Faux Flag

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   CASING THE JOINT Chalia   One last survey of the bank confirms you'll be able to enter from the front, through the front door which is open during the daytime, or the back, via the locked employee entrance. The nature of the flanking structures prevents easy access to the bank rear from the front and vice versa; reaching the opposite end of the bank requires an approximately 10-minute round trip around the tightly packed crumbling buildings.    With that said, you are able to track the general passage of the lights emitted by the clockwork guards inside the bank. Although walls and doors block a thorough view of their regular routes through the interior, you can see enough to tell the bank is fully traversable from within. While you wouldn't be able to easily reach the rear of the bank from the front without circling the site's vicinity (were you to not enter the bank, that is), you believe you would be able to exit out of the back if you go through the bank, as long as you have some way of opening the locked employee door.     MEETING THE MANAGER Kvikh and Glumworth   Byrin, the drunk bank teller, pushes a shot glass across the rough surface of the tabletop towards you. As he knocks back another gulp of his own drink, you can clearly see the glass he so generously offered you is empty, one of many the man has already quaffed this night.   "You...you wanna speak with...Dresh?" Byrin slurs. He lolls his head backwards and laughs, a sound equal parts humour, sobbing, burping, and hiccupping. "The boss...the boss..." Byrin slaps his hand down against the rim of the table and grips it tightly. "You won't find the boss, not outside...outside busy hours. She's too tight wi' that...that...ah hells, whas 'is name...Mugland!"   The teller raises his mug once more in a drunk's salute. As he raises the drink to his bubble-coated lips, he pauses. Over the cup's edge, he squints and eyes the two of you—apparently accompanied by your duplicates swimming across his vision behind you—with a modicum of sober suspicion. His next speech is slurred but with demonstrably more control, however hard-fought, than his last. "Why'd you want to talk with the boss, anyway?" Byrin asks carefully. "I don't want you telling her anythin' about what I think. I shouldn't...I shouldn't be talking with you 'bout work."   However much the man has drunk and addled his senses, it's clear the subject of his work has put him on the alert. Simple questions are unlikely to grant you much more.     GREASING WHEELS Drewan and Morgrym   The gnome who spoke sidles up to Drewan as he pushes and prods one of the scrapped clockwork constructions. "These are no more than scrap now," she replies. The gnome winces as a joint separates from the elbow of the clockwork, bouncing against a pile of twisted metal underneath with a dull clang and coming to a stop on the filthy ground with a scuffing thud, but otherwise makes no attempt to intervene. "Of course, they're never much more than scrap even brand new, what with all their reliability issues, but the scumbags around here get through like bottles of cheap whiskey.   "Our uncle—he ran this place until a few months ago—he programmed the 'Kirks used in Mugland's bank, did you know?" the gnome continues. "He programmed them right down to the letter that Mugland asked for, even removing the safety padding from their fists to make sure anyone roughed up by his clockworks wouldn't ever forget it."   The gnome grits her teeth, a look of anguish suddenly tearing across her grimy features. A teardrop rolls over the bump of her cheekbone and leaves a trail of clean skin down her soot-covered cheek. "A good man, Uncle Rost was," she mumbles in between choked-down sobs. "He took me and Folla in and taught us all we know. When he did what Mugland wanted, it wasn't Uncle Rost who was paid—it was Folla and I, to 'be silent'. The next day, we found our uncle dead in a ditch, and full of holes.   "What I wouldn't give to get back at that piece of scum..."

