And it came across quite preachy. But the dice were good to me, so hopefully that pays off.

Address, X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5 | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 08:10 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.) Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"We made it inside but other than a bunch of vagrants all around me I can't see a thing.  You guys are on your own over there.  Probably gonna make our way back to the start point."

"Drek." Bloodbank thought, so much for any overwatch. They were making no headway here, and he was getting frustrated. Roadblock after roadblock after roadblock seemed to come their way, and they barely seemed an iota closer to finding the boy than they were three days ago when they were given the job. 

Stepping slightly away from the others and away from the door, Cred-stick spoke again. "Okay.... so you got a few people in with you and I'm bothering the neighbors... Your choice." It wasn't until the man glanced at Casino and Echo before Bloodbank understood what he had in mind.

"No." The MedTech hissed, stepping forward to grasp Casino's arm. "We can't let this turn to violence. We haven't the time nor the energy for a firefight." 

Tearing his arm from Bloodbank, but otherwise ignoring him, Casino spoke up. “Ma’am we are not here to hurt anyone or get into a risky firefight. We were hired by a Fixer, who was hired as she told us by the kids family, to find out what happened to him and rescue him. I know you don’t know us, trust us, or give a s*** who hired us, but its clear to me if the boy is in there you did not kidnap him. If you had, I think the shooting would have already started and people, possibly the kid, would already be dead.”

Relieved, and the slightest bit surprised, Bloodbank waited with bated breath for a response, any response. It wasn't the woman behind the door that spoke up, however, it was Casino again.

“Look I got a young lady out here her name’s Echo if the boy is in there with you let her come in unarmed and talk to him, find out what we have gotten into and if the boy is here willingly. If we are the bad guys I’d like to know it up front. Ma’am honestly if I could I’d walk away from this run as my best friend and partner is being held against his will as we speak and could end up dead at any minute. The longer I have to deal with this the longer it will take to rescue him. So please let Echo in to talk to the boy, please.”

"Please." Bloodbank echoed. "We are here to try and save a child. An innocent child who had done nothing more than have an important father. We don't want to fight you, we don't want anything more from you than your assistance in preventing a terrible fate for this child. Surely you don't wish any harm on a child. You can stop this, you can help us and make a difference. To lend yourself to a cause that is larger than any of us. A cause that may not seem to make a large difference in this world we live in, but a cause that will make all the difference to one, young, defenseless child. A cause that is good. A cause that is right. Not often do we have opportunities to do good in this world. To do the right thing. So please, open the door. We just want to talk. Nothing more."

(Persuasion/Fast Talk: 1d10+9. Total of 24 with an exploding ten.)

Yes, right. I'll get on that.

When I get home I will get up some responses to get this game moving.

Anyone have an idea when they can get a post up?

That's too bad, Eol, but I understand. 

If your workload lightens up then you're always welcome back in this game!

Bloodbank has provided his suggestion. A short recap would be:

Glahn and Blossom keeping general overwatch of the situation. That seems best suited to their particular skills.

The rest of the gang ask the questions, led by Cred-Stick, who seems to be a fair spokesperson.

Thoughts?

“Expecting trouble, sweetcheeks?” Blossom asked when Bloodbank set his firearm on the seat next to him.

"Hopefully not." Was all that Bloodbank had to say.

“They’re on the move,” Echo interrupts. Blossom quickly readjusted her focus and watched as Cred Stick Charlie and Ghlahn began to make their way towards the jeep while the tall Frankenstein’s Monster began to hobble off in the direction of the building.

“Looks like it worked,” the Blossom stated.

“Whatever ‘it’ was,” Echo cast a sideways glance at Casino in an attempt to gauge his thoughts. She hadn’t known the mountain of a Solo for long but felt an irresistible draw to him. He’s moody, unpredictable, maybe even impulsive, but he’s a deep well and she recognized a lot of emotion within him. Is he broken? Luke says she’s into projects. He’s warned her against those kinds of relationships many, many times. The funny thing about it? That kiss back in the alley… that’s as close to a relationship as she’d ever had. She’d been too afraid to open herself up to anyone in the Family, romantically, that is. Confusion over the way she feels about this brooding soldier flooded her mind as she took in his rough features. Why now? Why him? No answer was readily available.

