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 Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse

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The Master
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PostSubject: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 02, 2017 12:54 pm

Northwestern Artda
Dalriver Barony, Beregos

Janus the 2nd



"Fuckin dogs."

The Armebrosti warrior sneers into the darkness of the treeline to the north, where several wolves pad through the snow along the Whitworgen Wood. Beneath you, the open carriage trundles miserably over snow and rock and mud, creating the most uncomfortable of rides in this bitter cold night.

Five days you've been in this wagon, with scarcely time to rest or stretch your legs. The previous journey north from Ossunvar was far more pleasurable, through the gentler roads of more civilized land. The Jarl had initially commissioned you a three-carriage rider, which gave sleeping quarters and plenty of room to stretch out... however, once you had reached Svenead and met up with the Armebrost, the luxury caravan had bid you farewell, and this rickety old mule-pulled wagon had taken its' place.

The Jarl hadn't mentioned that detail.

It was two weeks ago that Jarl Redjak Ossun, in his subtly threatening way, had tasked you with the hunting of a dangerous criminal fleeing to the north. The man, one Caylus Kannik, was convicted of treason, murder, larceny, theft, and a half dozen other crimes that took nearly a minute to run through. It seemed unlikely that any man could commit so many sins in one fell swoop - but so assured the Jarl, that he must be detained or killed in the highest priority.

Now, you are joined by several other mercenaries with various connections to the Jarl and his interests, along with five of the vicious Armebrost - the elite crossbow militia of Beregos, commanded by Baron Orkney of Betrolgar. This cadre of four hunters is led by a grizzled old captain named Sammael, who smokes incessantly on rolled cigars and drinks grog like water. Few would do well to underestimate this functioning alcoholic, however - his shot with a crossbow is legendary.

"Can't these damned mules move any faster?" mutters the captain, looking over the lot of you and his four soldiers, one of whom is steering the wagon.

"They're tired, captain. Afraid they'll only get more tired in this fucking snow."

Indeed, when the new year had dawned yesterday, a bitter winter storm had settled over the wilderness of Dalriver Barony. The snow came in waves, not heavy enough to force them into shelter, but inconvenient enough to slow the path, tire the horses and make everyone colder and wetter.

[...]

The night drags on.

To the southeast, the silhouetted mountains of the Croal Peaks shine in the moonlight. Several of the Armebrost had been up this way a few months past, hunting spies and criminals and...humble peddlers and merchants, who sometimes ventured through her foothills on their way from hated Valkur.

"Big fuckin' trolls." was the agreed upon condition of the Croal Peaks.
"Remember that blueskinned fucker, with the snag tooth? Menjendis be damned, I lost sixteen bolts in his arse."

"Only because you were aimin' for his arse, and not his head." quipped his fellow.

The soldiers laughed sarcastically, and then went back to their brooding.

You were expected to arrive at your destination this evening, if captain Sammael's sense of distance and time could be believed. The criminal, Caylus Kannik, was thought to have fled this way toward the Valkur border. The Armebrosti were rather unhappy about the prospect of pursuing him beyond their territory of Beregos… the realm of Valkur was openly in contempt of Beregos, and her various militias would have very few qualms about skinning a few ‘Beregosi dogs’ alive and hanging them over the gates of her most prized and notorious border town, Kethuna.

With very few leads to follow in the wilderness, captain Sammael is leading you towards an infamous inn, known as Ottolenghi’s Wheelhouse. The captain described it as a ‘shit-hovel, where the lowest breed of man plies Beregosi secrets and betrays Armebrost patrols to the Valkurian dogs in exchange for coppers and silvers. Chief among the filth, Ottolenghi the wordbroker himself’.

“Hopefully old Ottolenghi has a lady or two for sale. And none of them elder beasts he was peddlin’ last month.” says one of the men, cradling his wickedly curved crossbow in his lap. The others laugh, but captain Sammael’s face remains deadpan.

“Won’t be that kind of visit, Nelf. I’m not convinced we won’t burn the place to the ground before the evening’s through, and Otto with it. Speaking of…”

Sammael points ahead of the wagon, where a small hill drifting with snow bends to the left, revealing torchlight and wagons cradled in the shadow of a massive three-storey inn.

[…]

Your wagon pulls up alongside half a dozen others, near the stables. The smell of tobacco and roasting meats fills the air, and there is a liveliness here in the middle of the wilderness that you haven’t sensed in many days.

Men loiter around the perimeter of the impressive inn, which is three storeys tall and boasts enormous windows that flicker with candlelight.

A stablehand approaches your wagon, and Sammael flips him a copper before the whole lot of you dismount, your boots crunching in the snow.

“So lads, how are we handling this?” mutters the captain, as the stableboy leads the mules away.

A man stumbles out of the ditch beside you, retching violently into the fresh powder. Beyond him, several violet-tinted lanterns sway on a lamp-post. The door to the inn beyond opens, letting more light and music spill out for a moment before it closes again.

Nelf spits, cradling his crossbow. “We walk in, an’ ask for Otto. Same as always?”

The captain looks at you, and the other men.

“Nah. He probably already knows we’re here. Probably slinking into whatever hole he hides in when the Armebrost come round. I don’t have any time for his fucking games today. We go in with bows.”

The others look at him, raising their eyebrows. “With bows? In the middle of Ottolenghi’s fucking wheelhouse?” says another, Stanus.

Captain Sammael stares him down, until you can see each of them produce their crossbows in hand.

“Bows it is.” mutters the Armebrosti.

Sammael looks to you, and the other mercenaries in the group.

“Well, sellswords. Time to sing for the Jarl’s supper. There’s an entry round the side, that leads into the scullery. An entry out back that leads into the storeroom. And the front fucking door. Armebrost, we’re taking the front fucking door. Where are you lot going?”

====================================

Ok lads, welcome to Stars Over Artda.

Present are Coyote, Xander, Rholf, Amon, and Syrillian - along with 4 Armebrost and captain Sammael

You find yourselves outside of Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse, a massive inn in northern Dalriver where Captain Sammael Of The Armebrost believes you’ll find information on Caylus Kannik.

The target is Otto himself, the Wordbroker. The armebrost are going through the front door, and you’ve been offered one of two breaching paths - through the side door into the scullery, or the rear door into the storehouse.

Feel free to role play a bit here, but make sure I have an answer about which door you’re planning on charging into.

Also, there are extra crossbows in the wagon if any of you want one. These are Beregosi Black Crossbows, +1 masterwork weapons that fire an additional 30 feet.

Beregosi Black Crossbow 100 gp
1d10+1 damage 19-20/×2 150 ft. 8 lbs.

Feel free to take one if you wish.

The Master


Last edited by The Master on Mon Jan 02, 2017 2:32 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 02, 2017 2:32 pm

Amon Flowinggale looks to the men around him. With the possible exception of Prince Santiago, he didn't know any of them, and didn't trust them at his back. He wouldn't have much choice in the matter, however, so he put his faith in their lust for coin or a pat on the head from the Jarl that they would do as ordered.

