Sabina nods, as if her thoughts have been confirmed, "Excellent. I imagine that in a short time Korvosa will owe you an even greater debt." She leads the way back towards the castle's entrance. "It is already quite late; but I hope you're willing to push on a bit more. I know with certainty that Field Marshall Cressida Kroft will still be up well after midnight; perhaps the addition of you four..." her voice trails off.
"Captain Horace!" The man had already snapped to attention when Sabina enters the room. "These four have agreed to help the guard, and are to be escorted to Citadel Volshyenek to see the Field Marshall." The captain nods firmly, salutes and adds, "I will personally see to their safe arrival." He adds an open question: "Will we depart right away?"
"Yes, I am ready to leave when you, and my companions, are ready," Ten replied.
Esmerelda sidles up to Ten and whispers "Don't you think Captain Horace has a most handsome beard?"
Hiding a sudden twinge of pain from her wound, Esmerelda turns to Caulder
"I don't suppose there is time for you to quickly lay your healing hands on me?"
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Caulder grunts as he considers her slimed-over wounds. "Suppose it wouldn't do to show up as volunteers at the Citadel looking like we're the ones needing help. It would reflect badly on the Bank." He growls with frustration as the healing power barely seems to penetrate the hardened coating of slime. "That's it; that's all I can do until opening bell in the morning. I'm not at my best when I'm rushed, so don't go telling your girlfriends how you could barely feel it," he warns her.
"She just wants to look less a mess in front of Captain Horace and his beard," he mutters aside to Pagrip. "You think I should grow a beard, dwarf?" he asks, stroking his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "Oh, never mind: You're a dwarf; you probably think Darkbane should grow a beard."
Esmerelda stifles a smile as she pats Caulder on the cheek "Don't feel bad that you can't perform on demand." She winks at Caulder as she adds "You might look good in a beard."
Turning away from Caulder she addresses Captain Horace:
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain. Let's be off."
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"She just wants to look less a mess in front of Captain Horace and his beard," he mutters aside to Pagrip. "You think I should grow a beard, dwarf?" he asks, stroking his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "Oh, never mind: You're a dwarf; you probably think Darkbane should grow a beard."
Ten subconsciously stroked his bald chin as the conversation turned to the subject of beards. He had tried growing a moustache once, but ended up with nothing more than a few stray hairs poking out here and there. "It's always about the beards... and the chest hair...and, and eyebrows" Ten muttered to himself.
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"She just wants to look less a mess in front of Captain Horace and his beard," he mutters aside to Pagrip. "You think I should grow a beard, dwarf?" he asks, stroking his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "Oh, never mind: You're a dwarf; you probably think Darkbane should grow a beard."
Pagrip rolls his eyes. "Ha ha," he says dryly, "because you humans have this strange idea that dwarf women have beards. As for you, yes, you would look much better with a beard. A full one, though, not that bit of stubble Darkbane's swooning over." He shakes his head. "You humans really have no concept of beards."
"And perhaps later we shall teach you the concept of a barber, Pagrip. And maybe a bath. A bath would be great. At least for me. But not now. We have a job to do."
"Good. Let us make haste then. Maybe a bed will find us before midnight." Captain Horace leads the way himself, ordering two soldiers that were readying to come along to stay behind and keep guard on Castle Korvosa.
He steps quickly, business-like, and it takes him a minute to slow down his pace sufficiently to allow the civilians to keep up. When he realizes that the speed won't be improved beyond what he considers a meander he resigns himself to it and strikes up a bit of conversation. "Lamm is dead then? Good. A petty nuisance to the throne, but a blight upon the city. Howcome you lot manage to track him down?"
It seems his question isn't entirely what he's looking for; but the captain is trying to diplomatically approach the subject.
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"You could say we simply got ahead of Lamm. Ahead. A head." Esmerelda stifles a laugh as she nudges Ten with an elbow "But in all seriousness, Captain. We were tipped off by a harrower. At first we were skeptical but we thought we would follow the lead no matter how flimsy. And it turned out to be true. Lead us right to Lamm where Ten took care of him."
"But that is not really what you want to know. Please be frank with us, Captain." Is his beard actually glistening in the dark? Does he oil it? Or is that just its natural sheen?
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Pagrip rolls his eyes. "Ha ha," he says dryly, "because you humans have this strange idea that dwarf women have beards...."
