Kiyoka

[Graybeard]

OOC:

With the mob annex defeated and our party limping towards the safety of the ferry, and with Grope retreating into the wilderness to pursue his leads, I think this is an excellent place to have a "Chapter Break" style pause. Nothing too fancy, just the sort of thing the wiki has between chapters that allows us a chance to recount what all has gone on up until now, allowing missing players (Tiamat) a chance to catch up, perhaps an option to fast-forward through some of the otherwise boring and unnecessary bits of the quest, and a good launching point if anybody else wants to join in without having to read 10 pages worth of posts. I'm not advocating in any manner that the story stop here, just that we pause every so often for a little bit of a "Previously On..."

In fact, I'm creating a new post, called "Previously On...", where we can do a quick recap of the ongoing action every so often.

OOC: Works for me, and this would be an excellent opportunity to introduce new participants and revitalize dormant ones, but let's not let this chapter break cause us to lose momentum. Got a firm time frame for getting back in action following the pause?

[Sareth]

OOC: Please do. Sounds pretty good to me...

[Graybeard]

The sun was coming up now, starting to disperse the light fog that had developed overnight over the coast, and it was time for some exploring, Grope thought. He secured his few belongings, dispersed the signs of the camp he'd made in the woods, and moved out, distantly following the road that the six thugs had been traveling when he first saw them.

The first farmhouse he passed, still within view of the docks, seemed routine enough. It was small, tidy and well-kept, as he could see even at the distance he had to maintain from it. Outside, even at this early hour, a woman with a baby in a carrier on her back puttered around in a neat garden, singing to herself as she worked. The fields behind the house were small but well maintained; two or three cattle grazed close to the road in one field, while the neighboring field was full of trellises bearing green, leafy vines -- a vineyard, perhaps. A happy enough scene, he thought, and not one likely to harbor any strange mercenary dungeons. He made a mental note of the place and moved on.

The second farmhouse seemed normal too. It was larger, and looked as if its residents were more engaged in active farming than at the first house, with a large red barn, more extensive fields growing what looked like soybeans, and a small herd of cattle, all of which were keeping a distance from the woods. He realized that he was upwind from the cattle, and that unlike the Small Ones (how did these people ever survive without using all their senses?, he wondered), they might have a good enough sense of smell to detect his foreign presence in the vicinity and shy away from it. He'd have to keep that in mind as he continued exploring.

The third property, however, looked decidedly, and ominously, different. He first noticed something peculiar about it when he came to the boundary separating the second farm from this one. The fence here wasn't the single strand of barbed wire he'd seen strung around the other two farms' pastures; it was vicious-looking, helical stuff studded with sharp blades -- a Small One would have called it concertina wire, although the concept didn't exist in the trolls' language. The hostile fence continued on around the perimeter of the place. The fields within might have been planted with corn at some point, but they were badly run down, and so was the house itself. Nothing moved there. A dilapidated wagon stood between the house and a shed in no better repair than anything else on the property.

Hmmm, Grope thought. Whatever was going on at this place, it certainly wasn't farming. Might this be the "safe house" that the dead thug had mentioned? It certainly seemed possible. He couldn't see where a cadre of mercenaries as large as the eight or ten he'd encountered might hide; the farmhouse wasn't very large, and sections of it had caved in to the point where it didn't look usable. Still, there might be underground cells or some such for the mercenaries -- that would be just his luck, since trolls dislike going underground as much as they do into Small Ones buildings, for many of the same reasons. And might there be a hint of a magical glow -- he shuddered -- from within the house's ruined interior? He marked this place for special examination later and continued on through the fringe of the woods.

[Viking-Sensei]

[OOC - Timeline to resume? Yes - now. Anyone who made it to the boat and is continuing on, we're at Port Lorrel now. Anybody left behind or who simply wasn't going, you're still here. Simple enough?]

