Grim Deed (Part 1)

A boring old room buried somewhere in the Adventurer's Guild

The provided room in the Guild is plain. There would be warm light striking across the pair of figures seated at the end of the table, if it weren't for the constant snow fall. It would have been dramatic. It _could_ have been dramatic.

Instead, the adventurers are presented with a person in dark black and brown robes; and what appears to be a large person wearing full plate armour The former was seated at the end of the table with his gloved hands clasped together. He had a straight posture, nearly cheerful one - despite the fact that he was wearing a surprisingly ornate metal mask with vertical slits. It was a stark contrast to the dusty, extremely utilitarian clothing he was wearing - or the rather average looking shovel leant against the wall behind him.

For the latter - the armour looked excessively decorative and ancient. It was blue, yes - but the pale green has taken to the edges, making it seem near ancient. Worn engravings litter the plates, and the person seemed to be wearing a plain looking longsword. They were also completely still.

Though, perhaps the most worrying aspect of the sight - there was a pile of paperwork and set of pens laid out. The promise of the dreaded Paperwork!

"Ah-! Excellent. I knew no good adventurer could resist the lure of just reward!" The man in the dark robes greets, gesturing for the adventurers to step in. "It would be quite the undoing if an adventurer did not adventure for reward now and then." A chuckle behind the mask. "Now, everyone carefully read the posting?" He asks, tilting his head at everyone in turn.

The armour behind the robes raises his head - the helmet jostles slightly - and then lowers it, as if they just had taken a deep breath.

Culix has made her way here- the Goblin is already dressed up for work, with her cloak drawn up over her head, lower face covered with a bandanna and a pair of goggles with smoked lenses currently pushed up onto her brow, revealing the only stretch of grey skin and silver hair visible on the monochrome goblin's form, the rest tucked away behind layers of various shades of dark grey leather.

"I did. Sounded almost like an upper floor job but I'm guessing that's not the case with your last line. No evil? Not that thieving is evil in itself... but the guild doesn't usually sponsor snatch jobs." The goblin says, having a healthy dose of Alexandrian working class patter to her accent. "So what is it we're fetching, and from who- or what?" she asks plain.

Forget killer Pothy dolls and invisible pickpockets and strangely hot demon cowboys: Bureaucrats are the real villains of Ea. Everyone knows that, and Skyler Skywalker, (ex) Sky Pirate and swasher of buckling (whatever that is) is no exception. The paperwork is met with a widening of pale grey-green eyes, dismay written all over his face as he nudges the half-oruch beside him.

"Do you think anyone would believe me if I pretended to be illiterate?" He asks, in a hushed-but-slightly-too-loud voice, "Because there doesn't look like there's pictures, and I have a devil of a time with books that don't have pictures." That said, he straightens his shoulders, and plasters on a friendly, cheerfully vapid smile. "Hi! Yes! I read it, twice. Sounds fun. I missed the part about it being a masquerade party, though. Are you supplying the masks or do we need to come up with them ourselves and get reimbursement...? You clearly got the memo." That to the be-goggled and bandanad Culix.

Reithak was one of the adventurers who found the posting for the job, and it did sound like fun! Or at the very least, could be a nice change of pace.

So the large egalrin strode into the room, finding a chair to lean over. One brow raised at the amount of paperwork. "Well, nice to meet you folks, that's a right pile of forms, though. What's got you so concerned about or help you feel the need t'be so thorough?"

Carver frowns as she enters the room, taking in the framing of how they sit and indeed present themselves. Red flags? Let me count thee. Her own face is clean for once of her raccoon-styled warpainting, so her discomfort is writ large there. Even as Culix speaks in the language of 'er people'.

"Right." She'd admit to not really knowing what's in her heart. She hadn't much thought about it. "Why's all yous covering your faces like he said?" She points at Skyler in agreement this time, not even poking him in the rib.

GAME: Skyler rolls perception: (7)+8: 15

GAME: Reithak rolls craft/tailoring: (4)+7: 11

"No." Is Jarik's one word response to Skyler's inquiry about being illiterate, before crunching into a winter-wizened apple he bought from a street vendor on the way over to the guildhall. It's almost all core now, but still he crunches away as he regards the two fellows at the top of the table then at the pile of paperwork in front of them.

"Though I should probably say if any writing is involved my penmanship is absolutely atrocious." He nods his head at the question about reading the ad though.

GAME: Culix rolls knowledge/local: (12)+9: 21

The man in the robes adjusts his cloak and his clothing - it wasn't all robes; he was wearing a rather smart looking padded shirt over it, and leather straps with shoulder bag. Various satchels and tiny pockets line up the sides of the man. He seemed to be dressed down for business - except for the mask. The armour in the background though, just stands silent.

