Metropolis (The World in Waiting) - Chapter One

[D20Dazza]

Ghost Hound Elf Bard

From Ghost's position at the mouth of the alley it seems that the sewer grate is set into the ground firmly, rusted hinges locking it tighter than any master's lock could.

Ghost moves stealthily into the alley, his every step taken with a great deal of caution. He kicks the garbage out of the way as he enters the alleyway "If I don't find a way in here I'm going to have to see if I can't find some help with this, or maybe I could go and see Ol' Sharpy and get some of his special lock picking juice" he mutters to himself.

[sblock]taking 20 to search around the grill, including the walls nearby; and 'using' elf ability to sense secret/concealed doors[/sblock]

 

[Phoenix]

Taran gathers his things, smiling at the excited Twitchy. "Yes, I know, there's lot of fun things on the surface, but we're there on business. "

Once everything is gathered, Taran mounts up and sets off to the surface. He knows his way there, down a few miles here, turn there, up this pipe, around this pipe, up this ladder, and out this grate. He'd been that way once, but only to be shown the way. In general, the surface was full of wasteful people, who threw away things that were perfectly good. Why bother trading with them when what you needed was salvagable from what they threw away? Sure, there were occasional expeditions to the surface to sell or buy a few rare items, but they were few and far between.

As Taran and Twitchy emerged from the grate, they had to squint their eyes to adjust to the bright light. Taran urged his faithful companion forward, as they strode into the light...

In comparison, the light that streamed from the sky high above seemed dirty, unclean, wrong. At least the gemstones that illuminated his home far below the surface of the city produced a clean light, one that did not make the tunnels and chambers look sickly and dying, not like the surface-dweller's sun.

Taran and twitch stared at the massive towers that soared into the diseased sky high above them, twisted spirals of stone that looked as if the weight of the neighbourhood's opression would drag them crumbling to the ground at any moment. The streets below the crumbling bridges that connected the towers high above, hundreds of lost souls slumber in shanty houses, conserving their energies for the scavenging of food and water. The Apartments was not a place for the living, for these people had lost their lives years ago.

 

[Phoenix]

Ghost moves stealthily into the alley, his every step taken with a great deal of caution. He kicks the garbage out of the way as he enters the alleyway "If I don't find a way in here I'm going to have to see if I can't find some help with this, or maybe I could go and see Ol' Sharpy and get some of his special lock picking juice" he mutters to himself.

[sblock]taking 20 to search around the grill, including the walls nearby; and 'using' elf ability to sense secret/concealed doors[/sblock]

[sblock]Seach check (DC hidden) +24 - Success
Bardic Knowledge check (DC variable) +25 - Success
[/sblock]

Though the grill itself is firmly rusted shut, it doesn't take Ghost long to realize that this entrance is used by others anyway. The entire grill itself is set into stone, but it only rests there. With persistance, it could be easily lifted aside and access to the sewers would be granted.
Just inside the grill Ghost's eyes pierce the darkness to see a small symbol of a sword jutting from the bowels of a dog. He had seen that symbol before, it marked the territory of The Hunters*. It would seem that his investigation had taken a new twist.

*The Hunters were once a powerful gang of hooligans, thieves and confidence men that slowly grew to establish a large power base within The Apartments. The entire group gathered to oust a local crime lord several years ago, but they had failed to recognize the power that the man held. His magic slew them all too swiftly, and he brought their souls back to their bodies, locking them in eternal undeath. After years of servitude, the necromancer disappeared, allowing what was left of the gang to resume their old haunts, but now their numbers and power had waned significantly.

 

[Bront]

In comparison, the light that streamed from the sky high above seemed dirty, unclean, wrong. At least the gemstones that illuminated his home far below the surface of the city produced a clean light, one that did not make the tunnels and chambers look sickly and dying, not like the surface-dweller's sun.

Taran and twitch stared at the massive towers that soared into the diseased sky high above them, twisted spirals of stone that looked as if the weight of the neighbourhood's opression would drag them crumbling to the ground at any moment. The streets below the crumbling bridges that connected the towers high above, hundreds of lost souls slumber in shanty houses, conserving their energies for the scavenging of food and water. The Apartments was not a place for the living, for these people had lost their lives years ago.

Taran will find the first somewhat friendly person he sees and try to talk to them*. "Excuse me good sir, do you know where I might find someone up on local news? I'm hoping catch up on current events."

Tarren had heard that there were people and papers that kept up on current events, and hoped that perhaps there might lie a clue to what he was looking for.

OOC: [sblock]Taran will attempt to use Diplomacy (+6) to try to illicit a friendly reaction[/sblock]

 

[D20Dazza]

Ghost Hound Elf Bard

[Just inside the grill Ghost's eyes pierce the darkness to see a small symbol of a sword jutting from the bowels of a dog. He had seen that symbol before, it marked the territory of The Hunters*. It would seem that his investigation had taken a new twist.

"Hah, the Hunters, and I guess they must be working with the Yellow Robes if Bremmen is to be believed." Ghost says into the quiet of the alley, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow searching for any threats. Believing there are no immediate hostiles he turns his attention to the grate, double checking that there are no traps, he wraps his fingers around the grill and strains to lift the obstacle from its housing.

 

[Phoenix]

Taran will find the first somewhat friendly person he sees and try to talk to them*. "Excuse me good sir, do you know where I might find someone up on local news? I'm hoping catch up on current events."

Tarren had heard that there were people and papers that kept up on current events, and hoped that perhaps there might lie a clue to what he was looking for.