Rokku and Kureji followed the worn path that wove it's way towards the small farming community on the edge of Kiyoka. The dietary support of a giant floating island full of people depended heavily on in-between areas like this, and while the ranchers and farmers providing the agricultural base for Tsuiraku may not have lived in the 'lap of luxury', some of the more sprawling estates rivaled (in fact, bettered several times over due to room to grow, land, trees, etc) the best mansions in Tsuirakushiti.

"I don't understand why I have to come." Rokku moaned, partially under his breath.

"Oh, quit whining." Kureji vented, exhasperated. Her travelling clothes, however trendy and looking-like-you're-on-an-adventure they may have been in Tsuiraku, were proving to be completely and totally impractical, and her coat of many buckles and zippers kept getting snagged on every passing branch or shrub. "The letter my aunt sent invited BOTH of us to this 'Murder Mystery' Weekend at her country estate. It would be bad form for you not to show up."

"We broke up six months ago, Kureji. I moved to a different city to avoid running into you."

"Obviously, my Aunt doesn't know." Kureji spun in place and glowered at Rokku. "You don't want to disappoint the dear old woman, do you? She has a weak heart, you know, and you were always her favorite nephew-in-law."

Rokku sighed. "We were never married, Kureji. I'm not even entirely sure we dated... mostly it was you bossing me around, telling me what to do."

"Sounds like dating to me." came a muffled response from Rokku's sack.

Kureji grabbed the bag and hauled it over for inspection (completely ignoring the fact that it was attached to Rokku at the time). "Aha! You! Rokku, I thought I told you not to bring that winged menace along!"

[Graybeard]

[OOC: OK. I thought you meant to prescribe a pause lasting a day or more. So:]

He followed the road southwest for another mile or so, past two more farm houses, as it twisted away from the seacoast, which had become rocky and inaccessible. While it would be inaccurate to call this the "low-rent" side of Kiyoka, the houses looked more functional than fancy, with small-scale agriculture the rule rather than the mega-farms that Grope knew lay north of the city and that constituted one of the problems for his explorations. Furthermore, the farms were only one ply deep from the shore; not far inland, the terrain here got rough and wasn't well suited for farming. The first property, some distance from the fortified ex-farm and invisible from it -- it would be, Grope thought -- looked like another vineyard, although considerably larger than the first one he'd seen. The two-story farm house had a strange, porch-like construct on its very roof; Grope had seen such structures in town and knew they bore the ominous name "widow's walk," although he didn't know why. However, he couldn't stay to examine the house and grounds more closely, as a few men and women were already at work among the grapes, and he wanted to continue to move unobserved.

The last farm house was another on the same lines as the second, crop-growing property, and he didn't linger long over it, except to note that its fields were rockier and harder to work than at the other place -- reasonable enough, considering the way the countryside itself was getting more rugged. Beyond the house, the road roughened considerably and turned inland, away from the increasingly rocky coast. He could see that a short distance west, it forked into two or three obvious routes for logging and mining -- no dwelling places beyond there, probably, except for miners' and loggers' camps. The roads showed no signs of foot or horse traffic since the last rain a few days back, so he concluded that the mercenaries couldn't have come from anywhere inland of here. That sinister third house, he decided, was his best bet for the "safe house," even though he couldn't figure out how at least nine men could fit there in its current state. After a pause for lunch, he turned back to the northeast.

He hurried back to the heavily-defended enclosure, veering a bit deeper into the woods than he'd been on the way out, so that he could make better time without being detected. Yes, here it was, still looking more like a derelict fortification than a farm. The question now was: how to get into it? He still couldn't see any signs of life, and the whole property looked to be out of sight of the houses on either side of it, but the razor wire was a formidable barrier even for a troll. He lowered himself to the ground and crawled on all fours along the back fence, looking for a place to get through -- ah.

