The fastest way to The Ledge was across The Caldera, riding the trains and trams alongside the endless stream of laborers who at all hours marched dutifully to or from the factories. After spending the night at Baz's safehouse, the party had left early the next morning, passing on foot through the cobblestoned streets of J.P. Cognelius's manufacturing district.

No literal line in the sand separated the territories of the two brothers, but the difference could be felt everywhere. It was in the movement of the crowds, who fanned out in both directions but rarely passed between the two themselves. It was in the architecture, JP's factories menacing and utilitarian, Crock's grandiose with their arched entryways and flying buttresses.

Almost immediately upon crossing over the Crock's side, they were accosted.

"Kreo!" a voice hissed. "Hey, Kreo! What are you doing on the street? The Cultivated Mind have been asking around about you. It doesn't sound good. But then, when is it ever good with the Cult? You're lucky I didn't know anything to tell them because, well..." The woman, a stout gnome with a round face, wore overalls stained with grease and her curly brown hair tied back in a tight bun. She had been craning her neck up to look the satyr in the eye, but now she lowered it. "Well, they would have gotten it from me. They were... extremely persuasive."

The gnomish woman bore no obvious marks of abuse, but then the Cultivated Mind - Crock Cornelius's answer to his brother's Steel Resolve - were notorious for their magic and in particular for the way they could manipulate the minds of those Crock deemed in need of manipulation.

Kreo, you would recognize Lysandra, the president of one of the unions you helped to organize. She'd be a natural person for the Cultivated Mind to interrogate if they were trying to track you down.

Satisfied that the gnome knew Kreo and wasn't immediately antagonistic, Baern let his attention wander away from the Satyr and his contact and kept his eyes on the crowd.

"Maybe we ought to take this conversation aside if the Cult's been asking questions?" he cautioned out of the corner of his mouth.

Frack always enjoyed riding the train, certainly preferable to the horrendous skiff that shuttled them over the water on the previous day. The sounds of the machinery gave him great comfort, but a dilemma weighed on the goblin just the same. After some time, he consulted Procz for advice. "So I mentioned knowing one of the Remnants. She's a hobgoblin. Kjelga. She saved me once from a band of faceless monks. Can't thank her enough for that. It's just that... well, you know. Things didn't end up that well between us. She thought I was stealing spacklecakes and well, one thing led to another and I had to depart out a window."

Vecaal looked down at Frack's obvious enjoyment of the train ride and snorted in disbelief.  How could anyone look forward to being crammed into a tin can with too many of the unwashed pressed up against you, having to duck your head and refrain from even shifting your weight lest you crush one of the Congenelius' precious little workers?  It was incomprehensible to the big dragonborn.  The trains were a necessary evil at best, he thought, and when they were finally able to spill out into the open air once again Vecaal stretched his arms out wide and relished the reclamation of space.

He nodded to Baern's sensible suggestion when Kreo was accosted, and pointed to a shaded side alley not far away.  "Over there," he motioned with a bob of his snout.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Tue 02 Jan.

Kreo reached reflexively for his holsters when his name was hissed, relaxing when he saw it was Lysandra. He heard her out, nodding with a worried look and then looked around as Baern and Vecaal ushered the group rightly into an alley

"Too right. Let's get out of sight"

When they'd gone into the alley he dropped a half and hugged his gnomish friend, fingers in her hair and trying to steady himself

"I . . . things got out of hand. I'm glad you didn't end up like old Elmo Teasurge."

Elmo hadn't been anyone very special outside the movements, an old halfling who'd seen better times and wanted them again for the children of "UnderCrock" as he'd called it. The Cult's violence was well known to any who'd seen the ragged mangey stray that wore his clothes after they were done, and the pitiful creature had been a children's haunted story at play for a few years after

"That's how we fight, Ly. It hurts, but we can't all know what's going on or Crock and his spitbrain brother know too. Maybe you need to lay low for a few days, you know if the girls at Cheeky's have my room spare still? You can go, drink my booze, til' you get your head right again."

