The Heroes Strike Back

The group makes their way through the tangleweed and around Strangleberries without incident, and meets up with Kit, Torden, and the miners. As Pageflap shares notes with his Kit and Torden, you might find yourselves appreciating the view from the top of the hill. You can see down to Whitesparrow, where the only lights you can see are coming from the Summerspring Inn, the new home of the Night Blades. The huge ebon hand that juts from the ground looks especially strange from this distance, the lights of the inn dancing off its shiny surface giving it the appearance of motion. Whitesparrow Keep is dark as the day you arrived, even though it is now supposedly occupied.

"Nightblades...like the ones we just killed; your enemy, those Nightblades... Have you tested this yourself or do you simply believe everything you hear?"

"So, where do we start from here? Seems like the inn or the keep are our best options," Ander says, looking over the town and rubbing his bow, missing Canthus.

Pageflap mentioned a sheriff and othersss being ssslowly ssstarved while on dissssplay to the town, perhapsssss a ressscue issss in order?

It is 8pm on a cloudless autumn evening. You are 4 hours outside of the town of Whitesparrow, high up on the valley ridge. The now-liberated Lonely Tower, former HQ of the Night Blades is at your back. You can see the whole valley from here, and make note of the current status of the town (as posted here). You are in possession of the wagon full of valuables and alcohol, as well as the wagon and horses. Three miners and the former leader of the Night Blades, Ralavaz, have joined your cause.

From your observations of the Night Blades operations, the Night Blades in town are likely going to be expecting the wagon to return this evening - assuming they're sober enough to notice.

Ander shakes his head, "We don't have enough disguises, do we?" he asks, "Perhaps, if we want to pretend to deliver the wagon, a couple of us can hide in some of those barrels?"

Pageflap waves his arm to get everyone's attention, then reaches into his backpack. He pulls out his spell book and pulls out a page that was tucked into it, showing it to everyone.
Afterwards, he to flips his book open to a blank page and takes out his quill and ink and begins writing. After a few seconds, he shows the party his perfectly forged recreation of the note, tilting his head to silently ask if maybe they can forge orders from Gardren.

My dear, Andrew was it? I believe disguises are the least of our worries, Kit says as he pulls out a couple of the "liberated" Night Blade Cloaks.

Ander shoots Kit a dirty look, "It's Ander," he says, correcting the man, "We got four cloaks when we liberated this wagon here. I see that you had the presence of mind to take some on your way out of the tower. Good thinking, there! Well, then, what's the plan looking like, then? Just waltz right in like nothing happened and pretend to be part of the crew?"

Hmmm. Ander? Ander. I'm not certain how that will read from the stage. Kit uses his hands to motion from his stomach up to his throat and then spreads his hands to indicate projecting from his mouth. One must always think how the sound flows from the diaphragm up through the throat and out to the audience. Projecting to the back of the room is the key, dear boy, and I'm not quite certain "Ander" works in that respect. Let us put a pin in that and come back to it later.

"From the stage? Are you an actor or playwright, then?" Ander asks, curious about his odd companion.

Am I...? Kit begins, a stunned look on his face. He looks behind him then back at Ander. Am I an actor or playwright? Why, I'm Kit Marlowe, my good man! Kit beams proudly, waiting for the inevitable shock of recognition and sudden fawning admiration. When it doesn't seem to be forthcoming, he repeats, Kit Marlowe.

Kit, he says patiently.

Marlowe.

He taps his foot a moment, then plants his fists on his hips, an annoyed look on his face. Kit Marlowe! Surely you've heard of me! Why the success of my play "Timur the Lame" has spread my name to the corners of the map! When this doesn't seem to do the trick, he turns to Pageflap. I say, Pageflap, old boy, where did you find these rustics? I realize I am far from home, but between "Timur the Lame" and the notoriety of "The King's Man," how did you manage to dig up someone who has not heard the name Kit Marlowe?

Ander shakes his head, "My apologies, Kit," Ander says with a bow, "I have not heard of you. I once traveled the land with a group of entertainers, but that was many years now or I'm sure I would have heard of you. I spent most of the last decade at war with the goblin and orc tribes of the North."

Ander's bow assuages Kit's ego somewhat, and his eyes widen in delight at the prospect of hearing about the entertainers Ander traveled with. Traveling entertainers? How delightful! Why, my dear, you must tell me all about them! Were they minstrels? Vaux de Vires? Trouveres? Dramatists? Mummers? Strollers? You must tell me when this was! Perhaps there would be a name or two familiar to me? Ah, those days seem so long ago for me! And yet the circumstances dear Pageflap and I have found ourselves in these few months have brought much of it back to me. You must list your ports of call! No doubt some of them will be my old haunts!

Kit will continue on in this vein until someone stops him or reminds him that they are other issues needing attention.

"We have more presssing matterssss at the moment. A town held hossstage. Pageflap thatssss an interesting idea the forgery, unfortunately my handssss are not well sssuited for that. You mentioned the Underground cavern with portalssss of magic meansss perhapsssss a ssssurprisssse attack from underneath?

Kit momentarily bristles at the interruption, but once the full weight of Sulprax's voice falls upon his ears, his eyes widen in shock and horror. Oh. My. Gods. That has to be the single worst lisp I have ever encountered in my entire life! He begins shaking his head vigorously. No. No. No. Nononono. This simply will not do. Oh, you poor, poor dear. Is this congenital? Or is it the result of an injury suffered later in life? Kit begins looking along Sulprax's jawline and throat for signs of scarring. Kit pats him gently on the arm. No matter, no matter. Stick with me, my sibilant friend! A few simple vocal exercises and I'll have that voice of yours whipped into such shape that you will no longer have to hang your head in shame when speaking in public! Kit pauses for a brief moment and mutters, Or, perhaps several intense exercises. My word, such a horror.

"My tongue isss my own. It isss my heritage, and my birthright. I apprecccciate your concccern, though I feel it would be better placcced with the town and the Night Bladessss. Plussss it isss directly resssponsssible for my ability to breathe fire, which issss talent that mosssst thessspiansss I've met that have tried to emmulate do ssssome poorly with the aid of fuel and a sssspark."