In the Market for Murder

Log Info

• Title: In the Market for Murder
• Emitter: Cryosanthia
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Lanier, Sargon
• Place: A07: Lower Alexandria Market District
• Time: Saturday, April 04, 2020, 12:49 PM
• Summary: Lanier is in the Market District, seeing how the urban get on and browsing the wares. He encounters a sausage vendor. While they are talking about his purchase, the ranger notices a lot of crows around. He asks the sausage vendor if he's seen anything unusual. The vendor lists various Alexandrian goings-on which should be unusual but seem common. Sargon, and orc, arrives at the same time as a very large crow. The witchcrow seems to recognize Lanier, have it in for him, and calls his name. The other crows suddenly attack the pair, swarming them. As they fight them off, the sausage stand is destroyed and Lanier feels himself cursed by the Witchcroew. He attempts to make amends, but this is interrupted by Sargon attacking the Witchcrow. It flees, it's sentiments unknown.
• APL: 6
• Encounters: CR6
  • (1) CR3 Witchcrow XP800 - driven off
  • (1) CR3 Murder of Crows XP800 - killed

-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A07: Lower Alexandria Market District *>-=--=--=--=--=--=-

Just west of the Northern Highbridge and east of the arena, commerce blooms. Noisy and bustling, most anything may be purchased here for a price. Vendors from all cultures sell their wares from exotically colored carts, and the smells of different nations and far-off city-states mix with local ones from Alexandria and its riverbanks.

For all its commerce, visitors are advised to keep hold of their purses. Even the merchants possess a certain, cunning look. Most are positioned at carts or stalls as opposed to a formal storefront, with trade here being mobile, and visiting from all parts of the world.

Though the quality of goods suffers here compared to Upper Alexandria, the options are more diverse. Too, the oversight of the Watch is slightly less, and during times events are held at the Arena, chaos abounds. After dark, the square becomes a hangout for bards and other entrepreneurs whose business is best conducted by night; the shadows at the edges of the square often contain furtive figures engaging in their own brand of business.

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-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=
Lanier       6'0"     245 Lb     Human             Male      Young, lean and strong Acanian wearing hide clothing.
Sargon       6'4"     225 Lb     Orc               Male      Green (and bronze) skinned Oruch brawler.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

-=-=-=-=-  As the GM  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Cryosanthia  6'9"     267 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.   
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

It's a beautiful day in the market, with a nice blue sky overhead. Light breezes and fluffy clouds, the banners and flags of the market flap gently and noxious smells are carried away. People are out, selling wares and purchasing.

There's a commotion at one end, a white-scaled sith-makar woman runs by, wizard robes flapping. She is pursued by a small, fluffy individual mounted on a giant spider. While she has a lance, it is tucked to face away from the sith. There isn't the typical hue and cry of a criminal in pursuit. Perhaps they're exercising.

The distraction over and long gone, the crowd returns to business. Barkers hawk their wares, and a few small children of various races run about kicking a green ball.

Living in the wilderness and understanding its ways gives many things one would need to survive. However, there are some things that one needs to actually live that aren't as readily available. During such times, one can find the Lanier Vaylan travelling into the city. He browses the stalls of the marketplace, a bag already over his shoulder as he speaks with the vendor. With a nod and a small smile, he moves along to the next one with interest.

"Sir, good sir! You look a man of taste! May I interest you in a summer sausage! Free sample, here, try!" A gnome calls out to Lanier. He seems to be a butcher, stout, wearing white, with a table set up for human sized (and above) patrons. It is elevated enough he stands on a platform behind it. There is a fold-down one at the front, for littlefolk, it is currently raised. The stand has hanging sausages, plates with some cubes and toothpicks, and a few baskets of them as well. A small pyramid of hotsauce is present.

A little bird flutters down and lands on the edge of the table. A black bird. A crow. This one is much, much smaller than the ones the ranger recently encountered, which were larger than cats, more like ravens. This is a normal crow. The gnome butcher becomes wary. He picks up one of the meat cubes, makes a shooing motion at the bird and flicks the meat away, down the street. The crow flaps after it, landing, hopping, gobbling it down.

"Nasty birds those. Can't be mean to them, they tell the other crows. Don't want to encourage them to think this here free food is for them. Makes 'em tricky to deal with. I assure you, they have been no closer to my meats than that one was."

