Edge of Anarchy: Harrowing Fortunes

Zen Gypsy · February 29

Korvosa: Mid-Erastus, 4707 AR

Amid the oppressive heat of mid-July, Old Korvosa finds itself ensnared in the clutches of summer's sweltering grip. The air hangs thick with humidity, a stifling embrace that clings to every surface and every soul navigating the labyrinthine alleys. The sky, normally a canvas of azure, is now a tapestry of rolling dark clouds, pregnant with the promise of an impending storm.

The Narrows churns restlessly, mirroring the city's unsettled mood. Seagulls wheel through the heavy air, their cries echoing a sense of foreboding. A distant rumble of thunder dances on the horizon, and the scent of rain mingles with the usual coastal aromas, stirring up the earthy perfume of wet cobblestones.

Despite the impending tempest, life in Old Korvosa perseveres. Street vendors, their wares shaded by makeshift awnings, continue their banter, their voices carrying an urgency that transcends the weather. The flickering lanterns struggle against the encroaching darkness, casting long, distorted shadows that seem to whisper secrets to those who pass by.

Castle Korvosa, perched on the heights, watches over the city like a brooding sentinel. Its towers pierce the gathering gloom, a stark reminder that change is inevitable. Unbeknownst to most, the currents of fate swirl in the heavy air, charged with a tension that hints at imminent upheaval.

As the first raindrops fall, splashing on the cobblestones and roofs, the city holds its breath. In the moments before the storm, Old Korvosa is a tableau of contrasts – the quiet before the tempest, the anticipation before the revelation. The destinies of seven individuals are but fragments of the larger tapestry, waiting to be woven into the unfolding drama of the Crimson Throne.

Edited March 1 by Zen Gypsy (see edit history)

Zen Gypsy · February 29

@Whitehart09 Carthen Brisbane: Old Korvosa, the Sticky Mermaid

In the dimly lit confines of the Sticky Mermaid, the air hung heavy with the tang of salty sea air and the unmistakable scent of Fishjack, a spirit that could curdle the strongest constitution. The tavern, scarred by centuries of rough encounters, echoed with the rough laughter and boisterous tales of sailors and locals alike. The flickering candlelight barely managed to penetrate the gloom, casting dancing shadows on the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs.

Carthen Brisbane sat hunched over a chipped mug, nursing the remnants of his drink as the air grew thick with the humidity that heralded an imminent storm. Across from him slouched Grau Soldato, a Watch Sergeant whose features spoke of a life lived hard and a sadness that clung to him like a persistent shadow.

The duo engaged in a muted conversation, their voices rising above the din of the tavern. Grau's eyes, weary and haunted, told tales of a past best left untouched. Carthen prodded cautiously, not wanting to delve too deeply into the Watch Sergeant's past, a courtesy that Grau extended to him as well.

Grau grinned lopsidedly, the lines on his face deepening. "You're a piece o' shit, Carth, but at least yer stink is an honest one." As the storm outside gathered its strength, Carthen and Grau shared more than just a drink; they shared stories and glimpses into their respective lives.

Grau's gaze, laden with a mixture of regret and unspoken camaraderie, met Carthen's. "I've seen my fair share of storms. Somethin' in the air tonight feels different, though," Grau slurred his words slightly, his voice a low murmur, almost lost in the tavern's clamor. "Keep yer head down over the next few days; trouble's brewin', and I've got a gut feelin' it won't pass us by."

As Grau departed, disappearing into the murky shadows of Old Korvosa, Carthen was left alone with his thoughts; absently lifted his mug for a final sip. It was then that he noticed a subtle change. Beneath the mug, partially obscured, was a Harrow card. The Survivor stared back at him, its symbolism not lost on a man who had weathered the storms of life in Old Korvosa.

Carthen lifted the Survivor card, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something written along the border. The inked words seemed to dance in the dim light of the tavern:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

The words lingered in the air, an unexpected invitation that aligned with Carthen's burning desire for retribution. The storm outside intensified, echoing the turmoil within him. With the Survivor card clenched in his hand, Carthen contemplated the path ahead, wondering about the mysterious figure who seemed to share his thirst for justice. The fate of Gaedren Lamm hung in the balance, and Carthen Brisbane found himself at the precipice of a choice that may shape the course of his destiny.

