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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 607013" data-attributes="member: 227">With the clatter of hooves on cobbles the mismatched band once again entered the city gates; Sebastion, Kale and Wolf far enough ahead to make them seem a seperate group entirely to the later band with the blue-skinned women. Wolf's trail led the three men deep into the city sback-streets, while the others made their way to the more central parts of the settlement.Their patron's reaction to Kale's little announcement about daedroth hounds and possible enemies had been a calm one, instilling some confidence in the mercenaries that he could handle such problems intruding on his home. He hadn't actually even said anything, merely giving the young man a quizzical look before returning into his abode.* * *Burl's needs were dealt with fairly quickly; it didn't take long to find iron ore or grain merchants, or to surreptitiously note down their prices for later conveyance to Tewlcroghen. With that done, Cord, Burl, Ebri, Wyshira and Melisande carried on to the home of Karbal the bookseller.Stepping into the shop they found, as Ebri had, a place where every available surface - even the floor - had been used as a bookshelf, spines of tomes making up the ground beneath their feet. The lean man himself greeted them with a pleasant smile, nodding to Ebri. "Ah, the priestess returns, and with friends! What can I help you with, ladies and gentlemen? What book would take your attention, or what knowledge draw your mind?"* * *The process of tracking their quarry began with vagueness, nets cast wide to try and drag in the smallest pieces of information. Questioning merchants brought in little by the way of clues for the three hunters, not providing any positive identification, but then a name slipped out.Cancer. That was, apparently, the man's first name, but the merchant who knew it couldn't remember his sirname, or even if he had one. The fellow just knew of this Cancer, rather than directly knowing him. The carriage and description that Kale gave had jogged his memory far enough for that. How did he know of Cancer? Oh, he'd met him before; Cancer had bought iron manacles from him, one of the range of iron goods this purveyor sold.It was just a name, but it was good enough."I think I may be able to guess what our friend Cancer is up to," said Wolf quietly as the three strode out of the ironmongers shop and into the light outside. The clouds were gathering fast overhead now, the sun's light darkening and the wind whipping up in the herald of what would probably be a brief but intense summer storm. "Quite often when I've come across cults of Gilamesh hidden in cities like this they've been involved in illegal slavery. It's not as if slavery is outlawed in most places, it's just heavily regulated; I mean, here in Naseria, there are indentured slaves who are criminals who have to pay off their crimes by work, but the Gilameshi*tes practice slavery of a lower level; badly treated and for the worst uses. I think we should probably follow that line of inquiry for now..."* * *And so they carried on with their search, a few questions here and there with the rougher elements of the city; fences and barmen and hired thugs and beggars, and they made more headway. Cancer was not a big man in city affairs either above or below board, but he was known. Some recognised the name by linking it with what they knew of a little organisation that dealt in illegal goods and illegal slavery, while others nodded at the name and muttered of a chapel to Gilamesh below the city, deep below, a small one but there nonetheless. Getting more knowledge was difficult but with the combined efforts of all three men they were making progress.* * *Thunder rolled, lightning stabbing down from the sky somewhere in the distance to brightly illuminate the room for a moment as rain poured down outside, drops pattering heavily on the small windows. The tavern didn't even have a name, a tiny place where the smoke curled heavy on the air and the murmur of hushed conversation from the patrons sussurated in the ears. It was dark, damp and out of the way, somewhere in the accurately named Rat's Quarter; a dip in the ground by the river full of dilapidated buildings propped up by rotting wooden supports.The storm had broken not long before the three hurried inside. Sebastion and Kale found themselves looking at the clientele of the tavern, the fitful light from a few lanterns in corners casting long shadows over figures hunched over tables. Occasionally a laugh or angry growl pierced the veil of murmurs, and the clattering of dice rattled in the corner where gamblers gamed.Wolf approached the barman, a man with a faceful of scars and only one good eye, his row of rotting teeth missing a good few altogether. Attempts to get any information out of a barman usually meant you had to buy some drinks first; they had to be careful not to end up inebriated during their search for Cancer. The veteran merc ordered three beers; the band of hunters found the drink to taste about as bad as they expected for somewhere like this. Exactly which brewery produced a brew this bad was unknown.Buying drinks had opened up the barman's mind to allow a little chatting with these customers; he nodded at the name of Cancer, as they had known he would, having been directed here by someone else. "Myrley knows more