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IC [Freebooters on the Frontier] The Gate

MrPrim

Bleak Academic
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Black Zsofika

“We should speak to the Mayor, first,” the violet-skinned sorceress mutters, “We won't be able to get anything done until someone tells us what's got them spooked enough to call us in.”

She scans the city scape before her, trying to notice anything amiss. The hairs on the back of her neck are primed for any touch of the extraordinary.

She glances at their leader, “I don't have a feel for this place yet. You pick up anything off the locals, Lukacs? Seems like we didn't exactly make the most impressive of entrances.”

OOC: Shooting for a Perceive. http://orokos.com/roll/705974: 2d6 6. So close.
 

Atlictoatl

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As you peer intently with your eyes and open your senses, Zsofika, the hairs on the back of your neck tingle and rise.
  • A curtain in an upper window in the house across the street is pulled to the side, the spectre of a woman in her thirties looking out at you.
  • Two old men, sitting on a bench outside the inn, turn from their conversation to look at you. Each has visible mortal wounds.
  • A flayed dog with its innards showing jogs down the street and turns a corner. It barks urgently to you before it disappears down the side street.
  • The sky fills with decaying birds, mostly ravens. Twenty or more of them. They perch on the tops of the buildings nearby, looking down at you, cawing with mangled throats.
  • A procession of dead soldiers crosses the bridge, marching down the main street. As they pass, they all turn to look at you.
  • A woman with a limp and brambles in her hair and clothes, the top of her head partially staved in from some violence, walks past you. As she does so, she turns to you and says, "The Wild Child becomes a bird under the night sky."
You start to see more spirits of the dead than these. They pay more attention to you than they normally do.

How do you know they are spirits, aside from their wounds? What distinguishes them as such?


OOC: Mark Wisdom for the 6- result on Perceive.

This place is rich with the spirits of those passed. Please either Make a Saving Throw against Wisdom or cast a spell (if you know one that applies) to cancel their focus on you and return your sight to normal. If you succeed, you can choose between being plagued with the anxious tag whenever you think of using your second sight, or their interest having no real effect on you. If you fail, you can choose between having the fearful tag or the anxious tag whenever you think of using your second sight. Please see the OOC thread for further discussion.
 
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Artaud le momo

Slicey Bois FTW
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Lukacs

"I agree" says the tall, rizzled fighter. "Let's stat with the mayor, then maybe te rest of the council. Though there were a few people in the crowd I'd like to talk to sooner rather than later too."
 

Lysus

Unbelievably Fancy Ostrich
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Devilfish

"Indeed. Though I mislike not immediately following some of those who were acting unusually at the square, this town is not a place I am familiar with and there is little to be gained and much to risk in wandering aimlessly without knowledge of the situation. We must speak to the mayor first. As for whether she is being truthful with us, we will simply have to hope that the rest of the investigation bears this out."

Veronika turns toward Peter and scowls.

"I trust that you are at least competent enough to take our belongings to the residence provided for us and set them in order?"
 

MrPrim

Bleak Academic
Validated User
Black Zsofika's eyes go wide as she stares around. The dead are not strangers to she and yet, in such numbers and such malevolent interest, they are a shock. Her heart races looking into those white ghostly eyes, at the colorless shapes of them.

"No," she says, and there is a tremble in her voice then as she makes a quick hand motion and slams shut her She reaches out to steady herself on Lukacs.

"I do not like this place."

OOC:
I rolled a 5 on my Wis Saving Throw (+1 since it was against ghosts = 6). Marking Wis again and taking the anxious tag. I'm a badass necromancer! Ghosts don't scare much (a lot).
 

Lysus

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Devilfish

"There's a great many places I don't like, but I don't go getting spooked by them. There's worse than what we're after out there and you'd damned well do better to stay on your toes."
 

Atlictoatl

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Kingshall, the home of the Mayor, is the largest house in town. It's a massive three-story plastered thing with small windows and thick walls, and it's been expanded with new wings, embracing its own garden and well. Heavy doors and a portcullis add to the grim air of the old Republican building.

The people of Bridge watch the three of you make your way to it, some openly, some through veiled glances. The dead of Bridge watch you, Zsofika. All openly. Nothing veiled from the dead.

Peter takes the mule and your shared belongings to the Inn, as instructed, so it's just the three of you as you approach the heavy door. A roguish bald fellow with a beaming grin and medium black skin opens it and bows. "Lord and Ladies," he intones in a practiced voice, "welcome to Kingshall. Mayor Hundertwasser is expecting you." His voice and demeanor round out his appearance, making him a handsome specimen of a man.