Zen Gypsy · February 29

@Gnaws Valerica Radache: Old Korvosa, Shaw's Arms

In the dwindling light of the day, the rhythmic pounding of the hammer ceased at Shaw's Arms. The lingering scent of heated steel hung in the air as Valerica wiped sweat from her brow, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction on her face. The oppressive humidity foreshadowed the imminent storm that loomed on the horizon.

Vencarlo Orisini, a familiar figure in the dimly lit interior, watched Valerica with a concerned gaze. The fading daylight painted a warm glow on his face, highlighting the worry etched into his features. He had been her guide, mentor in the art of the blade, and a steadfast patron since the tragic loss of Aramis. The connection between them was more than master and apprentice; it was a bond of trust and shared purpose.

As the shadows deepened within the smithy, Vencarlo spoke, his voice carrying a weight that transcended the immediate concerns of the forge. "Valerica, my dear, the winds of fate are shifting. There's an unease settling over Korvosa. I fear the city is on the brink of something tumultuous, something that may not spare even those hidden behind barred doors and shutters."

Valerica met Vencarlo's gaze, her eyes reflecting both determination and a hint of trepidation. She had not seen him so concerned before; he had always been confident, fearless, and brave. As he sighed, his concern evident, she saw his age weight on him, his doubts, his recriminations. "I cannot put it into words, but it's a feeling, the city is poised for chaos, and I worry for your safety, Valerica. Remember the lessons I taught you. Be cautious, be vigilant, be patient."

With that, Vencarlo, cloaked in the shadows, moved towards the exit. His footsteps were light, a testament to his enduring agility. "Fundatum Honore, Tempratum Disciplina." He spoke the motto of his once great academy, she knew the words. Forged in Honor, Tempered in Discipline. As he stepped into the fading daylight, he cast a final glance back at Valerica, a silent reassurance echoing in his gaze. "Stay safe, my dear. The storm approaches."

Alone in Shaw's Arms, Valerica pondered his words, the sense of foreboding settling in her heart. It was then that she noticed a small object resting on the workbench. It was a Harrow card, the Owl, its intricate details illuminated by the dim light. The card seemed to carry a weight of its own, a silent messenger amidst the gathering storm.

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

Valerica's grip tightened around the Owl card, a symbol of wisdom and foresight. The words inscribed on the border hinted at a shared purpose, a call to arms against a common foe. As she looked out into the darkening streets of Old Korvosa, Vencarlo's words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the mentor who had guided her. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within, and Valerica knew that the choices she made in the coming days would shape not only her fate but the destiny of Korvosa itself.

Zen Gypsy · February 29

@VennDygrem Aquila Ekaitza: Shoanti Work Camp, East Shore

In the waning daylight, Aquila Ekaitza found herself amidst the bustling activity of a Shoanti work camp, a temporary haven for her amidst the stone and steel of Korvosa. The air carried the acrid scent of sweat and the harsh tang of metal, a stark contrast to the open expanse of the Storval Plateau that the people of the Sklar-Quah called home. The oppressive humidity hinted at an impending storm, casting a foreboding shadow over the laborers.

Her quest for information led her to Gaekhen, the grandson of the venerable Thousand Bones. Amidst the makeshift tents and the rhythmic sounds of Shoanti at work, Aquila sought the one who might hold a clue to the whereabouts of Zanek, the missing Varisian child. Gaekhen, a young man marked by the resilience of his people, met her gaze with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Their conversation unfolded against the backdrop of labor and toil. Gaekhen, in whispers, hinted at the west bank of the Jeggare River along Westdock, where Zanek might have been seen. Aquila's heart quickened with a glimmer of hope, but their exchange was abruptly halted.

Approaching from the edge of the work camp, the stooped figure of Thousand Bones emerged. His walking stick, crowned with an imposing skull, echoed against the uneven ground. The air seemed to still as the venerable shaman, with milky eyes that saw beyond the mundane, reached them.

"Wind-Speaker," Thousand Bones intoned, his voice carrying a shamanic greeting that resonated with both respect and recognition for her connection to the wind and the sky. "Gaekhen, it is time. The spirits have spoken, and a storm gathers on the horizon." Gaekhen nodded solemnly, recognizing the call of his grandfather. Aquila felt a sense of urgency, both in the air and within the words of the aged shaman. The old man stopped, looked back with eyes that could not see, "Dark waters whisper, resist their pull, Wind-Speaker. It would sadden me to not continue our lessons."

