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Calcedon put his hand out to stop the train for a second with a bit of a disgusted look on his face. "I am pretty sure all of you are invited to my house, but there's no way I'm taking a disembodied head into my sanctum. At the very least, leave it here in it's own house. The Grey is in the opposite direction, and we'd be heading toward the heart of the riots to do that. I think a later time would be fine, perhaps in the morning. We're heading that way then anyhow. For now, lets just get these kids somewhere safe." He takes the hat box, sets it on the mantle, and waves them on.
Mister Calcedon? Y' sure...y' sure I ain't gonna get in trouble bein' there? Th' Eas' Bank, I mean?
The bard turned to the short half elf with a smirk followed an obviously fake stern face. "Let's get one thing straight, young lady. My house name is Fordyce, so if you're to use Mister, it would be Mister that." His face lightened back to his regular positive and friendly attitude. "But my friends call me Cal, or other daring nicknames. I don't insist on ceremony when I'm the only one who knows about it, okay?"
He takes a slightly more serious note for his next statement. "Mouse, all the streets are dangerous tonight. You will not be the most unsavory person out tonight by far. Unless you've annoyed more people than I have, a feat which I doubt anyone here could duplicate, you'll hardly be noticed." He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and then filed out with the rest of them.
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Seeing the crowd surround the nobleman, Cal had half a mind to just let it happen. Of course he couldn't do that. It didn't really matter who it was, actually. It also was a problem that they really had no way out of this particular predicament.
He walked boldly into the crowd and spoke to the chubby spokesman. "I doubt you've worked a day in your life either, since working men aren't covered in fat. How do we know you're not a Queen's man, or just a layabout or thug living off of other people's sweat? Though he might have grown up with rich food, it's obvious to me whose been licking the silver spoons clean. Where'd you get that pipe anyhow? Did you break the last bath you got in? No, I'm sorry. I'm sure you've never seen one."
When the mob had appeared, Mouse had shifted her stance slightly, putting herself between the rioters and the children. Without conscious thought, every muscle in her body had tensed, ready for things to turn ugly. Even if he's a blue-blood, ain't no reason' t' go beatin' on 'i'm, she thought...but there was a procession of kids and newfound allies behind her, and an angry mob before. If it came to a choice of who to protect...Toadie and Miss Speaks For The Dead would come first, every time.
But then Calcedon had stepped forward, begun calling out to the rioters - taunting them, even. You crazy?! she hissed softly. You'll get yourself killed... But he continued his blistering invective, seemingly oblivious to her warnings. Why's 'e gonna get 'imself beat over - Then the pieces clicked into place.
'S a screen...drawin' their eyes while we get past...an' maybe that rich sop, too... She'd done much the same on plenty of occasions, when one of the other Lambs needed a moment's extra time to land a score. It'd never been her strong suit...but even a second was all it took sometimes to get a pouch slit. Eyes on me, she whispered to the children behind her. If I go, follow me quick-like. 'E's makin' a distraction. She watched with bated breath, praying that the crowd would be drawn in by Calcedon's taunts.
Muttonchops turns to face you, the blood of fresh rage beginning to dawn on his face and neck. His cronies, however, remain slack-jawed and senseless, simply staring at Cal as his biting criticisms fly. After several tense moments, during which Mouse is able to ease the children further down the street, the men blink. Yet they seem less interested in a fight with armed strangers. Garvid's stance makes a few of them sidle away, and more follow as Li presents her crossbow. Muttonchops looks over his shoulder for support, finding most of his 'friends' gone, and runs to join them. "Bleedin' Chel!" He screams over his shoulder. "Witch!"
The young man regains his feet, nearly shaking from nerves. He hurries over to stand near Cal, the most physically imposing of the lot. "I am Amin Jalento, and you have my sincere thanks. And you... I know you!" You can practically see the candeflame light up over his head as Calcedon registers to him. "By Abadar!"
Amin reaches into his waistcoat and pulls out a small leather purse, handing it over. "This isn't much to pay for a life, but please accept it as a token of recompense. I must needs get to my home before the streets get worse. Again, thank you! Abadar guide you safely home!" He gives a short bow before turning and sprinting away, quickly disappearing into a nearby alleyway.
Continuing on, you zig-zag through the streets, finally managing to reach High Bridge. Here, a large number of city guardsmen retain control and keep the bridge clear of riff-raff. They take notice of you, but seeing you escorting the children, quickly wave you by without trouble.
East Shore remains peaceful for the moment, and the chaos of the city has yet to ravage its streets, but there is a noticeable tension in the posture and face of every passerby. You enter travel northeast up East High Street into Endrin Square, one of the better kept parks of the city. Groups of citizens gossip on every corner, trying to sort rumor fact from fiction.
Calcedon leads you to the Fordyce Estate, a fixture of East Shore for over a century. It is now a haven for artists and troubadours.
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Calcedon stands strong in the midst of the crowd, able to look down on the fat man as his support fails him. "Yes, you'd better run. It would certainly help your figure."
Chuckling at the amount of actual courage in the mob, Cal turned to the young nobleman and smiled, giving him a lift to his feet. "I'd have done it for anyone. Troublemakers should never get their way." When he's recognized, he grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his head with his gloved hand. "Normally, I wouldn't, but no special favors needed. Stay safe out there, and don't stay out so late in the future."
Cal handed the thank offering to Garvid and mentioned something under his breath. "That will feed the kids for a few weeks."
The bard continues to move through the streets, leading the procession at least by word until they get to the high bridge. Smiling and waving to the guards to show Mouse and the children that everything is just fine, he leads the procession through the barricade and to the left as they get off the bridge leading them up toward his estate.
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"Welcome to my ancestral abode. Built in 4498, five years before the cousin's war, It originally didn't have walls. But as tensions increased, they became necessary. We're sure glad to have them now, as it does help keep the bad guys out." He made a grand wave of his arms at the fifteen foot wall surrounding a full city block. There were several other estates in the area, including one of the Jeggare estates as well as a guardhouse they had passed already so it didn't look too much out of place.