Here, between two oak trees, was a section of fence detached from the others. It was carefully camouflaged so that the casual observer couldn't see that it formed a gate, hinging off one of the trees. A chain and lock secured it to the other tree, and for a moment Grope considered trying to break the chain; it looked sturdy enough to repel a human, but trolls were a great deal stronger, and he'd broken similar chains before. Well, no need, he decided; the chain and lock also served to reduce the height of the razor wire for a short interval, and while it'd still be enough to deter a human, a troll's long legs could step over it. He checked carefully for surprises, then stepped over the wire --

-- And landed on something on the inside that emitted a metallic click.

Three bolts instantly came whizzing toward him from the other tree, launched by a mechanism that he never did find. Two bounced harmlessly off his Robe, but one drew blood from an exposed arm, and he could feel the same itching that he'd felt from the jellyfish yesterday, only more intense -- still not enough to fell a troll, but a Small One would have found the pain sufficiently powerful to keep him from going any further.

Yup, this was the place, all right.

[Graybeard]

With the diminishing itching in his arm reminding him to be cautious, Grope started to explore the property.

He didn't really understand Small Ones' agriculture, and it wasn't until he got into the fields that he realized that they were still covered in the previous year's corn. If any humans had been in these fields since winter, he couldn't find evidence of it. Several wild pigs, however, had run loose there (how did they get through the wire barriers?, he wondered), fattening up on the corn, and two or three scurried out of his way as he walked. Well, that might simplify dinner, at least.

Not finding much exciting in the fields, he made his way toward the farm house itself. Still no signs of life here; the fields weren't the only things that seemed to have been abandoned. But how to square that with use of this place as the mercenaries' safe house? He didn't know, but as he looked, he became more and more convinced that he was in the right place. He could see now that someone had gone to some lengths to secure the main approaches via the road in front of the property. In addition to the ever-present concertina wire, the front exposure had a tall hedge growing right along the road, and between it and the fence was a deep ditch with the bank on the road side higher than the one toward the house. The troll's natural instinct for combat recognized what was going on: invaders coming through the hedgerow would be clearly visible to anyone standing guard. This was clearly a place set up for defense. (But who were they defending the property against?, he wondered? The town didn't seem to pay much attention to the mercenaries in their midst, even with all the gunfire going on.)

Time to reconnoiter the house, but here too there was no sign of recent life -- but there was a sign of recent death that he wasn't expecting. All of the windows were broken, and a great deal of debris had blown into the rooms and not been cleared. Nothing larger than a rat had moved here in quite a while -- except for that room near the back that was emitting the faint magical glow. Grope moved particularly carefully to the window of that room and listened carefully before hazarding a glance -- and then he at least knew what the magical glow was all about.

He was looking into the house's kitchen, and the center of the room was occupied by a large table -- with a Small One skeleton draped across it. The glow was coming from a light globe next to the skeleton's outstretched hand, and he could also see a magical glint off a curious dagger-like weapon that he didn't recognize -- and wanted no part of. Scavengers had deranged the lower body, but he could see that the skeleton was still dressed in a tattered shirt and pants: apparently a uniform, and quite different in design from what he'd seen the thugs wearing at the dock. Interesting ...

He continued on around the house, stepping across the door to the storm cellar and looking at the beat-up wagon: same story, nothing interesting, no recent use. He peeked through a crack in the wall of the shed; nothing too exciting there either, just some tools and --

Wait a minute. Houses in Kiyoka didn't have storm cellars, because they didn't have storms. He was familiar with the concept because of Small One houses to the north, near his tribe's territory, where thunderclouds spawned the small but incredibly violent storms that the Small Ones called tornadoes but the trolls knew as Breath-of-Growf. When the Breath walked the land, the Small Ones would take shelter underground. But the mild weather of Kiyoka didn't require any such thing.

He carefully checked the large double door for traps, found none, listened, heard nothing. Well, nothing left of it but to see where this thing led, he thought, and with most un-troll-like trepidation, he risked raising the door a crack -- and saw what he was looking for. What lay beyond was not a cellar but a passageway that continued on into blackness, heading in the general direction of town.

