# Ptolus: The Tenth Precinct



## Trench (Mar 14, 2008)

*Chapter 1

Mightier Than the Sword*​

It's the 2nd of Rain in 721. They say every month is the month of Rain in Ptolus, and today was no exception. A light drizzle keeps the streets wet and the familiar smell of damp clothes mingles with the daily aromas of each district.

It hasn't been terribly eventful in the city. Giant bats swarmed out of the Clock Tower in Oldtown earlier in the week and the Watch spent most of their time clearing out belfries, towers, and eaves throughout the city. Rumors say that the Iron Mage had been sighted floating above the Docks, making the dockworkers nervous and the rest of the city wonder what he's waiting for. House Shever announced that within the year, they may offer rides in their airship to anyone who can afford the exorbitant ticket price (a fact the Midtown Partisan broadsheet read as a pathetically obvious attempt to stem the hemorrhage of money from the once powerful house. It's widely assumed a paid rebuttal from The Noble Record will be forthcoming).

This end of the week already seems different, however. There are rumblings in the city that something has begun to strain the City Watch's control over their districts. The Guildsman District has always been rough, but reports of increased violence have caused only those who have to work there to frequent it. Likewise, the normally quiet South Market has had reports of violence and even a riot. Shopkeepers and businessmen have complained of late that their sales have been off, just as the weather gets nicer from winter.

And if it's one thing the "Council of Coin" dislikes, it's something disrupting business...

~


Midtown is known to overwhelm the senses of tourists with all of its races and delvers and merchants running back and forth across the streets. But for a few moments, all anyone could see were wings. Gold, red and orange flapping in front of everyone's eyes and getting in their mouths. By the time everyone got their senses back, the swarm of butterflies that had been summoned was above their heads and trying to keep afloat under the light drizzle.

"That's me there!" an extremely inebriated elf says. A centaur carriage looks back toward the elf darkly and spits out a butterfly as his passengers swear and try to brush wet, crushed monarchs off their clothes. The elf sways back and forth while holding a shining golden rod speckled with gemstones. It jangles from the collection of odd trinkets tied to it as the elf swings it around to illustrate. Behind him are two giggling human girls, less inebriated than infatuated. "Ladies!" the elf slurs, "Behold my Rod of Wonder!"

The girls let loose peals of naughty laughter. A few yards away, Glanbrin Runeshield sighs and looks up to Deevoly and Cipke. "Great," the dwarven watchman says. "Another wand waver."

~


Felix knocks on the door tentatively before walking into Kristol's study. When he does, he sees the head of House Dallimothan reading in a large divan by the fireplace. The mantle is made of gold and carved into the shape of two dragons, whose necks bend down around the edge of the fireplace to breathe fire onto the wood when needed. As Felix walks in, Kristol looks up and smiles. He stands and his silver coat glimmers in the firelight.

"It wouldn't be fair to have you go to your first day of work without giving you our blessing now would it?"

~


"Come now brother," the human said in heavily accented Gnomish. "I'll give this to you for fifty Imperial. FIFTY. That's half off there Master Gnome."

In a unique turn of events, Baeril has had the same merchant follow HIM around for fifteen minutes. The salesman had actually done fairly well in the gnomish district selling trinkets that reminded the loresong faen of home, his trailer parked permanently in the alley by Erfjanraer's Instruments. But lately he had been trying to sell off his carriage/home to anyone who would walk by. Many of the gnomes walking by the pair shake their head and chuckle a little to themselves, as if enjoying a private joke.

"It's in perfect condition. And probably has more room than that apartment you're renting good sir."

~


The man they found just off Fetch Street reeked of gin. Most visitors to Oldtown notice the architecture first, with their old, solid stone buildings sporting domes, columns, and white wide steps. This is the city that Ptolus once was before it grew past the boundaries of the walls.

None of this the man notices as he throws up onto the side of one.

Benson and Kinkade look at each other expectantly, both thinking it's the other's turn.

~


The Longfingers Guild is not known for an abundance of traditional rules. The Guild itself is filled with traps that, while intended to keep out intruders, is also intended to test the thieves themselves. The leaders change their position and nature regularly.

Elissa finds herself wondering if this feeling of sitting outside the principal's office she is getting is one of those new traps. For five minutes, her keen hearing has picked up on the guild leader arguing with one of his spies behind the door of the meeting hall. A Halfling walks by and chuckles at her, only to have his chuckle turn sour as Elissa slaps his hand away from picking her pocket.

The door opens suddenly and Elissa finds herself staring at an elven woman with silver hair and a green tunic. She regards Elissa coldly.

"Get in."

~

Felix knocks on the door tentatively before walking into Kristol's study. When he does, he sees the head of House Dallimothan reading in a large divan by the fireplace. The mantle is made of gold and carved into the shape of two dragons, whose necks bend down around the edge of the fireplace to breathe fire onto the wood when needed. As Felix walks in, Kristol looks up and smiles. He stands and his silver coat glimmers in the firelight.

"It wouldn't be fair to have you go to your first day of work without giving you our blessing now would it?"


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## Trench (Mar 14, 2008)

_This here is the first installment of our PbP game set in Ptolus, that's been going pretty steadily since 2007. I was inspired by a post here long ago on ENWorld about a police procedural campaign and loved the idea so much I decided to put it into action.

For those familiar with the Ptolus setting, the city is divided into many districts, most of which have a watchtower, of which there are nine total. The "Tenth" is essentially about the special ops Watch. These first few introductory paragraphs are the first glimpse at our characters. I'll be detailing them more in-depth as they come up.

I started them off split up ,partly because I hate the cliche of "heroes meet in a bar" and I also wanted the players to get a sense of the different parts of the city. Ptolus is a rich setting and  find myself having to edit simply because there's too much cool stuff. And as players will do, they tend to go off the map more frequently than is planned.

Also, if anyone wants to put the comments in a separate thread, let me know and I'll create one._


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## Trench (Mar 15, 2008)

*Felix Dallimothan- The Noble's Quarter*​

"Ah... that's most generous, My Lord, "Felix says, bowing. Though taller than Kristol, he is unused to such personal attention from the head of his house, and so he is very much cowed by the man. The situation is especially surreal to the young man because he is standing before his elder in the newly-acquired garments and armor of Bahamut. He almost runs his hand through his short, blonde hair before he remembers protocol.

"Thank you for arranging this opportunity for me to serve both house and Bahamut, My Lord."

Even though Felix is sure that his assignment to assist with the civil enforcement group termed "The Tenth" has political ramifications he can't fathom, he is determined to make Bahamut and Dallimothan look good.

After a long pause whereby Kristol is merely studying Felix, the cleric bows again and takes one backstep towards the door to indicate his intention.

"Um, by your leave?"

Kristol smiles. "Of course."

As Felix turns to go, the head of the House sits again in his divan. "Do be careful Jakronet. It's a different city outside these walls."

Felix walks down the gilded halls of House Dallimothan and soon comes to the entry foyer. As always, a long brass table holds platters of sweets and glasses of sparkling wine for guests.

Nestlin Ka appears suddenly as always. "Would Young Master Jekronet require any pastries before heading out for today?"

"No thank you, Nestlin. I broke my fast earlier, and I'd best be off."

"Of course, Young Master."

Felix walks past the pastry-laden table before stopping and turning around.

"Nestlin?"

"Yes, Young Master?"

"I'm supposed to go to somewhere called the 'Guildsman Watchtower.' Where would that be?"

"I believe that would be the tower that the City Watch maintains in the Guildsman District."

"Of course. That would over... that way?"

"Unfortunately not, Young Master. I believe you're referring to the North Market District, which is just beyond the Temple District, from here. The Guildsman District would be just beyond the South Market District. In that direction."

"Ah. I see."

"Would the Young Master like me to hire a carriage for the journey?"

"Please."

Nestlin claps his hands twice. A deep rumbling echoes through the foyer.

"I will see that your carriage will be waiting outside the grounds. Do have a pleasant journey Young Master."

The Dallimothan major domo walks briskly away, leaving Felix to watch the widening light of Dallimothan Tower's gate opening. Felix walks outside once the door finishes opening.

The grounds of the Dallimothan estate seems somewhat small in comparison to the other houses. A white small wall surrounds a verdant, hilly expanse. In the distance, Felix can see some of his cosuins playing in the trees.

He turns around to see the estate's only building, currently on it's side. The Dallimothan Tower has no doors or windows, and the top of the tower looks like the head of a silver dragon- it's mouth currently open to let Felix walk out. Slowly, the mouth begins to close and the tower raises itself upright on massive hinges at the base- whatever ancient magics within keeping everything and everyone inside upright and intact. The fact that the inside of the tower bears no relation to it's outer dimensions seems almost mundane.

One of Felix's cousins runs up to him and tackles his leg, hugging it. He looks up with wide-eyes.

"Out dere?" he asks.

"Little Derit! You're getting so big!" Felix squats down and places a hand on his cousin's shoulder. He deliberately talks over his young cousin's incessant questions until the carriage he sees in the distance pulls up.

"Do not worry about me, for I have Bahamut to watch over me. And you have Io and all his house to watch over you! And you have Grandmama! Do what she tells you and all will be well!"

When the carriage pulls up, Felix gives young Derit a gentle push back into the yard and walks to the gate to talk to the waiting driver.

"To the Guildsman Tower, please, but I'd like to walk the last couple blocks, if you don't mind."

The old gentleman quickly gets down and opens the door for the noble. "Ah... Yes sir. You sure about that? It's... well it's not my place to question sir. Apologies."

He closes the door behind the confused Felix and spurs his horse. The carriage makes it's way quickly down the King's Road, passing the opulent Crown Theater. Just a week ago, Felix had seen "The Emperor's Eidolon"; an opera chronicling the (slightly fictionalized) love affair between the second emperor and an Uraqi princess.