He took them around the northwest corner and came to the ancient gate. Taking his gloved hand, he ignored the bell and sung out a long solid note followed by a intricate flourish of notes that seemed impossible to duplicate, the hand following the flow of his voice with an elaborate dance of it's own. They all had about three seconds to wait until the solid wooden and massive door started rattling as the bar was lifted from the other side. It creaked open a moment later, with a tall and thin half elf poked his bleary-eyed face out with a weary smile. "Oi, First Chair. You've been out late. Not going to miss morning salad are ye?" Though he was near seven feet, his voice was soft and gentle, quite easily a tenor with his own musical way of speaking.
Cal beamed at the doorman. "No, Garel. I wouldn't miss it for sleeping in like some people I know. Let me and my friends in already, we're going to need some baths too, so run and fetch Vran and Pobie. It's still their turn until sunrise. Tell them I'll make it worth their while."
With a nod and a "Sure, sure..." he padded rhythmically toward the main house along with a wide yawn that seemed like a brass trumpet scaling down. Cal ushered them all in and tasked Garvid to help him replace the bar as he continued his history lesson. "This gate's never fallen, but they broke through the walls on the west and south sides. Though we built the place, our family didn't regain it back for almost fifty years, but we've been here ever since."
As they turned from the gate toward the main house, there were a few other buildings around the estate. A small well was housed in the center of the courtyard, a small theater that seemed to be hastily converted from some stables, and a fine secondary building looking somewhat like a bunkhouse of some kind. "Most of the houses originally built over on the East Bank had a strong tie to the Millitary. I've had two ancestors that have run the Guardsmen, but that was generations ago. In the house proper, I can house sixteen guests, and the bunkhouse is adequate for fifty men, although we run a fair bit shy of that these days. Also, I don't do the millitary thing anymore, you'll find this house full of musicians and artists of all flavors."
Over toward the stables, in the corner of the courtyard there was several stone statues in various states of carving from blocks. The most prominent of which was an exaggerated and nude carving of Calcedon himself. As they passed by, Cal commented on them. "Well, I should say 'aspiring' artists and musicians. Some of them need a fair bit more practice. They just can't seem to get my nose right."
The entrance to the main house next to the stables had a tiled mud room. It was obviously purposed to give any riders a chance to not only refresh themselves but make sure the interior of the house remained clean as well. "Ladies first, and when you're done, the gentlemen will proceed. If you're uncomfortable, I'm afraid I must insist on everyone scrubbing. I just don't trust our late acquaintance's hygiene practices. We've had a problem with fleas in the past and it took us near a month to get rid of them all."
When they rounded the corner and Li saw the mob threatening the noble, she intended to keep moving. After all, it was her experience that if you try to help and stick your neck out for someone then you just end up getting hurt yourself. However, when Cal stepped in to dissuade the group then Li drew her weapon and flanked the group in order to help him out.
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When they get to Cal's home, Li can't believe that so many buildings could belong to someone. The promise of a bath warms Li's mood and it doesn't take much prodding on Cal's part for her to agree to his request.
Garvid shuffles towards the mansion. He raises an eyebrow as Calcedon tells his tale, grinning. "If things turned out differently, maybe you'd have been my boss, Calcedon." He takes an investigative look around. [b]"If you need some advice on security matters, I'd love to give you a hand." He waves. "Can't impress anyone from the Shingles with a, what's that, fifteen foot wall?" He begins pacing around the courtyard, looking for possible tactical approaches. "Not saying we start now, but if things go to s&&~ even more, you might consider getting some night lookouts. Garel would do good, but if you got an orcish or a dwarven kid, might as well stick him out there. Not only people think twice, but they got better eyesight than us poor humanfolk.", he grins.
He takes an impressed look around the mansion, stopping at the statue. "Hah. When we fix the city, you'll get a better one. Maybe all of us could get one.", he chuckles.
At the request, Garvid nods. "If we're getting a bath, I'm afraid I'll have to borrow your razors. I'd hate to show up like that on an audience with Her Majesty.", he says, mostly spitting out the last words. Not the best company to bring to her, but he seems to have a hand on those things.
Cal grins back at the former guard. "It's a good wall, even if it isn't high. I've never seen it's like in the Shingles. It could use some maintenance, and I'm afraid I don't have the money to make the structural enhancements I would like."
Waving the girls into the mudroom, he gave them further advice. "You've got about ten minutes while the water heats up. Those damn imps stole my bell, so just pound on the wall twice and the kids will send it through the pipes if it's ready, otherwise you'll have to wait until it is. There's some cold water and soap in there, and we should have towels and robes in the cupboard, but don't use them all. Us guys will want a few as well.
As they waited, the bard considers Garvid's other advice. "I don't really have either, I'm afraid. Vran is half an orc, but she's no good for look out duty. She used to be a dishwasher, but someone didn't like the look of her and threw boiling water in her face. Eyes haven't opened since. I'd like to get her treatment, but I can't afford that either. Hell of a cellist though, she can make that thing sing. It's hard to believe she only picked it up five months ago."
The girls certainly were taking their time, and that was fine. It gave him the chance to wait around his courtyard more than he was used to. Truthfully it was a mess. He felt a bit embarrassed to bring anyone in here, even though they might not understand how much of a mess it was. He'd seen the house brimming with order, everything in it's place, and all the blades of grass and flowers did not even dare to tread where they shouldn't be. His parents would be rather embarrassed too, and though he terribly missed them, it was likely that he wouldn't have heard the end of their lectures about appearance. Maybe it was good they didn't see this.
"The statues will have to wait until we've actually done something bigger than squashing a few shadows. There's much bigger problems afoot in this town that will need tending before they'll think about putting up some of those. And even then, some heroes don't even get the reward they deserve here." He said this in a bit of a dramatic and mysterious fashion. But then shot the former guard a wry smile. "I'm doing you a favor really. seeing yourself in stone is weird enough. But your nose would be harder to sculpt than mine is!" With that, he gave a good laugh at his own joke.
Walking through the grounds of the Fordyce estate, Mouse couldn't help but stare. She'd seen the occasional statue around the city, of course (although most of the ones in Old Korvosa were either pulled over, covered in graffiti, or occupied by someone looking for shelter). But having your own statues, and so many at that? The manicured shrubs, the imposing walls, the people answering every call...it seemed to Mouse she was in a castle already, but Calcedon seemed to think it of no consequence whatsoever. What's 'er Majesty's castle gonna be like, then?
