Revelry and Ruined Reputations
The festival of Rhenus was in full swing, a bustling sea of color, music, and laughter. Eager to indulge in the local attractions, the party tried their hands at the carnival games lining the thoroughfare.
Their first stop was a classic bottle-pyramid game. Frank Turgolas stepped up first, but his weighted ball merely clipped the very top bottle, leaving the rest standing. A second attempt by another companion went completely wide, soaring harmlessly over the target.
“We all know these games are rigged,” Conall Mhathghamhuin muttered, drawing a defensive scoff from the booth keeper.
William B. Blue stepped up next. With a smooth, measured toss, his ball struck the third row dead-on, sending seven bottles crashing off the back of the platform. He walked away with a smug grin and 80 silver pieces. Conall followed, managing to knock down three bottles for a modest prize of 50 copper.
Next was the ring toss—a game of coordination and sand-filled pits. Flack Flint proved surprisingly adept, landing two of her three rings to secure a gold piece and 50 silver. Conall, feeling boastful, landed his first two easily. For his final throw, he attempted a blind, over-the-shoulder trick shot. The crowd gasped, but the ring merely clipped the post and bounced away. Still, he claimed his gold and silver.
Never one to be outdone, William offered to raise the stakes with a display of acrobatics. “I’ll sprinkle some panache in there,” he declared.
With a spectacular backflip, William launched his first ring mid-air, landing it perfectly on the post. His second throw caught the rim just as cleanly. For his final shot, he attempted a dramatic, discus-style spin.
Unfortunately, his release was wide. The heavy wooden ring sailed past the booth and struck a passing pedestrian squarely in the back of the head. The man crumpled to the dirt, out cold.
As William quickly hid, Flack rushed over to administer first aid. The booth keeper, furious and terrified of a lawsuit, shoved a gold and 50 silver into William’s hands just to make him go away.
A Gesture of Grace and a Trail of Red
With Pohk returning from a rather lengthy tavern break, the party browsed the market stalls. Conall stocked up on travel jerky, while Frank gravitated toward a flower stand run by a little girl.
Frank purchased three roses—one red, one yellow, and one purple—for the price of three copper. Generous to a fault, he handed the girl a gold piece and told her to keep the change, leaving her frozen in sheer, wide-eyed disbelief. Frank distributed the flowers:
- Conall received the purple rose (a reminder of home).
- Flack took the yellow rose.
- William was gifted the red rose.
Not wanting to be outdone in charity, William handed the girl two more gold pieces and bought out her entire remaining stock, instructing her to hand them out to everyone in the square. Within minutes, the square was filled with smiling citizens carrying fresh blooms.
However, the festive mood quickly shifted. Keeping their eyes peeled, the party noticed several festival-goers wearing distinct armbands. Some wore solid red; others wore deep burgundy. An elf woman wearing one explained she had bought it at a merchant stand on the north side of the square because “it looked cool.”
Shadowing the Law
Heading north, the party spotted a city guard wearing a solid red armband, huddled in deep conversation with a merchant sporting a mixed red-and-burgundy band. Sensing a connection to the previous night’s tavern assault, Frank slipped into the shadows to tail the guard.
Frank followed the guard down a quiet side street where he met with three other men. Two wore red armbands, and one wore burgundy. Huddling against a stone wall, Frank overheard their hushed conversation:
“I don’t know what they’re planning next, but you guys need to get back to Seratil. Seems like Opius was wrong in whatever he was doing last night. He’s currently captured. Just lay low for a little while longer.”
As the group dispersed, the guard spun around and spotted Frank lingering nearby. Suspicious, the guard marched over. Frank kept his cool, offering a friendly smile and extending his hand.
“Just walking and taking a little break,” Frank lied smoothly.
The guard, though wary, shook his hand, muttered a warning, and walked away. Frank slipped back to the party to report his findings. The name “Opius” confirmed their suspicions—this guard was in league with the very faction that had tried to assassinate the Marshal.
The Ambush in the Alley
The party debated their options. Seratil was a massive residential district just outside the city walls, effectively operating as its own self-governed entity. If the conspirators were hiding there, they needed more information. They decided to capture and interrogate the guard.
