Ptolus: The Tenth Precinct

It's the 2nd of Rain in 721. They say every month is the month of Rain in Ptolus, and today was no exception. A light drizzle keeps the streets wet and the familiar smell of damp clothes mingles with the daily aromas of each district.

It hasn't been terribly eventful in the city. Giant bats swarmed out of the Clock Tower in Oldtown earlier in the week and the Watch spent most of their time clearing out belfries, towers, and eaves throughout the city. Rumors say that the Iron Mage had been sighted floating above the Docks, making the dockworkers nervous and the rest of the city wonder what he's waiting for. House Shever announced that within the year, they may offer rides in their airship to anyone who can afford the exorbitant ticket price (a fact the Midtown Partisan broadsheet read as a pathetically obvious attempt to stem the hemorrhage of money from the once powerful house. It's widely assumed a paid rebuttal from The Noble Record will be forthcoming).

This end of the week already seems different, however. There are rumblings in the city that something has begun to strain the City Watch's control over their districts. The Guildsman District has always been rough, but reports of increased violence have caused only those who have to work there to frequent it. Likewise, the normally quiet South Market has had reports of violence and even a riot. Shopkeepers and businessmen have complained of late that their sales have been off, just as the weather gets nicer from winter.

And if it's one thing the "Council of Coin" dislikes, it's something disrupting business...

~


Midtown is known to overwhelm the senses of tourists with all of its races and delvers and merchants running back and forth across the streets. But for a few moments, all anyone could see were wings. Gold, red and orange flapping in front of everyone's eyes and getting in their mouths. By the time everyone got their senses back, the swarm of butterflies that had been summoned was above their heads and trying to keep afloat under the light drizzle.

"That's me there!" an extremely inebriated elf says. A centaur carriage looks back toward the elf darkly and spits out a butterfly as his passengers swear and try to brush wet, crushed monarchs off their clothes. The elf sways back and forth while holding a shining golden rod speckled with gemstones. It jangles from the collection of odd trinkets tied to it as the elf swings it around to illustrate. Behind him are two giggling human girls, less inebriated than infatuated. "Ladies!" the elf slurs, "Behold my Rod of Wonder!"

The girls let loose peals of naughty laughter. A few yards away, Glanbrin Runeshield sighs and looks up to Deevoly and Cipke. "Great," the dwarven watchman says. "Another wand waver."

~


Felix knocks on the door tentatively before walking into Kristol's study. When he does, he sees the head of House Dallimothan reading in a large divan by the fireplace. The mantle is made of gold and carved into the shape of two dragons, whose necks bend down around the edge of the fireplace to breathe fire onto the wood when needed. As Felix walks in, Kristol looks up and smiles. He stands and his silver coat glimmers in the firelight.

"It wouldn't be fair to have you go to your first day of work without giving you our blessing now would it?"

~


"Come now brother," the human said in heavily accented Gnomish. "I'll give this to you for fifty Imperial. FIFTY. That's half off there Master Gnome."

In a unique turn of events, Baeril has had the same merchant follow HIM around for fifteen minutes. The salesman had actually done fairly well in the gnomish district selling trinkets that reminded the loresong faen of home, his trailer parked permanently in the alley by Erfjanraer's Instruments. But lately he had been trying to sell off his carriage/home to anyone who would walk by. Many of the gnomes walking by the pair shake their head and chuckle a little to themselves, as if enjoying a private joke.

"It's in perfect condition. And probably has more room than that apartment you're renting good sir."

~


The man they found just off Fetch Street reeked of gin. Most visitors to Oldtown notice the architecture first, with their old, solid stone buildings sporting domes, columns, and white wide steps. This is the city that Ptolus once was before it grew past the boundaries of the walls.

None of this the man notices as he throws up onto the side of one.

Benson and Kinkade look at each other expectantly, both thinking it's the other's turn.