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   CASING THE JOINT Chalia   The general abandonment of this area suggests there will be very few spectators and that a ruckus at the bank is unlikely to immediately draw the attention of shieldmarshals or other outside interlopers. The crumbling buildings flanking the Reserve are dilapidated and clearly uninhabited; anyone who is in the area will likely be within the bank. If (or, more likely, when) you cause a disturbance at the bank, it will be some time before the shieldmarshals or other officials are able to respond.   Unlike the old, solid stone walls that form the bank's structure, the entrance features new wooden doors that look to be a relatively new addition. At this time of night, the doors are closed and locked with a simple lock. This front door is the only entrance into the bank via the front.   When you go to explore the rear of the bank, you realise it is inaccessible from the front. The run-down ruins on either side press tightly against the bank's stone walls, blocking your passage. However, it takes no longer than ten minutes to walk back down the road and circle the site of the bank, passing through a dark and creaking alleyway that deposits you at the back of the Reserve. A sad-looking yard, overgrown with weeds and accumulating dried leaves, and walled off by a brick fence topped with barbed wire, stretches the width behind the bank. Dusty windows in the left and right corner of this side of the old temple look out over this pitiful garden and provide you with a view into two offices. Every now and then, the darkness inside is illuminated with the rotating light emanated from the heads of the clockwork guards, before snuffing out and returning to darkness.   A short, narrow passage runs alongside the western edge of the yard, leading back into the direction of the bank. The pathway terminates at a side door. A lopsided sign hanging from a rusty nail and daubed with scraggly, red writing reads Employees Only. Similar to the front door, this back door is a recent addition and secured with a simple lock.   There doesn't seem to be much in the way of obstacles you could use to slow down the chase of a pursuer. However, directly opposite the backyard is a door that leads to another passageway through more of the surrounding ruins. Above the crumbling roofs of the houses, you see the great towers of precariously stacked scrap and rubble that indicate the presence of the Wailing Scrapyard. The hazardous structures of waste and twisted metal look as though they would easily topple and provide the obstacle you are looking for cut off anyone chasing you when you make your escape.     MEETING THE MANAGER Kvikh and Glumworth   As you tour and explore the myriad sweaty dives and greasy spoons of Alkenstar's seedier side, the presence of the bank's manager continues to elude you. However, in a particularly grimy watering hole that stinks of lingering stale ale and ripe sweat, the manager's name reaches your ears. "That...that Dresh!" moans the voice. "That downrigh' scoundrel!"   The source of the complaining is a lone human man hunched over a lopsided, stained table. In front of him is a series of odd cups and mugs scattered over the table's surface, some with dribbles of drinks slowly vacating their containers to add to the table's sticky coating. The man is dressed in a cheap suit. His crumpled black jacket hangs open around a sweaty grey shirt and dark vest. The collar of his shirt hangs loosely, seemingly tugged at carelessly to give the wearer some air, and an untied cravat dangles around his neck.   "It's just...just not right!" the man continues, waving a clouded shot glass at nobody in particular (indeed, most of the bar's patrons are either glumly preoccupied with finding the bottom of their own drinks or give the rambling drunk a wide berth). "I've always been loyal! No one can say Byrin ain't loyal, nosir!" He slams his shot glass back, catching most of it in his mouth but sending a good amount splashing across his cheek and over his shoulder.   "You!" The drunken man throws his other arm up and extends a wobbly finger, pointing slightly past Glumworth's shoulder. "You look like a...like a hon...hon'ble man. Sit, sit!"   Byrin, as he seems to be named, gestures to the three-legged stools pushed underneath the table. One of the seats features a deep crack splitting its surface. "Tell me...tell me this, right?" he slurs through the bubbling drool beginning to coalesce on his lips. "I've always been loyal to that Dresh, always done her dirty business, never told the boss 'bout her skimming off the top. So I ask for a pro...promotion, an' whadda she do? Pass me up!   "That's just...it's jus' wrong, isn't it?"     GREASING WHEELS Drewan and Morgrym   In a dark corner of Alkenstar's soot-choked alleyways, the ghostly flickering of dim, gas-powered lanterns reveals the entrance to a small, cramped scrap shop. In a pile of twisted metal outside the slanting gap that acts as a doorway, your eyes catch sight of the yellow-painted brass of Baalkirk Model C-47s. They are clearly inactive, perhaps irreparably broken: rusted springs just from their joints, not a single of the clockworks has a full set of limbs, and the neck of one ends in a jagged, sharp stump.   The acrid sting of burning oil and gas permeates the air. Two female gnomes, dressed in oily leathers, smoked goggles, and identical in appearance, are hard at work disassembling one of the decommissioned clockworks. As you approach, they both look up. One whistle, a sharp sound that cuts through the steady chug chug of some engine or similar mechanism in the background. The same gnome pulls her set of goggles up to her forehead underneath a mess of spiked brown hair, revealing a strip of clean skin that outlines a pair of bright, sky-blue eyes. "That's a fine clanker you have there!" she says appreciatively, casting her appraising gaze over Cogsworth. "We usually just deal with 'Kirks around here but I know a special machine when I see one. How much do you want for it?"

