D&D 5E Hold Back The Night [IC]

Derngar was watching the guards our of the corner of his eye. He had done nothing, he knew nothing. He just had an innate distrust of the guards. His first instinct was to hide, an instinct inculcated in long years in the dark. His second instinct was to fight. And getting the jump on them, he could probably take them all down. The humans would be easy, the hob a little tougher.

He was still weighing this option as estimating his chances when he heard a soft whispering in Elvish. A quiet pleading voice. He knew those words, knew what they meant. They drew his attention to Lorelei and Rana. He watched Lorelei ascend the stage and guessed her ploy immediately. Derngar slipped quietly off his stool, and discretely stepped to the end of the bar. He took Rana's elbow and with a stern but silent look communicated that he would accept no resistance. Gently but firmly Derngar guided Rana to the trap door. He waited for her to descend before he too went down.

Rage. Fury. Blood. That's all Teryn could see. He distinctly felt the twin falchions at his sides, hidden by the cloak he wore. He could already feel them in his hand, the sure grip, the way they sliced the very air with their passage. He could smell the blood they would draw. Feel its heat as it splashed his face and hands as he cut down one guard after another, saving the monster for last.

He looked up at the room, seeing every opponent, taking in every variable. A swipe left, cutting down one guard, ducking his partner's response, and coming up with a jab through the chest. The creature would get in the fray, then, and Teryn saw half a dozen ways to subdue it using the terrain of the bar. Factoring in whether anyone else in the bar joined in, Teryn saw a very good possibility of success.

But his damned mind, so good at planning twenty steps ahead, saw the eventual outcome of such a battle. All the guards dead, including their captain. The Magi would know they had come to this bar. If every patron remained silent under interrogation, the bar would burn. And not every patron would remain silent. In fact, he assumed very few would. Everyone would assume the Magi would find out and kill them, so they'd all talk. His life would be over. His daughter's life would be over.

So he stopped thinking. He shut off his mind with a swig of whiskey, downing the last of his bottle, and made his way around the bar. As he came to the trap door, he reached out and grabbed another whiskey bottle and shoved it in a pocket in his cloak. He descended into the darkness, refusing to think past survival. Refusing to allow the loathing of himself to enter his thoughts.

Lorelei got on the stage. He knew what she was doing, giving the rest a way out.

Main Floor
[section] Captain Okten regarded this red-haired half-breed before him with something approaching a respectful sneer. Before he could reprimand her for her lack of manners, though, one of the Guards reminded the Hobgoblin of something very important.

" Where should we place Ordinator Absalom's favored singer, Dread One?"

The human risked his life in undercutting Okten's authority, but Okten himself knew that both he and the man would suffer a thousandfold were they to inadvertently harm the Ordinator's "little songbird". As much as it pained him, the Captain knew then and there that he could not rightly move against Lorelei without having to answer for it later.

" Lor-a-lee," he chewed out her name, the Elvish on his tongue feeling like rotten lichen, " Yes, I've heard His Eminence has a ... fondness, for you. Amongst other things."

From what had been whispered about in the Towers, Okten was not sure what was worse: having Absalom's ire, or his affections. Still.

" And these 'poor people', as you so dearly term them, are still Citizens of The City and subjective to its laws. Innocents have nothing to be scared of, after all, and if everyone here is duly innocent, then we shall simply wait for the guilty associate to arrive."

He thought on this, though. The girl had some merit: the frightened would rather say anything than say what was needed, and reporting back to The Tower or carrying out The Magi's Peace unduly was just the sort of spark that set off another attack on their patrols. While they were ineffectual, they were becoming a pain in the side of Sector Five's authority: a thorn that needed to be plucked and burned.

" If you care so much for their wellbeing and comfort? Then comfort them. Sing on your stage, little songbird. Make them feel at ease while we do the work of The Tower.[/section]

The Cellar
[section] The sudden appearance of several individuals into the wine cellar of The Rose was met swiftly with silence. Nobody was here to offer greeting or direction, nobody to clarify what came next. That was, until a pair of rather large, pointed ears poked out from behind a barrel in this musty basement.