~


The Longfingers Guild is not known for an abundance of traditional rules. The Guild itself is filled with traps that, while intended to keep out intruders, is also intended to test the thieves themselves. The leaders change their position and nature regularly.

Elissa finds herself wondering if this feeling of sitting outside the principal's office she is getting is one of those new traps. For five minutes, her keen hearing has picked up on the guild leader arguing with one of his spies behind the door of the meeting hall. A Halfling walks by and chuckles at her, only to have his chuckle turn sour as Elissa slaps his hand away from picking her pocket.

The door opens suddenly and Elissa finds herself staring at an elven woman with silver hair and a green tunic. She regards Elissa coldly.

"Get in."

~

Felix knocks on the door tentatively before walking into Kristol's study. When he does, he sees the head of House Dallimothan reading in a large divan by the fireplace. The mantle is made of gold and carved into the shape of two dragons, whose necks bend down around the edge of the fireplace to breathe fire onto the wood when needed. As Felix walks in, Kristol looks up and smiles. He stands and his silver coat glimmers in the firelight.

"It wouldn't be fair to have you go to your first day of work without giving you our blessing now would it?"

"Ah... that's most generous, My Lord, "Felix says, bowing. Though taller than Kristol, he is unused to such personal attention from the head of his house, and so he is very much cowed by the man. The situation is especially surreal to the young man because he is standing before his elder in the newly-acquired garments and armor of Bahamut. He almost runs his hand through his short, blonde hair before he remembers protocol.

"Thank you for arranging this opportunity for me to serve both house and Bahamut, My Lord."

Even though Felix is sure that his assignment to assist with the civil enforcement group termed "The Tenth" has political ramifications he can't fathom, he is determined to make Bahamut and Dallimothan look good.

After a long pause whereby Kristol is merely studying Felix, the cleric bows again and takes one backstep towards the door to indicate his intention.

"Um, by your leave?"

Kristol smiles. "Of course."

As Felix turns to go, the head of the House sits again in his divan. "Do be careful Jakronet. It's a different city outside these walls."

Felix walks down the gilded halls of House Dallimothan and soon comes to the entry foyer. As always, a long brass table holds platters of sweets and glasses of sparkling wine for guests.

Nestlin Ka appears suddenly as always. "Would Young Master Jekronet require any pastries before heading out for today?"

"No thank you, Nestlin. I broke my fast earlier, and I'd best be off."

"Of course, Young Master."

Felix walks past the pastry-laden table before stopping and turning around.

"Nestlin?"

"Yes, Young Master?"

"I'm supposed to go to somewhere called the 'Guildsman Watchtower.' Where would that be?"

"I believe that would be the tower that the City Watch maintains in the Guildsman District."

"Of course. That would over... that way?"

"Unfortunately not, Young Master. I believe you're referring to the North Market District, which is just beyond the Temple District, from here. The Guildsman District would be just beyond the South Market District. In that direction."

"Ah. I see."

"Would the Young Master like me to hire a carriage for the journey?"

"Please."

Nestlin claps his hands twice. A deep rumbling echoes through the foyer.

"I will see that your carriage will be waiting outside the grounds. Do have a pleasant journey Young Master."

The Dallimothan major domo walks briskly away, leaving Felix to watch the widening light of Dallimothan Tower's gate opening. Felix walks outside once the door finishes opening.

The grounds of the Dallimothan estate seems somewhat small in comparison to the other houses. A white small wall surrounds a verdant, hilly expanse. In the distance, Felix can see some of his cosuins playing in the trees.

He turns around to see the estate's only building, currently on it's side. The Dallimothan Tower has no doors or windows, and the top of the tower looks like the head of a silver dragon- it's mouth currently open to let Felix walk out. Slowly, the mouth begins to close and the tower raises itself upright on massive hinges at the base- whatever ancient magics within keeping everything and everyone inside upright and intact. The fact that the inside of the tower bears no relation to it's outer dimensions seems almost mundane.