The carrigage was just joining the Jewelled Road, passing House Abanar when Felix starts to hear an exasperated sigh next to him.

"I suppose it would be too much trouble to give your grandmother the courtesy of letting her see you off," Lady Vathere says. The old woman adjusts her jewelled shawl and looks out the carriage window as if she hadn't suddenly appeared from thin air. "I do understand it's quite the bother."

Felix smiles.

"Letting her see me off would require that I can see her, in return.

"Besides, it's not like I'm leaving the city. I'll just be... seeing more of it. And working to make it better.

Lady Vathere grimaces. "You assume Ptolus wants your charity."

"You're barely out of the nest and already... This city is cruel to people like us. You don't know this."

"Bahamut teaches that each being is capable of its own redemption, and His clerics are to help weather the storms along the way. This city can be cruel to anyone, and when someone out there looks for help, I will be there to lend Bahamut's aid."

Vathere shakes her head. "It is a great irony that you seem to have too much nobility in your blood."

The carriage has already wound it's way down past Dalenguard and is now quickly trotting through Oldtown. Vathere looks back to Felix. "We would simply appreciate the courtesy of you not dying. It's such a bother arranging a funeral."

Felix smiles again, but is content to let the rest of the ride pass in silence. As they near the Guildsman Tower, the carriage comes a halt.

"Until next time, Grandmama," Felix says as he climbs out and motions for the driver to stay seated. He bows to Lady Vathere from the street before closing the carriage door and waving for the driver to return to House Dallimothan.

With that, Felix settles his winged helm onto his head and starts walking towards the tallest structure that's in the same direction the carriage was moving.

The carriage driver pretends not to notice Felix bowing to what he assumes is an empty carriage. As Felix walks off, a giant gust of wind blows the garbage on the street forward, followed by a series of smaller gusts. "Careful sir!" The carriage driver says, "The weather seems to be picking up!"


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## Trench (Mar 15, 2008)

_As you will see, the Tenth is a motley crew in places. Seven total, four watchmen (for now) and a few odd hangers on. All of the players got the Player's Guide to Ptolus and created characters based on that.

Felix's player is the cleric. Lawful Good Bahamut and all that. House Dallimothan is one of the bigger noble houses in Ptolus and as those familiar with the setting know, they are certainly a bit more than your average nobles. Most of the city has heard rumors about the house being very friendly with dragons, even occasionally seeing one on the grounds. I was pretty happy to have the obvious hooks jump into my lap just by him wanting to play a slightly naive noble cleric who's not entirely aware of the world outside the Estate walls._


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## Trench (Mar 17, 2008)

*Deevolly Bencez and Cipke Arnag- Midtown*​


Deevolly approaches the inebriated elf and smiles winningly. "Wow! Whatcha got there?"

The elf grins at Deevoly, which causes a few scowls by the girls behind him. "ISh... It's a rod. It DOES things!"

The elf stamps the rod into the ground once. The gems sparkle and his head lolls as he peers around him. "LOOK! I made it RAIN!"

"Delvers," Runeshield mutters to Cipke. "They should get permits for those things. It's cute when it's all butterflies and glowing fire, but sooner or later he'll cycle around to a fireball. Kid better know what's she's doing." He turns to the Watch mage. "Keep him from setting it off if you can, but mostly get the longears to turn it over. He won't listen to a dwarf, so I'm heading out for backup in case he summons an elephant like the last one."

"Oooooh!" Deevolly coos. "I've seen those before! Have you found the 'fun' button? You know . . .," she whispers close to his ear. "The one that makes you feel really good?"

The elf goes cross-eyed looking at Deevoly. "HAve I!"

He stamps the ground again and the gems flash. A shower of colored, shimmering lights burst in front of him, almost blinding Deevoly. A merhcant cries out and holds his hands in front of his eyes, now unable to see and tripping over his wares. Likewise, Runeshield finds himself blundering about, suddenly blinded and swearing in Dwarven. Cipke averts his eyes, but still finds himself looking at spots for a moment.

"No, not that, silly!" Deevolly chides. "It's a hidden switch . . .you have to twist the . . here, let me show you.

"Nooooo!" he slurs, drunkenly pulling the rod away. "I... I FOUND it... Down there... We, my team had an adventure! We got gold... and. And gold..."

"I don't want to keep it!" Deevolly smiles and puts her hand on his arm. "I can't use these things anyway. But there's this switch that makes you feel . . .you know . . .REALLY good . . ."

The elf looks decidedly suspicious. But maybe it's the hand on his arm or the alcohol, but Deevoly can see him begin to wonder...

"Ah... Really?"

"Hey," One of the girls snarls at Deevoly. "No one asked you for help! He's just fine!"

Runshield swears as he trips over a pile of dead butterflies. Cipke's eyes clear up in time to see oarnge and red wings poke out of his beard and the wizard swears in dwarven as his eyesight returns. Then he approaches Deevoly and the man.

"Hey! I'm a skilled appraiser. I'll take a look at the rod and I'll tell you what else it can do. I know someone who has a store that can pay top gold for it."

"Really?" the elf says to Cipke. Inexplicably, he seems to buy the wizard's tale.

"Yeah. I grew up minding a store couple of minutes from here. I couldn't even see above the counter and I was telling cloaks of charisma from cloaks of stealth. Let me see the markings."

"AHA!" Cipke says, his manner all jovial. "I have found how to activate the fun button!"

"Really?" the elf asks quietly. "Where?"

"That's where it gets complicated," Cipke winks toward his partner Deevolly. "It needs to be held by an elf, a human and a dwarf. Human holds the base, elf holds the middle and dwarf holds the tip." 

"Now that's just stupid..." the elf slurs.

Cipke shrugs. "Yeah. It's not the stupidest thing I've ever read. You'd never believe what the One Ring required to be activated: it had to be carried between the thighs of a virgin halfling. Do you know how hard it is to find a virgin halfling?"

"If you don't believe me, we can go to that store and you can have it appraised free of charge. No big deal. I grab the base, you hold the middle with your right hand and a dwarf..." he signals the dwarven Watchmen to approach "...holds the tip."

"Once we have it, you have to close your eyes and push the button with your left hand. I'll guide your hand."

The elf narrows his eyes but slowly extends the rod out to Cipke.

"Do you speak dwarvish?." Cipke says in dwarvish to the elf.

"What?" the elf asks, confused.

"Pefect," Cipke says. "Runey," the wizard says in dwarvish. "You pull this rod out of his hands when we go."

Runeshield blinks as his vision begins to return. "I what?" the dwarf says.

"Starting the process," Cipke says in Imperial. "Grab the rod in the middle." He says with a grin. "Sir, grab it. Twist to the left on my mark." "Now, I grab here, he grabs there and you're one incantation away from ecstasy."

The dwarven Watchman looks at Cipke incredulously. "I never plan on holding an elf's rod. Especially one that could electrocute me at random. Are you serious?"

"Almost ready!" Cipke ignores the dwarf, much to the amusement of his partner Dee. "Close your eyes!" He says to the elf in a singsong voice. He places his hand abovethe elf's hand and motions the Watchman to take the lower 'safe' part.

"If I'm burnt to a crisp, it's on you Arnag."

The dwarf grabs the end of the rod with a snarl. The elf starts to say something, but it's too late. In his inebriated state, Cipke easily plucks his hand off the rod. Likewise, Runeshield manages to wrestle it away from the elf without it activating.

The elf sadly looks at his rod in the hands of an angry dwarf. "It didn't work..."

The girls behind him snort in disgust and begin walking off.

"There's been a streak of Rods of Wonder going soft after 3 or 4 discharges." Cipke says to the sad elf. "Don't worry, we shall see about that later." As he sees Runeshield move away with the Rod, he gives the elf a side-by-side hug as he walks him towards the Watchtower. "What say you we go and draft a complaints letter?"

"Oh I got the nancy elf, Arnag don't you worry," Glanbrin grabs the elf by the scruff of the neck (which is exactly as uncomfortable as it sounds). Many of the shopkeepers grumble to themselves as they sweep dead butterflies off their shelves and awnings.

"Good work, Cipke," Deevolly smiles.

"You're welcome, Dee.


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## Trench (Mar 17, 2008)

_Our next pair is Cipke and Deevolly. Cipke's a human transmuter specialist and Dee is a feytouched Investigator- a special class from Penumbra's "Crime and Punishment" book. If you guys ever want to do a police campaign, or really any campaign with an emphasis on cops and robbers or the law- then I can't recommend this book enough..

The feytouched thing hasn't really played a large part in the campaign to this date- four adventures in. But that's about to change in the next few adventures..._


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## Trench (Mar 17, 2008)

_I should also add that our portrayal of Delvers here is pretty much the norm. From a police perspective, the city puts up with adventurers because they bring in so much money- but they're considered annoyances at best. I think the idea of Delvers as mostly being greedy opportunistic frat boys with swords, loot, and too much time on their hands is something we revisit often in the campaign._


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## Trench (Mar 17, 2008)

*Baeril Underhill- Fairbriar*​

"You probably should look for one of the quickling faen, sir," Baeril says when he can get a word in edgewise. "Halflings, if you prefer."

He sees the blank look on the human's face. The poor man may not realize the two types of faen are different races and certainly doesn't seem capable of distinguishing a halfling from a gnome, much less know which enjoy trundling about in wagons.

"I will take a look at your cart, sir, but then I wanted to head over to the Street of a Million Gods and see if the high priest of the Watcher of the Skies would let me peer through his great spyglass."

"You won't be sorry Master Gnome!"