As the camp began to settle into an uneasy quiet, Thousand Bones beckoned his grandson to retire with him towards the Storval Plateau. The laborers, aware of the shaman's connection to the unseen forces, spared respectful glances. Aquila, caught between the quest for a missing child and the ancestral pull of the Shoanti spirituality she had come to respect, watched as the two figures retreated.

In the fading light, her gaze fell upon an unexpected object: a Harrow card, the Wanderer, blown in by a gust of wet, rain-laden wind. It landed in the mud at her feet as she turned back towards the Thief Camp gate. As she lifted the card, her eyes caught the inscription along the border:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

The words lingered in the air, weaving the threads of fate between the Shoanti, the Varisian, and the impending storm that seemed to envelop them all.

Zen Gypsy · February 29

@Thramzorean Ionacu Davian: Jade Circle, South Shore

In the lush surroundings of the Jade Circle, Ionacu Davian found a momentary refuge from the city's chaos. The scent of exotic teas and the delicate clinking of porcelain provided an illusion of tranquility. Seated across from him, Amin Jalento, a man in his mid-twenties with short reddish hair and a slightly stubbled face, exuded an air of quiet urgency. His brown eyes held a mix of determination and concern, matching the bronze bracelet adorning his right arm—a subtle emblem of his status.

As Ionacu sipped on the fragrant tea, Amin's gaze remained fixed on him, a silent plea for understanding. Finally, with a weighty sigh, Amin reached into a leather folder, producing a dossier that symbolized the Jalento family's precarious position. The ambiance of the Jade Circle hushed to a distant murmur as Ionacu delved into the details, the papers revealing the looming threat to Amin's family legacy.

"Ionacu, my friend," Amin began, his tone a blend of earnestness and desperation, "I need your help. The Jalento properties are on the brink. The civic projects threaten to strip away our legacy. I had hoped your family connections could sway the decisions, delay the inevitable. This is a matter of survival for my family, Ionacu."

The ambient noise of the teahouse seemed to fade, leaving only the hushed tones of their conversation. As Amin leaned in, his eyes locked with Ionacu's, he continued, "Joining the Sable Company is my dream, my way of giving back to the city. I can't do it if my family loses everything. I've heard whispers of your family's connections with the Abadaran Taxmasters, could you provide aid?"

Ionacu, with the weight of responsibility and a city in turmoil on his shoulders, met Amin's gaze. The bronze bracelet on Amin's arm glinted in the ambient light as Ionacu pondered the intertwined destinies that lay ahead.

Bran, Ionacu's familiar raven, perched on his shoulder, shifted uneasily. The bird's keen, observant eyes fixated on the Harrow card nestled within the Jalento dossier. In a swift, almost purposeful motion, Bran hopped to the table, extended his beak, grasping the card, and with a deft pull, extracted it from the sheaf of papers. The sudden motion drew Ionacu's attention, and he watched in astonishment as Bran held the Harrow card in his beak, as if guided by an otherworldly force.

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

The ambient sounds of the teahouse now seemed muffled, drowned out by the significance of this unexpected revelation. Bran's intelligent gaze met Ionacu's, and a caw, almost like a warning, resonated through the air. The raven's reaction hinted at a deeper connection between the enigmatic script on the card and the impending storm that cast its shadow not only over the city but also over the cryptic forces at play in Ionacu's life.

Zen Gypsy · March 1

@saithor Ihrin Giurea, Bard's End, South Shore

In the vibrant atmosphere of Bard's End, Trinia Sabor and Ihrin shared a table, surrounded by the lively buzz of South Shore. The air hung heavy with the promise of rain, mirroring the impending storm within the city. The Bard's End stage, set for the upcoming performance, added a touch of theatrical anticipation to the dinner.

Trinia's golden hair framed her face as she leaned in, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Ihrin, my dear, how's your sister doing? I heard about her injury during one of your performances. I hope she is recovering well?" There was a look of concern on Trinia's face, a shadow of doubt, worry, as she, tentatively, broached the news. "There, I," another pause, her gaze holding a mix of empathy and fear, "I heard the Society found out about your Troupe's ... extracurriculars ... it must be hard, trying to make ends meet when you want to play." Kendall's, but Trinia knew well enough to leave it unsaid, her sister would never dance again, not like she used to.