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   "One last thing. The take," Dunsmith adds, finishing off her drink. "I'll be having fifty percent, to cover the costs of setting this up and to fund the next part of our plan to take down Mugland. The other half is all yours to split."   The dwarf stands up to excuse herself from the table. Before she leaves, she looks back and offers one final nugget of advice. "Keep it simple, y'hear? Get in, get the gold, get out the back and lose anyone on your tail in the scrapyard. If you see a half-elf with blue‑black hair and death in her eyes, run. Loveless is a crack shot with a bad attitude—she don't miss and she don't leave witnesses. Pull it off and you’ll be back here sippin' whiskey with me and your shiny pile of money."   And with that, Dunsmith returns to the common room of her saloon and leaves you to your preparations.     CASING THE JOINT Chalia   The walk through the smog-choked streets of Smokeside from the Barrel & Bullet Saloon to the site of the bank takes a little over an hour. The stench of manure accentuates the aura of shabbiness in this part of Alkenstar. You spot little in the way of life; the area is a quiet neighbourhood where at least half the buildings are abandoned. In accord with the run-down district, the Gold Tank Reserve looms above like a starving behemoth. The bank was crafted from once-gleaming stone, though dust and dirt now cake the domed, slightly cracked glass roof.   A pathway carved from a stone slab leads from the wooden boardwalk to stone steps and an elevated porch, not unlike a small stage. Two small wings of the building flank the path, carved from more stone slabs and each with a weed-choked planter facing the street. Impressions of giant keys etched onto the walls on either side of the entryway lend the building an air of security and stability. Even in its clearly rundown state and neglect, the enduring skill of the historical artisans has allowed this former temple to bear the hardships of its current environment.   With night approaching, the inside of the bank is dark. It isn't empty, however, and you catch moving lights within. As you watch for a few minutes, three gold-coloured constructs can be occasionally seen. Mostly humanoid in shape and form, the head of each construct is dominated by a great lantern. The clockwork guards patrol the bank interior; they stop in various locations, open the shutter on their heads to reveal a beam of brilliant light, and then slowly rotate their heads in a complete circle before moving on.   Chalia, as part of your investigation into the immediate location of the bank, could you please make a Perception, Thievery, or other suitable Lore check.     MEETING THE MANAGER Kvikh and Glumworth   Alkenstar has no shortage of petty crooks and villains. As one of Mugland's cronies, the bank manager—Irkem Dresh—is certainly no saint. A brief chat with Dresh, and perhaps with the assistance of some percussive persuasion, may convince this criminal to see the error of their ways. With little else to go from than the bank manager's name, the best place to start is looking at the sites beloved by all of Alkenstar's lowlife: its dive bars.   This side of the city is crammed with rickety and grimy drinking holes that cater to all walks of life (but usually those more accustomed to staggering through life). In such establishments as the Old Codger, the Bawd's Hall, and the Tin Cup, dented copper pieces are exchanged for watery ale quaffed down the gullets of soot-covered faces. Sprawled bodies lay outside most tavern doors, either snoring into puddles of their own vomit or mewling pitifully after being beaten bloody for the little coin they have.   Kvikh and Glumworth, as you search for leads on the bank manager, could you please make a Diplomacy, Society, or other suitable Lore check.     GREASING WHEELS Drewan and Morgrym   If industry and innovation are the beating heart of Alkenstar, it is the ranks of tinkers and grease monkeys who pump smog-choked air into the city's wheezing lungs. For every brilliant invention that changes lives, countless other experiments end in failure and fire. The cramped, slanting shacks and rickety shops are home to the junkers and scavengers who make a living tinkering and trading in scrap.   Piles of twisted metal and discarded mechanisms mark the shop windows of Alkenstar's scrappers and waste-disposal teams like rusty monuments. Such a lifestyle attracts all types and shapes and sizes, but they are united in their greasy leather overalls, smoky goggles, oil-stained fingers, and burns on their skin. Eccentric and desperate alike rub soot-covered shoulders as they clang dull hammers against sheets of metal and forcefully wrench haphazard mechanical contraptions.   Drewan and Morgrym, to locate and make contact with a junker who knows and is willing to talk about Mugland's clockworks, could you please make a Diplomacy, Lore (Engineering), or other reasonably appropriate skill check.