The outside of the carriage itself is passable, having a small window with red curtains. A small wooden door in the back leads to an inside that has seen better days. The living quarters are a mess of upturned glass and scattered paper. The human seems shocked at its appearance.

"Aw NO! It... It's not normally like this!"

Baeril was already backing away from the disturbed human when he bumps into someone from behind. Two City Watch guards look down at him.

The one looks at the other and sighs. "Baeril Underhill?" he asks.

"My goodness, that was fast service! This gentleman's cart appears to have been burgled and I was just thinking 'my goodness, this looks like a job for the City Watch,' and presto, there you are! Excellent work! I'm sure you will have the culprit clapped in irons in no time!"

The guards look at each other blankly. "Right. Sure," one of them says. The merchant is further tearing apart his carriage as the guards start leading the gnome away. "Listen we ah... geez..." The guard looks to the other for help.

"We need your help," the other guard says, barely keeping a straight face. "If you'd be so kind as to come with us, we have a... well a mission."

"Something that could let you see just about all of the city I wager," the first guard says. At this, the other guard snorts and shakes from laughter. The first guard sighs.

"Why certainly, but I don't want to delay you taking this man's report. I'll wait and once you've helped this good man, we will be off, so _schnell wie ein Häschen_," Baeril says, emphatically. Seeing their blank looks, he translates from the Gnomish: "As quick as a bunny."

"Tell you what," the first guard says with a smirk of his own. "I'll take the report and my partner here will escort you."

"oh you son of a..." the other guard says, but too late to stop his partner from walking over to the merchant. The merchant seems quite nervous suddenly, but not as nervous and as the guard suddenly stuck with Baeril.

"Excellent, watchman. Lead on! That's a very smart uniform you've got there. Is that hat comfortable in the summer? It doesn't look like it breathes very well. And, ach, those boots! Doesn't your mother worry about you getting fallen arches walking these streets?"

The watchman turns and points to his partner. "Hate. You." He looks down to the gnome. "Lothian... Come on. We need to hurry."

"Good, a brisk walk puts healthy air in the lungs! When I was but a wee sprout, my father would take me walking in the mountains to breathe the crisp air blowing off the glaciers. My grandfather did very well by it, his health was the talk of Greenfields! Do you think we could stop for a pastry? There's a very nice shop at the end of the block here."

The guard grits his teeth and picks up the pace.


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## Trench (Mar 17, 2008)

_Ah Baeril.... for all those gnome-haters we have him. Played by ENWorld's very own Whizbang Dustyboots, Baeril is a gnomish illusionist. Nothing unusual there, but our Baeril is much more than he appears.

For a good idea how gnomes are played in our game, check out Whizbang's Unified Theory of gnomes. 

http://www.enworld.org/archive/index.php/t-213067.html_


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## Trench (Mar 21, 2008)

*Kinkade Munro and Benson Gallaway- Oldtown*​

"Say, friend," Kinkade says, examining the sick man's dress and mannerisms, "Maybe you need a sit down. Somewhere out of the rain?"

The man looks up and starts weeping drunkenly.

"I can't... I can't keep doing... Aw... I mean I have a wife!"

"Wives are good things to have," Kinkade answers politely, attempting to help the man up. "What's say we go get ourselves cleaned up before she finds out about all this. What's her name?"

"Dagmar," he sniffs. "I... Where am I going? It's too dangerous..."

"Nah, Oldtown's not dangerous, friend," Kinkade assures him, "Not with Benson and I here on the Watch. No more dangerous than your day job, I reckon. Taking a break today?"

"No! I mean... dangerous at work!"

He leans in conspirationally and Kinkade almost gags at the reek of gin. "People are angry." he shakes his head. "Can't... Don wanna go back."

"Aheh," the young machinist winces, grinning, "Certainly understandable. As are the...indiscretions. But maybe your time would be better served trying to fix your problem rather than avoiding it. I'm sure that's the way Dagmar would prefer it, anyhow."

"And you don't have to go home right now. Where do you work, friend?" Benson does his best to keep the man standing and moving toward the watch tower.

"Ironworker's Guild, by the looks of it," Kinkade answers Benson, motioning to his guild patch.

The man can barely walk as he's half-led, half-dragged to the Watchtower.

"No! It's... I build things but people are angry. They say the Masons did it. And they're fighting in the streets. And... and someone threw bricks into my forge..."

"Building things, eh? A man after my own heart. Throwing bricks into your forge, hm?" Kinkade muses. "That won't do, will it? And what's happening at the guild to stop you?" Kinkade asks. "Who's angry, and why?"

The man opens his mouth and suddenly closes it. He looks a little more frightened now.

"Can't... I don't know if- Just. I need sleep. Is the tower-?"

Kinkade and Benson have just about managed to drag their charge past the massive columns of the Administration building. Clerks and other government workers give the trio a wide berth as they walk across the street to the Watchtower. It isn't long before they come across a few other guards.

"Another one, eh?" he asks.

"Trying to duck things out at the White House," Kinkade confirms. "Is this all because of the murder I've heard about?"

"It ain't helping," the guard says as he takes the drunken Ironworker off the pair's hands. "Hells, you can tell us. Schenk wants you two to head over to the Guildsman Watchtower. They're putting something together over there."

"Must be nice to have that last name huh Munro?" the other guard smirks. "I'd love a free day off."

"Yes, a free day off will be quite nice," Kinkade smiles, not letting the jab get to him. "I'm sure that's what we've in store, from the sounds of things over in Guildsman."

Before they can take the ironworker away, Kinkade puts a hand on his shoulder. "Not to worry. We'll settle things down."

And, turning, he adds, "Stay true to Dagmar, friend. No more working girls, eh?"

Roger starts weeping again. "Aw... Aw I wish..."

"Geez, come on," the snarky guard says. The other guard reaches into his tunic and hands Benson a letter. "Here," he says. "She said to hand it to them when you get there. Don't ask me who 'they' are, I just work here."

Kinkade turns to Benson, interested. "What's it say?"

"Ah, you know how it goes - if they wanted us to know what it said, they wouldn't have written it in a letter. 'Ptolus' Finest' messenger service in action yet again." Benson tucks the letter away, then heads back out to the streets.

Kinkade and Benson walk down the Dalenguard Road and quickly join up with the main street of the Emperor's Road. Past the cliffs, the change from the stoic historical streets of Oldtown rapidly gives way to the more modern two-story buildings of the South Market. A woman sweeps in front of a store called simply "The Wood Shop", where many carved chairs and stools hang from hooks in her wooden awning.

But this close to Midtown, the oddity and chaos of Midtown bleeds over. Spiced meats are cooked in the morning rain, and a litorian eyes them hungrily. A group of obvious Delvers walk past them into Oldtown grumbling something about permits.

"You and I are no mere messengers, Gallaway," Kinkade says, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on the hilt of his father's greatsword. "You heard them back there, man...this is some kind of special assignment. We're to put a stop to all the violence. And none too soon, if you ask me."


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## Trench (Mar 21, 2008)

_Kinkade is a factotum with an emphasis on technology. Benson is a straight-forward fighter watchman with a temper. Standard rookie with a veteran partner here. 

Kinkade's player is the same person who plays Renraw in Whizbang's Midwood campaign. So he puts a great deal of thought into his family tree. Kinkade's father was a former Watch Captain in the Temple Quarter, now dead. That's his father's greatsword he's stroking there. His mother we'll meet later...

Kinkade becomes a rather interesting character. Even when the player tries to play a decent, morally upstanding guy- he always seems to go off the map really easily. Some major game events are a result of Kinkade's actions in future adventures.

Benson is also interesting in a different way, in that the player plays him as the most "cop-like"._


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## Tock Chandler (Mar 21, 2008)

_If it's OK for me to say something here, between Tock and Deevolly I'm going to come off as sex-obsessed!  I play other kinds of characters, I promise, some without any Cha bonus!_


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## Trench (Mar 22, 2008)

*Elissa Gladesmere - Longfinger's Guild Headquarters*​

Elissa slips in through the door, eyeing the silvery stranger warily. Then she spots her guildleader, an older human male known as Hayman Knapp, seated at an ornate meeting table in the middle of the room.

"Guildmaster." she inclines her head in deference, then moves silently to a standing position on the opposite side of the table where she can keep both Knapp and the woman in view.

"How may I be of assistance?"

Knapp looks at Elissa and sighs. The other elf moves just behind him.

"We've had a very unusual opportunity come up."

"If by unusual you mean dangerous and idiotic," the woman mutters. The Guildmaster looks at her sharply and she looks away. When he turns back to Elissa, he seems unsure of how to proceed.

"There's been... well, an incident. Apparently, there was a burglary of some kind. And it started... problems."

"That have nothing to do with us," the elf retorts.

"You *think* Chelsean."

"I know," she says. "It's what you pay me for. Look," she turns to Elissa. "Parts of the city are going ballistic because of one shopkeeper. For whatever reason, everyone wanted a piece of this guy. The City Watch has their hands full and coincidentally... they're asking us for help."

The elf turns to Knapp, "Which is insane," she says.

Elissa opens and closes her mouth a few times in quick order, trying to fathom just what it is she's walked in to. "The City Watch... is asking us for help to solve a burglary? Use a thief to catch a thief? That is insane!"

It's obvious the silver elf is already agitated about this but the look on her guildmaster's face causes Elissa to pause a moment. "Sir? You've considered this? What could this shopkeeper have had, to cause such an uproar?"	

"It's not just a burglary," Hayman looks hard at Chelsean. "It's a murder."

He lets that sink in for a moment as he pours himself a glass of whiskey. Elissa had heard stories of Knapp in his youth, but now he just seems tired. "It's more than a little unusual. We've always had a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy with the Watch. If one of our own is caught, they let them go but this..."

