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Korvosa, the Jewel of Varisia, has long sparkled on Varisia’s southern shore. Established 300 years ago by Cheliax at the height of that empire’s expansion, the city now commands its own destiny. A line of Korvosan kings and queens emerged to rule the city, establishing an infamous seat power—the Crimson Throne. Rulers have sat upon the Crimson Throne for more than a century, and the city has flourished. Yet the monarchy always seems on the brink of disaster. The Crimson Throne is not a prize to be won—it is a curse. No monarch of Korvosa has died of old age, and none have produced an heir while ruling. Even though King Eodred II controls Korvosa more fully than any previous monarch, that control remains tenuous, and many secretly count the days until their latest king falls to what they call the Curse of the Crimson Throne.
25 Desnus, 4708 AR
It is the dawn of a new day in the city of Korvosa, a day which begins seemingly no different than the day before. Yet, unbeknownst to five disparate strangers with an undiscovered common bond, it is the just the beginning of something far more.
In a dank alleyway, the rogue Vic Marduk discovers a strange thing lying on top of an old pickle barrel. It is a beautifully painted fortune-telling card, with gilded edges and a message handwritten in dark ink on the back. Markswoman Una Therlmagne finds a similar card in her black leather boot as she dresses for the day, while vengeful cleric Pierre Bergadot spies one under his thin mattress as he rises from his night's sleep in a dirty flophouse. The mysterious Hytogg discovers another such card tucked between the pages of his spellbook after morning meditations. Finally, broken brawler Shakhan pulls a card from beneath his flagon as he breakfasts in a cheap tavern.
What can this mystery portend? Time alone will tell...
Vic's card: The Peacock
Una's card: The Juggler
Pierre's card: The Publican
Hytogg's card: The Wanderer
Shakhan's card: The Teamster
All players: Back of Card
The dark-haired woman reads the back of the card again.
"Harlots and Charlatans!" She curses mildly under her breath, and sets the card on the table beside her bed as she finishes pulling on her black leather ensemble.
She had never given much credence to Varisian fortunetelling, seeing such cards all too often in her line of work as a method of gyping hard-earned coin from the naive and gullible.
She stands and prepares her belt for the day, the small bolt quivers hanging down the front of her thighs, and the large holster for her heavy crossbow across her back. She would have preferred to carry it, but knew better than to tempt the guards with such a provocation.
She had rounds to make, pursuing work. The Bank of Abadar was one of them, as was as a small mercenary provisioner on the Avenue of Arms. She had met Colin there, a pang of memory stabbing at her heart; one which she quickly subdued.
Still, Gaedren's threats had irked her in the past; when threat had turned to action, however, Colin's life was forfeit. She buckled the leather armor tightly around her chest, making certain ample cleavage was still visible (sometimes the only way to insure work when her male competitors stepped up to her potential clients), and slipped out the door of her measly small apartment. She would have to ask around and try to find this Lancet Street before the end of the day.
Dotting......
Pierre stared at the card for several minutes, trying to piece together exactly how it had managed to get there. He looked around to see whether or not anyone was watching him but the other patrons of the flophouse were either busying themselves with their own business or still sleeping soundly. Gripping the card between his index and middle finger, he freed it from its temporary prison and turned it over in his fingers. He recognised it as a Harrow card, the Publican if memory served.
Dredging his memory to see if the address meant anything to him, he realised that this might be his best chance at clearing his sister's name. Pulling on some clothing, he set out to find out what he could about 3 Lancet Street.
Recognizing the card as a harrow card, Shakhan bursts to his feet flinging the card from him with force. The sudden commotion startles the few other guests of the establishment - but nobody tries to interfere or otherwise draw the attention of the hulking man.
The card had landed on its face, exposing some writing on its back. With a sour expression that did little to change the grim features of his face, Shakhan's curiosity got the better of him - as much as he detested fortune, he knew better than to spit in its face.
Upon reading the message his knuckles whiten. Those few who still paid attention to the man quickly looked away - lest they drew the attention of those eyes that screamed for blood.
