Get my package out and give it to Caius.
(Damnit *snickers* ...I blame Eetz)
(The PCs should all recognize each other's faces from the prison ship, unless they're the kind of people to forget such things after a short while.)
((Tyri was focused on how to cleverly pick those locks because she can, but among all the other prisoners, she didn't know she'd meet them again. It'll come later on 
))
Package Delivery!
"Although, if I may add, by the wording of the letter I hadn't expected a mage or sorceror to be the one needing these. I expected some kind of Imperial soldier or officer or something. And if I could speak for my colleagues, there's no worry about us doing anything to you. Enjoy your package sir?"
Uhh, speechcraft for good service rendered!
Also examine this nice place.
It's a rather humble one-room abode. The walls and ceiling are the same stony, beige surface as outside, though lined with wooden beams, which look like they were cut from some kind of vine rather than a tree. There are furnishings: a single bed, a footlocker, a little chest on a shelf, and two tables and chair. You think you see a skooma pipe stashed under the bed.
Caius opens the respective packages and quickly glances through them, then tosses them aside. They land neatly in a pile in a wicker basket. "Yes. Very interesting. So. It says here the Emperor wants me to make each of you Novices in the Blades. And that means you'll be following my orders. Are you ready to follow my orders?"
The realization that he was in trouble dawned slowly on Bobs-In-Well, like a rosy dawn that never got around to displaying an actual sun. His tongue stuck out and his eyes wandered apart in thought, making him look even more like a punching bag than he already was.
Just as they were upon him, he struck.
"Let's be friends!" he shouted abruptly, thrusting up the jug of sujamma he'd won from that legionnaire.
Alcohol-based diplomacy! If that fails just whollop them repeatedly with the jug, healing myself as necessary.
[6] One of the ruffians, surprised at the jug suddenly headed towards his face, raises his club reflexively to block. The jug shatters and the shards of pottery lacerate your hand! Ouch! The booze within stings as it runs over your cuts, and suddenly you start to feel really, really... strong! And... and... you try to cast a spell to heal your hand, but you can't quite remember how. There's a cloud over your thoughts, and a fire in your veins.
The elf overcomes his surprise. "Die, fetcher!" He raises his club to strike. You try to make another peace offering, but your awkward fist-bump containing what's left of the jug's handle connects with his chest and sends him flying backwards. You hear a
whump! against the nearby city wall and smell blood.
"Vehk's shaft! Look at his eyes! They're fit to burst!"
"S'wit must've gotten some juice in his blood! He's getting a bad reaction!"
The middle one drops his lantern, and the two of them run over towards the darkness by the wall. You hear groans and dragging. "Let's get out of here!"
Your head
hurts...
Marcius looks up, quite surprised that someone could screw up this badly. But of course, that just requires an adjustment of expectations.
"Hold up a second," he indicates at Melar.
"Come here," he says to Hrisskar and takes him off to the side, out of immediate earshot and whispers to him urgently. "Play along, I'm setting them up for a fall here - you pick them up and you get to be man of the hour, model Imperial citizen of the year. They're setting up a shipment of sugar out in the glades and they think you're in on it. You'll get paid a lot more than you'll find in there if you play along. But be on your guard around those two - if they lose their nerve, you know what to do. I'll hold on to Fargoth's stuff for now, they think it's their payment. Now talk back to me in a whisper for a moment, then go off for a moment so I can talk to them and assuage their suspicions."
I assume Fargoth's worldly wealth is in relatively small denominations, considering he's literally a commoner. That should make for a big-looking bag or mysterious chest of loot as I get it out.
Marcius then, provided Hrisskar complies, confers with Melar in relative secrecy.
"There's a problem. Seems like our friends want to renegotiate their cut. It looks like they're not going to be friends for very long. Take them out to the glades and make sure they don't make any more noise. You'll be well-compensated for your time. I'll get the money over to the hideout and deliver it to your associate, and we'll regroup there after you're done. I'll have to get in touch with some people vis a vis the rest of the sugar."
Cover the bases and hopefully plug at least half the leaks (we'll see which half, I suppose). If I manage to get free of these four, it's off to Addamasartus first thing. Gotta see what's happened in there. Keep an eye out for whether Fargoth got captured or not.
[3] "Alright," says Hrisskar, "But move quickly before the rest of the garrison takes notice."
[1] "No. I'll take him here and now, before he has the chance to lead us into a squad of his buddies." Before you can reply, Melar thrusts forth his hand, and a bolt of fire flies out and strikes Hrisskar in the back. By the brief flash of light on impact, you see a number of guards lurking between the lighthouse and the rest of town.
Hrisskar doesn't seem to have noticed, stumbling forward with the back of his armor all alight. That had to have hurt, but clearly not enough: the Nord whips around, seething. "Alright, you ash-faced piece of shit, if that's how you want to play!" He charges forth, and by light of his burning back you see the trooper who came with him also draw his weapon.
"You n'wah!" Mulvisie screams right next to you and throws something at the charging men.
A number of footsteps in heavy armor are clanking towards you at a rapid pace.
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Topic: Roll to Morrowind (6/4) - Balmora: Is that the Main Quest calling? (Read 37576 times)