"Apparently this man made something. We're still not clear what, but it was enough to get the guilds rowdy. Now, we've asked... and in some cases spied," Hayman gives a sidelong glance to Chelsean "Our own to see if we were responsible. Everyone is as ignorant as we are."

"Which is happening a lot more often..." Chelsean mutters. Knapp continues. "We don't think we did this. Given the uproar, anyone who did would obviously come here to hide and we would protect them but right now it's not a bad idea getting an idea of what's going on and if it'll come back to haunt us."

"Like sending a thief to be a Watchman's pet?" Chelsean says. "Hayman, this could just as easily be a trap to pull information out of us."

"Which is why I'm sending someone that doesn't know much yet. No offense," he says to Elissa. "She doesn't even know where the real entrance is yet!"

Elissa blinks. That's news to her.

"If it is one of our own, let us know so we can do something about it. Quickly. If it isn't... well that may be helpful as well."

"Just DON'T mention the Guild affiliation," Chelsean snarls. "If they suss it out for themselves, fine. But the last thing this guild needs is to be tied to the Watch explicitly. We won't get a lick of respect if that's the case. We barely do now."

"We both agree on that, Featherhair," Knapp nods. "Elissa, we're a dying breed. If this is maybe a way to keep us viable..."

Knapp shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink. "So..." he looks at Elissa expectantly.

Her interest is sparked by the thoughts of a mystery, but almost immediately dampened at the sight of the tired form of her guildmaster. Hayman is clearly studying her intently, watching for her reaction.

"So..." Elissa muses over the information carefully, "A Shopkeeper makes something, nobody knows what it is, but it's enough that he was killed for it. And all the guilds are screaming, why? What's it to them? What makes this thing so dangerous?"

She looks from Hayman to Chelsean and back again. "To find this out, and more importantly who took it, you want me to join the City Watch. Or rather, they've asked for us to send a member. You want plausible deniability for the Longfingers Guild by sending me, while at the same time not telling any of the Watch where I'm actually from?"

Elissa crosses her arms in frustration. "First lock I pick while investigating, they're going to take me for a major crime family member and throw me in the brig!"

"No one is quite sure, no. It had something to do with writing, but that's all we know."

"I wasn't clear. Sorry, been a long day. Yes, it sounds crazy, but the Watch themselves will know who you are. Or at least some of them will. We just don't want that information disseminated to the public. To them, you're a Longfinger sent on retainer. To the rest of the city, just keep it mum."

"On retainer, huh? At least I'll be able to eat and have a roof over my head. And a regular paycheck! I'm guessing freelancing while on this particular assignment would be frowned upon?" Elissa grins. The sneer she elicits in response from Featherhair kills the levity instantly.

"I'll gather my things together. Which Watchhouse and Captain am I to report to?"

"The Guildsman District. It's been rough there lately, so watch it.

"Use the entrance in Midtown by the bookstore. That's the one we want people to know about anyway," Chelsean smirks.


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## Trench (Mar 22, 2008)

_And our final member of the Tenth. Elissa Gladesmere, elven rogue. The vast majority of the Tenth seems pretty vanilla. No real crazy choices of races or classes, but trust me- they make it interesting._


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## Trench (Mar 22, 2008)

Tock Chandler said:
			
		

> _If it's OK for me to say something here, between Tock and Deevolly I'm going to come off as sex-obsessed!  I play other kinds of characters, I promise, some without any Cha bonus!_




_heh. Yeah, but you play the likable selfish rogues so WELL._


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## Trench (Mar 22, 2008)

*Deevolly Bencez, Cipke Arnag, and Baeril Underhill- Midtown*​

"Dee! Cipke!" The pair turn around to see a young watchman running toward them. "Herdling requested a meeting with you two. At the Guildsman Tower." The watchman's expression plainly shows he knows nothing behind the oddity of the location.

When the messenger arrives Deevolly cocks her eyebrows. "Herdling? Us, specifically? Wow."

"Well I think he said you Dee. And whoever you were with."

"So we have been noticed," Cipke says. "That can be either very good or very bad. Have we screwed up something lately?"

"Not me! Let's check it out!"

The watchman looks over his shoulder to see another watchman practically double-timing it down the street. Behind him is a gnome wearing the oddest outfit.

"Thank the gods!" He says. "Take him to the Guildsman Tower. He's your problem now!"

Without bothering to explain, he runs as fast as he can away from the lederhosen wearing gnome.

"Welcome to the party, fella. I'm Officer Bencez and this is the one that was with me."

"Hello," Cipke says. "I'm with her. Now you're with Us. And we're going There. Ptolus life is so simple."

"Look at all these Watchmen!" Baeril says brightly. "That wagon burglar doesn't stand a chance against all of you. If you'll all follow me, I'll show you where it is."

"That will have to be later," Cipke says. "She is to report to the Guildsman's Tower and I'm to be her second fiddle. If you have business there, we can walk together."

"What's going on at the Guildsman Tower?" The gnome asks. "Has it been buglarized, too? Why is it, do you think, that humans like building up, up, up so much? Is it tree envy? I imagine that's what the elves would say, tree envy. How are the arches in your boots?"

"Good. Not too high and not too low. Perfect for walking, trotting and even light running. They can even keep water out and at the end of the day I'm happy I'm wearing my leather boots made with Ullar leather. Ullar Leather, a name that stands for quality!"

Deevoly shakes her head. Cipke grew up next to the tannery and regularly promotes his neighbor's wares. She strongly suspects he gets a finder's fee for new business.

"Ullar Leather, interesting," Baeril chatters. "Do they have a shop in South Market? Or is it in North Market? I think it's funny how different the two markets are, don't you? I like the Spice Market. You can really get a nose full of different smells, but they make you pay for them if you sneeze, so you probably shouldn't do that. How long have you lived in Ptolus? Have you ever tried to climb the Spire? I think someone should try that, it looks pretty rocky from what I can see. Do you think the temple of the Watcher of the Skies will let me use their looking glass to peer at the Spire?"

"Not that much. I've picked up a thing or two. Ullar's leather is in the Guildsman's District, close to the South Market. Spice Market? I must try that. I've lived in Ptolus my entire life. No, I've never heard of anyone foolish enough to climb that wretched spire. Most likely those who tried it met quiet, sad fates. And on the Watcher of the Skies temple, sure, go ahead and ask. Worst that can happen is they say no to you and you're done."

"Now let's hustle, Dee. Otherwise you and 'the one with you' might incur into our bosses' wrath."

Clearly relieved to be done with the gnome, Deevolly smirks. "He couldn't get mad at ME! C'mon! Race ya!" Dee takes off.

"Ullar Leather to race better!" He runs after Dee.

"What fun! A foot race! Now we will see how good those boots really are!" Baeril calls out something in Gnomish, and a small bird soars down from above, where she had been following the group, and she flies ahead, circling both running watchmen, chirping merrily. "The loser has to buy the winner pastries!"

It is at this point the gnome begins to yodel, the fast rhythm matching his small boots hitting the cobblestones.

"Ooh, a pastry shop ..."


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## Trench (Mar 22, 2008)

_Oh yeah. Baeril does the annoying gnome bit to an EXTREME. In fact, Dee's player started the foot race in order to loose the little guy with his lower speed.

And here come the introduction of the Tenth's MVP, Half-Penny- Baeril's thrush familiar. As you see, Half-Penny becomes a vital member of the Tenth and I am always pleasantly surprised as to how Baeril's player uses what is commonly a neglected wizard feature._


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## Trench (Mar 25, 2008)

*Elissa Gladesmere- The Guildsman District*​

Around midday, an inconspicuous sewer grate in a non-descript alley next to Quallin's Books is carefully moved aside once the coast is clear and a full backpack emerges, quickly followed by the slim elven form of Elissa Gladesmere. Once the grate is back in place, she hefts her pack, and slips quietly into Birch Street.

In front of the bookshop, she stops to get her bearings. The most famous part of Midtown is Delvers Square, probably a five to ten minute walk away given traffic. She spins about to face the opposite direction, and starts walking south towards the Guildsman District.

It's a pleasant enough walk at first, especially past the huge ivy-covered garden and grounds of the Herbalists Guild buildings, but eventually Elissa reaches the more workmanlike district of the Guilds. Pulling her cloak more fully around her head and shoulders, she consults a basic city map, and then redirects her steps to the City Watch tower.

The Herbalist Guild seems to exist simply to set up the disappointment one feels when they walk into the Guildsman District proper. Elissa's nose wrinkles at the acrid smoke that still continues to belch from all the smokestacks, causing the rain to leave black streaks on nearly every surface. The streets are dirty and strewn with leftover debris from various forges and mills at the best of times, but now glass is found every half a block where windows have been broken.

Elissa notices workers rushing either home or to work quickly, almost frantically. At one point, the rogue sees two men walk side by side, when they suddenly pull large Ironworker's hammers from under their aprons and smash the windows of a small shop. They run off before the owner is able to exit the front door, brandishing a short sword.

Ahead on Constable Way, just past St. Daris's Church, Elissa can hear raised voices from where the Guildsman Tower would be.

Keeping one hand about the hilt of a dagger concealed in her cloak, Elissa cautiously makes her way to the source of the noise. As Elissa creeps forward, she sees a small crowd of maybe ten to fifteen men near the entrance of the Tower, each split up into small groups of three or so. They mostly seem to be milling about and muttering to themselves, throwing vicious glances to each other. The two guards stationed at the front entrance keep their hands on their swords and watch them nervously.

The noise seems to come from a wiry man that no one is paying attention to, save a blonde elf watching him with rapt attention. The speaker is standing on top of an upturned crate and pumping a fist full of broadsheets in the air.

"-Frickard was a man who knew the value of the people! He created this tool FOR the people! To make their voices heard! And this is why the Empire silenced him! They are afraid of the people's voice!"