"They've started shaving, have they?" Caulder ribs him with a wicked grin. "Too many drunken mistakes? I'll bet that would sober up a couple of dwarves pretty quick, when they both think they've been chatting up a woman."
Once the party is on the move, however, Caulder is in no mood to joke. Try as he might to keep up, it's obvious that he is the reason the group is moving so slowly, and he silently fumes in fury and embarrassment. A damned dwarf having to slow down and wait for him to catch up! He is so caught up in his own effort and shame, he pays little attention to the Captain's questions or Darkbane's flirting.
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Pagrip rolls his eyes again. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Believe what you want about dwarven women. Even if they had beards, I'd take them over you any day."
Does he think that we were up to something not too legal? Maybe a deal with Lamm that went bad... He doesn't trust us.
"Er, yes, took care of him...", Ten replied, and then to Esmerelda (sotto voce, Varisian): "Thanks for singling me out."
Captain Horace marches on, steadily. Taking a moment to turn back and watch Caulder catch up, he involuntarily scratches his right leg. "It is still strange, Lady Darkbane and Banker Caulder here as representatives of the Bank, make some sense. But you two," nodding to Ten and Pagrip, "don't really fit the profile."
"Still, we all have different paths in life and in this city. Korvosa! Ah... - tell me, what is Korvosa to you? Did you return the brooch just for the reward? Is there more to it? ...the streets are a riot - half the citizens would see the queen hanged, the other half want her crowned. What is it to you?" He looks seriously at each of the four.
Caulder is panting with exertion due to his efforts to keep up, but the captain's question makes him pause and straighten his spine. "Captain, sir, I may not appear at my best this evening, but no one questions my loyalty to Korvosa." It isn't clear if this is a mere statement of fact or an implied threat. "Korvosa built my father an empire, sir, in his own small way -- Korvosa and strict adherence to the precepts of Abadar. Put food on my table, clothes on my back, and an education in my head. And when the time came, sir, that Korvosa needed me, I gave that empire back to the Bank of Abadar and volunteered to serve her. I'm sure we all mourn the sudden loss of the king, and I'm sure the young queen, despite her best intentions and the aid of her advisers, is going to have a hell of a time keeping her hand on the reins and the city under control. But Korvosa has always depended on the rule of law, and anarchy like we've seen tonight -- well, sir, it has to be put down. I'd see Korvosa in Hell, sir, before I'd see her descend to the Abyss, if you get my meaning."
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"For me, it's nothing quite as romantic as Caulder here," Pagrip says. "Returning the brooch was the right thing to do, and it was within my means to do it, so I did it. Nothing else to it, really. As for the unrest in the streets, well, it pretty much comes down to the same thing. It's within my means to help, and it's the right thing to do."
Esmerelda nods and smiles at Pagrip approvingly "It seems under the scruffy exterior beats a heart of gold."
"Well Captain," she continues "I have my obligation to the Bank. Merchants have a really hard time trading in such anarchy. But more than that, Korvosa is my home. Never left it as far as I can remember. I will make it a better place to live in. I will have those who hurt the city atone for their crimes." She glances at Ten "We made a good start by removing Lamm but it is but a drop in the ocean of what still needs to be done."
"Captain, Might I inquire as to what Korvosa means to you?"
"Me? Korvosa has been a cruel taskmaster, but through surviving, she made me stronger... and brought me here. Not much more to it than that, I'm afraid. Nothing as noble or charitable as my companions, but, as Esmerelda said, it is my home."
Captain Horace nods, "I am a child of Korvosa myself, raised on the streets. King Eodred Arabasti himself gave me the opportunity to try out for the guard. Was a different time then. I owe everything I am to the city and the throne." He looks to the four, "It is good that you feel the need to help." He nods approvingly.
Citadel Volshyenek is located in Midland, overlooking Jeggare Harbor, where it serves as the base of operations for the Korvosan Guard. Captain Horace easily leads the way past the sentry at the entrance.
It is quickly becoming obvious that the citadel is manned by the barest of skeleton crews. Likely most regulars are on the streets trying to restore order.
Captain Horace carries on with efficient steps. They cross the yard toward the inner keep and before long he opens the door to a sizable office manned by an attractive, dark-haired woman in red armor. She's sitting behind a desk and despite the late time hard at work, her tired eyes look up in alarm - probably expecting yet another dismal report - but when she recognizes Captain Horace she manages a tired smile. "Ah, word has reached me. You are here quicker than I expected."