Shakhan paid nobody any heed; when confronted by the innkeep as he was about to exit the door he wordlessly pushed some copper into the keeps hands and pushed passed him. The innkeeper looked at the coins worriedly, than at the back of the man who had left. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he hadn't seen such fire in the eyes of Shakhan for more than two years.
Dredging his memory to see if the address meant anything to him, he realised that this might be his best chance at clearing his sister's name. Pulling on some clothing, he set out to find out what he could about 3 Lancet Street.
1d20+6
Pierre recalls that Lancet Street is located in a nondescript reidential area down near the riverfront, but there's nothing remarkable about the address as far as he knows.
After almost an hour of discreet questioning, Pierre surmised that if it was a trap then the trapper had picked a good location; no one seemed to know anything about the house at all. It was a difficult choice, but as he had no other leads on the whereabouts of Gaedren, he finally decided that he would see what this note led to. He was not, however, an idiot.
Taking his time, he headed for the temple of Calistria. There he would use the make-up so often used by the sacred prostitutes to ply their trade in a slightly different manner. With some care, and assistance from one of the prostitutes that he was firm friends with, he disguised himself as a street beggar. So often considered the great unseen, it was an excellent disguise with which to watch the house before he actually entered it. As he pulled an eye patch over one eye, he studied himself in the full-length polished steel mirror.
"You would fool me, love," Alastra said, with a sly wink, before flouncing off to see to her charges. With a smirk, Pierre nodded and made his way to Lancet Street. His leather armour creaked a little as he moved, and his weapons were a little uncomfortable under his disguise but it was worth it.
Once he reached the street, which was in a downtrodden area of Korvosa, he set himself on the step of an abandoned house a few doors down from the house he was interested in and plyed his trade as a beggar. He even managed a couple of copper coin but he kept his eye on the house, waiting to see who arrived.
"What is this", Hytogg muttered under his breath, as the card fell from his spellbook, landing facedown on the floor. As he bent over to pick up the card, he was beat to the punch by his toad Morty, whom flopped right on top of the card. "OK...OK I get the hint". Hytogg then reached over to the jar of crickets by his desk, and tossed a couple to the greedy toad. "If you're not careful, you're going to get too big to hop". He then lifted the chubby toad off the card, and noticed the writing on it's back. A chill ran down his back as he realized what the card said. He then noticed the picture on the front of the card.
"Now who could have put this there", he mutters to Morty. He had been asking around about Lamm a bit, but...wait. This might be a trap. Lamm was known for pulling all sorts of tricks...No that's ridiculous. If he could send someone to plant this card, he would just take care of Hytogg himself. Maybe one of his older siblings...no they could be cruel, but they knew the way he felt about losing his sister, and would never tease him about that.
Could this be real? Hytogg casts Detect Magic on the card, and uses spellcraft to determine what he can.
Pierre, the beggar, is somewhat disappointed with the initial turnout. The early afternoon had worn on. Some sailors that seemed promising turned out to be just passing by. A whore to old to ply her trade at more winsome hours and chased off the more profitable docks. Then what looks like a brute that may just have passed his prime, battleaxe held at the short grip, came by - eyeing the houses viciously.
Pierre does note that for a minute or so the strongarm studies a paper - on second glance a harrow card - then makes his way purposefully towards one of the houses. The man lashes out and opens the door without bothering to knock - the power in his movement evidence that either the door would give way peacefully or by force. The man apparently did not bother closing the door properly, it now leans open by maybe half a foot.
Towards sundown, Una finally finds her way to Lancet Street and turns off of Warehouse Way onto the small riverfront line of houses. Warehouses, for the most part. In the growing shadows of the evening she feels comfortably that no guard patrol this particular street. She unbuckles her crossbow and holds it close to her chest as she walks down the small street, little larger than an alleyway.
With surprising speed she loads a bolt and readies the weapon; the look in her eyes informing everyone nearby that she means business.
She approaches the address given to her, uncertain what to expect. The door stood wide open. She frowned and glanced around at any passersby. It did not seem the most discrete location.
Another wasted afternoon, Vic was thinking, as he poked a toothpick along the edges of his teeth. Three hours spent criss-crossing the same the stretch of alleyway, waiting for a suitable mark, all for nothing. This was turning into a real dry spell, alright. But, then, what else could he expect? Thieving without a guild backing you was risky business. One was limited in one’s freedom. You had to be careful.
