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[GiglameshDespair]

_{OOC link : keep OOC out of the IC thread or face... consequences.}

It's raining, or, perhaps, it's snowing. It'll certainly something - a wet, clinging sleet that sticks to your cloaks and saps the heat.

The six of you are currently near a large warehouse, the rough timber-and-stone structure looming above anything else on the street - mainly smaller buildings, also used for storage. The cobbles are slick and shiny underfoot, and the irregular lamps light the street poorly. Aside from the normal bustle of Kolos - talking, shouting, dogs barking, the occasional scream - little can be heard from inside. The thick wall facing you is studded with tiny, fist size windows at twice the height of a man, and only darkness can be seen within. The door is sturdy oak - locked.

You'd received notice that Milestride Jack had something to do with a band of smugglers bringing illicit magical artefacts and supplies into the city. Your orders are to investigate, and see what you can dig up. At the least, you can disrupt a smuggling operation.You should be careful - they are magic smugglers, after all. Who knows what tricks they might have up their sleeves?

It's cold. It's wet. It's dark.

Time to get working.

Tirion Arroway, Tessele Siannodel, Thoven Hauser, Ayre Liadon, Dench Bourbon and Cirila Brightwood are in!

[heydude6]

not playing but ptw

[Dwarmin]

Milestride Jack's a spook story-something bandits tell their children at night. 'Snitch on your elders, and Milestride Jack will get you.' But, no one ever really believed that...until recently...the rumors and tales make a legend of a man, make him into something more terrible than any person could be-if everything they said was true, how could he be a man at all?

Most people think he was born in the cold, wet streets of Kolos-or, at least he came to reside here for most of his life. A criminal with a great deal of cunning, an unsettling demeanor-and limitless ambition, his reputation was originally built on slipperiness. Milestride Jack earned his name because he seemed to be everywhere. He would vanish into a doorway and emerged clear on the other side of town, always flipping his 'lucky coin', sometimes humming a song. No one could catch him. No doors could hold him-no walls, no matter how high, could keep him out if he wanted in. The messes he left were considerable. Be it paid assassination or pure grudge bearing, no one who crossed him lived long. His vengeance was legendary in it's cruelty-he spared no distinction between innocent and guilty, or bystander and accomplice. He slew those who crossed them, and their families, the people that worked for them. Even the people who owed them money. He would destroy everything he touched, leaving out butchered corpses and ashes in his wake.

Jack was said to be a master with the heavy dagger-his style, noted to have similarity to the Snow Elf, or Yalani,  fighting style "Los'Salka"-the 'Dancing on the Red Snow', is always used with heavy flensing knives-they use it to slice through the thick, blubbery skin of the giant predators of the dire North Wastes, while maintaining perfect balance and avoidance of their often titanic foes. Jack has honed his knives on softer skin-like those combat masters of legend, he was said to move like he was sliding over ice, effortlessly and with a playful, cruel manner-always just out of reach, those who provided him entertainment died bleeding out, as he silently taunted them. No one was ever said to have landed a blow on him. He could move and strike so fast he was said to be able to render a standing man into pieces in the space of a minute.

The strangest part of the story was that Jack was known to leave no witnesses.

...

For many years now, it was assumed Jack had finally died or been forced into hiding-someone or more likely a great deal of people had finally put aside their grudges to eliminate this madman. Unfortunately, he seems to have returned-or, someone who has taken his divine inspiration to heart. More bodies are showing up-butchered in the manner of the Milestride Jack killings, often with...pieces...missing for no discernable reason. The Underworld trembles under the shapeless form in the shadows, the one who kills without reason, and without fear-not only criminals, but civilians as well-along with anyone else in his way. And, people who have nothing to do with anything. Just being in his way...

And yet, no one has been able to pin him down. He seems to have no base of operations, no group of confidants, no grand scheme. He takes what he wants then vanishes into thin air. Some wonder if Jack had truly retired, but has returned...if he was a man (and there is some argument as to race, ethnicity, and even gender) surely he would be in his 40's-no doubt suffering from a midlife crisis and looking to recapture the pleasantries of his youth. Yet the tales on the streets say he's a young man-or at least seems young. A copycat, then. Perhaps his own chosen successor. Or, perhaps he found a way to cheat death.

