Chapter 3: Crow's Nest

Verrian is able to make it to the roof of the designated building without much problem. As she moves through the building's main floor toward the stairs, she sees something that Froak had mentioned in passing: there is a large metal door behind a heavy stone counter. It looks as though someone's tried to break it open at least a few times -- there are dents and scratches on it, as though someone's attacked it with a heavy hammer. It has no immediately obvious mechanism for opening it.

The stairs lead to the second floor, and presumably the roof beyond.

Verrian looks the door up and down, left and right, and there’s no apparent sign of a mechanism. Which leaves two explanations (at least): either the door only opens from the other side somehow, or it’s a magical mechanism concealed from mundane sight.

Verrian reaches the roof of the building and finds that it indeed gives a nice view of the citadel courtyard, though there are spots inside the front gates that can't be seen due to the wall. At a guess, there's a good 20 feet of ground at least that's not visible from here. Though it's certainly time for sunrise, the growing clouds make the early morning light dimmer than usual. Good for hiding, certainly. Not the best for being able to see clearly. The wind is picking up, and the air is unseasonably cool still.

The best place to take cover up here is next to the wall around the roof, about three feet high.

Perhaps since it's still early, there's little activity around the citadel. The courtyard is quiet; the massive double doors into the main building stand open, but no one seems to be walking around. There are two guards outside the front gates, which are closed. One of the guards is familiar -- the angry woman with Ildemu from a couple of days ago. She seems alert and aware, pacing like a caged animal back and forth in front of the gates, holding a heavy mace in one hand. The burly, unshaven man with her, though, is sitting on the ground, lounging against a pile of crates arranged not far from the gates. His sword is resting against one of the crates, at hand if necessary. He's watching the woman pace, lip curled in faint contempt. "Yer making me nervous, girl. Don't you ever sit down and relax?" he says, and spits on the ground. "Them rabble ain't gonna attack the bleedin' walls, y'know. They's all holed up, an' even if they's got the stones to pull somethin', what they gonna use? A fork and knife?" The man laughs, a donkey's bray, at his own joke.

For her part, the woman says nothing, just stares at him with undisguised hatred.

Verrian and Froak

"Do you even have the brains of a worm?" the woman finally says in response. "I don't give a hairy rat's ass about those idiots cowering in the tunnels. They're scared of their own shadows." She turns then and pounds a broken cart nearby with her mace, a brutal two-handed blow that sends splinters of wood flying. "Ever since he gave me that... whatever was in that drink... I itch. Inside. All the time. I've searched this festering turd of a town three times over. We've found all the mages, but I'm still itching like ants are crawling through my veins. Thought maybe when we saw those fools down by the docks a couple days ago, but not a mage among them..."

She snorts, looking at her companion. "Why do I bother? It's like talking to a box of rocks." She stomps off, muttering to herself.

At this point, there's a flicker of movement at the edge of Verrian's vision. Turning that way, she can see Froak crouched down on the roof of the other building, waving a hand with a wide, froggy grin on his face. He's nodding happily. Must have been successful dropping Shiloh off.

Elora looks over the cabinet, which is nice enough, but more notable for its solid construction than any sort of unusual craftsmanship. Nothing else draws the eye at this moment.

A little less than an hour passes, and the citadel watchers see little more of particular interest. It is clear that the One-Eyed Crows and associated persons are not early risers: few people exit the main building, and none of them look particularly happy about having tasks to perform at this time of day, especially with the weather worsening. The wind has picked up, starting to swirl in off the lake, and the air has taken on the distinctive smell and tingle of an approaching thunderstorm.

A couple of the Crows go into one of the smaller outbuildings inside the courtyard. Listening carefully, Verrian and Froak can faintly hear the neigh of horses from inside. The guard at the gates hasn't changed, and the two Crows posted there seem uninterested in continuing their conversation from earlier. The woman at least has settled somewhat, stopping to lean against the wall while she chews on a strip of dried meat.

After about 45 minutes from when he entered the citadel on stealthy rat feet, Shiloh skitters out of the gates, pauses to sniff at the air and examine his surroundings. In order to make a quick line to the place where Froak watches, he has to sneak past the guardsman idly picking his nose with one grubby finger. But Shiloh is more than up to the task, able to dart between the fellow's feet without him even so much as noticing. He darts inside the building Froak is watching from, moving to the first-floor meeting place Shiloh, Krav and Froak had settled on and waiting for his two-legged companions.

Verrian and Froak

Only a few moments after Shiloh passes, Verrian and Froak notice the angry woman at the gates suddenly stand up straight. She sniffs at the air, and she sets her jaw stiffly. "Orien's mangy beard... storm's coming," she growls between clenched teeth to the other guard. "Get inside. NOW."

She pounds on the gates with her mace. "Let us in, assface! Storm's coming! Get everyone inside!" she yells. The other guard's face goes pale, and he moves toward the gates as well, looking off to the northeast toward the lake.

Party HQ

Around this time, the members of the party with an affinity for magic (Krav, Ephwrath, Ember, Elora, Viani) start to feel uneasy, a tingling, roiling sort of sensation prickling over the skin and twisting the stomach. Those furthest from Elora feel it the most strongly, while Elora barely feels anything, just a vague chill that draws goosebumps to the skin.