The woman responds to Yanis and Machaera,"From a weapon of sorts. We all bear scars of some kind. I'm glad to see you recovered the brooch from the criminals that took it. I assume they're lying dead in a well-deserved heap somewhere. As for myself, my name is Sabina Merrin, and I am the head of the queen's personal guard. Your manner and concern is appreciated, but not needed. Be on your best behavior, for the queen is in mourning. " Upon seeing the brooch, she smiles and turns to the set of four guards, and says "You may return to your posts. These adventurers will be well rewarded for their bravery on the city and the queen's part." She makes for the remaining staircase, and lead you to a set of double doors into the far lusher third floor.
The third floor is far more well furnished then the first and second, with floors of marble and pillars of mahogany. The rooms are lit with brass and silver sconces carved in the shape of a house drake breathing fire, holding a crimson hued-flame. Sabina leads you past a set of double doors emblazoned with the coat of arms of Korvosa, and it opens into a hall of busts of various dignitaries, kings, queens, and seneschals of Korvosa' glorious past. The next set of double doors opens into a magnificent room, lavishly decorated with frescoes, mosaics, and hanging tapestries of crimson silk embroidered with gold thread. Three colorful stained-glass windowpanes present scenes of past kings and queens. A huge fireplace stands in the east corner, its mantle shaped like an enormous stone tree that has spread its branches up to the ceiling. Against the southwest wall, on a low dais of granite, sits the Crimson Throne, an iron throne draped with deep red silks and crimson velvet cushions.
Upon the throne is a beautiful woman wearing a black dress under a black mourning veil, presenting an image both alluring and sorrowful at once. Picture of Queen Illeosa Arabasti in mourning.. She has red hair, light blue eyes, and is quite young for her position as Korvosa's new monarch. Sabina says in a loud voice, well suited to command, battle or the parade ground: "Presenting to her Majesty Queen Illeosa the First, Protector of Korvosa, heir to the Crimson Throne, Imperial Dominance of the territory of Varisia, the worthy souls that retrieved her lost jewelry from hands unfit to touch it. Worthy heroes, please demonstrate your obeisance to the queen and I will deliver the brooch onto her hand. She will relay her thanks and reason for requesting your visit forthwith. Sabina then reaches for the brooch to present to the queen. Do you give it to her?
Machaera is surprised by the woman’s cryptic reply to Yanis’ question, and her blunt inquiry as to the fate of the brooch’s thief. To the latter she nods her affirmation, while puzzling over the former. Of sorts? A training accident, perhaps? She is right about one thing…
The guard captain’s smile reminds her not to agonize about misfortunes past, though, and Machaera soon settles into the fun of seeing the castle. A bit dark, for her tastes, with all the mahogany, and red is definitely not her colour, but then no one’s asking her, and it’s still very impressive.
Upon being introduced to the presence, the young elf mage remembers not to smile at the accumulation of titles, no matter how much half of her interest in them is seeing how people string them together. The queen is newly widowed, after all.
Per Sabina’s request, Machaera dips easily into a low curtsey to the queen on her throne, before handing over the brooch to the queen’s waiting guard. Before she lets the jewel go, she remembers what she promised Poshment and says quietly, so as not to disturb the ceremonious peace of the throne room, “He was far too modest to join us today, but could you, at a suitable time, let her majesty know that the brooch was damaged when we recovered it, and that the jeweler Poshment Tourmaline restored it to its glory?”
Spelbar huffs and puffs his way through the castle, leaning against various pieces of architecture when time allows. 'You walk this...' Spellbar wheezes 'every day? Maybe in my younger days.' He says to Sabina as much as himself.
The elderly warrior breathes heavily through the long list of titles and tries all he might to get his lungs back under him. He manages some small amount of dignity before the call to pay the Queen her due deference is issued. Spelbar's bow starts well enough but he begins to lose his balance and is forced to catch himself on his knees. He offers the Queen a tired smile as an apology. 'Ma'am'
Sabina takes the brooch and says, "Thank you Miss Machaera and valiant heroes all." Sabina then hands the brooch to the queen, who takes it in her hand, and slowly marvels at her returned jewelry. After admiring the skill of its repair, the queen says in a melodious voice: "This brooch was stolen from me some time ago—I had not expected to see it again, truth be told. And yet, here on my darkest day, you come before me with kindness. The return of this brooch is much more than an honorable deed. It is inspiration. It is hope.
