Campaign Log -- Day Eighteen

The 24th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

Upon returning to Noroiras, Quimarel catches Tamarie up on the events of the fairie-finding mission, making sure to mention how “shifty” Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh had been. She further speculates, based on the mention of “black robes” in the fairies’ report, that this is all to keep an eye on the Kech. She then explains her plan to get additional  reports by promising to find Silvermoss and keep him safe.

Tamarie expresses some confusion about this, since they already have Silvermoss drunk in a cage in the chapel, at which point Quimarel gleefully explains that “nobody knows we’ve got him; we’re playing both sides.”

Out-of-character, it is explained that Hiddlebatch’s player is in China for… reasons. Something family-related. Quimarel’s player notes that H’s player is supposed to be watching her younger relatives over there, and that this is a better idea than it sounds because “she has the same energy level as your average toddler”.
Since it’s been a while between sessions, we also recap the incident in the Marketplace of Rats when Quimarel “won the hearts and minds of the people” and also made a citizen’s arrest of one of the prisoners from the underground complex, since it turned out they were mostly Capran criminals being shipped north for their sentence.

Quimarel: My new thing is apparently doing something and then getting credit for fixing it.

⁂

Due to the recent crime wave, Lord Noroiras (that would be the hereditary title of the governor of this particular Capran territory) has declared a curfew. Anyone who is out after sundown is liable to be fined and/or arrested, depending on their relative shadiness.

Quimarel is deeply concerned about this, seeing as it is liable to cut into her profits at the Squirting Squid. She briefly kicks around the idea of digging hidden tunnels under the town, but decides that the best way to handle this is to get the curfew lifted entirely. She ruminates on how to do this [Knowledge(local): 22] and decides that she needs to go to Lord Noroiras -- respectfully, in a formal meeting -- and convince him either that the crime wave has ended and the curfew is no longer needed, or that the curfew is making the situation worse.

Noting that it’s hard to prove a negative, and that it would be hard to do any of this without breaking the curfew herself and getting fined, Quimarel begins to formulate a Plan.

Makpov interjects with some ideas about getting additional funds through the stealing and smashing of non-specified “stuff”.

Quimarel assures Makpov that there will be time for smashing, and asks how big the fine is. Mssr. 20-sider tells us that is is 18 gold per person -- ridiculously steep for your average citizen, but an acceptable expense for successful business owners like Tamarie and Quimarel.

Tamarie points out that this is probably bad for the economy of the town -- businesses other than the brothel make a sizable part of their profits at night. In addition, it’s a mostly evil town (albeit in a petty kind of way) and “evil likes the dark.”

They decide to go to the other establishments in town and see if they can get some support from other business owners. First up is the Broken Stone, the town’s inn. They’ve had dealings with Drugoz the innkeeper before, so this should be fairly straightforward.

Quimarel: I’m a little concerned about this curfew that’s happening. Have you noticed a drop-off in customers?
Drugoz: A little bit, but since most of my customers are staying in rooms above the dining area anyway, I still get enough to keep the place afloat.
Quimarel: Well, for now, but for how much longer? If word gets out about this, travellers aren’t going to want to stop here if they can avoid it.
Drugoz: Well, maybe they can’t avoid it. There’s no other town for twenty miles around.
GM: [quoting something Quimarel’s player said about the town where we live] “Just fruit stands and murder sheds from here to Jackson.”

The conversation drifts off for several minutes, as someone points out that there are also Waffle Houses. Quimarel’s character suggests that’s just a specific type of murder-shed, and discussion follows as to whether “murder shed with waffles” does in fact, as I assert, “sound like a really good time”.

Tamarie: Look, do you want to just “keep afloat” or turn a profit?
Drugoz: This business has been successful for three hundred years, and will be successful for three hundred more. [The rest of the town kind of grew up around the Broken Stone, which was orignially just an inn at a strategic point along a trade route.]
Quimarel: I’m glad that you’re so confident in your inn’s ability to survive in these rough economic times.
Drugoz: It helps that I have amazing amounts of booze. And also, I am pleased that I will not have to deal with hooligans bursting in and getting drunk and stealing my stuff.
GM: Make a Diplomacy check.
Quimarel OOC: Um… 8.
Drugoz: I think perhaps you are just worried that I will outcompete you in our market share.
Quimarel: Well, to be fair, we don’t offer exactly the same services.
Drugoz: It’s the same general idea -- I have wenches, you have wenches. I have mind-altering substances, you have mind-altering substances. I have beds, you have beds.
Quimarel: I daresay your wenches lack the finesse and training mine have.
Drugoz: Well, it’s not exactly the same business model, but if people can’t go to your place, they’re likely to come to mine. Where they will hit on my wenches and drink my booze -- and since the curfew prevents them from leaving, they’ll rent a room.
Makpov OOC: I think the GM has spent a lot of time thinking about this and is planning to open up a bar. With wenches. Maybe actually called “Wenches”, just to get to the point.
Quimarel OOC: Ale and whores!

Again, the conversation drifts off-topic, wherein we wonder whether Hooters is a bar (according to Makpov’s player, it’s a “breastaurant”), Quimarel’s player notes that there’s a similar business confusingly named “Twin Peaks”, and Makpov’s player ends up reading the recruitment page of a place called the “Tilted Kilt” aloud to the group for reasons unclear. There is some brief discussion of whether the fact that kilts are a traditionally masculine piece of clothing means that the business in questions offers “equal-opportunity lechery”, of which the table soundly approves -- this is shut down when Makpov ‘s player finds a page on the website with a “featured kilt girl”, whom we all agree appears “dead in the eyes”.

Quimarel thanks Drugoz and (probably insincerely) wishes him luck.

Quimarel: And let me know if you notice a drop-off in customers.
Drugoz: I will. Unless I think you’re just trying to edge me out of the market.

Quimarel walks away grumbling that they could have had a mutually beneficial arrangement.

The players ask if there are any other businesses in town that make profits after sundown, and I point them to the Flayed Faerie Tavern and Dance Hall. The players are universally entertained by the existence of a “dance hall” in this town, despite my reminder that this is a medieval setting, and that’s the kind of entertainment available to them.

Quimarel OOC: Twerking goblins everywhere.
Tamarie OOC: Is there twerking in this setting?
GM: It’s spelled with an “o” and only done up in the mountains.
Tamarie OOC: Tworking?
GM: Toe is an expert. [Toe is the orcish barbarian from the previous campaign -- he now rules the united orcish tribes in the western mountains.]

The party goes back to trying to formulate a Plan.

Tamarie: Can I kill somebody?
Makpov: Can I lick somebody?
Tamarie: Will killing somebody solve the problem?
Quimarel: Depends on whom we kill. Now, one of the options for getting rid of this curfew is proving it ineffective. So…
Tamarie: So we could go do some crime.
Quimarel: Since the peaceful petition isn’t likely to yield any results, we could just go on a crime spree. And as long as we’re not caught --
Tamarie: Yes. I have so many arms and nothing to do with them!
GM: Well, five arms and a claw.
Tamarie OOC: Well, the claw could act as --
Makpov OOC: [impression of the aliens from Toy Story] The claw… it has chosen… 

The party goes back to planning, and wondering if they could “work their way up” to murder, and/or blame it on Drugoz the innkeeper, and/or just kill Drugoz the innkeeper.

