Kestrel
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Posts: 319
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Post by Kestrel on Jan 3, 2019 5:31:39 GMT
Overview"For weeks now traders and shopkeepers living within the Trades Ward have complained to the Watch of nighttime disturbances. Such complaints have ranged from late night strollers feeling as if they were being followed, to the echoing clatter of metal rapping against stone, to long gashes appearing overnight along wooden doors and windowsills. Most are concentrated around the streets bordering the City of the Dead and, unbeknownst to most of the ward's residents, have underlined a spate of recent murders as well. A score of mutilated corpses, all recognized (sometimes barely) as former beggars, have been found by the Watch strewn across the back alleys and dead end streets of the Trades Ward, with a new one appearing almost like clockwork on the morning of every 2nd or 3rd day after the last one. For now the murders have been kept tightly under wraps, and normally the City Watch would not be expected to dedicate much of its resources to such a problem.
However, within the last few days a son to one of the noble families in the North Ward, the Hothemers, has gone missing. The man was known to leave the family estate late at night, and near to the time of his disappearance was spotted by a member of the Watch entering the City of the Dead. This was the last anyone has reported of seeing him. Now under pressure from a furious Malas Hothemer and worried about the former murders coming to light, the Watch has quietly sought to recruit a party of adventurers to enter the City of the Dead at night and investigate anything unusual. The Hothemers have similarly put up a bounty through the Watch for the safe return of their own."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Undertaker was old. Huddled within the collar of a long and faded black coat, partially hidden underneath a wide brimmed hat, was a face deeply wrinkled and pocketed with the scarred lesions of a past disease he had no business surviving. Sullen eyes squinted through the growing gloom toward a silent North Ward on the other side of the graveyard gate. He was very old. Spindly hands clung to the rusted iron bars in front of him to keep his hunched body up. Deeply calloused from decades of living, his nails were cracked and caked in dirt, dust, and whatever other unmentionable grime one accrued while working with the dead. He was too old. The Undertaker’s body was racked with a wheezing cough as he spat down at the grave he was leaning over. Too old to be taking care of the City of the Dead alone, far too old to be involved in Watch business, and far, far too old to be dealing with adventurers.
Pah! Lazy louts, the lot of them.
The Undertaker coughed again and pulled his collar tighter. What were they good for? They showed up, spouting useless nonsense about glory or honor or riches, and tried to solve all the city’s problems within a fortnight. Not an honest trade or worthwhile bone between the whole of them. If the barkeep was not hounding him so hard about his gambling debts, he would have told the Watch to take their money and shove it. Instead he was stuck here now, playing secret shepherd to a group of the louts as they rummaged through his graveyard when he could have been rolling the dice with a mug of ale and a minced meat pie. Pah! What were adventurers good for? He knew what they were good for.
Filling his quota.
Slowly the Undertaker removed a match from within his coat pocket and, striking it against the graveyard wall, lit a lantern that hung off an iron hook near to the gate. At once the gloom was momentarily cast aside by the pungent burning of oil. The lazy louts would no doubt be there soon. They had better. If not, the Undertaker had half a mind to just head to the nearest tavern with the money he had already been paid, the Watch and any would-be-adventurer be damned.
Pah!
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 3, 2019 9:06:01 GMT
Crucible walked confidently through the darkened streets, a simple casting of the Lights cantrip helping him to navigate. One hand rested on the pommel of the mace on his hip, a weapon he had forged himself and one of his dearest belongings. He rolled his other shoulder as a dull ache ran through it. It would seem one of his linkages needed to be oiled, but he hadn't gotten around to it. Being a warforged meant having to have a basic knowledge of repairs,bht it didn't always mean being timely about it.
As he neared the City of the Dead, he gave a quick bow of his head to acknowledge those within. While he intended to intrude, he meant no disrespect and wanted that to be known. He rounded the corner, and saw the Undertaker. Crucible grinned, like someone greeting an old friend, just as he did whenever he met someone. "Hello! You must be the man I am supposed to meet! I hope you're ready for a fun night of adventuring," he bellowed as he neared.
He couldn't help it. He just liked people.
