Murder, Robbery and Coffee

Lower Markets, Midday

"I'd like to help, Retzner, but you know rules are rules."

"I understand, Maiik. Just asking if there's anything public facing is all." Warrick, a pale Eldanar man in a fastened grey overcoat with a sword strapped to his hip and a large crossbow across his back, sighs and closes his notebook as he's speaking to a Watchman on duty. A half-oruch man with scraggly hair that peeks out from under their helmet.

The Watchman shifts a bit, attention drifting off the ex-guard and scanning the market streets, as usual. "Whatever is in records, and the Tribune archives," he grunts, tightening up his gambeson to ward off the chill on this sunny day.

"Figures."

GAME: Murder rolls stealth: (6)+12: 18

GAME: Warrick rolls perception: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL)

GAME: Crik rolls stealth: (13)+12: 25

The Goblin scoots along, slipping quickly from place to place, using the busy street's many obstacles to remain hidden from view.

Murder glances around, her scraggly ears perked up high. "Any moment now, certainly.", she says softly. More quick sneaking around has her pausing a moment in Warrick's shadow, fortunately it stretches out behind him, and the Gobbo is simply another little blurry part of it.

There was another shadow walking across the streets today. A bundle of rags moves past a person, a fine silk suit follows the other, a large darkness that stretches out in the noon's sunlight.

A deep voice quietly asks the first, "What are we waiting for?" Genuine question. Genuine article of a cloak. Genuine black beak, pointed at Warrick from behind Murder.

Warrick sighs, bidding the Watchman a good day before turning around, notebook open again. Blocking his sight of the two beings right under his nose. Looks like he's been up a while, eyes sunken and a little tired. "... I could go for a coffee..." he mutters, reviewing his notes.

Completely unaware.

The Goblin's crouched low, peering between Warrick's legs, and then turns to stare at Crik. "I don't know what you're waiting for.", she says, frowning toothily at the Egalrin. She moves to lean against one of Warrick's legs, and gestures to a stall nearby. "That stall over there has good coffee. Not just regular coffee either, but spiced coffee, chocolate coffee and a few other interesting flavours. You should check it out." This is directed upwards, at Warrick.

Then the baying of a large hound is heard, and Murder squeaks. A large, canine-like creature approaches at high speed, and the Gobbo attempts to run, only to be bowled over by the beast, and her face subjected to sloppy, wet, dog-kisses. "GAH, Wilfred!", she protests. The worg snorts at her, and continues with the licks.

It was a good question. What was Crik waiting for? The corvid tilts his head, the other way, ponders - and then as Murder starts to speak, suddenly floofs up to his full height. "An interesting dilemma." He ponders by himself, now having forgotten the whole stealth-affair for the time being.

His tail hoists up as the dog runs past, then lowers.

Fingers snap, then point at Warrick as Murder gets worg'ened. "Ah, Warrick! Should you..." Look down at Murder getting out-licked. "... should you maybe help the short one?"

GAME: Warrick rolls sense motive: (16)+5: 21

The Eldanar sighs heavily and thuds his notebook against his forehead. Exhaustion evident on his frame. Then someone leans up on him, and his attention snaps to. A hand carefully clamps down on a short shoulder, seemingly used to the height. "I appreciate the suggestion but please leave me knees alone," he quickly jabbers off. A true Goblintown native. <Goblin-talk>

Then there is a sudden, large, hound-like being tackling the goblin! A hand goes to his sword, notebook dropped to the ground. And it looks like he's about to draw blade-

But he hesitates, reads the situation, then groans, annoyed. "Keep that thing on a leash, /please/. Before the Watch shoots it." He's not moving to help.

Murder is caught up in 'who's a good boy?', and is attempting to make her way to sitting up. The hound looks up at Warrick a moment or two, and snorts noisily at the man. The worg sits, and the Gobbo uses that opportunity to stand. "Pfff, he's got a collar.", she says, gesturing to Wilfred. Collar? Looks more like a harness. "He's a good boy, he's just fond of me... well, fond of hide and seek. He's really good at it."

As she speaks, Wilfred approaches Crik and begins to sniff at the Egalrin. Lots of new smells! *SNIFF SNIFF*

Oh no, the dog found Crik. His feathers instantly poof up and now _he_ starts to lean against Warrick, carefully getting up on his feet as he slowly sidles around the poor ex-guard. "Good dog! Good dog! Don't bite the hanging vials!"