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## Trench (Mar 28, 2008)

Felix soon finds himself heading toward St. Daris's Church, although he corrects himself soon enough to angle back toward the watchtower where the noise emanates from. The wiry man has whipped himself into a frenzy of oratory.

"He knew a revolution was at hand! A revolution to found a Free Republic founded by the people! The Empire is dead!"

"Mocharum's Teeth give it a rest!" a dwarf yells. Most of the crowd seems to agree. Nonetheless, the relentless speech seems to have the unintended effect of increasing the annoyance each of the small groups continue to feel toward each other.

Felix watches the spectacle long enough to notice an elven woman trying to peer around the crowd. As the cleric does so, he's almost run down by a pair of whooping and red-faced City Watchmen, followed by a yodelling gnome who skids on the wet stones straight into Felix's thigh.

Felix leans down to steady Baeril.

"Are you okay, sir? Is everything all right?"

Without seeming to take a breath, the gnome begins to jabber.	

"What an interesting helmet you have! What sort of dragon is that supposed to be? You know, Ptolus is supposed to have dragons, but I've never seen one. Do you suppose they only come out at night, like bats? Bats and swallows are active at dusk to eat insects, but I don't imagine that dragons eat insects. They'd have to eat an awful lot of them! Do you know if that pastry shop is any good? Can I try on your helmet? You're very tall, I bet you are good at getting things down from tall shelves. Let's go to that pastry shop, I'm hungry."

Elissa looks back to see the collision. Farther down the street, she also sees two more watchmen walking toward the tower, as Kinkade and Benson come to the end of their long hike.

"Great, another crackpot," Benson grumbles as he walks past the ranting man, just restraining himself from bumping into the man, hard. He does, however, accept the paper the man thrusts at him, giving it a quick read to see what it says.

Kinkade watches his companion trod off, a little disappointed at something. He then searches nearby the wiry man to see if there are any other empty crates.

Felix looks over to the gathering crowd, a little non-plussed by Baeril's enthusiasm.

"Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement. There should be someone to help you at the pasty shop, however. I'm sure that they'd be happy to help a paying customer. Tell me, do you happen to know if that's the Guardsman Tower?"

"I don't know, I think so," Baeril says. "These are guardsmen. I always just follow people who are going where I want to go, although sometimes they go different places, but that's really interesting, too."

Still talking, Baeril walks off across the street to the pastry shop, his thrush perched on his cap.
Benson snorts at the copy of the Ptolus Herald. The headline screams that "VISONARY SCRIBE CADDERLY FRICKARD MURDERED BY WATCH!"

"Hey, look at this - apparently we killed someone. A scribe."

Benson stops the wiry man mid-rant. "Hey, buddy, I have a few questions for you. Did you print this story?"

Kinkade ends his search prematurely, watching the situation intently.

'Why?" The wiry man looks disdainfully at Benson. "So you could silence ME as well? SILENCE THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE?!?"

"Easy, Benson," Kinkade says. "Tensions are high enough."

"We don't want to silence you, sir," he says to the ranting man, trying to use an easy manner to calm the man. "In fact, I'd love to talk to you more about a free society. One where we're all equals. But we can't be equal if you're up there shouting at me."

Cipke rushes up panting... he needs to work out more. "What's... what's going on?"

A burly man with red hair and and wearing a Guild badge on his dusty clothes turns toward Cipke and notices his Watch clothes. "Damnable metalworkers causing it all, sir. You know what's good for you, I'd arrest the lot of them."

"That's easy to say wearing THAT!" the orator points accusingly at Kinkade's uniform.

"Would you SHUT IT already!" the burly redhead by Cipke shouts. "You're worse than they are!"

"What?" the dwarf in the crowd snarls.

The redhead smirks, as do some of the men around him. "Oh, you heard me," he says.

"Everyone, please calm down. This is Ptolus. This is the greatest city in the known world. Ideas can't hurt us, nor can civility." Deevolly smiles warmly. "Let's talk like civilized folks."

Meanwhile, the pastry shop Baeril walks to has seen better days, its door boarded up from being broken in earlier. Baeril can see a face peeking out from the window, but as the gnome approaches the curtain is closed quickly.

"Hello, hello? Not open for business? Perhaps you have a bit of pastry left over that you could sell me? My mother makes a nice one filled with plum jam and covered in powdered sugar. I haven't had a bite to eat in several hours and I'm just famished. Hello? I won't hurt you. I'm just looking for ein Bissen zum zu essen."

Quietly observing the mob, Elissa winds her way around the back of the group and makes her way to the tower entrance.

One of the guards nearly jumps out of his skin to see Elissa threading her way through the angry bodies. He nearly draws his longsword.

"AH.... Stay... stay back. We can't allow anyone in! It's, it's..."

"Lothian's balls," the other guard swears. "Listen lady, every other Watchman in the district is breaking up fights. We need men."

In the crowd many things happen at once. The wiry man raises himself up to his full (not very tall) height in front of Kinkade and Benson. "YOU PREVENT EGALITARIANISIM BY THAT VERY ATTITUDE!"

"Wow they're letting little girls in the Watch?" the redhead snarls at Deevolly. "They must be taking their cues from your boys Theurin." The man reaches around and grabs at Deevoly "Tell you what though, I can civilize you right quick you give me a few minutes..."

"You trying to disprove that saying Russell?" the dwarf laughs. "What is it now? 'You don't try to break a brick'. Course we all know the rest of it is 'Unless it's their limp-"

And that's when the dwarf gets a club to the back of his head from a group that had snuck up behind him. At that same moment, the orator seems to be overwhelmed with disgust for the Empire and takes a weak swing at Kinkade. The crowd surges forward toward each other, screaming for blood. And the new arrivals find themselves right in the thick of it.


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## Trench (Mar 28, 2008)

_The thing about PbP is that a lot of actions and conversations can happen at once in the same scene. Especially if it's a mob scene. I tried to clean it up as best I could, but feel free to let me know if it's confusing at all._


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## Trench (Apr 6, 2008)

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.


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## Trench (Apr 24, 2008)

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.


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## Trench (Apr 24, 2008)

_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._


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## Trench (Apr 25, 2008)

"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.


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## Trench (Apr 25, 2008)

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


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## Trench (May 1, 2008)

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."


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## Trench (May 3, 2008)

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."


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## Trench (May 3, 2008)

_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._


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## Trench (May 4, 2008)

"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."


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## Trench (May 4, 2008)

_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._


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## Trench (May 5, 2008)

Kinkade is utterly enchanted by the idea of the 10th Precinct and then even further fascinated by the mystery. It's everything he can do not to laugh with happiness.

"Where's the ball now?"

"Damn good question," Wibert says. "It wasn't at his place when we found him. Neither were any plans for the Ball. We're guessing whoever killed Frickard took it, but he could have hidden it somewhere himself for all we know."

Benson raises his hand. "The guy we grabbed out front. Olaf? His paper implied, pretty heavily, that the City Watch are the ones that killed Frickard. Is there any basis for this? I don't doubt that it's wrong, but if there is some kind of shadow falling on us, it's going to make questioning potential witnesses that much harder, and we need to be prepared for it. So all politics and speeches aside, is there any reason for someone to believe the Watch is responsible?"

Wibert snorts. Jurgen shakes his head. "The Republicans always think the government is up to dark consparicies. No one really takes them that seriously."

"Mostly they've just been sh*t-stirring," Wibert says. "Using this as an excuse to piss us off more than they normally do."

"Yeah, I'm familiar with it," Benson replies. "I just want to make sure we're not going to get out on the street, and find out a neighbor saw someone in a Watch uniform crawling out a window after the sound of the gunshot."

Eager to please, and already feeling out of his depth, Felix stammers his own question. "Um, I believe some of the first things done in this situation is to investigate the scene of the crime, to question those with, ah, 'motive,' and to question potential witnesses. Will we have access to this information or the authority to do so ourselves?

"You will have all the authority that the City Watch," Jurgen replies. "Detaining and questioning suspects is left at your discretion."

"Be careful they aren't some noble's son though," Wibert snarks.

Felix nods. "Have magical means been employed to try and locate this printing ball?"

"Once the violence started, it was one of the first things we tried," Lieutenant Jurgen says. "Thing is no one knows exactly what the Ball is or what it looks like. And no one worked with it directly except Frickard."

"We had a few members of Goldshield fly around with Location spells to find "small printing presses", but all we've found so far are the presses we know about. Even then, it's remarkably slow-going. Even if we were to hire the Inverted Pyrimad to cast a powerful divination spell, no one has touched the object or is familiar enough with it to find it."

"Any sign of forced entry to his home?" Elissa asks.  "And what was he shot with?"	

"No forced entry. It was a dragon pistol. Not sure what kind."

Baeril quietly climbs into a chair and listens, drumming his heels on the chair legs.

"What do we know about Frickard's background?" Kinkade asks. "How does a penmaker possess the mechanical know-how for something so sophisticated? Are we certain it was his creation in the first place? It could be he acquired it by some other means, and the murderer was simply taking back from Frickard what didn't belong to him."

The junior watchman rubs his chin thoughtfully, almost talking to himself at this point. He stops when he feels a few eyes on him.

"Sorry. Don't mean to get ahead of myself..."

"No, it's a good point," Elissa says.  "We need to check his background, see if he knows any delvers or had been away from his shop for a period recently."

Jurgen shrugs. "That's speculation at this point. As far as we know, he created it in his spare time. But it's certainly possible it wasn't his to begin with."

"How thoroughly has the body been examined?" Deevolly asks.  "And does anyone here know enough about the human body to do it themselves?"