Lanier approaches the gnomish butcher's stand, looking over the wares for a moment and then reaching out and taking the free sample offered. He looks it over and then nods his head, "Thank you." Popping it into his mouth, he makes short work of chewing and all the things that come after. He watches the interaction between the gnome and the birds, then nods his head, "Crows are scavengers in nature. They take what nature has to offer and live their lives on it."

Lanier takes a look around, and then grins, "They don't quite understand that this city isn't natural, so here they are, taking what nature gave to them..." He then hmms and nods, "I'm sure they haven't." With a tilt of his head, the Green Warden asks, "Have you seen many birds around lately? More than usual, I mean?"

"Well..." The butcher leans back, clasps his hands over his belly. He has a fine chainmail glove on his left hand. He drums on himself, "It's spring, so they've been flying back and the ones wot stayed are more fiesty, claiming territory. I expect you don't need me explaining bird behavior to you! Heh, heh. In the markets, maybe a few more than usual. Lots of crows out today, I reckon."

Glancing around, there do seem to be a few of them, here and there, swooping in to pinch pieces of food that drop, clustering around booths that have jewelry on display.

Lanier shakes his head, "I think I have the basics of how they work in hand." He looks around and then nods his head, tilting it to the side as if in acknowledgement of the observation before he looks back to the Gnome, "There's probably a flock passing through on their way back north, and the marketplace is a treat they can't pass up."

He then asks, "Let me get two more of those sausages." He reaches into a beltpouch, beginning to count out copper and silver, "Have you seen anything else strange in the marketplace? Witches, flying glaives? Anything otherwise out of sorts with the usual comings and goings?"

"Oh, strange things! Well there are witches coming through all the time, and an angel, I think he's called Merek. There's the cow-woman centaur who sells dairy products, she's just down the way, struggling a bit, for obvious reasons. I've seen a couple talking swords, chatting it up in their scabbards, giant wolves that turn into people. All sorts of things. There was a vampire, Kol, he wasn't here but he was over in the garden district down that way, very recently. I haven't seen a weapon flying around on it's own, that might worry folks. I suppose that would be out of sorts with the usual." The butcher says, wrapping up the sausages and passing them over.

"Lanier!" A high pitched voice comes from the sky, above a rooftop.

"Lanier!" Same voice, different direction.

"Lanier!" A third time. It doesn't sound human. It mimics human.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+15: (15)+15: 30
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+4: (19)+4: 23
GAME: Lanier rolls Perception: (7)+9: 16
GAME: Sargon rolls perception: (19)+9: 28

Sargon appears at the edge of the market. He strides through slowly, at a leisurely wanderer's pace. More looking than shopping for anything in particular.

Lanier reaches out and accepts the sausage package as he trades the coin. He nods his head with an affiable, but not overly so, smile, "That sounds like the standard weirdness one would find in Alexandria. It's good to know that some things remain the same." He opens the package, taking off a bite of the sausage and popping it in his mouth. When his name begins being called, he tilts his head up and begins scanning the sky. His eyebrows knit together and his lips purse.

Looking back to the gnome, Lanier nods his head, "Thank you. I'm being called. Good day." He turns from the stall, taking a few steps away and goes back to scanning the sky to find a source of his name coming from the air. <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "roll perceps please, both."

"Of course sir, have a great day! If you enjoy my wares please tell your friends about Bartho's Meats. Word of mouth, can't be beats!" It's not much of a slogan, but it's an attempt. The stout gnome waves cheerfully, leaning forward and peering with squinted eyes, the fat on his face causing many wrinkle lines. "Your animal companion is over there my friend!"

He points, to a rooftop, sitting on the peak is a very large crow. Raven sized, with beady, angry eyes.

There is a very big crow sitting on a building, watching things. It's familiar sized, Raven sized, doesn't seem to be doing anything unusual for a bird right now. There are also a lot of regular crows about.

The arm raised to point draws Sargon's attention. He looks at the crow. The he looks back towards the person pointing as well as Lanier. Finally he moves over to stand near them. "That is one large bird," he remarks.