While that innocent business is going on, a pair of black fingers slide a folded piece of paper to Warrick. 'Trouble in the mansion / Nothing's in fashion / except black can I help please', reads the note in hastily scrawled letters.

Warrick dips to pick up his notepad, dusting it off with a back of a hand. Shoulders raise. "Don't say I didn't warn you, ma'am," he politely informs. "Dog is one thing. What... ever that is, another thing entirely."

Seeing as Crik is being inspected, Warrick can't help but half step towards him. He did save his life after all- paper? Warrick blinks, thumbing it open. And he can't help but chuckle at it, amused. "Sure, Crik. I think your skillset will help greatly in this."

The Gobbo likewise shrugs. "The watch knows of him. He's just a big ol' puppy, until he's not." She frowns, but Wilfred steps forward. "I'm a worg.", he says. Murder squints at Warrick, perhaps attempting to see what the paper says. "Need a hand with something?", she wonders of the man, and then eyes Wilfred. "Heh. Well, cats out of the bag now, huh?"

Crik moves to stand behind Warrick so that the man was between him and the worg, looking around the guard's shoulder. "My expertise is vast and contains many- huh, wait?" The corvid hefts his head up, then looks at Warrick,. "It was that easy?" Beak opens. "Ah! I need to know more." He eneds to know everything. He straightens up, squares his shoulders, puts up his hand on his 'lapel' and looks with a serious face. "What do you have?"

Speaking of which... "... why do you have a harness on a worg?" He asks from Murder.

Warrick blinks at Wilfred. Rubs at his eyes. Then shakes his head. "Then... please take care when hunting your friend," he replies to the worg. Seemingly used to talking to things that should not talk.

He appraises the goblin before his attention is pulled to Crik. "Not much to go off of, if I'm to be honest. Says they'll go after what the mark values most. Other places have been hit, but they refuse to say what was stolen due to noble snobbery. They can bypass defenses despite the teleport block. I am trying currently to get more information from my old co-workers."

A glance to Murder. "Crik, do you know this woman?"

Murder blinks at Crik, "So that I may ride him. Goblins and worgs have worked together many, many untold centuries. I rescued him from another person's dream." She holds out a hand, and Wilfred moves to her side, allowing her to grasp the harness, and pull herself onto his back.

"My name's Murder. I've helped the city through many of her recent troubles... slaying black slimes, demons, werewolves, and cleansing the sewers by fire." She looks from Warrick to Crik, expectantly.

GAME: Warrick rolls urban local: aliased to knowledge/local+2: (1)+5+2: 8 (EPIC FAIL)

"Most valued by them?" There's a raise of head, then head lowered down, then tilted sideways. "A person? A heirloom? More valuables one has less valuable they are. A secret?" Rub beak. "It is a secret. Rumors and secrets." Then the black eyes turn towards Warrick. "A group of young kids looking to upset their parents by disappearing into the night. Should I look at the not-public information?"

"Ah." Crik looks towards Wilfred. "It is madness." The corvid states, almost as if that made complete perfect sense as everything else that was going on. The beak then raises and the egalrin tilts his head. Then back towards Warrick. "We may have had past relations." Or maybe not. "Not with one riding the worg."

"And typically the worgs out of Goblintown stay leashed," Warrick counters before shifting his weight to his other foot. The name gets him to squint, look up and to the side, then shake his head. "Sorry. I was busy with the Watch during those times with slimes and demons. Never got a chance to get acquainted with adventurers that had a hand in them."

He looks to Crik. "That would make the most sense. The Lord of the estate insisted on giving us a ledger of their most expensive items. But it's clear the Lord can't read between two lines painted on the broad side of a barn." There's a blink at that, and his journal comes out. Scribbling. "The note they gave did look like someone was new to writing. I won't say go do that, but if you, don't get caught." Not much he can do not having the Watch's authority with that.

"I'm not out of Goblintown. I'm from the Vast, to the north of Alexandros. And I've been here since Asumit threatened the city through the spell cannon up on the mountain. So before the slimes and the disease even." She shrugs her shoulders. "But if you don't need the assistance, that's fine."

A gentle tug has the worg turning about, and Murder gives a cheeky salute. "G'luck, Watchman!" The Gobbo sticks her tongue out at Crik before the Worg begins to speed off, the woman leaning low over the canine's back.

Crik tilts his head as Murder explains - and he already has his notepad in hand, scribbling notes - when the gobling suddenly dashes off. "Oh no. We lost our getaway transportation." The corvid says, deflated. The deflation lasts for a moment, before he perks up, writing another note. "Find... talking... worg... important... documents..."