Aha.

[Graybeard]

[OOC: HEEELLP! I'd rather not be the only one posting to this thread ... although I can do so for about four more installments if absolutely necessary. So back to the show...]

Grope wasn't excited about following the underground passageway, to say the least, but the Robe was giving him a definite sense that it had to be done. Well, if I go into that dark hole, I'll need some light, he thought, and providence (he wasn't sure which troll deity, so just leave it at "providence") had kindly provided him with one, even if it was magical. He returned to the kitchen of the derelict house to retrieve the light globe, and while he was at it, checked out the rest of the situation in the room.

The deceased and skeletonized Small One looked like a member of some rival mercenary faction, judging from his(?) outfit. A bullet hole in his skull revealed everything necessary about the cause of his demise. The rats (and possibly the mercenaries) had gotten into his backpack and scattered his belongings about, leaving nothing of any interest except the light globe and the dagger. Why hadn't those items been lifted too? Grope didn't know, but it looked as if the mercenaries were even more magic-phobic than trolls. That was good to know; at least he wouldn't have to worry about magical traps underground. Probably.

He palmed the light globe, pondered, and almost as an afterthought, picked up the dagger to examine it. It had an odd, crystalline blade that was emitting the glow, and even odder, the blade lengthened as he held it. He'd never seen anything quite like that before, and set it down quickly; the blade instantly returned to its egg-like size and shape. Was it even attached physically to the haft? He wasn't sure, although the whole thing moved together when he held it. He repeated the cycle once or twice, then decided to test the weapon's edge on the dead Small One's tattered pants -- which it neatly sliced as though the tough cloth was tissue paper. Well, that was interesting, he thought ... Warring components of the troll psyche competed for his interest, intrinsic hostility to magic sparring with instinctive desire to take advantage of a good weapon. The weapons-loving part won; he carefully shoved the dagger into a pocket of the tunic-like garment that was his Many-Fathers-God-Wisdom-Robe. His tribemates would mock him for taking a magical weapon, at the least, and possibly out-and-out ostracize him, but they were a continent away, so who cared?

Back to the storm cellar. He nervously, quietly opened one of the doors, squeezed his massive bulk into the corridor (he had to go on hands and knees), extended the light globe, and crawled a short distance ... and quickly realized that he'd misjudged what was going on here. The ground beneath him was soft and maybe slightly wet, and it retained footprints well -- and all of the many sets of prints that he saw were heading out of the passage toward the surface. Not one set, except for the ones made by his own oversized moccasins, pointed inward. So, he thought, this was an exit -- probably an emergency route -- not an entrance. But from what?

Extricating himself from the underground corridor (and breathing a sigh of relief as he did it), he blinked in the light and tried to envision the direction in which the passage trended -- and suddenly all was clear. It was making a beeline for the next farmhouse back toward town. This entire compound was a false front designed to draw attention away from the real hiding place of the mercenaries. And with this insight, he knew what he had to do next, as he quietly closed the storm-cellar door.

[Graybeard]

He moved carefully from the bogus compound and into the woods, not drawing any fire from missile-launching traps, to his relief. The day was getting on, and he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to explore the farm before dark fell. For that matter, he wasn't sure he wanted to; it would be best to remain undetected as long as he could, and he'd have a better chance of moving stealthily when the sun went down. Fortunately, that shouldn't be too long in coming, with the low mountains to the west. He found a convenient boulder near the woods' edge to shelter his bulk, and settled in to watch.