Culix's questions makes him turn his head, then at the papers, then at the armour "I told you that bit about the nimble fingers-" He stops, holds up his hands, shakes them for a moment, then lowers them, drumming his fingers across the table. "I apologize. It must be a deadly misunderstanding. No underhanded misdeeds, chicanery, or skulduggery is required." He makes a sweeping gesture. "What you -" He turns to look at everyone else in turn, before he finishes his grandiose sweep of hand. "What you shall be 'fetching' is simply the deed to the manor from the manor," The gobling is shot another look. "That /I/, by happen-stance, happen to possess." He holds up his finger. "Before you ask, no, I am too busy tending to my vineyard in this dreadful blizzard, to do so myself."

He puts his hands back down onto the table. "Now! With that clarified, we can begin. Firstly, the legal papers," He starts picking up papers off the stack one by one, sliding them towards each adventurer. "This is a legal document as demanded by the Guild and with few of my own provisions, to say that you have entered the premises by your own free will and under no duress, and that I nor anyone of the manor shall be held liable to any work accidents." He lowers his head a touch. "And that you shall also forgo any demands of restoration, monetary or otherwise."

Pens are handed out afterwards. It was also obvious this was not Adventurer's Guild paperwork.

"If you cannot write, simple house mark of your choice will suffice." The person in the armour with a very hollow, very neutral voice, adds.

Culix shrugs as the rest of them comment on the covered up face. "Aint good with the sun." she admits, and tugs her face mask down a bit to show off more of her grey skin, her goblin complexion bleached entirely of its former forest hues. "Dunno what their story is, though." she admits, nodding back towards the clients as she tugs the mask back up into place. She looks back towards the pair as she waits for them to elaborate, eyeballing that particularly still member of the pair.

She rolls her fingers on the table a couple of times, at first maybe just an idle gesture, but anyone versed in hand-speech will recognize it as a subtle call for attention. With that done, she makes a few clandestine motions hoping that at least some of her companions will grasp their meaning. "Guardian Golem?" and then a glance at the still figure with the hollow voice.

< Handspeech >

Then the paperwork is pushed over towards her, and her hackles rise. Not because she's averse to reading, really, but she's signed things away before she'd rather not have. So she pours over the wording, studying it carefully.

Reithak quickly plucked a moderately sized feather from on of her wings, slicing the end off at an angle. "There's definitely something that isn't adding up about all of this." *Reithak mused, twirling the makeshift quill in one hand.* "Real fancy clothes you've got there, but they're in quite a bit of a mess, t'be honest. Only thing is, I can't tell if they're just worn out, or if you got them made to look like that?"

Reithak shrugged, reaching into a pocket for a small ink pot. "I'd like to know more about who I'm working for and what we're doing, before signing a document like this that ain't supplied by the guild, is all."

Skyler can barely speak Tradespeak... The handspeech goes right over his head, whooosh. But it's as much because of how his eyes are staring at the armour so intensely as a lack of brains. "Adventurers aren't cheap." He comments, frowning, "And neither are people to draft binding contracts for said adventurers that aren't the typical Guild paperwork." He picks up his stack of papers, squares his shoulders, and begins to read.

"We didn't ask anything except why you're masked." He points out, "At least, not originally. But since you brought it up, it does seem as if you or your hollow friend over there are more than capable."

Carver's vision swims as she looks over the paperwork. Not a fan. Her suspicion is not echoed in the face of the others, who are more than diligent with their questions. She came for a job, right? She bites on her lower lip in thought before reaching up and taking her horse brooch on her collar. One stamp marks it with a rearing beast. She slowly pushes it back over to the very on-the-level masked man.

Jarik crunches into his apple one more, biting the core in half then munching down the second half as well, no waste. Shrugging his boar-hide cloak off one shoulder to free his hand he reaches out to take the papers in hand. His handwriting may be awful, but he was taught how to read and so he begins to go over the words, slowly and methodically. Mostly trying to pick out any hidden language that might bite him in the butt later on.

The papers are filled with legalese. As usual, it starts with lengthy definitions of whom or what various terms mean, then it moves onto explain the purpose of the contract, and then the nitty gritty begins... Broadly however, and without a degree in lawyering, it seems to be a contract more or less saying what the man in robes said. Though it is very meticulous about detailing the various injuries and expenses one might endure. At the very end, it states the contract is between 'Quentin Graves' and 'Guild of Arcane Appropriations', and naturally the respective party member.