about that," the beggar had said, and he had told the truth. Myrley the barman did know more.Cancer, he said, was the head of a band of Gilamesh*tes; he knew because the high-ups of several less salubrious organisations frequented this place and he heard things. Ran the occasional slave auction, dealt in illegal goods; his men fenced a few things but mostly bought stuff up, like magic. They didn't use it though, but the word was they passed it on to someone else, probably Cancer's superior in the cult. If the three men were interested in dealing with the Gilamesh*tes, for goods or slaves, they had two choices really. One was to go down deep under the city - for under the surface was a myriad maze of old cellars and buildings and sewers that were more inhabited than might be thought by one who lived on the surface - and go direct to their slave pens and the chapel to the dragon god. The other was to find one of their people and ask for an audience with Cancer. To get down below the city wouldn't be hard; beneath the Rat's Quarter (or Rat's Nest as most called it) there were a few entrances to the lower places. Finding the exact location of the chapel might be a bit tougher though, but if they asked the right person - someone like Rat Trin (but he was an odd one, not even human, Myrley had never trusted him and never would, even though he might be the best at wandering the under-city) - they might get there without too much trouble.As for Cancer, he was an odd one. Most reckoned he was mad, plain old barmy, crazy as a coot, but there was no denying he was an adept wizard. When he had need to deal with foes he tended to summon up horrible things, all tentacles and writhing flesh and suchlike (though Myrley had only heard of this and never seen one himself) that were enough to make a man's mind doubt what he had seen. Cancer might not be all there but he was a cunning sonofab1tch, for sure; he was usually seen around over these last few months with a big man, well-built, who had the look of a southerner and had tattoos all over him, and who had broken the necks of two of Lagger Jarris's muggers when they attacked him in an alley one night, and Jarris said his boys hadn't stood a chance against the man.Kale's attention was drawn away from the stream of knowledge absent-mindedly tumbling out of the mouth of the barkeep by the sound of someone coughing and spluttering, Sebastion's gaze following moments afterwards to the man who had just had a shock while drinking his beer.Kale recognised him, the heavily-built man sitting at one of the tables, not too far off; he hadn't seen him before because the fellow's face had been away from him but he must have just looked round now, and he certainly recognised Kale.It was one of the two lackeys who had been with the mage, and he gasped into his beer "It's him, it's f*cking him!"And suddenly there was a blur of action in a few seconds. Sebastion, Kale and Wolf (who was only know looking round) weren't quick enough off the mark, caught by surprise, as the man stood up with beer spattered down his front and reached down to his side to draw a hefty steel longsword with a hiss of metal. The two others who had been sitting with him stood too.One, a man dressed in inconspicous leathers, his head bald and his features aquine, held up one hand before him as the other made eldritch gestures. Dangling from his outstretched hand a tiny medallion hung, glinting in the lantern-light, a flame within a circle. Then the spell was complete and his hands changed entirely; transforming into vicious claws, the skin crackling into a rough, scaled red, heat and flames shimmering off the large claws and shedding their own ruddy light around the man, who grinned unpleasantly. And the final man, thin, lean, cloaked, a rapier visible in a sheath by his side, instead went for another weapon in his armoury.A pistol. He drew it with one quick and easy motion fron his belt, pointing the crude firearm at the trio and pulling the trigger. The crack rivalled the thunderstorm outside in its intensity, a gout of smoke billowing from the weapon as the ball spat out at the men. It just missed Sebastion's head, tearing a sizeable chunk out of a wooden beam and spraying splinters of soft wood over the bar. The barkeep whimpered and ducked down to the safety behind the obstacle.Grimmacing from surprize and realization, Kale's hand went to his blade. It's you!  And his eyes dialated as the three men stood. In moments, his ears rang in protest. Kicking away his barstool, the young mercenary stood, but not long enough for another single drop upon that cold cloak-shed puddle.Soaking wet, charged in action, a vile eldrich-aura marked his target. Kale's eyes gaurded the pistolier, ready that he would try to flank. It was time for a little different type of information-gathering: who will stand, and who will fall?The storm continued outside, and any shetler that could be found in that dingy, rundown bar was lost as weapons bared, steel and teeth.It was a testament to Sebastion's father's training that the glimmer of movement from the corner of his eye had him rocking backwards, moving his head aside from the strange contraption that destroyed the shelf behind him. No arrow had flown by, no crossbow arms were visible on the weapon, and yet the hole in the woodwork payed mute testament to the power of the weapon, and Sebastion automatically considered magic.That opinion was backed