She gets up, and Captain Horace introduces her as, "Field Marshal Cressida Kroft. These are the ones who brought Lamm to justice and found the queen's brooch."
Cressida nods, "Thank you captain, you can return to your duties." As he leaves she turns her attention to the four, she's not given to idle chatter and gets straight to the point. "Usually I would not call upon irregulars to keep the peace, but desperate times call for desperate measures. As it stands, I have a suitable task for you - something that I do not want to allocate regular guard for. "
"Korvosa’s got enough troubles as it is without my own men losing their way and going rogue. As much as it pains me to admit, though, this has happened several times already. Many guards have deserted their posts, more concerned about friends and family than the city. I can understand this, yet not all of the deserters have family - some of them are simply using the riots as an excuse for personal gain. One such man is Verik Vancaskerkin. Worse than a lone deserter, he’s convinced a small group of fellow guards that Queen Ileosa is going to ruin the city."
"Now... whether she does or doesn’t isn’t the point—right now, we’ve got a city-wide crisis on our hands, and I need all of my guards working with me to see us through. A deserter is worse than a lost resource—it’s an infection. I can’t afford to pull any of my other patrols off duty to deal with Vancaskerkin, and I’d rather not expose any of them to him anyway, since I neither want Vancaskerkin to infect more guards with his talk of secession, nor do I want some overly patriotic guard killing Vancaskerkin outright. I need impartial, skilled talent. Like you."
"Vancaskerkin and his men have holed up in an abandoned butcher’s shop up in Northgate - the place was called All the World’s Meat. I need you to check out the place. Try to avoid killing any of the deserters if you can, but if you must, they brought it upon themselves when they threw in their lot with Vancaskerkin. For him, I’d really prefer it if you could capture him alive and return him to me for interrogation, but if he makes that impossible, I’ll accept his body as well. Finally, see if you can find out why Verik deserted - if there’s more to it than simple personal politics, I need to know immediately. Bring me Verik alive, and there’s another thousand gold in it for you. Dead, he’s only worth half that."
"There is plenty of spare space here currently, so if you need a place to rest you're welcome to sleep here. I'll also have word spread that you can acquire some standard resources from our stores and armory, at normal market costs."
Esmerelda snaps to attention when Horace introduces Cressida, wincing slightly from her wounds, one of which feels like it may have opened again. Esmerelda seems a bit crestfallen when the fine specimen of a beard leaves but Horace leaves her mind quickly after Cressida starts her speech.
When she is done, Esmerelda gives her a smart salute "We shall apprehend the deserters alive" she meaningfully glances at Ten "and return them here, Field Marshal Kroft. When do you want this mission completed by?"
"Earlier is better," Field Marshal Kroft smiles a tad ruefully, "But I think the lot of you will fare much better if you rest for the night first. Don't let me detain you."
As Field Marshal Kroft narrates her tale of desertion and dereliction of duty, Caulder grows visibly incensed. Now that Lamm is dead, there is nothing he hates more than a person sworn to uphold the law who has defected to the way of chaos. He would obviously love to be on his way to deal with these traitors immediately and growls with frustration at the limitations of his own wounded and exhausted body.
"Do you know what these deserters are up to in this butcher's shop?" Pagrip asks. "Have they committed any crimes? Apart from deserting, I mean."
Looking first at Esmerelda, then Caulder, and then the Field Marshall, Ten asked: "Would you be able to provide any gear that would help us bring the deserters in alive? Perhaps magics that induce sleep... or even a well-weighted sock. If we cannot talk them down, I don't want to resort to using my fists, in an attempt to bring them in alive, against their swords and armour..."
"That is a good idea, Ten. Field Marshel, are your stores and armory open for trade at the moment? I would like to complete our transactions and leave to apprehend the deserters first thing in the morning. I can hear Caulders bones creaking from over here."
Cressida sighs and looks up from her papers again, "I've not received specific reports of their activity. If you can find proof of any wrong doing, that would come in handy." She doesn't take time to consider Ten's question properly, but just replies, "The armory is fairly well stocked; we have the standard issue of equipment for guards, and a fair selection of items confiscated from criminals. The stores will be open in the morning, I do not have the men to spare at this time. Now, please, be on your way." She returns to her papers.
