[4e] The Wolfcrown, Chapter 1

[Rathan]

Dorean sighed softly... he didn't WANT to have a man tortured... too many times in his line of work did he have to just follow orders and the laws that sometimes even he did not agree with. Then again they ARE laws and he must obey them.

"I don't want to torture you Crag. In fact you and I are more alike than you really understand. I know how it is following orders. Even ones that we both know could get men like us killed. Do yourself a favor, reason with me. Level with me here, I will set you on your way despite you killing that guard if you give me the answers I want. You know I am not going to kill you, nor will I PERSONALLY torture you, however weigh this option my metal friend... A few quick answers and you go along with your freedom... or you can spend the rest of your 'life' living in a cell rusting away in a jail full of guard JUST like the one you murdered in cold blood. Imagine how those guards will treat you once they know you're in there for murdering one of their OWN. Oh yes my creaky friend... just picture your life on a daily basis in that cell in those conditions. Do yourself a favor and just be honest with me... give me the answers I'm looking for. So who did it Crag?.. Who set us up and murdered the King? Ball's in your court my friend..." Doren uttered softly as he stepped back with his hands clasped behind up and tapping his left foot awaiting the warforged's answer.

[sblock=Diplomacy Check]1d20+6=12(Diplomacy)[/sblock]

 

[DistractingFlare]

Crag Claymore sighs, but it comes out as a rusted, metallic rasp. It seems as if he's ready to bargain for his freedom.

"Gods be damned. I'm cornered. I got no choice, do I? All right, then. I'll tell you what I've heard. Captain Teach is the head of The Cloak, right? Everybody knows that. But nobody ever asks why the gods don't shut us down. We're the biggest criminal enterprise in the world, and we never have to deal with the authorities. Do you want to know why?"

Claymore pauses, scanning each of your faces for a reaction.

"It's because we're endorsed by a god. He keeps us protected, and in exchange, we do his dirty work. When we get initiated into the guild, we swear an oath to Munsu himself. He's the real head of The Cloak. He's the one who ordered your king dead. Captain Teach is just a leader. The God of Blades is the one pulling the strings. I don't know why they killed Hood, and I don't know who actually did the job. All I know is this: you were the ones who got picked up for it. You were supposed to get arrested, and I was supposed to kill you all while you were in jail. That's all I know."

He seems exhausted by this. His shoulders sag wearily.

"Please let me go. I've only got until morning. Once they find out I haven't done the job, I'm as good as dead."

 

[Shayuri]

Thorn rolled her eyes. The warforged was clever, offering a significant-sounding but utterly useless 'confession.' She suspect the amateurs would lap it up, never asking the important questions.

"Who let you into the prison?" she asked in Corporal Hedge's voice. "You and two iron dogs didn't fight past the gatehouse and break through the gates. You must have had help from the inside, but then blew it somehow and got discovered before you could find us."

"Who let you in?"

 

[DistractingFlare]

Claymore stares at Thorn for a moment. He seems thoughtful - almost contemplative, but when he speaks up, his voice drips with enmity.

"What's the matter, officer? If we could be slowed down by gatehouses and walls, would we be any good at what we do? No. Let me give you an example. There was a man who worked with The Cloak - a buccaneer of sorts, by the name of Squint. Squint was my owner, you see, back before any of us warforged were allowed to be free. Squint controlled a huge sector of Port September's bootlegging interest, but when it came time to pay his dues to The Cloak, Ol' Squint said no."

Claymore pauses for dramatic effect, his voice becoming dark and menacing.

He barricaded himself into the shipping office - hiding like a coward, with bodyguards and archers protecting the front gate, and leaving me out on my own. No one could get in or out of the place. So one day, Bright-Eyed Teach came up and offered me freedom, if only I could get Squint out of the office. So you know what I did? I climbed up on the roof and hacked my way in with an axe. I killed my master's guards by myself, and Bright-Eyed Teach rewarded me with a position in his crew. That's the kind of organization The Cloak is: when there's guards at the gate, we cut in through the ceiling. Nobody let me into the castle, but I got in just the same."

The warforged glares at "Corporal Hedge" with disdain, and then speaks deliberately.

"So now I have a question for you. Now that the king is dead, who's going to have the power?"

 

[Rathan]

Homework Project 1

Doren stared almost blankly into Crags eyes. His mind having gone back to his days in the corps training to be what he is today, an investigator.