Arriving at the air jeep, Charlie and Ghlahn rejoined their companions and report on their success. Now came the waiting part. Every op has at least one period of time where this was the name of the game. Knowing that didn't make it any easier. Minutes passed just watching The Alien—a name that Blossom thought fitting—made his way down the street to the stoop. When he disappeared inside, the tension in and around the vehicle was palpable. Nearly a half hour passed before Edgar hobbled out the door and down the stoop. This was the catalyst that set Charlie and Ghlahn back in motion, returning to the homeless man’s hovel.

Timing their arrival at the tent so that they met up with The Alien, Charlie offered a greeting with a nod of his head.

“Your Rya Mendez ain’t home,” Edgar rumbled through his burnt lips. “Some old lady was there. Named Marta. Weren’t no Reef inside to deal with. That Marta, she didn’t let me in and didn’t open the door wide enough for me to see past her. Couldn’t tell if there’s a kid in there. Sorry.”

Paying the man his fifty credits in cash, the pair of Edgerunners returned to their companions and filled them in.

“So, we go pay this Marta a visit and see what we can learn, right?” Blossom remarked.

“Nicely?” Echo added, moving from the driver’s seat so that Charlie can take possession once again. Standing in the misty morning air, the wind gusted about her, the nomad leaned down so she can hear what the others are saying. “I’m not keen on roughing up a gray-hair.”

"Nicely." Bloodbank agreed, trying to put all his newfound conviction behind that single word.

"Ok, so we go in." Fixer stated. "I'm guessing we still need someone to stay here and watch the door.  Maybe give a warning if someone comes.  We still have two of the walkies amongst us.  They can be overheard, but even just a single word might give warning of the need for a different exit.  So, whoever is planning this thing - who goes in and who watches?" 

"Glahn?" Bloodbank suggested. "You like keeping an eye on things from afar, right? Perhaps Blossom can accompany you? Maybe use some of that technological magic to keep an even broader eye out? I'd like to go in; following Cred-Stick's lead, I assume."

Bloodbank paused there. There was a lot of distrust of Cred-Stick Charlie, something that Bloodbank didn't quite understand. The group hadn't known each other much longer than they had known Charlie, after all. Everyone else in the group was almost just as much of an unknown as the Charlie, and yet Bloodbank trusted them all with his life. He had to, just as they all had to trust him to have their back and to do his job.

"After all," The MedTech continued. "He's been very effective so far."

Very nice post Dragon. You put it up while I was still in the process of writing mine, so I didn't see it until after I had posted. But not to worry! I have edited to include your input.

Excellent posts all around in fact! Well, now you're outside the jailhouse, and I look forward to your next actions!

"Duty is heavy as a mountain, death as is light as a feather."
- A saying common among Borderlanders, specifically the Shienar.

Dane was only a page into The Adventures of Jain Farstrider when a racket began above his head.  The cretin of a woodsman was banging on doors above to wake the dead.  Dane grimaced, the man gave those of the woods a bad name with his complete lack of manners.  Treating others with respect was neither a weakness nor a sin.  The man seemed to be completely self-centered, and yet it sounded like he intended to join the rest of them in searching for answers.  He was not at all sure if that was a good thing.  He did not want others to associate him with the beast.  Still, you never knew what gifts someone might bring to the party, so he'd take what he could get and wait to judge harshly until he had again caused more trouble than benefit.

Another clatter shattered the once peaceful morning as a door off of the common room burst open, revealing a red-faced Master Masteon still in his shirtsleeves. 