OOC: [sblock]Taran will attempt to use Diplomacy (+6) to try to illicit a friendly reaction[/sblock]

[sblock]Diplomacy check (DC 15/25) +24 - Partial Success
Gather Information check (DC 15/25) +5 - Failure
[/sblock]

It was one thing for the people of The Apartments to live in squallor, squatting in shanty homes and living off whatever the streets threw at them, it was entirely different for these same filthy debased creatures to tolerate the presence of someone whose stench was worse than their own.

Taran and Twitchy found the people on the surface evasive, for after only a few words many of them would mutter or grunt something at him before waving him off and staggering into the streets. It was hard, but eventually with a gesture and an indifferent partially coherant grumbling, one of the street people gestured towards a discarded pile of paper nearby. Proudly proclaimed on the top of the paper was:

The Cryer​

Serving the People of Metropolis for Eighteen Years!​

Below which a dozen different sections of the paper spew information on all of the city's dramas and problems, ranging from wild magical storms over the Castillias Bay to the birth of eight-headed kittens to a family of rats in Dugander Town.

 

[Phoenix]

"Hah, the Hunters, and I guess they must be working with the Yellow Robes if Bremmen is to be believed." Ghost says into the quiet of the alley, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow searching for any threats. Believing there are no immediate hostiles he turns his attention to the grate, double checking that there are no traps, he wraps his fingers around the grill and strains to lift the obstacle from its housing.

[sblock]Strength check (DC 7) +9 - Success
Listen check (DC hidden) +6 - Failure
[/sblock]

Ghost's hands grasp the old iron bars and his body braces against the strain. The grill comes free with some difficulty, but moments later he has it laying on the ground next to the entranceway. A set of old iron bars look like they are set into the shaft leading to the sewers below, somewhat rusted (much like the grill) they still look somewhat sturdy and safe enough to use to decend.

 

[Bront]

[sblock]Diplomacy check (DC 15/25) +24 - Partial Success
Gather Information check (DC 15/25) +5 - Failure
[/sblock]

It was one thing for the people of The Apartments to live in squallor, squatting in shanty homes and living off whatever the streets threw at them, it was entirely different for these same filthy debased creatures to tolerate the presence of someone whose stench was worse than their own.

Taran and Twitchy found the people on the surface evasive, for after only a few words many of them would mutter or grunt something at him before waving him off and staggering into the streets. It was hard, but eventually with a gesture and an indifferent partially coherant grumbling, one of the street people gestured towards a discarded pile of paper nearby. Proudly proclaimed on the top of the paper was:

The Cryer​

Serving the People of Metropolis for Eighteen Years!​

Below which a dozen different sections of the paper spew information on all of the city's dramas and problems, ranging from wild magical storms over the Castillias Bay to the birth of eight-headed kittens to a family of rats in Dugander Town.

Taran will rifle through the paper, looking for any sign of anything going on. He will also attempt to find the name of some of the lead reporters, who may have heard any information yet to be published on this subject. Barring that, he will at least get an address and see if he can find his way to the paper's office.

 

[D20Dazza]

Ghost Hound Elf Bard

Ghost's hands grasp the old iron bars and his body braces against the strain. The grill comes free with some difficulty, but moments later he has it laying on the ground next to the entranceway. A set of old iron bars look like they are set into the shaft leading to the sewers below, somewhat rusted (much like the grill) they still look somewhat sturdy and safe enough to use to decend.

Judging things to be safe Ghost lowers himself carefully onto the ladder, taking his time he starts to descened into the darkness, hoping that the light spilling in from above will provide his eyes with enough light to see by. Once he hits the bottom he pulls his lantern from it's home and sparks a flame, igniting the wick and scanning the area for any danger.

 

[Phoenix]

Taran will rifle through the paper, looking for any sign of anything going on. He will also attempt to find the name of some of the lead reporters, who may have heard any information yet to be published on this subject. Barring that, he will at least get an address and see if he can find his way to the paper's office.

Taran quickly flicks through the old paper, searching through the various articles for any information relating to his predicament, but unfortunately there is none. Following up on his next best lead, he looks under the headlines to see:

The Cryer: Room 18, Floor 6, Ulandian Spyre, The Apartments, Metropolis (No Hawkers)

It only takes a few more questions from the street people to get a location of the Ulandian Spyre, and within the hour both Taran and Twitchy have wound their way between the bases of the towers towards their goal.
The Ulandian Spyre looks like any of the other dishevelled buildings, long in need of repair, or demolition. Within the tower the debris of civilization spill out of the rooms into the corridors and stairwells, making progress to the sixth floor harder for one who needs to climb across barriers of broken furniture.
Room 18 has a small unassuming door with a wooden plaque that seems to have been hand carved, though obviously by someone with no carving skills whatsoever.

The Cryer
Business Hours: 7​

Before Taran's hand reaches to knock on the flimsy door it opens swiftly, revealing a small gnome with white hair and twisted spectacles. He sticks his head out into the hall and looks back and forth for a moment, ignoring the small druid and his friend.

"Oh dear," he sqeaks, before slamming the door again.

From each side of Taran a small group of humanoids stride down the corridor carrying bats, knives, maces and handaxes. One group numbers five half-orcs dressed in tattered black business attire, the other group are five half-elves dressed in blue studded leather armour.

"Oi, what you doin' 'ere?" One of the half-orcs calls out.

"Are you referring to us? We are here on business." The half-elves respond.

"Bremmen tol' us you might try an' stop us!"

"Oh? And I suppose he also said that Mr Zimmerman is behind all this?"

"Dam righ' 'e did..."

The two groups stare each other down for a moment and the tension in the corridor rises. With the exchange of words and the gripping of weapons, Taran and Twichy have been ignored for the moment, buying them time to act...