She almost protests at Cal's mention of fleas - until an itch at her hip suddenly reasserts itself. Mebbe 'e's got a point. Glancing around, she sets her bag down just outside the mudroom's entrance, steps inside...then steps back out and grabs it again, finding a chair inside to set it on. No one was likely to want her ratty things next to all this extravagance...but old habits were hard to break.
In the mudroom, Mouse quickly strips off her ragged tunic and trousers and begins scrubbing down with the cold water, not bothering to wait or knock for anything warmer. Just having totally fresh water was a surprising luxury for her; usually her baths in the public bathhouses were in water already filled with suds and dirt from the person who'd used the tub before her. She looks around for the dark, gritty soap she's accustomed to, but instead discovers a pale, smooth bar, scented of flowers and gentle on her rough skin. Li...Miss Speaks For The Dead...smell this, it's nice...nicer 'n the bathhouses got, anyway.
Though she's deft in undoing the tight braids along her scalp, it still takes several minutes for her to work through them; when she's finished, it's clear they've been in a while, because her hair is a mass of kinks where the twists of the braids bent. But after a couple of minutes' scrubbing, her hair lies (relatively) smooth once again, and she can't help but run her fingers through it, savoring the slight squeak of clean wet hair between them - a rare feeling.
She opens the cupboard and selects a pale purple robe, stroking it for a moment and enjoying its soft fluff before pulling it over her shoulders, then looking down at the tunic and trousers slumped over her backpack and the scuffed shoes lying next to them. The contrast of the filthy and torn linen against the soft robe was stark, almost saddening...but Mouse quickly put the thoughts out of her mind. This wasn't her world; roughspun linen was what she was made for. Cal? she called, a slightly embarrassed tone in her voice. My clothes is gonna track stuff in too - y' mind if I take a sec t' scrub 'em?
The estate is impressive, she has to admit. The walls feel a little oppressive to her, but she cannot deny the sense of security they provide. The statues don't elicit much reaction from Yaziyah - after all, nakedness is nothing new to her and she's seen plenty of the outside of bodies, and sometimes the inside, too.
At the mention of warmed water she simply snorts. Striding into the mudroom, she strips methodically, placing her things in an orderly pile on a chair and setting the weasel on top of the pile. Like Mouse, she doesn't wait for the hot water, but uses the cold water to wash, scrubbing herself briskly and efficiently, her long braid coiled atop her head. When Mouse hands her the soap, she takes a long sniff. "Smells like gardenias, if I'm not mistaken. You know the flower? White, five-petaled star shaped?" Once her body is clean, she waits for the heated water to wash her very long hair, which she then lets loose in damp, wavy strands down her back. Finally, she mixes some hot and cold water in a bucket to bathe the weasel, which seems to enjoy the process very much, splashing a great deal (although the soap is sniffed at once and firmly rejected). When she is finished, Yaziyah dresses in her own clothes, frowning at a few stains on the hem of her cloak, then vacates the room.
"Put any laundry in the metal box next to the pipe. Pobie will have it clean in a minute." The box described had a handle next to the pipe on the wall, it seemed to be hinged on it's corner so that when you pulled on it, it went from looking like a deep drawer to having a fairly open spot for things. A hint of light shows through from the other side of the wall when it's opened, but closes off pretty quickly when it's fully pulled through. After Mouse's clothes are put in and the box is shut, it only takes about twenty seconds or so and the box opens again with the clothes thoroughly clean. Anyone else's clothes will be done the same way.
When it's announced that the ladies are done, the inside door opens up and there is a little blind half orc standing there, the upper part of her face a mass of burn scars. "If 'ums er dun, faller me ta yer room." Without really waiting, and seemingly fairly annoyed to having to be doing this in the first place, she pads down the hall in her bare feet and takes them up a servant's staircase, extremely narrow. On the second floor she leads them around the corner to a fairly sizable room with a large four-poster bed in the center. Rich, dark drapes are all about the room. They're clean, but obviously old, and possibly fairly delicate. On closer examination most of the luxuriousness in the room is fairly threadbare, and would fetch little, if anything in the market today.
"Ye'll hav ta shere. Firs Char keeps jus a cuppa rooms free fer visiters." The bed seems big enough, and without much more of an explanation, Vran waves half-heartedly and leaves them there.
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As the girls leave the mudroom, Cal ushers the rest of the party in. The water was still fairly warm, and he gave sharp direction to the kids to make sure they scrubbed themselves good or he'd have finish for them. "Wash all of your pits, and scrub your hair." After getting them started, he strips himself causally and says to Garvid. "I don't have any razors in here, but I've got one in the house you can use."
As he strips, the necessary work needed by the sculptor, whomever they were, was obvious. They had obviously never seen him without clothes, as his entire body was covered with scars. Thin white ones and wide purple ones, especially across his abdomen. The statue had none of these, although his missing fingers were accounted for. There was also a dent in his ribcage on the left, as if one of his ribs was actually missing. Cal didn't make much of any of it though, and washed himself up with a bit of vigor and pulled a robe for himself.
"I'll put the kids up in the bunk house, and the two of you will have to share a room. No one wants to sleep in the bunkhouse when they can have a private room, but I try to keep a couple open in case of emergencies. Pobie will see you to your room, and I'll see you in the morning." With that he ushered the newly washed kids out the mudroom door into the courtyard and across to the former barracks.
One sleepy human kid opened the door for the guests into the main house from the other side. "C'mon dudes. You gots da room next to mine."
Li takes all her stuff with her into the bath room and makes sure that everything is within easy reach. She hesitates a bit before starting to bathe herself because she wanted to wait for the warm water. When Mouse points out the soap, Li takes a whiff and then wrinkles her nose. "Everyone will be able ta smell ya coming if ya use that. I guess if ya got warm water and tha luxury of a bath that ya don't need ta be hidin' from anyone."
Li dawdles in the water, not wanting to get out. Finally she can't linger any longer and she gets out. Having watched Mouse's clothes come back clean from the metal box, Li follows suit and places her clothes inside. She shakes her head in wonder when they come back in the cleanest condition they'd been in since she acquired them. "Tha rich certainly have amazin' tricks."