Tamarie: I could write something. Like… blood.
GM: You want to just write “Blood”?
Tamarie: No, a note in blood.
Quimarel: Just “BLOOD”. Or maybe, “YOUR BLOOD”. [mimes examining something] “Wait, this is jam.”
Tamarie: A note in blood always gets their attention.
Quimarel: A note in jam really gets their attention. The ANTS…
Tamarie: No, it needs to be real blood.
GM: So you don’t want to kill anyone until later, but you’re okay with taking their blood now? How’s that going to work?
Quimarel OOC: We could just, like, borrow it. Pop ‘round for a cup of blood.

The PCs determine that they have at least a few days to work this through before they can expect to hear back from the Kech with a new assignment. (They insist on just calling them “the hooded figures” -- I blame “Welcome to Night Vale” for this.)

Quimarel: I say… we bother the guards. If we can make it too annoying for them to enforce this, they might either convince the lord to officially call it off, or just go, “yeah, there’s a curfew” and walk away. [pause] Or… what are our other options? Kill everyone in the garrison. Blood notes -- that’s a consideration.
Tamarie: [looking at her Int score] I’m really smart.
Quimarel: True.
Tamarie: So… 

[long pause]
[laughter]
[Discussion of whether a 15 Int is “really smart”. It is.]
[Discussion of whether a 7 Int makes Makpov mentally disabled. It doesn’t, but the table places him around the level of “stereotypically dumb frat boy” -- something familiar to the players, since nearly all of us have taught freshman Composition classes during our time in grad school]

Quimarel: So how are they enforcing this curfew? Are they just patrolling?
GM: Yeah.
Quimarel: But there’s only, what, thirteen of them?
GM: But it’s also a really small town.
Quimarel: If we were to, say, divide their attention -- cause a ruckus in two other parts of town while one of us sets fire to the garrison…  is the garrison made of stone?
GM: Roll a die. Low means stone, high means wood.
Quimarel OOC: Seven on a d20.
GM: Stone.
Quimarel: Not going to burn.
Makpov: I could run in and lick everyone.
Tamarie: Throw in a bomb and close the door…
Quimarel: Could we weaponize Makpov’s hallucinogenic saliva somehow?
GM: Um… probably? It would take someone skilled in the mixing of strange liquids, and, you know, alchemy, and that sort of thing… do you have someone like that?

[Tamarie’s player gets excited]

Quimarel: Tamarie, your time has come!
GM: It depends on what exactly you’re trying to do, how well you roll, and… any other variables that may arise.
Tamarie: So what kind of weapon do we want?
Quimarel: We could spray it over a large area. If we were to take the saliva and paint it on a surface, how long… does it have to be wet?
GM: Yes.
Quimarel: So we need to mix it with something that stays wet longer. Like, something oil-based.
Makpov: I have lots of oil.
GM: What? Why?
Makpov: Because I live in a brothel!
GM: Wait, do you mean, like, lamp oil, or, like, baby oil?
Makpov: Baby oil!
Quimarel: You know, any sort of lubricant is designed to not dry out… I bet we have a bunch lying around we could use as a base.
Tamarie: So what exactly are we doing with this stuff?
Quimarel: I’m not sure. We got distracted again.

[The party spends some time discussing delivery methods for Makpov’s saliva.]

A new age in bio-weaponry

Makpov: What if we talked to the guy who instilled the curfew, right? And got him to give the whores some kind of “be-out-late” pass? And then they come to the garrison with cold saliva drinks…
Quimarel: The first part’s a good idea. I may set up a meeting with the governor and plead my case. Point out that we have long been a supporter of the garrison…
Tamarie OOC: Was he elected?
GM: It’s a hereditary position. His grandfather was appointed to it.
Quimarel: … point out my status as a pillar of the community, and ask if there’s anything I can do to help change the circumstances so that the curfew is less necessary. 

Quimarel goes to try to get an audience, but has some difficulty.  [Diplomacy: 11] She manages to secure one, but it’s going to have to be brief.

Campaign Log -- Day Sixteen (Day Seventeen taken up by travel)

The 21st day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

When last we left our heroes… well, two of them… well, protagonists, at any rate…  Quimarel and Hiddlebatch (and Makpov, but his player is not present, so he’s just shambling around wordlessly in case they need to kill something) were searching for fairies out of sheer curiosity: why did the Royal Intelligence Corps have a drugged-up atomie locked in a birdcage in their vault?

They had shared a campfire with a recent convert of Saurivuntyr the All-Seeing, dragon-god of oracles and madmen. He seemed relatively harmless, and they took their leave peacefully, waiting until they were at the edge of earshot before Hiddlebatch shouted “Khurgorbaeyag could kick your god’s ass” and ran away, ineffectual butterfly wings flapping furiously.

After travelling for a good chunk of the day, the pair come across some red flowers, which had featured in Silvermoss’s directions, It’s not a whole field of red flowers or anything, but there are a bunch scattered around, enough to be noticeable. Hiddlebatch starts looking around [Perception:21], and spots a fairy apparently harvesting nectar from a flower not fifty feet away. Hiddlebatch decides to try and talk to it.

Hiddlebatch: Ho, fairy folk! We would speak to you a moment, in return for which we will give you mead and flowers.
Fairy: Score! What can I do for you?
Quimarel: Have you noticed anyone trying to catch a lot of you?
Hiddlebatch: Or fairies going missing?
Fairy: I did hear that young Silvermoss went missing.
Hiddlebatch: How long ago was that?
[long pause]
Fairy: It was… colder… when he went missing….than it is now.
Hiddlebatch OOC: How long do fairies live?
GM: You’re not sure.
Quimarel OOC: And they don’t have much of a concept of time… “colder” could just mean it was at night.
Hiddlebatch: Have you made any efforts to find him? Do you have any idea why he’s missing or who would take him?
Fairy: Well, he’s not part of my hive -- his hive lives a little bit north of here. But as far as I know, nobody knows where to start looking for him.
Quimarel: Well, we think there’s some sort of plot to capture fairies --
Fairy: My word!
Quimarel: We would like to speak to his hive, if possible. Is there any way you could lead us to them or at least point us in the correct direction?
Fairy: Yes. Hold on one moment…
[The fairy pulls a little bottle of liquid out of his pouch and uses it to sketch something on a leaf]
Hiddlebatch OOC: Sense motive… 20.
GM: You shouldn’t trust him.
Hiddlebatch OOC: With the map, or at all?
GM: At all. Including with the map. Just… no. You remember what you heard about fairy senses of humor from Silvermoss, and this guy looks way too cheerful right now.
Hiddlebatch: You know, in exchange for actually leading us to the hive, we would give you additional mead.
Fairy: How much more mead?
Hiddlebatch: [noting the relative size of the fairy and the mead bottles] A bottlecap?
Fairy: More mead than that.
Quimarel: A cup.
Fairy: I require enough to drown a gnoll.
Hiddlebatch: A gnoll?
Fairy: A gnoll!
Quimarel: [obviously thinking she can con the fairy into accepting a lesser amount] Have you ever seen a gnoll?
Fairy: That’s a gnoll. [points to Makpov]
[Out-of-character swearing ensues]
Hiddlebatch: Well, you get a cup or you get none.
Fairy: I’ll give you this map for a cup.
Quimarel OOC: All we have to do is take the map and avoid anything he points out on the map.
Hiddlebatch: We don’t have that much mead. How about some honey?
Fairy: How much honey? I will take honey as well.
Hiddlebatch: All right. Good. Lead us.
Fairy: Wait. I require enough honey to glue two goblins together by their face-parts.
Hiddlebatch: Well, fortunately for you, honey is very sticky, and goblins have small faces. So… here. [H gives the fairy honey, which he puts in one of his pouches.]
Fairy: Fine. Take the map anyway; I don’t want to carry this.
Hiddlebatch: Thank you for the map.
GM: Roll a Fortitude save.
Hiddlebatch OOC: NOOOO! [swearing]  [sound of dice rolling] [more swearing] I ROLLED A ONE!
Quimarel OOC: [giggling] You gon’ die.