"I was thinking of her," she reached from the table and pulled a small 8 by 10 canvas from her satchel, "she'd asked me to make this ... before." She mumbled, sheepishly, as she slid the canvas across towards Ihrin. The canvas Trinia presented to Ihrin was a vivid and enchanting placard, in a riot of colors, the Dancing Giurea Sisters were captured in mid-pirouette. Wearing theatrical masks that added an air of mystery and allure to their performance, the brushstrokes conveyed the vibrancy of their movements, creating an illusion of the stage coming to life. The proclamation of their act headlining Kendall's Amphitheatre added a touch of grandeur, elevating the sisters to the status of stars in the world of performance. It was a masterpiece crafted with care, a visual symphony meant to lift the spirits and bring a glimmer of joy to Ihrin's sister during challenging times.

Trinia nodded, even in her melancholy her smile held a beautiful, charismatic charm. "I suppose that life is a stage, and we're all performers, sadly we must play our roles, comedic, dramatic, or tragic. All that's left is our ability to savor the moments we have."

As the conversation flowed and laughter echoed in the inn, Trinia excused herself, leaving the canvas with Ihrin. It was only later, as Ihrin examined the painting in the dimming light of Bard's End, that she discovered the unexpected presence of a Harrow card—The Courtesan, embodying artistry and grace.

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

The storm outside mirrored the conflicting emotions within Ihrin, a whirlwind of gratitude, concern, and the foreboding sense that the city's chaos was about to escalate.

Zen Gypsy · March 1

@Vedast Caltrix Nimblesquirl, Jeggare's Jug, Old Korvosa

In the dimly lit atmosphere of Jeggare's Jug, Caltrix Nimblesquirl pushed open the creaking door and entered the tavern. The scent of Chelish pepper whiskey lingered in the air, accompanied by the raucous laughter of the working-class patrons. Thunder rumbled ominously outside, foreshadowing the impending storm that would soon engulf Korvosa.

As Caltrix made her way through the crowded tavern, her eyes scanned the patrons, finally settling on a back booth where Enoch Reaves sat, tearing into a piece of grey meat with yellowed, crooked teeth. His scarred face bore witness to the harsh streets of Korvosa, and his eyes watched the entrance with a predatory gleam.

Approaching the booth, Caltrix's gaze met Enoch's, and a sly grin surfaced on his face. "Caltrix, fancy seein' you here. Heard you've been lookin' for some info," he said, his voice a low rasp. He chortled at the halfling, as she hopped up to the high bench set opposite him. Grabbing a shot glass of whiskey, and slurping it through his teeth, wiping the spittle from his chin with a rail thin forearm, he leaned back, his grin unwavering. "Take a seat, Caltrix. We got business to discuss."

Caltrix slid into the booth opposite Enoch, the atmosphere growing tense as the storm outside mirrored the turmoil within her. The dim light of the tavern cast shadows across the table, creating an air of clandestine negotiation.

"I know yer looking for yer friend, wass 'er name? Since you decided shove ol' Conso from tha' Shingles. Ya?" His voice rasped as he sneered at the young halfling. Caltrix felt a surge of concern and determination. "Now I heard some whispers, Caltrix 'n the Lofties eh? Well I need ya ta talk ta the Catsdew 'n make sure that they can get ol' Enoch outta Korvosa, yea? 'n before I leave maybe you get where yer Lollifar is, eh?"

Their conversation concluded, Caltrix rose from the booth, leaving Jeggare's Jug. The cobblestone road outside was damp from a passing drizzle, and as she stepped into the street, her eyes caught something glinting in a puddle. She bent down, fingers brushing against a Harrow card—the Locksmith. Along the border, an inscription caught her attention:

"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."

The storm loomed on the horizon, and Caltrix's path became increasingly entwined with the threads of fate, leading her toward a reckoning with both Gaedren Lamm and the enigmatic forces that sought justice in the shadows.