Lanier looks around the sky, but then looks in the direction he's pointed to. His eyebrows raise and then he nods his head, turns his attention back to the gnome, briefly, "I see him. Thank you!" Looking towards Sargon for a moment, he nods his head, "It sure is. It's a witchcrow. A witch's familiar." He then takes a look around, hmming momentarily, before he starts walking, "Hear that name they keep saying? That's my name..." The frown that comes to his face intimates that Lanier may not be the happiest about that fact.

Sargon glances at Lanier. His name. After only a moment's hesitation the oruch decides to even the playing field as it were. He offers, "Sargon," while touching his chest with the tip of the thumb. The other fingers on that hand are curled into a loose fist. Then he turns his head to look at the crow. "Witchcrow," he muses. "I didn't realize there was a special kind. That's good to know."

"Nice birds. Nice birds. I didn't mean to call you nasty. Don't peck out my eyes." The gnome overhears the ranger, puts two and two together. He's tossing out chunks of the sample meats onto the street, and packing away the sausages. A little crow hops over and snaps one up. This draws the attention of other crows. There seem to be a whole lot of crows around now that one looks.

"CAW!"

It's a very familiar-sounding Caw to the human. The giant crow hops out of sight. The little crows, alighting to go for the meat cubes, instead abandon them and fly upwards and gather into a small, dark cloud above the market. A lot of people notice that, and knowing what's likely, start getting indoors.

GAME: Sargon rolls sense motive: (7)+6: 13
GAME: Lanier rolls Sense Motive: (11)+1: 12
GAME: Lanier rolls Knowledge/Nature: (1)+10: 11 (EPIC FAIL)

Lanier takes a look around and then hmms, "Maybe the market is closing earlier." The ever enlargening gathering of crows doesn't get by the Ranger, and when they take to the sky in their large formation, Lanier stops to look at it. He tares off a piece of sausage, popping it into his mouth, "I've seen birds do that before. It's called a murmuration, I think. It's perfectly natural behavior..."

"Did you see where the witchcrow went?"

Cryosanthia says, "Witchcrow's Stealth, roll percept to see it again when it re-appears."
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+15: (20)+15: 35
GAME: Lanier rolls Perception: (11)+9: 20
GAME: Sargon rolls perception: (20)+9: 29
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4: (3): 3

Sargon has some little skill in reading others, but he doesn't come here to this market often the mood of the regulars, merchant and customer alike, is already so different then that of a training partner or an opponent in a ritual fight. This must be normal behavior, he decides. Perhaps they just want to avoid droppings. "The witchcrow?" he repeats. "I don't know, exactly," he glances in a particular direction. "I saw it fly off. If it is stillMaybe it will appear somewhere that way."

With an incredible squaking, the flock of birds, the murder of crows, dives at Lanier. It's a fast moving mass of tiny creatures, moving quickly and at random. Each bird is a blurr, easily lost amongst its companions. As they surround Lanier and Sargon in a sqawking mass, the thing the two warriors see the most are tiny, sharp claws, going for their eyes.

Cryosanthia says, "Swarms move into your space, which provokes AOO,
but you're flat footed, so they get in without that happening.
They do automatic damage, so I'll roll that."
Cryosanthia says, "Damage Lanier, Sargon, Spud"
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d6: (10): 10
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d6: (7): 7
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d6: (4): 4
GAME: Crows damaged Lanier for 10 points. 35 HP remaining.
GAME: Crows damaged Sargon for 7 points. 67 HP remaining.
GAME: Crows damaged Lanier's companion for 4 points. 28 HP remaining.
Cryosanthia says, "DC 13 reflex save for everyone damaged, against blindness"
GAME: Lanier rolls Reflex: (17)+8: 25
GAME: Sargon rolls reflex: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Lanier rolls 1d20+5: (2)+5: 7
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4: (4): 4

The three, Lanier, Spud and Sargon are surrounded. Tiny claws rip at them, going for their eyes, but scratching exposed skin everywhere. There's a sting along each scratch, it itches, beads of blood form. Hardly worse than a paper-cut, but there are a lot of cuts. Squawking and flapping, the birds are a dark cloud surrounding those inside. The market-goers back away. Spud yelps as a bird claws at his face.

