[Game Thread] 1. Something Old, Something New

[Xian]

Hassan "I shall endeavor to do my best, dear lady." Hassan says politely as he takes the hint and retires to his quarters. While Sorashana had made an offer that she had discretionary funds available, she had also made it abundantly clear that she would prefer not to. Hassan had also not anticipated that the so much weight was being put on this event. Perhaps the money was well invested for the security services. Now all they would need is a diviner... Dhabi Orastia, a researcher attached to the Scholasticum, was a diviner of some note. She was the relative of a client that Hassan had helped out and they had the opportunity to meet at some point while they had retained his services. She was attractive woman, but their interaction did not amount to more that formal introduction and cursory interactions as Hassan extracted a favorable ruling in a matter of the ownership of a clutch of camels. They had exchanged pleasantries with one another and parted with the polite offer of each others' services, should they require it in the future. She probably never imagined that he would take her up on it. Then again neither did he. Hassan chuckled at the thought as retired for the night. Hassan awoke early in the morning and went through his morning physical routine as he prepared for his encounter with Dhabi Orastia. He reached the Scholasticum and introduced himself before asking for an audience with her. Hassan waited patiently and thought of the nearby cafes to eat and make a deal... taking her to eat could not hurt his chances.

[phinar]

Zarah 4:47 PM, 13 MarchPharast 4711. The Ousman Estate. When Zarah's supplication draws to its eloquent and slightly menacing close, Ousman purses his lips, squints, and in general telegraphs his deep rumination with expressive gesture. Once or twice he shifts his angle of repose, situating himself within his chair as if to consider the proposal from a slightly different angle. Were it not for his obvious consideration, the silence would be uncomfortable. As it is, when he finally speaks, it feels almost abrupt. "So the main thing," he says, "is that you wish for this trollop — excuse me, this actress — to fall from grace. Yes? Vizhan would be collateral damage." He smiles, a flickering thing, like a candle guttering in a summer breeze. He wants to be of use to you — or more likely, to have opportunity to use you in return — but he clearly cannot afford to hurt Vizhan. "I admit to some concern; Vizhan is a friend, both to my own interests and your father's. But I can arrange for this Sevil to lose some luster. Perhaps permanently?" A hint of ice underlies Ousman's tone. He may have something sinister in mind for Sevil. "And I know exactly how you can repay my favor, though it doesn't involve the fetê. I need a courier I can trust. For a variety of reasons, you would be an excellent choice. Can you, within the next say thirty hours, arrange to carry a small parcel to a Government Center address, and await a response? I expect it should not take more than a handful of hours." There's more danger to this task than seems obvious; Ousman is not deliberately concealing the danger but neither is he being open about it. He also clearly thinks it is important. It might be worth more than he's offering. Or it might be worth doing just to know what's being done.

Hassan 9:19 AM, 14 MarchPharast 4711. The Gleaming Cowrie, Government Center. The Professor Dhabi Orastia cut an imposing figure: she dressed in layered silks dyed a rich purple; golden torch glittered at each wrist. Her hair was swept back and bound up into a bun with two knitting-needle sticks transfixing it in place. She moved with a grace and aplomb that defied her size, like a bulette ballerina. Rarely did her energy admit more than a heartbeat's pause. From the moment of his greeting to the seats they now occupied, Hassan has been very much swept along, caught between her energy and his own polite desire to not interrupt. She pumped his hand in greeting, suggested they get a bite, assured him that the Gleaming Cowrie was quite precisely the right place, and led him along the whole time. She asked him how his practice was doing, but did not give him time to answer, insisted he order the sweet buns and a pot of tea ("or coffee if you must be gauche"), then proceeded to talk for several moments about the funding issues the army has been facing, what with Geb gradually becoming Nex's most vital trade partner and Alkenstar's near independence allowing it to serve as a buffer state. "That is why you have come, yes? The Ecanusians are desperate for military funding, and you have been hired to keep their begging hands unimpeded?" The conversation unfolds in a similar manner, with her thundering through like a flooding river, pressing up against the banks of insulting but well overflowing the boundaries of good taste. Hassan had not remembered her to be quite so overbearing. Still, before the tea has even arrived, she has quite agreed: she would be delighted to come by the Ecanusian House and have a look about; likewise she would love to be on hand for the affair itself. Provided, of course, some gold might make its way into her possession.