"I love Korvosa, as my husband did before me. His death has shocked the city as it has me, but I will not see his legacy destroyed in death, and I shall not see my city torn apart. All Korvosa stands at the precipice of a disaster wrought by her citizens—these riots cannot continue. You have already done my heart a great service in returning this precious heirloom to me on this dark day, and you shall be rewarded. Yet perhaps you can serve your city more."
“The Korvosan Guard is stretched thin, and it could certainly use the aid of heroes such as you. If you so choose, I shall have Sabina see to it that you have an escort of guards when you leave here—they can see to your safe journey to Citadel Volshyenek. I shall send word ahead of you to Field Marshal Cressida Kroft to let her know you are on the way. Now, I need to retire to my chambers—my grief has drained me. Again, I thank you for the kindness you have shown me, and I hope your days of serving the crown are only just beginning."
The queen looks at Sabina and motions for her to give the group your reward. Sabina opens up a pouch at her side and removes a silver chest far too large to fit into such a small pouch, and hands it to Machaera. Sabina says, "Here is your reward, heroes." Inside the chest sit several bars of gold labeled with the stamp of Korvosa. The chest weighs about 40 pounds or so, given both the bars of gold and the fact it's made out of sold silver. Sabina then motions for you to follow her out of the castle. What is the party's response?
"Might we have a moment to talk about this before making a decision?' Yanis says while moving off a few steps.
"I believe we can help out more if we side with the Queen now, see appears distraught. Although how genuine that is is to be determined."
As the queen explains what she had in mind, and then has her guard hand over a hefty reward, Machaera scrambles for a suitable reply, bobbing a bit again in thanks, “Your Majesty is most generous. To have offered a spark of hope in addition to doing what any decent person would have done is more than we could have dreamed. We will certainly do our best to see the city come to its senses, as you ask.”
She curtseys again as the queen excuses herself. “Of course, Ma’am. I hope a measure of peace finds you soon.”
"Might we have a moment to talk about this before making a decision?' Yanis says while moving off a few steps.
[dice=Sense Motive on the queen]1d20+10
** spoiler omitted **
“Please excuse us,” Machaera asks the royal guard with an apologetic smile. “It’s terribly flattering, but we’re used to a footman, a bodyguard or two… an escort of a squad of guards seems a bit extravagant. Nonetheless, given the mood in the streets…”
She confers hastily, and quietly, with Yanis and the others.
“I agree, though it’s hardly taking sides to inquire about auxiliary work with the Guard,” she says softly, deftly avoiding the word mercenary. “Unless they ask us to read royal proclamations or the like. There’s no harm in finding out what the job is, and we can dispense with the escort if we want to keep a low profile.”
Personally, she’s vain enough to be rather flattered by the idea, but she’ll follow everyone else’s lead on this one, knowing that the others don’t enjoy this sort of silliness as much.
Io stays out of the way and quiet, not trusting herself to not offend the queen. Instead, she plays the role of a dutiful squire, standing deferentially to Machaera.
"I don't really see the harm in assisting the guards- we share the same goal, after all, and this way we'll get paid. We can always say that we'll help temporarily, and move on if we need to do something they don't like. You survive in this city by either being powerful, or being in favor with someone who is."
The queen nods to the rest of the group and leaves, while Sabina stands stoicly waiting. She appears to be waiting for a general response.
Spelbar totters over to the circle forming away from the guards.
'We'd draw far less attention to ourselves if we made our way to the citadel without an escort. So far we've made our way around the city without too much difficulty and I'd imagine it's safer outside the walls than in right now. While I don't suspect foul play here, I'd hate to hitch our cart to the wrong horse in a way that would be difficult to back out of.' As Spelbar becomes sure he's not being overheard, his voice changes timber and takes on a distinctly Merlin-esque quality.