As Hiddlebatch grabs the leaf that the fairy had helpfully painted with Sassone Leaf Residue, under the guise of drawing a map, H suddenly feels dizzy and faint.  [11 damage; 1 Con damage] The fairy starts giggling like a maniac, and Quimarel tries to smash it.

Hiddlebatch: But then we’ll have no guide!
Quimarel: Like he was going to guide us anyway!

Quimarel successfully does two damage. The fairy screeches at her and flies away. Quimarel takes out her sling and does two more damage… of course, neither the rocks or Quimarel’s fist are made of cold iron, so the fairy doesn’t seem at all hurt.  Eventually he gets out of range and turns invisible.

Quimarel looks at the map, being careful not to touch it, only to find that it’s just a bunch of random squiggles.

Fairies: Just say no.

The PCs continue onward, trying to follow Silvermoss’s directions. A few hours later, they spy another fairy.

Hiddlebatch: Ho, fairy folk! We recently encountered a fairy who played a very cunning trick on us --
Fairy: Yes, we do that.
Hiddlebatch : -- but before he did so,  he told us a fairy named Silvermoss has gone missing. We think that there may be a plot  against you, and we’re trying to figure it out. Would you happen to be one of Silvermoss’s hive?
Fairy: I am!
Hiddlebatch: Can you tell us how long ago he went missing?
[long pause]
Fairy: ...well, I think there was snow on the ground.
Quimarel OOC: What time of year is it now?
GM: Mid-spring.
Quimarel OOC: So not too long ago.
Hiddlebatch: Do you know why he was taken?
Fairy: I know exactly why he was taken!
Quimarel: What did he do?
Fairy: Nothing! He was as innocent a fairy as ever… fairied!
Hiddlebatch: So why was he taken?
Fairy: He was taken… so that the big folk could hold power over us.
Quimarel: Hostage.
Fairy: Yes, that’s the word.
Quimarel: Have they made demands?
Fairy: They say they will harm him unless we use our [shifty eyes] talents to gather information for him.
Quimarel OOC: When he does the shifty-eye thing, I look around to see if there are any other fairies in the immediate vicinity.
GM: There probably are -- they can turn invisible.
Quimarel OOC: [swearing]
[Some high Perception checks reveal disturbances in the grass that should not be there, and plants bent as if someone atomie-sized were sitting there.]
Hiddlebatch: Is there any particular reason they took Silvermoss instead of any other fairy?
Fairy: I don’t think so. He had a weird snake fixation.
Hiddlebatch: What information have you given them?
Fairy: Nothing important. Just what big folk do.
Hiddlebatch: Like what?
Fairy: [incredulous] I don’t REMEMBER.
Quimarel: When do you meet these big folk that you report to?
Fairy: Sometimes. Usually when it’s light out.
Quimarel: Do they come to you?
Fairy: No. We write things down.
Hiddlebatch: Do you have any of these papers? We can give you honey?
Fairy: How much honey?
Quimarel: Enough to drown a robin.
Fairy: You could drown a robin with only a thimbleful of honey if you knew what you were doing.
Quimarel: Enough honey to drown a robin even if you were not doing it properly.
Fairy: That is sufficient.
Quimarel OOC:  I speak their language. It’s a weird language that makes no kind of sense.
Fairy: I think I have one of the more recent reports around here somewhere…
Quimarel: Do you keep copies?
Fairy: Why would we do that? We don’t need them. Oh, here it is.
[The fairy hands them a little rolled-up leaf with some writing on it.]
Hiddlebatch: WAIT! Spot… or… whatever you do for… um… ooh, natural 20.
GM: It’s just normal ink this time.
Hiddlebatch: And the leaf? It’s a plain leaf?
GM: Knowledge (nature).
Quimarel: Twenty.
GM: It’s a harmless leaf.
Quimarel: I gingerly take it with my fingernails and I read it.

Leaf:

The big folk who wear black robes to the south were doing many chanting things in the field filled with stones, and then other big folk arrived, but they were different-colored, and didn’t touch things, and floated above the ground.

Quimarel: We would like to work with you. We think we can get Silvermoss back.
Fairy: Oh my.
Quimarel: It might take some time, but if we’re  careful, we can get him back unharmed and safe. But to do that, we need to know what the big folk you’re reporting to are acquiring. We need to know the same information. Do they come to you, or do you go to them?
Fairy: We go to them.
Quimarel: Do you leave the … leaves somewhere?
Fairy: Yes.
Quimarel: Could you show me where?
Fairy: There’s a hole in a tree outside the town to the north.
Quimarel: Are there any… landmarks?
Fairy: There’s a tree.
Quimarel: There are many trees.
Fairy: Not that many trees.
Quimarel: The big folk do not have eyes as sharp as you, and it can be difficult to discern an individual tree.
Fairy: Ah. It is the tree --
Quimarel OOC: If you say “with the leaves“ I will punch you.
Fairy: -- with the fairy nearby putting stuff into the hole.
Quimarel: Okay, if we go at that time, yes, but when you’re not there, it won’t have that landmark.
Hiddlebatch: Why don’t you take us there, since you were on your way with that report anyway?
Fairy: I was not on my way -- I was just holding onto it until someone else was ready to take them to the tree.
Hiddlebatch: When is the time you deliver them?
Fairy: When the spirit moves us.
Hiddlebatch: Can we see any of the other reports? Maybe that the other fairies nearby have?
Fairy: There are no other fairies nearby. It would take forever to go find them and gather them here.
Hiddlebatch: [points at one of the spots where the only explanation for the way that plant is bending is that someone tiny and invisible is sitting on it] There’s one right there!
Fairy: [blatantly lying] No there isn’t.
Quimarel: So if I were to, say, swat really hard right there, nothing would happen.

Hiddlebatch waves its hand around wildly in the general area. Two attack rolls later, the PCs hear a small screech. Something  jabs Hiddlebatch in the hand, and H holds up the new wound for inspection.

Hiddlebatch: See? There’s a fairy right there.

The fairy has, in fact, appeared, since they can’t attack and remain invisible. It glares at Hiddlebatch, then goes and hides in the grass. Hiddlebatch and Quimarel start loudly offering mead for any fairy who has a report they haven’t brought in yet. [Diplomacy: 16]

Spokesfairy: There are no other fairies around. However, if you leave all the mead here, then we will make copies of our reports, and next time we bring them into town, we will also leave copies in a place that you tell us.

Quimarel gives the fairies some directions to the Squirting Squid, and tells them to look for a small box adorned with certain types of flowers, and put their leaves in there. She will also leave more mead in that box, so that the fairies will do the same thing next time.

Hiddlebatch tells the fairies that the Black Sands are the holy touch of an awesome god, preaches its heretical gospel of Khurgorbaeyag, and leaves them one of her terrors. For the next hour or so, she has another convert, but then the fairy in question forgets all about it.

There is some discussion about whether Hiddlebatch can make the fairies Tainted by making one of them eat some of the Black Sand H carries with her. (No -- you’re either born Tainted or you’re not.) H then suggests procreating with them, but the difference in sizes stymies this discussion.

