Heir to the Throne: Trouble in Unbundun Part 3
It's taken some time for Crik and Carver to get out of the questioning from the Korite squires that serve as the guard within Unbundun. It's been a messy situation, and there's no doubt there's a closer watch being put on the rest of the gang that was traveling with them.
Their visit to the Kor Church at least was rather uneventful. With a few Clerics working a Mass around the time of the Afternoon they came in. Notably, there were also two Inquisitors working the area, but they were largely debating some matters of Ethics with a Cleric - as may be rather typical for Kor followers in a town quite this peaceful. People however were not too prone to talking to the gang, what with the perceived association with Crik making trouble earlier in the day.
It's gotten closer to to the evening, and the public Market is closing down, but it's still somewhat light out. Still, it's getting closer to curfew, and the gang is expected at the Inn in the North-Western part of town eventually. The very area of town in which 'trouble' has been brewing.
A lack of information is still information nonetheless, something Warrick notes as they leave the Church of Kor. "Hrmm..." he grumbles to himself. "So the inn is... this way?" he asks aloud to the group, looking up to the sky to gauge cardinals and turning towards the northwest housing district, "Best we get there before curfew kicks in."
Bryn isn't thrilled about leaving the temple. Then again, she may not have been as thrilled about visiting it as she thought she would be: training isn't held here; whether due to the late hour or the very ...orderly state of things here, random sparring and/or wrestling seemed to be in short supply, too. "Ye," the oruchess points up ahead as they walk. "This way. I think. Place called The Stuffed Pony... or summin like that."
It was unfortunate they didn't find out much at the temple, but it couldn't be helped. It didn't stop the arvek-nar from being in a slightly sour mood, but whether that was from everything going on remained to be seen. "Yeah, probably best to not push our luck and head for the inn." They grunt. "It aint a stable, is it? Weird name for an inn."
Meanwhile, at the inn. "Alright, but -why- do they call it the Plush Horse? I mean, it's better than that one place I saw that was -literally- called the 'Head Wound Inn'." Harshad is chatting with one of the servants there as he waits for the others. "Was there a plush horse the owner was fond of?"
Carver arrives at the inn, hitching her horse just outside. The thrum of a headache after the interrogation has soured the buzz from her very expensive drink, but all things considered, she is the picture of health otherwise.
As Harshad is asking out loud why it is called the Plush Horse, the person manning the desk points behind him. Where, in fact, there's a... giant pink plush horse. It looks like a taxidermy horse, which had its skin replaced by pink fuzzy plush fur - it's that realistic. But according to the person manning the desk, it is in fact just... a plushie. A very realistic one.
"It's the Owner's Hobby, that was assigned to him. Turns out she's really good at making plushies." He explains to Harshad. "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised, the Clerics and Oracles rarely get that stuff wrong." As the tall looking human leans down onto the counter and uses his elbows to support himself.
"What's the name you're checking in under again?" He then inquires, as the rest begins to spill into the doors. The place is fairly rustic, honestly. There's a liveliness to the area too, with a bar on the bottom floor being used by a twelve-some of Khazadi.
Crik has arrived.
Warrick steps into the inn behind the others, casting a glance behind him as he does so. "Head Wound Inn? Surely it's not as-" He blinks as his gaze drops onto the... "... huh. Well. That's interesting. Cinny would like that," he notes. "They do good work."
He wasn't the one to arrange the inn, so he leaves that to whoever it was.
"The Eastpeak group, party of six." Harshad arches an eyebrow at the plush pink horse, but then shrugs. "Seems like you've got a busy night ahead. Hopefully it'll be a profitable one for you as well." He lightly taps his fingertips on the counter. "Stupid question, but is breakfast served here?"
Last of the group drags himself in - cloaks and feathers and all - and looks very dejected about it too. Gloved hands go over his masked face and hood. (Did not even do anything yet!) Crik breathes, probably nth time, to Carver. Maybe he'll apologize to her someday for dragging her into his mess.