Headsman seems more determined than ever to remain stoic and silent, but finally opens up at Spelbar's suggestion.
"... yeah, that sounds good."
“Excellent!” Machaera says, glad that that went well, and having enjoyed herself thoroughly. And now she’s intrigued by what this new offer of something to do, however irregular it might be, might bring.
She turns back to the patient guard. “Sorry about that. It’s a great honour, but though the streets seem a bit tense still, on reflection, we couldn’t possibly take any of the Guard away from more pressing duties than escorting us. Spelbar and Glaucon are old hands at keeping us out of trouble, and these two young ones are a great help too. We’ll make our own way.”
Sabina says As you wish. I hope your further deeds go well for you and the city. Remember, should you wish to work with the guard, seek out Marshal Cresidda Kroft at Citadel Volshyenek. With that, she turns and leads you out of the castle. You know stand in the street next to the one of the entry ramps leading to the Castle from the Grand Mastaba.
Machaera considers her view of the rest of the city, with its crowds of folk with much more mundane, and pressing, concerns than the castle’s, or even those of a somewhat dubious mage, in whose arcane talents someone is likely to take an interest sooner or later. It might not end up being the most glamorous interest, but even a hint of magic is, she knows, quite an advantage in the world.
Turning to the others, she says, “Thanks for humouring me. Perhaps it’s a pity we didn’t have more time to linger – that statue room with the busts of historical figures was interesting. But I know that’s not everyone’s thing.”
Indicating the chest of gold, she continues, gently poking fun at her own rather precious interests and manners, “Why don’t we drop this off at Zellara’s, and then see what they want us to do for the Field Marshal before dividing it? I doubt what they have in mind will be more disappointing than being rushed through a gallery.”
"Sure... damn, that's a lot of money."
Headsman appears rather shaken, perhaps even a bit angry, and everything he's seen at the palace.
"See, that's the problem. Why does then queen have so much money to just toss around for some bauble when dozens of kids are starving in the street? What a load of..."
'Well, usually, someone with their last name did something very special. Now, we pamper their bloodline in the hopes that their children, and their children and so on, will do something special. They often don't, sometimes they do. I suppose it's a lot like the rest of us...' The old man rattles on and on about meandering topics until he runs out of breath.
Machaera waits while the young man vents, having no easy answers. From what she knows of Korvosa’s history, wasn’t the first king crowned spontaneously? Certainly, there’s some legal quibble with what having a king or queen even means given the city’s status as a Cheliaxian colony, and the queen back in the imperial capital. She’s grateful that Spelbar – and that does sound rather like the Merlin under there, after all – is able to offer his sardonic commentary, rather than historical trivia.
In the end, Machaera says some of the most shaming words an aspiring mage can utter, “I don’t know, Headsman.”
She has her moments, but she has no consolations of faith and philosophy that she’s confident can make the world right. “What I do know is that for whatever reason there are people out for blood in those streets because they don’t want a doubtful new queen, and maybe as many out for blood because they do. All we can do is try to help as best we can. Right now, that might mean taking a job to keep the peace, and hoping that all this will make people reconsider what sort of city they really want to live in.”
"SO what is it the queen wants us to do for her? Work for her guard for a bit?"
"I'll help on the streets where I can, and maybe they can point us in the right direction, but there's no way in hell I'm working for the guard. Not after... yeah, no."
Machaera pauses to consider just how little she knows of the people she’s working with. Another unhappy history, she concludes. She wonders how they all cope. She’s got what’s left of her magic, after all, her faith, and although she inwardly winces at the sentimentality of it, her hope.
Deciding it would be inappropriate to pry, either right now or over a glass of wine at some point – she’s not sure the youngest are even old enough to be responsibly offered one, let alone be able to enjoy it – Machaera opts for what she hopes is light but not careless, “I agree. Uniforms and orders from Korvosan officers are not among the things that delight my heart.”
