Procz had more questions for the half-orc, but the others were right, escape had made its way to the top of their lists. At this point, these half-criminals or what-they-were, were better suited than him to make a successful getaway. Had he been alone, hiding had probably been the only option. So, he followed suit when the moved, climbing up on Zúm once again, they would surely not wait for him to limp along by foot.

As they moved, Procz spell remained active for a little minute more. He decided to probe deeper into the mind of Ilya Gyula (or Gail, as Veracity had addressed her). He gave Frack a look and a nod. They had some talking to do later on too. For now, they just had to tag along.

I'll attempt a deeper probe as described in Detect Thoughts spell description. Save DC 14.

Frack knew he was no Sprazzle Cognelius when it came to intelligence, but his knowledge of Coglinton's back alleys was suddenly pertinent. "The main railway would lead us straight into disaster, but there are plenty of side passages, too. Back from when the tunnels were used for mining. I used to explore them... when I was young. We could get out that way... I think."

He thought for a moment before continuing. It troubled him to think of what Tyr would say of such a hasty retreat. Is this the Path? Sneaking out through a back tunnel? We just prevented a kidnapping! We're on the Path, so why don't we just walk out the front door? He stepped toward Procz to discuss, but caught the kobold's reassuring nod as he hopped aboard his mechanical dog. I guess if Constable Procz thinks the railway is the Path, then it must be. Frack was still uncertain, but he trusted Procz wholly, and as a result joined the others on route to the railway.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:13, Mon 03 July 2023.

Ilga clucked her tongue at Procz as she rebuffed his spell. "Patience, young wyrmling. The Gearlord will reveal all to you in time. Enlightenment is a process. Those who seek short cuts..." She trailed off, looking toward the direction from which her kidnappers had retreated.

She had a kinder smile for Frack. "Clever little fellow! I've always said it's the low folk who know the city best. The lower, the wiser. Status makes you sloppy. Lead the way, Sir Knight!" The half-orc executed a reasonable approximation of a Shield salute.

The Tinkerer, on behalf of Ilga, rolled 18 using 1d20-1.  Wis save.

Donna looked dimly upon the party scuttling off with Ilga, but she did not attempt to stop them. Nor did she have a better suggestion for where they ought to hide, for she could not disagree about the inevitability of the Steel Resolve depending upon what remained of the factory. Owl's End had been an enormous investment for JP Cognelius, and the gnome would want to know what happened to it. More to the point, he would want to determine as quickly as possible who was going to pay for it.

The factory floor was quiet now, Donna and the others having disassembled the troublesome workers and what passed for the sentient building's brain having been melted by dragonfire. Or rather, a mechanochemical approximation thereof.

Ilga led the way in doleful silence, casting wistful glances over the ruins of her project. What appeared to be yet another complex assembly of pistons and gears on the rear factory wall slid open to reveal a tunnel, with twin columns of steel tracks retreating into darkness. "Best we don't use a light. Can you find us a side tunnel in the dark, valiant knight?"

Frack did, and none too soon, for they were still picking their way along the abandoned excavation when they heard the rumbling of a railcar in the distance.

"Thanks," the half-orc said when they were settled. "Guess I should have said that before now. And look, I'm sorry if this caused some headaches for you. And for the other workers. But you're... not workers? Not any I ever saw, anyway. What brought you here?

Ack! Rude of me. I should go first. My real name is Ilga Gyula. I built this place. Not the gears and stuff. The important part. The brains. I made it work. I made it think.

That's not what ol' JP brought me in for. Well, not exactly, but it was what they needed. I was supposed to help them make sentient machines, robotic workers who could replace the various humanoids Mister Cognelius employs now. But I figured, why stop at workers? Why not make the factory itself sentient?

Let me tell you, a guy like Cognelius, he thinks he knows everything. Wants to decide every detail: which machine goes where, how many workers on each shift, down to the smallest thing. But he's got no idea. Never swung a hammer in his life, I imagine. So what gives him the right to call the shots? His money? It's not even his money! It's his daddy's money.

Look, I'm not saying I could do better. I mean, I could, but I'm not saying that. All flesh is flawed. Even the dragons got it wrong, and they were far smarter than any of us.

But the machines... The smooth rotation of the gears, the clean interlocking of their teeth, the way the assembly line delivers the widget just as the next machine slams down to stamp it into shape then ships it along to the next station... it's the only thing that gives me hope for this steaming cesspit of a city."

