"A week or so" stretched into nearly three weeks before Baz showed his face at the safe house again. Amara, his fire genasi lieutenant, had left and returned several times and must have been briefing him, because he was already speculating aloud when he and his bodyguards, a leonin and an aarakocra, entered the Lower Slopes shanty.

"Right. Good work, all of you. I come bearing gits."

The aarakocra unfurled his feathered arms and deposited an assortment of glass bottles containing brightly colored liquids on the room's only, wobbly table.

"If Crock Cognelius is taking this Luminescent Athenaeum business seriously, then so are we. There's something in there the old bastard doesn't want us to know about, and that's enough to make it valuable to us. He who controls the past controls the future." Baz's face broke out into a grin, as if he'd just thought of that line himself. "We've got to disrupt the Cogneliuses's narrative. Show the people a different world as possible. Show them how much has been hidden from them."

He paced as he spoke, the churning of his tiny legs matching the rapid pace of his speech, his good hand emphasizing each point with a chop into the stump of his other arm. "And we've got to get there before the Descendants. I don't trust them any more than I do the Cogneliuses. Figure out where they're planning to hit and get there before them."

"Baz..." Amara interjected.

Even when her boss paused to listen, you could tell he wanted to remain in potion. His eyes looked through his lieutenant rather than at her, and the effort required to hold his body still was evident in the tight muscles of his face.

"The Descendants don't know where the Athenaeum is. If they did, they'd have raided it already. They're shooting in the dark. And if we do the same, then we're going to tip our hand. This one here-" The genasi gestured at Kreo. "Knows the orc who's been asking around on Crock's behalf. Let's pay them a visit first. Find out what they know."

"It could be gone by then!" Baz resumed his pacing, which now had an irritated edge to it.

Baz gifts you the following:

6x Healing Potion
6x Potion of Climbing
6x Potion of Water Breathing
1x Potion of Animal Friendship
1x Potion of Growth
1x Potion of Invulnerability
1x Potion of Speed

Frack opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. While he admired the boundless energy and conviction of the gnome, it also made him nervous. He walked over to Procz and muttered into his ear. "If this luminous aluminum (or whatever it's called) is as special as he makes it out to be, then it's probably for the best that the Descendants don't get it. On the other hand, He paused to physically look at his other hand. "It's not like these are law-abiding citizens standing around the table here. Who says what they'll do if they get whatever that stuff is that they're trying to get?"

He shifted his eyes back to his original hand. "But I guess this Baz is all about bringing the people together. That seems like a good thing. At least he isn't kidnapping anyone." 

Adjusting his oversized helmet, the goblin wrinkled his nose in thought. He wished his mentor Rom was still alive. He'd know what to do. Hopefully Procz would, too. "Tears of the hammer! This is all too complicated."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:38, Tue 15 Aug 2023.

"Cheating?  I'm offended by the very accusation!  If I were cheating you'd all be too poor to pay attention."  Veracity definitely was cheating at the card game, but if nobody could figure how then it was basically legal, so far as she was concerned!  She paused in the midst of dealing the next hand, looking up to see Baz arriving with the full entourage in tow, Amara included.  The tiefling deftly scooped the cards back into a stack and rose to her feet to greet them with a courtly bow.  "Welcome and salutations, Boss, and thanks for buying the round!  Ghost, brightening everyone's day as always."

After overhearing the tail-end of the conversation, Veracity chimed in to delicately correct Amara, "The Descendants don't know exactly where the Athenaeum is, but we have it on good authority that they've narrowed it down to a handful of likely possibilities.  They won't sit on their leads forever, so I'd wager they hit one of those in the next few days.  They could be on the wrong track, but we'd better beat them to it in case they're not."  Veracity did like the idea to pay Crock's secretary a visit, though.  "We've learned that Crock's man, Mister Scalebane, has been hiring orphans for the search.  My guess is that Crock has a description of something that would lead to the Athenaeum.  Whatever it is must be deep in the Slopes where street kiddos have a better chance to find it than Crock's goons."

Veracity shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I'm all for wringing out whatever Scalebane knows, but if we'd rather put pressure on the Descendants first, I know a guy that can get us to their island.  It'll cost, but discretion is worth its weight in platinum!"