Li follows the half-orc to their assigned room. She waits for the mention of a name but it never comes. As the half-orc turns to leave she says, "Thanks fer showin' us up here. What's yer name? I'm Li." Even with sharing the room, the bed is much larger than necessary and Li is secretly excited to actually get to sleep on a mattress. Before Vran leaves them, Li asks one more question, "Which way do we go in tha mornin' to find either ya or Cal? All these rooms has me turned around."
tag Vran/Calcedon
Vran was well on her way to bed when Li decided to get chatty, but there was something about her voice that piqued the young half-orc's trained ears. She backpedaled and cocked her head at the guest. "I'm Vran. Don' worry. Jus' foller ya ears, and don' open doors dat don' lead to da sunshine." She waits a beat and asks a follow up question "Where ya from, Li?"
Vran was well on her way to bed when Li decided to get chatty, but there was something about her voice that piqued the young half-orc's trained ears. She backpedaled and cocked her head at the guest. "I'm Vran. Don' worry. Jus' foller ya ears, and don' open doors dat don' lead to da sunshine." She waits a beat and asks a follow up question "Where ya from, Li?"
Li continues her chat with Vran. "I be from Korvosa. Grew up in what I thought was an orphanage and after that I fell in with tha wrong kind of people." Li stops talking briefly as she realizes that that chapter of her life is indeed over. "I won't keep ya since it's so late but hopefully I'll see ya tomorrow."
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Perhaps others would have noticed the wear of the drapes, the fraying of the silk trim on the comforter, the aged patina on the candlesticks - but Mouse just stares in amazement. To her, it's finery and wealth incarnate. This one room is bigger than any of the apartments she's stayed in in Bridgefront, and the rich carpet under her feet is a stark contrast to the rough, worn floorboards she's used to. At the half-orc woman's words, Mouse manages to mumble a reply. No, 's...'s good. Th' room's good. Thank y', Miss Vran. An'...give Mister Calce-...Cal m' thanks as well, 'f y' see 'i'm.
Setting her bag at the room's far corner, Mouse begins to finger the velvet of the drapes, marveling at its softness. Ain't nothin' could be so nice as this. Nothin'... And then she remembers where she's headed tomorrow. To see the Queen, return her brooch that Lamm had stolen, bring the chaos of the streets to her attention, ask aid for the poorer parts of Korvosa teetering on the edge of anarchy.... At the enormity of the task, she pales slightly.
Mmm...Miss Vran? she calls out timidly as the half-orc woman prepares to leave. I ain't meant to be no nuisance...but.... D' y' know if Mister Cal'd have any...any dresses I c'd use? I mean, I know they ain't his, but such a big house, he couldn't'a lived 'ere alone forever...an' I jus' thought maybe there'd be somethin' 'round.... It's jus', we're gonna be visitin' someone 'mportant, an'...
"I be from Korvosa. Grew up in what I thought was an orphanage and after that I fell in with tha wrong kind of people. I won't keep ya since it's so late but hopefully I'll see ya tomorrow."
The little half orc smiled. "Well, if you're wit us, den you're wit the right kina people now." She turned to go, but paused, facing down the hall. "Ya know, it don't matta where ya from. We's kin here. Ya'll see when ya hear da salad. It's breafas' for da soul."
No, 's...'s good. Th' room's good. Thank y', Miss Vran. An'...give Mister Calce-...Cal m' thanks as well, 'f y' see 'i'm.
Mmm...Miss Vran? she calls out timidly as the half-orc woman prepares to leave. I ain't meant to be no nuisance...but.... D' y' know if Mister Cal'd have any...any dresses I c'd use? I mean, I know they ain't his, but such a big house, he couldn't'a lived 'ere alone forever...an' I jus' thought maybe there'd be somethin' 'round.... It's jus', we're gonna be visitin' someone 'mportant, an'...
She stretched and yawned a bit as Mouse got around to her point. She shrugged about the dress though. "E'erthin' in da hous' be his. Ya stay here, ya gets da food, wata, bath, and reg'la' cloths if ya need em." She took a step down the hall, but turned around, her black hair flipping around her chin. "Dey's all sorta fancy cloths ya use for da plays. But ya ask for dose. Talk ta Firs' Chair or Rolan' if he ain't aroun'. Ya'll hear in da mornin' where dey be."
She yawned again, and stretched even farther as her ruined eyes scrunched, wrinkling the scar tissue. "I'ma goin' ta bed now. Only way ya won' see anybody you wanna see in da mornin' is if you don' run off." With that she turned and resolutely went to the room down one and across the hall and slipped in.
The dawn, the true dawn, comes swiftly, as though impatient to illuminate the secrets of the night.
The information you collect, sifting facts from rumors and obvious fabrications, confirms that the king has died. So passes Eodred II, and with his last gasp the Crimson Throne has become the seat of Queen Ileosa, his lady wife, first of her royal name. Eodred’s death has taken the aristocracy by surprise--his health had been declining, but the sudden turn caught most of the castle off guard. The true cause of death is uncertain. Some rumors claim natural causes, while others claim supernatural disease, murder, and of course, the Curse of the Crimson Throne. Some even say that he suffered a disease beyond the abilities of the priesthoods of Sarenrae and Abadar. There are whispers that even Asmodeus’s disciples were summoned from their pentacle temple in the deep of night to try their dark hand at restoring the king. Fueling the more extreme conspiracies is that the castle seneschal, Neolandus Kalelpopolus, is missing, supposedly slain in one of the initial riots that broke out at the base of Castle Korvosa when the grim news of Eodred’s death was proclaimed.
Learning the source of the riots is difficult, and stories conflict. What you derive is that a collection of desperate citizens, salty dock workers, soot-covered smiths, and all manner of tradesmen, already stifled by Eodred's spendthrift reign, balked at the thought of Ileosa on the throne. From such a spark, the fires of chaos took hold. Now the dock workers have abandoned the seafront wards and caravan men have fled Northgate. The gates are locked up and the port traffic has effectively ceased. There are fears of food and supply shortages, which has now led to further riots of sacks of grain and scarce meats.