Ahmar & Ikram 2:14 AM, 13 MarchPharast 4711. The Squatter's Lab. Ikram moves briskly through ill-lit streets and dingy neighborhoods, winding a course through Quantium's heavy industrial zones. After ten minutes' walk, he leads the small group to a fire-gutted laboratory set back from the road by a dozen feet of sickly scrub and gravel. Like most of the sites in the area, it has a perimeter fence, but the fence is in disrepair and Ikram leads the yeah through a breach. The establishment has clearly seen better days. The northern wall — on the right as the group faces the lab — has completely given way, victim of what appears to be a series of small explosions. The resultant subsidence revealed three stories of office warrens. The southern half of the building, though smoke-blackened and littered with the evidence of other itinerant occupants, remains structurally sound. Only broken windows violate its integrity. The principal laboratory space was housed in the southern part. The lights no longer work, and the floors are littered with rubble and trash, but the long laboratory tables with slate tops remain affixed to the floor. Two enormous brass braziers also remain,one at either end of the lab. Upon arrival, Angwar leans against a table and crosses his arms. Cartwright frowns as he surveys the facility, but then claps his hands together. "Excellent!" He snaps his fingers and points; the nearest brazier begins to glow with a cool blue-white light. "Let's begin."   OOC a quick pause for RP and some dice: roll spellcraft to participate in what comes next, or k(arcana) could be relevant. Lacking those skills, sell me a different angle for a different skill. Or just go with pure roleplay and we will play it by ear.

Gamal 8:08 PM, 12 MarchPharast 4711. Prof. Estapolous' Residence, Arcanoworks, near the Institute of Planar Studies. Her secret revealed, Estapolous seems to deflate, the elaborate earthworks of her defenses crumbling. Her eyes take on a haggard cast, with a touch of desperation. "You don't understand, of course, but how could you? Mahmoud and I were very close. Close enough that we were discussing a change in employment — and both of us tenured! I know that he would not simply disappear without warning me. He did not expect to be gone so long. "The administration is less certain. He has been gone for a lengthy time now, but when I first tried to broach this topic, it was only a few days. Mamoud al Habbad stepped in, though, and prevented an investigation. Al Jafar had asked him to cover his classes, he said. That he would be gone for a short while. I recognized that for deception, but I could hardly argue. And in truth, I know that they were friendly. They often took meals together, or audited one another's lectures. But I do not trust the man. He hold his secrets like a rake holds his cards, almost a badge of his contempt for the rest of us." She frets with the stem of her wineglass, then takes a long swallow. "I have asked, inasmuch I can without drawing down suspicion, if anyone knew what Mahmoud was doing. If he told his secrets to anyone, they hold that closely. I was starting to wonder if I had badly misjudged things. Then you triggered his wards." She leans across the arm of the sofa, and produces the journal. She tosses it onto the low table; it lands with a supple slap. "I have retained the journal. And while I expect that you will want to examine it, I would request that you — well, he has some frank things to say about our time together. They are mostly flattering. They should serve to confirm what I have related to you already. But please do not linger upon these passages. "I expect that you will be more interested in the notes he has made about the pesh trade in Quantium. It's difficult to piece together exactly what he was working on, but he observed a recent and sudden shift: dozens of distinct varieties and refinement techniques became abruptly dominated by one main source, still with the countless processing methods. "The day before he went missing, he had a note. A caravan he suspected of bringing in the raw pesh was expected to enter through the Deathgate on the day he disappeared." She hesitates, eyeing the journal. "And there is much more, though he writes in a peculiar half-code, with just enough to tickle his memory. You will see what I mean."   OOC Sell me on a skill for skimming the journal. We can do some checks to see what you find. Baseline, though, is that her story checks out against the journal.

 

Character	AC	HP	Init	Perc	Notes
Mouse	16 12t 14f	12/14	+4	+6	2x inspiration
Hassan	14 11t 13f	14/14	+1	+11
Gamal	10 9t 11f	15/15	-1	+2
Ahmar	17 14t 13f	17/17	+4	+4
Ikram	15 11t 14f	17/17	+1	-1
Myara	17 13t 14f	3/19	+5	+6
Zarah	13 13t 10f	12/12	+3	+7

[phinar]