Amon had hunted many such people as the man they were after tonight in his time since fleeing from his parents' coddling. He would run. Very few stand and fight. So where would he run to? Ordinarily, Amon could predict with some accuracy where someone would flee based on what he knew of them, and set up an ambush. But Amon knew nothing about this man save for what had been on the wanted poster.

'Most people would flee out the back door on pure instinct...' Amon thought. 'But this man is known as 'The Wordbroker,' which would seem to indicate that he is not unintelligent. If he can think beyond his base instincts for a moment, then he will probably avoid the back door, which means he will choose...'

"I'll take the scullery egress." Amon said and started walking in that direction, not waiting for a response.

He stole a glance over his shoulder at Santiago. Amon had hoped that he would have had an opportunity to speak with his old friend at some point before today, but the journey had never offered enough privacy for Amon to be comfortable speaking plainly. Amon had never even removed his mask, so he couldn't be sure that Santiago had even recognized him. Amon thought he noticed the wayward prince staring at Amon's eyes with curiosity, as if trying to place them, but nothing had ever come of it. Hopefully the chance to speak in private would present itself soon.

Amon studied the scullery door. For a moment, he considered placing caltrops outside the door to catch the man on his way out, but decided against it. If the soldiers burst through the front door with weapons drawn, people will run in panic, and it would likely be an innocent scullery maid or dish boy that would find the spikes in their feet rather than his quarry. Amon looked around and made his way to the deepest shadows available. He drew an arrow and readied it in his bow. If the man was smart enough to avoid the back entrance, this is where he would emerge, and Amon would have a very nasty surprise waiting for him.

"Don't disappoint me..." Amon grumbled quietly to himself.
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: The Winter the Wheel and the Whitworgen   Mon Jan 02, 2017 3:39 pm

The Winter the Wheel and the Whitworgen


The darkened treeline that punctuated the Whitworgen wood stood in silence, blurred by the bumpy motion of the carriage. As the wintery wood spoke no words, so too did the cloaked figure remain silent. A practice that the figure hoped would catch on. It did not, nearly a week’s worth of captain Sammael’s drunken blighting and complaints beat the ears of all in the cabin. There was surely better company somewhere in Ost that one could keep.

Xander wished he was somewhere else… But the Orders he carried were clear. He remembered this was the only way.

Five days was enough time to carefully study all those in the cabin. -Sidelong glances through secluded cowl.

A clutch of militia men, brutes the lot of them. Brutish … and deadly with those inky as pitch crossbows they carried. Then there was the charming aforementioned Captian Sammael.  A man that could be counted on to murder without question, Stink like a rotting sow and bark orders like a man with a hair trigger.

...And there were these others…

A bearded ruddy faced man with kind mischievous eyes. The kind that betrayed inner warmth, as well as his love of trouble. He carried a cane, yet had no signs of a limp.

A fresh faced young man who had the look of an experienced traveler.

A mountain of a man, sat in the carriage like a bolder tilting the whole cabin to one side. He was old and weathered, skin like stone. He wore a thousand yard stare that was unflinching a look that was off-putting and impenetrable. His adornments looked primitive and effective.  He must be a tribesmen of sorts.

Then there masked man trapped brown and green.  His arms were that of a skilled archer and rogue. The mask and hood hid his identity, a move Xander could appreciate. His shimmering, keen eyes were unmistakably Elven.

As the cloaked figure studied the persons in the cabin with almost sheepishly form. He hoped quietly that neither softness of his skin and the kindness in his eyes were noticed.



Quote :
“Well, sellswords. Time to sing for the Jarl’s supper. There’s an entry round the side, that leads into the scullery. An entry out back that leads into the storeroom. And the front fucking door. Armebrost, we’re taking the front fucking door.”


Xander picked up one of the ebony bows and a clutch of bolts before exiting the cabin. Clasping it to the unfamiliar beltloop. He found himself thinking... "What would Xander Pzul Do..."

His boots crunched into the mixture of trodden snow and mud outside of Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse before himself wheeling around to the back door.

Nestling into a copse of bushes next to the backdoor he made an effort to go hide. He searched his back around the belt looking patting himself down for the sap he carried, while he searched his mind for a description of the Wordbroker. Xander waited for the calamity that would surely ensure the Armebrosti’s blunt approach.

While he sat crouched the chill of the night started to nip and thoughts of warmth and home teased his mind before remembering that such a place no longer existed.


12 Stealth 1d20+6
10 Knowledge 1d20 +2 Otto the Wordbroker



Last edited by Xander Pzul on Mon Jan 02, 2017 7:07 pm; edited 6 times in total
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PostSubject: The Winter the Wheel and the Whitworgen   Mon Jan 02, 2017 3:39 pm

The member 'Xander Pzul' has done the following action : Roll Dice


'D20' : 6, 8
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: A Wild-Goose chase   Mon Jan 02, 2017 4:37 pm

Syrillian sighed as he listened to the captain, it was a goose chase. And he only hoped that their hunches were correct about this "Wordbreaker." Syrillian sat comfortably in the back of the wagon. Years of this had stoned his body to the rugged and coarseness of bumping roads and rough wood. He hadn't expected this many men for a hunt but all the more he was glad there were. Gazing around he had never made his  acquaintance Around these parts.

Along with the amount of men, a blabbering mouth was also not expected. The jarl hadn't mentioned that they would have a jester on board with them; However a deadly one at that. The crossbows they held seemed fit for killing and so did their wielders. From them he looked toward the others around him. Many of them cloaked themselves in some way or form, one had a cane? Surely someone with a disability wouldn't be on this trip. Then there was the big one and was he ever a big one Syrillian guesstimated that it would take at least 50 drinks to get him wasted.

Syrillian wasn't sure how to feel about the one in the mask though judging from the bow he guessed elven decent though had no proof. The last one was mostly covered aswell and so Syrillian didn't stare as to cause attention.

Slowly their ride had slowed to a fault and Syrillian lifted his head to listen to the captain Sammael give their options. Instinctively he unsheathed both his daggers from his waist and twirled them in hand. He watched as the others walked to where they thought would be best to be.

Syrillian made his way to the back locating the back door and then pressed against the wall a few feet from it to avoid potentially getting hit by it if it flung open.

Stealth
13+1=14


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PostSubject: A Wild-Goose chase   Mon Jan 02, 2017 4:37 pm

The member 'Syrillian' has done the following action : Roll Dice


'D20' : 13
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 02, 2017 6:51 pm

Rholf had sat in the wagon without moving much. The head of his weapon rested on the floor and teetered hither and yon, much like he did. It was a quiet ride for him. He studied the others briefly, but otherwise kept to himself. "Soft skins in their adornment. Cowards and their crossbows," thought Rholf. He did not see the appeal of such armor, he was lucky to have the rough chain shirt cobbled together from his previous kills.