Then breakfast is mentioned. "Inn breakfast?" He asks, already poking around Warrick's shoulder; trying to keep his own feathered tail still under his cloaks.
"Oh. Plush horse. That makes a lot more sense. I mean, still a stuffed horse, just less confusing." The arvek-nar grunts. Resisting the urge to reach out and pat the big pink plushie. "I believe the oruch man over there made the reservation. I can give or take breakfast, but if it's included, I'm not gonna complain."
"Breakfast starts at seven, and ends at nine." The one at the counter answers, "You'll pay when you get up in the morning. Also, if I recall, the Eastpeak group's VISA ends tomorrow. So you'll be expected to head out of town by 9am. Make sure to show your Visa on leaving Unbundun when you do, so they can log your exit." He remarks.
"And the Plush Horse is a popular place. We always have busy nights." He then adds with a smile. He then reaches behind himself, and gets three keys out, and offers them to Harshad. "Six people, three rooms. As arranged." He notes.
Zofija might notice, in the mean time, that the Pink Plush Horse is missing some patches where it no doubt has gotten a lot of petting from other people already.
"Ooh!" Bryn spies the big pink horse. "There any more of those? For sale?" She still catches the VISA part while oggling the plush horse in The Plush Horse. "Right."
Then the details reach her brain. "Eh. That's awful early. Not much time fer more seein the sights."
"Sorry, that's the only one." The front desk-man answers Bryn with a shrug. "Something about... not feeling it anymore."
Warrick blinks as Crik peeks around him, him throwing a slightly exasperated, yet relieved sigh as him and Carver are back with the crew. "Understood, thank you," he bows his head to the innkeeper. There's a mental note of the desk-man's comment. Both dashing his plan for his daughter, as well as adding another crease to the mission report. "Yeah, not a lot of time. But, let's get unloaded, yeah?"
The rooms are upstairs, facing the streets - giving them a rather nice view of the town. They're modest in size, and indeed intended for two people. But Adventurers cozy enough with one-another could sit on the two beds and 'kind of make it work' if they wanted to meet in one of the established rooms.
Well, it seemed like it was okay, and it was easier than resisting. The large arvek-nar strides over and pats the plush horse, almost threatening to put it in a headlock. "Aw, aren't you just a big, adorable thing." Zofija laughs with a dumb smile on their face. They give the plushie one pat and stop. "Eh? Thought it was their hobby. Guess all artists have their ups and downs." They shrug. "We'll be out of there by then. Bit early, but s'what it is."
The arvek-nar gives the desk and plush one last look before joining the others and heading upstairs.
Harshad hands out two of the three keys. "Dump off anything you don't want to carry, then meet in my room." Saves on arguing over 'which room should we use'.
Once everyone's offloaded luggage and the group is piled into Harshad and... well, whoever's staying with the rangy half-orc, that room, Harshad makes sure the door is closed before checking around carefully first. "This city," he says casually. "is weird. Most places, unless you're downright dangerous, they don't want you to leave -- at least not without spending money first."
GAME: Harshad rolls Perception: (4)+8: 12
Crik looks at the others. Then down at himself. Then at the others. Finally at the other others. "I am good." His deep voice echoes, as he fails to move an inch. What wouldn't a corvid rogue want to carry? They're all shiny. "Where is your room?"
Then a moment later. "I probably should wait outside until everyone is ready?"
Warrick unloads most of his equipment in one of the side rooms, save for a bandolier of daggers and meets up with Harshad in their room, beckoning the others to join.
He takes a seat on the floor, clad in just pants an a gambeson. "Wish everyone knew Handspeech right now," he rubs his face. "I apologize for earlier, getting on to some of you. We can't blow what we know just yet until now, and I've already seen so many weird looks."
He nods towards Harshad. "Yes." A journal is produced, and he starts writing down a LOT. "Give me a moment, and I'll get my observations down and pass it around."