GAME: Lanier rolls Knowledge/Nature: (18)+10: 28
GAME: Lanier rolls 1d20+Melee+PA: aliased to 1d20+Melee-2: (1)+9+-2: 8 (EPIC FAIL)

Lanier raises his arms as the birds dive bomb them, covering his eyes and receiving cuts and scrapes across his arms and shoulders. Lanier looks down as Spud yelps, a bird obviously having just scratched his eyes, "Spud! Get out of here!" He reaches down, pulling the mace from its spot where it hangs on his belt. With a step back, he delivers a powerful sideways smash which sails through the air, misses every bird, and smashes right into the side of the contraption cart.

Bartho yelps as his stand is smashed. He's cowering behind hit, out of the swarm but still covering his eyes. "Just take the meat you beautiful birds, don't hurt me!"

GAME: Sargon spends ONE point of KI POOL.
GAME: Sargon rolls weapon0: (6)+10: 16
GAME: Sargon rolls weapon0: (13)+10: 23
GAME: Sargon rolls weapon0: (1)+10: 11 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Sargon rolls 1d8+9: (7)+9: 16
GAME: Sargon rolls 1d8+7: (1)+7: 8

The Witchcrow hops into view, perched high up on a rooftop, roughly where Sargon said it would. Four Witchcrows, all moving in perfect unison. They turn their heads, fixing one greedy, beady, green eye on Lanier. A glare of malice, a deep hatred. He feels a chill from that look. The open their mouths, but there is no sound.

In the swarm, behind his head, very loud, he hears, "Lanier!"

GAME: Lanier rolls Will: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL)

Sargon flinches back. His face and shoulders are scatched by tiny claws. It's only a fortunate flinch on his part that saves his own eyes from the fate that befell poor Spud. Sargon's expression darkens. His kind have always had a soft spot for wolves. The Oruch shifts into his fighting stance. He summons his inner power. All this takes a moment as he is almost immediately lashing out with fists and elbows. Crows are smacked aside, one to the ground, never to rise. The poor cart is similarly finished off.

The ranger can feel a curse from beyond the grave, the evil eye of a witch he's never met settling on him, hexing his life.

<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Crows attack Lanier, Sargon, Spud is safe, no AOO to leave their swarm."
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d6: (3): 3
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 2d6: (7): 7
GAME: Crows damaged Lanier for 3 points. 32 HP remaining.
GAME: Crows damaged Sargon for 7 points. 60 HP remaining.
GAME: Sargon rolls reflex: (20)+7: 27 (CRITICAL SUCCESS)
GAME: Lanier rolls Reflex-2: (20)+8+-2: 26 (THREAT)

The murder of crows continues to swarm the human and the orc. Cawing and scratching, they seem to be everywhere. Their numbers are thinned, the orc's blows were effective, but they haven't been fought off completely.

Despite going after the eyes, the two combatants manage to perfectly evade the little birds. It's almost preternatural the way they aren't there when one takes a swipe. They don't escape completely unscathed, as sever more tiny slashes open up on their exposed skin.

GAME: Lanier rolls 1d20+Melee+PA: aliased to 1d20+Melee-2: (13)+9+-2: 20
GAME: Lanier rolls 1d8+2H_Str+2H_PA: aliased to 1d8+6+6: (1)+6+6: 13

Lanier clears the mace away from the cart, taking a step away and covering his eyes as the crows take other attacks at him. He peeks from under his arm, looking around to ensure that the person next to him is still okay and that Spud has made his way off safely. With a growl rising up into a howl from deep within him, Lanier lifts the mace, takes a wide swing, and knocks several more of the crows out of the sky. The last few which made up the swarm seem to take flight in the other sense of the word, dispursing the mobbing of crows.

GAME: Sargon rolls sense motive: (14)+6: 20
GAME: Sargon rolls weapon11: (20)+8: 28 (THREAT)
GAME: Sargon rolls weapon11: (17)+8: 25
GAME: Sargon rolls 1d4: (1): 1 (illusion)

Sargon takes a few half-steps towards the building. He's still in his fighting crouch but his fists are open. One hand unwraps a strip of leather from the bronze-scaled wrist of his other hand. This strip turns out to be a sling, and he quickly launches a stone at the withcrows. It sails true but instead of striking the crow it passes through empty air as the bird disappears. The Oruch's angry gaze shifts to the next bird. "Tricks!" he shouts. Then, "It really is a witch!"