A mish-mash of orc, dwarf and goblin chainmail laid on his shoulders in layers and draped over his chest. The furs from large beasts covered that. And on top of the furs was a dense layer of snow. Regardless, he was comfortable. The soft rocking of his weapon slowly ceased as they arrived at their destination. "I will take the side entrance," he said while dropping from the wagon onto the snow covered ground. He hefted his weapon and twisted the handle in his hands.

The head from Mountainfall spun once. The wrought iron spikes moved the falling snowflakes. The haft came to rest on Rholf's shoulder and he trudged off. "Any of you are welcome to join me," he said quietly.
______________________________
Actions:
Rholf will take the Side Entrance.
He will wait for someone to join him if they choose to do so.
Stealth (13+1= 14) and Perception (18+5= 23) Rolls made.


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Mon Jan 02, 2017 6:52 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Rolls plus Modifiiers)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 02, 2017 6:51 pm

The member 'Rholf Rhosgor' has done the following action : Roll Dice


#1 'D20' : 13

--------------------------------

#2 'D20' : 18
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Coyote

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:44 am

Normally, when one thought about how a prince would travel, they'd imagine lavish carriages pulled by decorated horses, colorful banners waving quietly in the sweet summer wind, the only sound being the gentle rolling of wheels and the horse's horsed hooves clopping peacefully over a cobbled road. Not some crammed, dirty wagon pulled by mules, filled with equal parts filth, sellsword and soldier dredging through the dirty, off-road snow.

Indeed, it was quite a far cry from what he was used to, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. Salvatore left his nation for many reasons- one of which was to simply experience the world and it's people outside the militant, gun-filled bubble of Thaycia. What was this if not his wish granted? Still, throughout most of the trip, he was quiet. He was performing maintenance on his guns and armor, making sure they'd perform well in this weather and conditions. That is not to say the lad was standoffish, mind you! He came well prepared with alcohol and rations to share with those around him- The Armebrosti, the sellswords, and especially the captain.

The conditions were rough, but the handsome young gunman seemed to be all but immune to the dreariness in the air. He'd tell tales of travel and play games of cards and dice with the others as well, always managing to win a few coins when a few coins were out to win. It was as if he was treating the whole trip as if it was just another night in a tavern- Albeit a damp, stuffed, odious one- And not a mission to kill a man.

~

As the wagon pulled up outside of the wheelhouse, Sal would tuck away his cards. He didn't even bother to collect the few coppers he won off the Armebrosti, instead standing and stepping out, gun in tow over his shoulder. He'd look at the Wheelhouse with a bit of a discerning eye, casing what he could of the place as the captain yapped commands and direction.

As Sal- known only as "Coyote" to most here- attempted to decide which entry to take, he'd spot the masked fellow heading towards the scullery. Though it was strange, Coyote swore that he as familiar... Taking this as direction, he'd follow after the large man and the masked man, taking up position outside the scullery. He'd slowly unsling his gun and load it- One can never be too safe out here- and slowly moved to cover, allowing for the large man to lead the way.

He'd eye the snow outside of the Scullery for tracks- Just to see how much foot traffic this entrance got.

(3 Rolls- 1st is Stealth, 2nd is Perception, 3rd is Survival.)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:44 am

The member 'Coyote' has done the following action : Roll Dice


#1 'D20' : 15, 20, 11, 18, 14, 7, 2, 16, 19

--------------------------------

#2 'D20' : 1, 17, 4, 11, 16, 13, 6, 15

--------------------------------

#3 'D20' : 8, 4, 17, 9, 11, 7, 1
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Coyote

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:45 am

(Alright, I gooned that up, so let's take the first three rolls since that makes the most sense.
23 Stealth, 28 Perception, 18 Survival)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 10:22 am

Swiftly, you and the other mercenaries swoop past the drunken men that loiter the perimeter of the inn, making your way around the western perimeter of the building. Ottolenghi’s Wheelhouse is an impressive inn - the craftsmanship is varied and interesting, speaking to many renovations and additions over the past years. Through the windows high above, you can see the flickering candlelight of patrons tucking in for the night… perhaps, not as alone as they arrived.

The woods thicken around the western side of the inn, and the snow deepens. Fewer lanterns light this part of Otto’s clearing.

Amon takes up an overwatch spot, with eyes on the scullery entrance as Rholf and Coyote fall into place alongside the door. From this position, the archer can also see reasonably towards the north of the building, where Xander and Syrillian have circled around to the rear entrance.

“AUGHHH!” the shout echoes out from the front of the wheelhouse, faintly but with purpose. It’s clear the Armebrost have started their engagement.

As Xander swoops around to the north, his mind reels on the topic of Ottolenghi the Wordbroker…

[Knowledge, Xander]

The name had crossed his ears… several weeks ago, when he first met the man who had changed his destiny. The other…assassin had spoken about a trip northbound, and an evening at Otto’s. It was near the start of their conversation, however…and so the details of his visit had been obscured by the nervousness that Xander felt in that moment…

[…]

Coyote scans the footprints outside the door [perception], his keen eyes informing him that this door didn’t receive an enormous amount of traffic. The footprints in the snow only traversed about 15 feet from the entrance, and then right back in. Perhaps the kitchen staff wandering outside for a pipe and some fresh air.

Rholf stares at the door, instinctively pulling back [perception] as it swings open violently.

“FUCK! GO! FUCK!” screeches a young chef, his apron strings trailing behind him and a cleaver in his hand, as he explodes through the scullery door charging into the frozen night with nary a scrap of fur on his back. He is followed by another young chef, and the sounds beyond the door inform Rholf and Coyote that there are more coming.

[…]

Syrillian sidles up to the door, undetected. There are no others back here, though he can hear Xander slip silently into the treeline to the north.

He tries the door quietly - locked.

===============================

Ok lads - I’ve populated the battle map. We’re going round by round here friends, so now that you’re on the map please observe your movement speed, as well as restrictions on standard actions, free actions, etc.

This is round 1 - CO/RR/AM are on the west side, XA and SY are on the north - SY your door is locked (DC12 lockpicking check, or DC 18 STR check to break it down)

-The Master



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Coyote

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 11:12 am

Coyote watches the man burst through with the knife, narrowing his gaze as he expects the cleaver-wielding man to come at them, Thankfully, instead of throwing his life away, the man charged into the night, fleeing. Hearing more coming, Coyote moves to the front of the door, leveling his gun at whoever rears their head into his line of fire.

"On the ground!" He demands, should he see anyone trying to make a break for it. "I don't want to have to put a bullet in yer skulls if I don't have to!"

