathes fire!"

"Wouldn't he be a lot wealthier if he were tied to Hades?  You say he's a pageboy.  And you say you saw him out here, and that's your evidence for all of this?  Maybe he's just doing a delivery,  I kind of think you've been talking to Erastoo too much.  You know that she sees schemes, plots, and dire creatures in everything, right?"


11:41, Today: Zag, on behalf of Urvan Kron, rolled 21,26 using d20+6,d20+8.  Perception, Stealth
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:59, Fri 13 Jan 2023.