She's obviously busy, and not yet impressed with the exploits of the four. She's missing the ability to simply command them, as she would the regular guards.
"We have our orders, Darkbane; now let the Field Marshal do her work," Caulder sidles up to Esmerelda and urges. "This is a real chance for recognition, both for ourselves and for the Bank as a whole. There's a fine line between eager and irritating. Don't get perky."
Pagrip looks unsatisfied, but nods and turns away. "So, uh, where's a good spot to sleep in this place?" he asks the others as they leave.
Thank you for your time, Field Marshal. We shall take our leave now.
Esmerelda turns from Cressida and herds the rest of the party out of her office My. Arn't we a bag of sunshine, Baradin. And I might add I am perky to a fault. It's better to look on the bright side of life. You should try it sometime. You might find it, enjoyable. Well, lets go find the barracks and try to get some shuteye. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a long day.
An on-duty guard, apparently still green, nervously shows them to a room of bunk beds. There's enough to sleep eight people, but he doesn't expect many to come disturb them overnight.
Caulder sits down heavily on a bunk and rubs both hands wearily over his face. "It chaps me to be resting when there's work to be done, especially in the bunk of a man who's out there actually doing it in my place. Damned crocodile." He bends and straightens his leg experimentally and groans a little as the recently shredded muscles protest. "Let's see that reward Her Highness so graciously provided us, Darkbane. I'll sleep easier with no debt hanging over my head."
The next morning brings a dismal pall over Korvosa, in the form of a wispy mist that grew tendril like from the rivers. The sleeping quarters of the four did see one more addition; one exhausted guard who didn't even bother stripping out of his uniform. The addition is still soundly asleep at the time when the four rise, and likely will still sleep well into the day.
When the party makes inquiries, they have no trouble getting directed to the armory and the nearby stores of reserves. The attending officer will trade in normal market prices, but won't take magical items nor a random collection of valuables.
Caulder quietly exits the barracks, not wanting to disturb the guard's hard-earned slumber. He finds a place in the dim light of the courtyard to sit and meditate on the precepts of Abadar before opening bell. "There'll be few places opening for business this morning," he growls when he's done.
While Esmerelda removes her scale mail, the long sleeve of her left arm rides up to her elbow be before she realizes and pushes it back down. But not before revealing a myriad of old scars and stretched pockmarks, now scored with a newer dog bite on top of them. She then asks Abadars blessing for the night before collapsing into her bunk.
She does not sleep well. She tosses and turns in her sleep, plagued by her dreams. Near dawn she grabs her right arm as if it's a snake, lets out a quite scream of defiance before sitting bolt upright in her bed, wide awake. As quietly, more out of courtesy to the slumbering guard than out of need, as she can she gathers her gear and heads to the armory and store house where she sorts through the items they will and won't take.
Just after dawn, Esmerelda wakes up any sleeping party members tells them their share of credit they currently have with the armory/store house.
"Best arm up with a sap if you can."
Ten was up early. He would have slept longer, if it weren't for Esmerelda's insistence that he get up.
"...grumblepaladingrumble..."
After a quick snack (more than his normal breakfast), Ten finds a quiet corner to brew up his daily restoratives. The process takes the better part of an hour. Ten uses that time to contemplate what to do with his, and now Caulder's, share of the reward. He could do with some better armour, but he could easily (normally) use the gold to procure the reagents necessary for curative potions. One potion normally took two hours to brew though and he doubted that the group had the time for that.
Ten has no luck, the grumpy cook chases him out with, "No! Weg! I gots gristle, potatas and a lard. You're not getting any of it, ye'hear?" There are some general alchemical and minor magical items available, thunderstone, sunrod, potion of cure light wounds. But the place has no stock of ingredients necessary for the delicate art of concoction.
Pagrip sleeps soundly throughout the night. When he gets up in the morning, he looks refreshed and has a wide smile on his face. "There's nothing quite like sleeping in a real bed," he comments. "Beats sleeping in an alley any day." He stretches, grabs his belongings, and heads out with the others.
Esmerelda beams as she buffs her new breastplate with her sleeve. She hefts her greatsword testing its balance before strapping it to her back.
"This will mete out swift justice. But for the deserters, a more fitting weapon." she pats the small black sap hanging from her hip.
"I hope you all have done your shopping. We should be off soon." Esmerelda says, obviously eager to go.
