You are all standing, now, brushing yourselves off and taking in your surroundings.  The rain has stopped, leaving a dark, slick sheen on the cobbled road and walkways.  A light fog has settled in around the city, dimming even more of the late-morning light.  The crowd of nearly twenty townsfolk seem to reflect that same darkness in the looks on their faces as Maggie’s mad rantings seem to take hold of them.  Slowly, they inch toward your group, forming a rough circle about you, hemming you in.  Finely groomed noblemen in black, beaverskin top hats regard you with malice-filled narrowed eyes.  Grubby beggars with muddied and matted hair set their jaws in angered determination.  The looks of obvious displeasure is on all of their faces as they join in this single, grim task.

“Kill them!!” Maggie screeches.  “They must pay for their crimes...the signs!  the signs!!”.  The screaming black charger rears once more sending three brave young men flying who had been trying to calm the beast.  The driver of the toppled cart, bruised and dirty, picks himself off the wet cobbles with murder in his own eyes.  A whistle blows from the side-alley as the guards approach at a frantic run - still a few blocks away.

The four of you move in closer to each other, back to back now and ready for what unpleasantness this crowd might throw at you — hands deftly reaching for spell components or weapon hilts.  Saladrin grasps the medallion hanging from his neck by its clean leather band and holds it forward for all to see.  “Great Ezra” he begins, “grant this woman peace of soul, I beseech you”.  Saladrin’s voice is soft and soothing, yet the crowd and even the flower merchant hears his words clearly.  A glow of warm yellow light begins to pulse from his hand and the medallion.  The light throbs and pulses like the beating of a heart.  Maggie stares in sudden wonder as do the rest of the awe-stricken crowd.  Then, in one final beat the golden glow bursts outward in a huge circle around the crowd.  Voices of men and women in shock, surprise and even delight rise from them as the warm light slowly settles in around them and then gradually twinkles out.

Maggie looks at the crowd gathered around her and your little party huddled together in front of her, as if for the first time. At first she seems frightened, then a gap-toothed grin forms on her filthy face as she regards what she feels is her audience. Reaching into the folds of her sooted shawl, Maggie produces a chipped, ceramic white cup and thrusts it out towards the nearest gentle-lady in brightly flowered petticoats. “Coppers for an ol’ granny wit’ plenty o’ mouths to feed, aye deary?” she says, not with the harsh and accusing voice from a moment ago, but with the fragile, quivering voice of an old lady down on her luck. 

The crowd pays her no attention, they are all talking now, some excitedly while others with obvious concern.  The nobility are all bows and nods, tipping hats and curt smiles to one another.  Those in the crowd dressed in rags are now suddenly forgotten by those of higher standards, left to shrug their shoulders and wander away, melting back into the gutters and abandoned doorways where they came from.  Those of middle class among the crowd just smile awkwardly at the lords and ladies around them, hands suddenly thrust in pockets and looking for a chance to escape the crowd.
“My lady”, Saladrin suddenly says, reaching out towards Mad Maggie.  “A word with you if I could.”  The rest of you watch as the priest of Ezra tries to get Maggie’s attention.  He doesn’t get far before a lady in a fine blue dress and white shawl suddenly peels herself from the buzzing crowd and places herself between Maggie and Saladrin. 

“Oh, Father!” she purrs, “What a dreadful mess this is.  Its too bad you had to witness this.  Unfortunately, our humble town has its fair share of miserable wretches like this one,” the lady points her chin in the direction of Maggie, “and its fair share of clumsy carriage drivers, too.  Please, Father, let us leave this awful scene and you can be my family’s guest of honor at diner tonight.”  The woman takes Saladrin’s elbow and makes a move to leave with him. 

It is only the fiftieth diner invitation Saladrin has been offered in the past two days since arriving in Port-a-Lucine.  It is certainly not an odd occurrence, since Priests of Ezra are oftentimes treated as celebrities when traveling abroad.  What does seem odd is how just moments ago this beautiful, young damsel had been more than ready to carry out the streets’ awful justice upon Saladrin and the rest of your party.  Now she is all smiles and batted lashes as if the event of moments ago had never occurred.

Saladrin shakes off the hand at his elbow and tries once more to reach Maggie.  Just then, six well-armed Port-a-Lucine militia men break into the circle of onlookers.  “What’s ‘appened ‘ere.  What’s goin’ on?” 

Before any of you can answer, a dapper gent in silk tails and a walking cane speaks up, “It twas this poor old maid here,” he says pointing to Maggie who is still trying to bum a few coppers from the crowd, “She just began wailing and screaming as if she had gone completely mad.  Scared the dumb beast there, she did, and the driver over there lost control.  If you ask me, I’d say a man as incapable as that shouldn’t be allowed to handle animals like that in public.  It’s a damn danger to descent folk, it is.”

“Awl right, awl right.  There’s enough o’ dat” the guardsman replies.  “We’ll take ‘em down to t’station and gets dis all figerd’ out.  You all go on yer way, now.  Go on.”

At the guards words, the crowd slowly melts away.  Two guards gently take Maggie’s arms in theirs and begin leading her back towards the center of town.  “There now, grandma’ma,” a kindly looking miltia man with a blonde goatee says to Maggie in a soft voice, “We’ll see that you get a nice warm bed to stay in tonight.  And maybe a hot cup of sweet-tea, too, if you’re real good.”

“Oh, what dears you are.” Maggie says with a smile to her to new escorts, and the trio disappear down the street.