There's a hundred tales-you can whittle away the weeks sifting through them. It doesn't help that anyone who seems to know anything at all is either in hiding or...missing. All that stands between the city and total chaos are the actions of a few brave guardsmen who patrol the increasingly empty streets...

[PrivateNomad]

Tirion gazed over the warehouse, studying it in the dark rain. After determining himself that the door was locked, he looked back to his companions.
 "Plan, anyone? Ram door, swords swinging, or what? Who knows what lie behind that door; traps, even, are a possibility."

[Twinwolf]

Cirila, standing and looking at the warehouse, shrugs. "We should try to be quiet at least until we can see them. We want to give them as little time to prepare as possible. Thoven, you can open the door, correct?"

[Weirdsound]

Dench speaks in a soft growl as his eyes dart around, In his near half decade of guard work, the half-orc had learned that there is little more frightening and dangerous than a sealed door to a criminal den. "We should stake this place out. Catch somebody coming or going. I'll make them talk."

[PrivateNomad]

Dench speaks in a soft growl as his eyes dart around, In his near half decade of guard work, the half-orc had learned that there is little more frightening and dangerous than a sealed door to a criminal den. "We should stake this place out. Catch somebody coming or going. I'll make them talk."

"A great plan, friend. But we must take care so that those inside are thus unaware of our interrogation."

[sjm9876]

Keiran - this group knew him by that name - stood with his arms crossed, holding in the heat. He had put on a new face just before they came to the door, human, brown haired and bearded. Not that an illusory beard kept out the cold. His eyes too strayed up and down the street, lingering on various doorways.

"Perhaps a slightly subtler interrogation might be better to start. Though I agree a cautious entry would be well advised."

His words were soft, but there was a slight power to them nonetheless.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Tessele pulls her cloak closer to her against the rain, and loosens the straps on her weapons.
"That sounds like a good plan. In the meantime, I'll check around back for a backdoor, and then check the roof. Maybe there will be an open door or hatch, if the Guard has His back turned tonight," the half-elf murmurs over the rain, invoking the Saint of doors.

Tessele does a circuit around the building, looking for an alternate entrance. Once she's back with the rest of the squad, she clambers up the side of the building, looking for an entrance or opening on the roof.

[F.O.E.]

After the others had spoken Thoven answered Cirila, his voice low and gruff.

"Could, if I had a lockpick handy; though, that's hardly what I'd call plan A. I'm much more a fan of subtlety and picking a, more than likely, watched door is far from subtle."

[Weirdsound]

Keiran - this group knew him by that name - stood with his arms crossed, holding in the heat. He had put on a new face just before they came to the door, human, brown haired and bearded. Not that an illusory beard kept out the cold. His eyes too strayed up and down the street, lingering on various doorways.

"Perhaps a slightly subtler interrogation might be better to start. Though I agree a cautious entry would be well advised."

His words were soft, but there was a slight power to them nonetheless.

Dench shrugs. As much as he enjoyed breaking bones to make the scumbags talk, he had no problem with allowing the others to go about things their way. "You have magic to make somebody sing?"

Before the feylike creature can answer, Dench puts up a hand and begins to wordlessly shadow Tessele on her trip around the building. He generally didn't like working with the half-elf, as she was a stickler for the rules and often frowned upon some of Dench's methods of law enforcement, but one bit of guard protocol that the trained Monk did agree with was that one shouldn't let a comrade in arms wander off alone in hostile territory.

Dench does a lap around the building with Tessele.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Tessele gives Dench a curt nod of gratitude. The feelings between her and the half-orc were mutual, but she wouldn't let personal feelings interfere with work. And backup was backup, no matter who it was.

[sjm9876]

"More to ease their tongue." Keiran says to Dench's receding back.

Keiran, meanwhile, stepped off to one side, leaning against the wall and trying to look for all the world like his presence was a coincidence.