"What in the name of the Light is going on!?" he practically bellowed. His eyes quickly found the only other occupant in the common room: Dane, sitting by the semi-warm coals of the not yet kindled fire. He furrowed his brow, opened his mouth, then at another thunderous boom of knocking on the floor above, closed his mouth and scurried across the common room to the stairs leading up.

Curious of the racket in the hall outside, Alyrëa went to the door and cracked it open a few inches and peered out to inform the innkeeper that she would vacate the room shortly-only to discover that it was not the innkeeper after all. Lanur stood at near the end of the hallway, pounding on the final door. There was soft scuttling from one of the rooms, as the occupant rushed around, apparently shocked awake by the clamor that the woodsman caused. A little further down the hall, a door cracked open as a frazzle-haired woman stuck her head out with wide eyes. Seeing the hulking, wild behemoth of Lanur in the hall, she gave a small squeak and snapped the door shut.

What is that oaf attempting to do? Alyrëa thought in frustration as she glared at his retreating back. Her dislike of the rude, arrogant woodsman was swiftly increasing, but as Lanur had already announced he would be joining them on their quest, she would have to hold her tongue, lest her opinions of him should loosen it and cause a confrontation between her and Lanur that she did not desire to have. 

'I thank you for your extremely loud knocking, woodsman,' Alyrëa said to Lanur in mock gratitude when she saw him. 'If not for you, I may never have gotten ready in time to accompany you all to the jailhouse.' She knew she was already breaking her vow to not provoke the hotheaded man, but she could not help it. 

Gritting her teeth, her jaw set, Alyrëa closed the door again and began to change into her traveling attire.

The Innkeep arrived on the second floor just as Alyrëa shut her door and a third door opened allowing Boz to step out, his scarred bare chest bare and clutching a club. 

"You!" The Innkeep hissed. "That is it! You've overstayed your welcome, man. You will leave this building immediately! Harassing poor Mistress Velalin, disturbing my patrons! I will have no more of your... your... disruptive behavior! Boz!"

With a grunt, Boz stepped towards Lanur clutching his club tightly and cautiously eyeing the woodsman. "Now let's 'ave no trouble. Nice and easy." He directed in his gravely, low voice.

Flanked by a half-naked Boz and the heavy breathing, grumbling Master Masteon, Lanur was directed down the stairs into the still deserted common room. It was a strange trio that Dane observed march down the stairs, weave between the tables, and out the front door.

"And don't think of sticking your dirty head back in here again, or Boz will show you what for!" Master Masteon declared as the door slammed shut behind Lanur and Boz. Whirling around, Master Masteon started to storm back to his room but paused as his eyes found Dane. "You were with that man, were you not?" he asked from across the common room. "Yes... yes you were! You and that other lot of strangers. Well! You can tell your friends that you all are no longer welcome here at the -- "

"Caloul, dear." A soft voice cut in. Standing in the doorway of the Innkeeps room stood a matronly looking woman. Her gray-streaked hair was drawn up in a tight bun atop her head, and her kind face was wrinkled her around her Andoran brown eyes. She wore a stout, brown woolen dress, of a slightly out of style Andoran cut. With a slight sniff, she beckoned at the Innkeep and stepped back inside the room.

"I..." Glancing between Dane and the open door, Master Masteon threw his hands up in the air and mumbled under his breath as he stalked into the room, snapping the door shut behind him. The muffled sound of conversation wafted into the common room behind the solid looking door, rising slightly in volume before quickly dropping off into a soft murmur. 

With the grace bespoke of Domani women, Cho'Ra descended into the common room clad in fine but rather unremarkable traveling clothes. Spotting Dane sitting by the fire, she glided over and softly sat herself down beside him. It wasn't too long after that that Za'ahrat stepped into the common room. With a similar sway to that of Cho'Ra - yet somehow more regal and stately rather than enticing and provocative - she floated over to the small gathering and sat beside the pair, soon to be joined by the two others of the gathering.