Rolling Intimidate (Bonus: +10 - The die rolled in the Battlemap thread was an 11. I accidentally posted there... So 21 Intimidate. I can reroll if the GM says I need to, lmao.)
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 5:40 pm

Amon listened carefully, though he needn't have bothered. Once the commotion started inside, it would have taken a great effort of indifference not to hear it. Amon glanced to the back door, but otherwise kept his eyes fixed on the scullery exit.

Amon half drew his bow as he heard the running footsteps making for the scullery door. He turned his body to the side, preparing to aim, when a cook wielding a meat cleaver burst out of the door and ran into the night. Amon watched him run for a moment, not willing to let a man with a blade get behind him, no matter how innocent he seemed, then turned his attention back to the scullery door.

As Amon's attention turned back, Santiago moved to stand in front of the door and begin shouting at the people within. 'Dammit, Santiago!' Amon cursed to himself. 'We want to draw him out this exit, not make him run from it!' Amon began to growl to himself. 'This is why I prefer to work alone...'

To top it all off, now Santiago was blocking Amon's line of sight. Amon needed to get Santiago's attention, but did not want to reveal his position to anyone inside to do so. Amon drew an arrow, aimed carefully, and fired into the door frame next to Santiago's head. When the startled prince turned around, Amon jerked his head forcefully to the side, indicating for Santiago to stop blocking the door.
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 5:45 pm

Syrillian pulled his hand from the door knob and sighed. "Break it down...or wait" he thought to himself. The door seemed pretty sturdy and he wasn't sure how much leverage he would get while in the snow. Thinking harder and not smarter Syrillian decided to try his luck.

As best he could he trudged a way through the snow lining himself up with the door. Taking a deep breathe he readied himself sheathing his blades. "Would rather not stab myself." He whispered patting himself off. "Let's give it a go." He said as he pressed into the ground beneath him. Shooting foward Syrillian picked up speed as he aimed himself at the door near where the lock would be.

Str Check

12+4= 16


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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 5:45 pm

The member 'Syrillian' has done the following action : Roll Dice


'D20' : 12
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:25 pm

The Croal peaks rolled out of the Whitworgen wood behind the Xander, dwarfing him, the in and the frosty pines. He dreamed that from the peaks of those snowy reaches that all the doings of men must seem meaningless.

Like they weren't happening at all.

Ahead a rising violence that was as brutish and inexact as the men that carried it out. A soft word and a well placed coin was cleaner and more effective than raised voices and split blood.

But this was their way. What a shame.

The figure in the brush held it's breath as fresh faced traveler readied his body to ram the closed portal.

His form sprung forth with tenacious enthusiasm. ** THUD **

Xander winced at attempt, somehow sharing in the pain that echo'd.

The spirit was willing, yet the oak stood firm.

The cloaked figure emerged from the brush pulling from beneath it's shroud a leather pouch bearing the the ornate and coloured stitching. Azure and golden finger work that wove and danced in to letters SM.

Drawing close to the door, the figure placed a gloved hand softly on Syrillian's shoulder that made contact with the unrelenting aperture.

"Let me try" the voice sounded out strange and obscurely. like the wind whipping through dry reeds.


Xander knelt at the door drawing a series of small implements from the ornate pouch and softly placed them in to the key hole and let a long breath out as he manipulated the tools.


**Click**

Rolling the simple mechanism of this backcountry's lock, the skilled hands moved the tumblers until it finally it surrendered.

Xander twisted the knob and pushed the door open, motioned to the fresh faced traveler with a gesture that indicated "after you".


Lock pick 28 1d20+9
Perception 6 1d20 +2


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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:25 pm

The member 'Xander Pzul' has done the following action : Roll Dice


'D20' : 19, 4
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Rholf Rhosgor

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:33 pm

The barbarian was surprised at the door opening and two smaller sized soft skins emerged in a panic. They reminded him of fawns trying to escape a pack of wolves. "The one called Coyote has them,"he thought. Rholf grabbed the door handle and prepared to slam it shut on the next person to attempt escape from the inn.
_____________
Actions:
Rholf will let Coyote handle the two that ran out.
Rholf will slam the door shut on the next person.
Strength Check: 18+5= 23


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:35 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Strength check)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:35 pm

Strength Check
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Tue Jan 03, 2017 6:35 pm

The member 'Rholf Rhosgor' has done the following action : Roll Dice


'D20' : 18
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Wed Jan 04, 2017 4:18 pm

Coyote’s gun flashes starkly [intimidate], the young chef whitening as the mechanical weapon lines up between his eyes.

“Gods no!” he shrieks meekly, dropping to the ground and burying himself in the snow. Beyond, Coyote can see other staff brimming at the door, dropping to the ground or tripping over barrels.

Rholf looks around the corner into the hallway, where a half dozen kitchen staff are cowering between barrels of salt meats and spices. The smell is intoxicating - something good is cooking inside.

The barbarian’s eye catches on a small room, perhaps forty feet down the hall on the north side. Three men have just stepped out of it, each of them with sword in hand…

A fourth emerges from behind them, a lightly bearded man with a mop of brown hair. He looks at the staff kneeling in the hallway, and takes off running around the corner to the east…

[…]

Syrillian’s shoulder smarts as he steps back in the snow, the gentle click of the tumbler signalling that Xander’s efforts had succeeded.

The door swings open, into a darkened storeroom lit by a single lantern. You can see an assortment of barrels and crates stacked high, sacks of flour piled atop potatoes and other root vegetables. The smell is earthy and thick, rope bags of cured meats hanging from the ceiling.

Suddenly, the door opposite you swings open. A bearded man with a mop of brown hair bursts through the door, freezing in place when he sees you. His eyes widen…

=============================

Ok lads - those of you on the west end. The cooks and staff have surrendered, though the three men beyond them are armed and looking at you cautiously. (M1-3)

The brown-haired man booked it the second he saw you, heading up to the storeroom… where Syrillian and Xander are waiting…(Mx)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Wed Jan 04, 2017 4:45 pm

Amon watched cautiously as the chaos began to unfold. 'As subtle as a wyvern in heat...' He lamented as he listened to the screams and the sound of chaos. The cooks and assorted working hands held their various blades, but made no move to attack. Good. Amon didn't really want to hurt anyone besides their quarry. He remained, unmoving the shadow of the trees, and held his bow half-drawn, ready to fire.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Wed Jan 04, 2017 6:50 pm

Coyote eyed the staff that dropped and let out a small sigh of relief. Despite his rousing voice and the cold metal in his hands, he wasn't some crazed Gunman. (I'm not a crazed gunman, dad, I'm an assassin.) His eyes would scan those on the ground, searching for his mark... But none were among them. As he peered down the hallway and saw what Rholf saw, he'd roll his neck, keeping his gun leveled at them. "Weapons down." He demanded. "If you try anything stupid, you'll be dead."
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Wed Jan 04, 2017 7:34 pm

Syrillian rubbed his shoulder a bit before looking over as the cloaked one fiddled with the door and it swung open. "After you." The man said and Syrillian gave a wide faced grin. "I loosened it for ya." He said while rubbing the back of his head. Then he heard the opposite door click as it opened to show a more grizzly man he looked like he had seen a ghost when he caught eyes with them. Instinctively Syrillian brandished his daggers and walked foward into the room.

