Sewers and Saviors

A lot of people take the sewers of Alexandria City for granted.

No surprise, really. People don't like thinking about the waste that a city that size generates, and given the attitude towards Artificers the technology used to manage it isn't common knowledge or particularly celebrated. But sometimes, people gotta get their hands dirty....

Which is why the gathered adventurers find themselves exploring the sewers of Alexandria City. Not because they're going to be doing civil engineering. Gods, no! There's other people for that. They're here because one of those 'other people' disappeared, an conjurer and his apprentice that were looking to increase efficiency of disposal through magic. The SPA quietly put out word asking for people to assist, and so here the rag-tag group find themselves, up shit creek without a paddle.

Literally.

Their guide is a gnomish fellow that looks perpetually befuddled, green hair sticking straight up as he walks along the small pathway beside the river of sewage, a cloth over his nose. "... And they were just gone! We think there was a cave-in, but there's a possibility that it was also smugglers. The particular tunnel they were working on is below a goblin boarding house and you know how they are..." He shakes his head, "Sorry that was racist and unkind. But smugglers down there has been a problem, and it causes back-ups 'coz they don't want the merch to smell funny, and it gets messy because they serve corn chowder and..."

He continues to ramble as they walk, leading them deeper into roughly hewn tunnels.

Ulthan trudges along, a little more hunch4ed than he's used to, although to be fair, this is NOTY first time he's been down here looking for someone who went missing, so he had went to Goblin Town to buy a coverall to wear over his armour.

Dirk always gets called in on jobs like this. Dwarves are a decided minority in the Adventurer's Guild. Sure, his adventurer's profile lists him as a -forest- based ranger, with vast skills in tracking and wilderness survival. But no matter how often he begs, pleads, rages, and/or sobs, he's always the one they call on when heroes need to go underground. Or undercity, in this instance. So here he is now, his eyes squinched against the foul vapors, one hand clutching the stock of his thunderbelcher, while the other desperately holds his scarf over his mouth and his big dwarven nose. "Dana's flowery -teats-, it's worse than the -last- time I was down here!" he grumbles. "Any smuggler who can put up wi' -this- kind o' stink deserves tae get away with it!" Their gnomish guide's ramblings are not helping. The mention of corn chowder turns the burly old snowbeard green around the gills. His hefty middle gives an angry-sounding gurgle, and he gulps noisily. "Ullp! Och, I -had- tae go an' have the extra-spicy curry fer lunch," he whines softly.

Bryn heard talk of these amazing sewer things, but had never seen them before. Now she's seeing them. "Huh. Thought they'd be bigger. Fancier. Looks lots like a cave..." She points out as she looks around, stooping at some points. "Mebbe a fancy cave, I guess. 'Cept fer all the crap in it."

But they're not exactly here for sightseeing. "So, mebbe they got trapped, mebbe crushed, mebbe ran inta somthin' that didn' like 'em. Got it."

This may be the straw that breaks the camel's back and forces Sjach to finally give in to Seyardu's gentle suggestions that maybe he should get a new pair of pants, and that the sack-cloth look is deeply unfashionable. But for now, they are the right sort of clothes for the job- something which burns readily, and will be no great loss when they inevitably need replacing. Sjach peers around the dim tunnels of effluent with open disdain as he pads along, his companion- a bright orange-red Swiftclaw- plodding behind them. "This one had always thought the city smelled bad. Thiss one now sees why." he comments to no-one in particular. The hunter is more accustomed to stalking prety through swamps and forests, and while swamps are often fairly smelly affairs, clearly this artificial underground river offends his sensibilities.

For some reason there was an odd collection of cloaks near every corner the party went along. Sometimes, grey, sometimes ragged and sewn together, an oil cloth... then they were rustling near a pile of garbage. For some people it might just seem odd collection of coincidences - but for others, they might recognize the oddly specific collection of cloaks Crik usually carried with him.

It was also easy to spot the plague doctor looking mask the corvid egalrin was wearing, occasionally peeking from the pile of cloth. Stealthily tailing the team seemed to be just one of those things every good rogue needed to do. Or Crik, at least.

Swamps stink, marshes stink, but that's a sort of natural stink. Earthy decay and thick mold.. this.. Well Jarik couldn't help but sneer at the river of literal filth that passed by them. He's dressed as usual, more in line for trudging through the wilds than a sewer, but it works. Though he's wearing his worse pair of boots. They may be uncomfortable, but he's not getting the comfortable ones mucky. He could only silently nod his agreement with the others as he soaked a cloth in some booze from his flask then tied it over his face. Maybe the fumes from the potent whiskey would overwhelm some of the more unpleasant odors.

GAME: Jarik refreshes spells.

It doesn't just stink down here... it *stank*. But the gnomish fellow seems to be use to it. That or there's some tomfoolery about the kerchief he's got over his nose. Smelling salts? Something that makes his reaction pretty neutral.

To Dirk, he shrugs, "Well, it keeps the officials from looking too closely at things, don't you know, sir?" The gnome rambles away cheerfully, "And don't worry, if you get sick you can just lean over and..."