Any small conversation that had begun soon fell short however as Master Masteon's door swung open and the Innkeep himself stepped out. The redness of his face had faded, and rather than an impatient scowl he wore an expression of sullen bemusement. He eyed the group and sighed, rubbing his face with a hand he strode up and addressed the group.

"What the oaf was screaming about... You truly mean help Millae?"

(OOC: Assuming an affirmative answer.)

"Well..." The Innkeep paused, taking a deep breath. "I've... You've... Bah! The wife has had words with me and... Well... Mistress Velalin and Millae are very dear to us, as I'm sure you know, and... Well... As long as I have your word that there will be no trouble, and that you will prove Millae's innocence and that that bear won't show his face around here again... Then... The lot of you have a room here at the Gleeman's Abode for as long as you need. Free of charge."

Master Masteon shook his head slightly, "Light. Breakfast will be ready in an hour or so if you're hungry. If you're in a hurry, there is bread and cheese available now." The Innkeep turned to walk away, presumably to the kitchen, where intoxicating smells were beginning to seep out, but paused. He turned to the group, his face hard. "But no trouble, mind you. None!"

Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, Master Masteon turned and left the common room. 

Now alone in the common room, the gathering turned to discussing the day's plans. It wasn't long before it was determined that they would move on to the jailhouse and continue from there. With that decided, and the knowledge that there was very little time to spare, the band of misfits gathered any things they wanted and made their way outside.

It wasn't long into the walk down the nearly empty street before it became apparent that nobody actually knew where the jailhouse was. The twisting and turning cobblestone road intersected outside the Gleeman's Abode, and the direction chosen was opposite that of the Baerlon gate. The direction that the Jain had carried Millae the night before. This lack of knowledge was quickly remedied as a question proposed to a local shopkeep setting up his display revealed the location of the jailhouse.

Leaving the curious and slightly suspicious shopkeep behind, the six individuals began their walk through town. Maeldon was a rather pretty little city to behold. Not nearly as glamorous as the Ogre built cities of Caemlyn's Upper City or Tar Valon, but still respectable, the gray stone hauled in from the Mountains of Mist made stout foundations upon which strong wooden beams sat, holding up steep sloping roofs of brown slated shingles two, three, and even occasionally four stories high. The brown wood of the structural beams stood out starkly against the whitewashed walls as the group passed by, idly noting the brightly painted signs denoting cobblers, tailors, and blacksmiths among the many other trades. 

It was approximately a 15-minute walk from the Gleeman's Abode to the jailhouse which was a long flat building, easily identifiable when compared to the sharp sloping roofs of the buildings surrounding it. Connected to the right side of the jailhouse stood what appeared to be a barracks of sorts as determined by the small group of off duty guardsmen, some wearing the armor and blue armband with the White Rose sewn that you've come to associate with the city guard. 

Outside the jailhouse stood a guard standing rigidly beside the door, his hand placed on the pommel of his sword belted to his waist, angling the blade to slant behind him. As the group came within sight, you could almost feel the mans eyes upon you.

In fact, you could feel quite a few pairs of eyes on you, as the guards milling outside their barracks also seemed to take notice of the odd mismatched group.

Pausing out of earshot from the guards, Dane voiced a thought that had been in his mind the whole time.  "Za'ahrat, I was thinking that perhaps you might speak for us. You might be able to get more information than the rest of us."  

Yeah, life caught up with me Sunday, so I didn't have time to get a post up, but I'll get one up promptly!

By Sunday! 

Oh god, I love it! Sometimes being a DM is just SUCH a treat.

Hmmm... Yessss... Well, you'll find out just how well that goes down on Sunday!

If the general consensus is that everyone is heading to the guardhouse and no one really has anything they'd like to post before then I can edit the post and move you all forward there so that you can proceed with the story from there. That work for everyone?

Bloodbank's come through his moral breakdown... for now, at least.

 It was with dark thoughts that Bloodbank slipped into the back seat of the Jeep that Credstick had supplied. Even the dry respite of the vehicle's interior was no relief compared to the storm that raged inside his mind. Back and forth his thoughts raced, circling around the source of his internal anguish: despite his most heartfelt desire and intentions, he was still the same violent man he was all those months ago. Honestly, it felt like a lifetime.