"Stay there if you know what's best for you." Syrillian said as he approached the man. "What's your name? And no funny business, else I'll cut ya."
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Wed Jan 04, 2017 9:36 pm

The sweet scent of freshly spiced meats wafted through the open door and into the nights icy air. The tender morsels sang from in the kitchen, hitting a particular pitch for those who'd dined soley upon hard bread and iron brew on their journey.

Hungry mouths would have to wait.

From where he stood, aside the opened portal peering in, the cloaked figure could see the bearded man burst into the dimly lit storeroom His swath of of brown locks, haphazard and mussed betrayed the frenzy of his retreat.

A silvery clasp danced in the subtle light, its exactly detail still obscured. (Whats this clasp!?)

Xander smiled softly beneath his face covering at the man with the bruised shoulders brazen stand.

Perhaps he would heed his order... perhaps not.

Xander gripped reached into a pouch and drew back a fist of small rolled lead pellets.

a simple tool for freeing fleeing foes from their feet.

If the man pushed towards the door, they would clatter into the path of the disheveled mans escape.

Readied action, ball barring toss. slight of hand 27 1d20 +8
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 9:54 am

Rholf's grip on the door eased. It appeared that no one else would be running through unaware of his presence. The barbarian's large frame filled the door as he stepped through and called out to the swordsman in the north hall.

"Drop your weapons!" he roared.

He tightened the grip on his weapon and stood in the hall about twenty feet from them.
___________
Actions:
Rholf moved into the hall.
Rholf will Intimidate. (Results: 7+5= 12)


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Thu Jan 05, 2017 9:56 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Roll Results plus Mod)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 10:23 am

Coyote’s voice is lost on the wind [intimidate], the gun-toting slinger pointing his barrel straight down the hallway. The men, fifty feet away, must not have heard him.

Amon’s keen eyes watch Rholf pivot in the snow, his enormous frame filling the doorway as the barbarian charges into the hall…

[…]

Syrillian stalks purposely into the storeroom, kicking up a thin dusting of flour from the floor that dances and flutters in the singular lamplight. It is much warmer in here, in stark constrast to the frigid cold of outside. New sweat beads beneath his armor.

The man stares at him for a heartbeat. He is lanky, with mussed brown hair that falls to his shoulders, and a styled short beard. A scar cuts across his right eye, a verdant green that betrays his surprise at seeing you.

But Syrillian’s words fail to stop him in his tracks. [Intimidate]

“Damn.” he says, pivoting on his foot and charging back the other way.



*thud*



The sound of a thousand marbles scattering on the ground follows the faintest of thuds, as a bag of ball bearings comes undone beneath the feet of the fleeing man.

“WOAH” he utters in surprise, his feet cutting out from beneath him… [M? Dex save vs. DC 10)

He crashes down on the ground in a heap, ball bearings clattering into the scullery beyond him. They roll under tables, and down the wooden floor into the enormous, twenty-foot wide hearth that looks into the dining area to the south, where an enormous lamb is hanging and cooking over hot coals.

The man cries out in pain as his jaw cracks off the floor, the wind stolen from his lungs.

[…]

Rholf charges in through the hallway, the kitchen staff scattering and screaming in terror at the intimidating size of the barbarian. The three men beyond, however, seem unconvinced by his shouting [intimidate].

“Who in the hells are you!” shouts the forward one, drawing up his falchion and charging toward Rholf!

[M3 vs. Rholf, hit!]
[4 damage to Rholf]

The blade cuts into him, a thin line of blood spattered across an arm as the other two men charge into battle alongside!

On Rholf’s left flank, the barbarian watches as another assailant kicks over a barrel, sending it crashing down the hall…[M2 DEX check vs. barrel]

The wooden casks crack and groan as they split out onto the floor, an intensely fishy-smelling brine spilling everywhere as pounds of pickled herring slop out onto the ground. Behind him, the gasps of the cornered kitchen staff punctuate the overwhelming scent.

[See below for rules on affected squares]

[M2 vs. Rholf, miss!]

The barbarian deftly sidesteps the following attack, turning his attention to his other flank, where another assailant has perched himself atop a crate of goods. He brings his falchion down…!

[M3 vs. Rholf, miss!]

Standing in a pool of pickled herring, the barbarian fights on. With every step, he crushes a smelly fish beneath his boot.

Glory.

==================================

** Any affected ‘pickled herring’ square (light green, battle map) requires a DEX check (DC 9) to enter (each square!) or fall prone.

Xander and Syrillian, your quarry is prone on the floor.

-The Master
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 11:44 am

"Aargh! I warned you..." rumbled Rholf (Free Action: Rage!). The barbarian's weapon dropped into both hands after the swordsman's cut. Rholf remained in front of the swordsman and brought his weapon high and then crashed it down upon the man!

The swordsman buckled under the sudden blow. His spine snapped like a dry twig, followed by the crunch of his pelvis and the gnarled eruption of bone from his legs. Oggi was no more. Rholf twisted the spiked end of his weapon while kicking the man's remains free. The barbarian took a thunderous step forward.

"Surrender."

_____________________
Actions:
Rholf Attacks M3.
(Attack: d20+10= 27/Damage: 2d6+9= 18
If M3 is killed, Rholf will move 5ft into M3's square.


Last edited by Rholf Rhosgor on Thu Jan 05, 2017 11:54 am; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Updated Attack and Damage Rolls, and now with more Flavor!)
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 7:25 pm

Coyote watches as the large man cleaves into one of the assailants. He gawps for a moment- Always had a deep respect for those that could simply rend a man in twain. "Holy shit." He muttered before catching himself, seeing the other two start to try to attack Rholf. "Not on my watch." He mutters, starting to fire into the room.

(Will update post with roll results in a moment.)

Coyote doesn't get a chance to hear the Barbarian's demand for surrender. He acts too quickly, popping a shot with a crack of smoky thunder into M1, dropping them instantly. He steps into view of the second one, loading and firing a shot in the blink of an eye.

The second one gets even less of a chance- the rounded bullet from Coyote's gun impacts the man right above his left eye, splattering blood and brain matter all over the wall behind him. He falls, a smoking, bloody crater left where the face of a man once was.

(Grit point to add +Cha to damage, Rapid shot, 12 to hit the 1st target (vs touch), Nat 20 on the second (vs touch) 5 ft step between shots, reload as a free.)
(9 damage to M1, just enough to drop. M2 takes a total of 30 damage.)