Not much going on here, he realized; in fact suspiciously little was going on here. He watched for over an hour, and not a single Small One moved in the fields, the farmyard, anywhere on the property. Not all was quiet, however. He could see the young mother next door; she was now doing something among the grapevines, baby still on her back. After a while he could hear a faint baby's cry from the immaculate little farmhouse, and the young woman hurried back to the house -- twins? He marveled; multiple births were all but unknown among the trolls. The thought got him remembering again... Why, it seemed like only yesterday (even though it had really been well over a hundred years ago) that he'd held his first son, stroked and kissed his mate's fevered brow after the delivery, and ... Stop that thought.

Well, at least one possible witness to his trespassing had been removed for the moment. There was still enough light for a bit of exploring, so he gingerly stepped over the fence into the bean field. They'd planted carefully, he thought; the plants weren't high enough to hide anyone the height of a standing Small One, let alone a troll, and the rows were close enough together that crawling was awkward. It took him a few minutes to reach the large red barn, and by then the light was almost gone -- but he rapidly saw that the trip was worth the trouble.

At first glance the barn looked entirely ordinary on the outside, but then he noticed a string of slit windows about ten feet above the ground. This was very odd; barns didn't need slit windows, and they certainly didn't have second floors, where these windows would be providing light. A flat-bedded wagon had been parked conveniently beneath one window, as if inviting him to stand on it and see what was beyond. He did, and hazarded a quick glance ...

At a neatly arranged dormitory with about six or eight beds, none looking slept in, with foot lockers beside them. A long Thundering Metal Thing lay across one of the lockers.

Yes, he was definitely in the right place.

[Viking-Sensei]

"Yes, we are definitely in the right place." Kureji said, looking up at the abandoned fort-ree-farmhouse through the long gate. The scene looked recently disturbed, traces of blood and what looked like crossbow bolts on the inside, and a large chain did it's best to prohibit entry.

"You're sure you're sure?" Rokku said, looking aroudn the edges of the gate questioningly. "It looks to me like someone's gone to great effort to make sure nobody enters here."

Kureji laughed and raised her hands, pointing towards the chains with both pinkies. "My aunt is a millionare recluse shut-in who decided to hold a murder mystery weekend. Of course this place looks forboding. It's part of the set up. PYRO FLASH!"

A ball of white-hot energy looking like a small sun formed in front of Kureji, slowly expanding until it engulfed the chain and a significant part of the gate. Then, with a unsatisfying "pop-fhhhh" it vanished, leaving scorched rounded corners glowing white-hot for where they'd been in contact with the energy sphere. Even the ground bore a circular indentation now swiftly cooling in the absence of the spell's effect radius. Rokku and Locke looked on, horrified.

"Traps disarmed. Let's go, boys."

The path up to the house was similarly beset with further discouragements... some appeared to already have been tripped by whatever had left the blood trail from the gate; others were still waiting for an unsuspecting individual (read: Rokku) to happen into them. A large carniverous plant even attempted to eat Locke, Rokku's flying cat familiar. Eventually, they made it to the farm house... and the skeleton.

"I don't think this is the right place, Kureji." Rokku said, peering into the vacant eyes of the skull sitting on the table. "This looks too real to be a fake, even a really well done one. And I think I recognize this uniform..."

"Don't be silly, Rokku. It probably IS a real skeleton. This is a Murder Mystery weekend, remember? Wouldn't be much of a murder mystery without a murder at some point. Crazy eccentric rich woman, remember? She probably bought somebody's...er... body. It's called 'atmosphere'. Now, do you see any clues?"

Rokku picked up the odd looking dagger. "Got what looks like a holster-sheath-y thing for a dagger. Oh, and here's a map on the floor... looks like this place, but it shows... hang on... looks like there's an underground passage... Oh, god..."

Kureji grabbed Rokku's arm and drug him out the back door. "To the secret passage!"

[Graybeard]

OOC here:

Rokku picked up the odd looking dagger. "Got a dagger. Oh, and here's a map on the floor... looks like this place, but it shows... hang on... looks like there's an underground passage... Oh, god..."

Say what? I thought Grope had palmed the odd-looking dagger. Oh, well, maybe he dropped it ...