The PCs narrowly avoid getting ambushed by Blood Hawks on the way home: my random encounter table is overruled by the fact that the GM wants to go home and get some sleep.

Campaign Log -- Day Fifteen, Morning of Day Sixteen

The 21st day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

Quimarel enters the Royal Intelligence Corps lobby, and the guards posted in front of the door that leads to the non-publically-accessible parts of the building challenge her.

Cpl. Ogloya: What is your business here?
Quimarel: I have a question for the Spymistress.
Cpl. Ogloya: Is she expecting you?
Quimarel: No, this has come up rather suddenly.
The good corporal decides to go check with Zubynna to see whether she is willing to speak to the owner of the Squirting Squid on short notice. She is.
Cpl. Ogloya: She says that she is not terribly busy, and she would be happy to speak to a pillar of the community such as yourself.
Quimarel: Wonderful.
Cpl. Ogloya: I will lead you up so that you… find your way without… going anywhere you shouldn’t.
Quimarel: Of course.

The guard leads her through this huge scriptorium area where goblins are copying stuff down -- they and the guard are cagey about what they’re writing, and are careful not to let her see any of it. However, as she’s passing a desk, Quimarel sees [Perception: 22] that the goblin there is writing…

Quimarel OOC: Fifty Shades of Goblin?
GM: Fifty Shades of Greenish-Brown… no.

“…According to our sources in Barlgilton, the assassination of the minister seems imminent, perhaps within the next three months…”

The PCs are aware that Barlgilton is the big city up north, about two weeks’ ride away if you have a fast horse.

At the back of the scriptorium, there is a stairway, which Cpl. Ogloya leads her up. The second floor is a small hallway with a few simple wooden doors, one of which Cpl. Ogloya helpfully opens for her. It’s a nice roomy office with a window and a desk that’s big (for a goblin). Zubynna is sitting behind the desk, which doesn’t seem to have anything on it other than her lunch -- perhaps she just cleared all the documents into a drawer. Or maybe she just doesn’t have anything to do today. The lunch in question appears to be an ankheg claw; as she talks, she occasionally picks it up and takes a bite, chewing up the exoskeleton along with the meat. She does not pause in her discourse to chew -- goblins don’t put much thought into table manners.

If you were a goblin, this would look delicious.

Spymistress Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh: What can I help you with? [crunch]
[Quimarel regales the Spymistress with “pleasantries according to her station”, etc.]
Quimarel: Normally I wouldn’t bother you; I know you’re very busy. However, we seem to be having some trouble with fairy folk, and you are one of the most learned individuals in town, so I was hoping you would know of some way of solving this problem. Little bastards keep bothering my customers, and they won’t leave one of my whores alone. Have you ever had a problem with these things?
Zubynna: Not… [crunch] …personally. Well, I know that they rarely venture into town.
Quimarel: Yes, we’re kind of on the outskirts; I think that’s why they’ve been so bold.
Zubynna: I suspect… [crunch] …that they may be doing this because they want something. [crunch] [chew chew chew] There’s something I might have to check.
Quimarel: What could they want? They tend to leave us alone, at least until recently.
Zubynna: That’s classified. [crunch]
[Significant pause as the two women stare at each other. Zubynna’s body language is more or less opaque; Quimarel [Sense Motive: 14] can’t pick up any telltale signs of deception or strong emotion.]
Zubynna: I… [chew] …have to speak to one of my… [chew chew] …employees about an ongoing project. [crunch] In the meantime, feel perfectly free to swat them. They’re annoying little things, and deserve it.
Quimarel: Thank you very much. Will you let me know if you find out?
Zubynna: I will send you a message. [crunch]
Quimarel: Thank you. I appreciate it.

Quimarel departs, and shares the content of the conversation with Hiddlebatch. “Apparently,” she says, “there’s an ‘ongoing project’ involving fairies. So I don’t know if there’s something special about Silvermoss, or if they just grabbed one… I don’t know what this project entails.”

The PCs go to consult Silvermoss, and ask if he can tell them where to find the rest of the fairies.

Silvermoss: Of course; I can guide you to where they frequent.
Hiddlebatch: Oh, we’re still concerned about your safety if you venture out of the chapel. Why don’t you just tell us where to find them? And here, have some mead.
Quimarel: Of course, if we just wander around in the wilderness for long enough, we’re sure to find some eventually.
Silvermoss: [drinks some mead] Okay, um, flying north, for… about ten hours…
Hiddlebatch OOC: How fast do they fly?
DM: You haven’t timed him.
Hiddlebatch OOC: Knowledge [nature] check… ha! Natural 20.
DM: Nearly twice as fast as you walk.
Silvermoss: …then, when you reach the field of red flowers, turn… right, and continue… until you reach an area with lots of snakes, then turn left… then eventually you’ll run into them.
Hiddlebatch: …how about we just go out into the wilderness carrying lots of mead and honey?

The PCs decide to wait until they get a message from Zubynna, then go looking for fairies.

Later that day, a messenger arrives at the Squirting Squid with a little sealed scroll, which he hands to Quimarel and waits, in case of response. Quimarel casts Detect Magic -- not magic.

The scroll reads:

I can’t explain why they’re here -- it’s still classified -- but if you can catch one and bring it to us alive, we would reward you.

Hiddlebatch OOC: I Sense Motive on the paper. 16.
GM: The paper is… dead.
Hiddlebatch OOC: NOOOOOOO! WHYYYYYYYYYY!

The PCs discuss this new information, presumably out of the messenger’s earshot. (I mean, they never SAID “out of earshot”, but it’s only listening to the recordings later that I realize how much I could have screwed with them by having the messenger overhear.)

Hiddlebatch: When we go to see what’s going on, we should catch one and bring it back.
Quimarel: Why don’t we just give them… wait, they’d probably be suspicious if they got the same one back, wouldn’t they?
Hiddlebatch: You have terrible ideas.
Quimarel: That’s why I stopped myself.

Quimarel writes a response on the back of the scroll:

Thank you for letting me know. I will do what I can -- please let me know if we can be of further assistance.

The PCs take some time to discuss whether Quimarel’s handwriting looks appropriately respectful. The messenger fidgets and waits. They send him back with the scroll, and head off into the wilderness.

[Random Encounter Table: 75-89 (lone traveller)]
[Lone Traveller Table: 50]

After a few hours walking in a generally northerly direction, around sundown, the pair runs across a lone traveller. It’s a goblin, in clerical robes that look crudely sewn. He seems fairly friendly, and goes out of the way to greet the party.

Kornnul Tribeless: Greetings, fellow travellers. Would you mind if perhaps I shared your fire this evening? It’s very dangerous to travel alone, and larger groups are best for safe--
Quimarel OOC: Sense Motive. 14.
Hiddlebatch OOC: 18.

They feel like the goblin is probably being honest about just wanting to share a fire and enjoy “safety in numbers” for the night. Hiddlebatch recognizes that there’s something… off… about him, but who is H to judge?

The goblin wears a wooden holy symbol, stained green and carved in the shape of an eye. Hiddlebatch recognizes the symbol as that of one of the new gods, Saurivuntyr the All-Seeing [Knowledge(religion): 24] Saurivuntyr, Hiddlebatch knows, is usually represented as a green dragon. He’s not really worshiped in these parts, but lately elves in green wooden masks, hailing from a land far to the south, have been wandering the area and spreading word of this new and powerful god, The goblin must therefore be a recent convert.