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Post by Juliette on Jan 3, 2019 9:09:31 GMT
Twilight. The time between the light of the day and the full cloak of night. Since her return to the world of the living and the sane, Juliette had found herself more comfortable at night than under the light of the sun. She had dwelled amongst monsters for so long, perhaps it was natural that she should take on some of their habits. Perhaps. Or perhaps it was a sign that, no matter what she pretended to herself, she was doomed to perpetuate the cycle of madness and death into which she had been thrust. She had been investigating the murders as best she could before the call for aid went out. The City of the Dead was another small comfort. Here, the dead stayed dead. The graves were, at least most of the time, undisturbed. What few undead did rise – whether through magic or unrestful spirit – were amusing to her. It was like watching a mummer’s play. The shape of it was there, but it had the hardest edges removed. She knew these streets better than any other area of Waterdeep; not that it said a great deal. It wasn’t a surprise when the Watch had asked her to investigate. She has done a few such things for them in the past, looking into cases that they could not or would not. Her approach made many in the Watch uneasy; she could count on one hand the number of people she had returned to them in a state to answer questions. She was extreme, or so they said. Perhaps she was. But murder is murder, and there can be only one punishment for those who undertake such dark practices. Doubly so on those who prey upon the weak and helpless. Blood can only be answered with blood. Her shadow fell across the undertaker to announce her presence. The woman was young, and tall, and carried herself as though she expected to be assailed at any moment. Her hands rested on the hilts of her blades; the two short, functional blades at her hips ready to be used at a second’s notice. She might have been beautiful, if it weren’t for her eyes. Once, they might have been a bright, shining blue. Now, they are dull, cold, and empty; the ice over fast-moving water that claims children who play carelessly in winter. She was barely into her twenties, but those eyes speak of a life that had seen more death than the undertaker’s, and more violence with it. Her grim expression spoke of a woman who had little time for pleasantries – and indeed, she wasted no time at all in getting right down to business. “You are the guide.” She said, in a tone which made it clear that this was a statement, not a question. If the undertaker wasn’t the person she was supposed to meet to show her what the Watch thought she needed to see, he may well have just been conscripted to that purpose. “Show me.” She spared only the briefest glance towards Crucible. Her dour gaze speaking volumes as to what she thought of the prospects of a 'fun night of adventuring'. (Just making sure you have seen this mrshnigles ) |
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mrshnigles
Approved
Currently Playing Gorien
Posts: 67
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Post by mrshnigles on Jan 5, 2019 0:28:56 GMT
Gorien never liked the City of the Dead, in fact it still made him feel cold and... Watched, something he never understood. He normally never would have taken a job for the watch and esspecially not in one of his least favorite parts of town but he felt Something burning within him, compelled him to rebel against everything he thought he was. So he disguised himself as his alias Anton (a dark skinned warrior type) and signed up for the job.
Gorien made himself presentable after an while of skulking through the back alleys and approached the undertaker and the two strange figures flanking him. "Ah, sorry I'm late to the party friends. Just had a bit of late-night business to attend to"
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Kestrel
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Posts: 319
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Post by Kestrel on Jan 7, 2019 5:19:05 GMT
A tin can, a vagrant, and the closest thing the Undertaker had ever seen to a real wight walked one by one out of the gloom of the North Ward and into the flickering light of his lantern. He regarded each of them in turn with a piercing blue eye from underneath his hat.
Pah!
The tin can, hand resting idly on a mace and faintly squeaking in the calm night air, broke the silence with a boisterous welcome. To this the Undertaker’s scowl only deepened. The dark-skinned vagrant, simply dressed but noticeably armed, remarked offhandedly that he had just left some late-night devilry. To this the Undertaker placed a hand over his coin purse. The lady wight though…she was different. Her eyes were as cold as the blades she wore on her hips and she spoke, nay ordered, with nary a moment of hesitation that he show them the way through the City of the Dead. Blunt and with conviction. Were it not for the deep shadow of his wide brimmed hat, the more perceptive among them might notice his wrinkles widen into the softest of smiles. This would no doubt be an insufferable night with an even more insufferable collection of fools, but, perhaps, not every adventurer was as foolish as the last.
“I get paid,” the Undertaker rasped with no wave, nod, or other form of acknowledgement, “by the number of bodies I put into the ground.” He hoped the message was clear: he had no time nor patience for idlers or chatterers. Perhaps one could even read it as a warning. If they were not prepared to face the Waterdeep night and the City of the Dead, he had no qualms adding their own to his tally.
“Follow me.”