Carver joins the others in a room, leaning against the far wall. "They don't mind you spendin' coin. They just don't want you aroun' a lot. They sell drinks worth a dozen fine meals over."
Bryn didn't bring more than she can confortably carry (because she had to carry it), so she doesn't really have extra to drop off. This means she heads for Harshad's room rather than picking one for herself separate from that. "Ye, it's weird. Second weirdest city I been in. And the second all around." Curfews, tame Korites, picked hobbies, and even pink horses are not quite as weird to her as, say, time-stopping bird kids. She thumbs at Carver. "So they want more coin, less sight-seein. Seem awful... stuffy. Like they don' like s'prises."
Zofija stops just long enough in one corner of the room to drop off her earthbreaker, pull off her chain ermor and dump it on the handle of the weapon, and unceremoniously flop onto the back of the bed.
"Nah, I get it. Be weirder if outside folk didn't question the systems here, they're probably used to it." The arvek-nar grunts. "Most folks seem happy with where they end up, though."
"Get a feeling it's more that you get unhappied farther iffin you do complain." Carver grumbles.
"That's something else," Harshad muses. "This place feels way too... rules heavy. Like, somethin' one of the more picky gods would set up as an experiment. Why Kor? Last I checked, he was all about the fight, not building a city that's like being trapped at military school or something." He nods to Carver. "Pretty sure anyone who kicks the traces too much, well..."
"No-!" Crik says, holding his hands out. "I have seen this one before." He glances around the room. He pats himself down. "Look at shiny orb. Get trailed. Taken in for a 'friendly' questioning. Everything normal, yes?"
The egalrin holds up his hand. "Wrong. They were actually friendly and concerned. I was not even thrown into a rotten cell." Then he stares blankly at nothing for a moment, before he seems to snap out of it and looks at the others. "... I think people go missing and get forgotten around here." Another pause. "I have definitely seen this before."
'N there ain't even fightin at the -temple-!" Bryn adds to that with obvious annoyance. "No sparrin. No wrasslin. What kinda holy place don't gotta bunch o' bare oiled muscle rollin around on the-" her rant stops short to look at Crik. Since he seems to know something. "Ye? Where ye see that? N what'd it mean?"
Warrick nods his head along with the others, adding them to his growing list. There's a finger-gun towards Carver as she mentions that to Zofija's note. "I agree with you on that, Harshad," he grunts. "It's very Serrielite to do all this."
He listens to Crik, pausing his writing. "Go missing and forgotten..." he mumbles before passing his journal around:
---
Report:
The social contract seems to be a diviniation from undisclosed clerics for children that picks their profession and hobby. After the divination is over, there is a kind of subtle magic as that is done, almost like a deal. The priest turned a ring just before they shook hands with the child.
A mother quietly bemoaned that no one 'wishes' for anything different anymore.
Potentially, a deal with some kind of disguised otherworldly being?
Adventurer's guild is training fresh recruits, while the Guilds are doing maintience of Kor equipment. Kor has quite a number of new recruits and is flushed out.
Serriel used to present, but the Kor church had taken over, needed to change slightly to be more appealing to Serrielites.
Korites are not typical, they have paladins. I have suspicion they think they are Korite in nothing but name.
Speaking ill of the social contract or suggesting otherwise from the contract gets reprianded, or worse.
Many folks seem happy on the surface, but there's a undercurrent on dejectedness.
Many kinds are welcome here, but only if they adhere to the contract.
When people go missing, they tend to be forgotten.
---
Warrick thinks of something, then scratches out the last half of the last line.
"I met someone who what los' their name. It felt like, even to me, like someone reached in an' plucked it right out of me head." Carver says. "I dunno, I don't much like magic especially when it don't make much sense. This sorta feels like that except it's not just your name but your future, your choices."