Procz wasn't happy about laying low, frustrated that the law couldn't protect them. Elements like the Steel Resolve had no place in a lawful community (not that they were anyplace near to having one). The Resolve were the jackboots of tyrrany and oppression, and had to be removed. Things would have to change.

After their excursion to speak with the Constabulary and the Shield, Procz had spent a lot of time thinking. He missed patrolling the streets, and the confinement in the safe house reminded him of his childhood and adolescence, mostly spent in bed. He had heard the children playing outside his window, but couldn't join them. His companions had been his foster parents' books. Besides, had he been outside, Procz would surely have been bullied by future Steel Resolve thugs.

After Baz Cinderhorn returned, Procz stood upright, trying to look more well than he was. He leaned into Frack as the paladin whispered, giving a subtle nod. The kobold whispered back. "I would emplore you not to brood over those concerns, my friend. I believe the Athenaeum contains something that will bring the end of all subjugation and financial exploitation."

Walking over to the potions and exlirs, supported by his cane, Procz spoke aloud, his voice not croaking and cracking in coughs for once. "I do think we should make a move against the Descendants. While we cannot expect direct support from the Constabulary, my superiors condone this line of investigation in light of their previous unlawful activities." He looked at all the vials, giving a series of impressed nods. Baz Cinderhorn had resources for sure. Was Procz and Frack now one of them?

Baern had just finished filling his teacup when Baz breezed into the shanty, a whirl of frenetic energy. He listened to the competing pitches over the top of his piping hot mug, but there was really no contest to his way of thinking. He trusted Baz. The gnome's gut had carried him this far. He respected Amara, but he didn't trust her. And from his little jaunt the other day, it was clear Amara didn't trust him. Smart woman.

"I'm all for hitting them where it hurts," he said, taking a sip from his cup.

Kreo sat writing in a journal while Baz spoke, letters and notes for what was to come later (constantly submitted to Vera or some other authority to ensure he wasn't endangering the secrets), and so when he was pointed out he startled slightly, removing his little glasses and cleaning them nervously

"Well, I agree with Veracity! We should, excuse me, we could speak with my acquaintance. But it seems the sense here is to strike while the furnace is lit, and I can't really argue with that. Perhaps I could reach out through associates to arrange a meeting for when we return from this island?"

Vecaal stood off to the side, staying as unobtrusive as a six foot three dragonborn could.  He had his own opinion but had no interest in coming between Baz and Amara.  There was no future in that.  So he stayed quiet until the rest had spoken, until it seemed like the prevailing tide was falling Baz' way.

"I'll watch over them, and we'll get to both places fast enough," he promised sibilantly, confirming he was on board.  He trusted Vera and Baern, and the others were competent enough if the factory was any indication.  They would manage, no matter in which order they tackled this.

Crossing Coglinton inconspicuously was no great challenge as long as one timed one's travels with the changing of the shifts at the great caldera factories. The trickling of workers up the slopes toward the transvolcanic tram began roughly an hour before each shift, and once the migration was under way, it was a simple thing to blend in with the throngs.

The trams ran every few minutes but were packed to bursting nevertheless, so that a few late runners who could not afford to await the next one risked dangling precariously from the side as the train clattered through its underground tunnel. Though such dangerous accommodations were officially disallowed, the decorations on the cars' exteriors, which looked suspiciously like handholds, told a different story. Of all the rules one could break in Coglinton, those dealing with tardiness were least forgiving.

From The Spark safehouse the party had to circle the Lower Slopes around to Crock's side of the mountain, where a funicular hauled them up to the tram station. By the time they arrived, a line of bleary-eyed workers stretched out of the station and coiled around it through a maze of iron railings installed for just this purpose.

Dozens of beggars, vendors, and entertainers walked the line, some with outstretched hands, others selling hot drinks and meals (breakfast for those on their way to work, supper for those departing) to warm against the alpine chill. A bugbear stood behind an overturned barrel, passing three cards between his furry hands. "Find the dragon, win her hoard," he offered, flashing the emerald ring on his finger.

"Doctor Rutabaga's Fantabulous Contraption plays five games of chess at once!" announced a harengon in a top hate and a cape of purple satin. He stood atop the box seat of a painted carriage from whose covered bed emerged five mechanical arms, each hovering over a chess board. "Six copper a move," he informed the workers as they passed, several of whom studied the board before moving a piece, then nodding approvingly as the machine made the countermove they deemed appropriate. The games carried on in this fashion, with the passing laborers pooling their efforts to defeat the fantabulous contraption.