Grabbing the lantern off the nearby wall the Undertaker spun around with a flutter of his coat and began to trudge deeper into the graveyard, confident, or perhaps simply unconcerned, that the rest of them would follow. For some time they moved down the central cobblestone pathway through the sprawling expanse of dead. The deeper they ventured the closer the gravestones began to clutter around their path, occasionally broken by the looming shadow of a spindly dead tree or the cold face of a mausoleum. Eventually the Undertaker turned from the main path and began to pick his way through the stonework, feet crossing invisible paths he had charted from years of tending to them.
At last he soon arrived in the small clearing he was to take them to: surrounding a small courtyard of weathered flagstone were a series of mausoleums, singular gravestones peeking out between them from the shadows. Each of the mausoleums were inscribed by the sigil of one of the great noble houses of Waterdeep and some of them even bore signs of recent activity. Pah! Only nobles had the time or money to decorate the graves of their ancestors with colorful wreaths and burning clumps of incense. The Undertaker coughed violently again before peering over his shoulder.
“The dead welcome you.”
The man shuffled over and sat down at the broken foot of a nearby sarcophagus. From within his coat he produced and lit a pipe, the tiny flame illuminating his sullen features as the smoke disappeared into the dark air. “This is where the Watch told me to take you. You’re to believe that this is where they last saw your missing noble brat.” The Undertaker puffed out a cloud with a long exhale and then replaced the pipe back into his mouth.
“So? Get investigating. The night won’t last forever.”
(DM Note: Go ahead and investigate the area! I'm pretty lenient on what kinds of checks you do as long as you can justify them, and feel free to poke around, ask questions, or use your own intuition.)
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Post by Juliette on Jan 7, 2019 7:43:13 GMT
When they arrived at their destination, Juliette held up her hand.
“Before we go further.” She said, “You should understand my purpose here.”
She was addressing, primarily, the other adventurers – though she let her gaze linger long enough on the undertaker to ensure that he knew he was included as well. She just doubted the old man cared one whit for her purpose; he was here to do his job. The other two? The motivations of adventurers varied considerably from one to the next. It was vital that she made them understand, before their working at crossed purposes brought them into danger.
“The recovery of the lost child is important. It is not my primary concern.”
Her voice was clipped and harsh, her tone as serious as the graves amongst which they now stood.
“Something has been murdering and mutilating the weak for far too long. I care not if it is a monster or a madman. When I find whatever is responsible, there is only one judgement which can be laid upon them.”
She drew both her blades. There was not even a whisper of sound as the well-oiled steel slid from the scabbard. Under the increasingly dim light, the razor-sharp metal glistened as though it were hungry.
“My name is Juliette Larkspur.” She said, dourly, “I will end whatever is responsible for this, be it man, beast or blasphemy. Know that if you walk with me this night, that is my purpose, beyond all other things. I care little if you hope to accomplish other tasks, but know that if I must weigh the life of one child against the lives of many more, and vengeance for those who have already passed? I will not hesitate. There can be no bargaining with monsters such as this, and the life of one lordling matters little should the night be made safer for the lack of it.”
Her explanation and ground rules given, the woman turned her attention back to the graves. She practically radiated righteous indignation as she began to stalk about them, her fury as cold as ice, and yet no less evident for that. Of course, she hoped that she could get through the night without having to sanction the death of a child to secure the ending of a monster; but she couldn’t afford to travel with people who would get squeamish about such things in the heat of the moment. That would only put them all in further jeopardy.
(Rather than make a skill check, I'd like to use the ten minutes or so of travel, poking around and dramatic speech time to invoke my Inspiring Leader feat - this will give us all, including the undertaker, 6 temporary HP if the GM is cool with that)
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mrshnigles
Approved
Currently Playing Gorien
Posts: 67
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Post by mrshnigles on Jan 7, 2019 21:06:40 GMT
(Gorien is currently undisguised right now, only disguised earlier today to take the job)
As a true Waterdavien Gorien tried as hard as possible not to let the grim nature of the undertaker and his new companion's speech get to him. But he couldn't help but feel a bit perturbed. She was right, we need to get to business and dig up the root of this problem and that took a much larger priority over some noble son. This thought gave him focus and he began rooting around, trying to find some sign of the un-natural being.
Investigation check: 7rhITVaV1d20+5 1d20+5
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 8, 2019 1:20:10 GMT
Crucible listened to the stranger speak as he took in his surroundings. He wasn't much of an investigator, and found himself at a loss of what to do. He paced the area, hoping anything would jump out at him. He was here to help someone in need, and he would do his best regardless of his skills.