"At my aerie." The corvid egalrin responds. "... something very similar." Then he suddenly spreads his hands. "And I barely got a look on the orb!" Crik exclaims. "How can an orb decide your future? Or is the future forced on you? Why is no one pondering whether the future is predetermined or not?"
Harshad looks sourly at Warrick as he reads over the journal. "Oh, joy. And none of us are priests, or spell-slingers, so we can't pry into things like that." He pauses, eyeing Crik. "'Cause it's not, Crik. Ain't nothin' predetermined. The dice always fall where they may, and Coyote laughs when we plan." He pauses. "But that don't mean someone isn't trying to run a con along those lines."
Zofija takes the book, reads it for some time, and passes it along. The arvek-nar didn't bother to get up, but her arms were long enough. "I don't know what's up. They don't really have any districts that stand out where the poorer folks would be to get a feel for how things are for those not doing as well." Zofija mumbles. "Man, I'd be miserable if I was stuck to one job my entire life, personally."
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d20: (10): 10
Bryn thinks about what they know: which is a fair pile of things, but not how they all fit together. Plus there's still more stuff to do. Stuff that may be somewhere else if they're wanted out in the morn. "So, where are we headin next? What're we gonna do? I'd never be stuck like that." Zofija gets a scowl at the thought of being pinned down like that. Then Bryn rebounds and shoots a brief tusky grin at Harshad. "Could always grab the orb and crack it open, see what's inside? Maybe get some answers."
"Have we learned anythin' of actual value here, though? Why we hidin' in this inn room rather than goin' out there where they say don't go and getting the real answers?" Carver grumps.
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d20-1: (12)+-1: 11
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d20-2: (6)+-2: 4
"Weird for a priest to use an orb. The parents all looked incredibly guilty when they were getting their kids destined," Warrick mentions rote, but a hand curls into a fist. He glances to the others. "No, we have no priests. We may need to get in contact with others back home or our scaled friend."
Once the book goes around, Warrick starts to rewrite it again, turning it into a hodge podge of different languages as he does so. "I would as well. That is also a good point, Zofija. I didn't notice any rough or poor side. Nor a noble side. It all seems... wrong."
A sigh escapes him as Bryn offers their idea. "No. Our best move is to pack up and leave in the morning. Remember: this is a recon mission. We are not trying to get noticed-" he cuts a glances to Carver and Crik, "-I know you young folk really want to make a difference right now, but we are already doing so." He holds up his ciphered journal. "Information wins wars, we need not start battles.
The report written in common gets ripped out, and burned with a nearby lantern.
Just as the group speaks of perhaps just staying put, and leaving town in peace tomorrow, there's a ruckus nearby. A door being crashed open, and a scream from someone right nextdoor.
GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (11)+4: 15
GAME: Warrick rolls perception: (3)+6: 9
GAME: Carver rolls perception: (20)+13: 33
GAME: Bryn rolls perception: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Harshad rolls perception: (6)+8: 14
GAME: Crik rolls perception: (20)+11: 31
GAME: Harkashan rolls 20: (13)+20: 33
Downstairs, as the people in the room might step to check out the window like a bunch of nosy old people, are two Korites, who are just stepping into a house. It's hard to tell what is happening there. However, Carver of all of them spots something else. A taller, rounder figure across from the house. Hiding in the shadows. She can't tell who or what it is. But best she can describe it is... 'crooked'. Notably however, when she points it out to the others, they can't seem to focus their eyes right enough to spot the figure. But it's there, watching...
"What the blood--" Carver squints, the shifting shadows making it difficult to pinpoint what it is they are looking at. "See? That's where the action is! Crooked lil' schemers and night raids."
Crik looks at the others - then he inhales. "That is fine, I have prepared for this-" He heaves, and already several journals roped into his cloaks were slowly being pulled out - before he pauses. And then resettles. Looks at Carver, then Bryn. "Yes, we should go into the night. That is where the true crimes begin, obviously, because of the curfew."
"... I think we all should go out. They are coming for us." Crik quietly speaks after Carver points out the thing outside.