He sighed and flicked the toothpick into an open barrel. That’s when he spotted the harrow card. Just…laying there. With a smirk he picked it up and scanned the image, some dingy looking bird on a drab background. Nothing worth anything, of course, not with his luck lately. He was ready to toss it, back with the rest of the garbage, when he spotted the text on the back.
It started: I know what Gaedren has done to you…
For a moment fear froze Vic. This was text for him. Him specifically. Had someone left this here knowing he’d been staking out the area? Was someone watching him? Not good, especially since the only ones who even knew what happened that night at the docks were him and Lamm…
Yeah, definitely bad. It stunk like a trap. Vic had been working off the belief that Lamm thought he was dead. If he knew he was still lingering in Korvosa, he’d likely see to finishing the job. But was this really Lamm’s style? Wouldn’t he rather a quick knife in the back at the hands of his thugs to playing games?
Probably. But maybe not. Either way the smart move was to tear it up and head in the opposite direction. But…
But what if this really was an opportunity to get back at the old man? Even if just for a few coppers worth, it’d be worth a little risk just to hurt him, wouldn’t it? You think about revenge every day and then you’re going walk out on the first possible chance that’s come your way?
Vic shook his head. No. A quick peek wouldn’t hurt. He’d just have to remain on his toes is all.
(Vic will head towards Lancet Street but attempt a stealthy approach. Stealth )
Pierre watched as the large, angry-looking man entered the house, and the armed woman approached it. Neither really looked as though they knew exactly where they were headed which made Pierre think that they might also have been summoned. Regardless, he waited while the armed woman stood outside for a moment before leaving his resting place and shuffling towards her. He kept one hand on the grip of his whip, just in case, but otherwise held out the small tin cup he'd been using as part of his begging disguise.
"Alms for the poor, my lady?" he rasped, hoping to make the woman think him an old beggar simply looking for some coin.
Una stood out of the way when the beggar walked toward her. She sensed almost immediately that the man was not what he appeared to be.
"I am unfortunately as poor as you are at the moment. Unless I can find some more work. If I had something to give for the likes of you, I'd give it where I would be sure it wouldn't be used to waste one's life away."
Although not entirely haughty, the woman spoke in a cold, disdainful manner.
Pierre smirked under his disguise.
'This one is perceptive, if a bit cold,' he thought to himself, 'Perhaps a glimpse of the Harrow card will loosen her tongue.'
Rummaging through his clothing, he eventually pulled out the Harrow card and held it up where she could easily see it.
"I found one of these in my bed," he said, dropping the rasping voice, and standing up to his full height, "I think you might have a matching one?"
After his careful investigation of the card, Hytogg donned his cloak, and headed out to find this location. Finally after a couple of hours of searching, and dead ends, he finds the address. As he arrives he sees the door to the place open, and a beggar talking to a young woman.Perception (1d20+5=12)
If he see's the beggar flash the card he will approach them. If not he will just head for the open door.
Una raises an eyebrow at the sight of the card.
"Yes" she says slowly. "And if I'm not mistaken, here is where we are expected."
Una looks over her shoulder at the setting sun.
"At any moment, now"
Shakhan limbered up, keeping his eye on the door. His weight shifts from foot to foot. The anticipation was tangible. He didn't care much for the wait itself, but the anticipation was like in the old days. Before a match. A few violent slashes with his weapon took the edge off somewhat - but no matter how many foes he vanquished inside his head, Gaedren still stood tall and unreachable.
There! A shadow at the door! Shakhan drops his stance low, eyes keening on the outline of light, his powerful thighs bulging ready to propel himself at a moment's notice. He reverses his grip on the axe - hoping to use the blunt side. Answers and dead people don't mix well.
Pierre nodded at the newcomer before placing the Harrow card back beneath the folds of his disguise. Glancing at the setting sun, he nodded to himself.
"I have been watching the house for most of the day and I have only seen one person enter, a large human with a look that would suggest murderous intention," Pierre said, studying the open door, "Given the way he treated the door, I would guess he has been summoned too. Otherwise, he is a poor murderer."