One of Felix's cousins runs up to him and tackles his leg, hugging it. He looks up with wide-eyes.

"Out dere?" he asks.

"Little Derit! You're getting so big!" Felix squats down and places a hand on his cousin's shoulder. He deliberately talks over his young cousin's incessant questions until the carriage he sees in the distance pulls up.

"Do not worry about me, for I have Bahamut to watch over me. And you have Io and all his house to watch over you! And you have Grandmama! Do what she tells you and all will be well!"

When the carriage pulls up, Felix gives young Derit a gentle push back into the yard and walks to the gate to talk to the waiting driver.

"To the Guildsman Tower, please, but I'd like to walk the last couple blocks, if you don't mind."

The old gentleman quickly gets down and opens the door for the noble. "Ah... Yes sir. You sure about that? It's... well it's not my place to question sir. Apologies."

He closes the door behind the confused Felix and spurs his horse. The carriage makes it's way quickly down the King's Road, passing the opulent Crown Theater. Just a week ago, Felix had seen "The Emperor's Eidolon"; an opera chronicling the (slightly fictionalized) love affair between the second emperor and an Uraqi princess.

The carrigage was just joining the Jewelled Road, passing House Abanar when Felix starts to hear an exasperated sigh next to him.

"I suppose it would be too much trouble to give your grandmother the courtesy of letting her see you off," Lady Vathere says. The old woman adjusts her jewelled shawl and looks out the carriage window as if she hadn't suddenly appeared from thin air. "I do understand it's quite the bother."

Felix smiles.

"Letting her see me off would require that I can see her, in return.

"Besides, it's not like I'm leaving the city. I'll just be... seeing more of it. And working to make it better.

Lady Vathere grimaces. "You assume Ptolus wants your charity."

"You're barely out of the nest and already... This city is cruel to people like us. You don't know this."

"Bahamut teaches that each being is capable of its own redemption, and His clerics are to help weather the storms along the way. This city can be cruel to anyone, and when someone out there looks for help, I will be there to lend Bahamut's aid."

Vathere shakes her head. "It is a great irony that you seem to have too much nobility in your blood."

The carriage has already wound it's way down past Dalenguard and is now quickly trotting through Oldtown. Vathere looks back to Felix. "We would simply appreciate the courtesy of you not dying. It's such a bother arranging a funeral."

Felix smiles again, but is content to let the rest of the ride pass in silence. As they near the Guildsman Tower, the carriage comes a halt.

"Until next time, Grandmama," Felix says as he climbs out and motions for the driver to stay seated. He bows to Lady Vathere from the street before closing the carriage door and waving for the driver to return to House Dallimothan.

With that, Felix settles his winged helm onto his head and starts walking towards the tallest structure that's in the same direction the carriage was moving.

The carriage driver pretends not to notice Felix bowing to what he assumes is an empty carriage. As Felix walks off, a giant gust of wind blows the garbage on the street forward, followed by a series of smaller gusts. "Careful sir!" The carriage driver says, "The weather seems to be picking up!"

Deevolly approaches the inebriated elf and smiles winningly. "Wow! Whatcha got there?"

The elf grins at Deevoly, which causes a few scowls by the girls behind him. "ISh... It's a rod. It DOES things!"

The elf stamps the rod into the ground once. The gems sparkle and his head lolls as he peers around him. "LOOK! I made it RAIN!"

"Delvers," Runeshield mutters to Cipke. "They should get permits for those things. It's cute when it's all butterflies and glowing fire, but sooner or later he'll cycle around to a fireball. Kid better know what's she's doing." He turns to the Watch mage. "Keep him from setting it off if you can, but mostly get the longears to turn it over. He won't listen to a dwarf, so I'm heading out for backup in case he summons an elephant like the last one."

"Oooooh!" Deevolly coos. "I've seen those before! Have you found the 'fun' button? You know . . .," she whispers close to his ear. "The one that makes you feel really good?"