Conall took the lead, scanning the cobblestones. His military eyes caught the faint, silvery scrape marks left by heavy, armored boots. The trail led away from the crowded square and down a narrow, empty alleyway.
Seeing their target walking casually down the corridor, the party closed in. Pohk, despite his massive eight-foot gorilla stature, moved with supernatural silence. Sprinting forward without making a sound, Pohk closed the distance in a flash.
Before the guard could even turn around, Pohk delivered a precise, non-lethal Stunning Strike to the back of the man’s neck. The guard stiffened, completely paralyzed, and crumpled into Pohk’s arms before he could utter a single cry for help.
Secrets in the Sewers
To avoid the prying eyes of the city watch, the party dragged the unconscious guard into the nearby sewers. They bound him securely with hempen rope along the stone walkway, safely away from the flowing waste.
Flack delivered a sharp backhand to wake him. The guard sputtered, his eyes darting frantically around the dim, smelly cavern.
“What the fuck? I’m a city guard! You beat me up for an armband?” he yelled.
“You are connected to the people who made an attempt on the Marshal’s life,” Conall countered.
The guard tried to play dumb, but Flack wasn’t having it. Grabbing his discarded breastplate, she cast Heat Metal, letting the glowing, superheated steel serve as a silent threat. Combined with Pohk cracking his massive knuckles, the guard’s resolve shattered.
He introduced himself as Rene Bonnell.
“Out in Seratil, it’s been a nightmare,” Rene confessed, shaking. “They’ve been taxing us to no end to fund their stupid wars. And then they throw this massive, expensive festival off our hard labor. Yeah, we’re angry! Desperate people do desperate things.”
The party huddled to discuss. The Empire had recently unified the continent, meaning the wars were technically over, but the economic devastation left in their wake was very real. Sympathizing with the plight of the over-taxed commoners, the party made a unanimous decision: they would side with the rebels.
They untied Rene and healed his minor injuries. Surprised but relieved, Rene used charcoal to sketch a map of Seratil on the sewer floor, marking a specific safehouse with an underground entrance.
“Go there and tell them you want to see Dura,” Rene instructed.
The party froze. Dura was the very same warden who had been guarding the Marshal at the inn the night before.. a double agent hidden in plain sight.
Washrooms and Weaponry
After parting ways with Rene, the party desperately needed to wash off the stench of the sewers. They paid ten silver pieces each at a local bathhouse.
The bath led to a bizarre discovery: William, whose unique physiology was highly porous, began absorbing water like a sponge. Within minutes, he bloated to twice his normal size, sloshing heavily as he quickly scrambled out of the tub to drain. Meanwhile, Pohk gave himself a massive, dog-like shake, drenching the entire room and leaving the bathhouse staff utterly miserable.
Cleaned and presentable, they visited Burgux’s Smithy, a large, open-air forge run by a green orc named Burguk.
William showed Burguk his custom revolvers. The blacksmith’s eyes lit up with intense curiosity. He examined the firing mechanisms, noting that the metal hammers weren’t strong enough to withstand the explosive forces, which caused them to jam.
“If you can get me some Twerrin steel from the city of Twerrin to the west, and a clay mold of your striking hammers, I can forge you some upgrades,” Burguk offered.
Flack introduced herself as a Forge Cleric of Renderac. Thrilled to meet a fellow devotee of the forge, Burguk agreed to teach her advanced metalworking techniques if she helped secure the Twerrin steel.
The Royal Stone
As the day drew to a close, Frank sought to liquidate a valuable asset: a massive black sapphire he had been carrying.
They entered a lavish, high-end jewelry shop. The elderly jeweler took one look at the stone through his monocle, gasped, and pale-facedly pushed it back.
“A black sapphire? Get that out of here! I don’t want that anywhere near my shop!” the jeweler hissed.
“Why not?” Frank asked, playing innocent.
“That is a royal gem! Only the Vahrenian royal family possesses those. If you are caught with that, you are dead men. Get out!”
The party ushered Frank out of the shop. Once on the street, they turned to him, demanding answers. Frank merely shrugged, admitting he had possessed the stolen royal artifact since before they met.