” Ah, yes, hello? Hello, uhm … Hello? Friends?” came a small, impish voice, the speaker poking out further to reveal redden hair and blemished skin, small, catlike eyes watching the newcomers with a mixture of worry and apathy.

” I, ah … Assume Rashimi let you in. Or this bodes very well for me, yes? Yes.” The little being, about the same size as Ftiz, stepped out into full view, revealing an apron covered in various stains, hairy hands that kept fidgeting with said apron, and a lithe, prey-like grace that he kept bobbing and weaving with while inspecting this small troupe of intruders.

” As I am not dead, I must assume friends. Hashlan Tinderwhelm I am. Caretaker of the roots,” the Halfling introduced himself with an inclination of the head that might have been a bow or just a nervous tick, ” What is happening upstairs? I heard voices, and boots, and hid until I was safe …”[/section]

[sblock=Rána]The strange blemishes upon the Halfling you know to be marks of The Blight, though it appears as though this man had suffered sometime ago from it and managed to survive. The illness may have affected him more than in just body, though.[/sblock]
[sblock=Derngar]Hashlan is familiar to you: The ‘Caretaker’ as he calls himself, constantly assists in cleaning up after the bloodsports in the basement of The Rose, and is known to pass along messages and items discreetly for Rashimi. Some say he does business for more than just The Rose itself.[/sblock]

~ Tavern Floor ~

Rána's eyes trailed after Derngar, a slight rise and fall of her shoulders evidence of the elf holding her breath as she gripped the talisman beneath her robe. "<Randír, how much he reminds me of you...The two of you will cause no end of trouble for me when at last you meet.>"

She released her grip on the disc and tucked the coins away before turning away to find Lorelei herself, but was waylaid by a few more patrons before either Rána or Lei could find a moment's peace to exchange a word.

Rána grinned in relief when the girl's lyrical voice caught her attention at the bar, and she returned the elvish in-kind. "Lorelei, <at last! Before we are interrupted again- >"

It was in that moment the door crashed open. Even before Rána could spin around, the coldest chill sent her skin crawling that had nothing to do with the temperature. Her eyes darted between the Guard Captain and Rashimi as the half-orc attempted to taper the volatility of the situation, but Rána's heart was pounding loud enough to drown out most of the words. She sensed, the same as Rashimi, that this was no ordinary bellow and bluster from the Ordinator. The elf concentrated very hard not to let her nervous gaze give any friends away.

Too soon. It was far too soon to act yet...

From the corner of her eye, she could see Rashimi urging her with hand signals behind the bar, but Lorelei had other plans. "Oh-no-ya-don't-" Rána lunged towards Lorelei as the girl deftly left her side and moved to where she so naturally belonged: center stage. She wasn't about to allow the little rebel to martyr herself alone! But before she could grab onto her friend, a much stronger force hauled Rána the opposite direction, her fingertips grazing against Lei's gauzy costume but accomplishing little else. "Hrk-!"

The totemic elves often said that Rána's glare could frost a dwarven forge, but even her look was no match for Derngar's as he firmly steered her to the cellar door. Left with no other choice, the elf disappeared beneath the floorboards as she was bade.

~ The Cellar ~

Elven eyes adjusted rapidly to the dim lighting. After stepping out of the way of the ladder, Rána took a moment to take stock of their surroundings before focusing on the strange pair of ears from behind a barrel. She was not particularly surprised when a voice originated from that space, and she beckoned the halfling closer. She spoke in hushed tones.

"Yes, we are friends of Rashimi's. I am Rána. It is no' safe yet, I fear. Is t'ere anot'er way out of here?"

[SECTION]Fitz's descent into the cellar was far from graceful, and he brushed off bits of debris from his trousers, eyeing the pair of ears behind the barrel. "Hobbled goblin," he murmured under his breath with a malicious quiet chuckle to soothe his anxiety. His eyes darted around the cellar. He'd come through this way once long ago, before Rashimi informed the rock gnome that he was as welcome in The Velvet Rose as anyone. Fitz had moved up in the world that day, at least in his eyes, from cellar entrances to slipping in unnoticed on the cloak tails of other patrons. Now, he was back in the cellar.