Harshad stares down as well. "No way. I never saw a paladin who'd go in for a nighttime raid. What kinda--" he pauses as Carver points out the weird, 'crooked' figure. Then he glances at Crik. "You sure? If we have to fight our way out of town, our cover'll be blown permanently."
"I think it was good to meet people here and learn about this place." Zofija shrugs. "Anyways, don't fret Bryn, I'll buy a bottle of oil on the way out and find someone big and scary to wrestle and make an ass of myself most likely." They add, chuckling just a bit, at least until the night was abruptly interrupted. "The hell is going on out there?" The arvek-nar growls. "Something weird out there?"
Warrick perks as he hears a commotion outside. The journal gets stuffed into a cargo pant pocket as he rises to his feet to peer out a window, but is finding the nightfall a bit hard on his eyes. "Shit," he mutters under his breath. "I forgot the most basic thing of all: curfews mean things can get done without the populace seeing. I /knew/ they weren't paladins." Carver pointing out another creature gets his brows to furrow deeper. "They have a spotter, then."
As Crik makes that point, Warrick's face hardens, then briskly nods. "They know exactly where we sleep due to the way they have it all set up," he notes. "Zofija, come with me to armor assist. We should prepare to bolt."
Crik looks towards Harshad - that was a very good point. He leans his head forward in disappointment. "... yes, you are correct." And the corvid hated having his cover blown.
But then he perks up at Warrick's words. "So sleep in your armor!" Then he pauses and looks at Bryn and Zofija. "... what is it with oil and wrestling? Is this a custom in a sect?"
Carver bites down on her lip, clearly perturbed at the idea of leaving whoever is in that house to whatever fate is being chosen for them.
The struggle within the house doesn't last for long. A woman is soon being pulled out. A human woman with what looks like pink hair. "You are being taken in for Defying your Fate." The two Squires are bringing her out, one of them speaking.
Carver, keen and focused in on the crooked figure, sees them move forward in that moment. A long arm slowly stretching out towards the woman being held in place. But it almost looks like the Paladins aren't aware of this figure. For a moment, Carver can see a glint. Bony pale fingers touching the woman's head... and then withdrawing that finger as the woman lets out a hysterical cry... and goes quiet.
A pale silver light being taken from her. The same 'glint' of light and magic that Warrick had seen before -- something he or anyone else with the lasting effects of Detect Magic might be able to see as well -- but they do not see the crooked figure.
And then, the woman is being taken away, and the figure disappears back into the dark.
GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Harshad rolls perception: (18)+8: 26
GAME: Carver rolls knowledge/religion: (6)+3: 9
Bryn peers out the window late, having been considering things when the talk of paladins and spotters in the night come up. "No child o' Kor would be slinkin 'round, neither. Way better to see what yer hitting se you hittin 'em." She steps back from the window to look at others getting ready. "We goin?" A maybe rhetorical question, followed by maybe a more important one. "Away from or at 'em?"
GAME: Crik rolls perception: (20)+11: 31
GAME: Crik rolls knowledge/local: (19)+6: 25
Carver slams a fist against the window, and then promptly turns and quickly steps out of the room.
GAME: Harkashan rolls 15: (1)+15: 16 (EPIC FAIL)
The sudden slam on the Window causes the figure drawing into the Dark to suddenly look up. Green blazing eyes staring in the direction of the Hotel... but it looks like they can't get a good look at who or what just made that noise... so it continues into the dark.
Harshad shakes his head at Bryn. "We're getting out. This place is too weird, and we're not going to make the mistake of getting stuck in brawls. We -are- under contract, after all." The half-oruch curls his lip. "Believe me, I'd rather stick and fight, but duking it out in a distant city run by a despot isn't my idea of a good time. Pick your fights." He flinches as Carver slams a fist down, but evidently that creature didn't see them.