Pierre approached the door, but did not walk through. "We are here for the meeting and mean no harm. Will you let us in?"
"In this neighborhood, it is hard to say why one would enter so forcefully. He could be a thief or a kidnapper."
Una holds up her armed crossbow readily.
"I think I'm prepared for him, if he is dangerous. Unless you are his accomplice, then I have to tell you I will not be taken or killed easily. My name is Una Therlmagne."
After Pierre's question Pierre and Una see the door open slowly, an axe blade hooking it and slowly pulling inwards. As the light of day fills the dark beyond the figure of an hulking man is visible. He is clearly a warrior and it seems his aggression is just held in check by something that weighs on his mind heavier than the thought of violence. "You the ones that will tell me about Lamm?"
(Pronounced Fayrl-Main)
With his suspicions confirmed, Pierre holds his hands up to show that he has no weapons in them before he begins to talk.
"It looks like we have a common enemy," Pierre answers, "We've got cards too." Slowly, Pierre withdraws his card to show it to the man, flipping it front and back to let him see it.
"I'm Pierre Bergadot, and this is Una Therlmagne," he continues, replacing the card within his clothing. "It looks like we've arrived here before our new patron." Pierre peered inside but saw that it was just the man in the room.
'It could still be a setup,' he thought to himself, chiding himself mentally for showing his hand so early. Nevertheless, it was done now and it seemed like he had some new compatriots.
"Can we come in?"
Seeing the other people enter the room, Hytogg decides he might as well see this play out. He enters the house in a cloud of flying debris, and dust, his cloak billowing behind him.
"Behold"! "Hytogg has arrived". "Who here summons the enemies of Gaedren Lamm"?
Pierre smirks as the man proclaiming himself to be Hytogg enters the room. He lets the man make his grand entrance before speaking.
"Nice spot of Prestidigitation there, Hytogg," Pierre says with a humoured air, "You can drop the act though, none of us wrote these cards. Indeed, we're still awaiting their arrival and I fear it could be a trap. I'd suggest you prepare yourself with more useful spells in case we need them."
Una rolls her eyes at the pretentious display.
"Oh joy. A mage. Also summoned here, I take it?"
She looks around the room and finds a chair near a table. She sits in it and props her feet up on the table, cradling the crossbow in a gesture that was both leisurely and ready.
"So... then, I wonder how many were summoned?"
"We'll find out soon enough, I wager," Pierre said, taking another seat at the table. He studied Una as he did so. In better circumstances, he might well have made a play for her, but given the way in which she cradled her crossbow, he made a mental note to leave it until later. Preferably a few seconds after saving her life.
"We might as well sit down," Pierre said to the others, motioning towards the other empty seats, "No point in tipping off whoever summoned us here, in case there is something amiss."
Vic arrives on Lancet Street in time to miss most of the action. He notes a woman in fighting leathers, a beggar, and a man in a robe crowded near a door that matches the address he was given. Mage, he thinks of the last one, maybe. Definitely not muscle. Whoever they are, something is clearly going down and it doesn’t look like an ambush, or at least it’s the clumsiest one he’s ever seen.
He watches as all three eventually enter and then waits. And then waits a bit longer. After awhile he begins to feel silly huddled as he is behind a tower of half-rotted shipping crates. Finally boredom gets the best of him and, hand on the hilt of his sword, he approaches the door and finds it still ajar from Hytogg’s entrance. Within he spies several people gathered around a table, two of them seated, looking for all the world liked bored clients in a waiting room. The woman and the beggar, who, on closer, obviously isn’t a beggar at all.
Vic frowns. “Say, what the hell is this? Some kind of tea party? Which of you sent me the stupid card and why? I don’t like pranks or the people who pull them.”
Privately he finds himself hoping it wasn’t the one with the axe though. Arousing the temper of a guy that size doesn’t seem wise.
The cozy chamber within the small home is filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice. The haze comes from several sticks of incense smouldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke itself seems to soften edges and gives the room a dream-like feel. The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling men’s hearts, another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall hooded figure shrouded in mist, a flaming sword held in a skeletal hand. Several brightly-colored rugs cover the floor, but the room’s only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throwcloth and several elegant tall-backed chairs. A basket under the table contains a bottle of wine and a loaf of fresh bread. A simple, hand-written note rests atop the table, held in place by a stone paperweight.
