[Adventure]: The Missing Professor (DM: H.M.Gimlord, Looking for a Judge)

The warlord springs to his feat, dropping his sword and shield, and shoves his way between the Gloom and the sailor. Stand down paladin! Take your anger out on those who stand in our way in achieving our quest!

ooc: diplomacy and athletic checks: 1d20+8 and 1d20+12 respectively: 18 and 18

Jahred, surprisingly, does not struggle to escape, nor does he attempt to defend himself against Gloom's aggression, "I understand how you must feel, but if I had informed you of the cost in advance we would have all perished." He shakes his head, "Consider the joke a price that must be paid for rapid passage, saving us valuable time. My intent was not to dishonor you, but to expedite the work at hand, and having done that I should hope that we would all be thankful to Lauto for his help, and for giving us more time to breathe on the earth and sea."

As Max interpose himself between him and Jarhed, Gloom looks at Max "He has been standing in MY way in achieving MY quest." replies Gloom. Max standing so close to Gloom that when Gloom grunt, he feels the breath of the shifter. "Anyway, he doesn't worth any effort anymore, it would bring me nothing."

He walks away and sit down, taking his sword and starting to sharpen it. "And I curse Lauto, he doesn't worth a praise or a thanks, even less for giving me time to breath on the earth and sea."

Max nods to Gloom in agreement before the paladin turns to head the other way. The warlord then moves back to the location of his sword and shield, plops himself down with a grunt, and starts to work on repairing his gear and sharpening his sword.

Three days have passed uneventfully, with good weather and time to recover from the traumatic cost of expediting their journey. The sun is rising over the eastern horizon, speckled by seagulls now visible, silhouetted against the bright morning glow, when the shout comes from the crow’s nest above, “Land Ho!” Jahred’s head snaps up, scanning the western waterline, “And so it is.” he mutters. Raising his voice to the crow’s nest, he shouts back, “Good eye, Mastren!”

Not five leagues distant, a faint, shining spire rises from the surface of the water. Aware of the adventurers’ curiosity, Albarent answers their unspoken question, “It’s a lighthouse. It stands five hundred, fifty-five feet tall. It’s light is visible for twenty leagues on a clear night, and five in broad daylight,” he takes in a deep breath like a man who enters his house after being away for a long time, welcoming the familiar smell of his home, “It’s is never allowed to die, fueled by fire kept burning by order of Lord Ekton. The current is deadly to the west of the city, and the light prevents ships from getting dashed on the rocks ‘round the harbor.” [sblock=The Lighthouse] [/sblock]As the party listens to the First Mate go on, it becomes apparent that The Beacon is owes its name to this wonder of engineering. As the ship draws near, the party and the crew get a glimpse of how treacherous the approach could have been, had they not been warned by the tower. The current becomes strong, even at some distance, and the crew work frantically to sail to the north, giving the lighthouse a league, or so, of wide berth. The outcropping of rock on which the lighthouse stands vigil is an arm of grassy sandstone and granite that juts out in a quarter-mile arc embracing the lagoon that is the harbor of Rioc Alair. Albarent returns from his duty of directing the deckhands, “The white water churns against the western shore. Those rocks take the worst of the pounding. You see, two trade-wind currents come together at this very spot and the waters swirl in an eddy that arcs directly into the rock wall” Albarent points to plumes of foam, that by comparison with the lighthouse appear to rise some fifty feet into the air, “You wouldn’t want your ship caught in that. There’s plenty of scrap wood rotting at the base of that cliff.” As they all watch, the receding waters draw away to depths far below sea-level, only to allow room for the next titanic wave to assault the shore once again.