Three other guards are not having near as much luck with the driver of the flower cart.  “Who’s going to pay for this?” the driver screams in a frantic voice.  “Just look at this.  It’s a total wreck!  My roses!” he sobs.  The three guards half drag, half carry the angry and sobbing man in the direction Maggie and the others went.  “Well, bloody hell, man! I suppose if you were watchin’ were you was goin’ ya wouldn’t end up on yer side like dat.” one of the guards admonishes the man roughly.  One of the other guards, an older man with a deep scar across his cheek cuts in, “Easy now, Tomas, can’t you see he’s a little distraught about dis?”  And then to the driver, “Don’t worry, man, we’ll takes care of yous.”

“Are you all awl right?” the voice of the guard captain suddenly addresses you with obvious concern in his voice.  “Ya didn’t get hurt, now did you?  Just a few scrapes and thorn scratches is all?”  You find yourselves nodding at the captain.  “Good, good.  Always lookin’ out for the innocents, we are.  Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

The captain performs a deep bow with one leg extended.  “Good day to you all, then” he smiles.  “Father.” he says with a nod to Saladrin.  “Ma’am.” with a quick nod and a wink to the lady in your group.  “It....it’s Celestia,” the woman stammers "Celestia Soulsinger.”

"Good day,Celestia, Celestia Soulsinger."  the captain says coolly. And then half to himself as much to you he adds, “Nobody ever says the Guvnah’s peace is anything less than it is.”  And with that last bit, the captain hurrys up down the street in the direction of his men.

The four of you are left standing alone on the cobbled sidewalk.  A huge pile of bundled roses, an overturned cart and an abandoned black charger is all that remains of the bizarre encounter.  As you move to go, your feet crunch rose stems and buds alike, leaving a trail of bright red petals to mingle with the dirt and mire of the wet cobblestones.

Your destination is just up ahead.  You cover the three blocks to the city park in no time at all.  You have reached the northeast corner of the city and the city walls loom ominously before you, a hulking shadow in the thick morning fog.  The muffled voices of guardsmen atop the walls can be heard through the thick cloudy blanket, but they are too far away to make out anything distinct.  There are fewer people here as this is a very quiet section of Port-a-Lucine.

The cobbled street you have been traveling upon suddenly gives way to a wide plaza.  A short distance away at the end of the plaza, a very wide set of stairs drops down into the depression that forms the park, nearly one hundred feet below street level.  You have reached the southwestern tip of the park.  A block further to the east, the edges of the park meet the city wall and another set of stairs descend downward.  If you could see that far through the dense fog, you would notice that a half mile to the north the park forms the third point in its triangular shape and a final set of stairs would be found. {Refer to the Port-a-Lucine map now}

As you reach the top of the stairs, you see that wooden rails have been built along either side of the steep stairs and another railing runs straight through the middle.  The stairs are wide and made of polished granite, yet are slick and slightly treacherous due to the continual fog that permeates the park — which is really nothing more than a natural bog.  The rock walls that lead down into the park are black and slick with moisture.  At points they are so steep that they could definitely be classified as a cliff.  Leaving the stairs to navigate the rock walls would be absolutely foolhardy. 

Tiny yellow and white flowers cling to cracks in the rocks at the upper levels.  About fifty feet down, small bushy plants can be seen grasping for a root-hold.  Then, near the bottom of the cliffs, short stunted pines and broad, sweeping willows take over. 

The Governor declared this area a city park decades ago when the ancient shrine to Ezra was found half buried on the tiny Isle d’Faux in the center of the watery bog.  Before that, the area was uninhabited and largely avoided.  In those decades to follow the shrine’s discovery, huge sums of public funds have poured into making the bog into a beautiful sanctuary.  Many paths and trails wind in and about among the pines and willows below.  Ornate benches and stone chairs have been built and set out along the trails for the townsfolk to enjoy.  The place has become quite popular for the daily strolls of many a townsfolk, or the evening getaway for lovers and romantics.  Even a few of the town’s homeless have settled in to the ever-damp environment as a place to live. 

From the top of the stairs, you can just make out the watery edge of the bog.  Cattails and lily pads choke the bog’s shore just twenty feet from the end of the stairway.  Tendrils of fog creep and swirl around the watery plants and reach out for the trees further up the banks.  You can see a sturdy wooden raft made of pine logs lashed together with rope, moored to the edge of the bog.  A pair of long poles lay cris-crossed upon the raft.  This is the raft that a few faithful townsfolk or curious visitors use to reach the Isle in the center of the bog.  The isle itself is currently hidden from view as the fog has settled in thickest over the water in the center of the park.  It is almost as if a giant had stuffed a huge wad of cotton into this depression.

Despite the beauty of the park, this place also has a sinister reputation.  While the Governor does a very good job of keeping such things from public knowledge, both Rubix and Pablo’s professions have allowed them to know for some time that the park is a popular place for murder. Those with inside knowledge in Port-a-Lucine suspect that at least two rival gangs exists in the sub-culture of the city, and they have apparently been taking shots at one another as well as any innocent people that get in their way.  Neither Pablo nor Rubix know anything about these gangs, nor are they aware of anyone else who does, but this park certainly seems to be a popular place for either committing murders or dumping bodies.

You find yourselves at the top of the stairs, staring down into the park.  The plaza around you has a few silent occupants, townsfolk bustling away to some destination or another.  From what you can see of the park, it is mostly deserted.  A single figure can be seen strolling at a leisurely pace, walking cane in hand,  along a pathway far below you heading east.  A couple occupy an iron grillwork bench just to the north of the bottom of the stairs.  What do you do?