Ptolus: The Tenth Precinct

[Trench]

Kinkade tries to evade the blow and restrain the speaker. "It didn't have to be this way," he says. In his daily life, the protestor often proclaims he's a thinker, not a fighter. This means his thoughtful punch goes wide. Kinkade, however, easily manages to slip behind him and bend the orator's arm behind his back.

Seeing his opportunity, Benson grabs the orator's other arm to slap the manacles on it before pushing him down to the ground and locking them completely.

Wondering about the face that was peeking out from the pastry shop, Felix had begun to head over that way when the riot breaks out. He abruptly turns around and check to see if it's deadly or simply a brawl. He sees mostly punches and kicks thrown as he escorts a teenager out of the mob. The cleric thinks he catches glimpses of a foundry hammer or small chisel in the mob, but none of them connect for any lasting injury if they exist.

Elissa backs towards the Tower guards, making sure to keep out of arms reach of the mob. Her hand is still on her dagger inside her cloak ready to defend herself, but it's still not as sharp as the contempt in her voice as she sneers at the guard, "Way to instigate a riot, idiot! What's your name? I'm reporting you to your captain when I see him!"

"We- we have our orders!" the nervous guard pulls his sword and brandishes it at Elissa, the mob, or anyone. The other guard does likewise, although more calmly. "I don't see you helping any!" he says.

"Do your orders include keeping out those summoned to this tower for the new project?" Elissa drops her pack next to the guard with the face full of blood. "Do something right, watch over this." She swaps her dagger for a sap and looks for an opening as the mob sways around them.

Barely able to catch his breath, Cipke realizes they are in a full-blown riot. First thing he does is locate his partner. Deevoly backs away from the lout just in time to see him tackled at the knees by a young woman. She finds herself with her back to Cipke, who stands firm amidst the chaos.

Baeril turns, disappointed, from the pastry shop facade, looking at the incipent street violence.

"Ach, that's no way to behave! This is what happens when one does not have access to delicious pastry. But still, there is no excuse for such behavior."

He walks toward the mob, intent on giving them a piece of his mind. His hand slips into a folded pouch in a belly pocket inside the placket of his lederhosen. His fingertips find a pinch of sand, and begin gathering it. It's been explained to him that he can't just go casting magic on citizens willy-nilly, but honestly, this simply is no way to behave.

Surrounded by a flurry of kicks, punches, and the occasional foreign object everyone finds themselves dodging blows meant for others. Perhaps it is because of this fact that the Watch are not the focus of the battle that almost everyone manages to evade injury. The nimble Elissa ducks many missed blows, although the nervous guard behind her take a solid elbow to the face, causing him to double over holding back the geyser of blood. Kinkade finds the protestor serving as a human shield, while Baeril is still far enough away from the action to avoid injury. Felix's armor prevents any lasting injury also. Cipke barely evades an angry Mason's fist and looks back to his partner gasping in pain as a two by four misses it's original target and collides with her shin. Likewise, a bottle flies overhead and shatters on the wall next to Benson, causing his forehead to bleed with tiny cuts.

Baeril clucks his tongue in disappointment and throws the sand into the air. A pair of men exchanging blows in front of him fall to the ground, as does the errant two by four wielder.

But the melee proves to be the least of their problems. Although losing four combatants lessens the violence and theoretically makes the mob more likely to listen to reason, it also gives the crowd more room to move. As the crowd pushes and shoves, the party finds themselves struggling to keep their balance. Once again, Elissa's Guild training keeps her upright and Deevoly and Cipke similarly have little trouble standing while supporting each other back to back. Kinkade keeps himself standing, but Benson barely manages to prevent himself from falling by bracing himself against a nearby wall, just as a wrestling pair falls in front of his feet.

Baeril backs up against the pastry shop to avoid contact with the mob, but the sleeping pair in front of him has opened a hole in crowd. The dwarf comes screaming out of the chaos, holding the redheaded Mason in a headlock as the two hurtle toward the gnomish tourist. Baeril tries to dodge out of the way, but the tiny gnome is carried backward into the pastry shop window. Glass shatters around the trio and a woman's voice screams from inside the shop. When the limbs are untangled, the dwarf takes another swing at the redhead, who sports a jagged gash along his cheek. But it's the gnome lying on the ground, blood pooling as shards of glass stick out of his lederhosen.

