Frack had convinced himself that Baern was right. Restraint was the wiser choice. The sight of Procz racing toward the fracas on the back of his mechanical mount urging his mechanical mount into action, however, changed his mind completely. "Sorry Baern," he called over his shoulder to the gnome while chasing after Procz and Zum. "But Kreo and his grandmother who looks nothing like him need help!"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:00, Wed 28 Feb.

And then, suddenly, Kreo seemed not to need help any longer. Either that, or he needed more help than a mere goblin could provide. For Procz's mechanical dog had arrived on the scene, racing between the legs of equally started and irritated commuters to deliver a nudge of the nose to Kreo, at which point the satyr simply vanished.

The already distraught old woman turned apoplectic, grasping at the empty air and shrieking, "Suqaab!Suqaab! Let him go, you bastards!"

Neither the Cultivated Mind nor the commuters spared a moment for her sorrow. They all had jobs to do and could scarce afford the consequences of a moment's delay.

Kreo, you're no longer restrained nor even visible.

When Zúm had delivered the spell, Procz guided him back through the crowds. "Now, esteemed associates, I believe the time has come to make our escape." He wiped his nose, finding the trickle of blood had dried, and pushed for the elevator. The kobold held the door for a short minute, in hopes that Kreo could make it inside with them. Not that he could see him, even if it was his own spell.

"Run Vera!"

Kreo's voice rang out from empty air as the invisible satyr bounded and cantered away, heading for the train after surmising the Cult would have their hands full trying to get the much vaunted locomotives to stop at their command

OOC: Acrobatics 19 to move around and over the crowd in the time (hour at most, and concentration of Procz at least) I have. Will brazenly add some mirthful leaps to that alongside my 35ft speed and dashing

He didn't tell the group where he was going, but he hoped they'd keep to the plan. He'd need to shake the Cult first . . .

Frack was beyond confused now. Either Zum had swallowed Kreo whole, which wasn't out of the question, or else the satyr had inexplicably disappeared, leaving his grandmother in a panic. Frack's tiny goblin heart went out to the poor woman, so he continued toward her in hopes of helping her to recover from the traumatic situation she just experienced.

Frack will rush over to the grandmother and lay on hands for 5hp to see if that helps. I realize this complicates our escape, but Frack can't help himself. He's too much of a goody goody to leave what he thinks is Kreo's grandma in such dire straits.

"Don't." Procz called after Frack. "That's not his grandmother. Please come back."

Hearing Kreo call out, seemingly taking another route, that was their clue. They'd meet up with him later.

"We have to go now!"

The sudden commotion baffled Vecaal. They'd had a plan, he and Baern at least, and now chaos ruled the platform.  Voices were coming from several points, telling him to run, screaming about a squab, raising concern about grandmothers.  The Dragonborn struggled to make sense of it all, amidst the ongoing hustle and bustle of the busy platform.  He tried to find Kreo and the loxodon through the traffic but failed, barely spotting the elephantine agent.  Frack had disappeared into the crowd, and only Baern and Procz were nearby.  And Procz wanted to leave, with haste.

[The constable wants us gone immediately.  Are you two agreed?] he sent through the Whispers, while edging toward the elevator slowly.  He wasn't going to leave without them, if tailing a captured Vera and Kreo was no longer the plan.

"Fucking go!" Baern replied, not bothering to send his thoughts through the whispers. He was already making his way through the crowd. "You don't look a gift horse in the teeth."

Racing toward Kreo's distraught grandmother, Frack was convinced nothing could stop him.
Frack stopped. The trusted words of the constable were probably the only thing that could change his mind, and even those were only enough to make him pause for a split second to think.

At this final plea, Frack did an about face and made his way toward his kobold companion, offering a prayer to Tyr for a blessing on the poor grandmother as he did.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:48, Fri 01 Mar.