Ilga, who had gone red in the face lamenting JP Cognelius's incompetence and undeserved status, relaxed as she spoke reverently about her beloved mechanics.

"Those goons you saw hauling me off - Syntus and Crajoen - they used to be my friends. Colleagues, anyway. We called ourselves The Descendants. Guess you've heard of us. Anyway, they didn't like that talk, machines being better suited to rule us than dragons. All they wanted me to do was built and keep quiet. Well, I built alright, but I wouldn't keep quiet, so I figured it was best if we parted ways. I guess they caught wind of what I was up to here, though, and they didn't like it.

I caught myself thinking it was lucky you showed up just when you did, but luck's got nothing to do with it. It's all part of the Gearlord's grand plan. The line always delivers the widget just when the machine is ready.

But ok, enough about me. What brings you all to Owl's End?"

Everyone can take a short rest while you hide out in the old mining tunnel.

Baern sat down with his back to the tunnel wall and reached for his canteen. Half the bottle went down his throat before he tipped the rest out on his bald head. His skin burned at the touch of the water, still red and raw from his recent broiling despite Veracity's ministrations. He pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and proceeded to pat himself down.

[Ain't no point in fooling, Vera,] he offered silently. [May as well come clean. We ain't done nothing for the little constable to take offense to, and we'll probably get more out of 'em if they feel we ain't stonewalling.]

But to the others he said nothing. Baern knew his place. Baz had put him on this job to wrestle giants and run headlong into dragons' teeth - not to broker impromptu alliances. That was Vera's beat. He sat and listened to the tunnels instead.

Spending 2HD to heal.
14:37, Today: Baern Snagglehorn rolled 16 using 2d12+4.  Short rest.
Song of rest +1.

Total 17 back
This message was last edited by the player at 19:16, Tue 04 July 2023.

Procz sat quiet for a while, listening to Ilga Gyula. He coughed again, finally having cleared up the last of the dust and soot from his weak lungs. When the half-orc spoke about sentient machines, he pulled Zúm closer and patted his neck. Zúm was special; more than some crane or even an entire factory, regardless of how sentient she said they were. Zúm had a living soul.

"We found ourselves here today in order to locate you." said Procz. "I brought my friend and associate, Mr. Frack of the Shield because I can trust him with my life. And I believe he has saved it more than once today already. We met Kreo outside the factory when we were attacked by Steel Resolve thugs, posing as Constabulary. The others came on a separate errand, but I've crossed paths with some of them before." He glanced at Veracity.

The kobold paused. "I gathered as much, that you had some kind of falling-out with Syntus and Crajoen, firbolg and yuan-ti or vice-versa? Who built the dragon? Anyway, as I said, my interest lies in the subject of Luminescent Athenaeum. What do you know about it and how does it relate to the Descendants?"

Rolled 2 hit dice for healing, but adding a song-of-rest from Veracity, I really only need to use the one.

Vecaal's large golden eyes considered Vera and Baern for a few moments.  [Agreed.  Tell them the basics, so they believe you.]

The big dragonborn sat on his haunches, the rest of the group on his left and the main tunnel back to his right.  The dull amber sheen of his scales looked a sooty black in the dark tunnel, almost a match for his dark cloak.  He'd stowed the crossbow and now hunched there, back against the wall and clawed hands resting on his thighs.

He listened to Ilga recount the recent history of the factory, hissing softly through clenched teeth at various points he found disturbing.  Without asking, he expected the desire for a self-running factory was so the current workers could do more pleasant things with their lives.  Except he knew it would not work that way.  Once the workers were displaced, they would starve or turn to crime and other violent pursuits just to survive. The bosses wouldn't do anything for them, because it would cost money.  Passionate zealots like Ilga were all the same - too blinded by their inventiveness to see what it would mean for those left behind.  Just because you could do something doesn't mean you should.

He didn't verbalize any of it though, because getting into an argument here was not useful.  He kept watch and like Baern, waited for Vera to explain the presence of their little trio.

OOC:
Rolled 2 HD plus Vera's 1D6.  Regained 11 hp, returning Vecaal to ~75% health.  Still fighting the die roller a bit  ;)

Kreo sat and listened, chewing some leaves from his pack and dressing his wounds and burns with salves from his pack, at last taking out small spectacles to consider his pistol, laid across his lap

"The machine, the tool, will never do anything except what the hand that directs it says to. A factory that moves on its own is only half the work completed, you've lit the fire but you've not put it to use! Neither JP or Crock is rich on his money or his father's money, he's rich on his workers' money. Their graft, their sweat and their labour makes his profits and secures his power, and it'd them who should reap the harvest sewn by clockwork and gear."