Una looks around at the room, sniffing the perfumed incense and snuffling as though the cloying fragrance were undesirable.
She turns her head towards the newcomer.
"It is my assumption that we are as in the dark about this circumstance as you are. But to be honest if we were to be kidnapped, set up, framed, or murdered, this is hardly an ideal room to do it in."
Una nods her head towards the note on the table.
"The note may explain more."
Pierre idly picks up the card and reads it, boredom already beginning to set in. After reading it, he drops it on the table for the others to read.
"Same handwriting as the back of the cards," he says, "It does mention some water and bread being available." Leaning under the table, he sits back up with a jug of water and a basket containing some plain wooden mugs and some slices of bread. Before he touches any of it, he mutters an incantation and passes his hand over the assorted foodstuffs.
Una frowns, hearing Pierre's incantation.
"Are you some type of mage as well?"
Pierre laughed at Una's question, happy that the food and water was fit to eat. Picking up a mug and filling it with the waterskin, he tore up one of the slices and popped it in his mouth.
"No, I'm not some type of mage, I'm a cleric," he replied, taking a swig of water, "Of Calistria," he added after a pregnant pause.
The giant man looked sullen, disliking the mention of magic - clerical or otherwise. Grabbing some of the bread for himself he eyed the select few around him. This isn't an ambush. Gaedren would not send some mice like this - maybe he thinks numbers are enough. The woman. She's tough. But I outlast her. The others are just there to get in the way. See what they think. Conversation stops momentarily as the gathered members hear Shakhan speak for the first time since they met him. A gruff voice that carries almost no subtext. "I hate Lamm."
1d20+6-5
Pierre smirks as the man proclaiming himself to be Hytogg enters the room. He lets the man make his grand entrance before speaking.
"Nice spot of Prestidigitation there, Hytogg," Pierre says with a humoured air, "You can drop the act though, none of us wrote these cards. Indeed, we're still awaiting their arrival and I fear it could be a trap. I'd suggest you prepare yourself with more useful spells in case we need them."
"What that trick"? "I can do things like that all day". "Don't worry yourself that I don't have more interesting tricks at my disposal". "You should all be forewarned that Hytogg is not a man to be trifled with". "Indeed the blessings of Nethys are bestowed upon this humble soul in abundance".
"So my good man...did your magical detections deem the food and wine as safe"?
If so Hytogg will seat himself at the table and pour a large portion of Wine, in addition to picking through the food for some choice items. "Hmmm no pickled Lamprey...Not a very good host".
"Interesting decorating theme, don't you think, he says to nobody in particular, as he makes himself comfortable".
Knowledge Arcana, History, and The Planes (1d20+7=26, 1d20+7=18, 1d20+7=11)
As he studies the tapestries that adorn the walls.
"Interesting decorating theme, don't you think, he says to nobody in particular, as he makes himself comfortable".
Knowledge Arcana, History, and The Planes (1d20+7=26, 1d20+7=18, 1d20+7=11)
As he studies the tapestries that adorn the walls.
The giant man looked sullen, disliking the mention of magic - clerical or otherwise. Grabbing some of the bread for himself he eyed the select few around him. This isn't an ambush. Gaedren would not send some mice like this - maybe he thinks numbers are enough. The woman. She's tough. But I outlast her. The others are just there to get in the way. See what they think. Conversation stops momentarily as the gathered members hear Shakhan speak for the first time since they met him. A gruff voice that carries almost no subtext. "I hate Lamm."
"You aren't the only one, big man," Pierre replied, "I suspect we're here due to our deep hatred of that bastard."
Una takes the marked Harrow Card out of her beltpouch and puts it on the table, face up. Then she pours herself a mug of wine as well, lifting it in a mocking toast before quaffing a swallow or two.
"Here's to getting this meeting over with and getting on with our lives."
"I'll drink to that," Pierre says, lifting his mug of wine in mock salute. He looked around, and wondered who had called them here. None of them came from the same walk of life as Pierre, which meant their shadowy patron must have a wide range of contacts.