A goblin wrapped in chicken wire squabbling - or whatever they were doing, no one could be bothered to listen long enough to determine - with a ranting old woman was the sort of thing one saw several times a day riding the rails of Coglinton. It was best not to stare, lest their madness prove contagious. Or, worse, they recruited you as unwilling participant in their drama. And so Frack was able to comfort the old woman unmolested, easing her distress and earning him a gentle pat on the hand as the Cultivated Mind furiously sought their invisible quandary and the rest of the city went about its indifferent business.

[Kreo's good], Veracity assured her associates telepathically. [Get to the train.]

Separate elevators carried the anonymous companions to the platform below, where they spent several nerve wracking minutes awaiting the arrival of the next train as agents of the Cultivated Mind stalked the platform, no longer making any pretense of blending in with the crowd. They seemed to have no idea what they were looking for save an invisible satyr, however, and so at last the train arrived and departed, leaving them fuming at the Crocklespring Plaza Station.

Magical lights glowed to life as the train rattled into the tunnel through the caldera wall, illuminating the interior of the car. Its occupants were tired and dirty, returning from long days at the factories to steal a few hours' sleep at their homes on the Slopes before returning to do it all again the next day.

The Lower Slopes were not well served by public transit, the result of a perverse chicken-and-egg dilemma whereby Coglinton's more respectable citizens feared their largely impoverished and unemployed residents and wanted them kept at bay and the Lower Slopes residents, unable to seek work in the Caldera's factories, remained largely impoverished and unemployed. This was not true all of the Lower Slopes, but it was more true the further out you got, and The Ledge was about as far out as you could get.

No wonder the Remnants lived in shanties constructed from the cast-off construction materials of their wealthier compatriots. No wonder no constables patrolled its muddy alleys, relying instead upon ornithopters whirling away in the skies overhead, hovering at a height beyond the reach of the rocks residents threw at them in hopes of earning the handsome rewards paid by scrappers for such valuable pieces of constabulary tech. No wonder barefooted children scampered over trash heaps seeking treasures that had been missed by the hundreds of hands that combed those heaps before them.

It was possible to pick one's way down The Ledge on makeshift stairways assembled from the rubble, but you had to know what you were doing. The Remnants were as uninterested in visits from outsiders as outsiders were in visits from them, and so the way was lined with traps and dead ends. You had to speak the local language, the series of signs by which they indicated to those in the know where footing was firm and which platforms looked promising but would collapse beneath the weight of any adult.

Fortunately, Frack could read the signs of the scrappers and lead the way down the steep Ledge toward the Remnants village below and sprawling slums beyond, where the Dragonfather's map suggested the Luminescent Athenaeum would be found.

Everyone make an Athletics or Acrobatics check as you pick your way down The Ledge, please.

Well this is embarrassing. Rolled a 1.

11:57, Today: Baern Snagglehorn rolled 7 using 1d20+6.  Athletics. – 7

Baern was used to navigating rockfalls and picking his way through scree choked tunnels, which on the face of things didn't seem terribly dissimilar to the footing of the Ledge. He also wasn't much bigger than the barefooted ragamuffins scampering unconcernedly over the shifting trash heap. It was therefore with considerable surprise that he put his full weight down upon what he was quite sure was a secure toehold only to have it dislodge from the wall and send it, him, and a heap of garbage tumbling down to the ground below...

The surprise rapidly gave way to anger as his descent continued unimpeded - or rather, incompletely halted by jagged garbage and pointed ledges that snatched at his clothes and dug into his flanks without arresting his fall.

If this is a long enough drop, Baern will rage to soak the impact. I'll leave it up to the DM if its worth it.

Frack led the way enthusiastically down the trash stairs, taking special care to ensure Procz stayed on solid footing. "Watch out for this step," he called to the others as he started the descent. "And watch out for this step,"


"Ooooh. And watch out for that step..." Frack grimaced as he watched Baern take the quick way down.

OOC: Frack will help Procz if that's possible.
22:09, Today: Frack rolled 16 using 1d20+4.  Acrobatics, down from the ledge.