The satyr opened up his pack with Procz telling the story of how they'd met and smiled

"Yes, the little ones were outside fighting such a good fight I felt inspired to join in, got swept up in the fervour of it all. Plus there's the matter of the striking workers outside needing some resolution. I'll need to look at that in the coming days."

Pulling out a latched box, he cast Vera a knowing glance. She'd know his kit well enough in passing. Opening it, brushes and charcoals and paints and dyes all shuffled around

"While we sit, does anyone need some work . . . making themselves look different? For when we leave, mind."

After leading his new friends into the mining tunnels, Frack leaned back against a wall and  closed his eyes for a moment. He heard the chatter between Ilga and the others, but had little idea what they were talking about. He fought against sleep for the better part of 10 seconds before succumbing, relaxed by the sound of Veracity's gentle voice. When he awoke, he felt much better, even though his skin was still molded into his chain mail in certain spots. He considered himself lucky. He had battled a dragon (who says mechanical dragons are any less fearsome than the old flesh and blood types?) and lived to tell about it!


23:29, Today: Frack rolled 24 using 2d10+4 with rolls of 10,10.  Hit dice.
23:30, Today: Frack rolled 4 using 1d6 with rolls of 4.  Song of rest (thanks, Vera).
This message was last edited by the player at 00:53, Thu 06 July 2023.

"Vice versa. And I built the dragon. The interesting bits, anyway. Could have been even more interesting - could have been a real dragon - but Magresh - that's the leader of the Descendants - wouldn't allow it. Sacrilege, he called it. So I found another patron. Not that I expected JP would be any more keen on a sentient factory than the Descendants were on a sentient clockwork dragon, but at least he paid less attention. Got a lot of factories to oversee, hasn't he?"

Ilga was getting riled up again, pacing the little tunnel where they were encamped as she spoke. The mention of the Luminescent Athenaeum paused her in her pacing. "Look, the Athenaeum's just a rumor. Far as I know, anyway. You've got to understand, these people are fanatics. They'll seize on any bit of gossip that tells them what they want to believe, which is that the dragons weren't as bad as the Cogneliuses make them out to be. That there were good ones, that we were better off under their rule - that we'd be better off under their rule again.

So, this Luminescent Athenaeum... they think there's a, like... a library, of sorts, hidden somewhere in the Lower Slopes." She laughed a bit as she continued, "That a shadowy network of squalid sages has collected artifacts the Cogneliuses tried to get rid of, artifacts proving the existence of metallic dragons who were not as evil as their chromatic cousins. Who had all the wisdom and bravery without the avarice.

Look, I don't want you to get your hopes up. I can't overemphasize how credulous the Descendants are when it comes to this sort of thing. How literally desperate they are for any piece of solid evidence that would buttress their beliefs."

The half-orc nodded in silence as Kreo matched her soliloquy with one of his own, seeming to think the two of them in perfect agreement. Nor did she appear taken aback by the pistol in the satyr's lap.

"I would take you up on that. If you're offering. Guess I've made some powerful enemies today, same as you. Speaking of which... I don't suppose you've got somewhere I could lay low for a little while? Just until all this blows over."

Despite the breezy tone of her request, it was plain to everyone this was not going to blow over soon. JP Cognelius was one of the two most powerful people in Coglinton. One of his factories - an especially expensive and highly secretive one, at that - had been destroyed and his private security force assaulted. He had the reputation of a gnome who held a grudge.

Seems like we're waiting for Vera to speak on behalf of Baz's crew? If you choose to tell her anything less than the full truth, please include a Deception check with your post. Thanks!

"Low in stature and in origins, but towering in valor and heart.  Sir Frack of the Crimson Shield guides the way!"  Veracity gave the clever goblin an encouraging pat on the back, joining in the praise for his resourcefulness.


Veracity listened closely to Ilya's tale about falling out with the Descendants, then going beyond her JP contract to bring a whole factory to life.  She couldn't help but admire a woman with both vision and the will to make it happen.

