Prologue (Move 7)
30 Flamerule 1372 DR, Caerrhen, Damara-Impiltur border
It is currently unseasonably warm and uncomfortable in northwestern Impiltur, with uncharacteristically high humidity. There is no noticeable wind.
Yanis Princetonson, Approximately 0915 hours
[Sense Motive Check: (roll of 9 on d20) + (Skill +6) = 15] Uneasy with Karok's answer, you spend a few moments subtly watching him and his mannerisms. After a moment, you feel assured that it's just Karok and any awkwardness in his answer is just his own awkwardness. When you ask him about taking you to the house, he nods, "Sure, Yanis, I can take you to it. It's just an old house, but I've nothing to do either, and I'm more than happy to help you, of course." [Diplomacy Check: (roll of 16 on d20) + (Unskilled +0) = 16] He looks at his partly unfinished breakfast for a second, and quickly amends his answer -- "Let me finish this first...and we should also settle with Jannah, as I'm not too keen on building a tab up, being new to the Tankard and Caerrhen." Taking a long swallow of ale, he bears down on his eggs. Fifteen minutes later, he's paid Jannah, and gathers himself. Ready to go, he waits on you.
Fezzin Verghenheim, Sir Zichard Danilk, Approximately 1115 hours
Draegor nods at Fezzin, and heads off to get the woman something, shaking his head and muttering a laundry list of intentions, "warm milk, 'r some darkberr' brandy, a bash upsi' 'er dainty lettle screamin' piehole."
Meanwhile, Fezzin begins to push on the bunks, moving them easily. Sliding them out of the way, he reveals a bevy of broken floorboards, jagged splinters, and a dark crawlspace. The tracks lead out of the crawlspace, leaving no mistake as to where the thing was hiding.
By the time Zichard gets down the stairs, he's reasonably sure that he's going to be working from rather far behind the fleeing creature and its considerable headstart. Armor clanking and weapons clattering, you burst out of the common room, causing quite a commotion among the remaining people (and, you swear, a slight, admiring gasp out of Jannah). You almost fall out of the door, nearly out of control. Somehow managing to control your momentum, you slice the tether holding your horse and mount it. Although you never will win any points for finesse and style, you manage (barely) to pull off the maneuver without killing yourself. Galloping into town, you realize you have only the vaguest idea of where the beast has gone.
Ezra Geonora, Approximately 1300 hours
Masathael turns away from the rotten balls of fur and retches. The others, and yourself, manage to hold your disgust in check. At your suggestion, the priestess hands you a torch. Although you are able to drop the torch into the recess, still partially shielded by the lower panel. Unfortunately, you don't manage to do this before one of the balls unfolds and hurls itself at you. Unable to dodge, you quickly find the little beast gripping your shirt, hanging on just below the neck. Partially decomposed, tendons showing, mucus and the other effluvia that formerly gave it life spilling out through it's vacant eyeholes, you recognize what it is: a rank, rotting zombie rat. [Sanity Check: roll of 39 on d100, Ezra is disgusted, but otherwise bears no ill effects from the contact with the rat zombie.]
Daan, Approximately 1315 hours
As Mickul weighs which shape to tackle, the battle settles, and you notice that only one shape, considerably small compared to a human, moves, struggling to free itself from the canvas. The other shape is crumpled in a heap at the feet of the thrashing humanoid. Growling, the scarred man nods at Mickul, moving his head towards the moving canvas. Easily catching it, Mickul holds it up while the scarred man pounds his fists into its head and gut. By the time they're done, the thing isn't moving, and is scarcely breathing. Leaving it to fall down, they start to fish their comrade out from under the canvas.
Oskar Dankil, Approximately 1415 hours
"Wererat? Could be. We'll go check it out. If you've business to attend to here, I suggest you go tend to it, my dwarven friend. Please let Vholes know your name and where you'll be staying here in Caerrhen. Until we find out what's been in Forge Two, we'd appreciate it if you stayed in town." The man in studded leather gives you a stern look, and moves into Forge Two to check it out and confer with the men already inside the building. Your explanation seems to hold for the time.
Vholes, apparently the man kneeling over the body, winks again, stands, and shrugs. "Don't mind him, he's got a lot of responsibility here and takes it all ve-ry seriously. Don't get me wrong, he should, he just doesn't have the best personal manner." He looks at the dwarven corpse. "Is he dead? Yes. Nasty bit of work, too. Fyodor Dahlenheim. Hell of a smith. Good with weapons, armor, and all the practical stuff, too." He wipes a bit of sweat off his brow with his sleeve. You can't help but notice he's unarmed. "Nasty weather. Hot. Keeps most of the folk inside until dark. Anyhow, you're out and about. And I do need to know what he told you to tell me, if you don't mind. Quickly, too, as I'd like to find out what and why from the otherside of Two's walls."
OOC: See the OOC thread for scheduling info and other information!
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