up by the muttering from his companion, who's hand took on a daemonic cast, sputtering flame and scarlet scales. Sebastion, though, had spent years under the tutelage of a professional - A Dracoverr - and wasn't about to let the surprise catch him. His opponent had failed to take advantage of it, and that would cost him. Neither the longsword nor the flaming claws, for all their apparent power, were a threat from there: only that strange magic rod.Bent backward slightly from where he'd dodged, Sebastion reached over his shoulder for an axe and sent it spinning through the air at the thin man, as he slipped the sheaths from his sword and closed the distance, ready to fight, hoping the others would back him up.The rest of the dingy, dark bar was silent, hushed patrons watching the sudden and brutal fight. This was no melee in which fancy swordplay had a place; it was about bringing swift and brutal death to your opponent.Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.The clawed man leapt for Kale, but the rogue dodged gracefully back from the burning talons and avoided the swipes easily. Striking back, Kale tried to hurl the lye he had acquired earlier into the eyes of the cleric but didn't manage it; a strike with the brine blade found its mark though, scoring a wound on the man and causing him to yell in pain as the corrosive acid ate ravenously into him, leaving a great livid gouge across his chest; the afflicted man's breath came in ragged gasps and his eyes unfocused with pain. Then Wolf drew his bastard sword with one easy movement and lunged at the foe, cutting him down with a single swipe that sent a wave of blood glimmering in the light for a moment before it splashed to mingle with the dirty, straw-covered floor; the spellcaster fell dead, the blade having cleaved through his face.It left only the swordsman, the man Kale had met earlier, who had seen his two allies reduced to rapidly cooling corpses in seconds and now took flight out of the tavern as fast as he could. He quickly disappeared through the door and into the maze of alleys beyond."Wait, don't let 'em..." Kale shouted, as he reached an arm out, trying with willpower alone to keep the sword-lackey from escaping the bar. Clunking through the way, the lucky hireling marked another defeat for the mercenary band. "Dammit, DAMMIT!" Kale swore, upset to have lost the initiative once again.Looming around the tattered bar, however, not all was lost. In one piece at least, Sebastion examined his first firearm, while Kale covered the room. The leatherclad pistolier lay at Kale's feet, still warm and oozing blood from an.... axe planted directly in his face!"Seems chopping wood your whole life has benefits" Kale kidded the Huronese swordsman, knowing then that he'd clearly underestimated the man."Leave, now," the barman said fearfully from his hiding place behind the counter, "I don't want trouble here."Wolf looked as if he was about to race after the fleeing man but paused and instead stooped to check the corpses that had so recently been living men. "Best check these bodies first; might have some useful information on them."He nodded respectfully to the other two as he knelt. "You two fought well, it's good to know I'm alongside skilled warriors. Now, what do you reckon we should do now? I'd say we head back to the others, tell 'em what we know, before any more trouble befalls us in this place, like that fellow coming back with friends."DM's Note: I have some additional rules for various firearms; from variant make's like dual-barrelled ones, the magical silenced pistol from Sandslipper's sojourn in Zhatan, and suchlike. I wanted to make them significantly more dangerous than a crossbow or bow, so many firearms can cause their targets to become shaken or staggered if they inflict a hit.On the bodies are the cleric's holy symbol (of Gilamesh), an unmarked potion, the pistol plus powder and bullets for ten shots, and 27 gp. Oh, and a rapier and a dagger.There were, Sebastion had heard, mercenary companies who deemed that the goods of the fallen belonged the warrior who had slain him on the field - an auxiliary income for a job that often didn't pay as well as it had promised; for some reason nobility often underestimated the financial costs of going to war, and the first bill to be cut short was the mercenary fee. Other companies held that the goods went to any of their number that the fallen had managed to injure...Either way, Sebastion filled the gap, and as he fingered the wound in his arm gently he was reaching out to investigate the weapon that had caused the wound. It seemed magical, though it was like no magic he'd heard tell of before, and he wondered for a moment if it wasn't something dwarven - tales abounded of the strange and wondrous magical machines that they toiled away at in their tunnels. It was warm, still, in places, though he grasped the handle easily enough as he retrieved his bloodied axe and cleaned the blade casually on the fallen man's shirt.Replacing the weapon in its place across his back, he wrapped the other weapon in a cloth torn from the bloodied shirt - a relatively clean piece from the sleeve - and placed it in his pack for later investigation as he rummaged through the rest of the man's pockets for clues."Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked Wolf, casually, from the floor, privately swelling slightly at the compliment. His first battle out of his home had been a less than salutory affair, and though he was still alive he'd faired only marginally better since. This had been a resounding, reaffirming victory, and though he knew better than to think himself invincible, he did get a satisfactory sense of a professional job well done.Hoisting out the small cartridges that smelled like the discharged weapon, he quickly shoved them with the wrapped parcel in his pack, and shouldered it, grasping the sheathes to his sword and replacing them. The coin and mundane blades he left, not wishing to plunder the fallen, any more than the intriguing armless bow.Wolf smiled at Sebastion's seeming amazement with the pistol. "Haven't you ever seen a pistol before? Most are made in Adbar but the very best come from Huron, because of your peoples thaumineers. I've seen an enchanted firearm blow clean through the chest of a hill giant before, a weapon custom-made for a Killanon nobleman by the Thaumineer-General of Jan Dak Belgaroth himself! Here, let me take a look," he said, taking the pistol from Sebastion's grasp. "Solid weapon, well-constructed out of oak and steel - you could club someone with it as easy as shoot them. Dual-barrelled, so you don't have to sit around for ages reloading the bloody thing, and with the two triggers staggered so you don't accidently fire both at once. It looks like good make, I'm guessing Adbarian, but if we look on the bottom of the metal casing there should be a marking of who made it. There aren't many who can make pistols, see, it takes a master weaponsmith to do it. Eh, that's odd." He pointed at the small circle with 'G F' within it."Gravis Ferechan, that is. A gnome outcast. The gnomes of Kerr kicked him out of that city and he ended up, last I knew, in Huron. Now there's a nasty little thing with no morals - his family's ashamed of him, all the Ferechan's you meet'll deny he even exists. But if criminals here have it, and lackeys of our Gilamesh*te friend, then it means he probably sells firearms to anyone no questions asked. I'm confused as to how someone here has got hold of one.""Anyway," he said, handing the gun back, "If you want to keep it you can, I haven't been trained to use one myself and they need to be kept in good condition if you want it to work properly. Keep the powder and bullets - they're what make it fire - and don't get the powder wet, or it'll be useless. Wet pistol's won't fire.""And this is the wadding, and ramrod," the young mercenary Kale continued Wolf's description of the weapon. "I can show you how to load it later, but shooting it well's a real feat."  He supplied to Sebastion as they prepared to leave. Kale imagined the schemings going on behind the face of the curious swordsman. Oh, the martial possibilities firearms. "Usually, they're more trouble than they're worth, course, you learn all sorts of useless stuff at the acad-" Kale stopped short, realizing they had places to be.Sebastion took the package back and placed it in his pack carefully, with a slightly introspective thought.So that's a 'pistol' No wonder Sherrif Brak never liked the idea of someone bringing one into the town... he took another look at the shelf as he rose, marvelling at the damage it had done."The authorities will likely be here soon: do we wait for them, do we follow the escapee, or do we search elsewhere?" he asked, with a shrug. Wolf laughed out loud at Sebastion's words as he led the trio out of the hushed tavern. "The authorities, here? This is the Rat's Nest, the city guards probably only patrol the main routes through and let the criminals get on with things in the back alleys and dark places." He grinned. "Wind Hawks might walk here with no fear but I doubt the guards will even investigate that little incident at all - just some lowlifes in a scrap. No, we don't need bother with guards, but we should keep an eye out anyway. Others here, the high-up criminals, might want to see who's disturbing the status quo on their turf; from what we've learned today Cancer doesn't seem to have any firm allies nor enemies, so I'm guessing the lcaol scum'll watch what happens but not interfere with out business. I hope that'll mean we get a good crack at Cancer without being hampered by others.""Following the man who ran'll be difficult, especially if Cancer's band lair under the city. No, I say we go back and tell the others now what's happened in case the fellow returns with reinforcements, and then, if we go after Cancer, we seek out that tracker Myrley mentioned - Rat Trin - and then proceed from there."Moving out silently, Kale's exit was marked only by the dull thud-roll of a few gold onto the filthy bartop. Merely a bit of ceremony, the gold wasn't enough to pay for much, even if Kale thought the barkeep would fiw the blastmarks or bleach the bloodstains to begin with. Yet, after someone tries to kill you, it doesn't do to forget one's manners.And as they struck out into the filthy mud streets, Kale wondered where in the world he had acquired this calm, when his last tavern experiences ended much differently. Something was changing inside him, and it seemed the best he could hope for was to keep from getting jaded about the whole experience. It wasn't hard, though, to strike down the streets with a subdued purpose. Mild-mannered, absent swagger, but with a bearing that marked experience- I wonder if I look like Wolf at all?</blockquote>

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