The elf goes cross-eyed looking at Deevoly. "HAve I!"

He stamps the ground again and the gems flash. A shower of colored, shimmering lights burst in front of him, almost blinding Deevoly. A merhcant cries out and holds his hands in front of his eyes, now unable to see and tripping over his wares. Likewise, Runeshield finds himself blundering about, suddenly blinded and swearing in Dwarven. Cipke averts his eyes, but still finds himself looking at spots for a moment.

"No, not that, silly!" Deevolly chides. "It's a hidden switch . . .you have to twist the . . here, let me show you.

"Nooooo!" he slurs, drunkenly pulling the rod away. "I... I FOUND it... Down there... We, my team had an adventure! We got gold... and. And gold..."

"I don't want to keep it!" Deevolly smiles and puts her hand on his arm. "I can't use these things anyway. But there's this switch that makes you feel . . .you know . . .REALLY good . . ."

The elf looks decidedly suspicious. But maybe it's the hand on his arm or the alcohol, but Deevoly can see him begin to wonder...

"Ah... Really?"

"Hey," One of the girls snarls at Deevoly. "No one asked you for help! He's just fine!"

Runshield swears as he trips over a pile of dead butterflies. Cipke's eyes clear up in time to see oarnge and red wings poke out of his beard and the wizard swears in dwarven as his eyesight returns. Then he approaches Deevoly and the man.

"Hey! I'm a skilled appraiser. I'll take a look at the rod and I'll tell you what else it can do. I know someone who has a store that can pay top gold for it."

"Really?" the elf says to Cipke. Inexplicably, he seems to buy the wizard's tale.

"Yeah. I grew up minding a store couple of minutes from here. I couldn't even see above the counter and I was telling cloaks of charisma from cloaks of stealth. Let me see the markings."

"AHA!" Cipke says, his manner all jovial. "I have found how to activate the fun button!"

"Really?" the elf asks quietly. "Where?"

"That's where it gets complicated," Cipke winks toward his partner Deevolly. "It needs to be held by an elf, a human and a dwarf. Human holds the base, elf holds the middle and dwarf holds the tip."

"Now that's just stupid..." the elf slurs.

Cipke shrugs. "Yeah. It's not the stupidest thing I've ever read. You'd never believe what the One Ring required to be activated: it had to be carried between the thighs of a virgin halfling. Do you know how hard it is to find a virgin halfling?"

"If you don't believe me, we can go to that store and you can have it appraised free of charge. No big deal. I grab the base, you hold the middle with your right hand and a dwarf..." he signals the dwarven Watchmen to approach "...holds the tip."

"Once we have it, you have to close your eyes and push the button with your left hand. I'll guide your hand."

The elf narrows his eyes but slowly extends the rod out to Cipke.

"Do you speak dwarvish?." Cipke says in dwarvish to the elf.

"What?" the elf asks, confused.

"Pefect," Cipke says. "Runey," the wizard says in dwarvish. "You pull this rod out of his hands when we go."

Runeshield blinks as his vision begins to return. "I what?" the dwarf says.

"Starting the process," Cipke says in Imperial. "Grab the rod in the middle." He says with a grin. "Sir, grab it. Twist to the left on my mark." "Now, I grab here, he grabs there and you're one incantation away from ecstasy."

The dwarven Watchman looks at Cipke incredulously. "I never plan on holding an elf's rod. Especially one that could electrocute me at random. Are you serious?"

"Almost ready!" Cipke ignores the dwarf, much to the amusement of his partner Dee. "Close your eyes!" He says to the elf in a singsong voice. He places his hand abovethe elf's hand and motions the Watchman to take the lower 'safe' part.

"If I'm burnt to a crisp, it's on you Arnag."

The dwarf grabs the end of the rod with a snarl. The elf starts to say something, but it's too late. In his inebriated state, Cipke easily plucks his hand off the rod. Likewise, Runeshield manages to wrestle it away from the elf without it activating.