"See? Smart adventurers. They read the paperwork! I told you this was a great idea." The man in robes says, with obvious pleasure. When Carver reaches out with the brooch, the armoured 'golem' steps forward. One could nearly feel the exhale, even if none appears, when they approach. "They. Think. I. Am. A Golem." They tersely state as a red wax candle is lit for Carver. "I am. Not. A Golem. I am Lord-Captain Maximillian and the -" The 'golem' begins to speak in what appears to be barely withheld anger before the robed figure interrupts him, with a wave of his hand an. "Yes, yes, no one likes a show off. Let them read in peace."

The man steeples his fingers again and leans towards Skyler. "The mask? It is because of the wind - quite the hustle to put it on, I will tell you. And yes, yes, capable and all that, but I do hope we are not here to talk about me and my companion here." The egalrin's comment makes him turn and he gives his clothes a good pat down. "Ah, excellent. Exactly as it should. What you do not know, does not kill you," He lets out a short laugh at that. "... but let me assure you, you will be duly rewarded for this... tiny task. The journey can be a bit rough and this is extremely important document, which is why I am not hiring a simple courier, but well-respected adventurers instead!"

The 'Golem' - whose armour was obviously and extremely ill-fitting, judging how much it jostled - raises their shoulders, before levelling their 'gaze' upon Carver. "Which house do you hail from?"

"The one I live in?" Skyler blinks at the 'Golems question, squinting at him before saying in an aside to the half-oruch at his side, "What a silly question." He continues to thumb through his paperwork before getting to the end. Spotting Carver and her seal, he sags in relief. He really didn't want to be the first and take the blame if this goes badly. And so with a flourish, he signs his name: Skyler Skywalker.

To Max, he shrugs, "I mean, something's not right about you. Do we need to oil the armour joints? I hear they get rusty if you stand out in the snow too long."

Culix mulls over the contract for a while longer, eventually deciding that she doesn't find any clauses about selling her soul or swearing fealty after death, eventually goes ahead and signs it. But she does file away those names somewhere in the back of her mind, making a mental note to go ask some friends in the Guild of the Sly about them before departing from the city. Ultimately she doesn't care much for who they are so long as their gold spends, but there's only so many times one can be stabbed in the back before becoming averse to the process.

"Don't get pissy now, rust in boots. You look like one and act like one." she says, sliding her signed contract back over. "If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck." she shrugs.

Carver pauses as the 'Golem' speaks, squinting up at him, perhaps sensing the defensive response she almost evoked. She didn't read the paperwork but the implied insult in not doing so is either dumb or muted; depending on one's expectation. "I looks like I has a House?" The emphasis on the syllables capitalizes the identity. An expectation of importance passed down by blood. "I looks like I has titles?" With all her furs and hide, it's implied all her wealth is carried in her assortment of magical equipment or gear. No plan for the future. No investment for the greatness of lineage.

"I'm Carver. I do dumb things for pay. Sir Mountain. Respect-full-lee."

"Oh, Ceinara's cramping corset, where't the blue bird boy when you need him?" *Reithak bemoaned as her eyes started to glaze over a bit reading the document. "Lot of clauses for death and dismemberment for just going to a manor and getting a document." The egalrin grumbles. "You sure there's nothing sketchy about this? I don't even know what this guild of arcane appropriations is, anyways. But, eh, whatever, Still weird you're trying to look more beat up than you actually are, I usually prefer people being up front and honest about themselves."

"Or it's a druid pretending to be a duck." Jarik points out helpfully, looking up from the document for a moment before bowing his head and going back to reading. "You know, when you try to downplay it by saying a tiny task and then hand us a contract like this, it really sends mixed signals." The half-oruch bemoans as he places the paper back on the table. Then without comment reaches out, dabs his thumb on the top of the ink bottle, then presses it against the line at the bottom of the page. They did say a mark of their choice.

"This generation." 'Max, the Golem' audibly grinds something together and then decides to ignore the banter aimed towards them, before turning back towards Carver. "That is respectable." They slightly bow their head, which causes the helmet to rattle about. They points with his gauntlet at the paper. "Press your seal into the wax and then here."

The man in robes stands up and pats the large armoured "Now now, do be gentle on the old Max here, it is not very often we are awarded a city trip. Only the situation now is rather dire." He makes a regretful motion with his hands. "And as we are all now in the trenches together, so to speak," He holds up his hands in arresting motion, "I am Quintin Graves, the owner of the Manor of Umbergloom, and it is the deed to this man that is the object of your search." He puts his hands down onto his hips, eyeing everyone up and down. "The Guild of Arcane Appropriations needs a proof of my ownership, or those _gravediggers_ -" He suddenly slams his fist down onto the table, "- will possess the manor and everyone in it for unpaid taxes." He takes in a deep breath, exhales, adjusts his shirt.