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   "The vault should be open during business hours. The inside gate'll be locked, but the bank manager, a Mugland crony named Dresh, has the keys. If you go in the night, you'll have to crack both yourself," Dunsmith replies. "As for a man on the inside...you might have an easier job 'persuading' one of them if you can find one. I'd suggest crawling the bars. None of them can unlock the inside gate, but if you could get a key from one of the staff, you could even go in the back. There's an employee entrance in the alley that connects to the junkyard. That's also how you make your escape."   The dwarven woman tops up her drink, as well as the glass belonging to anyone else that is running low. "I don't know much about the clockworks," Dunsmith continues, lounging back in her seat, "but your idea about finding the grease monkey who works with Mugland's bots sounds a good one to me. They're probably the sort of slimeball who hangs around the various tinker and junk shops around town but any of you more accustomed to that life may know better than I."   Foebe Dunsmith then stands up and walks over to a small cupboard along the side of the private booth. She opens the wooden doors to reveal a hoard of various glass bottles of whiskeys and other spirits. Instead of picking one out, she unceremoniously pushes them to each side, clearing a space between the bottles to the back of the cupboard. You hear a click! and the dwarf pulls out a thin sheet of wood with a notch in one corner—a false back. Dunsmith reaches forward, slides a small box out, and carries it back over to the table you are seated around.   "Here's a few things you might be able to use," she explains, and begins emptying the contents onto the table. The first is a wide-bottomed, leather satchel crisscrossed with stitching seemingly at random. The pouch is followed by five identical objects: a collection of curled brimmed hats the colour of faded granite. "You can keep the pouch. Put all of the gold in it, otherwise it'll slow you down, you hear? If you can't open the box, slide the whole godsdarned thing in. The hats are better than any bandana or disguise. Put one on and you can change your face, hairdo, you name it. You can't change your height and build too much though, and it's only how you look on the surface, so don't go for anything that sticks out or things like that. They only work once a day, so don't go wasting them. Oh, and don't muss 'em up—I'll be wanting them back when you're done."   Dunsmith pulls a small, brass clock from her pocket. "You've got 16 hours by my watch 'fore the rest of the clockworks are back and up and running. That's the rest of this evening for any prep y'all want to do, then the early morning if you're going in before business hours or time to get some rest and crack them when they're open in the day. Make sure you're in and out before tomorrow afternoon though, or you'll have a small army of metal men to contend with.   "Now, do you fine, upstanding folks have any other questions before I go check if any of the drunks need a clubbing 'round the head?"