These entrepreneurs operated shamelessly despite the constables milling about. They occasionally ran off a beggar or a particularly shady looking vendor, suggesting those who went unharassed had some arrangement with the officers.

Judging by the length of the line, it would be easily half an hour before the party could board a tram.

Kreo, if you'd like to try to get a message surreptitiously to someone in Crock's operation, to arrange a meeting with Scalebane and/or have someone keep an ear out for anything he might learn about Athenaeum, please let me know. You'll succeed regardless, but I'll make a Stealth check for you in secret to see whether you were able to pull it off without calling attention to yourself.

Kreo thanked his good fortune that he had furry parts to guard against such a chill, and smiled toothsomely when the line's length became apparent

"Oh dear, we shall have to entertain ourselves."

Squatting down and arranging his coat, he peered at the three card shuffle, adjusting his little spectacles and smiling at the bugbear

"I'd like to take a chance please."

OOC: yes I'd like to try to get a message out, go ahead with that stealth check. Not proficient in Insight, Sleight of Hand, Deception or Perception . . . but my ability score mods are dexterity and wisdom +2, charisma +3, for what it's worth.

While circling the lower slopes, Frack kept his eyes peeled for trash that might be resold to the Buyer at some point. Although the title of Shield of Crimson Dale was one of Coglinton's highest honors*, there wasn't exactly a mass of riches that went along with the position. As a result, Frack's livelihood required him to distinguish between junk that could be sold for a few coins and just pure junk. And along those lines, he made notes of 1.) a large metal something-or-other crumpled in a pile of boulders (would probably be spotted by others before I got back), 2.) a collection of rusty wheels near the bridge over Donovan's Abyss (which is a long way from the Buyer but at least I could roll them), and 3.) a glimmer down on the acid planes at the base of Gully's Cliff (which is a long way down and if the acid doesn't get you, then Malfarg the Terrible probably will) .

As they finally reached the queue for the tram, Frack wrinkled his nose in dismay. Judging from the length of the line, justice would have to wait for a least a half-hour. He tried to blend in, keeping his friends in sight, but staying slightly separated from them. When Kreo volunteered against the three-carded bugbear, however, he was drawn to the overturned barrel to see what happened.



*OOC: This is Frack's opinion. Most others aren't nearly so impressed.

The bugbear gathered up his cards in the palm of one large hand as Kreo approached."Ooooh, I don't know. You look like you've got a sharp eye on you." He sighed.

"Hey, fella, that ain't right!" a man called out from two rows over in the snaking line. "You set up a game, you should take all comers. Ain't fair to pick and choose."

"All right, all right," the bugbear relented, casting Kreo a pleading look. "Just don't rob me blind, all right? You can play for a silver. Just for fun." His hands began shuffling the cards again as he waited for Kreo to produce the coin. "Round and round the dragon flies. Can you spot where his treasure lies?"

Kreo, you have some difficulty following the dragon card as he shuffles, but your best guess is it's in the middle. It'll cost you a silver piece to find out, though. You've gotten your message out to Scalebane.

Kreo produced a silver and placed it down on the closest spot to put it, lacing his fingers as a bed for his chin, watching as he points at the middle card, eager and excited to take his guess

The bugbear turned the card over, groaning loudly as it revealed itself to be a dragon. "I knew it!" he barked, wagging a furry finger at the satyr. "I knew you had a keen eye on you. I should never have let you play. Well, you've got to give me a chance to win my money back, now don't you? Let's go again, for a gold this time." Without waiting for an answer, he began to shuffle the cards.

Baern had paid the furry charlatan little heed until Kreo plunked his silver down, then suddenly he found himself fully invested in the little drama playing out before them. "Good eye," he complimented the Satyr when his card turned up a winner. "Now don't let him fleece you."

The only difference between pickpockets and this particular breed of street performers in Baern's estimation, was that the gamesmen made you feel like it had been your choice to hand them over your coin purse while the cutpurses didn't bother asking. At the end of the day though it was Kreo's money; Baern had no skin in this game unless the bugbear tried to get rough.