Pausing, as if loathe to reveal too much, Kreo looked back at his comrades in these past days

"I've been working with some of Cinderhorn's crew, as well as a couple righteously aligned small fellas (one's even a guard with a heart and balls to back it up, imagine that!) to put some hurt on a conspiracy that involves the brothers. But you can't know more unless you're gonna promise to get out of sight for a bit, get me?"

As the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels reverberated through the metallic carriage, Procz sat in contemplative repose. Each jolt of the train seemed to reverberate through the recesses of his memories, awakening glimpses of a bygone childhood amidst the slag heaps of the lowest slopes; of his original family, not his human foster parents. Perhaps they were getting near where they had lived. He did not know.

"The slum, a crucible of destitution, shaped the entanglement of my intellect, Mr. Frack. It is in this paradox that the symphony of my existence finds its resonance." Procz often forgot that Frack didn't quite have his vocabulary. Then again, the knight often seemed to give knowing affirmations, as if he understood his meaning and intent perfectly.

"Anyway... I believe that is a predicament that can be solved. I shall be your character witness and we shall show Kjelga your pure soul, steadfast honor and impeccable moral fiber." Procz gave a nod, as they followed Kreo, convinced the matter would be resolved, should they find themselves talking with the hobgoblin at a later time.

Vecaal quickly shepherded the group into an alley where they would be safe from prying eyes. Safer, anyway - you could never say for sure, with the Cultivated Mind.

Lysandra was looking pale by the time Kreo finished speaking. "You think... all that... is necessary? That they would come back for me? Kreo, what did you do?

Nope! Never mind. Forget I asked. Better I don't know, right? But what are you do - no, don't tell me that either. Just get off the street, all right? And I mean... do you need help?"

Although Frack nodded politely throughout Procz's speech, the goblin understood very little following The slum, a... He stared blankly at the constable until he concluded with something about finding resin ants. Frack had never heard of resin ants before and wondered what they looked like and what good finding them might do. It sounded a bit foolish, but if Procz thought finding them was important, it certainly was.


Reassured by Procz's words (the few he could understand, at least), Frack straightened and followed the constable toward the alley. "Thank you, Procz. Your words are kind and I am honored by them... and I will help you find those resin ants, no matter how long it takes!"

"Just passin' through, miss," Baern said, looking back from the mouth of the alley. "I wouldn't fret."

"But if you happen to know anywhere the Cult is poking its nose this fine morning we'd be glad to hear it so we take a different route."

While the others spoke Vecaal kept a watch on the street, his big frame leaning motionlessly against one shaded wall like dusky slab of shale.  His golden eyes peered out from the alley, watching for any undue interest in their little byway and the business within.

In reply to The Tinkerer (msg # 7):

At the question of if he needed help, Kreo smiled an impish smile

"Oh, about all I can get. But don't worry about me, I've got friends in low places to keep me safe."

Giving Lysandra a hug, Kreo reaffirmed his request to his friend

"Yes, it's all necessary, the Cult is not to be underestimated. But like my friend here says, if you can point us in their direction I'm sure we'll give them a wiiiiiide berth. Can't avoid them if we don't know where NOT to valiantly attack"

There were three stations where one could catch a train from Crock's side of the Caldera out to the Slopes. The Cultivated Mind could be expected to have eyes on all three, but they were also all heavily trafficked, such that hiding in the crowd was a real possibility. Lysandra reported that the Cult's presence at Crocklespring Plaza had been light that morning.

Lysandra was wrong. Fortunately, the party was full of folk with experience surveilling and/or being surveilled and recognized the plain-clothed "civilians" who bustled back and forth between the museum, the gymnasium, and the train station, always seeming to be in a great hurry yet never going anywhere.

There's no way to say definitively you've detected all the Cultivated Mind agents in the crowd, but you've certainly detected some.

If you'd like to attempt to blend in with the commuters and board the train, that will require a group Stealth check. Of course you're welcome to use magic, distraction, etc. to try to improve your odds or to suggest alternate courses or action.