(If she's taking ten minutes to use that feature, can I take ten on an investigation check? Otherwise my roll is below)
Investigation Check: b0r0fhHy1d201d20
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Kestrel
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Posts: 319
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Post by Kestrel on Jan 8, 2019 19:17:14 GMT
The woman’s cold gaze, nor her speech, nor even the fiery gleam of her exposed swords moved the Undertaker from his seat. He exhaled another long puff of pipe smoke. The man could hardly give a rat’s arse about a lordling’s life. Kelemvor knows there were too many of the inbred louts strutting around Waterdeep as it was.
“Just leave the body when you’re done. Lordlings pay double.”
The Undertaker watched, idly puffing at his pipe with his feet kicked up on a nearby tombstone, as the adventurers fanned out to begin their search of the area. Not that the louts seemed particularly good at it. The pale lady, mighty bane of darkness and children everywhere, still seethed and seemed more interested in her own dark thoughts than the jumble of stonework at her feet. The vagrant, on the other hand, just looked…lost. Pah! Can find his way to a coin purse just fine no doubt, but the first bit of honest work and his sense becomes lost. Perhaps if the Undertaker tossed a few coppers around it would encourage the vagrant to look closer. The thought brought the first real smile of the night to the withered man’s face.
To his utmost surprise, however, it was the tin can who first stooped low to the ground. Though perhaps its joints simply thirsted for some extra oil.
“Eh? You find something over there? I might remind you that I have lawful right to any coin, jewel, or otherwise valuable bauble dropped here by the living, or the dead.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Juliette: Your rousing, if perhaps highly unorthodox, speech has had its desired effect. Whether they like it or not, the rest of the party has gained 6 temporary HP. The Undertaker, despite his immense indifference, also gains 6 temporary HP. Gorien: Despite your best efforts you are unable to find anything interesting among the jumbled graves, related to your task or otherwise. Perhaps the unsettling nature of this night has had more of an effect on your mind than you first realized? Crucible: (I’m going to assume you’d rather go with the 18 than taking a base of 10 ;3 ) Tonight, you are an investigator! After pacing for a time, you notice something unusual about the flagstone under your feet. In between some of the haphazardly set stones are patches of open land and, your eyes hopping from one to another, you discern a set of bootprints and a thin trail of tracked dirt leading to one of the surrounding mausoleums. Perhaps not unusual on its own as the decorated mausoleums are clearly not uncommonly visited, but you notice two other things. One - alongside the bootprints are a set of heavy indents, oblong and deeply pressed into the ground, that crisscross back and forth across the clearing multiple times. Two – while this second set of prints goes both ways, the first set of bootprints only leads toward the mausoleum. This particular mausoleum is the only one in the clearing which lies undecorated by flowers or candles, and upon its door you see a noble house sigil in the shape of a wagon wheel over a field of flowers. |
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 8, 2019 21:42:35 GMT
Crucible examined the prints for another moment, not wanting to call attention to something irrelevant. "It looks like we might have a start. There's tracks leading to one of these mausoleums, and it looks like somebody, or some body, may still be inside". He stood in front of the mausoleum in question, looking up at the family sigil. "Anybody recognize this? I'm afraid I don't know much about the social and political going ons of the city".
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mrshnigles
Approved
Currently Playing Gorien
Posts: 67
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Post by mrshnigles on Jan 8, 2019 22:08:29 GMT
Gorien looks up quickly and hurries over to investigate the symbol. He thinks for awhile, consulting his old knowledge from his time as a noble and tries to remember any history of the symbol in question.
History check: 2yaT2RRU1d20+31d20+3
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Post by Juliette on Jan 9, 2019 9:22:20 GMT
Juliette frowned slightly when her companions failed to introduce themselves in turn, but – such was life. Perhaps they didn’t want her knowing their names, so that she could not find them as easily later. She could hardly blame them for that. They each also seemed to focus more intently on the job at hand, for which she could not fault them. Especially when the Warforged made headway on a lead.
She approached the mausoleum which had been indicated, and took in its frontage easily enough. It didn’t take a genius to spot the difference between this one and the others.
“I don’t know the family.” She said, “But it isn’t as well-kept as the rest; I’d hazard that the family has fallen on hard times.”
Even in Evernight, where the dead did not rest, it had never been a good sign when graves went untended. Such indicated a loss of prestige and power. When the dead felt slighted, they tended to take their revenge upon the living. It wasn’t a sure thing, of course, but it was where her mind was going. Now, she hoped that they were dealing with a merely mortal madman, and not some nefarious horror from beyond the grave… though the tools to deal with either were just the same.