He was a part of a gang of Edgerunners, a gang that took the money where they could find it; and the most money usually was found in the most unsavory places. During his stint with them, Bloodbank had murdered, robbed, and blackmailed all in the name of credits. Creds where all that he'd cared about. With credits, you could live a good life. With credits, you'd never have to give anything up. It was because of the need for credits that he'd grown up running drugs for the Bozos after his own parents had sold him away like secondhand garbage. With credits, he'd never have to live the life he'd grown up living.

That was the motto he lived his life by... Until one particular job. Late at night, when he was just drifting on the edge of sleep, he could sometimes hear the screams, the crying of the children. Clenching his fists, Bloodbank shook the thought from his head. He tried not to dwell on that night.

Bloodbank didn't acknowledge the soft jolt of the Jeep pulling to a stop. He didn't even glance out the window to see where they stopped. He just stared at his lap, a scowl painting his hidden face. Slowly, he pulled his handgun from its sheath and held it in his lap. He felt the weight of it in his gloved hands. This weapon had been with him almost from the start, it had saved his life several times and had ended so many more. He hated it, but despite his feelings toward it, he just could not give it up. He had tried.

Yes... He had tried... He had tried. 

The thought echoed in his head. He wanted to change, so very badly. Wasn't it the intent to change that really mattered? After all, a change didn't happen overnight. But it wasn't just overnight, it was months of nights. Months of nights sleeping in the cold after he couldn't afford rent. Months of nights where all he had to eat were tasteless Kibblepacks. Surely that would've been long enough to change, right? Well... Months were an insignificant amount of time compared the years of habitual selfish self-preservation that he'd developed beforehand. Maybe he just needed more time.

Still... He felt that as long as he held on to this handgun... This... This anchor to his past that he'd never quite been able to let go of.

Taking a deep breath, Bloodbank placed the handgun on the seat next to him. He would be better. No matter how long it took.

So, I'm pretty sure that Jenna has control of all the Waverunner systems, so Kurt has specified what he'd desire. I'm excited to see what happens!

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42269.8 )
WaveRider Shuttle - Rho Puppis I Uppermost Atmosphere - 1146 Alpha Shift

"Sir," Stark said, looking at Wilhelm incredulously. "I still protest any action that involves dropping our shields." Were they really contemplating this?

"I can adjust the frequencies, Sir," Jenna said. "Perhaps, since we're going with the feeding and tasting analogy, perhaps the probe wasn't followed because the outer edge of the atmosphere is where the... mouth ends? Maybe the organisms only survive in the atmosphere?" The touch and go of the atmosphere touching the shield increased, but only minimally.

"I think that they're trying to determine if we taste good. Shield drop of point one five percent. Not as dramatic as the probe, but it is happening." Jenna couldn't stop thinking of food analogies, and her mouth quirked slightly.

"Your concern is noted, Mr. Stark," Cole replies evenly. "Lieutenant Wilhelm, begin your modifications. Mr. Falcone, keep the WaveRider on course but be ready to promptly respond to Mr. Wilhelm's instructions. Mr. Stark, keep a very close eye on the threat level. While we are moving forward with this experiment, I acknowledge the potential danger that it places this crew in. I'm relying on you and your experience to make sure Lieutenant Wilhelm's plan can be fully executed.

"Let's make this happen, people."

"Aye, sir. Mr.... ah, uhm, Mr. Falcone. I vould like tse frequency changes from 120 Hz to 190 Hz at un infrequent interval ranging from 5 to 15 seconds. Begin vith a high frequency. I vould also like you to increase output power to 109.5% capacity, ja? Ve will begin vith the first spike on my mark." Kurt ordered, pushing his thick glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Stark, stand by. Does everybody understand?"