"Girl, we clean up the mess. We don't get in elbow deep after the deed is done." Wibert says.

Captain Herdling clears his throat. "Guess that's a 'Not Very', Dee."

"Yessir, sounds like. Maybe somebody could take his highness Lord Reverend Bahamut to check out the body? Just to see if there's something going on there? Me, I'd like to check out the scene of the deed."

"Well, most clerics are given some knowledge of the body," Felix answers. "I can try. At the very least, perhaps I will at least have seen the body in case something unexpected becomes important over the course of our investigation.

There's the sound of a clearing throat and the Captains looks back to the grizzled Captain Nachtmann of the Temple District. "Are we done here?" Captain Nachtmann asks. "I have my own possible riot to take care of. People have been gathering outside the Temple of Locharit." Jurgen nods and the Temple District Captain walks out.

"If there's no further info here, I'm off to have a look see at the crime scene." grins Elissa. "But first, do you have anything for the... civilian members of the group, that will identify us to others in the Watchguard?"

"In fact we do Miss Gladesmere," Jurgen says. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out small, golden badges bearing the City's seal- a symbol seen on every Watchman's shield and uniform. The only difference is the number "10" emblazoned across the middle. Jurgen looks a little embarressed.

"Ah. We're... still working on the final design. We weren't expecting to activate the program quite this soon, but certain people... Well anyway, that will do for now. Sorry that it isn't real gold."

"If you all are ready to move on, please make sure to report to the quartermaster downstairs. The tower's armory and stores are a bit lighter than usual, for obvious reasons, but ask her for anything and she will try to accommodate you. She will also provide official papers for those who need them in case the badges aren't enough in certain areas.

"Good luck. Mister Munro, on your way out would you be so kind as to tell Captain Denton he may come in now?"

Baeril turns the shield over and over in his hand, bemused by this souvenier before tucking it into the inside pocket of his lederhosen.

"Would anyone like any pastries later? I'm going to stop by Good Eats or perhaps another shop in Fairbriar. I feel terrible that I promised you all pastries and didn't bring any. If everyone will be meeting back here later, I can bring you all some. Something about you watchman tells me that you enjoy a sweet!"


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## Trench (May 6, 2008)

Still holding the badge in his hand like he's not quite sure what to do with it, Felix moves to where he can talk to Captain Herdling.

"Um, sir? Where would I be able to go to view the body? Are you the person I should ask?"

"heh," Captin Herdling chuckles. "Nope. Hey Edgar!"

The Temple District Captain looks in from down the hall. "You mind taking Lord Dallimothan with you? Since you're heading that way.

Captain Nacthmann hesitiates for a moment. "If he's willing," he says.

"There you go," Herdling says.

Nachtmann seems tense for a moment, and then shakes his head as Felix walks out to join him. "By the way, that armor isn't regulation." he says dryly.

"You know, I've heard that," the Midtown captain laughs. Nachtmann shrugs and motions to the cleric to follow him.

Felix follows Captain Nachtmann, taking care to pay attention to his surroundings so that he can find his way back. Felix decides to put clip the badge to his belt. It shouldn't have the same prominence as Bahamut's symbol, but it should be visible to the public.

Cipke and Deevolly leave as well, gossiping eagerly about their new assignment. Elissa walks to join them and as she does so, pockets her shield, before slipping past the gnome to the stairs, whispering _"Ich sage nie nicht, Gebäck freizugeben!"_ in gnomish as she goes.

As Elissa leaves, Baeril points toward her and whispers to his thrush, Half-Penny, as if explaining something to the bird.

A moment later, he drops from his chair and slips out onto the street.

~

Benson was the first to leave the meeting and walks straight to the privy. Opening the foul room, Benson finds Olaf covering his nose. The Republican hastily uncovers his nose and shoots a bored look toward the watchman, as if he was used to being tossed into smelly cells by cruel guards.

"Already? I was just getting used to the smell."

"Oh? I can probably help you with that, depending on how talkative you feel." Benson closes the door behind him, crowding the small room. "Might even get those manacles off you.

"I read your paper. Now, I'm not from this district - I just came over from Oldtown, so I don't know everything about what's going on. I go upstairs, they're just going to tell me what they want me to hear. But I want more. I want to hear the truth. Is it true the Watch killed your man Frickard?"

Olaf snorts. "Of course it is! It's the sort of thing the Empire does to those promising real change." He leans in "The Empire wouldn't want something like the Writing Ball to exist. Think of it! The ability for any man to publish when they wanted. The sharing of information on a mass scale! Frickard may not have been a Republican, but he was certainly one in spirit."

"The Empire's got more than the Watch at its disposal. Did anyone see Watchmen at his house the night he died?"

"The Watch only showed when a member of the Scribe's Guild went in to talk to Frickard and found the body. But you're right, the Watch have other means. Do... you sympathize with the cause?"

"The cause? Giving voice to the people?"

Olaf nods enthusiastically.

"This is a government by the rich and few. A truly democratic republic can give voice to those unheard. Imagine! Poverty in the Warrens could actually be addressed! Those gilded houses past Dalenguard marginalized as they have to us!"

"I don't know that I'd really say 'sympathetic,' but it seems to me the only people afraid of words are the ones who have something to be afraid of. Excluding the Empire and its agents for the moment, do you have any guess as to who in town would be so upset by the Writer's Ball that they'd kill a man in his sleep? Heard any rumors, whispering that someone local was responsible?"

"Well the guilds were certainly upset. Besides them, no. I'm from the old Market, so the South is too hoity for the likes of us."

Olaf leans in, clearly surprised at the sympathetic ear he's receiving from a watchman. "If you truly wish to know more about our cause. I could arrange for a meeting with certain peoples... We could use a man inside the beuracracy."

"Right now it's Cadderly that I'd like to know more about. I want to bring the guilty party to justice, no matter who it is." He uncuffs Olaf, but doesn't let him out of the makeshift cell, yet. "If you think your acquaintances might have some info, tell them to come in and give a statement. And when you're hocking your papers, keep an eye out for who's gathering - these Guilds are looking for a fight, and they're not going to care if you're standing in between them at the time."

Olaf loks at Benson warily, still disbelieving the watchman's agreeability.

"I'll let them know. Can I go now?"

Benson walks Olaf to the front door. "If you want to get in touch with me, you can do it... well, here, I suppose. And no more taking swings at the Watch!" he calls after the departing man. Once Olaf has scooped up what's left of his papers and grabbed his empty crate, Benson heads back into the tower to visit the quartermaster and find Kinkade.

~

Kinkade exits, tapping the new badge into his palm, to look for Captain Denton and then to join Benson in questioning Olaf.

Once he finds him, Captain Denton nods at Munro's missive and strides toward the closed door, where angry voices are already heard. The South Market captain hesitates and turns back to Kinkade. "We'll try getting off on a better foot later, yes?" Denton shrugs apologetically and walks into the office.	

"Sir," Kinkade smiles. "I hate to keep you from the fun, but I wonder if you'd have time for a quick question or two before you join them..."

"If you make it quick," Denton says, obviously not too eager to walk into the office. "What about, Munro?"

"Well, about the murder, sir. More specifically, about," Kinkade pauses as his eyes wander down to Denton's hip, "Guns. It's a high tech crime, isn't it? I wonder if any prominent gun-owners in South Market or elsewhere...gun-owners that might be capable or have motive...leap to mind? We have a man downstairs that thinks the Watch responsible, sir, as preposterous as that seems. Who do you think did it and why?"

Denton's cheeks flush at the question.

"If I knew that do you think we'd be calling you here Munro? It's legal to carry firearms with the proper permit. Could have been anyone. Although the Ironworkers have lots of Teun and Iron God worshippers. They'd more likely carry a gun than a sword."

"Now if you're through implying my ineptitude, I have another group of people waiting and ready to tell me that directly."

The Captain angrily walks off toward the office.

"Captain, wait! I wasn't implying anything! I know we don't know who did it...but you weren't in the room with the rest of us. I figured I'd ask the expert on South Market. I'm sorry if it came out the wrong way."

Denton grunts at the apology. "My district deals with burglaries, not murder. I have about as good an idea as who owns a gun as Wibert knows bathwater. Why don't you try solving the crime? I hear it's what you're good at."

"And if you honestly think one of the guard is a possible suspect, then perhaps Wibert was right for choosing you as well."

Denton slams the door behind him.


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## Trench (May 13, 2008)

*Felix Dallimothan*​
Nacthmann exits the Tower and surveys the clean up of the riot for a moment before continuing the walk. He cuts up toward the Arram section of Midtown with their long, stable-like houses where he hails a carriage oddly enough driven by surly looking half-orc smoking a pipe rather than one of the centaurs.

"All the way across town," he offers the directionless noble as explanation.

The carriage rumbles it's way up Malay Street, past the halfling neighborhood of Katterwood, where music washes over the carriage.

Crossing the river, Felix looks out to see that they've entered the temple District when small shrines dot the sides of the bridge leading into it. A crowd in the street prevents the carriage from moving farther, so Nacthmann pays the driver and gets out by the Sisters of Silence Priory, the lawful nuns looking across at them with their stunning bolt crossbows silently. The Captain makes his way down the street quickly past the enormous baroque and ornamented structure of St. Valien's Cathedral- the greatest temple of Lothian in the city, if not the world, with barely a glance. It's easy to see why. High towers with stained glass and statuary dedicated to bombastic gods cram themselves next to small, humble cottages singing the praises of unassuming deities. As the pair fight their way through the crowds of acolytes and devotees to the Street of a Million Gods, Nachtmann sighs.

"Godsday is coming up, so it's more crowded than normal." he says over a cleric's oratory. "But that isn't helping either," he points.