Keiran steps away from the doorway, trying not to stand out, and keeps an eye and an ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

[Dwarmin]

A feline yowls in fear in a nearby alley, followed by a brief gurgling, then nothing. Sometimes strange things in the sewers of Kolos sneak out to take the stray animals...after a few moments, raindrops mingle with silence once more.

[GiglameshDespair]

Kieran steps away from the others, putting space between him and the door as Dench and Tessele peel away and head around the building. The remaining huddle closer under the eave of the roof, trying to get out of the sleet...

Dench and Tessele

As Dench and Tessele head around the building, they wade through half-frozen puddles. The paths around the building are poorly maintained, and time and traffic has turned them into stone-studded mires, more than streets or alleys. Still, the two guards persevere.

The front door is to the north, so...

You discover a small side door on the east side, thin timbers leaking out light and the sounds of at least two people talking. The handle is a old iron ring, and you leave that door be, in case trying it alerts the occupants.

On the south side, much like the north side, is a large double-door of iron-banded pine, and it seems locked. You listen, but you can't hear anything through the planks.

On the west side is nothing but a sheer wall. Having not encountered any rogue murderers or dastardly criminals in the act, you elect to climb the building. Dench, being the more acrobatic of the two, goes first, seeking out handholds on his way up...

With the slickness of the rain foiling his grip, he slips and tumbles to the ground!
Caught offguard by the sudden lurch, he lands poorly, with a heavy thud.

Bashfully, he stands up, hoping the rain and mud dampened the sound enough to not alert anyone inside...

Spoiler: Player Status (click to show/hide)

Tirion Arroway (Privatenomad)
Class: Paladin
Symbol:
Initiative: +0
33/33 HP left
Status: Healthy
Death Saves Remaining:3/3
Resting HD Remaining:1d10/3
Effects:
Divine Health (Cirila is immune to disease)

Active Abilities:
Divine Sense (3/3 Uses Remaining)
Lay on Hands (15/15 HP remaining)

Spell Slots:


Description: This young, fit man has long flowing blonde hair and golden eyes; worn around his neck is a holy symbol and around his body he dons intricate chain mail armor, a shield and longsword attached to his back.
Wielding: Never-King Sanctified Longsword (Blessed by the wandering church of the Never-King, this stout length of steel is unadorned, save for the escutcheon of golden flecked metal affixed to the on the hilt, that acts as both a holy symbol, and a blade guard-indicative of the Sun. Never-King Paladins who favor a stout defense often use this sort of blades-they wield it as they would a buckler, quickly shunting blows aside that attempt to bypass their main hand shields. It's particular design can also catch the sun if angled correctly, allowing a cunning person to blind his opponents, or signal far away friends. His blade is slowly rusting away due to the bad weather of Kolos, haven recently taken on an unholy green tinge.)
Wearing: Kolos Guardsmen Chain+Surplus Shield (The equipment of a Guardsmen often reflects the user, but in all cases it tends to be battered and broken from constant use and previous owners. Tirion has augmented his own surplus armor and shield with the intricate metal working of the Never-Kings Smiths-his oak shield has been reinforced with thick steels ribs and knobs, and his mail shirt is equipped with a stout body harness that swaths him in a thick layer of chain-armor and leather underpadding, while trimming the overall weight and drag to better suit his fighting style.18 AC)

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=626179

Tessele Siannodel (My Name is Immaterial)
Class: Fighter
Symbol: ?
Initiative: +2
36/36 HP left
Status: healthy
Death Saves Remaining:3/3
Resting HD Remaining:1d10/3
Effects:
Darkvision~60 Ft
Fey Ancestry
Mariner~Climb/Swim speed 30ft

Active Abilities:
Superiority Dice=4d8 remaining
Maneuvers=Disarming Strike, Rally, Riposte
Second Wind, Ready
Action Surge, Ready