 

[Trench]

Watching his partner being struck by a 2 by 4 makes Cipke angry.

"THAT IS ENOUGH! GUARDSMEN, HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!"

Holding the stick of butter up, as if it were a sword, he puts his back to the tower as he casts Grease on the mob encroaching them.

Cipke's fury focuses on a stocky woman holding a slight man and kneeing him repeatedly in the stomach and groin. The butter sizzles in the transmuter's hand and the ground uner the fighting pair shines. Both of them fall to the ground and slide on their hands and knees trying to gain any footing.

Benson wipes his forehead to keep the blood from running into his eyes. "Get him inside!" he shouts over the sound of the crowd, indicating the manacled man. His sap is in his hand in a flash, ready to cover Kinkade's withdrawal.

At the same time, he lifts the whistle that hangs around his neck and gives the standard signal for backup. Hopefully any guards still in the tower will react to it and join the defense.

Keeping an out out for weapons, Felix saw the whole incident with the two by four, including Baeril's successful Sleep spell and the gnome's entry into the pastry shop. He makes his way to the shop as fast as he can.

Felix reaches the dwarf just as he gets his jaw broken by his opponent. The Ironworker staggers back and the Mason leaps on top of him, letting Felix reach the dying gnome without trouble. The cleric is thankful to his deity for the permission to wear armor as he kneels down in broken glass. Mumbling a quick prayer, he places a hand on the gnome's head and Bahumut hear it. The wounds close rapidly and the gnome is surprised to find himself on the ground.

The crowd has shrunk now, although none of them seem to be stopping their attacks. Benson lets out a shrill whistle while swinging at one of the rioters, but the man was already moving toward another target and the sap merely grazes him. He holds his head, turns around and snarls at the watchman.

A ruddy faced man screaming something about masonry takes a step back in front of Elissa and lifts a chisel in the air. The sap connects with his skull with a satisfyingly meaty thud and the man falls to the ground.

Hearing Benson's whistle, the other guard looks at his fallen partner and swears. He opens the watchtower door and runs inside, slamming it behind him.

"Wha--? Your partner had better be coming back with friends!" Elissa hisses in anger.

Meanwhile, the gnome sits back and looks in front of him wide-eyed. "My goodness, what a mess! What sort of person would do this to a pastry shop?" Baeril says as he climbs to his feet and dusts himself off. "And to think, I was just hoping to look through a big spyglass today. One certainly doesn't know what to expect in Ptolus."

He looks in vain for the shop owner.

"I will be right back to help you sweep up. My grandmother taught me a very efficient technique for sweeping every last little bit of a mess. But there might be someone else out there who doesn't appreciate a pastry, although honestly, someone who doesn't appreciate a pastry," Baeril grunts, as he climbs back out through the window, "Someone like that ought to be more pitied than hated. Sort of like stone giants, always going 'Pahrump, pahrump, pahrump, I'm a great big giant, look at my enormous feet, I have a blister the size of goat, pahrump, pahrump, pahrump.'"

He reaches back inside his inside pocket, this time tearing open a wax paper packet and pulling out a handful of colored sand, which he will throw at the rioters when close enough.

Baeril climbs out the broken window to throw the colored sand at a small group of people who've moved toward the pastry shop. The sand explodes in a burst of color and two of them fall to the ground staring at the sky. Another stops moving and blinks furiously, unable to move.

Deevolly hangs back among the fallen bodies and begins shouting. "Everyone please! Settle down! You do NOT want to be hurting each other! These are your neighbors, friends, and fellow Ptolans! Please, be rational, think! You know this is not a good idea. There are other ways of making your point!"

The mob has now condensed toward the middle of the street, away from the pastry shop and the two two Oldtown guards and forming a tight clot around Deevoly and Cipke. The remaining rioters seem to sense their weakened numbers and look up at Deevoly's words. Some of them start looking at each other, plainly considering calling it a day.

"That's right . . .you guys are great. My uncle was a guildsman and there are few men of more common sense and goodness. This is a misunderstanding, probably related to some delver magic mishap. Go home or back to work now and there will be no problems."

