Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

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Apr 29, 2023 6:30 am
Try as she might, Trusova cannot reach Banio's soft, moderately outstretched hand. The current is trying to take her away, her muscles are fatigued, and there are... things in the water. Floating chunks. Stringy, fibrous bits. Jellied masses that seem to move of their own accord. Sputtering, the woman still has strength enough to keep her head above the surface... for now.
OOC:
Okay, as mentioned above, the outcome of Trusova failing that check was her losing another point of Stamina. (So I think she should now be at 5, but correct me if I'm wrong.) She can make another attempt, but this time she'll lose 1d6 Stamina if she fails, as she's tiring. If she ends up at 0 Stamina, she'll be exhausted at at -2 on all checks. If she hits -10, that's curtains.

Banio can help as described previously -- +2 for offering a hand up. If he really extends himself, she'll get a +4. But any failure will put him in the water as well...
Apr 29, 2023 7:00 pm
Phelbt whitens his knuckles on the submberged wall. The rest of his body-- what there is of it-- hangs out over the filthy waters. His other hand stretches to its pudgy limit, fingers splayed, in order to reach the floundering warden.

"Kick your legs!" he directs, as if Trusova is not, in fact, doing this. "Reach for my hand!" Banio pauses, then adds, "But save enough strength for rowing!"
Apr 29, 2023 7:36 pm
Trusova is touched that Banio is putting himself at risk, but she decides not to take his hand. She's fought monsters twice her size this night, but now she must face her her deepest fear - the water.

Between gasps, she manages to get her message across. "No... I won't kill you, too."

She kicks off her riding boots, and calms her mind while fighting against the strong current. She thinks of what will happen to Whiskeyjack if she dies, which gives her the strength she needs to overcome the current and her own fear of drowning.

She manages to wrap her arms around a stone pillar, and halls herself up. Barefoot, dripping wet, and gasping for air, she stands beside Banio. In the darkness, she flashes him a smile, unable to contain the joy of being alive.

"Banio - it means a lot that you would risk your life to save mine. Thank you."
Last edited April 29, 2023 7:59 pm

Rolls

Athletics - (1d20+6)

(20) + 6 = 26

Apr 30, 2023 5:22 am
OOC:
Bravo! From here you can both reach the boat, unmoor it, and set off for the city... if that's what you do.
Apr 30, 2023 3:30 pm
Is that what he was doing? Risking his life for another?

A cynic or an opportunist-- and Banio Phelbt has been both of those things by turns-- might counter that he needs Trusova to wrestle the boat back to town. He was merely attempting to retrieve an asset, not a person. To Banio, this notion has the ring of truth and the comfort of settled habit.

Less comfortable is the prospect of altruism for no tangible gain. Fellow-feeling that never leads to any good end. He could have just cut the boat loose and waited for the current to bring him within hailing distance of another vessel...

The little man twitches his shoulder as if working out a kink in the muscle. "If that's what you want to call it," he says uneasily. "Let's get to the boat." He turns to go, then adds defensively, "New boots come out of your share."
Last edited April 30, 2023 3:30 pm
May 2, 2023 3:43 am
Trusova laughs, which makes her side hurt where the fishman's spear pierced skin. "To the boat," she agrees. When she arrives, she places her large hands on the side and tries to rock the boat off whatever it is stuck on, careful not to crack the hull.
May 6, 2023 2:32 pm
By the time Trusova and Banio have boarded the boat, unmoored it, and struck off towards the city, the ruins they explored are largely sunken back beneath the black, churning waters of the Vessen. Lambert's absence is conspicuous as the barefoot warden gets to work, and as the smaller adventurer settles in for the ride.

But the Amity is not a boat easily sailed by a single landlubber, and Trusova soon struggles to both keep the bow aimed at the shore, and make headway through waters she knows are thick with strange, fleshy flotsam -- or jetsam, whatever it might eventually turn out to be.