Description: Tessele is a youthful looking woman, a gift from her father, with shoulder-length raven black hair, a gift from her mother. When she takes off the armor that she wears almost all the time, it's clear that she's skinny, but well built; strong, lithe and hardy. Her armor is simple, decorated only with the crest of Kolos, and smells vaguely of cinnamon or ginger, depending on the day.
Wielding: Surplus Kolos Guard Pike (Mass produced from cheap iron, the Kolos guard often wields poorer weapons than those they fight-Tessele's pike is well taken care of, however, due to her military diligence to weapon care.)
Wearing: Surplus Guard Armor (The equipment of a Guardsmen often reflects the user, but in all cases it tends to be battered and broken from constant use and previous owners. Tessele still prefers the streamlined 'fish-scale' armor of a Moorpost guardsmen-her own suits is modified to be light enough so as to require minimal, yet modestly functional underpadding-and thus, much less weight when getting wet, though in truth she does much more climbing than swimming these days. Despite the weather of Kolos being prone to rot and wet, Tessele's suit shows no signs of anything but military attention to upkeep. It's designed to be easy to remove and don, with a system straps and buckles that can be loosened with speed, if the situation desires.16 AC)

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=626662

Thoven Hauser (F.O.E)
Class: Ranger
Symbol: X
42/42 HP left
Status: Healthy
Death Saves Remaining:3/3
Resting HD Remaining:1d12/3
Effects:
Darkvision~60ft

Active Abilities:

Description: Thoven is of average height and build for a human. He keeps the brown hair on his head short and does the same for his beard. The dull blue color of his eyes match who he has become much more than he used to be. Two shortswords hang from his belt and a longbow and quiver of arrows rest on his back.
Wielding:  Mercenary Blades (Thovan's dual shortswords are designed for utility and combat-they can skin a boar as easy as they can a mark. Both swords are equipped with heavy, boxlike hilt-designed to be used as clubs for knocking out uncooperative criminals.)
Wearing: Lost Village Leathers (This artistic remnant of a place now gone, this leather armor was once adorned with skillfully crafted images of ivy, dancing fey, and prancing stags-a true hunters armor piece, tough and thick, it's now slowly falling apart-if not to neglect, then the passage of time, weather, and conflict. It shows the marks of constant battle damage, and increasingly extensive patching, as if it's owner was reluctant to part with it.14 AC)

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=626783

Dench Bourbon (Weirdguy)
Class: Monk
Symbol:
27/30 HP left
Status: Slightly bruised
Death Saves Remaining:3/3
Resting HD Remaining:1d8/3
Effects:
Darkvision

Active Abilities:

Description: None provided, so let's assume he's a big ugly Orc!
Wielding: Frostgrove Monk's Staff (A simple piece of Ironoak shaped into a club like shape, the head of the staff is similar to a rams head-Dench carved this before he left the monastery. He's adding a cunningly worked leather grip that allows him to swing it with greater force while keeping a hold on it.)
Wearing: Frostgrove Monk's Raiment Undescribed.   AC 14

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=626695

Cirila Brightwood (Twinwolf)
Class: Fighter
Symbol: X
35/36 HP left
Status: Healthy
Death Saves Remaining:3/3
Resting HD Remaining:1d10/3
Effects:

Active Abilities:
Superiority Dice=4d8 remaining
Maneuvers=Commander Strike, Feinting Attack, Lunging Attack
Second Wind, Ready
Action Surge, Ready

Description: A tall woman with blond hair going slightly past her shoulders, and light brown eyes. On her hand is a signet ring with the crest of her family: A white tree with three stars above it. When on the job or other dangerous exploits, she wears fitted chainmail with a helmet. On her back are a greatsword and a maul, and she has a crossbow and case for bolts attached to her belt.
Wearing: Brightwood Heirloom Greatsword (A finely made blade, forged by the best smiths of the Brightwood family and handed down through the years, it originally belonged to her great grandfather-while they never found his body, they did find his blade, and Cirila was of similar enough height and build for it fit her more or less perfectly-she reforged it herself. Intricate scrollwork and filigree down the blades edge mark it as the true weapon of a person of noble bearing, though these fancy designs were done in a different hand than her own.)
Wielding: Cirila's Chainmail Tunic (Forged by Cirila herself, this wide vest covers nearly her entire body. The design shows little innovation, or artistry-but a sort of plodding, relentless attention to detail and form that ensures it won't fail her at the most critical of moments.)16 AC)

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=625831