Kinkade continues backing out of the crowd with his human shield. When he hears Deevoly, he joins in after she's finished. "Guildsmen! Hear me! The Watch has committed itself to getting to the bottom of Frickard's death and finding a peacable solution for all concerned parties!"

The participants look around at each other and grumble, although many seem to think that the small girl in their midst is making sense. One of the guildmembers even tries to smile at her. A few of them start making their way off into the side streets.

Benson looks up as he hears a whistle sounds sounding somewhere in the distance. The remaining mob hears it as well, and recognize the sound of the City Watch. A few warning shouts and the rest of them scatters, threading their way into alleys and down streets.

The dwarf and the redheaded Mason stare at each other, huffing from exertion. Both of their eyes dart toward the cleric staring them down, and then perk up as they hear the whistle. The scowl at each other for a moment and bolt, the Mason climbing out the window and running down Constable Way and the dwarf taking off toward a back door in the pastry shop.

From under an upturned sweets table, Felix hears a sniffle.

With the riot resolved, Baeril turns and climbs back in the pastry shop, intent on helping clean up and, then, buying pastry.

Looking past the victim, the young noble incants a brief spell and commands the dwarf to approach with a booming voice.

The dwarf practically trips over himself changing course. He looks shocked as he finds himself compelled to walk toward Felix.
After a few seconds of leading the dwarf outside the shop, Felix waits for him to catch up. He then firmly grabs a hold of the back of the dwarf's collar and guides him toward someone in City Watch garb.

"Excuse me! This man is responsible for property damage in the shop behind me and also some personal injury. Also, there is someone still inside that shop that may require assistance."

"Phew!" Cipke says as the crowd disperses. He wipes his hands with a small handkerchief (Deevoly can see it has his initials sewn in blue string) and says to her partner "Fancy way to greet us."

Watching the crowd begin to disperse, Benson tucks his sap away. As long as no one else is trying to start trouble, he's fine with letting them go. Right now, he's more interested in the man whose ranting started this all. He picks up a crumpled broadsheet from the ground and approaches Kinkade and the prisoner.

"Well, you've had quite a productive morning, sir," he says, holding up the paper and pointing to the large SCRIBE MARTYR FOR THE PEOPLE! headline. "Now, my partner and I aren't from this district - we're from Oldtown. So why don't you tell me all about this Cadderly Frickard? He died four days ago? How? And what's this 'Writer's Ball' he was working on? Is that an object or an event?"

Kinkade turns his still somewhat shellshocked prisoner around to face the two of them. "Why don't we just start with your name and work our way up, hm?"

The protestor looks defiant as he puffs up his pigeon chest. "Frickard was a visionary, unlike those who buckle to the traditional system. Your slavemasters most likely have the Writer's Ball in their mansions. You can't hide the truth forever!"

Kinkade grabs the protestor's face gently and aligns it with his until the two of them make eye contact. He speaks in low, soothing tones. "Listen to me, chum. We aren't your enemies, so let's try to get together to work this out. Still waiting on that name."

"Olaf Gehlschmut," the protestor says proudly. Clearly, being in trouble with the law confirms opinions he holds about both the government and himself.

Baeril slips back into the shop to see a large woman peeking from over the table, many of her sweets on display crushed into the floor and linens.

The dwarf stands shocked at his behavior and he shakes himself as the spell expires. He easily breaks away from Felix's grasp and starts running, but stops short as he sees three Watchmen running down the street while another pair come from the other direction. He snarls at Felix and holds his hands up in submission. The watchmen run up and find over half a dozen people on the ground either asleep, hypnotized, or unconscious.

Everyone turns as the watchtower door slams. Coming out with the one guard is a large man in plate mail, wearing a yellow sash and shield insignia. He's intimidatingly big, but his shaved head, chubby cheeks, and twinkling eyes almost make him look like a toddler.

That illusion is dispelled as soon as he opens his mouth and a gravelly voice comes out. He looks down to the guard with the broken nose at his feet.

"Just what in the Nine Hells is going on here?" Captain Wibert snarls.