Last edited by Coyote on Thu Jan 05, 2017 7:38 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 7:34 pm

Coyote stands there for a moment, loading his gun. He looks up. "Wait." He says after a moment. "Were you calling for their surrender? I... I didn't hear you." He sounds at least a little ashamed of the potentially un-needed killing of the two men!
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 9:53 pm

Syrillian sighed as he watched the burly man turn to run and immediately was sent feet first into the air and landed on his face. Syrillian then had heard a blast as if a part of the inn had exploded "What was that?" He thought. His focus was brought back by the groans of the one eyed goon on the floor.

"I warned ya." Syrillian said walking foward taking one of his daggers he brought it down and sunk it into the mans hand till the hilt hit skin pinning it to the wooden floor below him. A roar of despair rang out as the man writhed in pain squirming feverishly and grasping at his twitching hand.

Syrillian looked over his shoulder to where the cloaked figure stood "Good job."
_____________________
Actions:
Syrillian Attacks Mx.
(Attack: 20+6= 26/Damage (CRIT): 3+5= 8x2 [16])
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Thu Jan 05, 2017 10:24 pm

Coyote wrote:
"Wait." He says after a moment. "Were you calling for their surrender? I... I didn't hear you."

Rholf grunted in response.

The barbarian looked at the sudden mess that erupted from the two other swordsman. The familiar sound of thunder echoed in Rholf's mind. He turned to Coyote. "That thing you carry. How does it make that sound?" he asked.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 12:02 am

Amon listened the screams mix with the clash of steel and the sound of gunfire. The din was practically deafening, even out here. It must be ear splitting to those inside. This was all completely alien to him: The excess violence. The noise. He was accustomed to quick, clean, and quiet. There is almost never violence because the target is dead before the fighting starts. Among the shouts and clatter, Amon couldn't tell in any of the pained screams had come from his allies or not. He didn't believe so. He was tempted to follow the others inside, but resisted the urge. From this vantage point he could see both the entrances as well as several windows. If Amon went inside, and their quarry somehow got past his allies, there would be no one to stop him from running. They would have to track him down the hard way in the best case scenario, and he might escape in the worst. No. Better to hold his ground and guard the exits. He took several deep breaths to steady his nerves. He usually wasn't this tense, but the violence permeated the atmosphere, and his adrenaline was pumping hard from the smell of blood and the sound of fighting.

He bit down his fight or flight responses and concentrated sweeping his eyes over every door and window in view. No one would get past him that wasn't meant to.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 12:48 am

"Black powder." Coyote would respond, loading the round. "A specialty of mine. I light it, and out explodes a bullet wherever I aim." He says, walking forward inside. "That includes any of you lot on the ground here." He says down at the cowering workmen. "You see this man with the hole in his head? That'll be you if you try anything stupid." He'd stand next to Rholf. "All of you, stand up and get in this herring-covered corner. If any of you know where Ottolenghi is, tell us and you'll have a much better day than the ones that don't."

He points his gun down at the group. "Any of you boys feel like making mistakes, or are you gonna listen to Coyote?"

It was kinda hard to be intimidating when then smell of pickled herring filled the room, but Coyote hoped that none of them would argue after seeing what just happened.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 1:44 pm

A powerful explosion rang out from the open portal, echoing past where Syrillian stood over the fallen man, followed by the sloshing sound that that a cart running over a rotten pumpkin might make. Wet bits collapsing into semi firm rind.

The cloaked form took a step toward the two men, when Syrillian decened on the prone man, driving his dagger through the man’s hand pinning it to the floor.

The cloaked form stopped abruptly.

“Nice work” Syrillian quipped, momentarily breaking his focus on his cruel work to look back at the cloaked figure.  His kind eyes had vanished. They were cruel now,  vengeful.

The cloaked form’s stomach revolted at the sound of the slicing of tendons, turning at the sight of the man’s writhing.

“Why would you….”
The voice intoned, like winter winds whipping through reeds.

Xander strode to over to where was Syrillian  crouched,   placed a wet black boot in his rear and shoved him  with all his might out of the dusky storeroom , quickly closing the door and locking it.

( I assume there’s a strength contest here?  Bonus for surprize/flanked/sneak attack?)
(16) 1d20 +5

The cloaked form's hand disappeared beneath it's cloak, returning with a set of sturdy cold iron manacles...

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 2:07 pm

Syrillian turned back to the writhing man on the ground and would answer the man behind him; however before he could speak he felt a boot press against him and push him foward into the next room. Syrillian turned to face a locked door "Can I atleast get my dagger back?" He asked standing to wipe the dust off himself.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 2:19 pm

The door shut tight, the two were alone.

The room was lit by softly by a single flickering candle.

It danced in the wind, on the verge of being snuffed out.

The cloaked form shackled the man,  and carefully pulled the dagger out of his hand and pinned it beneath his belt.

He pulled the shackled man to his feet to meet his eye. "Are you Ottolenghi..? are you the Wordbroker…?" His voice distinctly softer and rushed, His eyes darting around the confused man's face.


He could feel the man trembling. Perhaps from the fear or the open knife wound, or the cold wind that whipped into the room once peaceful room.

Xander continued not waiting for an answer.

"We don't have long , Sammael and the Armebrosti are going to take you, there's nothing I can do about that-"

The cloak formed hesitated looking around.

"-if you help me I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this."

This man they seek Caylus Kannik, what has he done and why do they want him. the truth quickly please"

The voice pleaded with the suspected Wordbroker hurriedly through pursed lips like rushed prayed. while patient hands bandaged the man's puncture.

Diplomacy 9 1d20+7
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 3:59 pm

Coyote and Rholf stand in the stinking hallway, fish squishing beneath their feet. The scent of blood and the stuff of dying men mixes with the intensely savoury aroma, ensuring that it’ll be a long while before either of you eat pickled herring.

“Who…who are you?” stumbles one of the cooking staff in the corner, his eyes glued to the hole in the former assailants face.

At that moment the kitchen door around the corner, near the enormous oven, cracks open off its hinges as five crossbow-wielding men fan out around the prep area with military precision.

Sammael straightens up, looking down the hallway at the two of you, and then at Syrillian standing before the storehouse door.

He doesn’t miss a beat…

[…]

The brown haired man trembles with pain, his intense gaze fixated upon the cloaked figure. But even more than pain, confusion paints his face.

“Xander…what is this?” he says, watching as the assassin bandages his hand. His voice trembles, bassy notes of bewilderment present.

He pauses for a moment, considering Xander’s words.

“Yeah, the boy was here. With some old fool that thinks he’s the Rising Stag-”

*CRACK*

Xander steps backwards as the door flings open, splinters of wood raining down upon the floor as the Armebrost break into the storeroom, their crossbows trained upon Xander and Ottolenghi alike.

Sammael lowers his, nodding at the manacles placed over the captive in amusement.

“Ho ho ho. Ottolenghi my friend. You’ll have a rough go of it, pouring me a pint with those on.”

Otto looks darkly at the captain, saying nothing.