“I will go first.” She said, “Follow at least twenty paces behind, lest we stir something within and you must retreat to find help.”
She didn’t need to say that she wouldn’t be retreating under any circumstances, did she? It was one thing to allow evil such as this to go unchallenged when it was not right in front of her, but she had been brought to this place, at this time. There could be no falling back. Either she would destroy it, or it would destroy her.
The Paladin stole forward, then, keeping her profile low as she sought to open the tomb as quietly as possible, and skulk inside.
Stealth Check: FVkwQYcd1d20+5
1d20+5
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Post by 3personal5me on Jan 9, 2019 20:43:14 GMT
Crucible took his place next to the door, watching the woman work. "I'm afraid that I'm not exactly quietly. I shall wait in the back, for now. Should you need assistance, please shout. Would you, however, like assistance with the door?"
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Kestrel
Approved
Icon by @ArtByRue on Twitter!
Posts: 319
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Post by Kestrel on Jan 10, 2019 18:08:17 GMT
The Undertaker remained unmoved as the party crowded around one of the mausoleums. One of them, the creaky tin can by the sound of it, asked about the origin of the symbol chiseled onto its stone door. From where he sat the Undertaker could not see it through the darkness and the haze of his pipe. Nor did he particularly care, as the man did not make it his business to learn from the dead he was burying. A corpse was a corpse, whether they were rich or poor or famous or a bleeding nobody in life, and by the time they reached his cart they were worth nothing more than a few coppers and a mug of cheap ale anyway. Pah! Only a family with too much free time on their hands cared about something like lineage. Here the dead were just maggot feed.
Nothing more.
“Go on and tromp through anything you like; the dead don’t give one damn. Just mind yourselves. I’ll make sure anything you break comes out of that reward.”
Ha! And into his pocket, with luck. As if he cared about some inbred’s precious gilded tomb. He was paid to tend the trees and keep out graverobbers, and that was all he was going to do. Unless the louts started carrying out bodies, they could do what they damn well pleased. Himself? The Undertaker had half a mind to catch a well-deserved nap.
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Gorien: The symbol is easily recognizable to you as belonging to the noble House Hothemer. Ennobled a little over two centuries ago, the wagon wheel on their sigil is in clear reference to their ownership of one of the largest fleets of caravan wagons in Waterdeep, making their fortune as much on trade as the tariffs they charge for transporting the goods of other families and enterprises. Recent rumor has openly circulated that a few risky investments by some of the younger Hothemer’s have hit their finances hard, but at the very least the family has kept up the appearance of a lavish and comfortable lifestyle.
Juliette: With the help of your warfoged companion you manage to slide open the door into the mausoleum, taking care to keep the grinding of stone against stone as quiet as possible. With the faint flicker of the Undertaker’s lantern and what moonlight has begun to creep up over the horizon, you make out the tomb antechamber. A pair of statues, both richly dressed humans with one counting coins from a purse and the other smelling a rose, flank either side of the opposite wall. You can just make out the sunken shadow of stairs leading downward between them. |
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Post by Juliette on Jan 10, 2019 22:26:27 GMT
Juliette gave a curt nod to her Warforged companion as he assisted her with the door. Her blades remained drawn, and her attitude just as dour as it had been since the moment that they had met. Her focus was… intense, and she clearly had little interest in stopping to admire the décor, or to dignify the Undertaker’s grousing with further comment.
As she came forwards, staying light on her feet and making as little sound as possible, the woman let her gaze sweep across the chamber. She was mostly interested in the stairs, however, which seemed an obvious next step. Barring any clear further signs – such as trails, blood, or sudden screams – she was likely to continue down the stairs at her level pace.
Soon enough she was sure she’d be out of what little light there was, but she trusted to her instincts and faith to keep her safe.
Indeed, should she make it all the way to the top of the stairs without an obvious encounter, she would close her eyes briefly and touch the hilt of one sword against her chest. A dark shadow would then bleed its way into existence on her forehead as she called upon the power of her Goddess to warn of any immediate danger which may be lurking about them.
(OOC - Moving up to the stairs, and using Divine Sense - particularly curious for whether any place or object within 60 feet counts as consecrated / desecrated, though if there's any undead, fiends or celestials within 60 feet who aren't in total cover I'll get a ping on that too.)
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