"Now, the manor is quite far away and I trust none of you have heard of it, so I will be providing a map and appropriate sum for your travel expenses. I trust you are as adept at navigating as you are suspicious of us." This either seemed to amuse or unnerve him. It was hard to say which. He fetches the said map out of his pocket, a long scroll, and unrolls it. It is a very old looking map; with locations that you recognize, but also many you do not, scribbled in ink. "Simply follow the blue line to the red cross."

"The staff of the manor will recognize this invitation," Envelope with a fancy seal is held out, "And once you are inside, I simply ask you to find this deed and then return with it to the Guild with haste." He looks around. "Any questions?"

Carver does as she is told, pressing her seal to binding friendship. A fruitful endeavour for one and all, with no questionable or shady aftertones! Just good ole' adventurin'. She just nods at the giant knight and steps back to join her others. She lets another take the letter of invitation.

"Don't take it personally, I'm suspicious of everyone." Culix tells the robed man, "Not least of all folks offering to pay me. Call it hard won lessons." she says as she takes a look at the map. "Every/one/?" she repeats. A glance at the stiff suit of armour. "More 'not golems'?" she asks, and then shrugs. "Well, can deal with that. So long as they aren't going to take offence while we're there." she adds, and then holds out her hand to accept the letter of invitation.

"Unpaid taxes?" Skyler looks alarmed at that, and then down at his signature as if he's trying to figure out if he can lick his thumb and wipe his signature away, "You aren't passing on the burden of taxes onto us are you? We aren't going to have our pay reward garnished as the recipients of the lien? The only thing worse than Jarik's morning breath is *tax collectors*. At least with Jarik I can shove some mint in his mouth."

He grimaces, and glances over at the map. And at Culix's comment, adds, "I'm still *highly* suspicious of you two, but I do have a certain level of trust in the people signing on with me." Beat. "And our ability to take our pay out of your hide if you should betray us."

"Well, alright then, guess that's that." Reithak shrugs, relenting and signing off on the document. "Sure, doesn't explain why you need us to get it, but whatever, I'm not about to let these people get in over their heads without me. I don't like this, but too late to duck out now, suppose."

Jarik gives Skyler a slightly withering glare at the morning breath comment, then sighs and shakes his head before returning most of his attention to the suspicious duo. "Well, for now I'll assume its above board. Don't really care about your tax problems, but as long as I get my pay I'll help." Not that he already agrees by 'signing'. "At least this seems like an amusing group to spend a few days on the road with." He murmurs, looking over at the map.

"Ah, a woman after my heart-!" A sudden pause and the large knight puts their hand on Graves' shoulder, leaning towards Culix. "He meant everything, not everyone. Slip of the tongue. Speech disorder." Then there's impatient waving and the hand is pushed away. "Yes," Quintin coughs and adjusts his shirt. "Everything. Though you will find plenty of this," He gives a knock on the armour, "In the manor. Traditional, you understand."

Turning back towards the rest of the party, Quintin Graves puts his hands together. "Excellent. Those _ blood sucking leeches_ shall receive nothing-"

"Except paperwork." The large not-golem interjects.

"- except paperwork with this deadly bunch! Now, the staff is instructed to protect my property while I am tending to my vineyard - my grapes are suffering this time of the year, you understand - so there might be few misunderstandings. I trust all of you are professional about how you handle the situations as they arise, and keep the damage minimal. And naturally, as I only asked for good, law-abiding adventurers with nothing but pure intentions in their hearts, the rest of the valuables shall naturally stay."

The man in robes, Graves, turns to look at his armoured friend. "This was a brilliant idea. Far better than that thieving guild, none of them would have even gotten inside." The helmet just droops to one side in an exaggerated 'eyeroll' with a helmet.

The red gloved hand slips under his shirt and he pulls out a slender box, sealed with wraps and wax. "For the rest of the practicalities, this is for the dog, in case he gets eager." He puts the box down. Another letter is fetched then. "This is for the case you are forced to make a move. I do hope not," He holds up his hand, "But impatience is a deadly sin." Fetching into his robes more, he pulls out slender key. "This is for the shed. In case you need shovels. For the sewers." More rummaging. "Did I forget anything?" He asks from the walking armour

"The anti-rusting agent." The reply comes, with the typical, vaguely annoyed tone. "In case something is stuck."

"Ah, yes!" The vial is then put down onto the table. "Now, that should be all. Any questions? Reward on delivery, of course."