[…]

About an hour has passed.

The dining area of Ottolenghi’s wheelhouse has been evacuated, his patrons thrown out into the frigid night to find whatever shelter can be afforded by the stables outside. A few of the guests appeared in their nightclothes at the top of the enormous staircase leading to the dormitory, but promptly turned round and returned to their quarters upon witnessing the scene below.

Otto remains manacled to a wooden chair, at a table near the massive 20-foot wide hearth-stove that warms the dining area. Over fifty tables are spread out among the usually crowded floor, occupied now by the mercenaries and the Armebrost alone. Captain Sammael paces around Otto, drinking his fourth pint of dark red ale and enjoying the warmth of the flames.

The other Armebrost are set up around the perimeter, cradling their crossbows in their arms.

“Such a beautiful inn, Otto.” mutters Sammael loudly. “What was it? Your great-grandfather, gifted this property by Agminnon himself?  A shame that it attracts so much Valkurian filth, else it might be my favourite in all of Ost.”

Otto purses his lips, looking at Sammael with disdain.

“Far be it for me to question the whims of the Armebrost.” he says flatly, his baritone voice betraying his contempt. “But, was it the will of the blessed Jarl that you break down each and every door in my inn, murder three of my hired guards before my kitchen staff, maim my hand like a savage, and throw my patrons out into the snow like dogs? To what sin do I owe this ruinous treatment?”

Sammael chews upon the end of his cigar, lightning it promptly and taking a seat next to Otto.

“I am a humble hammer, Otto. A hammer that will crush, and maim, and shatter its way to truth in an increasingly confusing world. And you, my friend, happened to be in my path today. Nothing personal, I assure you.”

Otto stifles a scowl, and Sammael continues.

“Let us minimize any further damages to this historic landmark of our benevolent forefather. We are hunting a man, as I’m sure you know-“

“A boy.” Otto interrupts him purposely. Sammael purses his lips, and continues.

“A man named Caylus Kannik. Dangerous criminal, like most of your patrons. And I’m sure you found him passage to Valkur with one of your…business partners, as usual.”

Otto looks uncomfortable.

“…Fine, fine. Keep your ales cold and your women warm, Otto, and the Armebrost will allow your trading with the enemy to go unnoticed. Everything in life is a compromise, after all. But you will tell me of this man, and where he was headed. That…that, is not negotiable.”

The innkeeper swallows, nodding slowly. He speaks.

“The boy left last night, headed for Kethuna. He arrived that morning, with an older man…looked like they’d been riding for a week straight without sleep. He was about sixteen, I’d say… no older. Sad sack of a boy, looked like the long roads had broken him. The older one was…sharp, though. Intimidating man… I didn’t see much of his face. Half of it was scarred up with some sort of magic wound, crackling with a strange blue light. Only had one eye, if I remember right. Didn’t look at him much. A man like that either causes trouble, or has it chasing him down like a dog after meat. Looks like the latter.”

Sammael smokes on his cigar, listening intently.

“Anyway, knew he was a crazy old fool, because he was asking me questions about the Rising Stag. Valkur’s rife with legends and false histories about that old pile of stable shit… I’m sure you know. I don’t know how he knew it, but my nan in Vahoog was a wet nurse most of her life. Swears up and down that…”

He looks uncomfortable.

“She swears that she cared for the anointed babe almost twenty years ago now. It’s a crock, of course. But she believes it. And, I think that old man thinks that Caylus is him.”

Otto jingles his manacles behind his back, trying to get comfortable. Sammael takes another puff, asking,

“So they’re headed to Vahoog, then?”

The Armebrost nearby let out audible sighs. Crossing into Valkur would undoubtedly be trouble, and the Valkurian spies would likely bring word of their passing long before they arrived. They could expect to be hunted incessantly by the Kethunaan militia, as the head of an Armebrost would fetch a handsome gold reward with Duke Hoss.

Otto shrugs.

“Vahoog, maybe. But the old man was asking after another legend. Glacies Coronum.”

Sammael raises an eyebrow. “Agminnon’s tomb?”

Otto nods.

“You know of it, then. Yes, the Valkurians believe Agminnon’s Rest to be his false tomb. A monument to his greatness, but nothing more. They believe his real tomb, Glacies Coronum, lies in the Rime, the valley of hoarfrost.”

Sammael looks at him intently, stone faced and purposeful despite the ale burning in his belly. You can tell the captain could likely drink the whole cask, and still execute this interrogation.

“You don’t seem as dismissive of this legend, Otto. Why?”

Otto shakes his head, and speaks after a brief silence.

“Ehh… it is a legend. It’s mythical. Entertainment, Sammael. You know… joy. Hope. The human condition. You ought to explore the finer points, some day. Not all happiness slumbers at the bottom of a glass.”

Sammael laughs loudly, spilling his drink. He walks over to Otto, unshackling the man and handing the manacles to Xander.

“Is that what you tell your patrons, Otto! Bad for business. No wonder they’re all out in the snow!”

Otto cracks a smile.

[…]

The five of you are in the common room, awkwardly sitting at the same table where Otto had been recently interrogated. The guests that had been ejected slowly filter back into the dining area, still clutching their steins and bottles while they find their way to abandoned possessions and former seats.

Some even sit, and begin drinking again.

It isn’t long before Otto disappears into the back once more, clutching his hand and swearing. He shoots a murderous glance at Syrillian on the way out.

His traumatized Staff are nervously cleaning and repairing the place, while shooting glances at you and the Armebrost. Sammael disappears upstairs with the soldiers, taking them up to a room that he had taken a key for, from the wall behind the counter.

He returns a short time later, the blond captain guzzling another pint of red ale as he takes a seat opposite you. His eyes droop - perhaps the brew is finally getting the best of him.

“You see? Everyone, even the most bitter of enemies, has to drink under the same roof once in awhile. Some men kill you. Others drink with you. Most everything else is shit, anyways.”

Sammael takes another deep swig, his rambling quickly turning into nonsense. Beyond him, the great hearth licks flames up into the air and warms your skin. The smell of pickled herring, however, never really left.

“Tomorrow we ride for Valkur. I will go with the Armebrost, and you five will travel together. Somewhere, whether in Vahoog or the Rime, Caylus will arrive. And we…”

He burps.

“We, will be there to welcome him. So, tell me. Will you take the road to Vahoog? Or will you travel to the Rime? It makes no difference to me… though…”

He starts laughing drunkenly, his face reddened and spittle spraying from his mouth.

“…Though you’ll probably freeze to death if you choose the Rime!”

=====

OK guys. There’s some roleplaying opportunity here, obviously. And chiefly, a choice to be made - to Vahoog? Or to the Rime? Or perhaps somewhere else altogether?

Both of those places are in Valkur - a realm that is outwardly hostile to those of Beregos. The militias of Kethuna, the notorious border town, are actively hunting for any that would seek to pass into Valkur from Beregos. They are no more merciful than the Armebrost.