Riots are erupting throughout the streets. Entire wards have plunged into chaos, and those who are not roving the streets with weapons in hand instead lock their doors against the gathering mobs. In an unprecedented move, even the Bank of Abadar has closed its gilded gates, a contingent of the Coin’s Faithful standing at the ready with halberds and crossbows to repel would-be looters. The Acadamae closes its doors as well, shutting its students and professors within its walls and closing them to the rest of the city until order can be restored. Overnight, all of Korvosa’s oppression and anger has exploded into chaos. The city lies perched on the edge of anarchy.
Ill-equipped for this level of civil calamity, the military arm of the city has faltered, and even the griffon-mounted marines of the Sable Company are pushed far past their limits. The Guard is doing its best to quell the riots, yet its members are cut off from each other and forced to operate on their own. Junior officers, thrust into the harrowing responsibility of command, have broken under the pressure and abandoned their posts, or worse, become part of the problem by attempting to institute martial law. In a desperate attempt to regain control, the Queen has invited the Order of the Nail into the city, paying them with royal gold for their mercenary services. Yet the Hellknights are a greatsword brandished in a tavern brawl, and their brutal crackdowns have only restored order by drowning chaos in blood, to say nothing of the fact that they bow to their own code and ignore the Queen’s commands whenever they interpret the law to be at odds. While some streets return to a semblance of normality, it is clear a great deal of damage has occurred, and even peaceful blocks remain perched on another outbreak of violence.
Li sleeps deeply for the first time in what seems like forever. There is something comforting about her surroundings and she falls asleep quite quickly and soon finds herself dreaming. In Li's dream she is being held and rocked. She feels at peace and even though she senses that she should be sleeping, she opens her eyes. The only thing in her line of sight is a woman's chest with a silver necklace of some sort encircling her neck. However, the most vivid part of her dream is the song that is being sung and it makes her feel like it is being sung for her. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, dreaming Li closes her eyes. When Li awakes in the morning she can't get the song out of her head and she finds herself humming it under her breath periodically.
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After getting the kids to bed, and settled in their new place. They realized that the bunkhouse was several miles away from the squalor they've been living in. Cal was sure to instruct them to tell their fellow Lamms if they found them that they might find a home here too. And after singing them a bit of a lullaby, he bid them good night.
It was not a good night after all. Garrel informed him of the shouting he'd heard throughout the city, the King was definitely dead, riots were taking place, and they being fairly close to the Citadel were doing fairly well, while other parts of the city were really bad. The Hellknights had also moved in, which was bad news. He couldn't imagine their type of order having a seamless or bloodless transition in the area. He knew better than most. While there was some real decent folk among them, more often they attracted those who wanted a respectable reason to be cruel, and were fairly biased in their interpretation of the law in order to accomplish whatever kind of oppression they could muster.
Needless to say, he didn't sleep well. Not that he really ever did, as he was so haunted by his past. As scarred as his body was, his soul had been cut deeper yet and he was far from healed. He stood in the hallway on that third floor for almost a half hour before he made his way into the master bedroom, and hopped over the strewn about messes of papers and music to reach the sanctuary of his bed. His violin had made it to it's resting place within reach, and he lay there, staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. Eventually he relit his lantern and stared out the window, waiting for the real dawn to arrive.
His suspicions were made true. The locket was from his family, and the only way Lamm could have gotten it, was if he was instrumental in the death of his parents. Lamm had killed them. And now he was also dead. He knew it was better this way, but still felt hollow. His parents were still dead, nor could they really speak to him anymore. They couldn't yell at him for the common people he let live there, they couldn't try to set him up with a Jeggare or Endrin anymore, they couldn't complain about the way he handled his business. And so the loss was still so real, that the justice just felt empty.
But he had something, he took it back. The locket was there. He opened it up and took a look inside. "What kind of joke is this?" Inside was a picture of a little blonde girl. Calcedon was an only child. It could have possibly been of his mother, but she was raven like most good Cheliaxian nobles. In fact, until just last year, no Fordyce had girls since his great-great aunt Carlotta. It was a source of sadness for his mom as well. Sometimes she would be sadly looking out a window, and he'd ask her what it was and she said that she was just...
The sudden thought struck him like a ton of bricks. He would have to go to the library. He did not wish to go there, because that's where...
He threw on his night robe and headed to the stables. Rummaging through the closet there, he found a prybar and stalked across the courtyard, looking quite the madman. He burst in the open door and to the locked and boarded room at the far end of the entrance hall.
The library was a two story room, with the balcony abutting the grand entrance of the main house, and rows of tall books spanned nearly twenty feet of vertical space. Down on the bottom floor was a wooden platform that was used as a stage where his mother and he would do plays while his father sat at his desk, sipping some port wine and reading, while occasionally being distracted enough to applaud. It also became the site where his uncle would cut into his flesh every night, whispering horrific things in his ears, inciting him to madness and fear and pain and cruelty.
He hadn't been in there in years. He stood in the doorway now, willing himself to move in, to step with his foot on the familiar wooden floor of the balcony, to inhale the smell of the books, to remember the good. But it was overwhelmed by the smell of blood and the picture of his intestines dangling from hooks replaying over and over. He dropped the pry bar and his stomach relieved itself of it's contents right there on the threshold.
Wiping his mouth, he turned around to see Roland standing there, white-haired and wrinkled, his face completely impassive. "Shall I clean this up for you, sir?"
Roland had only been with him for about nine months, but had been a servant his entire life before hand, so he was used to this kind of eccentric behavior, or at least he didn't show that it was upsetting to him. "Yes, Roland. I've done it again, I'm sorry. I can't go in there."
"It seems so, sir." He replied with a calmness that seemed almost out of place.
Calcedon blanched a bit, his stomach roiling within him some more. He had never even let anyone set foot in that library either, but there were things he had to know. The very thought of sending anyone in the library made him clench his teeth, though the Priests he'd sent in there to expel any unholy auras or conjured or spiritual monsters had found nothing. The danger was only in his mind, but that made it even harder to deal with.
"I... Would..." he began, almost able to form the words. At the last minute, he abandoned it for something easier. "Would you put the door back and nail it shut again as well?"
"Certainly, sir." He droned. "Will that be all?"
Calcedon suddenly felt the wave of exhaustion settle in that he should have experienced long ago. "Yes, Roland, thank you. I'll see you at morning salad."