 

[Trench]

Real Life has been all sorts of busy so updates have been non-existent. Sorry about that.

The Big Book has a neat set of rules concerned mobs. Basically it's a human swarm, with an attack roll for damage and a required Balance check to prevent from falling over and taking even more damage by being trampled. Baeril failed his check and got thrown through a window- ie enough damage to take a fragile wizard out of commission.

How to defuse a swarm isn't to fight it, but to succeed on two separate Diplomacy checks- the DC of which is increased by the number of people. Deevolly being the "face" person has a hefty Diplomacy and was able to easily calm the mob once the majority were taken out by a variety of spells.

I kind of liked the idea of the first duty of the Tenth being a very standard police duty- calming a mob.

And those who have experience in old 2E Dungeon mags may be recognizing the plot of this adventure.... As if the name hadn't given it away.

 

[Trench]

"You had a bit of a riot going on, sir," reports Benson, his tone clearly conveying that he's less than impressed with the Watchmen of the Guildsman District. "We've got your instigator here." He shoves Olaf forward a step.

Meanwhile, Baeril slips back into the shop to see a large woman peeking from over the table, many of her sweets on display crushed into the floor and linens.

"I'm sorry about your pastry shop. If you have a broom, my Oma showed me a way to sweep up that's very efficient and I can get this placed cleaned up so schnell wie ein Häschen. My apartment is at 338 Fairbriar Street, and if you bring me the bill for the window, I'll pay you back. In the meantime, if you have some surviving pastries, I'd like to buy ... oh, a dozen. I'm going to meet some watchmen and I find that everyone enjoys a little bit of pastry, although I suppose that dwarf earlier didn't have appreciation for pastries. That's very strange. I wonder what my Oma would think. Oh, I probably need a dozen pastries for me as well. Where was that broom?"

Elissa breathes a sigh of relief: the middle of a rioting mob is no place to be for a small thief. She puts her sap away and turns back to retrieve her pack. "Thank you, oh gallant guardsman! My gratitude knows no bounds!" She mockingly genuflects in front of the injured watchman.

While Wibert surveys the scene, Felix quietly relays the events to one of the watchmen present. The Watchman nods at Felix and sends two others to the pastry shop to clear away some of the debris and broken glass. They find the owner of the shop incredulously staring at Baeril before she angrily tosses a crueller at him. One of the watchman ushers the confused gnome out of the shop.

Captain Wibert stares with contempt at Olaf. "Damned Republicans... This true Galdral?" he asks the guard who fetched him.

"Sir, he just started going on in front of the Tower. It wasn't hurting anyone... till- till the crowd formed and-"

Wibert's cheeks flush, "You didn't think a crowd would be a problem right now? Well then why don't you take Mimfred here," he points to the bloody-nosed guard "And patrol the Midden Heaps for trouble? MOVE DAMMIT or I'll make you wish your daddy pulled out early!" He screams as Watchman Galdral opens his mouth. The two guards take off running as Wibert surveys the scene.

" 'Mimfred'? Oh, that figures!" Elissa mocks the bloodied guard scornfully.

"Dayton," Captain Wibert says to the guard talking to Felix, who snaps to attention. "Get the bodies out of the street and stay till they wake up. I want four guards posted out front and anyone so much as blows their nose you help them get the snot out and you send them packing. Am I understood?"

The guard nods and starts organizing the guard. Wibert looks over to the dwarf and grimaces. "You're killing me here Girnoril," Wibert says.

"Not my problem Captain," the dwarf smiles.

Wibert looks away. "Get moving."

The dwarf looks smugly at Felix, spits at his feet and starts walking away. The Captain of the Guildsman District looks over the strangers with distaste. "I suppose you all want to come in then."

"I guess that's up to you, sir," Benson replies, producing a sealed envelope. "Captain Schenk says we're supposed to hand this over when we get here. Wasn't particularly clear about who exactly was supposed to be receiving it, though."

Captain Wibert takes the envelope and opens it before Benson can say otherwise. As he reads, his face grows more and more crimson. He crumples the letter in one hand and looks at his boots for a full minute, his breathing sounding like an angry bull. When he looks up at Benson, he looks ready to murder someone.