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (6)+7: 13
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "It does not steal your sausages"

The three crows leap off the building and dive towards Lanier. Their dive, is carefully calculated to keep them out of reach of Sargon, though the way they maneuver in the air and around the street uses up much of their movement. They sweep in on the attack, it's not clear what they're about to do until Lanier feels a tug at his satchel.

They're going for his sausages!

The crows miss, the sausages are not stolen. There were a lot scattered on the ground, clearly this was meant to be personal and annoying as they could have grabbed any of the others much easier. As they wing upwards, there's a cackling, "Lanier!" cawed in the air beside him.

GAME: Lanier rolls 1d20+5: (12)+5: 17

As the witchcrow approaches him, Lanier seems ready to take a swing at the familiar. He then feels the tug on his satchel, not more claws ripping into him. He tilts his head quickly, "Huh?" He pauses in his attack, letting his mace fall to the side, "Wait." He reaches quickly into his satchel, pulling out the sausage he has purchased, tearing off a piece and throwing it on the ground away from him.

GAME: Sargon rolls cmb+3: (19)+9+3: 31
GAME: Sargon rolls 1d3: (1): 1 (illusion)

Sargon tilts his heas back and turns in place to follow the birds' flight. He watches them dive and harry Lanier. He jus lt registers what the ranger is trying to do. Leaving the sling trailing from one hand he leaps after the nearest bird, hands outstretched to snatch it from mid-air - as one slow-witted fighter he trained with practices grabbing chickens in flight, a distant part of his mind remembers - but his fingers close on empty air. Another image.

The Witchcrow is winging away from Lanier, and narrowly avoids being grabbed. It would have been captured, if naught for it's illusions. The gesture with the sausage was noticed, but does it understand? How intelligent is this bird.

It lands on the roof-top, too high for a leaping orc to grab at it a second time. It stares down angrily, opens it's mouth.

"Lanier...." The squawk is beside the ranger's head, sounding less angry than before, perhaps curious, or warning.

"Orc!" The caw beside Sargon is definitely an angry one. The Witchcrow glares. It will remember.

Suddenly, one of the crows vanish. Illusion, the real one, it's hard to determine. There were two, now one, and the noise always came from somewhere else. It hops out of direct line of sight, and when next it's seen it is high in the sky, flapping away. It too vanishes into thin air.

It's gone, for now.

"My sausages! My cart! I'm ruined!" Bartho cries, hearing the heavy wings departing. He surveys the damage, flaberghasted, "How could crows do this?"

He looks up at Lanier, with pleading eyes, "Sir... would you consider, buying all those sausagesf or your dog? I can't sell them now, after birds have pecked them and they've lain on the cobblestones."

Sargon turns to give Lanier a baleful look. "I hope you know better now, than to go around introducing yourself to strange Witchcrows."

Lanier grunts as the witchcrow disappears, reaching down to pick up his mace and hang it back on his belt. He looks towards Sargon for a moment, then tilts his head in confusion, "You really think I did something to cause this?" He shakes his head, turning away from Sargon towards the gnome, Lanier takes a look around and then nods, "Yeah, I'll take them for Spud..." He reaches into his pouch, skipping the copper and silver and going right to gold with a sigh.

Sargon relents. He shakes his head. "No, I don't suppose you did," he replies to Lanier. He looks at the smashed cart. He holds up a hand. "Let me help," he offers, ready to contribute a few coins.

"Thank you sir, thank you." Bartho is out in the street, gathering up the sausages, He wraps them quickly although with less care. They're already dirty, wrapping is mostly to make them convenient to handle and carry without making things greasy. Soon, all of them are gathered up and they are exchanged for the coins.

He stares forelornely at his cart, "I don't suppose one of you knows an artificer, or a craftsman, what might give me a discount. My fellow gnomes can be tight with favours and credit."

"Thank you, thank you," Bartho takes the coins from Sargon, bowing to him as well, "I won't forget this. 10 percent... no 5 percent, my margins are tight, I apologize, off any sausages once I'm up and running again."

Bartho continues to be grateful to the two adventurers. The marketplace returns to normal, people coming out from where they were sheltering, getting back to business. There are a few more wary eyes on the sky. The interruption was momentary, but it left many concerned and poor Spud blind.

outtakes

<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "okay, what wouuld you like to do?"

<OOC> Lanier says, "I'm going to drop the mace, and I never thought I'd say this... quickdraw my sausage."