Zen Gypsy · March 1

Edited March 3 by Zen Gypsy (see edit history)

Vedast · March 2

Caltrix Nimblesquirl
Twilight Halfling; Acrobat; Rogue (Thief; 1); (TBA) Archetype; Harrow Card: 'The Locksmith'

HP: 15/15 | AC:17: Explorer's | Speed: 25' |Senses: Low-light vision; Keen Eyes | Lang: Common; Halfling; Gnome; Varisian

Perception (E): +7 | Fort (T): +4 | Ref (E): +9| Will (E): +7 |

N.B. The original post required some editing given my confusion between Player posting and Character arrival order. I shall incorporate the editions in maroon.

Sunset – or, at least, given the brooding weather, as close to it as made no difference. She was going to be late, thought the halfling as she made her way south through Korvosa’s streets and alleyways. The cryptic rendezvous was set for a location quite a distance from her usual turf though, ironically, not far at all from her parent’s home. It had been a while since she had seen them, she mused, before putting aside the distracting thought.

Still, the delay was annoying. She would, of course, have preferred to arrive sufficiently early to allow her to case the address, 3 Lancet Street, and observe the others – ‘others like her’ – that might arrive. She was wary of a trap being set by Gaedren Lamm. The fact that Enoch knew as much as he did of her movements and activities suggested that she wasn’t being careful enough. He didn’t know everything, though. Conso Voicu really had fallen, albeit in pursuit of her across the rooftops known as the Shingles: the man simply hadn’t known his limitations. Were the rumor mill elaborating the story that she had helped escort the miscreant partner of Lamm off the edge of the roof, well, all the better, she thought. It wouldn’t hurt to cultivate a reputation for ruthlessness. Halflings were often not taken to be deadly serious.

Enoch Reaves. What was he up to … and why would he need help in leaving Korvosa? Why would he want to for that matter? Maybe he knew more about this oppressive malaise affecting the city than he let on? Still, the offered bait of information as to Lollifar’s whereabouts and fate was too important to ignore.

She’d made her way across Old Korvosa towards the southern side of Endrin Isle and then up into the Shingles - not far actually from her own domicile. Only recently had she made contact with the Catsdew Lofties – the unusual group of all-female thieves that made the Shingles their primary turf. Caltrix herself had been associated with the Cerulean Society before Lamm’s betrayal, but survival in the Shingles, her new ‘home’ as it were, meant having allies. Rival gangs and the random, yet common violence of poverty worked the area – not to mention the depredations of the Chokers. Again, she wondered, how had Enoch known that she had made contacts with them? And if he knew that, why would he need her help to make an arrangement with them?

Well, she suspected that Enoch was far more than he let on, repugnant appearance and all. Even more intriguing was the question: why had he let her know that he knew so much about her? She blinked upon realizing that she'd spoken aloud.

Such questions were not going to be answered just now. She’d found a Catsdew colleague, dropped Enoch’s name, and left it at that. Were those-who-made-decisions for the Lofties intrigued, they’d so inform her and she could contact The Contractor - as she thought of Enoch.

Concluding this necessary task, she continued her way Southwards into the main part of the New City: the storm that threatened, but hadn’t yet broken (albeit scattered showers had moved through and over the city), cast a gloom that she took advantage of as she passed over the Narrows (she always chose a different bridge) to Mainshore; through Five Corners; thence the Midlands and West Dock (near to her parent’s house: they were successful rope and spar makers for the burgeoning shipping interests of the city). Whilst she normally travelled carefully, crossing streets and making random turns, here in the warehouse districts she ventured more openly - just another Korvosan hoping to find shelter before a storm: she was aware that the City Guard and Sable Company maintained patrols in these areas. As she passed farther south, however, she slowed and became much more cautiousSociety Check +5 and proactive as she neared the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden taking the time and effort now to move into shadowy areas; sneakingAvoid Notice Exploration Activity (+7) from cover-to-cover; doubling back around on her path; and otherwise taking precautions to identify and/or throw off any potential adversary following her. This took time and potentially risked her being late. Better late than dead, she breathed.

When at last she could surveil the address, 3 Lancet Street, she noted that the area was nearly deserted. Her spider sense tingled. Were the locals just battening down the hatches before the storm broke or was the quiet something else? Looking about her, she eyed a warehouse just up Lancet Street. Making her way to and into the building, she eventually reached an upper story window from which she could observe the facade of #3. The light rain, gloom, and shadows ensured that the little thief was deeply covered. She settled to observe for a short while: Caltrix was as interested in espying any surveillanceSearch Exploration Activity (+7) as she was in who might enter. If this were a trap set by Lamm, he'd have minions on the outside and the inside.

