LogFAQs > #985805467

You've chosen E, to consult the city's true watchmen: its animals.

You pull back into the deepest part of the stone archway, your eyes scanning the quiet, lamplit square not for guards or spies, but for a flicker of fur, a twitch of whiskers. The world of people is full of lies and masks, but the world of beasts is one of simple, honest truths: food, danger, shelter. It is a language you trust.

Your patience is rewarded. A sleek black cat, its coat the color of polished jet, detaches itself from the shadow of a rain barrel. It moves with a liquid grace, its tail held high like a question mark as it trots into the center of the square. It stops and begins to meticulously groom a paw, the very picture of nonchalant ownership of its domain.

This is your informant. You slip from your hiding spot and move into the square, not directly at the cat, but at an angle, making yourself small and non-threatening. When you are about ten feet away, you crouch down and begin the conversation.

*You let out a soft, questioning "mrrrow?" followed by a series of low clicks from the back of your throat. You gesture with your hand, palm up, towards the bookbindery. You project the image of Vaela: Tall. Quiet. Smell of iron-and-rain. Did-you-see? *

The cat pauses its grooming. Its yellow eyes fix on you. It recognizes the sounds as a form of communication, not the usual loud nonsense of big folk. Let's make a quick Animal Handling (Wisdom) check to see how receptive it is to a full conversation.

(1d20 + 2 = 12 + 2 = 14)

The cat is intrigued. It lets out a soft answering chirp and takes a few steps closer. It conveys a clear series of images and feelings.

Yes, it saw the rain-and-iron-woman. She went in the side-door. She is often here. And the paper-and-dust-man (Gideon, the owner) is in there too. They are usual. Quiet.

But then the cat's demeanor changes. Its fur prickles slightly, and its tail gives a low, nervous twitch. It conveys a new sensation.

New-smell. Not-right. Came-just-now.

*You press for details, clicking and whistling softly. What-smell? How-many? *

*The cat's fear is a scent you can almost taste. Three of them. Smell-of-wet-cave-and-grave-dust. No-sound-feet. They-are-wrong. Bad-wrong. They-are-here. *

As the final sensationherehits your mind, the cat suddenly bolts, its black form a streak of shadow as it vanishes back into the alley it came from. You are left crouching alone in the center of the square.

And you see why.

From three separate alleyways, three figures emerge simultaneously, their movements perfectly synchronized and utterly silent. They are robed in dark grey, their faces completely hidden by smooth, pale, featureless masks that gleam faintly in the lamplight. There are no eye-holes, no mouth-slit, just a blank, terrifying smoothness. They move with an unnatural grace, their feet making no sound on the cobblestones as they converge on the front door of "Gideon's Tomes & Bindery."

These must be agents of the Shadowed Hand.

They don't knock. The lead figure raises a hand, and you see a sickly purple energy crackle around its pale, gloved fingers. It thrusts its palm forward.

FWOOM!

The front door of the bookbindery explodes inward in a shower of splintered wood and purple light. The sound is a deafening crack that shatters the silence of the night. A moment later, a man's scream of terror erupts from within the shop, quickly followed by the sharp, determined cry of a womanVaela.

You are crouched in the middle of the square, forty feet from the now-open, smoking doorway. The three masked figures have just stormed inside. The sounds of a violent, magical battle are echoing from within.

What do you do?