Baern cast his gaze across the plaza, or as far as he could see from his vantage low to the ground.

"Right," he said. "Jilted lovers, Ver?" he proposed without looking up at his confederate.

Both the Cultivated Mind and the Steel Resolve were tasked with stamping out any threats to their respective bosses, or the general productivity of Coglinton but everyone liked a good show. And for Coglinton's money there was no better show at morning shift change than a lover's quarrel.

Baern rubbed his eyes, clenched his fists and concentrated. It took only a few moments to effect the change, and when it was done Baern looked for all the world like a middle aged dwarf with a grey streaked beard and a pot belly.

"Are you the cheating scum bag this time, or am I?"

He nodded at Vecaal. "Get the others on the train. We'll catch up."

Frack tried (unsuccessfully) not to stare at Bearn as he transformed into to a dwarf how does he do that?!? He wasn't sure which train to board, so he stayed close to Procz, assuming he would know what to do.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 04:10, Sat 13 Jan.

Sneaking onto the train made Procz feel dirty. The foundation of any functional society should be based on not having to sneak aboard public transportation. And yet he did. Perhaps, his small stature was an advantage, or maybe someone had been thoroughly informed and were looking for someone of a particular size. So Procz raised his shoulder so that his face came deeper below his raised collar, and moved in between the legs of the taller creatures all around, while keeping Zúm close. He glanced over his shoulder to see Frack and continued aboard. His limp didn't let him move too fast, however.

Stealth 17.

Keeping a watchful eye on Zum, who he was still convinced had it out for him, Frack followed his kobold friend onto the train. The shouting dwarf (who was previously a gnome) made the task fairly simple, although he wasn't sure why either of them was so upset at Vera. She seemed very nice to him, and unlikely to cheat on either the dwarf or the gnome. But who knows for certain when matters of the heart are concerned?

As confusing as all this was, he hoped they'd be able to work it out.

21:44, Today: Frack rolled 22 using 1d20+6 ((16)). Stealth - sneak onto train.

Vecaal didn't think the theatrics were necessary from Baern and Vera.  After all, they were in a huge crowd of workers all streaming to and from different trains like the roiling flow at the Confluence, a point in the sewers where dozens of streams all came together.  Watching for a specific handful of folks in all that hubbub was nigh impossible.  But they loved theatrics, and it wouldn't hurt to lend the constable and his protector a little cover.  The Dragonborn still wasn't too sure about that little pair.

So when the show started Vecaal herded Procz and Frack toward the train, intending to shield the pair from prying eyes with his bulk.  The only problem was, he hadn't accounted for their shorter gait, and after only a few steps nearly brought one broad foot down on Frack's head!  Quickly adjusting to miss the goblin, the Dragonborn lost his balance and stumbled to the side, accidentally bumping into a pair of dwarves and almost knocking a stack of boxes from the arms of an adjacent gnome.  Cursing in the harsh tongue of his kind, he steadied the stack of boxes, brusquely apologized to the dwarves, and then decided to take a different path to the train.

If he had just revealed himself to watching eyes, may as well lead them away from the rest.



OOC:
Total for my "expert" skill?  12
08:54, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 3 using 1d6.  Psi-Bolstered Knack (Stealth).
08:53, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 9 using 1d20+7.  Stealth.

Hearing a suspicious rustle behind him, Frack turned in time to see Vecaal as he stumbled, cursed, and then sulked off in a different direction. "Procz," he whispered anxiously to the nearby constable. "I'm afraid Vecaal might be drunk."

Kreo was worried, and more than that was troubled, the spectre of the Cult looming over him as his band approached the station. Hands drawn into his cloak and head down, hood up, the satyr walked with his lopping gait to the train, trying to keep away from the others by a measure or two, in case the Cult descended. They were good people but they weren't needing his pains to be their pains.

Pausing to leave a couple coppers with a bagwoman, the old woman grabbed his hand suddenly, pulling him forward to say something right as the satyr was adjusting his hood, causing it to fall back and to expose his hand with several identifying bangles and rings on it.

OOC: Stealth of 11!