The place itself, #3, appeared to be a Curio Shoppe named 'Zellara's Wonders.' The halfling's keen (and low-light) eyesight could make out what appeared to be various objects that one might associate with occultism, but it was difficult in the conditions to make out any details from her current position.

Caltrix peered again at the Harrow Card. "Others like her." She thought: whoever placed this Harrow card, and she was sure that it had been placed, knew enough about her to plant the Locksmith.

After not too long a wait, there was some movement along the street ... perhaps events were about to unfold? Would the storm hold?

OOC

Caltrix looks pretty much like the Heroforge figure above in terms of equipment and clothing. She has a shortbow not shown on the figure.

ACTIONS

A Society Check (+5) for the area around the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden & Lancet Street
A Stealth roll (+7) for the Avoid Notice Exploration Activity (Note used Halfling Luck to reroll)
A Perception roll (+7) for the Search Exploration Activity (or, really, the Seek Action if it were encounter mode).

Edited March 2 by Vedast
remove any reference to another PC (see edit history)

VennDygrem · March 2

Thoughts and notions swirl about Aquila's mind, much like the winds of the storm gathering strength as it prepares to full descend upon the city of Korvosa. Those very winds seem to worry Aquila less than the Shoanti elder, though she respects their strength more than, she thinks, the average Korvosan citizen. Those winds are part of her blood, after all.

The young sylph woman looks down at the harrow card still held in her hand and brushes her fingers over it, wiping some of the street grime from its edges. Had it been sent by Thousand Bones, or Gaekhen? It didn't seem likely, as the Harrow was more a divinatory tool of her people, the Varisians, rather than the Shoanti. Whoever did send it was good at going unnoticed, and possibly had the use of magic on their side. It was no mere coincidence, given the message clearly directed to her.

Besides, Aquila doesn't believe in coincidence.

'Lancet Street... Hmm. That's in West Dock, right? I'll need to be quick if I want to make it in time. Too bad I'm not 'Wind Runner' instead of 'Wind Speaker' to Thousand Bones...'

Aquila shakes her head and lets out a centering breath before taking off at a brisk pace. She laments that rooftop leaping won't help her here in East Shore, and is generally frowned upon in West Dock. There won't be any Shingle dashing today. At least this meeting spot isn't clear across the entire length of the city, but it's still inconvenient within the allotted timeframe. She winds her way through the camp and over High Bridge, weaving through the streets of the same-named ward of the city before making it to Lancet street. Luckily for her, her destination was closer than she thought.

Contrary to some others' approach to the building, Aquila's arrival is not characterized by stealth or even much caution. If she's being watched, she's already been watched, as evidenced by the Harrow card's arrival, and people visit homes all the time, she figures. Though she has spent plenty of time on the streets, it is clear Aquila is not accustomed to having enemies.

As she arrives, Aquila reaches into her belt pouch and touches the card. Perhaps she seeks reassurance that she's doing the right thing, or just ensuring that she hadn't imagined the whole thing. Letting out another quick breath, she approaches the entrance to Three Lancet Street.

OOC & Actions

N/A

Gnaws · March 2

Valerica Radache
Human (Versatile)Humanity's versatility and ambition have fueled its ascendance to be the most common ancestry in most nations throughout the world. Select a general feat of your choice for which you meet the prerequisites.; ArtisanAs an apprentice, you practiced a particular form of building or crafting, developing specialized skill. You might have been a blacksmith's apprentice toiling over the forge for countless hours, a young tailor sewing garments of all kinds, or a shipwright shaping the hulls of ships.

Choose two ability boosts. One must be to Strength or Intelligence, and one is a free ability boost.