"Aye, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Tsen lets begin cooking, ja?" Watching the view screen carefully, Kurt watch the slight ebb of... of whatever it was licking the Waverunner. As he watched it wane slightly and then wax back on, Kurt nodded. What an astute observation that Mr. Falcone had made. 

At what Kurt felt to be the peak of the "lick", he quickly ordered, "Now, Mr. Falcone."

 Alright, the game has moved forward. Feel free to elaborate on any more discussions you have before bed, but my intention is to continue forward into the next day from here. Your rooms will all look very similar if not exactly the same as Lanur's.

Each of your meals and rooms will come to a total of 9 silver pennies, with the exception of Lanur who ate a whole lot and will have to pay 12. I'll subtract that from your character sheets unless otherwise informed.

I look forward to your posts!

"May you always find shade." - An Aiel farewell.

Superb! I look forward to it!

What are you talking about? I've definitely posted... 

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42269.8 )
WaveRider Shuttle - Rho Puppis I Uppermost Atmosphere - 1140 Alpha Shift

"We're entering the area past Mister Siric's initial findings. Commander." Jenna glanced at the viewscreen. The clinging bits of atmosphere came and went, almost like... "Sir? If i didnt know better, I'd say that these things are... tasting us. Like a child with a lollipop."

Tasting us? Kurt's head tilted to the side. Now that was a fascinating thought. Up until this moment, Erik had been assuming that whatever it was that was draining the probes shields was some sort of hitherto unknown micro-organism. Something without any real thought or sense of sentience. 

Standing on his toes, Kurt tried to peer past his shipmates to get a look at the viewscreen. A slight shift of those in front of him granted him a brief view. The white strips of atmosphere did seem to ebb and flow, rather sporadically as though it was tasting. Or even testing the waters, as it were. 

Falling back onto his heels, Kurt blinked his magnified blue eyes and let a soft puff of breath escape him. Now this truly was fascinating. Possibly they were dealing with some sort of semi-sentient micro-organism located high in the atmosphere of Rho Puppis I that not only managed to interface with the deflector shield's energy field but seemed to feed on it. Or at least drain it. And, perhaps, it even favored certain... "flavors" of shields. 

"But vut vould make a flavourful shield?" Kurt pondered, half under his breath. Perhaps the frequency of the energy fields? Maybe the current, or the shape of the projection vectors. Would more powerful shields cause more distinct and vibrant flavors? What if one lowered power and brought the frequency just to within spec? Or even adjusted the waveform amplitude? Almost to a direct current form... But no, the shield wouldn't be able to sustain itself at that point. A synchronous phase and proper amplitude between the two shield emitters was essential to the distortion of the energy fields that made the shield, and if those were brought to low, then a catastrophic failure would be fairly probable. But what if, instead, he adjusted the shields in the opposite direction? Tried to make an unbearably "spicey" shield. 

But what would spicey be? Kurt stopped pacing without even realizing he had started. He began tapping his lips with the tip of his finger. If he wanted to taste the shield, what would spicy be like? Well, his gut told him that sporadic frequency changes and higher amplitudes sounded sharp and spicy. With, perhaps, 108% capacity charge? No, 109.5%. Yes, the generator could probably handle that for some period of time. 

"Vell, I've never been a good chef, but I tsink tsat I could vhip somtsing up..." Kurt decided. He turned to put his idea into action but paused when he found his XO staring at him in with his brow furrowed. 

"Ah, yes. Sir, I tsink tsat before we attempt dropping our shields tsat ve might try making it a little less appetizing. Are you a fan of spice? I'm not personnally, it tends to disagree vith my stomach. I am hoping tsat vhatever it is out tsere vill hafe tse same issues. It's just a few simple modifications, easily correctable, und if it proves ineffective tsen ve can procede forvard vith tse temporary lowering of tse shields." Having very clearly explained his plan, Kurt adjusted his thick lenses and awaited the XO's decision, his head slightly to the left.