"Yeah," he growls, "I guess you are coming in." He spins on his heels and storms into the watchtower.

Cipke, oblivious to the captain's anger, motions to Deevoly so they can enter the tower.

Benson looks at Kinkade and shrugs, then follows the captain, stopping only briefly to scoop up the crumpled note.

Kinkade and Olaf stare at each other for a moment, the protestor smirking disdainfully.

"Let's you and I have a chat inside, shall we?" Munro finally says.

 

[Trench]

Wibert is so obviously my excuse to have a snarling angry Police Captain that has all the best lines.

 

[Trench]

As the group follow the captain inside, the watchmen find the layout very familiar. A basic, military-style tower with benches and racks of weapons line the walls. A desk with a harried desk sergeant looks across at them as they pass by cells that are packed full. Usually, they would be full of the drunk or ignorant. This time each cell is packed with men and women of all sorts, with a tired guard watching over each cell to make sure they don't kill each other.

Wibert looks back and is annoyed to see the shackled protestor following. "Dammit boy," he snaps at Munro "You couldn't have just taken him out back and given him a kicking? Hells... Just toss him in the privy for now. Least there's some room in there."

The stairs upstairs lead up to the barracks on the second floor, which they pass by. As they reach the third, the turn left and enter an office.

Inside sitting at the desk is one of the Commisar's Men, recognizable from the darker shade of blue of his livery. To his right stands another Captain of the Watch, this one an old man. To his left are two more Captains, one with a thick black beard and another sitting in a chair with long blonde hair and glasses- the latter wearing black and blue studded leather armor in defiance of the standard issue plate mail for captains.

The blonde Midtown captain winks at Deevoly, which ellicits a cleared throat from the Commisar's Man. The bearded captain's jaw has dropped as he sees Baeril and Elissa and his face turns purple. This seems to cheer up Captain Wibert as he stands next the older captain- who simply looks bored.

The Commisar's Man clears his throat again. "My name is Dante Jurgen. I was wondering..." he looks pointedly at Captain Wibert, who can barely hide his smirk "If perhaps you could introduce yourselves?"

Baeril bounces forward, and grasps the Commisar's Man hand and begins pumping it furiously.

"Baeril Nebehed Callad Segerf Wanderwild Underhill, at your service. How pleasant to meet you. Your uniform is very smart, your mother must be very proud. My mother always said that a sharp uniform reflects well on the one who wears it. My brother wears this red uniform and this tall furry hat, and he goes marching back and forth defending the border, badda-dump, badda-dump, badda-dump, badda-dump!"

Baeril demonstrates, marching back and forth, his arms and legs stiff, swinging like a child's wooden toy soldier.

"I'm here about the wagon burglary. There's quite a lot of watchmen here -- you know, they never say there's one about when you need one and, ho ho, look, they're all over the place when I need one, so let me tell you, I'll be correcting people next time they say that -- and I was just hoping you could loan me, oh, six or seven and we'd pop over to Fairbriar Street and help that man find out who burglarized his wagon. There's pastry in it for them."

He beams up at the soldier, smiling hopefully.

Wibert chuckles at the gnome's introduction and the bearded captain turns more violet as his hands ball into fists. Jurgen looks flummoxed but recovers enough to glare again at Wibert.

"Thank you. We'll... certainly look into that."

"Sir," Kinkade says, clearing his throat in the awkward silence that follows. "Kinkade Munro of Oldtown. Eager to do my part."

"Cipke Arnag, sir. I am watch mage for Midtown, but I grew up around this district."

"Elissa Gladesmere. Security Consultant from Qualin's Books. You asked us to send a representative, and here I am." Elissa gives the bearded captain a penetrating glare, as she hands the opened invitation bearing the Watch seal back to the Commisar's man.

"Hi!" Deevolly smiles widely. "Deevolly Bencez. Midtown born and raised." She returns her Captain's conspiratory wink.

"Benson Gallaway, Oldtown," the watchman says curtly. He's still more interested in getting a crack at interrogating Olaf than exchanging pleasantries.

"Felix Dallimothan. I come as a representative of the Flight of Bahamut and House Dallimothan. I am at your disposal."