Hiddlebatch: So, we’re pretty far from any towns [Hiddlebatch has apparently forgotten that H and Quimarel are only a few hours’ walk away from home]; what are you doing out here?
Kornnul: Ah -- I am travelling to a chapel of Saurivuntyr. It is in the wilderness a few weeks south of here, and I must reach it so that I may perform my Ritual of the Mask.

Hiddlebatch casts Detect Magic, but the goblin is not inherently magical. There is a faint aura around his holy symbol, which might indicate that he has recently used it to cast a spell, but that’s about it.
They sit down with the goblin; he helps build a fire, and pulls out a rabbit he shot earlier that day for some food --

Hiddlebatch OOC: So he has no magical items?
GM: No.

Quimarel decides she wants to hear the guy’s story, so she “applies her conversational skills” to hear about his life and travels. His name is Kornnul Tribeless, and he is originally from Trisnedort, another Capran protectorate. The PCs are vaguely familiar with it, as it is dominated by Tribe Gloom-Foul, the other major goblin tribe connected to the Royal Intelligence Corps.

Quimarel OOC: You know, this guy just encountering us in the forest [Quimarel is apparently forgetting that they are in the Wastelands, a steppe-like environment that only supports small clumps of trees here and there, near bodies of water]... “Dear Penthouse, you’ll never believe…”

Time passes in much this way. They hang out around the fire, Kornnul offers them some cooked rabbit, and the PCs get to hear about the all-seeing eye of Saurivuntyr, how it watches all of your misdeeds and judges you, how one day Saurivuntyr will melt this world down and build a new one from the ashes, etc.

Quimarel: I can respect that plan.
[pause]
Quimarel OOC: I would like to insinuate that I would be willing to give Saurivuntyr a show, wink wink nudge nudge. [Charisma check: 22]
GM: Let’s fade to black on this.

While Quimarel leads Kornnul off behind a nearby hillock, Hiddlebatch rummages through his bag. It’s mostly the kind of stuff you’d need for a long cross-country trip, such as preserved food (mostly jerky rations). There’s also a small scroll that seems to be notes he’s taken from sermons.

The 22nd day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

The night passes without further incident, and in the morning the PCs and Kornnul go their separate ways. As he’s leaving, Hiddlebatch suddenly remembers something.

Hiddlebatch: Hey! Have you seen any fairies recently?
Kornnul: Yes, I have! Two nights ago, when I was sleeping, they took charcoal from my firepit and drew obscenities all over my face and clothing.
[laughter from the PCs]
Kornnul: Then they lit my shoes on fire. Luckily, I packed a spare pair.
Hiddlebatch: Whereabouts was this?
Kornnul: Somewhere north of here. There wasn’t much in the way of landmarks.
Hiddlebatch: Thank you.

They continue going their separate ways. When Kornnul is almost out of earshot, Hiddlebatch yells “Khurgorbaeyag could kick your god’s ass!” and runs away.

Hiddlebatch’s player expresses confusion that I actually had “poverty-stricken recent convert of Saurivuntyr” on my random encounter table. Quimarel’s player, who was my roommate at the time, explains that she’s seen me writing up tables for fun, so it’s not that unusual.

Aern Calendar -- Sorry, not a real update.

The following is the calendar I use for the campaign -- the world is called "Aern", hence the title at the top. I figured I had better put it somewhere my players could get to it, as I've been planning to print a copy for them for ages, but those plans never seem to materialize.

The days in black are feast days, when the power of the god after whom the month is named are at their apex. So far, this has not been relevant in this campaign, since none of the PCs worship one of the top twelve gods, and the only feast day to pass has been that of Obad-Hai. There are no followers of Obad-Hai, Heironeous, or Tiamat in the area, so that's not going to be important for a while.

I didn't see why we would have a "Woden's Day" or a "Thor's Day" in a world where Thor and Woden were never even a thing, so I named the days of the week after the Quasi-Elemental Planes, because why not. Note that weeks are eight days long, and each month is only 26 days. This means "1/week" effects are slightly less useful, and "1/month" effects slightly more so.

Between the last day of Nerull and the first of Wee Jas, there is the Long Night -- a day where the sun does not rise, the moon is not visible in the sky, and divine power is completely nullified.

I don't know why there's a piece missing from the top left. It doesn't show up in the original document.

Campaign Log -- Day Fifteen

The 21st day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

At the point in time where this game actually took place, it was still summer vacation, and matching everyone’s schedules up was difficult. Makpov’s player and I were both working retail at the time, so we had no such vacation to speak of. Quimarel’s player had just gotten back from a trip, Hiddlebatch’s player was about to leave, and Tamarie’s player was currently visiting family. In a desire to get at least one session in before Hiddlebatch’s player left, I ended up running a sidequest that included only Quimarel and Hiddlebatch: they wanted to figure out what the deal was with their drunken gerbil-fairy. I apparently started the recorder late, because the recording starts with the two players having already given in to the instincts conferred upon them by advanced degrees in English: they’re in the library doing research. Specifically, it starts with me giving them an answer to a research question regarding the formal hierarchy of atomies (the species of fairy they’re dealing with):
“They’re ‘organized’ in the same sense that a wasp nest is ‘organized’: all the creatures involved have a vague, instinct-based idea of what the best course of action would be, and it works well enough for them to survive. More or less, they fly around, collect resources, stick people with tiny swords -- or put snakes in their backpacks -- and otherwise they just do what they feel like.”
Quimarel and Hiddlebatch debate the idea of getting the information they want out of members of the Intelligence Corps through diplomacy.

Hiddlebatch: We could say something like… we got stung by a fairy or something.
Quimarel OOC: Do they have stingers?
GM: Little swords.
Hiddlebatch: Yeah, so say one of them poked you… in a non-sexual way. Like, in a violent way.

There’s some brief concern that they might not be able to find out who the high-ranking members of the Intelligence Corps are, which is quickly solved when I point out that this information is actually in the setting document I gave them during character-creation. Since this branch of the Royal Intelligence Corps is directly run by Tribe Muck-Laugh, the title of Spymaster automatically goes to the chief of the tribe. Currently, the goblin in charge is Spymistress Zubynna Chief Muck-Laugh, an elderly woman who regularly holds audiences with citizens of the town in order to maintain visibility and popularity. Talking to her would not be a problem, as long as you didn’t seem to be wasting her time -- you don’t get to be Chief Muck-Laugh by being a nice person.
It is also established that the extremely elderly chieftainess is unlikely to be interested in Quimarel’s employees, so their standard method of bribery is out.

Quimarel OOC: Not even the bedazzled boy-whore? [i.e., Makpov]
GM: Maybe the bedazzled boy-whore, but only because he’s just SO bedazzled. Generally, she is past that time of life.

Plans are hatched regarding how to subtly get information out of Zubynna. Quimarel suggests using her points in Craft [herbal remedies] to drug Zubynna with something that would increase her libido so that they can use the standard bribe-the-official-with-whores plan, but the logistics seem to be difficult. Also, it turns out Quimarel forgot to actually buy any ranks in Craft [herbal remedies] -- she just wrote the skill down on her sheet -- so she’d need Tamarie to do the actual brewing.

Hiddlebatch decides to go talk to the Kech and see if they know anything. It heads over to the Broken Stone and sits in the dining area on the first floor to wait for one to show up.

Quimarel OOC: You “sit down and stare”?
GM: I think she said “sit downstairs”.
Quimarel OOC: I like mine better.