Roland nodded gravely. "Very good sir." And bowed his head with one hand across his belly and the other behind his back as the master of the house stumbled up the stairs and headed for bed again.
Garvid nods. "I wouldn't worry about pillaging, though, if I were you, not for at least another couple of days.", he says as he walks away. Wonder if it pisses him off that I'm talking to him as an equal. If it does, f!+& him. If not, good on him., Garvid thinks with a small smirk.
Walking into the manor, he takes in the sight with trained indifference. Seen one noble's house, you've seen them all. And considering the state of our host, I'd enjoy not prying in the gaps, unless they'd haunt back., he considers as he stares in a picture of an old man, the old sigil of Korvosa on his shoulder. So he did have some people in the guard. Wonder what it may've been, having nobles in the guard. Still happens, but it's mostly us common folk nowadays. Walking up the stairs, he takes a glance towards the outside, the dark penetrated by a couple of lanterns. [i]S+~@, I got something real good about flashes of light in the darkness, but I'm no f#@~ing poet. Guess we are them, huh.[i]
He patiently waits his turn for the baths. He casually waves the others to go ahead of him, waiting for Calcedon to show up. As the bard appears, he waves to grab his attention. "Have to ask you something. Seems to me you've got quite the life, nobleman.", he says, pointing to the open chair next to him. "Yes, I noticed the hand. I also noticed you're here, and you seem to have things under control. I know what to do after I see justice. But what did you do after you've had your revenge, is the real question?", he asks, his brown eyes staring intensely at the taller man. "Right now, I'd take all the advice I can get, and I suggest you do the same."
As she settles into the side of the bed closest to the door, the strangeness of the turn of events can't help but work its way into Mouse's drowsy mind. Just a few hours ago, she'd drifted off into a nap slumped over her alphabet primer...or had that been a lifetime ago? Certainly it seemed a lifetime - she'd helped take down Gaedren Lamm, the figure she'd half-believed would loom over her eternally. She'd seen Teron again, faced off against him and lived to tell the tale once more. The Lambs were free now, and many of them had found a home, at least for now. And now she was sleeping between satin sheets, preparing to visit with the Queen herself...
It was almost too much for her to even grasp.
And having bedmates again was surprisingly nice, too. Staying with the Lambs she'd rarely ever been alone - there was always at least a couple of others sharing whatever sleeping space she had, little ones seeking comfort usually. But since leaving the Lambs behind, Mouse had been entirely on her own, squatting in tiny one-room apartments at first, renting them once she'd gotten the coin together. By herself, every tiny sound in the night was something to be feared, a drain spider or an intruder or worse. But now, every unconscious murmur, every rustle of the blankets as Yaziyah or Li turns over, is a reminder that, just for a little while...she's not alone anymore.
And that, combined with the day's labors, is more than enough lullaby - soon Mouse is asleep, floating away on a sea of dreams sad, angry, nervous, and content all at once.
The Lambs shuffle single file into the barracks, eyes wide as they take in the lavish comforts offered them. They notice everyone and everything, just as they have been taught. Toadie’s hand grasps that of the oldest among them, an emaciated, petite girl with freckles and flaming red hair pulled up into a messy bun. She appears to be about thirteen. ”Blista, ya fink ‘em ‘ave any pasties?” he whispers to her. ”Dun’,” Blister responds, ”We’ll see tomorr’w. Here, ‘ave the last a mine.” She withdraws the last bite of a small, crumbled pastry from her pouch, handing it to the boy. He quickly pops it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savors the sweet.
The Lambs find their beds, then float into dreams amidst the violence and nightmares of the city. Just like any other night.
As the bard appears, he waves to grab his attention. "Have to ask you something. Seems to me you've got quite the life, nobleman.", he says, pointing to the open chair next to him. "Yes, I noticed the hand. I also noticed you're here, and you seem to have things under control. I know what to do after I see justice. But what did you do after you've had your revenge, is the real question?", he asks, his brown eyes staring intensely at the taller man. "Right now, I'd take all the advice I can get, and I suggest you do the same."
"That's a fine question." The bard mused as he sat down next to the grizzled veteran. "Revenge is nothing in itself. It gives nothing. It simply takes something away. The best thing to do after Revenge is to forget about it and do something else. What you need is something to live for. I've got music, and my friends here at the house. Probably the smartest thing Zellara did was charge us to do something good for the city after Lamm. By giving us a positive goal, she helped us to see something good and pursue it."
He shook his head a bit, and his longish hair waved about his ears. "I've been planning to do some good in the city for quite some time, but I needed to get my house in order first. It's a bit of a trick, though, if you've never done it before."
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As dawn arced into the sky, a smattering of variant and eclectic people started assembling in the courtyard. They had an odd assortment of instruments, a sitar, a couple of cellos, violas, another violin. Two men carried in a marimba and went back for some tympani. An older man and a young girl brought in some flutes, and there was nearly a gaggle of clarinets along with an oboe and a bassoon and even a concertina. There were a smattering of lutes, cymbals and a shiny brass tuba. After some warming up, which sounded like a cacophony of hubris and twittering, the master of the house walked out and suddenly the place became silent.
He was dressed in his leathers, although his hair was a bit wild, along with his eyes. He looked like he was hungry, but no mere food would satisfy him. He raised his bow and played seven quick notes in succession, nodding to a young half orcish girl with her cello. Her hair lay about her face in a fearsome mop, but the sound that emanated from her instrument was swift but mournful. Sitting beside her was a gregarious man, nodding at his fellow cellist with approval and pride, and in due time matched her stroke for stroke before the whole collection broke out in symphony.
One of the clarinets stood up and began warbling in an emotive voice, singing these words above the din.
"Oh, young love of mine
She sleeps beneath the brine
And oh the sound, the tick
The weighty click of her heart against my spine
Now the dark is nigh
And she lays here at my side
But like a steady squall
Her arms they fall and her legs, they grasp me tight
Oh, young love, young dear
Why have you taken me in your fall?
All of my love, all of my life
Given to you, sacrificed"
Then most of the people who had no instrument to their lips sang out in chorus on the last word, breaking tight harmonies six to eight notes deep. The cathartic and furious melody broke in waves over the cobbled orchestra and despite the cool of the morning, a good many were warm and invigorated.