"Haslan Underwhelm, you say? Well, halfling's are gifted with naming," he intoned nasally, either the curmudgeon's idea of friendly banter or some notion of superiority that he had over the halfling. Fitz wouldn't object to being a self-styled emperor of the short and deranged, compensating for the utter contempt with which the human inhabitants of The City regarded him. "I'm Fitz. There are jackbooted thugs upstairs. Orken the educated. Looking for someone," he murmured as he breezeed by the halfling to look for any stray items or trinkets that might be of use in their present predicament, pudgy fingers tracing over the pantry shelves and barrels.[/SECTION]

"Tinderwhelm he said." Derngar corrected Fitz in a firm, but quiet tone. Dergar saw the last of them come down and the door close. He stood under the door, not only trying to hear but to be prepared should they be detected. He too knew Haslan, but also didn't want to overwhelm him with questions.

The boy hesitated for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing as he saw the patrons being lined up. He wasn't sure how much risk he was in personally, but he knew for certain that any resistance here would do nothing more than see everyone killed anyway, and whatever trace of resistance that might be flowering here would be crushed. These acts were more about provoking a response than actually trying to find traitors.

The girl he'd heard about. If the rumors were true, she was not in danger from this. The danger she faced was far greater, but at the moment more remote.

With a stormy expression, he went to the trapdoor and slipped down through it.

Having a young back and arms did have its perks.

"Very well. This songbird will sing."

The bard was completely calm. After all, she stood face to face, naked, with worse evil than this on a regular basis. She was only glad her friend and some of the others had made it out alright.

Lorelei took her time walking to the stage. Her serene demeanor would help the others stay calm or at least hopefully not let their anxiety grow. She climbed the stage and gave a reassuring smile to the nervous looking group of musicians. If they couldn't perform under the circumstances she understood and would sing alone.

She began her song in a soft, clear voice but as the song went on, her voice grew louder in volume and intensity.


"People waiting for some kind of sign from above,
Lost in the shadows of doubt, need a message of love,
Nothing is certain in uncertain times,
Hard to see beyond the greed and the crime,
Oh, the faithful refuse to give up,
Homeless and hungry survive just enough,
Learn to smile through it all,
They are blessed from above

Never stop believin' change will come

There's a city of hope beyond our fears,
Where miracles happen,
Where truth can be heard,
Don't you wanna go to the city of hope

On the edge of the world, across oceans of blue,
It's a place where a dream has a chance to come true,
Don't be fooled by illusions, or falling from grace,
Make your own destiny, find your own place,
Where the streets speak the lessons of trouble, hope and pain

Never stop believin' change will come

There's a city of hope beyond our fears,
Where miracles happen,
Where truth can be heard,
Don't you wanna go to the city of hope

Founded on faith,
Connecting us all,
A network of love to answer the call,
Yes, that's where I'm from
The city of hope

I hear them whisper, sendin' a prayer,
A cry to the spirit where they no longer wonder

Never stop believin' change will come

There's a city of hope beyond our fears,
Where miracles happen,
Where truth can be heard,
Don't you wanna go to the city of hope"

When she was done singing her voice echoed off the walls back and forth a couple of times before it died away. Lorelei stood at the end of the stage quietly and just smiled down at the Captain.

"Should I sing another one?"



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The Cellar
[section] Hashlan clicked his tongue in rapid succession as Rána admitted that something terrible indeed was going on. He pointed behind him to a series of shelves that contained mostly dusty bottles, labels faded and lost to time.

” Just behind the barley wines,” the little Halfling said, ” This is just the storeroom, you see. Lots of basement to the Rose, deep roots. The Boxer knows.”

Hashlan tried to smile at Derngar as the warrior kept an ear to the sounds from above, but instead kept averting his eyes, a gaze that sunk even lower at the Gnome’s comment.

” My, my name is from my family,” he tried to affirm in something approaching pride, only for it to fizzle and collapse into ash, ” We are … were from … I don’t rightly remember. Sector Three? Fourteen? Factories. Smoke choking the sky. We fed the fires.”

His face scrunched up, feline eyes going crossed as if trying to recall something unpleasant and finding relief in that the memory, whatever it was, had dissipated. He returned his thoughts to the present, to hearing that the Guard was looking for someone.