Vecaal eyed the way down the slope with slight apprehension.  His weight and clawed feet never seemed to mix well with sharp, jumbled terrain and yet that was all that presented itself.  He might have actually preferred climbing down a cliff face to this mish-mash of refuse the Remnants used as a stairway.  Grumbling to himself about poor choices, he started down the makeshift steps along with the others, wincing each time his foot sunk into the mess under his weight, or he stumbled slightly when a sharp edge dug into his foot.

Then Baern went for a tumble, and watching the gnome tumble away rather than his next footfall, Vecaal suffered a similar fate!

OOC:
14:23, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 11 using 1d20+3.  Acrobatics.
14:25, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 1 using 1d6.  Psi-bolstered Knack.

Total of 12, which I'm guessing is too low to pass.  If the results are severe, could Vecaal opt to invoke his Gem Flight ability to avoid damage?

Kreo paused in his flight once he was sure the Cult had lost him to circle back to the train, trusting that Procz would keep his concentration long enough. Weaving this way and that through the crowd, he took a running leap to into the train at a pocket he could press into and hugged the wall, willing himself small once they let the train leave. He'd toyed with the idea of some great reveal, thumbing his nose at the loxodon taunting him, and remembered he'd made it out by the grace of kobold, thinking better of his fool plan

Slipping through the train he tried to find his companions, staying close and remaining calm if he could until such time as they were in a less crowded area. When the descent along the ledge was beginning he approached his friends and finally spoke, still invisible

"I'm here. Thank you for the save back there, all of you. I was careless, people almost got hurt."

Taking the descent slowly, Kreo's surefooted goat legs kept his balance well

OOC: 16 on Stealth (in case that matters later) and a 17 to descend

Kreo thought to reach out and try to catch Vecaal or Baern, but realized he had little in the way of magic that might help them. He'd have to heal them once they landed, at least.

With Frack leading the way well helping the limping constable, the group slowly descended the hidden, precarious stairway of The Slope. The children scavenging in the towering junk heap went from staring to shouting warnings to those below to laughing when first Vecaal and then Baern stumbled and fell.

Neither was injured, but after another step or two Baern felt a strange sensation on his foot and looked down to see a viscous, coppery slime devouring what remained of his left boot. The sensation he'd felt had been patches of suddenly-exposed skin pressing against the rusted iron platform on which he stood.

A fresh round of laughter rose among the children, though they took no break from their scurrying and scavenging. Down below, a small crowd of scrappers had gathered beneath the makeshift rooves of their shanties and lean-tos, watching the party's descent with wary, unwelcoming faces.

A low murmur in the sky above announced the approach of a surveillance ornithopter, which seemed simply to be following a patrol route and not yet to have noticed the newcomers.

Baern vigorously brushed himself off, scowling all the while as if daring one of the others to say something. It was difficult to tell with his dark complexion, but the deep gnome's cheeks seemed flushed with embarrassment and his nostrils flared like a champing stallion. "Would you look at this then?" he said, angrily gesturing towards his boots. He peeled back the leather with a grunt and tossed it onto the heap before the ooze could take more of his garments. "I just bought those! Weren't cheap, neither. Two quid, gone! Who's going to sell me just one boot, now?"

He started back down the slope in a foul temper.

"Ruddy slime. Ruddy Slopes."

Procz, in his usual weakened condition, struggled to make it down the makeshift stairs. Thanks to the fact that he could lean his weight on Zúm, and all the good advice from his friend Frack, the kobold descended nonetheless.

Acrobatics 11.

He looked at the children, and just like an old smell can transport you back to childhood through a memory, all of this did was well. "I came from the lower slopes, you know. I was born among the trash, slime and fumes, just like these young ones." He gave a little cough.

Procz was supposed to have died here, were it not for his foster parents. Heck, maybe he'd still do. Their little group was heading into danger and possibly their demise.

"Maybe you ought to do the talking then," Vecaal suggested to the constable, pointing to the welcoming committee assembling among the shanties at the base of the slope.  He certainly had no past experience with the scavengers to draw upon.