From that, Cal began discordant sounds, sea sawing back and forth and the rest of them followed along seamlessly, trilling and accenting, bringing out the major melody. It came through and turned broke forth into beauty, warming the melancholy of the morning into a lightness that was strange and wonderful.
After this, the master spoke a greeting to them all. "It is a troublesome morning, as many of you may know. The King has died, and many people have decided to riot today. The streets will be dangerous, so don't go out alone if you must go. I know some of you will be wanting to do it, and try to calm some of what's happening out there, just beware of the Hellknights. They've come into the city." A collective groan came over the group, but he continued. "Stay out of their way if you can, it's unfortunate, but we'll get through this."
"As for the music, you were all wonderful today. Vran, you surprised me today, that was excellent." There was some cheers and clapping while her fellow cellist ruffled her hair. "And Soifal, good vocals today, as usual. I'm very proud of how hard you're working. Make sure you get in your necessary practice, and be careful out there today. I've got too much business to stay with you for long today, but we do have some guests. Please thrill with your skill."
The band immediately began playing again with a woodwind run, getting things going leisurely and playfully as Calcedon walked off with a smile on his face.
Yaziyah hadn't slept very well; she wasn't used to such soft bedding and for a while she fought against the sensation that the mattress was about to swallow her like quicksand. In the end she abandoned the bed and slept on the carpet, rolled up in her cloak and spooning the coiled up weasel.
The dawn concerto is met with polite interest, but nothing more. Most of the instruments are alien to her, and so is the music. The music her people make is very different from this beast of many voices. The beating of the drums echoes the beating of the heart, the pounding of steps as they fall upon the earth when chasing prey, when fighting, when dancing. The bone rattles send the thoughts to the past and the future - the ancestors who came before us and the fate that awaits us all in the end. The voices rise in prayer, in story, in invocation - weaving the tie between the People and the land. She starts rolling her eyes at these lyrics, mewling about lost love, before she catches herself and rearranges her face in a more serious countenance. Obviously people have different customs here and she is a guest. Besides, the music is not without merit... in some parts of it.
After it is done, their host speaks the news to them all, and black grim news they are. The Hellknights! There is no love lost between them and the Shoanti, this order who is sworn to purge "barbarism" from the land. And it is so clear for them who is the savage and who the civilized. She chews on this for a while, barely hearing the closing piece. As things wind down, she approaches the half-orc girl who had been their guide the night before. "Hello, Vran. My name is Yaziyah, you showed us to our room last night. I don't mean to presume, but... have you had anyone look at your eyes? I know the priests can restore your sight, but they ask for coin and your... patron doesn't seem that well to do, despite being a noble. If you'd like," she hesitates for a beat, unsure if there is perhaps something else here, if the girl has chosen not to have her eyes healed, "I have... I know something that could help you. It takes time, to be sure, and it is not without risk..." She trails off, waiting for a response or a reaction from Vran.
At the sound outside, Mouse starts awake, her hands curled reflexively into fists and her eyes flitting back and forth to take in her surroundings...and then the reality of last night crashes in anew, and she remembers where she is. And when the sound resolves into order in her mind, she gravitates toward the window, pulling it open to let the wake-up call wash over her.
Music had had little to do with most of Mouse's life...at least what she remembered of it. The instruments the musicians held, battered though they were, would have kept her and the Lambs in meals for a week or more, or in Gaedren's favor for an evening (and she'd been hard-pressed to decide which she wanted more sometimes, before she'd seen his true cruelty). And anything loud had a chance of drawing attention - the last thing the big Lamm or the little Lambs wanted.
But since her departure, she'd made her way to the south end of the Heights a time or two, and found that lifting and carrying for the amphitheater there after performances made for a good day's pay, though the distance kept her from going often. She'd gotten to hear one of Cheliax's finest divas perform once, and another time a string quartet all the way from Absalom, if only from behind the curtains waiting to pack up once the shows were done. And of course, inns usually had a roving singer in residence, on the few occasions she went - though she generally favored the open-air food stalls of Bridgefront instead. Much cheaper, even if the meat was a bit more suspect sometimes.
But music, especially of the caliber that Calcedon's ersatz orchestra performed, was still a rarity, and one that fascinated Mouse. Making her way outside, she joins Yaziyah in standing to listen - and sees the disdainful look on the older woman's face, before the Shoanti woman masters it. Wha's th' matter, Miss Speaks For The Dead? Don't'cha like the playin'? she whispers as the concerto continues, staring raptly at the deft fingers of the cellist and the heartfelt expression on the singers' faces.
Still raking her fingers through her newly clean and surprisingly long hair, Mouse swivels around, half-expecting the child Lambs they'd rescued yesterday to come bursting outside at any moment. The music had drawn her out; she'd be shocked if it didn't draw a few of them outside as well. But then her stomach lets out a loud rumble, and she's reminded of one possible reason for their continued absence - they likely hadn't once had enough to eat in their lives, and now they were in a house that had never been touched by the kind of want that had plagued them their entire lives. They're prob'ly jus' achin' f'r a real good meal.
She herself hadn't eaten since the bread and wine at Zellara's - and with everything that had happened, who knew if that had even been real food? It had looked real, tasted real...but then, the harrower's very form had fooled them all, too, and they'd all sat in chairs apparently conjured from nothingness. But if it'd been jus' a picture, it wouldn't'a filled up my belly...or could it? Pondering the nature of illusion magic she'd never once experienced until the previous day, she wanders inside, oohing and ahhing at the fine decorations and seeing whether the Lambs were being fed - and whether some of that food might be able to come her way, too.
I will RP the Lambs, if you would like to set the scene for us? I'm thinking they were up even earlier, and Mouse will find them in the kitchen or dining room being fed breakfast. I don't know what the pantry situation in House Fordyce is like these days. I hesitate to describe this scene without your input :).
The young half orc sighs as Yazi talks to her about her eyes. She actually rolls her head around as if to say she's heard it before. "Look, ya can' eat promises. I earn ma own keep. I never as' fer no help." She stood up and picked up her cello, banging through the crowd to head to the main house.