“I don’t think it will come to that, though. I doubt the queen’s heard of it, but if the powers that be in the Guard have read between the lines of the record of what happened with Lamm, I think we might be sent to handle more creatures like that that might be crawling out of the woodwork while the city’s in a state. My skills don't run to dispersing riots peacefully, and I'm not about to do it otherwise. Only one way to find out. Shall we?”
.
As you walk you way back to the Citadel, which takes around 10 minutes given the traffic, the streets are still subdued. You all take notice that a curfew from 6:00 am to 6:00 pm has been posted, and anyone caught without the sanction of the Guard, the Sable Company, the government, the Acadame, or one of the grand temples that can be presented to the authorities, will be jailed until their threat to the proper rule of the queen can be addressed by the Arbiters. Apparently the queen or her advisors are wasting no time in addressing the disruption caused by King Eodred's death.
The Citadel lies in front of you after your walk. It's the same military building as before, with about 10 guards standing duty, equipped with chain, crossbows, halberds, backed up by a obviously grumpy but aware human wizard student from the Acadame.
Yanis approaches, dropping his hat slightly to hide his darker skin.
"Good day Gentlemen and Ladies, we are here sent by the queen herself to come and assist in anyway we can."
Headsman's reaction to learning about the curfew is easily measured: The number of swear words makes his stance on the idea quite clear, given that a significant part of the Court's backbone is older kids holding jobs after what passes for school in the Shingles.
The guards look at the group and say, "What's your business, citizens?
"We are here to speak with Cressida Kroft, Sabrina the Queens Guard sent us."
Strictly speaking, the fact that the queen sent us should be enough, surely, Machaera thinks, bemused that it seems to be taking the message longer to circulate around the Citadel than for the messenger to run it to that fortress. Aloud, she adds, “We have an appointment with the Field Marshal, concerning our assistance to the Guard’s valiant efforts in the interests of Korvosa and the Crown.”
Machaera knows she’s laying it on thick, but they are meeting the commander of the Guard, and judging from her past encounters with magistrates, let alone aristocrats, the powers that be in Korvosa seem to enjoy such stuff. She introduces herself and the others, guessing that the guards may have names to wait for rather than descriptions of a miscellaneous group.
The guards immediately perk up at the mention of Sabina and your royal appointment. The sergeant says "Excuse our gruffness, royal envoys. Please step through the central keep. Jenkins and Scruffy will lead you to Marshal Kroft's quarters. We received the notice you were coming via courier drake just a couple of minutes ago. Looking more closely at the Acadame mage, you notice he has a house drake familiar bearing message pouches, almost like a small draconic saddlebag.
Two of the guards move to escort you into the keep? Do you proceed?
“Of course, these past few days there must be quite a stream of reports and messages to keep track of,” Machaera reassures the sergeant. Not to mention any number of lunatics like those cultists, sure the end of the world is coming, or convinced they know how to save the city…
Thanking the sergeant, she starts to follow the guards leading the way to the Marshal. Machaera tries to remember where Kroft fits in the workings of the city. Something like the general of the regular army, but not the Sable Company Marines, was it? And would that put her ahead of a civilian noble, or would it be too practical a position for a so-called “true” aristocrat? Seeing the Guard mage’s familiar, Machaera feels a pang of homesickness. Wizards can be pretentious and possessive, but at the end of the day, at least at the Tower of Stars, books and notes change hands, and prestige follows passion (and, admittedly, fashion) more than birth.
Io follows the guards, off to the side (still not quite used to the spotlight) and quietly. Her eyes don't stop moving as she analyzes their escorts for anything of note.
The usually rambly old man falls near silent as he falls in behind the guards. I should have stopped to grab my pistols. Let's just hope this isn't some strange trap. He limps along with his ears perked and his eyes taking in everything.
.
The guards lead you past the defenses of the citadel and up into its second level. The stone fotress is old but well maintained. Not many guards appear to be deployed here; most being deployed around the city. You are finally brought into the Marshals office, marked with a gold shield bearing the city crest of Korvosa and the scales of Abadar. The office is tastefully functional, taken up with a large desk upon which several maps, miniatures and locations are marked. Behind the large mahogany desk is a woman in red toned chainmail. She looks at you with tired brow eyes and starts to speak.