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   Dunsmith grins at the mention of the dwarf-sized sensitive irritant, highlighting the gap between her two front teeth from clearly having taken a punch or other blow to the face at some point in her life.   "The Gold Tank Reserve hasn't served the Gold-Fisted Master in some time, if you're one of the few people in this city to worry about their sins," the dwarf replies as Chalia begins asking her questions. "The only master that bank serves nowadays is Mugland."   Dunsmith pauses and considers the rest of Chalia's questions for a little longer. "I don't go moseying in much myself but the bank's relatively small; only the single storey as well," she says. "You're probably looking at your standard entrance and lobby, windows and counters for the clerks, and then the vault behind them. Maybe a couple 'a back offices too. You've got just less than a day to make any preparations before you pull the trigger—casing the joint would be a good start. And if you make yourselves look slimy and rich, and don't cause trouble, nobody should raise an eyebrow if you take a look inside.   "As for guards, just the clockworks. Baalkirk Model C-47s: cheap but dumb as bricks, and not much more use other than standing in front of doors and chasing rats. Folks say Mugland takes off the safety padding from their fists though, so mind their punches. There's usually half a dozen of them but most of them are out on maintenance, so get in there before tomorrow afternoon, before they’re returned."   Dunsmith takes another sip of whiskey. "There might be other folks in there if you do it during the day," she continues. "When it comes to Mugland's businesses, nobody's innocent. That said, best to not go killing anybody or taking hostages. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind taking his 'investors' down a notch too, but I can't abide working with a crew of marauders as wicked as Asmodeus himself."

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   As you each introduce yourselves, Dunsmith pulls out a set of glass tumblers from underneath the table and places them on the surface. A bottle of whiskey (the non-flaming variety) appears in her hand⁠—a gold-trimmed bottle of equally golden Janderhoff Whiskey, brewed by the Janderhoff dwarves and known for its clean taste and punch—and she pours a measure of the spirit for each of you.    "There's a lot of folks around here who have been wronged by Mugland or one of his cronies," Dunsmith explains. "No shortage of fools who think they're big shots and turn out to be not so big and end up filled with shots. What I need are people with the motive to get one over on Mugland as well as the means to pull it off; these opportunities don't come around often and there's no room for mistakes."   She swirls her glass of whiskey and takes a sip before placing it back down on the table. Then she leans forwards, her dark eyes taking on an air of intensity. "Here’s the game," Dunsmith says. "Ambrost Mugland has a decent portion of his funds invested in an old bank called the Gold Tank Reserve. It's a rundown temple of Abadar in Ironside Quarter that's mostly used by ranchers and crooked politicians. I happen to know they've sent half their clockwork handlers out for maintenance and won’t have them back until tomorrow afternoon. This is our chance to hit Mugland where it hurts.   "All you have to do is bust up the few clockworks remaining, get the vault key from the bank manager, and fill a sack with gold. Once you're done inside the bank, run out the back."   The dwarf pauses for a moment to take another sip of her drink, an almost casual gesture in contrast to the fervent atmosphere brought on by her conspiracy. "Mugland’s got a few crooked shieldmarshals on his payroll⁠—including that damn bastard, Deputy Loveless," Dunsmith continues, wrinkling her nose at the mention of the corrupt officer. "She and her goons are sure to be hot on your tail, but don't fight 'em: they'll gun you down in a second if you give them the chance. Just run away and they'll look like fools. Nothing's sure to fry the deputy's egg like crooks she can't catch, trust me. You can lose them in the Wailing Scrapyard just west of the Reserve. There's a sewer entrance within; from there, it's a straight shot back to this saloon, where you'll be safe.   "Any questions?"