Then, the discussion turned toward the burning question of what had brought them all to Owl's End.  Veracity smiled, and turned a knowing amethyst gaze to Baern, and to Vecaal, then clapped her hands once and began, "Right, then.  Today we've all shed blood together, and I confess that I've taken a shine to the lot of you.  So, I'm going to give you a rare gift from a practiced prevaricator.  The truth."  Spreading her hands, the tiefling announced, "I told some of you that Baern, Vecaal, and myself are 'independent contractors' or 'private investigators'.  Both true after a fashion, but I hadn't mentioned who we work for.  That would be none other than The Spark, under Baz Cinderhorn.  You might call us a 'gang' and I'd say that's selling us short, but such categorization is beside the point.  The real question is, why are we here today?"

Veracity let a few beats pass, then said, "We're here because the boss had a hunch.  Something was off in Owl's End, and he didn't like it.  He sent us to look into it while the place was empty on strike, and that's what we did.  I think we can all agree that he was right to be suspicious.  I hope we can agree that this disreputable trio made something decent out of this debacle."

Vera's voice had a musical cadence that had a way of soothing the listener, whatever they thought of what she was saying.  By the end of their rest in the tunnels, everyone felt just a little more pep in their step.

---

I mentioned it OOC, but reminder that Vera's Song of Rest grants +1d6 healing for those spending hit dice during the short rest!  Here are Vera's HD expenditures:

• 18:48, Today: Veracity rolled 8 using 1d8.  Hit Die 1.
• 18:47, Today: Veracity rolled 2 using 1d6.  Song of Rest.

Healed up to 15/18 HP

Frack blushed under Vera's attention, turning his unpleasant greenish skin tone to an even more unpleasant brownish-greenish hue. This, along with the goblin's wide smile of sharp yellow teeth that he couldn't manage to wipe off his face, added up to a fairly hideous sum. Nonetheless, Frack was buoyed by the recognition.

When Vera confessed to exact nature of her independent contracting, however, Frack was uncertain how to respond. Breaking into a factory was not exactly how you follow the Path, however was this one of those situations where doing the wrong thing was the right thing? He wrinkled his nose in deep thought (well, as deep as they went for Frack, anyway). Then he looked at Procz for a clue of what to think. Procz always knows what to do. Plus, he's a constable.

The half-orc tinkerer did not appear particularly surprised to hear Baz's name. "The road to scientific discovery is paved with debacle," she advised the tiefling. "Your patron was right to be curious. I have much respect for an inquisitive mind. Gearlord knows this town is lacking them.

Not that I didn't respect Mister Cinderhorn already," she added, a bit hastily. "I'm from the Lower Slopes myself. I remember what it was like before The Spark, all the violence and the warring gangs. Someone needed to bring order to the place, and he's done a bang-up job, best I can tell.

Speaking of, per my earlier request, surely The Spark has got a safe house where I could hole up for a bit? I can earn my keep, surely that's obvious."

FWIW, I think The Spark crew would know of a few safe houses around the city - or at least how to find them in a pinch - but wouldn't be authorized to bring an outsider to them. The standard procedure here would be to bring her to your handler, Amara, who could hear her out and either make the decision herself or bring it to Baz.

Procz became surprisingly relaxed listening to Veracity, in spite of her being a known criminal. The kobold constable knew he was going to have to bring her and her associates to justice at some point, but now was not the time. Regardless of the service they had provided, they had broken the law and had to pay for it. He picked up on the look from Frack and gave him a subtle shrug. Procz didn't know. Yet.

He wondered what Frack would think about protecting Ilga Gyula and while the goblin considered that question Procz spoke up again. "Where did you learn about the Luminescent Athenaeum? I need to establish communication with them. I seek the hidden library."

Does Procz find Ilga truthful? Insight 24.

"Look, constable, this is going to have to be a scratch my back and I scratch yours type of situation. I need to know I'm protected before I start talking. That's only fair, isn't it?"

The sense you get is she's being basically truthful but is deliberately downplaying the credibility of the rumors. This seems like at least as much a desire not to get her own hopes up as to deceive you.

[Let's bring her to Amara.  She'll be safe enough with us, and she's at least as interesting as what I found and didn't find in the office], Vecaal thought to Baern and Vera.

The dragonborn shifted slightly in his watchful pose, anxious to get going.  "Can we get moving again?  A dirty side tunnel is not my idea of choice accommodations."

"We've already saved you from being captured, haven't we?" Procz reminded her. "But I'm not going to let nefarious forces get to you, even if you weren't useful. It seems we do need somewhere hidden to regroup and discuss our options."

The kobold turned back to the goblin. "What do you think, Mr. Frack? Can you find a place?"