.
The guards lead you past the defenses of the citadel and up into its second level. The stone fotress is old but well maintained. Not many guards appear to be deployed here; most being deployed around the city. You are finally brought into the Marshals office, marked with a gold shield bearing the city crest of Korvosa and the scales of Abadar. The office is tastefully functional, taken up with a large desk upon which several maps, miniatures and locations are marked. Behind the large mahogany desk is a woman in red toned chainmail. She looks at you with tired brown eyes and starts to speak.
"Ah, yes—you are the ones sent by Queen Ileosa. Greetings! My name is Cressida, and heroes of your caliber are exactly what Korvosa needs now. You’ve been on the streets. You know better than me how bad things are out there. It’s breaking my heart to see Korvosa tear itself apart like this. Every little bit of aid we can get from upstanding citizens like you helps. If you’re willing, I’d very much like to retain your
services as agents of the Guard. You will, of course, be well compensated for these services."
Spelbar cocks an eye at Cressida 'What kind of work do you need done?'
"Various types of tasks, Mr. Chunt, but my first one is this:
You've seen that Korvosa’s has enough troubles as it is, without my own guards losing their way. Many 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. 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 don’t 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. Talent like you.
"Vancaskerkin and his followers have holed up in an abandoned butcher’s shop up in Northgate—a place once called ‘All the World’s Meat.’ I need you there. 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. I’d really prefer it if you could capture Vancaskerkin 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 seven hundred and fifty gold in it for you. Dead, he’s worth only half that.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Machaera says mildly, her glance going around the room to make sure none of the others have had their sensibilities shocked. It’s not the sort of thing she’d like to make a career of, but she sees the Marshal’s point, and the idea of desertion needles her own sense of honour. Yes, one can make mistakes, but so far there seems to be no need to abandon the Guard, and if that’s not the sort of commitment one wishes to make, well, it’s not really a secret what sort of job joining the Guard is.
Part of why the idea rankles is personal: Machaera knows all too well what she might have been if she were less scrupulous. Not in Korvosa, perhaps, and perhaps not alone, either.
“We’ll do our best to bring him in peacefully. To be quite candid, the sort of magic that would make that easier is not that which comes most easily to me, but with a bit of preparation, that should be less of a problem, and between us all we have other options.” Machaera thinks it best not to mention that those options include Io beating this Vancaskerkin considerably more gently than she did Lamm and his thugs. She wonders, too, how comfortable Headsman and the others are with fisticuffs rather than steel.
'Deserters are scum' The elderly soldier nearly spits on the clean-swept floor but stops himself short of the saliva leaving his mouth. 'Anything you can tell us about Venkmanerian and who's holed up with him?'
"... a rogue guard, huh?"
He shrugs. "Yeah. I'm in. The last thing I want is guards getting the idea they can abuse their power."
... then, sensing potential offense, he reluctantly adds: "... no offense."
"we shall bring them back alive for you to talk with."
“That sounds reasonable,” Machaera says mildly, her glance going around the room to make sure none of the others have had their sensibilities shocked. It’s not the sort of thing she’d like to make a career of, but she sees the Marshal’s point, and the idea of desertion needles her own sense of honour. Yes, one can make mistakes, but so far there seems to be no need to abandon the Guard, and if that’s not the sort of commitment one wishes to make, well, it’s not really a secret what sort of job joining the Guard is.
Part of why the idea rankles is personal: Machaera knows all too well what she might have been if she were less scrupulous. Not in Korvosa, perhaps, and perhaps not alone, either.
“We’ll do our best to bring him in peacefully. To be quite candid, the sort of magic that would make that easier is not that which comes most easily to me, but with a bit of preparation, that should be less of a problem, and between us all we have other options.” Machaera thinks it best not to mention that those options include Io beating this Vancaskerkin considerably more gently than she did Lamm and his thugs. She wonders, too, how comfortable Headsman and the others are with fisticuffs rather than steel.