Shakhan decides to follow the woman's example. He takes out his card and puts it next to her card, face up too. He's surprisingly ginger in this action, going to unusual length - compared to his normal demeanor - to place the card down cautiously.
Vic takes a final glance at his card and shrugs, tossing it onto the table with the others. His suspicions are far from completely allayed though, certainly not enough to start eating the food. For all he knows the so-called cleric just made that up about the bread and drink being safe. He could even be their host, for all they know. Same with the wizard.
So instead Vic will stick by the door, keeping an eye on the streets outside, not wanting get surrounded or snuck up on while the others are busy emptying the wine bottle.
(In case there's anything new out on the streets to see. Perception )
Conversation proceeds for a few more minutes, as the 'guests' avail themselves of the refreshments, wondering how long they will be made to wait. The bread is a bit stale, but filling, while the wine, thought not fine, tastes good enough.
The group's wait ends a few moments later, as the door opens, and an attractive, middle-aged woman with dark hair enters the house. She smiles, and says simply with a Varisian accent, "Thank you for coming to visit." She seats herself at the table, and produces a set of Harrow cards from a pocket, clearly matching those which served as 'invitations' for the newcomers. The woman deftly sweeps up the remaining cards from the tabletop, and begins to idly shuffle them. Her skill with the deck is obvious as the cards seem to dance and float over her hands and the table. With a nod of her head, she indicates that anyone still standing should sit and join her at the table. "I am Zellara. Welcome to my home."
Pierre watches her impressive sleight of hand tricks with the cards. She seems nice enough, Pierre thought to himself, but of all people, he knew that looks can be deceiving.
"Greetings, Zellara," he says, watching her like a hawk, "I must admit that your invitation came as something of a surprise, especially as I don't think I know who you are. Tell me, why have you called us here?"
Now that a clear source of today's uproar was in front of him, Shakhan's gaze narrowed on Zellara. His mind was calculating. A bit slowly. She... why does she seem familiar? Did Gaedren used to call on her for something? Divinations? The face. Can't place it, something is familiar about this woman, but off at the same time. As if displaced.
Una also frowns at the Varisian.
"Do you have a plan for revenge? The last I heard, Lamm was nigh unapproachable."
"Greetings, Zellara," he says, watching her like a hawk, "I must admit that your invitation came as something of a surprise, especially as I don't think I know who you are. Tell me, why have you called us here?"
1d20+7
1d20+6
In answer to Pierre's question, Zellara speaks in a soft but clear voice. “Thank you for coming, my friends, and for putting up with my unconventional method of contacting you. I have reason to remain hidden, you see—a terrible man would see great harm done to me if he knew I was reaching out for help. This is a man you know, for he has done something terrible to each of you as well. I speak, of course, of Gaedren Lamm, a man whose cruelty and capacity to destroy the lives of those he touches are matched only by his gift for avoiding reprisal. You see, a year ago, his thieves stole this, my Harrow deck, from me. It is important to me, an heirloom passed down through a dozen generations, and also my sole means of support. When pickpockets stole it, my son, Eran, tracked them down. Eran recovered the deck, but the thieves were in the employ of Gaedren Lamm...and in reward for finding them, Gaedren murdered my son."
She continues, “I sought help from the Guard, but they turned me away. And so I asked around. I paid bribes. I consulted my Harrow deck for advice. And recently, I was rewarded—I found out where Gaedren dwells. He can be found in an old fishery north of here at Westpier 17, where he trains his abducted children to be pickpockets and counts his stolen treasures."
“And now, I need your help. I cannot hope to face this man on my own, and the Guard moves so slowly that if I were to go to them, Gaedren would certainly know of their coming well in advance. Even if they did arrest him—what guarantee would I have he would be punished? This criminal has evaded the law for decades. But you know of these frustrations as well, for word on the street has it that Gaedren has wronged each of you, too. So
there we are. It is time for him to pay.”
"Do you have a plan for revenge? The last I heard, Lamm was nigh unapproachable."
Zellara replies, "Not so much unapproachable. But not high enough a priority for the 'authorities' to undertake the effort of bringing the snake to justice. And so the plan is for you to mete out justice of your own. Someone must make Lamm answer for what he has done!"