The woman looked a little embarrassed. "It pains me to be difficult, constable, but you've got to establish your quid before you quo, haven't you? I do appreciate your help, but I didn't exactly have an opportunity to negotiate the price. So what's done is done and now you need my help and I could use yours, and, well, look, this is just the way things have to be, isn't it?"

"A word of advice? If you'd prefer to negotiate terms with someone, we can always take you back. See how JP or your former friends feel about what you have to offer."

Kreo pointed up and back behind him as he prepped his palate of makeup and accents, moving to touch the half-orc up to look like one of the lower-downs in the shanties Kreo often delivered crusts of bread and rejected beer to.

"Unlike Procz and Frack or Cinderhorn's crew here, I've no reason save idealism to save you. I'd like to, as I also have no ulterior motives save the cause. But heel draggers looking for a payout get good workers killed. And you're starting to sound like a heel dragger, Ilga."

Kreo nodded at Vecaal's question, smiling back at the dragonborn

"This one's got the right idea. Right now we're all of us worse off for staying grouped up in one place, criminals, goblins, an agitator like me. We either scatter, each group back to their own devices and no one gets Ilga, or we head to safety together, but either way we need to move soon."

OOC: 16 if Intimidation, 18 if Persuasion. Deception for disguise kit is +5 when it matters later.

Baern stood to his full albeit not exactly impressive height, and slung Bessie across his shoulders. "Vecaal's right," he said aloud, but it equally mirrored his thoughts towards the Dragonborn's whispered comments as well. "It's time to get moving."

He strode to the next junction and peered around the corner. Though he'd never been in this particular tunnel before, Baern had a remarkably good sense of direction under ground and he was pretty confident between himself and the surprisingly resourceful goblin they could find their way back to the slopes.

"Mr. Frack, is it?" he said, glancing at the goblin.

Veracity inclined her head to Ilga and said, "Nice to hear appreciation for our good work to improve the low corners of this fine city that nobody else cares for.  The sorts of places the Constabulary won't dip a toe except to crack down on loitering orphans."  She turned Constable Procz a good-humored wink.  It was all in good fun, even if she herself had once been one of those orphans to be run off or roughed up for having no place to go.


Veracity chimed in, "If our canny guide can only but bring us back to the streets, the Spark shall provide the safe haven.  Lead on, little hero!"

Once Frack had led the party back to the city, Veracity urged the group to hang back but a moment.  The tiefling produced a bedraggled pink scarf from a pocket and tied it about her head to cover her curling horns, then sauntered out to the end of an alley and leaned against the corner, casual as you please.  Not a minute later she gave a short whistle and made a subtle beckoning gesture.  A filthy teenaged dwarf lad scurried up, and Vera greeted him with a smile, "Fine day to ya, Wiggle.  How's your pa?"  She knelt down and spoke to him in a conspiratorial tone, "A favor, lad.  Scamper down to the noodle shop and tell Jeccarty, 'Requesting the Ghost's leave for a hand-and-eyes holiday at the rookery, pretty please.'  There's a double-helping of the house special if you make it snappy.  Got it?  Say it back, now."

Once Wiggle could repeat the message back flawlessly (particularly ensuring he didn't forget the 'pretty please') she grinned, ruffled the lad's hair, then sent him dashing off at a full sprint.  Once the messenger was well down the road she ducked back into the alley and beckoned the others, "Walk with me!"  Veracity proceeded to lead the others through a maze of byways and shortcuts toward an arranged meeting place.

"Uuuuhh," Frack grimaced as he felt the weight of the group fall suddenly upon his tiny shoulders. "We can probably find a spot in the rat tunnels, though I'm not sure it would be comfortable for anyone bigger than Constable Procz and me..." He pointed to Baern. "And maybe you... Uh, maybe we could..." he paused, hoping he would think of something, but it wasn't really working.



Frack heaved a sigh of relief knowing that he wasn't on the hook for accommodations for eight. As nice as everyone seemed, the rat tunnels weren't exactly the same caliber as Bu-Tangials lava-heated hot springs when it came to comfort. He suspected he'd hear a protest or two.

With Vera's vote of confidence, he straightened his shoulders and started down the tunnel. "This way. Watch out for rats. The little ones are okay, but the big ones can get a little ornery. Especially if they're hungry." He thought about the time he got lost in the rat tunnels and eventually found himself in the lair of Wikikidiak, the Rat King. It was an unpleasant memory, to say the least. It was also the reason his ears were not entirely full anymore. Well, no sense dwelling on that. We'll just stay away from the chutes and we should be fine.