Some distance, off to her right, the strange, partially submerged road is still visible.
OOC:
I need the equivalent of a seamanship / boating / sailor / fisherman career roll if Tru is going to sail alone. Lacking that (Foghorn would have such a career, T does not), Trusova can test Navigation, Endurance, or Athletics at -2. If Banio helps, you'll succeed at navigating back to shore, but will also need to make Endurance rolls to ward off Stamina loses.

Other actions are of course possible... and sorry for the delay here.
May 6, 2023 6:19 pm
Banio hasn't the strength of body to man the tiller of a boat the size of Foghorn's Amity. Instead, he takes an oar on the port side and struggles to correct their trajectory whenever it seems to be straying from Trusova's chosen course back to the city. It's considerably more physical effort than Phelbt is used to, and leaves the man with strings of hair sweat-plastered to his prominent forehead.

As he tugs on the oar, Banio mutters under his breath about boats and ruins and elfin abominations. He consoles himself with the thought of the rings and jewelry stuffed in his pockets, and of the mysterious strongbox riding home in his satchel. And he keeps half an eye on that enchanted road, just in case something else decides to make use of it.
OOC:
Banio is helping! So we both make Endurance rolls at -2 or lose Stamina?
Last edited May 6, 2023 6:20 pm

Rolls

Endurance Test - (1d20+4)

(18) + 4 = 22

May 6, 2023 9:07 pm
Trusova's exhausted and wounded, and doing the lion's share of the manual labour to get the boat back to shore is painful. But, she's used to operating in an injured state. At least the effort consumes her attention entirely, not allowing her mind to drift into the darkness, such as the look on Lambert's face as it combusted into flames.
Last edited May 6, 2023 9:07 pm

Rolls

Endurance (+5 -2) - (1d20+3)

(19) + 3 = 22

May 8, 2023 7:07 am
The Docks
With Banio's help, Trusova is able to keep the prow of the Amity aimed at the docks, despite an increasingly stiff wind that blows up from the northwest, impeding but not halting their progress. On the shore, as they get closer, the pair spots a group of figures moving along the waterfront. A hlaf-dozen robed figures, they move with as much speed as they can muster -- which is does not appear to be overmuch. Still, limping and lurching they come, and by the time Trusova lands on the dock and ties up the boat, they are mere minutes away because of that wind.
OOC:
Wait for them to arrive, or bolt / saunter from the dock first? If you bolt / leave, let's start our wrap-up and tell me how spoils are split and where you both end up. Tru, if you visit WJ on the morrow... roll Luck.

If you meet up with this crew, we'll have one last short scene before we wrap. At least for now! I'd like to revisit these characters again.
May 9, 2023 3:41 pm
"I've had enough trouble for one night, Banio. Let's find somewhere to deal with this treasure - maybe one of those abandoned towers along the wall? You know this city better than I do."
May 9, 2023 11:07 pm
After a night of struggle, terror and tragedy, Banio Phelbt is in no mood to deal with the Red Priests. Nor does he relish the idea of explaining to such zealots the elven artifact now riding in his satchel, should that sensitive topic arise. He narrows his eyes at the approaching figures and clambers out of the boat with as much haste as his stumpy legs can muster.

"Agreed," Banio mutters at Trusova. Without quite thinking about it, the man fishes an intricate golden chain from his pocket-- part of the loot he collected in the submerged tower-- and spools it into the road warden's hand. "Go see your horse. Pay his boarding... well, forever, I guess. We shouldn't be seen together for now. Meet me back at the Mermaid after sunset. I know someone who has a private room near there."
May 10, 2023 6:27 am
After hastily tying up Foghorn's boat, Banio and Trusova hurry from the docks, eventually splitting up and disappearing into the pre-dawn shadows of the soon waking city. There are shouts from the group pursuing them -- shouts and snarls and grunts, even a snort and a gurgle. The pair glimpse their pursuers even as they lose them, and see that they are half-men! Beast-men, un-men, monster-men -- whatever the term for the mob of hideous, deformed and pathetic creatures, the two are glad they did not decide to meet with the motley lot!
OOC:
Right, we're about to drop the curtain! Couple of final things:

I'd like you each to do a final scene in the morning. It's bright and sunny and your venture has paid handsomely. Mostly. You don't have the ten gold coins, at least yet, but you have the other spoils.