Tucking his own coin purse in a little tighter amidst the crowd, Baern turned his attention to the throng of pedestrians waiting on the next tram. It looked like it was going to be a while before their turn came around. "Glad I don't have to do this every day," he muttered.

"You've got it right there," Vecaal sneered, nodding his head at Baern.  The tall dragonborn felt especially cramped in the crowd, which seemed to have little respect for his intimidating bulk or fearsome face.  Apparently that was nothing compared to the threat of clocking in late.  Even being able to see over many of the heads in line was cold comfort.  It just meant Vecaal knew how depressingly far they still had to go.

He hadn't paid much attention to the dealer, even when Kreo put down a silver and picked the right card.  It was just business, no matter which way it went.  But his ears pricked up when the bugbear immediately doubled down for a gold piece, smelling something more pungent than the stink of unwashed bodies layered over the sulfurous tinge that always hung in the air.  The dragonborn turned his eyes to the match this time, golden irises glinting with interest as he followed the cards.

Veracity slapped the safehouse table and leaped to her feet with an enthusiastic proclamation, "Back in action, boys!  Let's be about it."  Considering that they were due to travel by boat, Veracity decided to disguise herself as a caldera steamship sailor.  Jaunty tricorn hat shaped around her curled horns, ruffled bodice under a roguish long-coat, pantaloons tucked into tall boots...  The ensemble might have a tad more swashbuckling flair than was strictly necessary, but Vera wouldn't pass up the opportunity to make sailing look good!

As the crowded funicular rumbled and screeched up toward the tram station, Veracity remarked to Frack, "I daresay I've never seen your new armor's like, Sir Frack!  Was it special-made?  You cut a fine figure."  There was a playful tone to the compliment, but not a hint of derision.  A warrior might scoff at the clearly impractical chicken-wire armor, but as a performer Vera thought it suited the gallant goblin quite perfectly.

A seemingly endless line of shift-workers overflowed the tram station, and Veracity sighed.  Crowds did present a prime swindling opportunity, and a few shameless entrepreneurs were already plying con games.  She chuckled at the bugbear working the classic shell game, complete with an accomplice chiming in from the sidelines.  Baern's insistence at Kreo to 'not let him fleece you' brought a chuckle to Vera's lips, and she remarked quietly so the dealer nor his partner can hear, "Too late, I'm afraid.  If you think you've a chance to find the card, you've already been fleeced."

Vera wasn't about to spoil a fellow charlatan's con, but rather than watching the game she watched for pickpockets or other forms of thievery afoot whilst the crowd was distracted.

"I must decline. But I applaud the hustle.  Get yourself an ale good sir."

Scooping his winnings Kreo tossed the big ear four coppers and rose to join the others, pausing to remark to Baern with a smile

"I wasn't born yesterday, they have games of confidence in the fey realms too."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:03, Fri 25 Aug 2023.

Frack blushed (again), although this time he couldn't help but puff out his little goblin chest as much as he could. "It is. And thank you. The armorer had this stuff in his shop, but I think I'm the first to use it." He dusted it off with a broad smile that would have been charming if not for the yellow-brown hue of his teeth. "Can you believe that? He also said it was quite good against chickens."

For a moment, he wrung his hands in silence before gulping aloud and continuing. "You are also are a fine cut... I mean, you cut from a fine..." His nose wrinkled as his tongue wrapped around itself in hopes of remembering how she had said it. Unsuccessful, he cut his losses. "I like your hat!"

"I've been had!" the enterprising bugbear lamented. "Took you for an honest fellow, but I see now you're an angler. Didn't even put up your coin until after the cards were spread. Took full advantage, you did. Oh, I should have trusted me instincts. Made you for a hustler the moment I laid eyes upon you, I did. But I said no, Ghargorr, you give that fellow the benefit of the doubt. Mustn't go assuming the worst, as me dear Esmerelda be always reminding me. And then the worst comes and wallops me upside the head. Like a thief in the night! Taking food right out the mouth of dear Esmerelda, and of our children besides."

His histrionics subsided as his eyes fell upon the goblin wrapped up in chicken wire. "Say, now you look like an honest fellow. Perhaps you'll treat me better than this old goat. Fancy a game?" The emerald on his ring sparkled as he shuffled anew.