A throng of onlookers surround a tiny, unassuming one-story temple with simple columns. Almost a miniature version of the Great Library in Oldtown, the Temple of Locharit is one of the quiter temples in the district. In front, Felix recognizes the badges of various guild members who stopped in the district for devotions and now congregate here as they happened across their co-workers. Much like the scene at the watchtower, they mutter to each other darkly, but this time a dozen watchmen dot the street vigilantly. Some religious orators have taken the crowd as an invitation to prostelytize on crates to the heathens, some friendly, some violently.

"Carlroy," Nachtmann says to a guard. "Get the young noble inside the temple. I want this rabble cleared when he comes out."

The guard nods and motions to Felix to follow him as he pushes through the crowd. Soon, Felix finds himself inside a dark temple with small columns upon which rest open books and quills. A harried priest in a simple robe approaches the pair.

"Please," he pleads. "No visitors. We simply can't."

Felix indicates the badge clipped to his belt.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I believe you'll find that I am no mere visitor, your holiness. The City Watch is undergoing an investigation into the murder of Cadderly Frickard. I am here to view his remains."

The priest relaxes a little, although not enough from the looks of it.

"Well met Brother of the Platinum Dragon. It is always an honor to meet a deity who respects the written craft. Father Bertucat."

The priest leads Felix down the hallways past shelves of books and parchments. Some pages from books and scrolls are framed along the wall as well.

"If it were not for our belief that followers of the Divine Word Mistress should only be buried on Airday or Waterday, we could have avoided all of that outside. Still, we must bury our brother on the 'comma' of the week, as opposed to the period, to help his translation into the great Text.

The guard and Felix are led to a small chamber that is used for the preparation of the dead. There are a few other bodies here as well, and the smell is kept to a minimum with bowls of aromatic oils and the occasional clerics casting cantrips. Father Bertucat walks over to one body covered by a thin sheet that is covered entirely in different scripts.

"If you can, try to keep the disruption of his reading to a minimum. Place the written page over him when you are done. Do you need anything further?"

"Ah, no thank you." Felix says nervously. "I think... this shall suffice."

Felix sets to work examining the body. He has never done exactly this sort of work before, but he's determined to go at it as professionally as possible. 

He tries his best not to gag in front of the guard.


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## Trench (May 14, 2008)

*Baeril Underhill*​
The newly deputized members of the Tenth make their way through the Guildsman District, cutting up toward the main road of Iron Street, which serves as a dividing line between many of the different districts. The four pass by a group of dirty workers carrying tools as they leave work, the violence doing nothing to stem the need for constant labor in the district. As they walk down Iron Street, they see some evidence of Midtown's influence at the edges. A woman sells a variety of hats from a cart for instance.

Much to the dismay of the others, Fairbriar is on the way to the Frickard's shop, and the gnome doesn't part company with the other three until the unfortunately named Ugly Child Lane. There, Baeril walks up toward Fairbriar on his wagon's quest.

After making a detour to his rented apartment, Baeril winds his way down Fairbriar Street, carrying a broom and a dustpan, Half-Penny flying on ahead to the burglarized wagon. A few minutes later, he catches up to her, and knocks on the door.

"Hello, sir, is anyone home? I hope the watchman was able to help you. I'm here to help clean up your wagon. We need to get it back in salable condition, yes?"

There's a commotion from inside as the wagon door opens and the merchant looks out. The inside looks hastily cleaned, but still a mess.

"Ah... You want to clean it?" A grin crosses his face, "To buy it?"

"You don't eat a loaf of bread before it's baked, as my Oma used to say. I can take a better look at this wagon while I help clean it." Baeril stands on tip-toes, looking in. "My goodness, someone certainly made a mess of this place. You say it wasn't you though, isn't that right? That wouldn't make sense, since you're trying to sell it. Why do you think someone did this to the wagon?"

The gnome squirms his way in and begins cleaning, heading for the areas of the biggest mess.

"You've been selling to the faen for a while now, but now you want to get rid of your home? Does the food not agree with you here? I hear some folk say that the faen sweet tooth is too much for humans, but the quickling restaurants serve less sweet dishes. I particularly like hunter's schnitzel or a nice goulash. They make a good potato soup, too, with more flavor than the dwarf version. Did something happen recently to make you want to leave Ptolus? I can't imagine leaving any time soon, myself; so much to see and experience!"

The merchant weathers the gnome's question with an open mouth, when he suddenly gets to the task of cleaning the wagon some more.

The roofed wagon itself was built to be pulled by two horses, with two shuttered side windows and the rear door. Past the debris, Baeril can see beds for two, a pantry, a closet with shelving, a water barrel and a chest.

"Ah. Just time to go, I suppose. I've made my money, and after a while... this city grates on you...As for who did it, well I really don't know. Some miscreants most likely."	

Baeril sweeps each spot on the floor clean, scooping up debris and eying its contents as he goes.

"Really? Quicklings use wagons themselves, and it would be silly for a quickling or a loresong to wreck a fine cart -- you could fit a family of eight in here! If they were going to vandalize it, they would just break the wagon spokes or deface it. But, the miscreants came in here and tossed everything around. It reminds me of the time that my Oma thought my Opa was going behind her back with a shepherd girl. Ach, you should have seen how she tossed all his things around, emptied out drawers, emptied out shelves, emptied out cabinets, everything was all over the floor, just like this."

He pauses to close the door to the wagon before continuing.

"My Opa was very clever. He was a master of ... how do you say it? He was a master of sleight-of-hand. With no magic, he could pull a dozen coins out of a child's nose. Oh, it was so funny! I'm no good at it myself, but he told me the secret: You make them look the wrong direction at the right moment. The hand that reaches into the nose for the coin is empty, but the hand that you're not paying attention to, the one holding the nose -- ah, you see!

"If I were going to hide something from humans and dwarves, I wouldn't leave it where they might stumble over it, in Midtown or Oldtown or the Guildsman District. And you couldn't go to Rivergate or the Noble's Quarter, because you stand out there too much. Funny story how I know that, I should tell you some time. They both have very nice watchmen.

"If it was me, I would put it where no one would be looking for it, like in a neighborhood full of faen, but then put it into such a conspicuous place, like a human-sized wagon, so that people would overlook it as a hiding place. It's the hand under the nose, ja?

"But it looks like someone thought there was something hidden here, and it happens at the same time as you want to leave town suddenly. And I can't blame you, because people are getting hurt. I got hurt myself this morning, just after I left you: I was thrown through a pastry shop window, can you imagine? That poor shop owner!"

Baeril straightens up, shaking his dustpan to settle the debris in it.

"My Opa, if he were here, he'd take a coin out of your nose, stick it in your pocket and you'd never look for it in his hand. That's probably what you need to do to keep the miscreants from coming back."

The gnome smiles at the merchant and stops talking suddenly, waiting.

The merchant looks utterly confused by the gnome's long rambling tale.

"What? What do you think I have? What am I supposed to-"

At that moment, a sweet roll that Baeril could have sworn was once in his pocket goes flying across the room and hits the merchant's forehead with a puff of powdered sugar.

"ARGH! I am sick of this wagon!"

Baeril's eyes light up in delight.

"How much did you say for this wagon?" There is not a trace of disappointment in his voice.

The merchant wipes powdered sugar off his face and looks at the gnome in shock.

"Ah. Fif- Seventy-five?"

"Done."


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## Trench (May 14, 2008)

_heh. Baeril.

Baeril's player immediately suspected the wagon merchant since he was so eager to run away. Which makes some sense. Classic mystery convention is that if you see the gun in the first chapter it'll be used in the latter ones.

Thing is, the cart had nothing to do with Frickard's murder. But it does have something to do with...

Well, I can't tell you anything about that. Because the players still haven't figured it out.

heh._


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## Trench (May 15, 2008)

*Elissa Gladesmere, Cipke Arnag, Deevolly Bencez​*
The other three head toward Frickard's shop in the South Market. Already the difference between the Guildsman and South Market districts is apparent. For one thing, the burnt, industrial smell is gone. The dirty and grimy streets with belching smokestacks are replaced by simple roads with respectable two-floor houses and shops selling specially made wares. The streets are still busy, but the people aren't laborers so much as errand runners ordering supplies for restaurants and warehouses or a Delver from Midtown buying a high quality rope or vest specially made for them.

It requires the three asking directions from a pair of halfling apprentices whose arms are loaded down with boxes and bottles of aromatic spices from the nearby Spice Market, but eventually the three find Frickard's Shop. It's a standard two-floor building hidden off Jasper Street on a side street called Mill near an alley. In front of it are various wreaths, an oddity as any other death would go scarcely noticed in the city save by the dead's own family and friends.

Deevolly goes to check out the wreaths first. The wreaths are standard wreaths one picks up in the Necropolis for mourning. All of them are fairly generic in their sentiments, however. They seem to have all been placed by people who didn't know Frickard very well.

Dee produces a key from her pocket and open Frickard's door. "Gentlemen, after you. Don't move anything."

As Dee stands by the wreaths to let the others in, they get their first look at Frickard's Quills.

The door opens in the corner, leading to a wide room extending the length of the shop, with a long counter opposite the front door. At the end is a long window of paned glass looking out onto the street. A curtain remains across from the door leading into the back. There is also a door way opposite the window leading intot he back as well.

On the counter are many quills and pens on display as well as many bottles of various colored inks. A thin coat of dust covers everything.

"Hey, check it out." Deevolly points out a thin chalk line bisecting the room into two equal halves and one parallel to the curtain.

Elissa follows the chalk line down the centre of the room, and along the curtain, and then moves across to the counter and Frickards' wares. She searches as she goes, looking for any trace of magical or normal concealment, and paying attention to any markings in the dust as well.