You're trained in the Crafting skill and the Guild Lore skill. You gain the Specialty Crafting skill feat.; Ranger (Precision; 1); (TBA) Archetype; Harrow Card: 'The Owl'

HP: 20/20 | AC:18 | Speed: 30'+5' from Fleet |Senses: Normal | Lang: Common; Dwarven

Perception (E): +7 | Fort (E): +6 | Ref (E): +9| Will (T): +5 |

| SkillsTrained:
Acrobatics (+7); Crafting (+3); Lore/Guild (+3); Medicine (+5); Nature (+5); Society (+3); Stealth (+7); Survival (+5)

Untrained:
Arcana (+0); Athletics (+2); Deception (+0); Diplomacy (+0); Intimidation (+0); Occultism (+0); Performance (+0); Religion (+2); Thievery (+4) | AttributesSTR +2 [14]
DEX +4 [18]
CON +1 [12]
INT +0 [10]
WIS +2 [14]
CHA +0 [10] | AttacksUnarmed:

Fist +7 (Dex 4; Trained 3); 1d4+2 B (Crit 2d4+4); Agile; Finesse; Nonlethal; Unarmed

Melee:

Shortsword +7 (Dex 4; Trained 3); 1d6+2 P/S (Crit 2d6+4); Agile; Finesse; Versatile S.

Ranged:

Shortbow +7 (Dex 4; Trained 3); 1d6 P (Crit 2d6+1d10); Deadly d10; Range 60' | Precision Damage+1d8

You have trained to aim for your prey’s weak points. The first time you hit your hunted prey in a round, you also deal 1d8 additional precision damage. (Precision damage increases the damage you already deal, using the same type, but is ineffective against creatures that lack vital organs or weak points.) |Hero Pts.Heroic Effort: When you Fail or Critically Fail any, non-secret, check you may spend a Hero Point and improve your degree of Success by a single step, a Critical Failure becomes a Failure, and a Failure becomes a Success
.
Heroic Recovery: At the end of any turn in which you would gain the Dying condition, or your current Dying condition would increase you may spend a single Hero Point to stabilize with zero Hit Points. You do not gain the Wounded condition or increase it's value from losing the Dying condition in this way, but if you already had that condition, you don't lose it or decrease it's value.

Undying Heroism: At the start of any turn in which you have zero Hit Points and are not currently Dying you may spend a single Hero Point to recover a number of Hit Points equal to your level.: 1

Valerica made her way through the streets towards 3 Lancet Street. It wasn't far from the smithy, but coming upon sunset made the streets of Korvosa more intimidating; fresh dangers lurking just beyond the growing shadows. She put a hand on the hilt of her sword to reassure herself. She had expected to learn the rapier during her time with Vencarlo but the aged swordmaster hadn't allowed it. "You don't learn to blacksmith by forging plate; you don't learn the blade by starting with a rapier," he had told her. It had made sense and so she forged herself a shortsword and he had taught her that.

With that memory came Vencarlo's warning from earlier, "I worry for your safety, Valerica. Remember the lessons I taught you. Be cautious, be vigilant, be patient." Valerica didn't feel like she was being any of those things at the moment, Orsini wouldn't approve. It hadn't even been a question when she found the Harrow card and moments after her teacher left she was pulling the rolled up bundle out from underneath her bed, unrolling it to reveal her go-kit; leather armor, her weapons, and what she hoped was an appropriately stocked backpack. Vencarlo might disapprove, but he would have to understand.

Her heart beat as she turned onto Lancet Street. Was she ready for this? Had she trained enough? Her doubts brought Valerica to a stop. Sparring with Vencarlo in the yard was one thing, but this? This could get her killed. This could be a trap. It could be Gaedren Lamm himself waiting for her ahead; somehow knowing that she'd been seeking him all this time and now here to run her through like he had Aramis.

Gaedren Lamm. The name echoed in her head as if it were her hammer, shaping the steel of her resolve. Whatever she found inside 3 Lancet Street didn't matter; if it brought her closer to ending Gaedren Lamm and ensuring that he would never ruin another family, then it was worth whatever outcome awaited her. Valerica pulled the Harrow Card from her pouch and looked it over once more, confirming the street number. She looked up at the house that she had subconsciously ended up in front of.

3 Lancet Street. She went in.

OOC

Included a more "real" picture of how I envision Valerica looking when dressed in adventuring gear rather than casual clothing. Continued to shamelessly steal Vedast's templates.

ACTIONS

Thramzorean · March 2

Ionacu Davian

Ionacu Davian HP: 16/16 Saves: Fort 5, Ref 5, Will 6 AC: 15, Perception: 4, Speed: 25 '

A black raven perched high in the gables of number 6 Lancet Street, bobbed its head, a gold-amber eye flicking left and right, the setting sun creating dark shadows along the eaves.