Either way, Sammael stole you one room key. You’re all bunking together tonight.

In a pretty hostile inn.

-The Master
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 4:37 pm

Syrillian caught a glance from Otto as he made his way to the back grasping his left hand. He didn't want to get physical, but circumstances arose and Syrillian kept his word as bond. Looking over to Xander he purses his lips.

Biting into the savory lamb he washed it down with a swig of ale. A full stomach was a blessing to which he would fill. When he swallowed he piped up clearing his throat.

"Xander, I'm uh. Sorry for what happened back there. Would you mind giving me my dagger back?" He asked holding his hand out
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Xander Pzul

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 6:23 pm

The cloaked figure searched Syrillian's visage for several moments- through narrowed eyes before producing the dagger, placing it on the table wordlessly.

When Syrillian reached for the dagger a voice interrupted, creaking from through the mask on the assassin's face.

"I didn't want you to kill him. thats' all. He was needed."

The words were hollow seeming to lack any kind of conviction, like the kisses of a lover with one foot out the door.

Xander gripped the pewter plate before him, piling it high with smoked lamb and exited the inn. His boot imprints lead a path toward the stables.
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Syrillian

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Fri Jan 06, 2017 8:24 pm

Syrillians hand hovered over his dagger pausing as he listened to Xander. Surely if Syrillian had wanted the man dead his dagger would have found a more, vital area, to sink into. Nontheless he retrieved his weapon and Deposited it back in its sheathe.

That Xander was a peculiar one, Syrillian wasn't sure what to picture behind the shadows of the cloak. However he wondered if Xander could show him how to pick a lock, Syrillian would rather save his body from future unneeded harm.

"So who made the bang?" Syrillian said through a mouth full of lamb after watching Xander leave.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sat Jan 07, 2017 6:24 am

Coyote ponders the decision between Vahoog and the Rime. Sure, the Rime potentially would freeze them solid, but that's also apparently where the legends of the Tomb was... He'd stroke his meticulously-groomed facial hair, only half-listening to Syrillian and Xander beside him. Imagine what respect the Armebrost would have for them, heading into the Rime...

His concentration was broken as Syrillian posed his question. "Ah, that may have been me." He muses. "Apologies for that- Some armed men came to attack my big friend here-" He laughs airily, thumping a hand on the Barbarian's shoulder. "I acted a tad too quickly and shot them before they had a chance to lay down their weapons and beg forgiveness from the big guy."

Coyote shakes his head. "I almost regret it- I designed my gun to punch through armor and strike with enough force to break metal, stone, anything in my way... And here I am, acting outta instinct, and killing men who're clad in leathers, men that ain't never had a chance to survive a shot. Shame, really."
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sat Jan 07, 2017 9:06 am

Rholf felt the hand thump against his shoulder and he nodded in agreement. "No regret. The fools did not listen the first time," rumbled the barbarian. He lifted his tankard of ale and drank deeply. "Your weapon was more merciful than mine," he said in between gulps. He wiped his maw with his bracer.

"What was that one's problem?" asked Rholf. He watched the cloaked figure walk out the door with a plate of food. He grabbed a fistful of lamb and slammed it into the split half loaf of bread and began eating. Bit of lamb and bread crumbs dropped onto the table and the floor while he chewed. Rholf reflected on Coyote's earlier comment. "Forgiveness?"

"Friend Coyote, where do you think we should travel next? We are done with this task it would seem," said Rholf with a mouthful of food.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sat Jan 07, 2017 9:49 am

"That's true. I don't have regret. It's just a damn shame is all."

Coyote wasn't drinking or eating at the time being, instead simply sitting with the group to speak. He had his own food and drink, and the smell of pickled herring was turning his stomach- No appetite right now.

"Yeah, forgiveness. For you to forgive them for their transgressions." Coyote thought a moment. "You know, to show they were sorry for making you angry." He said, putting it in simpler terms.

"As for where we should travel, I dunno about you lot... But I heard from those others that Glacies Coronum might lie within the Rime. I know we have our duties, but if what Otto was saying was true, our mark may already be on the way there. If we manage to get enough gear to survive the trek... Could head him off at the pass, so to speak."
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Amon Flowinggale

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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sat Jan 07, 2017 3:15 pm

Amon sat quietly. He would eat later. To do so now would mean removing his mask in front everyone, and he had no intention of doing that until he learned the measure of their worth, if even then. He piled a helping of food that he would save for later.

"It makes no difference to me which way we go, but I would much prefer setting up an ambush as opposed to nipping at fleeing heels like a hound chasing a fox." Amon said aloud. He didn't know if anyone was paying enough attention to him to hear, but he didn't really care. This was all part of the long game for him anyway, so it didn't matter to him where they went, so long as the trek didn't take them back THERE.

Amon glanced at Santiago. If nothing else, he needed to find a moment to speak with the man. He couldn't risk Santiago catching a glimpse of his face and accidentally calling him by his real name. Amon leaned back, and as always, he watched, and waited.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sat Jan 07, 2017 8:15 pm

Syrillian nodded his head trying not to show his confusion. "Guns will be guns." He said with a wave of his hand. "The hells a gun?" he thought to himself between bites.

"Well in any case I'm sure you did what you thought you had too." He quipped he then pondered over the big ones question.

"Ahh I'm sure he's fine he seems of the sturdy kind. As for where we should go, I've never bothered by the cold." He said scratching his chin.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Sun Jan 08, 2017 6:54 am

"Well, then! It seems we are in agreement." Coyote smiles a bit. "The Rime it is- provided we can equip ourselves with some gear to help us survive in the cold. Otherwise we'll just be walking up there to freeze." He looked to Syrillian, nodding a head towards where Xander went. "When you get a chance, tell your pal- I'm sure the Armebrosti are going to have him go with us."
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 09, 2017 1:51 am

"Ahh yes I'll uh. I'll go talk to him" Syrillian said standing from the table. He coughed to clear his throats then proceeded out the door. Tracks in the snow had been trampled through and forth making not easy to discern where some started and some ended. Scanning the area the clearer tracks and what seemed to be the freshest had lead to the stables.

Shrugging his shoulders he decided to follow those tracks. The stables were faintly lit a candescent flame flickered shadows from the walls. It reaked of horse and filth, like that of wet sod that had sat in the open for quite too long.

"Xander? Are you there? The rest of the group decided we should head to Rime." Syrillian yelled into the blackness holding for a response.
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PostSubject: Re: Act 1: Ottolenghi's Wheelhouse   Mon Jan 09, 2017 8:26 pm

"Freezing to death would certainly impair our mission." Amon said. Not that he felt he was adding anything to the conversation, but just to be saying something. If he was going to journey with these people, it wouldn't hurt to build a rapport with them.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope that the travel is less miserable on this leg..." He idly wondered.
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