Muvoso looked sharply at her. “There’s a chance that, whoever else flies up with you, may be willing to sabotage the mission.” He put the slate back into his satchel.
“We really can’t afford to lose the only craft we have currently as well as one of the smartest people here, and having one of the Dead of Kulta along for the ride would lead to rather painful involvements. That said, it would be rather suspicious for you to bring any sort of weapon on the trip… Well, what is it? and haven’t we been interrupted enough already?”
The remark was to the Okotoran behind the counter, who had made the slightest movements to open the door and had not been unnoticed by Muvoso. He suddenly swung the door open, throwing two knives into the room, one towards Muvoso and a one towards Kyrlahni.
IC: Klackk had made it back to the shack he called home. It had it’s fair share of cons with its leaky roof, and it’s stability, but he didn’t care, it served its perpose, no more, no less.
No weapons? Hmmm… That will complicate things…
Diverting her attention back towards the entrance of the room, her eyes widened as the innkeeper suddenly barged in, brandishing the two knives he was about to throw.
“Get down!,” she shouted, attempting to quickly tackle the Chronicler to the floor as she swiped a jar of pickled… something off of a nearby shelf and chucked it, glass and all, straight at their attacker’s face.
OOC: Hopefully, that’s not too much of a stretch, since they are supposed to be in the storeroom of an inn, after all.
GM IC:
The pickled… something flew through the air and hit the Okotoran in the chest, staggering him slightly. It landed on the floor and shattered, the briny substance eating slightly into the woodwork. The Okotoran, realizing that his assassination attempt had ultimately failed, abruptly turned and began to run, but not before one of the bundled-up lodgers had revealed one of the shattered chair legs and clubbed him as he tried to escape.
Muvoso had experienced assassination attempts before, but nothing quite like two knives flying at him while another Okotoran tackled him to the ground. the knife aimed at his head flew into the back and stuck into a roll of cloth. The one aimed at Kyrlahni now went close over his head,which he caught with his hand.
“… Um.” He said as the blood dripped from his hand.
IC: Klackk trudged through the snow towards his house, the storm not getting any better as he walked. He opened the door to his home, and slumped down into a chair to rest. After a few minutes, he rose up of the chair and tossed the few pieces of lumber he had into the fireplace, moderately warming up his abode.
Landing squarely on top of the Chronicler, the Ga-Kotoran briefly craned her head towards the sound of the assassin being taken out by one of the other villagers, before proceeding to look back down at Muvoso.
“Does this sort of thing happen often?,” she asked, returning to her feet as she extended her hand in an offer to pull him back up.
Muvoso initially decided to disregard the extended hand, supporting his rather heavy frame on a weak, lower shelf with little placed on it. After he shook a large splinter out of his hand, he reluctantly accepted, pulling himself and nearly pulling Kyrlahni down.
“Not as often as today.” He dusted off his shoulders and collected his stuff. “However the amount of Dead of Kulta members is increasingly dramatically. It really sucks to be a public figure and not trust your public.”
“Seeing as to how I’m currently the village’s resident social pariah and screw-up, I believe I can relate.”
She paused for a moment, briefly surveying the damage before returning her focus back to the task at hand.
“Well, once he gets turned over to the guards, you’ll hopefully have one less to worry about.”
“If he had kept his peace, like I wish most of the assassins did that attack me, I would have had less trouble.” He wiped the knife clean and shoved it in his satchel. “Now I have to find a new innkeeper, do a resort of everything here in storage as he undoubtedly has reported to his superiors, explain all this to the general public, take him into custody, see if we can get anything out of him, revoke his citizenship in the books, shove him in that underground-”
“Well,” He said, switching from that sentence so quickly in manner and speech that it was frightening, “there’s a whole lot to do.”
“Right…,” the scholar continued, sensing that the topic had veered off in a direction that wasn’t meant for her ears. "As if the legion of Skull Spiders outside our walls wasn’t enough to worry about already.
And then something else dawned on her.
“Speaking of which, how exactly is the crew expected to make it back at all if we’re not allowed to bring our weapons with us? Something tells me that they wouldn’t be willing to negotiate for our safe passage over a spot of tea.”
“There’s going to be weapons, but… Well, that’ll be for later. I’ll have to discuss with Lords Hokku and Velmes to see if they’d allow you to bring your own.”
A groaning sound followed by several shuffling sounds ended with someone being slammed into the counter. “I think we’d be most useful beyond this room.”
IC: Klackk looked at himself in the mirror, as he did every night, and sighed.“Where did it all go wrong?” He though to himself. He sat in his chair once more and paused as the vague warmth of the fire washed over him, before sputtering out, leaving him once more in the Cold Dark.“No more!” He shouted, to no one in particular,“I am going to take back my life! No more will I sit here feeling sorry for myself, I don’t know what’s out there waiting for me, but I’ll be darned if it’s any worse than this slow death! Good day to you sir!” He angrily replied as he threw on his tattered cloak and worn out boots. Klackk took one last looks at his abode, before swiftly turning and walking out the door.
Muvoso stalked out as some of the homeless and mostly friendless dragged the bruised innkeeper over to him. He was breathless, his face was as flush as one could get while wearing a mask, and imaginary smoke puffed out of his nose as he snorted at Muvoso. The idea that any great info would be obtained from this squirming traitor was absolutely ridiculous. Dessimus trained his actors well.
A sparkle suddenly appeared in Muvoso’s eye. “It took half the townsfolk to move this desk,” He said, patting it generously. “Lash him to it.”
As the struggling Okotoran failed to break free as his former compatriots, shaking from the sudden release into the cold from their ragged blankets but invigorated with the thought of catching another fiend, lashed his ankles and wrists around the desk, Muvoso turned to Kyrlahni.
“This is asking a lot of you, but… Would you question him?”