A young man, dark short hair on a pale smooth face, in smart casual evening dress, came walking down Lancet Street to stop at the door of number 3. There was a sylph woman who seemed to be it could be assumed an 'other' standing before the door. He observed her, the young man's expression carefully neutral.

"Shall we enter?" he politely asked the woman.

*

Ionacu had few words of comfort and no hard promises to offer Amin. "These things can be negotiated with the tax offices," Inocacu had stated. "They are sensible business people, ongoing revenue is much better than bankrupting citizens. But there needs to be a basis for discussion Amin. You can't just buy them off. You need to show a means of income. I'm happy to act as a facilitator, to ask for an extension or offer a plan. I can't help financially."

There Ionacu had had to leave it. He had his own concerns and with the harrow card in his pocket, an appointment to keep.

Edited March 2 by Thramzorean (see edit history)

Keante · March 3

Edited March 5 by Keante
move into private tag (see edit history)

saithor · March 3

Ihrin

Human• Entertainer • Maestro Bard 1
Medium • Chaotic Good • Humanoid

Ihrin stared blankly down at the tapestry. Normally she'd muster enough grace to reply to Trinia, even if under a mask of her own making, but tonight there was nothing. Dalia's shakes had gotten worse last night, to the point Ihrin hadn't left her side. She'd collapsed early in the morning, woken up later not certain if her sister lived or died.

She'd lived. It had been close. Ihrin had struggled with leaving their shared apartment, but she'd paid a doctor some of what was left to keep an eye on Dalia for today. Long enough to try and ply her trade.

The money wouldn't last much longer. It disappeared faster than she could take it. There were ways to make more appear of course. Give up the apartment. Go back to fleecing. She'd sworn never to go back to her family, never to steal from the people she entertained. But Dalia was getting worse. The money Ihrin had wouldn't last much longer.

Their family would take them back, if only to rub in how she'd been proven wrong. Is that why she was so reluctant, out of pride? No. She couldn't forget. Her father had been the one to get Dalia addicted to that poison, with his fake smiles and assurances he just wanted to help her with the pressures Ihrin had put on her.

Some blame for that lay on her. But there'd be a reckoning for both her father and that snake who'd gotten Dalia hooked on the drug. But for now.....Dalia might not live if Ihrin couldn't afford to take care of her.

Then her eyes spotted the card.

Ihrin palmed it just to make sure it was real. Had Trinia left it? Probably not. She eyed it. Justice? Vigilante justice, but if it was a choice between breaking the law by stealing from her audience, and breaking the law by killing that rat that had gotten her sister addicted, she knew which she'd take.

It didn't take long to prepare. A moment to stop by her house, recover a few things, then come to the house on 3 Lancet street. As she approached, she considered an item in her hands. She'd just picked it up on a whim, there wasn't a real use to this like there were for the weapons. But still, there was a benefit to some anonymity. This man had denied her debut. It felt...right to kill him looking like she'd planned to perform. Ihrin slipped on her mask, then made for the house.

Actions:

OOC

Whitehart09 · March 3

Carthen

Carthen has sat at that very table, staring at the harrow card in his hand for literal hours. He ruminated on the conversation he just had with Grau, the card, the situation he currently finds himself in and most of all, how did his beer get even worse. He pushed away the empty mug, and flipped the card over and over as he stared off.

He slammed the card down on the table, causing several heads to turn his way and quickly turn back, his demeanor telling them to mind their own business. He stands, card in hand as he tosses down his payment and leaves the bar. He looks both ways as he steps out and begins walking in the direction of Lancet street.

His walk was one of confidence, him being on the street was normal, as normal as a barbaric half-orc could be anyway. He walked past the address, his senses on edge. After his pass, he waits a few moments and then heads back, approaching the door.

OOC and Actions

Carthen Brisbane-------------------------
HP: 20 (20 base)
AC: 17

===== Reactions =====

===== Actions =====

Scout exploration activity.

Ongoing Effects and Daily Use Things

Ongoing Effects:

Remaining Resources:

Text_1	Text_2	Text_3	Bold_1	Accent_1	Mood_1
Warm_1	Warm_2	Warm_3	Bold_2	Accent_2	Mood_2
Cool_1	Cool_2	Cool_3	Bold_3	Accent_3	Mood_3
Bright_1	Bright_2	Bright_3	Bold_4	Accent_4	Mood_4

Edge of Anarchy: Harrowing Fortunes

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