Culix will let someone else take the key, she has the invitation and is quite confident she'll be able to manage without anyway. She rubs her cheek through the fabric of her bandanna, and then sighs, "Honestly, I'm halfway convinced we're part of some kind of mummery. You pair couldn't be more suspicious if you tried. But if your gold spends, I don't care." she says, and then pushes herself out of her seat. "No questions. Couple things to see to in town, before I leave, but I'll meet you all at the stables?" she suggests, looking around to the party.

"Nah, you're right, this stinks worse than a dead fish in the summer sun" *Reithak shrugs as she caps off her ink pot and stows it back away. "Especially the fact that these staff are supposed to be attacking us if we show up."

Reithak shook her head and stopped leaning over the bed. "Alright, well, alright. I don't like this, but what's there to be done?"

Yoink! Skyler is quick to take the key, putting it into a pocket of his leather overcoat. "She's right, y'know. You're acting so suspicious that it's almost circled around back to being trustworthy. Almost." He glances around the group, waiting for other people to take other stuff, and adds to Reithak, "We could refuse the job, report them to the Adventurer's Guild for misrepresentation." He suggests, and raises one eyebrow, "But again, I trust this group to deal with anything thrown our way. If we don't take the job, they might go find a group of children to foster it off onto."

Carver takes her brooch, attaching it back to her collar with a sigh. She doesn't bother agreeing with the others. They were right. It all stank. They'd likely find someone else to do the job if they didn't. They could run it to the authority but... who knows? "I can guide us there. Knows the roads, if not this place." Once they get there, they will have to make more choices. Hopefully no shame will be cast upon her ancestors for taking this job. "Maybe we shoul' even consider a cart and some packmules. Path not likes to be easy, innit?"

She gives one last trepidatious look at the most suspicious of duos. "I can't thinks of any, but I was never really good at doin' so."

"Anti-rusting agent.." Jarik says as he picks up the vial, holding it up to the light. "I could have used some of this on some of my traps back home." He says, apropo of nothing, but he tucks the vial safely away in one of his belt pouches after wrapping it in a spare bit of fabric. No sense risking a break. "Well, stinky or not, stables seems like a good place to meet back up. I need to grab a few things myself."

"I have this dreadful feeling that I am not trusted." Quintin taps his chest. "However, by my life, this has all been sanctioned by the Guild and the Guild and what I have stated here today is all as I have stated today here."

The armoured figure interjects again. "It's all like he says. For once, no tricks." The helmet turns to look towards Reithak - and this time it kind of stays stuck, half way tilted. "Standard safety practice. There are plenty of irreplaceable possessions there."

Quintin claps his hands together as the adventurers start to depart. "Excellent! I will wait for your expedited return." He gathers up the writing implements and scrolls and neatly stuffs them into his bag. "And if I believed in luck, but I do not, I would wish good luck in hunting down the mimic, but I am certain adventurers of your interesting mettle shall find no trouble in doing so!"

The man in robes then turns towards the knight. "Time to go, Golem. Joints need oiling." The 'golems' gauntlets flex momentarily, but then the pair begins to leave.

Culix looks Carver's way, "I've got a horse in the stables." she admits with a faint grimace like she's admitting to something distasteful. Not an animal person, perhaps. Or at least, not an avid rider. "But a cart might not be such a bad idea. We can rent one at the north gate, as I recall." she suggests. She steps towards the door, since it seems they are about done here, and pulls her goggles back down over her eyes as she prepares to head outside into the light.

Carver's eyes light up when Culix says she has a horse, "Oh?" Are we now best friends? Yes, we are!

Rather than continue his accusations of trustworthiness, Skyler shakes his head almost sadly. "Well, I think we're all going to go our separate ways and probably investigate, right?" He says to the group brightly, "I'll get us some cookies from a Gnomish bakery. It's hard to be suspicious and distrustful on the first day of a journey with *cookies* in your belly!"

"Finding transportation is the best course of action to begin with. I'm not great with riding horses, but I'm not terrible. We should probably get some things sorted before that though." Reithak muses, packing up her things and looking around. "Could probably use some supplies, and more information before we set out."

Quintin Graves, the apparent owner and probable lord of the Manor of Umbergloom, picks up his ordinary looking shovel off the wall and with ease leans it upon his shoulder. The Golem and Quintin then move past the discussing group, bantering amongst themselves.

"See? They are smart! Investigating us! They even read the paperwork, do you think you would catch a mage dead doing that?" The man in robes says.

"I do not think they will find the mimic. Even _you_ could not find the mimic with the deed." The armour replies sourly, the large heavy plates clanking loud.

"You worry too much, they are even bringing snacks..."

And the voices disappear, as all there is left for the party to find...

... The Grim Deed of the Manor Umbergloom.