For the sake of Hiddlebatch not spending all day sitting in a tavern, Lu-Dingira shows up for lunch fairly shortly. Hiddlebatch approaches him. “Excuse me. I have some things to discuss with you, and I think it would be better if we retired to a more private location.”
Silently bemoaning the apparent tendency of savages to disrupt his meals, Lu-Dingira takes Hiddlebatch up to the room the Kech are renting, and they sit down for a private chat.

Lu-Dingira: What is so important that you had to come speak to us?
Hiddlebatch: Well… it might not seem that important to you… but we’ve been having problems with local fairies. They are quite numerous, and we were wondering if you happened to know anything about them.
Lu-Dingira: Hm. Well, until a few months ago, we lived many thousands of miles away. So we have little experience with the local fairy folk.
Hiddlebatch: And you haven’t had any issues with them since you’ve been here, or seen anything odd, or…
Lu-Dingira: When we travelled here -- the part where we went over land, I mean -- we were in the company of Lord Bashant of the Thin Blades and Lord Jithanver the Blood-Drinker. Even the fairy folk seem smart enough to steer clear, so we never saw any.
Hiddlebatch: Oh. Okay. There have just been some strange goings-on in the area, and we weren’t sure if it was related to what you’d been doing, or if it might interfere with our plans or yours, or our mutual arrangement. So if you notice anything strange in relation to fairies, let us know.
Lu-Dingira: We shall.
Hiddlebatch: Anything else we need to know?
Lu-Dingira: There’s some unrest underground, but I think we’ve got it under control.
Hiddlebatch: With the big, horrifying creatures or the slaves?
Lu-Dingira: The former. They seem… oddly well-organized for big, horrifying creatures.
Hiddlebatch: Oh. That’s ominous. And how are your gods doing?
Lu-Dingira: I haven’t asked. They consider it impertinent to just pop in, you know.
[There is some brief discussion out of character regarding whether the Kech are religious. They aren’t, but it seems likely that Lu-Dingira just parsed “gods” as “rakshasa” and answered accordingly.]
Hiddlebatch: Maybe you should keep this. It may guide you in your quest. [Diplomacy: 22]
[Hiddlebatch hands Lu-Dingira one of H’s carven idols]
Lu-Dingira: Is this an important object in your culture?
Hiddlebatch: It is an important object in ALL cultures. This is --
Lu-Dingira: It is not an important object in MY culture.
Hiddlebatch: It will be soon. You see, this is from the god Khurgorbaeyag who, as you may have noticed, is working to spread his influence across the land --
Lu-Dingira: I have not noticed this.
Hiddlebatch: -- as is evidenced by all the individuals with strange mutations that make them superior to the other individuals. This is --
Lu-Dingira: I thought that was just how you people were.
Hiddlebatch: This is his totem. It will bless you.
Lu-Dingira: That’s nice of him. I’ll just put it on this shelf over here.

Hiddlebatch tries to evangelize at Lu-Dingira to make him into a follower of her heretical sect. He responds to her attempts by explaining his cultural beliefs, which he presents as superior. This is not acted out at the table, but the general gist of Lu-Dingira’s beliefs is that hierarchy and obedience are critically important, because something something social Darwinism. He also claims that he and his people were the first warm-blooded creatures to achieve sapience, and seems to feel that this gives him additional authority.

Hiddlebatch: Not a fan of the reptiles, then?
Lu-Dingira: Reptiles were the ones who created us -- so that we could be their servants. And for many generations, we served faithfully. Until their great empire fell, and we traveled across the sea...

He relates the Kech creation myth, which involves being uplifted from monkeyhood to serve as glorified homunculi / lab assistants for Aarakocra wizards, then, as they grew more numerous, an underclass for the entire empire, which was located somewhere over the sea to the west.. Lu-Dingira and his compatriots are descended from a group of Kech who were essentially sold to the rakshasa when the empire was in its final decline. Hiddlebatch doesn’t care, ends the conversation, and leaves. Lu-Dingira notes how rude these savages are and goes to get his lunch.
Quimarel starts preparing for a meeting with Zubynna. First, she tries to figure out how to attract fairies. Her Knowledge [nature] check tells her that they just don’t operate on the same kind of logic she does¹, and virtually anything could potentially be construed as an invitation under the right circumstances.
Quimarel and Hiddlebatch press for more detail (Knowledge [nature]: 17) and remember hearing that there are certain things more likely to attract fey attention. Silvermoss certainly likes honey, especially when made into mead. Quimarel suggests that there might be certain flowers they find appealing, and I decide that’s probably true. Quimarel also remembers hearing that you can attract them with saucers of milk and bread, and that certain songs get their attention for whatever reason.

Hiddlebatch OOC: Can I sing some songs and see what Silvermoss responds to?
GM: You CAN, yes.
Hiddlebatch OOC: I assume I know some local songs…
Quimarel OOC: The traditional ballad “Hit Me Baby One More Time”.

Hiddlebatch decides to sing some hymns to Khurgorbaeyag. Silvermoss sings along, but makes up his own words. He doesn’t seem to react to one any more than the others. Out of character, Quimarel and Hiddlebatch agree that “Toxic” is a hymn to Khurgorbaeyag, but Quimarel’s player meant the Britney Spears song and Hiddlebatch’s player is loudly singing another song called “Toxic” which neither of us recognize.

Quimarel OOC: [picks up recorder] Dear future GM who’s listening to this… I’m sorry.

They go back to trying to figure out what to say to Zubynna. Quimarel wants to have some plausible reason why she might be having difficulty with fairies.

Hiddlebatch: Just say you were romping through the woods, and --
 Quimarel: I do do a lot of romping.
Hiddlebatch: And, uh, and one poked you.
Quimarel: One poking me is not enough to be --
Hiddlebatch: THIS IS A SERIOUS ISSUE!
Quimarel: Not enough for me to bring it up; it needs to be something unusual.

Eventually, they decide that the combination of Makpov’s natural carrion stench and the smoke from the large hookah that Foxglove Winemist recently dragged into the common room (to “cultivate an exotic atmosphere”) is an unusual enough scent that it could plausibly attract fairies. By claiming that fairies are showing up and harassing her employees as a result, Quimarel has a lie that seems like a significant enough issue to consult Zubynna for advice.
Quimarel’s Knowledge [local] reveals that while Zubynna’s schedule is irregular, changing depending on what she needs to do to maintain visibility and/or snuff out any opposition to her leadership before it gets serious, she holds regular “office hours” at the Intelligence Corps, can usually be found mingling in the Marketplace of Rats at some point during the day, and frequently eats at the Broken Stone. Quimarel decides to go talk to her in her office.

---

1 In my campaign, the Fey and the Far Realm essentially form the z-axis of the alignment chart: they are fundamentally opposed in the same way Good and Evil are, but their thought processes and beliefs are so alien to everyone else that it just doesn’t map properly onto the two-dimensional good/evil/law/chaos moral structure that the rest of the world uses. In a nod to TV Tropes, I’ve mentally labelled their opposing philosophies Blue and Orange, respectively. As a consequence, Detect Evil on a fey creature results in the caster getting a result of “inconclusive” and seeing strange blue flickers for a few seconds.. On a micro level, with minor fairies like the atomie, that means that their behavior, culture, ethics, &c. are completely unpredictable from a humanoid point of view. ^↩

Campaign Log -- Day Fourteen

The 20th day of the month of Obad-Hai

The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

When this session occurred, we hadn’t met for three weeks due to conflicting summer vacation plans among the grad students who make up most of my players. Hiddlebatch’s player was in China for some reason at this point, but the other three managed to get together and we declared it a quorum.