The scene cuts to a miserable and rainy day, Doren's nose is inch deep in a puddle before it is raised again. He is doing push-ups it seems.

"LETS GO DOREN! I swear you are the sorriest excuse for soldier whelp! Get that ass down and spread those hands father apart. One hundred more peon!" the drill sargent barked as he placed a foot on Doren's back and pressed him face back in the muck and water.

The scene cuts again to Dorean in a classroom of sorts his head back having fallen asleep in class once AGAIN.

"DOREN... I swear my boy if you don't stop falling asleep in my law's and regulations class I'm going to strap you from here to your barracks thrice daily until you pass out... THEN and ONLY then will you be allowed to sleep!" another drill sargent barked at him. The trend seemed to be that Doren was never the best student and learner of the lot. However one would have to wonder how he got so good at what he did....

The scene cuts again and Doren is surrounded by his fellow classmates and fellow soldier trainee's. They take turns punching and kicking him in an open field on the training barracks.

"Stupid f*cking excuse for a solder you are!" one student said as he kicked Doren hard in the ribs.

"You make us all do push-ups and run at least an extra two miles a day you waste of SPACE!... why don't you just give up and go home you f*cukup!" Dorens own bunk mate said as he wound up and kicked Doren hard in the head... lucky Doren had a hand up to protect himself.

"Yea just GO the hells home 'Dor-ass'.... no one WANTS you here anymore. NO ONE!" a third voice sounds as the kicks and punches slowly dissipate as Doren lie motionless in a fetal position on the ground, nothing but his sides rising and falling indicating they had not killed him but they came close.

As Doren lie unconscious... something strange happens withing in mind.

As Doren lie in his stupor a shining light rose over him and quickly he raised his hands to protect his eyes. A booming voice rattled Doren to his core as it spoke to him from seeming nowhere....

"Doren!... This MUST stop! You are lacking in your abilities I KNOW you have within you. What must it take to show you you are divinely gifted my son?! There will be a point in your life my creation that I will need to lean on you the most. A time where a rival will be just out of MY reach and you will be my shining bastion of the law to stop his madness. Doren... you are more than this my son. Do not fail me for you are one of my many sons of law and what is good and wonderful on this world. I did not put you on this world for no reason my son... try your hardest and ask yourself if the law God is important enough within you to make a difference in this world...

When Doren awoke his eyes gleamed like that of 100 burning suns, yet only for a mere second as he rose from the ground seemingly unscathed from this fellow students assault. Doren knew he'd had a very special visit from someone he NEVER intended to speak to in his lifetime. He knew what he must become and from here-on in he would give his blood sweat and tears, arms, legs, limbs to the law's cause. An officer of the law was born in that instant and Doren knew he was destined from that point on for something major.

The scene flashes back... Crag stands before Doren as he moved to pick up a knife.

"I want proof that Munsu is behind the Cloak Crag. I will let you run. I will even heal you if I have the ability to allow you faster escape. If what you say is true this is bigger than all of us and murdering you would not solve a thing. But you have lost and failed. Thus whoever your superior is will soon know you have lost as well, so you know as well as I do if you don't run...you're as good as dead. But you will sit right HERE... until you show me proof the God of Blades would sully his hands in the matters of chaos. He MUST know Blackmoor will oppose him eventually. Your choice Crag, give me the proof I want or I will leave you tied right here for your superiors to find you, and I doubt they'll be as nice as I have been..." Doren said as he paused in mid thought... could this be the big task the voice was talking about. He knew it could only have been Blackmoor himself now that spoke to him. The feeling of the booming voice sent chills down Doren's spine once more just THINKING back on it.

 

[DistractingFlare]

Claymore barks back at Doren in frustration.

"GODS DAMN YOU! There's no evidence, you fool. He's the God of Great Tricks. He's the King of Mystery! You think you can find proof? You think proof even exists? You're mistaken, and by my own eyes, you are a fool. You haven't figured it out? Blackmoor, the God of Law and Justice, has to step in to control chaos. You know this. So who do you think is going to take control of the situation? Who will take control of the chaos caused by the death of a king? Only the churches have that kind of scope! This was going to be the final move in their game: the end of the era of the king, and the beginning of the era of the gods."