The dragonborn continued carefully down the trash heap's steps but looked up warily as the sound of the ornithopter reverberated from above.  "The larger of us might want to stay out of view as best we can too," he suggested, thinking Procz, Frack and Baern could be mistaken for Remnants scrambling on the trash pile but he, Vera and Kreo maybe not so much.

OOC:
16:21, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 19 using 1d20+7.  Stealth.  To avoid ornithopter eyes.

Frack winced at the gnome's angry summary of the situation, but offered a glimmer of hope. "Actually, there are a few scrappers who might be willing to trade something of yours for a single boot. Especially if you don't care if it's right or left! They call it buttering." He gave the surrounding rubble a long look. "And it would be a good idea if you got one as soon as you could. There's a lot of pointy things buried in the muck here... and a lot of bugs, slimes, and blood suckers, too." He shivered at the thought. "How good are you at hopping on one foot?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:57, Tue 05 Mar.

"You're havin' a go at me right?" Baern asked, looking sideways at Frack. He struggled to tell if the goblin was being serious at times. He certainly seemed earnest. "Pulling my leg?"

There was no way he was hopping down the Slopes.

But maybe there was something to be said for butter - er, bartering with the scrappers.

Frack gave Baern a quizzical look. "I don't think pulling on your leg will help," he supposed out loud. "But if you think it will, I'd be willing to give it a try."

His attention shifted to the patrolling omnithopter. Instinctively, he ducked, but turned his head slightly in order to keep one eye on it. "The big guy is right," he said with a nod toward Vecaal. "We should probably let it pass before we finish going down."

Vecaal was no stranger to evading the clunky surveillance technology of the constabulary, and with his guidance, the party was able to evade the predictable path of the ornithopter's patrol.

The children who had been gawking and laughing at Baern's predicament disappeared following stern glances from the adults gathering at the foot of The Ledge. Roughly a dozen scrappers formed the Welcoming Party, looking rather like Frack as they were decked out in makeshift armaments clearly fabricated from the Caldera's castoffs. There was no telling how many more were concealed in the maze of beams, weathered fabric, and tin sheets that constituted their town.

"You must be lost," said a tiefling who stepped forward as spokesman for the group. "Perhaps I can help." He wore a helmet fashioned of hammered tin, with two holes poked through for his horns, and plates of heavier metal bound to his chest and legs. Small, dark wings were just visible over his shoulders. Wearing such weight, it was doubtful he could fly.

His next remark dispelled any illusion that his friendliness was genuine. "Cognozzle City's back the way you came."

In spite of having suffered as a child on the lower slopes, Procz did not have much in common with these residents. He had been extracted from the slum by his foster parents, and brought up in a much better part of town. The kobold might have been born in toxic waste, but he was practically raised in a library.

His status as a constable wasn't something he could use to benefit their dialogue with the locals either. In fact, it would probably better to stay in cover for the time being. Although his allegience was with the common people (through law and ordered society); he had no method of convincing them of that. His academic manner of expressing himself did not help a bit.

Procz concluded that it would be better if someone else handled dialogue with the locals, at least for their initial conversations, so he remained quiet for now.

Baern peered up at the tiefling, shifting his stance so that Bessie lay easily across his shoulders. He also wasn't an ideal spokesman for the group, but unlike Procz he lacked the restraint to keep his gums buttoned up tight.

"Oh, you're a funny one. Right knee slapper there. We ain't lost though, bub. Come lookin' for you and here you are."

Kreo kept himself back, letting Baern be the hammer and Procz the glove. The people of the slopes needed his help, of course, but needing and wanting were different things, and you could hold a man down and heal his broken leg a lot easier than explain the realities of material . . . err, things, and how the worker needed to band together with his brothers and sisters to unite.

Hard to explain to a man who sees workers with full bellies and a cracked alms bowl before him.

Checking that Procz's focus held on the invisibility, he pinched his components pouch's clasp and opened it, getting ready for if a quick spell would be worth blowing his cover.