Most of captains nod politely at the formalities, but all of them start as Felix mentions his name. Only the Commisar's Man seems unsurprised by the young noble's presence.

"And on behalf of the Commissar, I thank you and the great House of Dallimothan for their offer of help to this venture.

Jurgen nods to Elissa as he looks over the open letter, Wibert's smug grin fading as he does so. "Well gentlemen," Jurgen says. "That settles it. Captain Schenk has voted 'yea' to the proposal." The bearded captain looks defiantly at Wibert, who is ready to boil over.

"For those who are not acquainted, Captain Everard Wibert of the Guildsman District. Captain Edgar Nacthmann of the Temple District," Jurgen motions to the older captain. "And Captain Bartel Denton and Josef Herdling of the South Market and Midtown respectively." The bearded captain and the leather-wearing captain nod. "First," Jurgen continues. "I deeply thank you, all of you," Jurgen glances at the grimacing South Market captain. "For your help with the mob outside. As you can see, Ptolus is undergoing a bit of a crisis."

"Something they wouldn't have had to see if we met in the South Market as I requested," Captain Denton says.

"If I'm gonna have strangers sh*t in my house, then I'll damn well show them the state of the privy!" Wibert barks back.

"That is enough from both of you," Jurgen snaps. Captain Denton simmers quietly.

"You aren't my boss, Lieutenant." Wibert snarls.

"No," Jurgen replies. "But I report directly to the man who is."

The only thing that punctuates the uncomfortable silence is a nervous laugh from Captain Herdling.

Jurgen continues. "All of you have been selected to participate in a pilot program tentatively called 'The Tenth Precinct'. In theory, it is a 'floating' district- called to aid in special cases that supercede normal inquiry at the discretion of individual and, in the case of city-wide occurences, a majority of captains. As it this is an experiment, this will not as of yet replace your current watchman residency. It will simply be on an as needed basis. All of you will be compensated for your assistance, either in addition to your current salary or on retainer for those as of yet unaffiliated with the city government."

"Now, if this arrangement is unacceptable to any of you or you have any questions, please speak up."

 

[Trench]

Baeril raises his hand, and waits for Jurgen to point to him in exasperation.

"There's been a bit of a mistake. I was simply reporting the wagon burglary, I'm not a watchman myself. And I don't know that a task force is necessary, although I'm sure that poor man will appreciate all the effort being shown on his behalf. Alle für ein, eins für alle, as they say."

Wibert lifts a hand up to hide his smirk, but fails. Jurgen stares at Baeril for a long moment. He looks to Wibert. 'Mister Underhill raises a very good question Captain. Why is he here?"

Wibert suddenly gets very serious. 'Well, Lieutenant. You said to pick from a list of any watchmen in the City. Mister Underhill was deputized three weeks ago by a watchman of the Temple District."

This causes the first reaction Captain Nachtmann has had throughout the entire proceeding. "We what?" he says.

"Oh yeah," Wibert smirks. "Apparently one of your men went to the trouble of deputizing Mister Underhill here to send him on... what were they... 'special missions'? The fact that these 'missions' prevented Mister Underhill from following him and other clerics of the District for the entire day asking questions I'm sure is a coincidence."

"You..." Captain Denton sputters, apoplectic with rage.

Wibert continues and addresses Baeril. "The Commisar said that a majority of watch captains had to agree for this pilot. And certain parties made concessions to other parties in order to gain their... approval."

"You are one of the men, I'm sorry, gnome who I have *personally* selected for this mission." Wibert looks to Denton. "I'm sure you will be more than competent."

At that moment Captain Herdling had to jump out of his seat to restrain Denton from leaping across the room. Jurgen remained silent for a long moment as Wibert looked stonefaced.

"The Commisar will hear about this Captain," Jurgen says slowly.

Wibert smiles. "I welcome it. Lieutenant."

 

[Trench]

Readers who have the Big Book and read every inch can probably guess what the source (well, one of them anyway) of the tension between Wibert and Denton is.

I was quite surprised that the Big Book had very little detail on the Watch Captains. Only three had names even, so that really gave me the chance to have some fun creating an NPC for each position. I have basic notes on every captain, although some have more detail as the campaign crosses paths with some.