 

[yzard]

Thomas, Summoner Wizard

Not quite comfortable with what his new allies might be doing with their prisoner, Thomas decides to stay in the main area of the Tavern and perhaps have himself a drink. After accepting Shale's greeting he turns his attention to the inhabitants.

"Well, if I'm going to be waiting about for a bit, there's no reason I cannot enjoy a moment's conversation."

More than boredom drives him to conversation, however. Seeing his allies dragging the Warforged had reminded him of something that he hadn't thought of in a long time.

He recalls being 11 or 12 years old and helping his father at his office. Menial stuff, but he loved it whenever he got asked to help. Shouts from the street came through their window on the second-floor and he and his father went to see what was happening.

Down below, a Teifling and Human (both male) seemed to be challenging another man across the street, in front of an alleyway.

"Let's continue this discussion in private, eh?" they could hear the Teifling say as the three of them moved into the alley.

No longer able to hear them, they could still see them a bit as the two began to beat on the other man.

"Someone has to help them!" His father cried as he leaned further out the window to see if he could spot a City Guard.

"You there! Guard! There's something going on in the opposite alley there! Hurry! A man is being beaten!"

Leaning out, Thomas could see the Guard (two, actually) react to his father's yelling and began moving in the indicated direction.

But the two from the alley had heard the call as well and quickly moved further into the alley and disappeared. The guards arrived in time to spot them (apparently, as Thomas could no longer see them) and one took chase as the other stopped to assist the man that had been beaten.

Pulling back from the window, his father had been shaking his head. "Thomas, do you know why those two might have been attacking the other one?"

"He probably owed them money.", shrugging....the city wasn't 'dangerous' but neither was it free of crime.

"You are likely correct. Probably borrowed money from people he shouldn't have. Even so.....Son, I've said this before but it bears repeating. People tend to rush into violence. I know that we don't have the most glamorous job" (his father at this time was still convinced that young Thomas would choose accounting as his livelihood) "but we are a part of something much bigger, much grander than ourselves."

"If we are all to live together, if we are all to THRIVE together as a society, we have to rely on that which separates us from the beasts and animals of the world: our ability to reason. When we forgo reason, we become like the baser creatures..."

"And I know that violence is sometimes necessary. I'm not naive or cowardly...but I think what one of the things that defines a society is where they draw that 'necessary' line."

"Be aware of where you want that line to be, or circumstances may draw it for you."

Thomas wasn't sure what he thought about torturing a living being, regardless the cause. But he knew that he didn't want his circumstances to decide for him. So he ordered a drink at the bar and headed over to a table that appeared to be populated by some people of learning...

[sblock=some checks]
Thomas wanders over to the table in the back with the old humans and teiflings.

Arcana, history and religion check (is that ok?) to see if he has any knowledge in whatever topic they might be discussing.

Aracana, History, Religion skill check (in that order) (1d20+10=26, 1d20+10=23, 1d20+10=28)
[/sblock]

 

[DistractingFlare]

The scholars immediately notice Thomas and motion for him to sit with them, but they continue on in their conversation. Thomas recognizes their banter as being the subject of a commonly told folk tale.

"It reminds me of the story of The Behemoth: a creature that is born in a void - born out of nothingness. Out of this nothingness comes a sleeping animal. Over time, while The Behemoth sleeps, bits of dust and rock begin to cling to its fur, building layers upon layers. Over many millenia, a planet is formed, with the slumbering creature resting in its center. Eventually, life occurs on this planet, and ages pass. Then one day, the creature begins to awaken. It yawns in its waking moments, and begins to stretch its weary limbs. This stretching and shaking destroys whole cities and topples empires, and the peoples of the planet unite to destroy this creature: the center of their universe has suddenly turned against them, and they must destroy everything they once relied on in order to continue existing."

"Wait - what reminds you of that story?"

"Nothing. I...I don't remember. What a delightful story, though."

 

[Rathan]

Doren looked over Crag with a shake of his head and a smile. He knew how to remain clam even if his metal murderous friend did not.

"What I don't understand is why the God of Tricks is even interested in our lowly system of rule. What is a king to his almighty rule? We have been created to have our own little go in a world THEY have all the control in. We might not like it, however those are the rules we're given. As a retort to you little statement about Blackmoors need of involvement Crag what you don't see to understand is that it is not his place to intervene. It's mine, my allies, and all the rest of the people that believe in his justice! Blackmoors power rest in large part due to his followers and their willingness to follow his rule. We give him his strength and what is strength if you don't use it. I assure you personally Blackmoor sent in motion years ago a plan for this plot for demise. I will say no more on this but I do thank you for your words and being honest with me has earned your freedom... that is unless my friends here would like more questions answered. I'd suggest you run quickly, what you have told me no doubt will cause you great danger." the blunt priest said softly as he moved to place the knife near the rope holding Crag at bay but waited to cut.

