Café de Nuit

kintire wrote:SAFANA

"I am not aware of his name, Archmage, but he is popularly referred to as "The Manslayer".

The Archmage frowns.
"Oh. How lovely."
He laughs, a bitter, dry rattle.

He stands, unlocks the glass cabinet, and pours three fingers of amber liquor into a crystal goblet.

"Would you like some, too?"

Filbert and Termelan

Filbert looks around and see the bard trying to climb the wall and fall so he says:

"Stand up and come this way I will get us out of here."

Termelan rolls and jumps to his feet and approaches the voice. "Don't take us too far sir! I would like to wake up the guards before they freeze. But for now... let's go!"

SAFANA

She nods courteously.

"You are very kind, Archmage. That would be most welcome."

She takes the drink with steady hands, and a smile that turns a little wry as she reflects how fortunate she is that this is by no means the most intimidating interview of her life. For an odd definition of "fortunate"...

kintire wrote:SAFANA

She nods courteously.

"You are very kind, Archmage. That would be most welcome."

She takes the drink with steady hands, and a smile that turns a little wry as she reflects how fortunate she is that this is by no means the most intimidating interview of her life. For an odd definition of "fortunate"...

The liquor is fiery and strong, but it leaves a mellow aftertaste.

Caine settles into his upholstered chair.
"Rhoubhe Manslayer. Your Duke and his realm have moved up in the scale of power, to judge by the change in who his biggest enemies are... "
He smiles." I suppose being half human and working for peace is enough to put His Grace on Rhoubhe's list of people to kill sooner, rather than later."

THE BURGLARS

TERMELAN scrambles up the rope, trying to get high enough off the ground that whatever is howling on the inner side of the wall won't be able to run around through a gate or hidden opening and maul him.

He makes it to the top but loses his balance and falls off the twelve feet high wall. Luckily, he does not tumble into the narrow yard between the stone wall and the USURER'S house, but flips backward into the street.
Clinging to the rope near the top of the wall saves him from hitting the pavement.

Whatever the thing on the far side is, it has stopped howling. But TERMELAN hears it moving. Fast.
Then it's....gone?

A racket comes from around the lefthand street corner. Not the sleeping men, slumped off to the right.
The direction of the building front and that iron gate, out of sight around the corner.

Was that creaking sound just now a door opening across the street? Or the gate he cannot see?

Growling comes from the left end of the block, but the bard sees only darkness and the black masses of buildings in that direction.

Filbert grabs TERMELAN. The Halfling pushes against the wall, presses his feet into the paving stones of the street, looks about as if searching for a hidden door.

The growling gets louder...

SEARCHERS

Cormac walks up to the door, looking it up and down and giving it a test push if it appears safe.

Adam wrote:SEARCHERS

Cormac walks up to the door, looking it up and down and giving it a test push if it appears safe.

It does not budge.
Upon close examination, the door appears to be locked (he can plainly see a large iron lock-plate pierced by a keyhole) and it feels as if it's been barred or blocked from the other side.

"Not sure we can get through 'ere," Cormac mutters, "Though if we can get the lock undone, I can maybe warp the wood enough to get it unbarred..."

THE BURGLARS


FILBERT finds the thin place. He presses his hands into the outer wall that encloses the USURER'S house. A piece of masonry slides inward under his fingertips. A sort of black light shines forth from the cracks around the loose stone, spilling over Filbert.
More stones slink into the walls and more of the weird un-light appears. Filbert feels the blackness in the wall pulling his clothing, his hair, even his skin. Dragging him into Shadow.

TERMELAN sees all this. He feels the halfling's grip on his hand tighten.

The bard hurls a pebble at the clump of sleeping watchmen. One of the sleepers stirs.

The growling grows louder. Much louder.

Both burglars hear what sounds like nails clicking on cobblestones. A beast, big, fast, coming out of the dark street on the right.

FILBERT passes into the shadowy gap in the wall, dragging the minstrel with him.

The snarling mastiff leaps from the street, jaws snapping shut on TERMELAN's cloak.

The wall hole closes behind the pair...


IN SHADOW


The wall hole shuts.
Starless night above with a great glinting onyx moon shedding green black rays.
No city, only a section of tumbled wall at their backs and enforce them leafless trees draped in cobwebs, spreading across a darkling plain.
Twilight hovers over and behind the skeletal branches of the trees.

Adam wrote:"Not sure we can get through 'ere," Cormac mutters, "Though if we can get the lock undone, I can maybe warp the wood enough to get it unbarred..."

Roald crosses his arms, and scowls at the door. "Too bad we don't have a spare battering ram laying around."

Varrus the Ethical wrote:

Adam wrote:"Not sure we can get through 'ere," Cormac mutters, "Though if we can get the lock undone, I can maybe warp the wood enough to get it unbarred..."

Roald crosses his arms, and scowls at the door. "Too bad we don't have a spare battering ram laying around."

Sir Boarhort wedges the spike end of his warhammer into the wood along one edge of the lock plate and tries to rip the iron loose.
Despite a mighty effort, he manages to do little more than makes some sparks against the lock and splinter the surface of the massive wooden panel.

BEFORE THE DOOR

NYISIENDRE kneels and peeps through the keyhole.

"I can't see much. A big room. Maybe furniture? It's dark."

She stands, gesturing at the lock.
"I don't suppose anyone here is a skilled burglar and can open this?"

Foerde

Foerde lights a torch and proceeds into the pit.

RocEter wrote:Foerde

Foerde lights a torch and proceeds into the pit.

THE PIT
.
Foerde can climb down because someone has left deep tool marks in the side walls, almost a stairway cut in a tightening spiral.

He has to drop his torch, hang from the rock, and fall a few feet to get to the very bottom.

At the bottom weak light he may look up to see light filtering down the hole above.
Thrusting his torch out, he takes stock of his new surroundings.
He stands in the shallow end of a wide but low ceilinged cavern. The far end, maybe fifty feet off, lies in semi darkness. The scent of decaying meat hangs in the still, dank air.
Feeling and looking closely along the wall, he finds more tool marks.
Searching the floor, he spots a bronze-headed pick.
The handle is a bit slimy, but it feels solid.