Trusova, make that luck check. If you pass, spend 1d6 silvers for a remedy and take possession of Whiskey Jack, who is feeling better! If you fail that check, the stable sold WJ to a public house who plan to serve him for dinner. You'll get 1d6 silvers out of the deal, and should we resume this game will need to try and find WJ before he's butchered for a stew!

Banio: if you're planning on staying with your lady friend, I believe that's also 1d6 silvers. Feel free to describe the amulet you find in the box, and make a luck check to not be reported to the Far Hissainians by some rat or lookout. If you fail, your next tale with start with that pursuit!

Both of you, after that last scene: recover all Stamina, all Luck, and you have six 'advances' to spend on your career skills. Your career rating is always equal to the lowest of the five skills connected to the career, and for each career level you increase, gain +1 Stamina. You can also spend five of those advances to change careers if you like...

Finally, all three of you, and everyone attached to or reading this game -- thanks! I enjoyed it enormously! Cheers!
May 10, 2023 3:21 pm
Trusova eyes Banio a little suspiciously as he hands her the golden trinket. She hesitates to take it. What was he going to do with the rest of the treasure while she was gone?

"You'd respect me less if I trusted you completely," she says with a smirk, and then takes the precious chain. "I think we could make a lot of more money in this town. Our skills and strengths are opposite, but complimentary. We next we meet, let's discuss the future."

"One last thing - I lost my spear in the river. Probably for the best; the King's stamp brought unwanted attention. Can I borrow a knife? It would be a terrible crime to let a lady walk these dark alleys without some protection."

With that said, she pads off barefoot through the streets of Grim Biskerstaf. With the rays of the rising sun bathing everything in pale crimson, she felt the tug of her natural optimism rising. Lambert Wolke's death hit her hard, and it showed her how inexperienced she was at this cloak-and-dagger game. But, his recklessness was what got him killed in the end, not her choices, and she felt her guilt fading as she reminded herself she did everything she could.

When she got to the stables, she knew the stable master would be up at sunrise for the morning feed. She made her way to Whiskeyjack, keen to pay for his treatment. When she made her way to Whiskeyjack, she found him standing! Tears filled her eyes as she rushed to his side, inspecting the rot. It was now nearly healed, except for a bit of crust left in his hair, which she carefully brushed away.

The joy was bittersweet, however, for she knew she had to say goodbye to her friend, forever.

"We need to get you out of this city, Whiskeyjack" she whispers to him. "You are too beautiful a creature for this dirty place."

She knew she couldn't join him; her time as a Road Warden was at an end. This grimy city had infected her, too, decaying her faith in the oaths she took. As a Road Warden, she was the instrument of the King. When he wanted her to murder deserters on the North Road, she did it. She knew it was wrong when they rounded them up, looking into their dead stares, but she suppressed her gut feelings for the greatest lie of all: greater good. The King was just another fat, rich, old bastard who didn't give a shit about his people, and she was done being his instrument.

In Grim Biskerstaf, she had tasted true freedom for the first time in her life. Free of safety and sanitation, to be sure. But, also free of expectations, free of hierarchies. Instead of the cold, unyielding chains of honour and duty, she was only bound by loyalty to friends who had earned it. The people she had met were so full of life and colour.

"Stable master, do you know of a farm, far from here, that might have need of a good horse like Whiskeyjack?"
Last edited May 12, 2023 4:26 am

Rolls

MOST IMPORTANT ROLL OF THE GAME - (1d20+6)

(17) + 6 = 23

May 12, 2023 2:03 am
Morning has come, and with it the first flies of the day. They buzz lazily about the single window of the tiny, disheveled apartment belonging to the streetwalker who calls herself Angelica. It isn't her real name, of course, but Banio Phelbt doesn't mind. If she wants to raise her skirts as Angelica rather than Maude or Ethel, then it's all the same to him. Indeed, he appreciates the irony.