"Anyone else have any more questions before I cut the prisoner loose?"

 

[Shayuri]

For a moment it seemed like Crag had scored a point on good ol' Corporal Hedge. The guardsman took a step back with a glassy-eyed expression of startlement. he didn't even seem to hear anything spoken for the next moment or two....

The alleys of Port September reflected the haste with which the city had been built. They were narrow and jagged, dark and dank. In some place a grown man could hardly walk through them sideways, so close together were the buildings put. The cobbles were uneven and the ground muddy where they were missing. Trash and refuse made slopes up against the walls at regular intervals, and the smell of rot and mildew mingled with the sea salt and sewage that hung over the rest of the city.

People lived in the alleys; furtive darting shadows that moved like the rats, never getting caught out in the open. At night they huddled around what fires they could find fuel and cover for. By day, even the least of them had something they could call a trade, even if it was just sitting miserably at the alley's mouth and begging for coin.

Such a man was Old Squint. He was old for his age when Thorn saw him, weathered and craggy and tired. It wasn't hard to see why he was begging either; his arms both ended in stumps. Just seeing them made Thorn wince and shiver as she imagined what it would feel like to lose one's hands. Even as a youngling she could easily feel the pains of others in her imagination. That was why she bent over to drop something in his hat...not a coin, but fine lapel pin she'd managed to slip away from a man who'd helped her up after she'd 'tripped.'

No sooner than he'd seen the glint of gold in the hat though, than Squint moved like a viper, covering it with his sleeve. He fixed Thorn with appraisal in his eyes, then said, "Old Squint does appreciate your kindness, but he thinks the owner of that trinket'll be lookin' for it. You need to be rid of it before anyone finds it on you." When Thorn, surprised by the revelation of something she hadn't thought of before, started to stammer that she didn't know what to do, he stopped her. "Take it three doors down, and just within the alley to the candlemaker's shop," Squint instructed. "Tell the owner that Squint sent you. He'll give a fair price for things like these." He grinned. "And bring back one in ten for whatever he gives you, and we'll call ourselves squared away, you and I." )


"I have one," Thorn replied to Doren.

In the basement under the tavern, Corporal Hodge melted away to be replaced by someone else. Someone who looked awkward in a guard's uniform. A man older than his age, as craggy as a mountainside and with an ice blue gunslinger's stare. Across the sea and in the past this was not a safe face to wear. Now it was the only one Thorn could take as she advanced numbly on the tied prisoner...

"What happened?" Old Squint asked, repeating her question. "It's an ugly tale, little Thorn. Squint here was betrayed. Turned on by one he trusted. And for what?!" The old man sighed. "I dared to dream of a Port September that was free of the Teach. I wasn't alone either...there were quite a few of us. Too few to fight directly, but enough to plan. And apparently enough to be noticed."

Thorn listened avidly, the two of them leaning against a wall in the recess of the alleyway Squint lived near. He'd already taught her a lot, and her life had become easier as a result. She brought him food and money; offerings made in exchange for knowledge.

Now, as he described the final moments of his aborted insurrection, Thorn felt anger. He'd been so close! She shuddered in hate and revulsion at his account of Teach deciding to cripple and beggar him, rather than to kill and possibly martyr him. "That's what I am now," he told her sadly, "Every day I live, I'm an example of what happens when folk cross the Teach." He eyed Thorn again with squinty eyes then and added fondly, "Except for you."

Glowing with pride at that, Thorn made a decision. If she had a chance to, ever in her life, she'd kill the Teach...and the underling who'd betrayed Squint's trust. That they should live in wealth and prosperity while Squint, nobler by far, lived in humiliation and squalor...that was one thing she could correct.

Thorn, now the spitting image of her old master, Old Squint, reached out and grabbed Crag's shoulder.

"This is for the left hand," she said roughly...and quick as a snake; a trick taught her by Squint himself...her sword appeared in her hand and slammed forward to end whatever 'life' a warforged could be said to have.