Once to the east of the lighthouse, the waters become smooth once more, and The Beacon makes her way down the eastern side of the barrier arm. The harbor, hidden in the embrace of its protective peninsula is a-bustle with activity. Seven vessels are in port ahead of The Beacon, and Jahred orders the sails lowered and furled as two tugs row out to secure guide-ropes to its cleats. With The Beacon securely anchored, the gangplank lowers onto a wharf in full swing of a summer morning. Right on the shore of the harbor, merchants are selling their wares, deck-hands are scrambling to unload cargo, and even a few street performers are there, tempting the unwary into a game of chance or demonstrating artistic skills. The view is not entirely cheerful, though. More than one beggar is visible along the docks, and a few children dressed in rags are being chased by a constable. Many of the deck-hands and merchants are armed. [sblock=Perception DC 18]The city is obviously in its relative youth. You surmise that it’s no more than 100 years old. Even close to the harbor, there is undeveloped land, and the trees have not all been cleared from the surrounding heights.[/sblock]The crew tends to the ship as Jahred and Albarent disembark with the adventurers and lead the party up a winding pathway to the west that switchbacks its way up the side of a sandstone cliff. Prominently overlooking the harbor, this plateau houses a mercantile district of questionable repute, enclosed on two sides by cliffs that drop into the gulf, and on the other two by the city’s outer walls. The morning sun strikes the lip of the plateau illuminating lines of laundry strung between buildings and smoking chimneys. [sblock=Perception DC 25]You notice a man carting refuse turn down an alleyway and stop at a fountain. He opens a grate at the base of the fountain and dumps the refuse in. Letting the grate drop, he then picks up the cart handles and continues on his way.[/sblock]It is evident that the adventurers’ guides are more than a little embarrassed at the path they have chosen, and Albarent’s quick to explanation doesn’t make much sense, “Bringing you through the harbor gate would attract too much attention.” [sblock=Perception DC23]You notice that, with the exception of yourselves, everyone in the harbor is human. There are no other races present. Albarent’s comment makes sense now. Gloom and Draglin would stick out like the lighthouse beacon itself in such a demographically uniform city.[/sblock] At the top of the switch-back path, the party passes a large inn that displays a placard, carved and painted to look like a hand hefting a translucent mug, filled with foaming ale. Characters mill about its entrance, while loud voices and the clinking of plates issue from the common room inside.

Once past the inn, they turn down a thoroughfare toward the city’s outer wall, and a gatehouse where several men clothed in uniforms similar to that of Jahred are standing guard. They snap to attention and salute as the captain walks by. Jahred acknowledges them and approaches the commanding officer with a hand extended, “Erik. I’ve brought help,” turning to the group Jahred begins introductions, “These are is Gloom, Dante, Miss Mab, Draglin, and Max. They’ve come all the way from The Transitive Isles to aid in finding Professor Aramista.”

“Well then, I suppose we might find the old curmudgeon after all,” Erik bows his head politely, “I am Erik Kranstil, lieutenant of Rioc Alair’s Night Watch. When Jahred and Albarent are abroad, the lot falls to me to keep the peace in the city. On behalf of all of us and Lord Ekton himself, welcome,” he gestures curtly, and a junior guard falls out of rank at a run, snapping to attention upon his arrival. Erik continues, addressing the newly arrived adventurers, “This,” he places his gauntleted hand on the junior guard’s shoulder, “is Fenkton. He’ll be your concierge while you are here. We won’t be able to spare him to follow you around, but he knows the city, and he’ll be briefing you on the situation concerning our missing professor.”

Fenkton bows low to the party, “If you’ll follow me, I have a room waiting here in the gatehouse.” Without hesitation, the young man turns and rounds the inner corner of the gate, disappearing through a small door in the inner wall. The party follows quickly into a room lit by slits of sunlight filtering through narrow windows, cutting lines of illumination through the darkness of the gatehouse proper. A long table is stationed in the middle of the room and everyone takes a seat.

Fenkton speaks, “I’m not sure where to begin except to say that professor Aramista went missing almost a week ago, leaving no forwarding destination, and foul play is suspected. His things were not arranged as one preparing to go on a journey, and the last time anyone saw him, he was discussing matters of the next day as if he would be in town for quite some time. In fact, he had classes scheduled at The University, for which he did not show, and lectures on which he was delinquent. Professor Aramista has never missed a lecture or a class in all the time he has taught at The University, and that’s more than forty years.” Fenkton pauses, “The thing we find odd is that the last day he was seen was also the day that the last party from Daunton vanished.

“They were investigating the origins of a thieving ring they had uncovered. It was learned that the thieves were being led by Lord (though I use the term loosely) Lars Hallmaster. He is the wealthiest man in Rioc Alair, save for, perhaps, Lord Ekton himself. Conveniently, Lord Hallmaster was out of town at the time, and has not yet returned to stand trial. He was traveling on business with the town armorer, a dwarf named Hankel Mast. They were traveling to Efil, a town along the gulf coast to the northeast. That was three weeks ago, but word came yesterday that neither Hankel, nor Lord Hallmaster ever arrived in Efil.

“We fear these events are related, but we do not yet have any evidence to piece together a cohesive story. To make matters worse, crime has dramatically increased in the city, so we can’t spare the resources to pursue the missing persons investigation.” Fenkton, again pauses to gather his thoughts, “So to sum up, we think that Professor Aramista’s disappearance, the Daunton party’s whereabouts, and the absence of Lord Hallmaster may be related to this thieving ring. Our armorer, Hankel Mast is a man of impeccable character, and I can’t imagine that he would be involved willingly, but at this point anything is possible.” Fenkton lays a map of the city on the table.[sblock=Map][/sblock]“I’ll take you to The University so that you can begin your inquiries. Professor Masetin is headmaster in Professor Aramista’s absence. The faculty should be cooperative, seeing as they have a vested interest in recovering their ‘most valued asset’. From there, you have carte blanche within the city as honorary members of the Rioc Alair Night Watch. We will trust your judgment until we have reason not to.” With that, Fenkton folds up the map, and leads them out the door, and down the street to The University.