” Oh dear. Oh no. Looking? Looking for Hashlan? No, not Hashlan.”

The pulled at his ears and gnashed his teeth, fretting and moving to grab one of the bottles, uncorking it with his teeth and drinking deeply from it before returning to his train of thought.

” Not Hashlan. Perhaps Rashimi’s friend? Not you friends, other friend. Silas. Courier. Brought strange package other day. Talked with poor man whose little one was sent away. Made poor man angry, very angry. Fire like has not been seen since The Lost.”

Hashlan’s expression drooped even as he drank more, wiping his mouth on his sleeve while his ears folded themselves to the top of his head.

” Not fire, though. No fire except for the factories.”[/section]
Main Floor
[section] Lorelei’s song seemed to have the intended effect on the masses: even a flautist, getting permission from a soldier, contributed to the music with his pipe. While it kept the occupants of The Rose quiet, the majority of them looked on strangely as they listened to lyrics of hope and miracles.

Was that their City? Was that their Truth? No. It couldn’t be. It was but an impossible dream, all the more so as Okten began the work of The Towers. He sat himself like a king at a table in the center of the hall, the guards bringing over each person individually to have a chat with the Hobgoblin. Okten partook freely of the bar’s more expensive liquor while chatting pleasantly with the terrified captives, sifting through their stories one by one. For each that thought they were innocent, Okten seemed to know every single aspect of their lives.

He knew of the workers that shaved time off their shifts. He knew of the parents whose children would inform their Instructors that mom and dad were less than enthusiastic about The Magi’s glorious gifts. He knew what they spent their money on, he knew which had scuffled before with The Guards, he knew which had family in other Sectors and which had family that had been arrested, exiled, or executed. Okten enjoyed watching them squirm. He relished the fear as he pushed on infractions that he had no intent on pursuing, but wanted these Citizens to remember that at any time, he would happily call The Ordinator and his Golems if they had any truly seditious thoughts.

Just as Lorelei was finishing her song, the Hob had gotten a confession out of a younger man, barely having seen his twentieth year. A tax collector. A loyalist to The Towers. Whether out of dread or actual patriotism, Okten did not care of the source, only the result: a name. Silas. A stranger from another Sector. Travel between Sectors was common enough, but it appeared that this Courier had stayed in Sector Five for a few days now.

Curious.

Ignoring Lorelei’s question for the moment, Okten reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, circular piece of blackened crystal. The disc reflected no light, as if made of a well-honed piece of a Tower itself. Whispering in the speech of The Magi to the object, it responded to the words by glowing in his calloused hand.

” This is Captain Okten. Perform a search of registered entries from Sectors Four and Six. Name Silas. Occupation Courier. Timeframe One Tenday.”

Another voice emanated from the stone in reply; ” Processing Now, Dread One.”

Satisfied, Okten turned to his Guards, still ignoring the Half-Elf Songstress, and called the soldiers over.

” Levan, Yul: Sweep the Upstairs. Garel, Vance, Downstairs. Search for Silas and bring him to me once found.”

The chosen guards saluted by striking their fists to their breastplates and hastened off at once to the stairways. Only then did Okten finally regard Lorelei with a pleasured grin: today would be a good day for The Captain.

” As you were, little bird. You are proving most helpful.”

Before Lorelei could commence further, though, Rashimi was behind the Captain, giving her girl a pleading shake of her head, eyes as large as the Half-Orc could make them while standing rigidly at attention. Fear. Rashimi knew something about this Silas, and believed in Lorelei’s song that somehow, someway, a miracle was going to save her and The Rose. With no sound, her lips moved just enough for the Elven side of Lorelei’s eyes to make out her silent cry.

” Please.”[/section]

Derngar left the trap door and tapped Rana on the shoulder and directed her to go look behind the barley wines to see about a way out. He then went over to Hashlan and knelt on one knee, his arm resting on the upright knee to face the halfling. "Hashlan, you know me. You must trust me. It is important do you understand? Who is this Silas? What was he carring and to whom did he give it? Please you need to tell us everything you know. We will protect you, and the Rose. But we need to have a way out and we need you to tell us all you know. Rashimi needs you to help us now" Derngar said quietly but urgently.