The elf sadly looks at his rod in the hands of an angry dwarf. "It didn't work..."

The girls behind him snort in disgust and begin walking off.

"There's been a streak of Rods of Wonder going soft after 3 or 4 discharges." Cipke says to the sad elf. "Don't worry, we shall see about that later." As he sees Runeshield move away with the Rod, he gives the elf a side-by-side hug as he walks him towards the Watchtower. "What say you we go and draft a complaints letter?"

"Oh I got the nancy elf, Arnag don't you worry," Glanbrin grabs the elf by the scruff of the neck (which is exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds). Many of the shopkeepers grumble to themselves as they sweep dead butterflies off their shelves and awnings.

"Good work, Cipke," Deevolly smiles.

"You're welcome, Dee.

"You probably should look for one of the quickling faen, sir," Baeril says when he can get a word in edgewise. "Halflings, if you prefer."

He sees the blank look on the human's face. The poor man may not realize the two types of faen are different races and certainly doesn't seem capable of distinguishing a halfling from a gnome, much less know which enjoy trundling about in wagons.

"I will take a look at your cart, sir, but then I wanted to head over to the Street of a Million Gods and see if the high priest of the Watcher of the Skies would let me peer through his great spyglass."

"You won't be sorry Master Gnome!"

The outside of the carriage itself is passable, having a small window with red curtains. A small wooden door in the back leads to an inside that has seen better days. The living quarters are a mess of upturned glass and scattered paper. The human seems shocked at its appearance.

"Aw NO! It... It's not normally like this!"

Baeril was already backing away from the disturbed human when he bumps into someone from behind. Two City Watch guards look down at him.

The one looks at the other and sighs. "Baeril Underhill?" he asks.

"My goodness, that was fast service! This gentleman's cart appears to have been burgled and I was just thinking 'my goodness, this looks like a job for the City Watch,' and presto, there you are! Excellent work! I'm sure you will have the culprit clapped in irons in no time!"

The guards look at each other blankly. "Right. Sure," one of them says. The merchant is further tearing apart his carriage as the guards start leading the gnome away. "Listen we ah... geez..." The guard looks to the other for help.

"We need your help," the other guard says, barely keeping a straight face. "If you'd be so kind as to come with us, we have a... well a mission."

"Something that could let you see just about all of the city I wager," the first guard says. At this, the other guard snorts and shakes from laughter. The first guard sighs.

"Why certainly, but I don't want to delay you taking this man's report. I'll wait and once you've helped this good man, we will be off, so schnell wie ein Häschen," Baeril says, emphatically. Seeing their blank looks, he translates from the Gnomish: "As quick as a bunny."

"Tell you what," the first guard says with a smirk of his own. "I'll take the report and my partner here will escort you."

"oh you son of a..." the other guard says, but too late to stop his partner from walking over to the merchant. The merchant seems quite nervous suddenly, but not as nervous and as the guard suddenly stuck with Baeril.

"Excellent, watchman. Lead on! That's a very smart uniform you've got there. Is that hat comfortable in the summer? It doesn't look like it breathes very well. And, ach, those boots! Doesn't your mother worry about you getting fallen arches walking these streets?"

The watchman turns and points to his partner. "Hate. You." He looks down to the gnome. "Lothian... Come on. We need to hurry."

"Good, a brisk walk puts healthy air in the lungs! When I was but a wee sprout, my father would take me walking in the mountains to breathe the crisp air blowing off the glaciers. My grandfather did very well by it, his health was the talk of Greenfields! Do you think we could stop for a pastry? There's a very nice shop at the end of the block here."

The guard grits his teeth and picks up the pace.

"Say, friend," Kinkade says, examining the sick man's dress and mannerisms, "Maybe you need a sit down. Somewhere out of the rain?"

The man looks up and starts weeping drunkenly.

"I can't... I can't keep doing... Aw... I mean I have a wife!"