Mouse and Myara 12:02 PM, 12 MarchPharast 4711. Come On Inn, Fogbottom. Only a handful of establishments seem likely to qualify for the criteria laid out. Once the Sandmen make their way off to wherever they're going, and Myara's extra Dekaltis also head out to deliver messages and reassert control, Mouse and Myara head westward, back toward the South Road. All the likely establishments lie in that direction, and the closest of which, the Come On Inn, is a dingy clay-and-wood construction only marginally nicer than the rest. Its sign is just a big arrow that points at the door, with a picture of a bed and a mug painted on it. The artist is unlikely to be featured in the downtown galleries, but his brushwork is a step above the local vandals. Inside the Come On Inn, it's a little more comfortable. The windows are cunningly placed to capture a cross-breeze, such that smoke gives the common room a homey feel but does not overwhelm. The furniture is plain but sturdily built, and the bar is not long, nor does it feature a vast collection of spirits, but it has five stools and at least two regular customers propping it up. The common room itself features six tables, four of which are occupied. A server weaves between the tables, delivering bowls of stuff that smells like food and mugs with visible froth. The barkeep is a hunched, skinny, nut-brown woman with short grey hair. She tends her glassware assiduously; her eyes sharp but not quite shrewd. Her manner is cautious but welcoming: when Mouse and Myara enter, she sets down glass and towel, dries her hands, and says, "Good afternoon. How can I help?"

 

Character	AC	HP	Init	Perc	Notes
Mouse	16 12t 14f	12/14	+4	+6	2x inspiration
Hassan	14 11t 13f	14/14	+1	+11
Gamal	10 9t 11f	15/15	-1	+2
Ahmar	17 14t 13f	17/17	+4	+4
Ikram	15 11t 14f	17/17	+1	-1
Myara	17 13t 14f	3/19	+5	+6
Zarah	13 13t 10f	12/12	+3	+7

[ekidnu]

“Indeed.” Ahmar snorts as he appraises the derelict building with a detached air. His lips purse into a thin line, with one end threatening to twist into a faint hint of a scornful smile. “Proceed.” He extends his arm in a grand sweeping gesture, a false display of magnanimity.

As the alchemist starts retrieving and organizing the tools of his trade, Ahmar rummages briefly in his haversack and plucks out a flashy Vudrani outfit, its vibrant colors clashing incongruously with the dingy surroundings. A few quick strides and he is directly behind the Taldan, stooping down to bind his ankles together with the lightweight but durable fabric. “Insurance,” the ifrit explains smoothly, “just in case. You don’t mind, of course?” Not waiting for a response to his obviously rhetorical question, he flicks a glance at Angwar. “Guard the exit.”

“But not to worry,” the rogue returns his attention to Cartwright, intercepting his objection before it can be voiced, “you shall have a faithful assistant at your beck and call, to handle mundane manipulations for you. Only fitting for a man of your grand stature, yes?” Flashing a patently insincere smile, he motions to Ikram to help the alchemist with his equipment. With the magus acting as an intermediary to forestall anything the Taldan might try, Ahmar steps back several paces and slowly draws a long throwing knife. It rests lightly in his hand; his grip is relaxed, charging the weapon with menace but not immediate intent.

“Remember: no mistakes.” He smiles. “No pressure.”

 

Draw shortbow (fluffed as throwing knife). I’m assuming there’s no problem tying Cartwright’s feet together; please let me know if my assumption is incorrect and I’ll edit my post.

[slapstick]

The young magus swipes his arm over swaths of table, clearing away bits of plaster and dust. When Ahmar starts tying his Sunday best around the alchemist's ankles, one eyebrow shoots up and his jaw drops. His gaze burrows into the back of the ifrit's head, seeking rhyme or reason, but he drops the look when the man stands back up and deadpans: "Good call."

He mumbles something and runs a casting detect magichand over his eyes, taking a look around the area. The chances of anything of value remaining were slim, but other wizards may have passed through here to perform their own misdeeds and they could be a territorial lot. Once he's completed his surveillance, he turns back to Cartwright and the others.

"We're very intimidated," Ikram says, slouching over the table and resting his forearms on the edge. "However, if you want us to free the efreet from the orbs," he gestures at the sack Ahmar carries, "we will need the orbs."

[Rolzup]

"A drink," Mouse says fervently. "One for the each of us, and the colder the better...I trust your judgement, madam, and as long as it's wet I won't complain." He allows himself to fall into a seat, not at all gracefully, and gestures for Myara to join him.

"Please," he says. "Less prying ears," he continues, in quieter voice, "Or so it may be hoped. I will be blunt: Mister Sinn's chief concern in the avoidance of bloodshed. It is not good for business, nor for the city as a whole. An Mister Sinn has an interest in both of these things. Precisely where the power lies at a given moment is less of a concern than how that power is being used against the people."

Mouse leans forward, lowering his voice a bit more. "Between ourselves, I rather suspect that he is more concerned about profits than people...but you need the latter to make the former, I fear."