Fortunately he doesn't finish, turning to Bryn, "Oh, under some of the better sections of town they're almost pretty! I hear the Arcanist have fountains in the cesspits, even if I don't want to think too hard about what might be spewed into the air! But I bet they use magic to clean it up, so it's downright tasty. These are older, and not a lot of work's been put into them beyond a stable, clean, dry place for us to walk." Beat. "As long as it doesn't flood."

Which... is that really a risk? Gulp.

He pauses at a door, squinting at it. "Well, I think this is the entrance to the system they got lost in. Don't drink the water, don't eat anything you find on the floor, and if you die I'll be sure to add your names to the memorial wall." Beat. "What are your names? Ah, nevermind! The Adventure guild will know!" And he abruptly turns and begins to walk away, leaving the ragtag group of people, pets, and Bryn to figure out their next move...

Bryn's nose may be larger than many, but its not a super sniffer. Maybe that means the stank doesn't bother her so much. Or maybe her idea of 'normal' funk is a bit different. Or she's just not complaining, since it wouldn't make it smell any better if she did. "Right. No eatin offa the floor." Because that was everyone's first thought, right? "In we go! Time ta find and drag out some folks."

GAME: Crik rolls stealth: (10)+13: 23

GAME: Crik rolls perception+2: (6)+11+2: 19

GAME: Sjach rolls 6: (9)+6: 15

GAME: Sjach rolls perception: (4)+9: 13

GAME: Dirk rolls perception+2: (7)+20+2: 29

Little flame Indicates, scraping at the ground with one of her hindlegs near (but not on- she's well trained) a track, and Sjach comes over to take a look. He squats down next to it, and touches the disturbed dirt, rubbing it between thumb and clawed forefingers. You can tell a lot about how old grime is by how greasy it is. "Tracks- thisss way." he says then, "Recent enough, could be them." he says then. "Walked, not dragged." he adds a moment later. He wipes his fingers on his trouser leg then pats his Swiftclaw on the side for a job well done.

Dirk stares after the gnome as he just up and -leaves- them down there. "Oh piss up my arse," he groans softly, before turning back to the doorway. He begins making his way into the tunnel beyond. Something catches his eye--a change in the stonework. This is -precisely- why the Adventurer's Guild assigned him to this particular job. He hunkers down, peering at the floor. "Hrm." He reaches out his fingers, but stops just before they touch the floor. "Nnnnnope. Nae touchin' -that-." He looks over his shoulder. "Oy. Everyone. Spotted some tracks." He looks up, and points with his thunderbelcher. "There. Those stairs. Maybe they're a way -out- o' this shithole!"

GAME: Ulthan rolls survival: (19)+6: 25

Crik hops out of the shadows in front of the party abruptly out of the shadows. He was wearing a plague doctor made out of leather - and bone skull - with few charms tangling off it. "There are torch marks, but I cannot hear anything." The corvid egalrin says, staring at the wall blankly. Then he pulls out a sunrod out of his cloak and holding it in his hand, starts walking - half hopping - forward into the darkness.

He can barely see. There are shades on his mask. He cannot remember the reason why anymore; something to do with fiends, probably.

GAME: Jarik rolls survival: (12)+6: 18

Bryn isn't a tracker, but nods at the word from those who are. "Ye, headin that way, right?" She points up ahead and gets to moving thattaways. "If'n they were goin th'other way, we woulda ran into 'em, I think." Right now, there's not a lot of ways people could've gone that she can see... and she can see just fine in the dim and dark.

Ulthan snoops for tracks, with whatever light he can scrounge from that available. He mutters something about needing to invest into some enchanted eyewear as he bends over almost double, both to not hit his head on the ceiling and to get his eyes close enough to the ground to see if there are any tracks that look unusual...

Jarik keeps his own eyes to the ground. It may not be the woods he's used to, but tracks and spoor are the same anywhere, right? Sure. He occasionally points out something to Ulthan. Other than that he remains silent and contemplative, or maybe he's just trying to not get slightly buzzed off the whiskey pressed up against his nose.

Into the breach once more! Forward the august adventurers roam, squelching under the faint layer of mud on top of the stonework. The stairs are rough hewn but sturdy, and they find themselves in a surprisingly large natural cavern with floors warn down by time and water. While there's a thick coat of mud (or what's hopefully mud) it's mostly dried to sand. The tunnel down is on the south-eastern wall, and the party can see a culvert on the eastern wall where a ditch roughly five feet across winds across the chamber before flowing through another culvert to the north west.

Beyond, there's a wall to the north with a small tunnel that they can't quite make out. Which leads to the first decision the group has to make... Do they head north and the tunnel? Or south, where a bend to the south-west suggests there's more to the cavern down that way? Unfortunately, while there appears to have been a bridge over the ditch previously, it's fallen into disrepair and flooded away.