The distinction between "alley" and "road" was a rough one in the Lower Slopes. Nothing was paved, so it was only a question of how trampled and muddy a given path was and how many hovels had cloth-draped doorways opening onto them. There was no order to the roads, nor to the hovels themselves, nor was there any coherence in their shape and material construction. They were made from whatever pieces their builders could scrounge up, thrown together in roughly the order they were found, with new features and rooms glommed on as necessity dictated. Some were three-story structures that swayed precariously in the slightest breeze. Others were simple pyramids formed from slabs of steel leaning against one another, and in one case someone had simply strung a wire between two taller buildings, draped a canvas tarp over it, staked out the sides, and called it finished.

Whatever guided Veracity's course through the maze of lean-tos and open sewage canals was lost on the others, at least one those who had been initiated into The Spark. Various nefarious looking characters stared out from makeshift windows or looked up from shadowy corners but, knowing the look of gangsters when they saw them, kept to themselves, awaiting easier prey.

Then suddenly a woman with the look of a beggar, coin-rattling cup in one outstretched hand and dark goggles over her eyes as if she were blind, stood up slowly. She was a fire genasi, tall and slender, but not nearly old as her hunched posture had suggested. Nor was her thinness owing to emaciation, as for so many denizens of the Lower Slopes, but rather to a lean and vaguely muscular physique. She, too, had the look of a gangster.

"Boss asked you to bring back something interesting," she remarked, looking up and down the alley for herself though Veracity had been doing so throughout their journey. "Looks like you brought four somethings."

Ilga stared at the woman in awe. "You can count me as something interested, at least. Who made those goggles for you? May I?" The half-orc reached for the genasi's face, only to have her hand slapped away.

The genasi directed her scorn not at the tinkerer who'd tried to touch her but at Veracity, as if demanding the tiefling answer for this impudence.

Those of you in The Spark know this woman as Amara. Known as The Ghost for her ability to move silently and pass unnoticed, she's one of Baz's lieutenants, charged with running the gang's more underhanded operations.

The rest of you can recognize her on a DC 15 History check, rolled with advantage if you have some familiarity with the underworld and/or the Lower Slopes.

Veracity led the group through the ramshackle alleys and byways of the Lower Slopes at an easy stroll, paying little mind to the shadowed dangers lurking in many a corner.  Actually, she called out friendly greetings to some of those shadowed dangers, who happened to be good friends of hers.

Vera slowed their pace as they drew near, and she gave Amara her moment to make a proper dramatic entrance.  She peeled off the bandana to reveal violet horns, then performed a little curtsey, "Lovely seeing you as well, ma'am.  Oh yes, we've brought in four interestings and more besides.  We've had quite the outing."  When Ilga reached for Amara's goggles Vera tensed momentarily, then cut in, "Keep hands to yourself if you'd like to keep them attached, yea?"  She sidled in between the two to defuse the offense with a smile, laying a hand on Ilga's shoulder and saying, "This handy gal designed and built an airworthy clockwork dragon that breathes fire!  Nearly roasted the lot of us.  There'll already be buzz about a dragon flying over Coglinton, I imagine.  Oh, and she defected from the Descendants and gave sentience to an entire J.P. manufactory."

Veracity gently pushed Ilga aside and performed a showy twirl, then presented Frack, Kreo, and Procz with a flourish.  "This fine trio got in a street brawl with the Resolve and won.  We met inside the destination and had quite the romp.  These two were after handy-gal and the horny lad was there for the strike, and we all got through a nasty scrape together.  The scaly little gentleman is a Constable, but a decent one.  Not on any payrolls and actually cares about justice."  The others might notice she gave no names during this introduction.

The violet tiefling spread her hands and concluded, "'Interesting', wouldn't you say?  There's more, but better to discuss inside."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:25, Sat 15 July 2023.

"Amara." Procz stated. "Aka The Ghost. Whispers of your name has popped up in 14 different reports over the last 6 months. The Glimmergem warehouse. The Underfoot explosion. The Nimblefingers heist. And seemingly a known associate of Miss Veracity. You know, the law will catch up with the both of you some day." The kobold constable gave a series of nods. "But not today, apparently."

He dismounted Zúm, brought out his cane and leaned on it with a little sigh. Needing help from criminals was frustrating.

History check of 26...