[ekidnu]

Ahmar glares briefly at the magus. He can feel the fire crackling furiously inside, growing hotter and hotter, an inferno of retribution yearning to escape, to destroy, to wreak havoc, leaving naught but ashes and death in its capricious wake. But the vessel is sealed, trapping the fire within and rendering it as impotent as a genie in a bottle. It is the vessel, not its contents, that possesses true power—it alone decides if and when the fire may play. Ahmar inhales deeply, savoring his control of an uncontrollable element.

“Of course you will.” The ifrit reaches into his haversack; a smug, satisfied smile spreads across his angular face as he stifles and suffocates the fire within, mercilessly smothering it until nothing is left but ...

Smoke. The rogue's hand emerges from the sack and

Dice Ranged touch attack vs ground (AC 5):

1d20+5sh5

(2)+5

✔

Total = 7

lightly tosses a small orb of smoke at the feet of Cartwright and Ikram—an orb which immediately explodes with a soft poof into a thick billowing cloud that fills the room.

 

Surprise Round: Use 1 ki point to throw a smoke bomb. 5' step somewhere inside the smoke.

Dice Initiative:

1d20+4

(11)+4

Total = 15

I'll post first round actions as soon as I know what the initiative order is.

[ekidnu]

Unlike his squirming target, Ahmar sees through the dense grey smoke as easily as a marid sees through water. With two rapid flicks of the wrist, he unleashes his vengeance upon Cartwright. For the others, all they hear are the slight whizzing sounds of knives hurtling through the air, followed by the soft thuds upon impact with Taldan flesh.

“Did you really think you could fool me with your pathetic lies? You have as much chance of freeing them as a Fogbottom beggar.” But despite the certainty of his actions, the ifrit nonetheless winces ever so slightly—a chance is still a chance, and though irrational, he still feels a pinprick of regret in eliminating that chance. He genuinely worries about the fate of the efreeti children ... but what would he do even if they were miraculously freed without harm? He has neither the qualifications nor the desire to raise an incessantly demanding brood of unborn infants. No—whoever this chest is intended for, they will do a much better job caring for the efreeti—they are too valuable to do otherwise—even though their ultimate fates are unknown.

“Do not let Cartwright escape,” he barks out to Angwar—if Ikram should also miraculously obey, so much the better. “Maraz's orders.” he reminds the duo. And then he falls silent, shifting unseen inside the cloud of smoke.

 

Swift Action: Spend 1 ki point to make an extra attack
Full-Round Action: Full attack Cartwright (1st attack/damage is 15/4; 2nd attack/damage is 21/12; did not account for Ahmar's effective invisibility in any of my rolls because Cartwright is already getting -2 AC and denied Dex for being blinded).
Free Action: Speak. 5' step somewhere in the smoke cloud.

Note: Even if Cartwright's initiative is higher, it shouldn't matter since I expect it to take (at least?) a full round action to untie his feet while essentially blinded.

[PopCultureBard]

Myara scans the cafe as they enter, checking the gathered patrons for any signs of being their quarry. It occurs to him that he isn't entirely clear what that would mean. Beakers full of pesh resin? Scorch marks on their well-sewn clothing? Unlikely, all. Slipping into the seat, he adjusts his belt and loosens the straps on his armor. He then sets the sword beside him, hilt leaned against the back of the chair.

"That's not an uncommon attitude for a crime lord. Be glad you only answer to one such voice, I have to deal with competition between several." His mind wanders back to the meeting just this morning, and how much new information he has been made privy to since then. Myara was never disillusioned enough to believe that the Dekaltis had an iron grip on their territory but it stood to reason that they would at least be aware of something like this brewing in their own backyard. Unless someone was trying to keep them from noticing. Someone on the inside. "Unrestrained violence is in nobody's best interest, though. They'll all agree on that."

If? When the drinks arrive, the Vanara takes a moment to sip from his. Having grown up among the rich and fruity wines of Jalmeray, he'd found it difficult to adjust to the average alcohol in Fogbottom. Still, it was wet and the day was hot so drinking it seemed wise. "So how do we go about finding these alchemists? My inclination would be to stake out the local hotels but I don't think we have time for it. Kicking in some doors might point us in the right direction but I'd prefer to avoid making any more enemies right now." He considers for a moment, looking over the man across the table. More of a boy, if his judgement of human age wasn't failing him. "How do you assist this Sinn character? You're no errand boy. You handle a weapon well enough and you seem to know exactly where to look when searching a building." He takes another sip, his other arm hooked over the back the chair to leave his body half-turned in as casual a manner as he can muster. "What's your story? Footpad? Roof runner? Lightfinger?"