He's seated at the foot of the whore's bed, his legs dangling over, while the big woman sprawls above him in a dressing gown that needed a good washing even before last night's festivities. The bedclothes are all knotted up; one pillow dangles and the other is on the floor somewhere. The place smells of sweat and human ejaculate, but Banio scarcely notices. He is, after all, a Biskerstafian born and bred.

"You were fantastic, milord," the woman coos, rolling onto her back and stretching her plump white arms above her head.

Banio watches the tiny shadows that the flies make on the floor as they crawl across the window pane. "We both know that's bullshit," he answers, with peculiar good nature. He hops down, finds his waistcoat on the floor, and retrieves a few pennies that he tosses 'Angelica's' way. "Go and get me sausages. Keep what you don't spend. That's all the coin you'll have from me today."

The woman huffs. But she retrieves the pennies, stuffs herself into a dress just as dirty as her gown, and sweeps out of the room.

Alone at last, Banio drags his satchel from under the bed. He sits cross-legged on the floor and arranges before himself the night's gains. There's the common jewelry, one part of which he gave the road warden to send her on her way. There are the two fine elvish rings, which Phelbt hopes will fetch an equally fine price. And there is the strongbox, still closed, containing the bauble they were tasked to retrieve.

Now, of course, would be the time for Banio Phelbt to make himself scarce. Trusova doesn't know the city well; he could easily elude her long enough to pawn all of this treasure for himself. He might even set something aside as a bribe, to get that urchin girl out of her cage. The little man reaches to return the strongbox to his satchel, but pauses. His lips press together in a pensive line.

Trusova knew he was trying to get rid of her. She said as much. And yet she'd gone all the same. She told him he was untrustworthy, and then chose to trust him. For some damn fool reason.

Very slowly-- with no one there to see-- Banio Phelbt starts to smile.

Rather than collecting his loot, the man cracks open the strongbox. Within, on a bed of cobalt blue velvet, lies an amulet of three stones depending from a silver chain: amethyst, diamond, sapphire. As expensive as the decoration surely is, Banio can't help wrinkling his nose a bit. This is what called them across the Vessen and into the ruins of the elvish city? This is what Lambert Ninefingers died for? This--

Gradually it dawns on Banio that the stones are not so much hanging from the chain as floating beneath it. They form a sort of flower without solder or wire, fixed in empty space relative to one another.

It also dawns on him that Angelica has been gone too long.

Phelbt stumbles to the window, scattering flies, and presses his nose against it. There she is down the street, glass-warped, and she isn't alone. She's standing in conversation with several well-dressed, dark-complected men.

Swearing, Banio slams the box shut. He shuffles his valuables together, then hops and struggles into his clothes. There's still just enough time to get out before the Hissainians see him. Where is that cursed Trusova when he needs her?
Last edited May 12, 2023 4:07 am

Rolls

Social Services - (1d6)

(4) = 4

Are the Hissainians After Me? - (1d20+5)

(5) + 5 = 10

May 14, 2023 4:37 am
The Next Morning
The waters of the Vessen are placid the following morning. The wind has not yet come up, and the flow of the river seems to slow and thicken by the hour. The tumbled remains of the old elven town of Kellebrik are now again just barely visible, breaking the gray water here and there, but looming beneath rather than above the surface.

Lambert Wolke's watery grave, they are now, those stone ruins, and the charred thief lies deep within them.

Or so Banio Phelbt and Trusova believe. The woman, though, had been touched by that strange sorcery Lambert wielded... that magic that had them switch places at the top of the tower. That magic that had also left her with the lingering sensation that, if she concentrated, she could somehow know Wolke's location.

All night, she pushed the troubling thoughts away, and in the morning her reunion with Whiskeyjack took her mind off of her dead companion. But as she leads her horse towards the market where she hopes to find him a new owner, she suddenly... knows.

Lambert Wolke lies still no longer. He is moving -- through the river, towards the city.

And he knows exactly where the former road warden is...
Fin -- for now!

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