1st Level | 0/1000 XP Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR   "Draw."   Bang! A crack of thunder fills the air.   The smoking gun, held by a powerfully built orc man wearing leather chaps, a vest, and a shiny sheriff's badge, holds the attention of the gathering crowd. The orc slowly lowers the firearm, stowing it back in his holster. He carefully and deliberately walks up to a bloody dwarf, surveying his handiwork.   The orc sighs and shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry it had to go down this way, brother," he says, "but you picked the wrong side, and that I can't abide." He removes his pinched-front hat, holding it over his heart. After a moment, he lowers his head.   The entire saloon erupts in applause as the pianist begins to play. The orc bows deeply, and then helps the dwarf to his feet, who also bows to the attending patrons. The two walk to the bar, arm in arm, and order a bottle of whiskey.     The squat taproom of the Barrel & Bullet Saloon is packed to the rafters. A grimy establishment down a side street in the equally grimy and smoke-clogged Ferrous Quarter, the saloon is full of the downtrodden and lowlife who embody the seedier side of Alkenstar. Soot-covered miners and oily grease-monkeys rub shoulders with hardened fugitives. Hustlers fleece other patrons of their hard-earned coin⁠—honest or otherwise⁠—in card games and ponchoed desperadoes hand over dizzying sums of money to gunrunners for illicit firearms. At the bar, an outlaw knocks back a shot of flaming whiskey, the saloon's speciality. A moment passes after the roughneck swallows the dark spirit before his face suddenly bursts aflame. He frantically pats at the flames, choking them out, but not before his eyebrows are singed away. The outlaw gestures to the bartender for another.   "Thank you for attending!" A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. "Whiskey is only two silver for the next hour, and that includes top-shelf. Come back next week for the conclusion of Hearts at High Noon and our after-party! Enjoy yourselves!"   The dwarven woman, Foebe Dunsmith, hops off the bar onto the sawdust-covered floor and heads to a back room, where a round table and private bar await. She props one foot up on a stool, leans forward on her knee, and casts a suspicious eye around the room—the room in which you are gathered. "Now that the show is over, let's talk business. I brought you all here because we share some common enemies. With your help, I can make them pay—and get you rich in the process. But first, I want you to tell me why you deserve a job that could pay your weight in gold."   With that, I'd like everyone to please introduce their characters to the campaign!

The party is: @AnemoneEnemy - Glumworth Cartwrong @Lex Samreeth - Drewan "Flopper" Kithbal @farothel - Chalia Gremaris @cluttered - Morgrym Bronzehall @Davkas - Kvikh   Thank you again to everyone who applied.

I believe I have now reviewed every character that is complete. If I've somehow missed you, please let me know as soon as you can as I am beginning to choose who will be joining the party.   I have asked Support to change the status of this game so I can start sending invites. If you're chosen, I will first reach out to you on Baldr and then old MW if I don't hear from you on this site.   There have been a number of great characters that would fit this game well and it's going to be difficult to choose. Thank you very much to everyone who sent in a character; I will let you know the members in the next couple of days.

@AnemoneEnemy, thanks for sending in an app.   Great backstory! Or should I say...brilliant 😉   Glumworth seems to really embody the continuous push for discovery and control over the uncontrollable that encapsulates the spirit of Alkenstar. Even as a spellcaster in the Mana Wastes, he sounds like he really fits in the setting. That he was finally able to find direction and control in his life, just to lose it because of something he didn't do, gives a good motive to engage with the campaign's hook.   Mechanically speaking, everything looks good. I'll mark Glumworth as complete!

@theredshirtwholive, thanks for sending in an app. I'm assuming Talia is ready?   Talia has a great backstory that really captures the detective noir prevalent in the setting. Her rise from being considered hopeless by her family to an accomplished investigator in her own right, all the while using the unique skills and innovativeness that stem from her personality. Her subsequent fall from grace by no fault of her own, especially at the hands of corrupt lawkeepers, is a good motive and ties in well with the campaign's theme of revenge.   Everything looks good mechanically, I'll mark Talia as complete!

@Laird_Thorne, thanks for sending in an app.   Th'eras' backstory roots him firmly in the setting of Alkenstar. It also captures the common motifs of the city: violence, perseverance, and, of course, revenge. His tragedy gives him a strong motive to pursue the campaign hook in pursuit of those who wronged him.   Mechanically speaking, everything looks good. I'll go ahead and mark Th'eras as complete!

@spitfire6006006, thanks for sending in an app.   Osirion to Alkenstar is quite the change of setting! The circumstances of her birth, and presumed social ostracisation, explain well why she would feel forced to flee her homeland for the dirty side of Alkenstar, where virtues and social norms fall to the wayside in the eternal pursuit of scraping enough together to get by.   She looks good mechanically, I'll mark Shayna as complete!

The application window is now closed! Thank you very much to everyone who sent a character in.   I still have a few characters who were completed that I need to read through and will be doing so today. I'm aiming to let you all know of who will be in the party tomorrow!

@theredshirtwholive @Laird_Thorne, thanks both, I'll have a look through your characters this afternoon!   Today is the closing date. If anyone else is still creating their character, please finish up today if you're interested!