He offers to take your coats or any other undesired paraphernalia as you enter the foyer. A White City clockwork man, powerful-looking despite the small frame and all of the decorated porcelain and enamel inlays, clacks up and assists him in organizing your items into the cloakroom. The man introduces himself as Román, and the clockwork man as Pold. Pold inclines its head, its eyes whizzing on its head as it looks over you.

You enter a large sitting room. A rangy man with a large red mane of hair and light yellow skin, wearing a soldier's uniform and chainmail, stands in the richly appointed room, a saber and dueling dagger strapped to his side. A musket sits in a stand not more than two paces from him. Román ushers you past the man to a set of double doors made of fine walnut, where he knocks smartly and then thrusts the doors open into the room.

The room is cozier than you'd expect, though still comfortable for four or five people. Two windows open onto a pleasant garden. One is cracked open, allowing some of the morning chill in to help the fire-lit room not be too stuffy. Other windows are curtained off, which would make the room dimmer but for the fire in the fireplace and the light from the garden.

The Mayor is here. Edna Hundertwasser. She rounds her desk, wiping at her brow with a fresh handkerchief and curtsies again to the three of you, urging you into seats. They're comfortable. Leather-bound. Perhaps too comfortable. With the warmth of the room, and its muted tones, and the padding of the chairs, it would be too easy to fall asleep here were the meeting to go long.

The Mayor makes small talk, asking after your travels and mentioning some of the lighter news from Ehre in the west. She carefully avoids anything that might lead to conversation about the Ceremony. Soon, Román returns with a silver tray of refreshments, which he sets to the side before serving you your choice of tea, goat's milk, or spirits and some homemade lemon scones. The Mayor urges you to take a cup of Román's homemade alcohol with a dash of goat's milk, taking a cup of it herself. As Román departs, he sweeps the doors closed behind him.

Mayor Hundertwasser, sitting now behind her desk, shifts into a more formal conversation.
 
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Atlictoatl

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Mayor Hundertwasser seems grateful that the three of you have shown up instead of the Lord Rightmaker, but she doesn't stop sweating and wiping her brow. The official summons listed some of the evidence of witchery, but she reminds you of it.

Most recently, the fish of the river floated upturned upon the water, handprints burned into their putrefying flesh. Before that, a black cat was found, gutted and nailed upon the doors of the Schoolhouse. Just before it was time to harvest, the buckwheat wilted black in the fields, and in recent weeks the pumpkins bled red under Plum Orchard Hill. The folk of Bridge were going to have a hungry winter, after their taxes were paid in the coming weeks.

It all started when a child was born with a third eye, and cried fresh out of the womb the name of Amimami, the Eater of Virility. She assures you that the council put the monster spawn to death, as is proper.

“Our request is simple, my Lord and Ladies. Find the witch before All Saints’ Night, before the month ends, before the Lord Rightmaker arrives, and we shall pay you three thousand silver in cash. Bridge cannot abide this witch in our midst. She, or he, must be found and burned, that our community can prosper."
 

Artaud le momo

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Lukacs

Lukacs settles for some simple goat's milk, no alcohol in his, but he does take a lemon scone (and a second if one is available). He listens attentively, his face like a stone, as the mayor relates her story.

"What progress have you made in your own investigations to date?" he asks. "I presume you have some sort of policing here, a village beadle, militia, a shire reeve perhaps? Who has investigated, and what were their conclusions? Did any suspects arise?"
 

Atlictoatl

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"You would have to inquire with the Watch Captain for the specifics," the Mayor replies, "but I have been assured that she has ruled out any mundane mischief, petty prankery or revenge, rival townships, enemy forces, and other such matters as would be wrought by men."

"As for the other, we are a law-abiding township, my Lord, not a backwoods village of Bizalom. We know our place. We do not obstruct, intervene, or comport our own hunt for witches. We have learned our lesson. That is your sanctum, and yours alone." She looks solemnly contrite.

She waves her hand to dispel the gloom and dismiss the subjects of her next comment. "I am certain rumours abound... how could they not! But that is not for any of us to interfere upon. I assure you no official of the Bridge of Saint Cleareyes has impinged upon your investigation. We all defer to your authority." She looks a little defensive as she makes that last comment.

 
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