[Rolzup]

"All that and more," Mouse snorts. "I think that the word for it is 'Dogsbody'." He shrugs. "Sinn is an old man, he needs someone that he trusts to do the running for him, whatever that running entails. And that, for reasons that I still don't understand, appears to be me. Mind's still sharp as a blade, though. That's what makes the old bastard dangerous."

He takes a long drink, and puts his cup down with a satisfied sigh. "Better. Almost feel alive again." Mouse considers matters for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "The Arcanoworks," he concludes aloud. "That's my bet. So much glass couldn't have been sold without attracting some notice. Ask some questions, spread a bit of coin about, I'm sure we can find a few names."

[Sassafrass]

The sudden change in demeanor catches Gamal off-guard, and he feels as though he has offended. He begins to apologize, but stops himself, begins again, but stops. How could he understand? He had never been in love, never had that kind of faith in someone. No one but Sadat, his master, and he would not consider that romantic love, not at least. He recalled the three types of love taught to him by Sadat, largely a man of logic but dedicated to all forms of knowledge. Gamal was largely the same. He felt for the woman.

But then, there is the matter of not trusting Mahmoud. A strange suspicion, but not entirely out of reach. But the school must cover its own problems. Gamal understands that need, it helps to be more unbiased in perspective.

The journal landing, he reaches over and grabs it. He nods to the request of professionalism, glad to oblige... mostly. the change in the pesh trade and his interest in it does strike him as a bit odd, but he'll do his best to discern a cause and a reason for it. A nod, and he begins to read the journal, trying to make sense of it. "Understood. This shall be kept between us and I'll inform you of my findings as they occur."

"And... I... am sorry for the discomfort this event has caused you. I know what it is like to lose someone without answers." He feels it is time to leave, but his observations may prove beneficial.

 

Out of Character Here's my rolls.

[goatmeal]

Zarah Zarah is shamed by his replies. Shamed to think of how quickly she had betrayed her hand. Shamed to think of how easily she thought she could manipulate this man. Alaina would be even more distraught to hear she had brought about the death of Sevil than she was jealous over her fame now: No that was not an option. And running errands for Abu would ruin everything she had set out to accomplish by separating herself from the Seafoam district. And why had he mentioned her father? Had she been so obvious in her intentions that even Abu knew that she still wanted what was best for him? Why no interest in the fete? Most importantly, why did she think she could manipulate this man who was so powerful? Because she’d surprised him once as a child? If he still had power after all these years, he certainly had learned to adjust to what happened in that situation. She was shamed by all of this, and she knew that it must show in some way. “This thing I ask is for a friend,” she says instinctively to his response. It is a reflexive defense against all that is wrong with what he offers and asks of her, and against her own shame. It is the only truth she has uttered in his presence, but she knows after the words leave her mouth that they will be taken for the sort of white lies this conversation is made of. And maybe those bits of irrelevant truth will provide some cover for her shame. “If you will not do it, I understand. Just as I hope you would understand that I am not a common courier to be sent into harm’s way. If you need a person for such a task, I know someone I might recommend for it. I would do this as a courtesy for the time you’ve spent, although you would have to negotiate the price with him yourself.” “And as for this Vizhan, if his work is so important perhaps he should not be allowed to risk so much on the likes of Sevil, No? Regardless, I withdraw my request in this matter. There are other means at my disposal if necessary,” she says thinking of Nazmin’s wicked tongue. But then realizing she would need something other than this particular scandal to feed to her. There is much she would do for Alaina, but Abu has now convinced her that this Vizhan is too important to her own goals to sacrifice for mere friendship. Damn it! “I am sorry to have wasted your time, sir. I only offered what I did because other prominent businessmen have come to me with requests for information from this fete. All I have to offer are stories, gossips. If you have no need of these, then there is no service I have for you. If that is all, I will be on my way,” she says this not with the knowing look of a co-conspirator, but with the downcast eyes of a penitent, as if she were that child from years ago finally caught with too many cinnamon sticks. Maybe Abu treating her like a child isn’t such a bad thing after all. For it was only as a child that she had ever been able to fool him.

 

Bluff:

Dice Roll:

1d20+14

(6)+14

Total = 20

includes +2 from previous SM roll. To convince Abu that she isn't interested in the well being of the Seafoam District. That's her main motivation at this point, though if it turns to something more than that, I'm sure she'd be pleased.