Nomad, you have had your discourse with the Innkeep, if you have any more questions for him, please feel free to post and we will work that in.

Unfortunately, the dice roll wasn't with you and Master Masteon is not best pleased with the lot of you. 

It didn't take long for Dane to spot his opportunity to approach Master Masteon, as the Innkeep wasted no time getting the promised drinks for the patrons. He smiled jovially with every mug he handed out, sharing in brief laughs and quick commiserations. To a casual observer, the man seemed the very epitome of light-heartedness; however as Dane approached the bar, he noticed a tightness around the eyes and a brief hesitation to his smiles and laughs. 

Master Masteon was a shorter man, standing just taller than Dane himself, however, his boisterous presence gave him the impression of someone much larger. A ring of neatly combed, gray-speckled brown hair circled a spot of shining baldness the size of a full Andorian gold mark on the top of his head, but the spot of baldness was made up for in his eyebrows which were almost bushy and long enough to be compared to an Ogre's. 

Master Masteon face fell into a small scowl as Dane approached the well polished, but a definitely worn, bar. "I'm terribly sorry," he stated flatly when Dane stopped in front of him. "We are all out of free drinks."

"My apologies for the disruption caused earlier." Dane replied with an apologetic smile. "Truly, we were just attemtping to the help Mistress Vilalin." He glanced back at the woodsman.  "Well, most of us anyway, I'm not so sure about grumpy."  He smiled again.  "But I did not intend to upset her at all - or the rest of your patrons either.  The good mistress really does seem broken-hearted, even an idiot can see that.  I'd love to help and I think you would as well."

Master Masteon snorted, hoisting up his trousers over his rather considerable girth. Grabbing a rag from behind the bar, he began rubbing the already shining surface rather aggressively. "You've got a mighty fine way of showing it." He finally grumbled.

"If you want I'll just take a room and get out of your common room for the night." Dane intoned. "No disruptions and there is nothing you need do.  But if there is any chance that the young woman can be saved I'd like to ask you a few questions.  I'm new here and trying to help someone you don't know in a town you don't deal with circumstances you don't know - well, that is a lot of not-knowin'. May I ask a couple of questions?"

"A couple of questions!" Master Masteon boomed, scowling at the bar as though it was a disgusting mess. "Like you did with poor Mistress Velalin? The woman just lost her only kin left in the world, and you spent the entire evening interrogating her! The poor woman." Looking up, the Innkeep jabbed a finger at Dane's chest. "I've half a mind to throw you and your companions out into the cold. I should've followed my gut, with you torturing Mistress Velalin there earlier and sent you all on your way. But she seemed so hopeful. I actually believed you were there to help for a moment, but now..." He huffed, turning his attention back to the bar. "Fine. Ask your questions, but ask them quick. And I warn you, if you insinuate for even a second that Millae was at fault here, then you'll be out faster then your curious little mind can comprehend."

Picking his words carefully, Dane asked, "How long have you known Mistress Vilalin and Millae? I'd love to help out, but I don't know the people in this town. I'm new here. You seem sure about this young woman. If the authorities are so sure, what makes you so sure they are wrong? Are they often wrong?"

"I've known them long enough to know that Millae would never hurt anyone." Master Masteon replied curtly. "Anyone who knows Millae would know that much."

With a smile and a nod, Dane pressed forward. "What's up with the whitecloaks? What brings them here? Are they here frequently? How'd Millae meet one, they aren't usually real friendly."

Again, Master Masteon snorted. "Those bloody Whitecloaks come into the area every couple of years or so. Undoubtedly Pedron Niall was recruiting or trying to establish some sort of influence here in Andor, and likely Valda is attempting the same sort of thing. Usually, the most trouble they cause is the kindling of old feuds and prejudices. I don't know how Millae and the Whitecloak met, but no matter what her mother or even I told her, the sweet young thing seemed to believe that this Whitecloak was a good one. Psh, a good Whitecloak. Millae is such a wonderful young woman, but she can be right fluff-headed at times."