"Yeah, alright, I'll help you with that. Don't blame you for being a bit wary." Zofija grunts, leaving the bed and gathering the armor. It's not something she struggles with, but she's also clearly distracted by everything going on. "Reminds of all the stories of those blood sucking fucks I used to hear." The arvek-nar rambles absentmindedly. She too winces at the noise, but she has a job to do for the time being. "Someone's gonna need to check on her."
Crik looks at others, watching Carver step aside. "... that creature took away something from them." He tells them quietly. "It has horns. Horns like a goat's." Then at himself, as if he couldn't believe it. "It is like I thought. This is all just a facade. Demon? Worse?"
Holding onto the handle of his particulraly thick bladed knife, he quickly hops on after Carver.
Bryn starts at the window rattle. Maybe it's a good thing she stepped away from it? "Ye, ye... pick the fights," she accepts with a grumble. "So long's we get to pick some..." She doesn't dwell on the idea of horned things too much and heads out after Carver. Not too far, though, to make sure Warrick and Zofija can catch up.
Warrick gets over to his own room briskly, throwing on everything he can and letting Zofija get the straps on his back so the scale mail stays in place. He peers out the window with glances, scowling as the squire reads off the bogus charge. "This justice is an affront to Serriel," he mutters to himself and Zofija, picking up the various weapons and strapping them to his belts. "I do not wish to repeat Blar's history," he notes to Zofija.
He loads a bolt in, eyeing the window as the woman screams turn into silence. Waiting a beat, he gives a nod of thanks to the Arvek Nar and slips over to the room where all are gathered, almost running into Carver as he does. "Concur," he notes late to Harshad. "We need a way out that isn't the main gates. And we have a horse to get out as well."
He stares at Crik. Frowns. "Fuck. Alright. Doubly so. Have your wings grown in fully, Crik? Can get us a rope up the walls- but agh, the horse. Right. Come on, think..." he follows after, helmet in one hand, crossbow handle in the other.
"Maybe a distraction?" Harshad offers quietly. "Something to draw the guards off, get their attention while we make a break for it." His lips curl up faintly, but then he pauses, touching Warrick's shoulder before they start piling out. "Wait," he points out. "If they're -not- coming for us... let's just set watches and rest here. We'll clear out first thing tomorrow morning."
Carver & Harshad."
GAME: Harshad rolls Perception: (2)+8: 10
With Warrick helped into his armor, Zofija is left as the last person in the room taking care of her chain shirt. Once that was taken care of, she too pokes her head out of the door. "Alright. We shouldn't be fucking with the curfew." She agrees. "Let's settle down for now."
GAME: Carver rolls perception: (10)+13: 23
GAME: Warrick rolls perception: (20)+6: 26
GAME: Harkashan rolls 100: (5)+100: 105
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d100: (4): 4
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d100: (46): 46
Warrick rubs his beard with the back of the gauntlet. "A distraction, yes, when we get spotted. I can shoot a window out a hundred yards out, get their attention with that, get a lot of distance-" Warrick's rambling is cut off from Harshad's grab. He pauses. Strains his ears. "... seems to be so. As much as I hate to say this, we should all pile in one room. Gods, my back is going to kill me tomorrow..." he mutters, slowly backing into one of the rooms they have rented for them.
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d100: (90): 90
GAME: Harshad rolls knowledge/local: (20)+8: 28
GAME: Crik rolls knowledge/local: (6)+6: 12
GAME: Warrick rolls Urban Local: aliased to knowledge/local+2: (18)+5+2: 25
GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (9)+4: 13
GAME: Bryn rolls perception: (17)+7: 24
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d8: (4): 4
GAME: Crik rolls fortitude: (17)+1: 18
Carver stares out the window most of her shift without moving, only kept company by the soft breathing of her compatriots. Her mind kept wheeling back to the spark that was collected right from the woman's temple, and when it comes time to shake her relief awake, she takes their place and sleeps fitfully still thinking on it.