GAME: Sjach rolls 5: (19)+5: 24

GAME: Sjach rolls survival+2: (17)+9+2: 28

GAME: Crik rolls perception+2: (8)+11+2: 21

GAME: Sjach rolls 6: (15)+6: 21

GAME: Sjach rolls perception: (14)+9: 23

GAME: Dirk rolls perception+2: (16)+20+2: 38

Crik cracks open the sunrod, and his tiny round goggles makes him look like the coolest plague doctor - except he was smelling like mint herbs, lavender oil - and a good smattering of the unmentionable. He looks around, looks at the ceiling, takes a step forward. Then pauses, looks at the floor. Hops back. After a moment, he takes another step forward, looking at the ceiling for reaaaally long time...

Then pauses again, neck still craned upwards. "There is a pressure plate ahead. We should not screw around pressure plates without screws in this place." He looks back down towards the ground.

Dirk looks around the new environs as he and his doughty comrades ascend the stairs. He tips back the brim of his tricorne, looking up and around. "Och, what do we have -here-, then," he muses. He sweeps his gaze around, wrinkling his nose at the rough workmanship. "Bah. What were they diggin' this out with, a blunt fork?" He carefully steps along the passageway, his heavy boots schlorping in the thick mud that covers the sand--but then he pauses with one foot hovering in the air. Sloooowly, he draws that foot back and hunkers down. He peers at the floor for a moment, then sweeps his gaze over to the wall. Then, he looks over to that culvert. "Oy, friends! Mind where ye step!" He points out the pressure plate right in front of him. "We're nae in a cavern--we're in an -overflow- channel. Steppin' on that's goin' tae open the culvert, an' we'll be up tae our noses in shit!"

Sjach continues onwards, looking around the room, before moving down towards the southwestern bend and apparent exit. He once again checks for tracks, and his swiftclaw checks with him, and once again he finds them. He pauses to try and make sense of what he's seeing there. "Came this way... then returned." he turns to look where Crik is indicating, and then nods his head. "Hatch above." he says, pointing it out. "And some kind of... thing, there." he points out the gears on the western wall. "Those I do not understand, and will leave to you." he suggests to Crik.

And then Dirk mentions the trap, and he nods once. "That... would be bad." he says then.

Ulthan, having been around with Crik before, was waiting for his analysis of the traps, then moves slowly behind his associate in places the pile of cloaks has indicated safe for someone of Ulthan's propensity to weight more than an average bear...

Bryn blinks (or winks, since it's basically the same thing) at the warning. "Don' step there 'r we'll be swimmin innit. Gotcha." She now knows where to avoid, but not where they -should- be going. "So, what now? Where we goin from 'ere?" Then she follows Sjach's notes, looks over at the things, then up at the hatch. "Up?"

Jarik is not squelching through the mud, in fact he barely seems to be paying it any mind, walking a top the muck like he's strolling down a city street of stone. Freed from having to worry too much about his boots, he keeps his head up, but the others seem to have the tracking and such well in hand. Though as the pressure plate is pointed out and what it does, he takes a couple small steps away, looking at it dubiously. "Sorry, machines were never my thing."

Once the pressure plate and the flooding mechanism are identified, it becomes clear that there's no more excitement to be found.. Just the ditch crossing the room's northeast corner, and the darkened tunnel leading north.

The trackers can see signs on the other side of someone having walked through the mud there, although even with Crik's sunrod it's too dark to make out what's in the tunnel or where it goes, just that it slopes upward.

GAME: Sjach rolls athletics: (4)+3: 7

GAME: Sjach rolls fort: (4)+7: 11

Sjach nods once, "I sill see what is north, before we go up." he tells the others and then pads over towards the edge of the river of sewage. He takes a moment assessing the gap, and then decides to take a couple steps back and try to vault over. He is less than successful- the far side is slippery, and he slides back down despite his best efforts. The membranes promptly close over his eyes, and he lifts the bow up above the level of the sewage to keep it dry. His head does briefly go under, but he drags himself back up the branch. He has to pause for a moment to collect himself, shudders, and resolutely refusing to acknowledge what just happened, he goes to take a look through the northern passage.

Bryn watches Sjach, then winces as he slips and drops in. Well, at least now they know how deep it is? And he still made it across. "See anythin interestin over there?"

"..." Crik stares at the mess of poop with an open beak. He looks down at his held bundle of rope, towards the party - and promptly hides the rope underneath his cloaks. "I can throw the sunrod over there!" He calls out helpfully, instead.

Dirk startles as Sjach slides down the side. "Och! Sjach, you a'right, laddie?" He peers towards the tunnel the sith entered, but the sunrod forces his vision to remain in the visible light spectrum.

Jarik isn't looking to where Sjach went, more intently staring at the direction it seems they'll need to go, at least until he hears the splash of something fairly large entering the... water would be a generous term. He turns, and visibly winces, but says nothing. No point rubbing it in.

Ulthan winces at the splash, but otherwise doesn't break his vigil over the group.

"A man. Softskin. Ssildynari... no, half blooded. Dead." Sjach shouts back across the group. His tone even more clipped than usual, but that might be because he's fighting his gag reflex still. "Cave-in." he adds by way of explaining. He plods back over to the far side of the river, but doesn't look like he's planning to jump back across just yet. "One of ours, this one thinks, but only one." he tells the rest of the party then.