And since some of the PC's are reading this very thread, I won't be revealing everything that goes on here. Least not yet.

 

[Trench]

"Captain Denton, I would like you to leave for the moment."

"WHAT?" Denton hisses. Jurgen holds up his hands.

"I shall discuss this with BOTH of you. LATER. But right now, I would like Wibert to brief our men without fear of being assualted."

The two captains stare at each other before Denton spins on his heel and slams the door behind him, much as Wibert did at the Watchtower entrance.

"Captain Wibert, brief the men, *without* commentary. Is that clear?"

Wibert nods, clearly satisfied that he has already made his point.

"Four days ago, a scribe and professional penmaker named Cadderly Frickard was murdered in the South Market. Since then, the guilds have been at each other's throats."

"Guy was a penpusher. As far as we know, he never bothered anyone. About two weeks ago, the guilds had their monthly inter-guild meeting. Talking about tariffs, taxes, and of course gold. There's always at least one fight, so we always send a few watchmen to keep them civil. Least until they leave. And I'm there just to keep in the guild's good graces. At the end of the night when they asked for any further points of order, Frickard walked up with a box and a petition for the Ironworkers Guild.

Apparently, there was this old bylaw in the guild books that any new mechanical innovation that wanted to be mass produced had to seek formal permission of the Ironworker's Guild. It was mostly just a formality, but no one has done so for damn near a century. Hells, I don’t know which musty history book Frickard found this in, but apparently he felt it the polite thing to do.

Turns out he may as well have set a bomb off for all the damage he caused.

Reports get... sketchy here. I couldn't see it very well from the back, but what it seemed to be was some sort of personalized printing press no bigger than an end table. I saw a ball that he tapped and it put printed words on a paper underneath it. It was like a press, except the print happened... I don't know, immediately. What's more, it was small and simple enough that anyone could fit it in their home. He printed a few pages, quick as you or I could write a letter with a quill or pen, quicker even, and passed them around all proud-like.

Everyone. I mean, EVERYONE lost their gods damned minds.

Now maybe he'd have gone over better with the gear-lickers, but this was the guilds. The Printer's Guild started screaming about "copywright infringement". The Ironworkers acted proud at first, but then started yelling that they should get the lion's share of the profits given it was made mostly metal. This got the Masons protesting. The Sage's Guild starting debating about the "death of specialized knowledge" and..."

Well that was the first riot.

Scribe's Guild formed a day later. Specifically with Frickard off the charter and demanding the destruction of the Writing Ball for "deviant and malicious intent to undermine the foundation of caligraphy itself." Frickard hid in his South Market shop the next few days. He got plenty of visitors. Some begging him to share his invention, other begging him to destroy it. Some were nicer than others. After a week, he was in and out. Maybe meeting with some of the guilds, or just trying to get a moment's peace from them. We don't know.

Four days ago he was shot in the face while he slept.

The day after that, the guilds started blaming each other for the murder. The fights here spread to the guild-affiliated shops in the South Market. A few incidents have now been reported in the North Market, and Herdling says we've seen some spill over into the edges of Midtown. And Nachtmann has seen some trouble too, ever since the Temple of Locharit claimed the body and protestors started migrating there. Apparently, their religion claims they can only bury their dead on certain days- which happens to be tomorrow. So with any luck, their problems will clear up once they dump the stiff in the Necropolis. But that still leaves the rest of the city.

So, your first mission is pretty simple. Find out who killed Cadderly Frickard so we can publicly execute the bastard and hopefully stop the guilds from killing each other.

Now's a good time for questions."

 

[Trench]

So the plot is lifted entirely from Dungeon magazine #29, Willie Walsh's own "Mightier Than the Sword". I loved Willie's adventures and when I started flipping through old issues for inspiration for a crime campaign, this one jumped out at me. Rather than having it be set in a sleepy hamlet, we have it in Ptolus.

It's kind of astonishing how little of the skeleton I had to change. I really just had to change the locale and some names, and update the technology (Frickard created a fountain pen in the original adventure, but in a world where printing presses are a given that wouldn't work. Here, I had him create this.

Also, there's one set of major players I inserted into the adventure. People familiar with Ptolus can probably guess who.