At this awkward time directly after completing their mission for the Kech, and without a specific mystery to look into (like the disappearance of Krich that started this whole business), I had been hoping the players would make some plot-relevant choices, or hatch some sort of madcap scheme. However, they seemed somewhat… directionless.

GM: So now that we’ve… kind of reviewed the last session, and --  

Quimarel OOC: Discussed [Makpov’s player’s] dream. 

GM: -- And discussed her dream, and eaten chips… what do y’all want to do? 

Quimarel OOC: I wanted to become more prominent in terms of local politics. I wanted to make myself more important to the town. 

GM: Yes, I remember you saying that. 

Quimarel OOC: I have no idea how to do that. 

Makpov OOC: Apparently I’m the favored whore of some politician. 

GM: The ambassador. 

Makpov OOC: You could use me as leverage. 

[pause where a plan might be, but isn’t] 

GM: I was hoping y’all might have fleshed out your plans a little bit in the three weeks since our last session. 

Quimarel OOC: I was in Houston. Brain no worky. 

GM: Does your brain shut down in warm climates? 

Quimarel OOC: It does, it does. 

GM: Like a troll? 

Quimarel OOC: … yes. 

GM: … have you read any Terry Pratchett? 

Quimarel OOC: No. 

GM: Oh. Well, you should. It has trolls whose brains don’t work in heat.

After some hemming and hawing, they decide to look around. Quimarel wants to know if she might have noticed any sort of “government thing happening” in which she might “make her voice known”. As it happens, there is a sort of legal/political kerfuffle going on, in which some miscreants have broken into the offices of the Royal Intelligence Corps.

Tamarie: (in tones of shocked outrage) WHO WOULD DO THAT?!

Quimarel decides she will be very vocal about the need for tighter security, but otherwise declines to get involved with this unsavory situation. After some minimal poking around, she finds that the Town Guard have noted a rash of apparently unrelated thefts this week, which they are blaming on humans.

Specifically, a group of human criminals whom the Capran government had sentenced to hard labor in the Wastelands and shipped north, only to somehow lose track of. The criminals in question had vanished for some time, presumed escaped -- their guards were found dead -- but have recently been spotted walking around town here in Noroiras. They are all dressed in rags, covered in minor scars & injuries, and have some fantastical tale about being held in an underground prison somewhere inside the town limits. Nobody believes this ridiculous story, especially since they credit the racist priest outside of town with their rescue.

The party makes uncomfortable eye contact with each other. “Who could that be…” mutters Quimarel. “I mean… I don’t know… um…”.

Makpov, OOC and apropos of nothing: I imagine the fairy we found looks like the GM. 

GM: Right, and you still have a drunken fairy. 

Tamarie OOC: He’s still drunk? 

GM: That was how you decided to keep him under control. 

Tamarie OOC: That’s horrible. That’s not what I remember. I remember making him a little house. And a sweater. 

Quimarel OOC: A terrible sweater. It had three holes: two for his arms and… one for his wings? 

GM: And none for his head. 

Tamarie OOC: It was fine; the colors were just all wrong. 

Quimarel OOC: Puce green. 

GM: I thought puce was like pink. 

[Digression follows, in which both the spelling and the meaning of “puce” are debated and eventually Googled, along with “mauve” and “salmon”, before returning to the game.]

“So,” Quimarel muses, “what I’m hearing is… if someone were to capture some of these criminal types and throw them into lockup, they might win the favor of the townspeople.”

Quimarel: Who wants to capture the people we freed? [pointedly, and very in-character, does not pause to hear opinions] Yaaaaaay -- let’s do the thing.

The players attempt to make some Gather Information rolls, and the GM realizes for the umpteenth time that Gather Information isn’t a skill in Pathfinder. They make Diplomacy rolls instead, which Quimarel and Tamarie both fail dramatically -- Quimarel rolls a natural 1, and Tamarie gets a total of 5. Makpov declines to roll.

The three of them find a reputable source. Well, he’s kind of dirty, but this ain’t no high-falutin’ Southern court -- reputable sources can be dirty. Actually, he’s really dirty. And scraggly. And it looks like he hasn’t bathed in several months.

Tamarie: He seems reliable. 

Quimarel: Trustworthy. He’s an old soul.

They know this man, in fact. He’s kind of hard to miss, since he lives on the street. That’s not “lives on the streets”, note… he literally lives in the middle of the road.

Quimarel OOC: We’re asking… Homeless Steve? 

GM: Sure. Homeless Steve --  

Tamarie OOC: We could call him Bucky. 

GM: Huh? 

Tamarie OOC: Bucky. 

Quimarel OOC: Bucky. Sad trash homeless prince. One-armed sex hobo. 

GM: Did you just say “One-armed --” 

Quimarel OOC: Yes I did. Those words left my mouth. Let us not discuss it.

Homeless Bucky informs them that he knows exactly what’s going on. It seems that the Intelligence Corps vault was robbed… by mole people. These mole people are in league with the Capran Mob, which is why there are all these humans wandering around. He proceeds to nod sagely, an air of ancient wisdom coming off him in waves.

Quimarel: You keep doing what you do, Homeless Bucky. 

Bucky: [burrows into the road like a ghost crab]

Realizing that Bucky’s wisdom has given them no leads as to where these criminals actually are, Tamarie and Quimarel roll again, with slightly better results. A short period of asking around leads to the information that the human (pronounced Ferengi-style) criminals mostly steal from the Marketplace of Rats. This more or less makes sense, as the open-air marketplace in question is the only place where valuables can be found in Noroiras other than “under heavy guard in the mansions of the upper class”, so it’s a natural target for thieves.

(The Marketplace of Rats, if anyone is interested, is so named because of the artwork found therein -- several freestanding statues dot the field where it is located, all of which depict, fairly grotesquely, goblin were-rats in the midst of transformation. The theory has been floated that these are not statues, but in fact the work of a basilisk. Nobody, in the several decades since the statues were found, has made any effort to address this matter further.)

Quimarel, Tamarie, and Makpov skulk into the Marketplace that afternoon, hoping to catch one of the thieves red-handed. They roll Stealth, a skill in which exactly one member of the party has any ranks. Quimarel blends perfectly into the shadows, even in the late-afternoon sun. Tamarie and Makpov pretend, incompetently, to be statues.

GM: Tamarie and Makpov, you get a lot of funny looks. At one point, an exceptionally shady-looking goblin offers to sell you some drugs.  

Tamarie: Cool. 

Makpov: I lick him. 

Tamarie: What kind of drugs? 

Goblin drug dealer: (somewhat loopy from Makpov’s hallucinogenic saliva) I have… ALL kinds of drugs. 

Makpov: I lick him again and then steal his drugs.

The drug dealer’s eyes are wide and rolling back and forth. He seems terrified of something behind him that nobody else can see. Makpov manages to grab several bags of unidentified substances off of him before he panics and bolts, trying to escape some hallucination or other.

Quimarel OOC: “Misc. Drugs.” Great. 

Tamarie OOC: We can give them to the fairy. 

Makpov OOC: YES! 

GM: You seem way too excited about that.

From Quimarel’s more effective vantage point, she spots one of the humans who looks a lot like one of the ones the party led out of the Kech dig site. He is casually walking by stalls and stuffing small items into the folds of his shabby clothing. He seems pretty good at it, too: Quimarel wouldn’t have noticed if she weren’t expecting it.