Caulder recalls All the World's Meat from his patrols - in fact it isn't all that far from the Bank of Abadar. The place is (or was) a passable butchery a few blocks south-east of the Bank. From their current location it will be quite a trek, of course.
The trip to the northern suburbs of Korvosa takes quite a while. The madness in the city of yesterday is still bubbling under the surface, but to some extent the innate order of the citizens is asserting itself and the four find the trip - initially - without too much trouble.
Until Esmerelda collapses.
Quite suddenly a sickly green pallor hangs over her. When Caulder, closest to Esmerelda at the time, goes to her he's greeted by a filthy smell not unlike that of a sewer. There's a murky, slightly green sweat on the paladin's skin, and her limbs are stiff but weak to the touch. Where the otyugh's teeth tore into her flesh, a retch-inducing discharge slowly oozes. Although she has difficulty moving, Esmerelda is burning up with a fewer.
Esmerelda's contracted filth fewer. A harsh disease that is fairly hard to overcome, if left unchecked it can kill a man in a week.
"Stand back!" he tells the others, putting his arm out to keep the others from getting too close. "It's filth fever; probably caught it from the otyugh last night. Looks like the monster got in the last blow." He straightens up to address the others. "It spreads skin-to-skin. If you've got any open wound left at all, it isn't safe." He examines his own leg ruefully. "Best to be on the safe side." After he has called on Abadar for healing, he bends to pick up the fallen paladin. "This butcher shop we're heading to isn't far from the Bank. We'd best take her by there. I'll bet you never thought I'd be the one to sweep you off your feet, eh, Darkbane?"
Esmerelda pushes herself away from Caulder, standing a bit shakily. Clearly agitated she almost shouts "Keep your healing, cleric. This doesn't heal away that easily. I am fine." She composes herself and less harshly she adds "Thank you for your concern, Caulder. I am sure the clerics at the Bank have the necessary spells and concoctions if you do not. And since its on the way, we shouldn't waste too much time."
With that she continues walking, though a bit more stiffly than before.
When you get to the Bank of Abadar you find a cue of injured being processed. The recent state of unrest has left many wounded and traumatized - or simply afraid and seeking comfort at the Bank for imagined pains.
A few voices are grumbling in the background, "We were here first. Why she get to go first?"
Esmerelda pushes herself away from Caulder, standing a bit shakily. Clearly agitated she almost shouts "Keep your healing, cleric. This doesn't heal away that easily. I am fine." She composes herself and less harshly she adds "Thank you for your concern, Caulder. I am sure the clerics at the Bank have the necessary spells and concoctions if you do not. And since its on the way, we shouldn't waste too much time."
With that she continues walking, though a bit more stiffly than before.
"Not healing you, touchy," Caulder mutters irritably. "Just trying to keep the rest of us from getting infecting."
When you get to the Bank of Abadar you find a cue of injured being processed. The recent state of unrest has left many wounded and traumatized - or simply afraid and seeking comfort at the Bank for imagined pains.
A few voices are grumbling in the background, "We were here first. Why she get to go first?"
"Because she's contagious, moron," Caulder loudly addresses the nearest complainant and hoping his voice carries. "Or do you want to stand out here and spend some time with her dripping, pus-filled wounds?"
Caulder's words and the fierce truth with which he declares it reverberate through the hall. "F%@+!" "RUN!" "Get away! Stay away!" "The Bank is not safe!" "RUN!" - a flood of panic shivers through the crowd. The previously orderly cue wavers and then rapidly collapses, the stirred up emotions from the passed day that were settling suddenly flare up again, leaving an circle of emptiness is centered on Esmerelda. At least nobody stands in Caulder's way any more.
Pagrip can't help chuckling a little as the crowd runs off. "The Bank is not safe," he says quietly and chuckles some more.
Caulder watches the panicked crowd run away with a puzzled expression on his face. "What?" he asks. "Oh, well, if they really need help, they'll be back." He shows his holy symbol to the guard at the door. "Bankers Baradin and Darkbane. She got a little too intimate with an otyugh. Oh, and ... guests." He glances back at Ten and Pagrip.
Esmerelda face burns with embarrassment as the people avoid her. She sidles up to the nearest available cleric and mumbles "A little restoration, please." and gives him the correct amount of gold. "Also a vial of anti-plague. Please."
"I am never going to live this down" she sighs.
