...That Night at the Plucked Parrot Inn...

“I say we take the place for ourselves” Jack said between swigs of his ale. “We do all the legwork, we risk - hiccup - our lives killin’ all manner ’o beasties! Ghosts and goblins, orcs and-”
“Hydras” Kajn interjects wryly.
“And hydras!” Jack Christ excitedly recalls blasting his pistols at one under a waterfall, wearing nothing but boots and a hat. He remembers little of the battle after that. “We’re the - hiccup - reason thars piles ’o gold in the basement!”
“You shouldn’t say that so loud,” Errondar The Barbarian says solemnly, commanding more than suggesting.

A bar wench brings another round of ale for those sitting at the table. They take their flagons, but then wait until she’s done being harassed by Jack and leaves to continue plotting. Others in the party listened intently, but none objected to the plan, and it was known among them for some time. Perhaps Felina would have objected, but she was nowhere to be found on the night they launched their plan.

It had been a slow day at the Plucked Parrot Inn, and last call drew nearer. The minor thunderstorm bellowing in the background kept most people from making their way in. Such cover as a rainstorm invites the worst of the Shadowshore District to emerge from the shadows. As the wenches locked up and the barkeep retired upstairs for the night, the party of scoundrels enjoyed another round, and perhaps partook of other inebriants they may have had their hands on.
Finally, when all was quite except for the rainstorm, Kajn and Errondar snuck upstairs, led by Jack Christ.
Kajn entered the barkeeps room first, disabling the lock. He quickly but quietly moved about the room, and began searching for something.
tavern_murder.jpgJack & Errondar followed, making their way to the barkeep’s bed. Jack covered the man’s mouth and used the blade of his dagger to move the man’s leather necklace out of the way. His eyes shot open, the last hing he saw before he felt the dagger in his throat was Errondar standing over him and Jack’s grinning face. Quickly Errondar muscled him into a burlap sack, and hauled the body downstairs. In the cover of the rain, he sternly made his way to the nearby water, and launched the body in. It swiftly sank.

Meanwhile, Jack & Kajn continued digging through the former barkeep’s belongings.
“Find it yet?” Jack asked impatiently.
“Nope,” Kajn replied, delighting a little in the pirate’s frustration. “But I think I know where it’s at,” and he opened a small hidden panel on the wall of the room, just large enough to fit a small safe inside.
“Well do yer thing, rogue” Jack said, doing his best to make the word feel like an insult.
Ignoring him, Kajn, pulled his tools from a pouch and began working on the lock. He fiddled with the tumblers, not quite able spring the lock free. Leaning in closer, he concentrated harder and took his time.

After all, it was unlikely there was anyone around to catch them now. Once they had the deed to the bar, they’d be rich. No one wants to stay the night in this part of town, so they could convert some of the rooms to a brothel. Fire the staff and hire mostly Lotus Dragons and pirates, and put them on double duty. The more they serve, the easier it’ll be to pickpocket the patrons. Their plans for the tavern didn’t even allow for letting the innocent passerby outside get by unscathed. They had commissioned an enchanted sign to lure in any unlucky enough to cross their path. The free room and board, ales and spirits (and some of them even helped themselves to the staff); but it wasn’t enough. The piles of gold, jewels, and magical treasures in the basement wasn’t enough. A safe play to lay their heads, with someone else to tend their ‘home’ wasn’t enough. They’d renovate the tavern, exploit their patrons, and have even more piles of gold. Then they would… well, what would they do? Keep adventuring? For what? Retire, and run a bar/tavern/brothel until they die of old age? Perhaps they hadn’t thought this through entirely.

After a few minutes of tangling with the lock and listening to the drunken pirate’s cursing and insulting “encouragement”, he had to admit defeat.
“No use,” Kajn grumbled.
“Of course” Jack rubbed it in.
Kajn ignored him again. “If you run a shady business in the shadiest part of town, and you trust shady characters like ourselves to take up residence here-”
“That was a mistake,” the pirate grinned.
“…Then it seems to reason,” Kajn continued, ignoring him still, “that you’d have a quality safe.” He looks at Jack.
The realization dawn on them both, they both looked at Errondar as he enters the room, wet from the rain.
“We’re gonna need the key!”

All three of them made their way downstairs, out into the rain, and to the end of the dock. With little debate, it was decided that Errondar would dive in and retrieve the key from the body, and he did with ease. He emerged from the bay with the key on a leather necklace. Before long, the party retrieved the deed, and back in their downstairs lair, Kajn created a pristine copy.

They decided to appropriately rename the bar & tavern the Sailor’s Grave.

...That Night at the Plucked Parrot Inn...

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