The shabby human further shows off his rogue level(s) by spotting Quimarel in her hiding place. Curious but not inclined to call the guard for obvious reasons, he peers towards Quimarel and starts slowly walking over, as if trying to decide what to do.

Quimarel responds by pretending to scan the crowd, making eye contact, winking, and generally acting as though she is merely there to drum up business. The human sees through the act [Bluff: 7] and says out of the corner of his mouth, “What’s going on here?”

Quimarel: Looking for a little company. 

Hoo-man: Riiiiiiight. Didn’t I see you down in that whole underground-slave-thing? 

Quimarel: I don’t know about underground… [Bluff: 25] 

Hoo-man: Never mind. I… I must have mistaken you for someone else.

The human starts to walk away -- and Quimarel tackles him, yelling for Makpov and Tamarie’s help. Makpov licks him, and he fails his Fortitude save. Quimarel calls the guards over as their captive descends into hallucination. 

Cpl. Moryo: What’s all this, then? 

Quimarel: I saw this man stealing things from various booths. I think he’s one of the escaped prisoners! 

Cpl. Moryo: Sir, I’m going to need you to turn out your pockets.

As the human is busy hallucinating and convulsing slightly, Corporal Moryo has to forcibly search him, at which point he turns up a number of hidden trinkets on his person.

Cpl. Moryo: Did you pay for these? What’s going to happen if I go ask the vendors about these items? 

Hoo-man: [shrieking gibberish] 

Cpl. Moryo: Sir, I’m going to have to take you off to lockup. [to Quimarel] And I’ll have to keep these items… as, um… evidence.

Makpov plants some of his miscellaneous drugs on the human, and the guard drags him off. These events have attracted the attention of a number of people who were just wandering the marketplace, so Makpov and Quimarel take the opportunity to name-drop the Squirting Squid and its soon-to-be-famous crime-fighting whores. The crowd is intrigued.

Quimarel begins to declaim to the crowd. “I feel that, as a pillar of the community, it is my duty to protect our town, which I love so much, In so many ways.” [Diplomacy: 22] Applause ensues. Quimarel goes on to answer questions, give directions to the brothel, and continue throwing around patriotic rhetoric.

Campaign Log -- Day Thirteen (Days Eleven and Twelve irrelevant)

The 19th day of the month of Obad-Hai
The 110th year of the second Ravensblood dynasty

Hiddlebatch has been spending the past few days following its normal routine: go into town, find a public area, try to convert anyone listening to H’s heretical sect of Khurgorbaeyag, frighten the citizenry, and eventually get ushered away by the guards. At this point in time, Hiddlebatch’s flock consists of about a dozen goblins, most of whom don’t even show up at the chapel, instead staying at home and being horrified by the carven idols H has given them. Only one of her flock is Tainted himself -- Zonnd, who is possessed of an unsettling set of translucent mandibles, and can eat nothing but the still-beating hearts of birds. They don’t show up in the story much thus far.

On 19 Obad-Hai, Illuvatum arrives at the chapel to take possession of the glaive. He wastes no time with pleasantries. “Have you… acquired the glaive?”

Quimarel replies, “We’ve acquired something.” She hands him the golden polearm-haft. “This is what we got.”

Hiddlebatch tells him, however, that they could not find the command word -- so it might well be useless to them unless they have some way of working that out.
Illuvatum waves his hand. “We have resources; we can figure it out.”

Quimarel makes an abrupt segue: “What do you know about fairies?”
“We try not to associate with them, because they’re annoying as all Hells.”
“We happened to find one of them in the vault… do you know what we might do with it?”
“Fricassee? They’re just vermin that can talk.”

The party start muttering amongst themselves, trying to decide whether there’s anything else they can ask him about Silvermoss, but he cuts them off. “I don’t want to talk to you folks about fairies. You got the glaive. That’s great. The gratitude of Lord Jithanver the Blood-Drinker shall rain down upon you, assuming we can get this thing working.”
Tamarie seems confused. “How does gratitude ‘rain’?”
“In a metaphorical fashion.”

There’s a pause, then Illuvatum continues. “I will bring this to Lord Bashant, we will discuss, and perhaps we will contact you again in the near future with another task.”
Disgruntled muttering from the PCs follows. “This is what we are now,” grumbles Quimarel.

Illuvatum seems ready to depart. “You may now go about your regularly scheduled… whatever you people do. Just leave our possessions alone this time.”
Hiddlebatch takes exception. “And you don’t kidnap any of our friends.”
“We are within our rights to kidnap anyone who is in the way of our work.”
“Uh-huh. And, just so we know, what exactly is your work, and what stuff should we not mess with?”
“I’m not going to get into an argument with you people about this.”
“You’re already arguing! It’s too late!” Hiddlebatch is highly skilled in diplomatic discourse.
Illuvatum’s temper is cracking slightly. “Look, your freaky little lizard-thing is the one who came up to us while we were going about our duly-appointed --”
“She has a name!” Quimarel objects.

[Pause, while Quimarel’s player shuffles through her notes.]
[Giggling from around the table.]
GM: You had to look up her name, didn’t you?

“-- and it is Krich the Xenophilic!” Quimarel continues.

Quimarel OOC: Krich of the Golden Crotch.

“Your freaky little lizard-thing got in the way while we were conducting our business. We were merely protecting our interests, and then you folks broke in and fed one of my colleagues to spiders. All in all, you’re lucky our relationship is as amiable as it is.”

A cacaphony of objections arises from the PCs.

Makpov decides that his skills are needed to defuse the situation, and starts giving Illuvatum a shoulder massage. “There’s no reason you need to be so tense about this whole thing.”

GM: You need to roll Diplomacy,
Makpov: [seductive growling]
GM: … or possibly Intimidate, depending on what you’re going for there.
Makpov OOC: Diplomacy. 21.

Illuvatum finds himself oddly charmed by the malodorous savage and his slavering jaws -- Makpov’s Tainted ability to be perceived as supernaturally attractive comes through yet again.

“Perhaps you are right, strange pointy-nosed creature.” Illuvatum rolls a 2 on his check to resist Makpov’s advances, and completely backs off on the whole berating-the-party thing.

Quimarel OOC: Good work. Have a rawhide chew.

“Perhaps we will come to some more pleasant… social… situation. I must get back to business. Perhaps I will visit you again soon.”
Makpov attempts to bat his eyes. “ALL of us?”
“Yes. Yes. I will… see you again soon.” Illuvatum then leaves quickly, possibly to try and deal with the psychological fallout of his unexpected attraction to gnoll men.

[The players take some time to discuss the fact that they’ve basically been assuming that everyone is bisexual until proven otherwise.]
GM: Well, we’ve established that there’s less of a social stigma about that sort of thing here than in the real world… remember, in the last campaign, General Mathilde was involved with another woman, and the only issue was that Ilsa might get in trouble dating her commanding officer.
Hiddlebatch OOC: Well, it would suck if it WAS an issue in D&D… “persecute the gays” would be the weirdest quest ever.
[Hiddlebatch’s player then launches into a story about an unpleasant encounter she had with a very persistent evangelist -- moderately ironic considering what her character does.]

The party discuss amongst themselves what their next step should be. There’s probably something to be gained by getting involved with this weird cult-like organization, but on the other hand, they don’t want to screw up the town where they, you know, live. (Though Hiddlebatch argues that it will be easier to evangelize if the town falls apart and “everyone realizes their lives are empty and meaningless.”) Quimarel is more interested in financial gain and political power. Makpov plans to “dick around”, and Tamarie just wants to play with her alchemical tools.