GAME: Carver rolls knowledge/religion: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL)
Crik takes his corner, looking at everywhere whilst holding onto his knife. Mostly at the window. Slowly, he seems to fall into his cloaks, before being nothing but a bundle... a bundle, staring wide eyed, and with a small crossbow and knight in hand.
The corvid egalrin did not sleep at all that night.
Warrick is roused for the second watch, having doffed his armor once more, packing it away for a quick getaway. He winces a bit in pain from sleeping with his back against a wall, large crossbow resting in his lap with the string cocked yet no bolt in it. "Get me a potion that fixes back pain," he grumbles in annoyance, thanking Carver as he goes to take her spot.
As the night draws on, he squints in against the night light into the window. Only to freeze and side eyes Harshad. "... did you see that...?" he whispers, pointing with a pen as he scribbles down more into his journal. More ciphers and mixed languages. "Can't believe she's of all people is out here."
Harshad has slept in worse conditions, but this is definitely not going to be a restful evening. When Warrick points out the flying figure, Harshad's brows come together. "...Shit. Yeah. That's -not- good. Although I wonder who she really serves, 'cause this bunch definitely isn't serving Kor." He heaves a quiet sigh. "Now I'm -really- glad we didn't try and make a break for it. Flying eyes are the worst."
Zofija didn't bother keeping the chain armor on this time. If something bad was going to happen, she'd rather be slightly more rested than armored and exhausted. As quick as she was to claim the bed earlier, she swapped to a quiet corner of the room for her sleep until it was her turn to take watch.
"The fuck was that going on there?" The arvek-nar wonders. "Gargoyles? What are hey leaving the church for?"
As ready as she was to go before, Bryn doesn't seem to have any problems switching it off to sleep when its time to, even sitting up against a wall. It's possible that she only has two activity settings. Still, she rouses easily enough for her watch with Zofija.
"Fuck if I know," she admits, staring out the window towards the how-much-Kor-is-in-that Temple of Kor. "Not seen nothin like that afore. They patrolin? Fetchin stuff? Why?"
After a most... eventful night, the morning seems to follow through in that.
There is a bit of uproar in the Tavern itself after all. Breakfast is set, but there's a twosome of young men crying who would otherwise be helping with breakfast being served. It turns out that the Owner of the Plush Horse has 'Departed' as they call it. The two are inconsolable and don't really get a word out edge wise.
The gentleman manning the front desk seems to be able to keep it together a bit better, explaining that the Owner is no longer with them, and Passed On last night, as per the Church. He asks the group to please leave, as they are going to have to make a lot of arrangements to transfer ownership and figure out what this all will mean for the Plush Horse.
Harshad can't help but feel like the owner may have had a little 'help' 'passing on', as it were. And he thought thieves were prone to using double-talk and innuendo. So he politely handles the bill, and chivvies the group out the door. "We'll talk on the road," he growls softly. "Not here." His eyes flick back and forth purposefully. He doesn't trust this city.
Warrick comes down with the others, fully geared and ready to go, bags under his eyes, but rested as best as one can. He gets his breakfast, features pulled down as he hears the bad news. That must have been the woman last night with the pink hair. "Thank you for your hospitality, nonetheless," he intones, bowing his head as he finishes his meal and gets up to leave as Harshad ushers them out.
"Not here," he echoes, putting on his helmet, and holding onto the strap of his crossbow slung over a shoulder. Marching towards the gate they came in from. And silently fuming at the injustice surrounding them.
With the last watch, Zofija was already ready to go. But I doubt anyone was ready for the next morning. All they can do is offer an apology, and not leave too much of a mess behind them. "Yeah, let's get going. They've got enough to deal with without throwing people with their visas expired." She agrees, heading for the door, and quickly for the exit gates as well.
Bryn thought the weirdshitometer had already peaked after what she witnessed and heard of from the others. Apparently not. "Ye, le's get going..." That was a whole lotta weird in one night. Hopefully today will be better.