"Wives are good things to have," Kinkade answers politely, attempting to help the man up. "What's say we go get ourselves cleaned up before she finds out about all this. What's her name?"

"Dagmar," he sniffs. "I... Where am I going? It's too dangerous..."

"Nah, Oldtown's not dangerous, friend," Kinkade assures him, "Not with Benson and I here on the Watch. No more dangerous than your day job, I reckon. Taking a break today?"

"No! I mean... dangerous at work!"

He leans in conspirationally and Kinkade almost gags at the reek of gin. "People are angry." he shakes his head. "Can't... Don wanna go back."

"Aheh," the young machinist winces, grinning, "Certainly understandable. As are the...indiscretions. But maybe your time would be better served trying to fix your problem rather than avoiding it. I'm sure that's the way Dagmar would prefer it, anyhow."

"And you don't have to go home right now. Where do you work, friend?" Benson does his best to keep the man standing and moving toward the watch tower.

"Ironworker's Guild, by the looks of it," Kinkade answers Benson, motioning to his guild patch.

The man can barely walk as he's half-led, half-dragged to the Watchtower.

"No! It's... I build things but people are angry. They say the Masons did it. And they're fighting in the streets. And... and someone threw bricks into my forge..."

"Building things, eh? A man after my own heart. Throwing bricks into your forge, hm?" Kinkade muses. "That won't do, will it? And what's happening at the guild to stop you?" Kinkade asks. "Who's angry, and why?"

The man opens his mouth and suddenly closes it. He looks a little more frightened now.

"Can't... I don't know if- Just. I need sleep. Is the tower-?"

Kinkade and Benson have just about managed to drag their charge past the massive columns of the Administration building. Clerks and other government workers give the trio a wide berth as they walk across the street to the Watchtower. It isn't long before they come across a few other guards.

"Another one, eh?" he asks.

"Trying to duck things out at the White House," Kinkade confirms. "Is this all because of the murder I've heard about?"

"It ain't helping," the guard says as he takes the drunken Ironworker off the pair's hands. "Hells, you can tell us. Schenk wants you two to head over to the Guildsman Watchtower. They're putting something together over there."

"Must be nice to have that last name huh Munro?" the other guard smirks. "I'd love a free day off."

"Yes, a free day off will be quite nice," Kinkade smiles, not letting the jab get to him. "I'm sure that's what we've in store, from the sounds of things over in Guildsman."

Before they can take the ironworker away, Kinkade puts a hand on his shoulder. "Not to worry. We'll settle things down."

And, turning, he adds, "Stay true to Dagmar, friend. No more working girls, eh?"

Roger starts weeping again. "Aw... Aw I wish..."

"Geez, come on," the snarky guard says. The other guard reaches into his tunic and hands Benson a letter. "Here," he says. "She said to hand it to them when you get there. Don't ask me who 'they' are, I just work here."

Kinkade turns to Benson, interested. "What's it say?"

"Ah, you know how it goes - if they wanted us to know what it said, they wouldn't have written it in a letter. 'Ptolus' Finest' messenger service in action yet again." Benson tucks the letter away, then heads back out to the streets.

Kinkade and Benson walk down the Dalenguard Road and quickly join up with the main street of the Emperor's Road. Past the cliffs, the change from the stoic historical streets of Oldtown rapidly gives way to the more modern two-story buildings of the South Market. A woman sweeps in front of a store called simply "The Wood Shop", where many carved chairs and stools hang from hooks in her wooden awning.

But this close to Midtown, the oddity and chaos of Midtown bleeds over. Spiced meats are cooked in the morning rain, and a litorian eyes them hungrily. A group of obvious Delvers walk past them into Oldtown grumbling something about permits.

"You and I are no mere messengers, Gallaway," Kinkade says, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on the hilt of his father's greatsword. "You heard them back there, man...this is some kind of special assignment. We're to put a stop to all the violence. And none too soon, if you ask me."