That done, he flaps the notepad shut and lets it fall underneath his robes, off its leathery cord. "I am not saying to speculate, but I need to know a building or a person that knows a building." Then a pause. "For painting." A curious tilt of his head. "What about others that know?"

Warrick raises his brow. "I see. Well. We can chat with the others if you...-" he blinks as Muder bids them well and rides off. "... very well then. Have a good day."

He scratches his head before turning back to Crik, a bit confused at the situation before focusing on the now. "For painting," Warrick echoes. "I'm not sure which places have been hit. And the others haven't a new information we already know. All that we have is what they wrote. Which is..."

He flips open his journal, and recites, "Greedy hoarders of wealth and power, the Phantom Thieves will take from you your most valuable possession and release it into the world once more." The journal snaps shut. "That's it."

Crik tilts his head. Then looks towards the journal. Finally, he raises his head. There's a click of his beak, a thought. Another click of his beak. "Revenge? Distraction? Wishlist. A diversion." He clicks his teeth repeatedly.

Then he turns and slaps his hands on Warrick's shoulders. There's a loud clatter as he dares to raise his arms with all the things attached to them. "We need to do something very important." There's a meaningful stare in those black eyes. "We need to break into those houses and find out what was stolen."

"Speculation only goes so far, we need-" Whatever was going to be said is cut off from the avian clapping his hands onto Warrick's shoulders. He blinks, surprised. "... look, Crik, I understand the situation. And you've saved me before, so I'd gladly return the favor. But I'm not going to break the law," he explains, carefully peeling the hands off his shoulders. "That would ruin what credit I have with the Watch. Which might get us a different angle of information. You can do that. I can't."

"No no, it is perfect." Crik says, nodding his head rapidly, not minding at all his hands getting removed. "Break in. Get caught. A man of the watch comes and takes the bad guys away. Nobody is the wiser."

"... speaking completely hypothetically." The corvid stares blankly. "If somebody gets caught." Another pause. "Can always ride a worg when the bolts start flying."

Warrick sighs. "I'm not a Watchman anymore, Crik. They'll just arrest me too. The idea is good though. But it'll fall through if I get involved."

He taps his chin. "... that is... a good thought. A worg would be a good escape, but would be very recognizable. I'd be terrible at riding one though. I can sort of manage a horse at best."

"Disguise the worg as a horse." Crik says, spreading his hands. "Disguise an ex-guard as the guard." Another point of his finger. "There surely isn't anything wrong with doing your old job and reporting to a burglary?"

Repeated head nod and flick of his tail, up and down. "Maybe disguise you too. As a goblin? You spoke very fluently."

Warrick groans, pinching his brow. "Crik. Section three, subsection four under the Common Civil Laws is about what false identification is of public figures. In it, impersonating a Watchman is punishable by jail, minimum six months. I am /not/ doing that. Sorry man, that's a hard line no for me."

A pause. "I live partially in Goblintown, I need to know it."

Crik stares blankly at Warrick, slowly craning his head towards the side. Slowly then, his fingers pick out one of the thicker books - which seems to part of a far larger book - and pulls open the leaves. "... it says that...?" He thumbs over the thin papers. The book is snap shut then. "Then do not impersonate a watchman, but a coffee cup." A pause. "Drinker." He spreads his hands. "Just for the day's getaway."

"Goblintown? Haven't been there since there was a mixup with one of the bomb-" A pause. "... entertainment effect makers. Share notes there?"

Warrick glances down at the book. His eyes narrow before looking off and away. He really didn't want to entertain why he had a lawbook on hand to reference. "It does say that. I've put people behind bars for exactly that charge," he mentions before raising a brow. "... we can share notes over coffee, if that's what your asking. I know a place in Goblintown."

There's a blank look. "Bomb. It's not Goblintown if there's not a bomb mixup. There's a reason why the Watch doesn't patrol there and lets the Blar migrants do most of the work." He takes a half step towards that way. "Come on."

It was only for curiosity. Really! Crik holds up his hands. "It was not a bomb, I kept telling him." He bops his tail up and down, before bowing his head. "Coffee." Then as the two are heading off towards the direction, the corvid tilts his head.

"Do you all have a group name yet...? What about team motto...?"

"Sure," Warrick snorts, walking along with his hands in his pockets.

He glances over. Looks forward. "No, we don't. Why don't you come up with some?" he suggests as they go along.

At least he's not a total stick in the mud.