Fenkton leads the party out onto the street that leads southward away from the gatehouse and into the city. He points out the forge of Hankel Mast as they pass where a deep-blue-scaled dragonborn is pounding away. Fenkton waves to the smith, and the dragonborn waves back.[sblock=Perception DC 20]The dragonborn’s eyebrow ridges shoot up when he notices Gloom and Draglin[/sblock]Gone are the lines of dirty laundry and narrow alleys between ramshackle houses. Every street is a twenty-foot thoroughfare and houses are well kept and manicured. A fountain issues fresh water on just about every city block. They group passes the forest, and then finally arrives at The University. The compound is walled with its back to the Ulmar River. Four towers rise some six stories into the sky surrounding several three-story buildings. Cloisters ring a main garden to which a wrought iron gate, manned by a porter provides access from the street, “Good morrow master Fenkton,” the porter greets the Night Watch deputy.

“Hello Gymlund,” Fenkton answers, “These are our guests who will be investigating Professor Aramista’s disappearance.”

“So I see,” the porter’s eyes go wide at the sight of Gloom and Draglin.

Fenkton continues pretending not to take notice, but speaking pointedly, “I hope you will show them whatever they need with the utmost of courtesy.”

“Of course,” the porter checks himself, “We would be happy to help,”

He swings the gate wide allowing the group to enter, and bows deeply with his arm beckoning them in, “Come in, please. Have a seat in the garden while I fetch Professor Masetin.”

“No need!” comes a voice from across the garden, “Hello my lady, and my good gentlemen. It is good to see that our ardent Captain Jahred wasted no time in finding good help,” He turns to the adventurers, “I am Professor Masetin, headmaster of The University in Professor Aramista's absence. Please. Follow me.” Professor Masetin turns to go and calls back over his shoulder, “You may go Fenkton. Please give your captain my thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Fenkton calls back and turns back out to the street. The wrought iron gate clanks securely back into place behind him.

Professor Masetin leads the group into the main building of the compound and through an endless maze of corridors, cloisters, and stairways, finally arriving at a door with the name “Aramista” cast in a bronze plaque at eye-level.[sblock=Dugeoneering DC 23]Though the way is tortuous, it amounts to leading you in a wide arc ending somewhere in the northeast corner of the compound. You’ve actually gone down one story down from the ground level[/sblock] Inside is a room that looks nothing more than an ordinary office, though, as Fenkton indicated, the room appears as though its owner may come back in at any moment to retrieve one of the parchments lying open on his desk.[sblock=*EDIT* The Office][/sblock] A chair appears to have been pushed around, but only as from normal use of scooting from one table, lectern and desk to another. Parchments lie everywhere following an organizational method that only the registered occupant of the office could possibly understand. Codices lie half-open on tables, and shelves are stacked with books the order to which is not immediately (or even upon close inspection) discernable. A bed lies made in the corner with several parchments and codices scattered on it. A single, narrow window against the eastern wall of the room indicates that this is a wall office that overlooks the Ulmar River as it plunges below the city forest and disappears into the ground. Professor Masetin clears his throat, “*Ehem!* I can stay here to answer any questions you may have, or I can leave you to your investigation.”

Wow, nice place you got here prof! Draglin says looking around in awe. Its got books and everything! Like a proper university! I bet you teach...um... Draglin was never much for education. History, yes, I bet you teach history here! And maybe sword fighting?

Ahem, anyway Sir my name is Sir Draglin of Draconia! Noble knight sent on the quest to find the missing personage! Could you please describe this so called "adventurer" party. Perhaps thou have been deceived by blackguards disguised as noble adventurers!

"This one has questions. Why create a maze to travel short way into this place and why underground? Is there an attack expected so a maze to confuse attackers? Why only humans but the blue dragon-smith? This city is few generations old, where came it from? Why does refuse go beneath the city fountains? Into city waters?"

Dante steps back after his uncharacteristic verbosity. Perhaps dying changed him somewhat and perhaps his perceptive questions impress Masetin.



[sblock=Rolls]Dungeoneering: 1d20+13=28, Perception: 1d20+15=29, Diplomacy: 1d20+4=20[/sblock]