Elissa finds no discernable marks in the dust that indicate any presence since Frickard's death, nor anything out of the ordinary. But she does notice that the door at the far end is locked, and also has a large "X" marked on it the same yellow chalk. Another smaller chalk line lies in front of the curtain, parallell to the wall.

"There's no sign of anything on the counter being moved or disturbed since he died."

She pauses for a moment. "Which is odd, don't you think? Whoever took it didn't need to tear the place up searching for it. Maybe they went for Frickard first, and found it with him?"

She glances up at Deevolly. "Do you think that front door key fits this door as well? No bother if it doesn't..."

Deevolly shakes her head. "No bother it is then!" Elissa grins as she brings out her lockpick set and starts to work on the door.

It takes a moment, but Elissa is pleased to see her training pay off as the lock turns over with a satisfying click.

Elissa peers into the room she unlocked.

It's a small room perhaps ten feet by twenty-five. It appears to be a small waiting room or rest area, containing a small oil-burning stove in one corner with a kettle on top. At the far end of the room is a small table and two chairs. A teacup is upended on a small saucer, but otherwise it's bare. In the corner of the room is another door.

"We are assuming he was killed because of the Writer's Ball, right?" Cipke says. "And the corpse was discovered how long after he was shot? If I had been hired to kill him over some writing trinket, I would have given this place a good roughing out. At least I would have left no door unlocked."

Deevolly is silent as she searches the room.

There's a mumbling sound from the entrance, and the newly minted Watchmen of the Tenth District see Baeril Underhill, his face smeared with candy and his cheeks bulging with still more, standing in the doorway.

He holds out a small sack full of toffees.

"Wassum? Whachafineowsofah?"

The others sigh and ignore Baeril. Looking around, Deevoly sees what Elissa had already noticed, an arrow in yellow chalk pointing to the western wall on their right. Besides that, there's nothing in the room besides slightly scummy water in the kettle.

The room is quite spartan. Just the two chairs, the stove, and a table for tea. Plus the door in the corner opposite of where they entered.

Shrugging at the others' rejection of his toffee, Baeril wanders in to the dead man's living quarters after them, still chewing the candy.

"Mofuhme."

He, too, begins searching the room, but not in the way they are. Instead, he eyes the corners and where the walls meet the floor and looks for any holes in the floor or ceiling. This is Ptolus: The late Cadderly Fricakard wasn't the only resident of this small apartment.

But Baeril finds no holes in the corner of the first room, nor the small waiting room. The penmaker apparently made sure none of the city's tinier residents could make it where potential customers could see.

Elissa purses her lips while Cipke finds nothing under the table and chairs. Deevoly opens the door to look into what appears to be the penmaker's workroom. It's quite spacious, taking up nearly the rest of the ground floor. Another small door is almost directly opposite her at the end of the room and the wall opens in the far corner of the room where Deevoly can just see the edge of the curtain from the first room. To her immediate left against the wall is a small, polished worktable with a few large stones and multicolored stains. Also to her left, running against the northern wall is another workbench, this one longer and rough looking with tools lining the wall. A stack of parchment lies at the end, with a stone holding it down. A small rubbish bin lies under the table. To Dee's right against the wall are a few sacks.

Dee notices the long chalk line again bisecting the room, as well as another arrow pointing toward the middle of the southern wall. On a hunch, Dee looks at the side of the door she couldn't see and sees another large "X".

The chalk lines and Xs marked around the shop and back rooms are a mystery that don't yet have a connection and that both frustrates and intrigues the elf. Then, Elissa stiffens suddenly.

"Upstairs" she mouths to the others, and mimes with her fingers "Footsteps."


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## Trench (May 15, 2008)

_The party regularly splitting up often makes it difficult sometimes to orchaestrate where all the PC's are. Especially when some take much longer than others, both in-game and out of game. The scene of the crime crew had been taking 20 on their searches, so that's why Baeril was able to pop on in after he settled with the carriage.

I felt bad for poor Felix though. He had a three-hour autopsy to perform._


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## Emus Graymullet (May 15, 2008)

Trench said:
			
		

> _I felt bad for poor Felix though. He had a three-hour autopsy to perform._



I like being very thorough.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots (May 16, 2008)

There is insufficient Baeril in this thread. Skim over the non-gnomish parts of this adventure.


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## Renraw Kem (May 19, 2008)

Man, that was some brilliant crime-solving strategery on my part.  Just ask people who they think did it!  I can't believe that didn't work.


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## OzBat! (May 23, 2008)

_It would have been one heckuva quicker adventure, that's for sure!_


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## Trench (Jul 16, 2008)

*Kinkade Munro and Benson Gallaway*​ 
Kinkade, blindsided by the whole conversation, turns and heads back downstairs to catch up with Benson and Olaf.

"You're done with him?" Kinkade says to Benson just as Olaf is leaving. "Did he give you anything?"

"Well, the notion that the City Watch killed Frickard is nothing but hot air, it seems. I gave him a bigger conspiracy theory to shake his stick at, and he forgot all about the Watch in an instant. Of course, now he thinks I'm sympathetic to his cause." There's a clatter as Olaf trips in the street and his crate goes sliding. "You feel up to meeting with some unspecified, possibly dangerous, almost certainly paranoid group of his? Looks like we can still catch up with him.

Kinkade sighs. "If he doesn't have anything solid, his cohorts might not either. Seems as though it would be printed in that broadsheet if so. I'll follow along if you feel it might pan out, but otherwise perhaps we ought to start talking to the guilds. I'm anxious to get at Frickard's place, but I suppose the others have that in hand. What do you think?"

"Sounds good."

Kinkade approaches the Watchmen on duty in the front of the tower and asks them where the Scribe's Guild is meeting. The desk sergeant shrugs, but another watchman overhears. 

"I think they've been meeting at the Sage's Guild," offers one of the watchmen standing guard over the crowded cells. "Till they figure out how to get their own place."

Kinkade knows immediately where the Sage's Guildhouse is. It's located just behind the Imperial University in Oldtown, by a pleasant public fountain.

"Feel like taking a trip back home?" Kinkade asks Benson.

"Seems like a good place to start. If they hated the guy enough to specifically write him out of their charter, they might have sent somebody to visit him in his bed."

And so Benson and Kinkade begin the long walk back to Oldtown.


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## Trench (Jul 16, 2008)

_So, long hiatus. We'll get this moving again shortly.

Newcomers, feel free to peruse from the beginnings. The Tenth are the adventures of an assembles investigative task force set in Ptolus. I love this game, and so do the players. Hope you all dig it as well._


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## Trench (Jul 19, 2008)

*Deevolly, Cipke, Elissa, Baeril - Frickard's House: South Market*​ 
Deevolly stops in her tracks and tries to be silent.

This time, Deevoly hears something. A series of creaks and muffled movement from the room above.

Deevolly nods and points upstairs.

Cipke looks up from the parchment he was examining, ready.

At Deevolly's nod, Elissa silently moves through the door and heads for the curtain. Elissa winces at the creaks her feet make on the old floorboards. The curtain is the same as the one they had seen in the first room and leads back to that room. Behind the wall across from the curtain, however, is the stairs Elissa is seeking.

Ascending the stairs, Elissa enters a wide, spacious room with a fireplace set in the western wall to her right. Two armchairs flank the fireplace and a couch sits between the two. A small cupboard stands beside a window that looks out into the alley behind the house. Two doors are located in the far corner, one in the western wall and another in the northern wall just next to it.

Chalk marks crisscross the floor in a variety of lines and arrows. If they hadn't noticed them before, they would have had to be blind to miss them now.

Elissa sees no one in this room, nor hears where the noises she had heard from before could be coming from.

To cover for the sneaking about, Baeril paces noisily back and forth on the main floor and begins having a conversation with himself.

"Do you want some toffee, pretty elf girl?"

"Oh, Mister Gnome! I would be ever so delighted to have a toffee!" he repeats in a high, squeaky voice with an elfish accent.

"It's quite a tasty toffee, although it's nothing like my Oma's. She once use a piece of her toffee to repair a mine cart when she was a girl, and saved a dozen workers from certain death. CERTAIN! DEATH!"

Elissa's eyes widen as she hears the gnome below having what sounds to be a tea party with himself at top voume. A sudden commotion comes from the far door by the fireplace.

Elissa smiles to herself; Baeril's storytelling is so comical she feels half the tension of the situation leaving her... if all goes well, she'll definitely have to buy him a beer and share a toffee later. She takes out her sap and sneaks over to the far door, although she barely needs to sneak as whoever is behind the door isn't paying attention to her activity.

"Oh, Mister Gnome, I like your stories ever so much, tell me some more!"

"Storytelling is very important in Greenfields and there's contests with stories and songs and clockwork toys and playing alpenhorns. Those are these big, big, big horns about 20 feet long, and you stand at one end and go BA-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOM with the horn and you can hear it all over the valley. Of course, the kobolds and goblins and stone giants outside the valley can hear it too, but all they can see of the valley is a glacier and rugged peaks, because of the illusions. That's why I learned magic; it's an important part of keeping Greenfields safe. It's very funny that humans would rely on locks and such when magic works so much better."

"They are not as wise as you, Mister Gnome!"

"Oh, ho ho, be fair. They do try!"

As she nears the door, Elissa hears the footsteps quickly gathering at the far end of the room beyond. It takes a moment, but Elissa realizes that the noises are starting to lessen. Her eyes widen as she hears a whispered voice begin to fade as if descending and the creak of a ladder.

The three investigators downstairs hear nothing under the gnome's story, until Baeril hears a thump followed by a curse from outside the shop itself.

Elissa yells "Outside, ladder!" towards the stairs, and bolts through the door.


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## Trench (Jul 19, 2008)

_And so begins the first instance of Baeril utterly confounding the DM with his actions._


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