The gregarious man next to her, also holding a cello actually laughed at the display, and winked at Yazi. "Heh, don't take it to heart lady. Vran's always been proud. It probably got her in trouble in the first place!" He laughed again and picked up his own instrument to follow her to breakfast.
As the noise from the breakdown of organization drifted through the courtyard, a strong smell began to drift through the house. Off the northern dining room came the smells of biscuits and gravy, and eventually the morning concert broke into partitions of instruction, laughter, story telling and moving of large instruments back out of the courtyard.
Within the kitchen, several hands finished prepping the food. A middle aged man pulled biscuits from the brick oven in the wall while an older lady stirred the gravy on the stove. For a noble's kitchen, it was an extremely meager meal, but it was far and above the normal street fare. Calcedon was nowhere to be seen, but a young Varisian woman with a young baby on her hip in a sling, fast asleep, placed dishes on the table, arranging them expertly.
Over in the corner, the five Lambs can be found, seated at a smaller, side table, already devouring biscuits. They eat ravenously, with their hands. In the daylight, you can see Toadie (the youngest among them), a fire-haired girl, a Tien boy, and another boy and girl both with dark skin (they could be twins). They all recognize Mouse, instantly huddling together in whispers and giggles at her approach. The red-head straightens, her eyes widening.
”Is it true, you’re da ones what made shark food outta Lamm?”
"Shark food shark food shark food!" Toadie begins to chant.
”Shhh!” hisses the other, dark-skinned girl at the table. ”We don’t know dat’s true. He. Might. Come. Back.” She mouths these last words in an exaggerated fashion, as though afraid Lamm himself might be standing beside them.
Red head looks a bit sheepish. "He's gone, ain't he?" she asks hopefully.
The house was big, bigger than any Mouse had ever seen - but not big enough that the aroma of sausage, pepper, and hot biscuits fresh from the oven couldn't fill it. Mouse had only to discover it and let her nose lead the way, guiding her through the halls with her rumbling stomach cheering on the effort. Arriving at the kitchen, she kneels next to the side table, splitting open a biscuit and spreading it with a bit of gravy before popping it into her mouth with her hands.
I's true, she answers, still mumbling around a few crumbs of biscuit. We wen' in an' fought 'im - killed 'im. Watched 'im fall from where he was hid up in the rafters my own self, an' Li looked 'im over good t' be sure, pushed 'im into the water once she was done lookin'. Though the old sinner had received his just desserts, and though the achievement certainly was monumental, Mouse's voice holds no trace of pride - but it does carry more than a trace of wistfulness, though she tries to hide it as she ruffles the girl's bright mop of red hair.
Y' ain't gotta worry about that old meanie no more, Elly - he ain't comin' back no more, 'cept mebbe in bad dreams, an' dreams can't hurt ya none. You're gonna stay 'ere for a bit now; things is gettin' some kind o' crazy outside, like y' saw las' night, so bein' 'ere inside these walls is gonna be the safest. An' this is a good place anyhow - did y' all 'ear the music they was playin' this mornin'? An' these is good, right? She gestures with the half-biscuit still in her hand, taking another bite. They'll take good care of ya - y' make sure t' be good to 'em right back, you hear? I don' wanna hear 'bout none of ya bein' naughty.
The song in Li's head when she wakes up that morning is quickly overshadowed by the musical display of Calcedon and his people. Li starts to tap her foot in time to the music, almost mesmerized by the back and forth motion of Calcedon's bow. She is amazed that such complex sounds are being made for the sheer joy of music. To her complete surprise, she finds herself humming along with the music towards the end. Embarrassed, she quickly looks around to make sure no one heard her.
After the concert finishes, Li follows the others to the kitchen. Li makes a point of remembering to let Calcedon know later that she could help in the kitchen to help repay for letting her stay in one of his rooms.
I's true, we wen' in an' fought 'im - killed 'im. Watched 'im fall from where he was hid up in the rafters my own self, an' Li looked 'im over good t' be sure, pushed 'im into the water once she was done lookin'.
The redhead nods seriously, as this answer seems to satisfy her. ”Good. Let the sharks eat ‘im. He’s so mean, though, they’d prolly just spit ‘im back out.”
”Shark food shark food…” begins Toadie.
”Sh!” Red-head shushes him again, then looks Mouse up and down, as if deciding whether or not to trust her. She must decide to do so, because she speaks again. ”They call me Blister, on account a da fire in ma hair, and this is Toadie, cuz he’s a wart on everyone’s heel, ’specially mine.”
“I am not!” Toadie yells, gesturing with his fork and showering Blister with a spray of gravy. It clings to her hair and pale skin, which starts to flush as the dark-skinned twins and the Tien boy begin to giggle hysterically. Toadie slowly sets down the fork and scoots toward them. Blister looks fit to be tied.
”Toadie!” she squeaks, wiping her face with her hand. ”Ya gone done and wasted food! Ugh!” She actually rolls her eyes toward Mouse, as if to say “see what I mean?” ”Anyway, dat’s Ziggy” (she gestures to the Tien boy, who immediately ducks below the table), ”and dem’s Auntie and Unx.” The dark-skinned pair smile weakly, though the boy gives a little wave.
You're gonna stay 'ere for a bit now; things is gettin' some kind o' crazy outside, like y' saw las' night, so bein' 'ere inside these walls is gonna be the safest. An' this is a good place anyhow - did y' all 'ear the music they was playin' this mornin'? An' these is good, right?
”Yea!” shouts Unx suddenly. ”Soifal said she’d teach me to sing! I bet I could make some good music!”
Auntie talks through a mouthful of biscuit. ”You shing tewible!” Unx looks at her with a look of disdain and opens his mouth to say something, but Blister interrupts them. ”Say, uh, what kinda work they ‘xpect we be doin’ to earn our keep?”
Garvid lifts his head from his plate, chewing deep in thought. "Auntie?", he asks, grinning at the girl. "No pressure on the big man, I hope.", he nods at Unx.
I'm pretty damn horrible with kids., he thinks, taking a sip from his glass. "Well, that's up for our host to say, if you ask me." He scratches his head. "First thing to do though, is learn how to keep clean after yourself.", he points towards a gravy stain on the table. I wonder how old the oldest one is. Can't be more than ten, tops. If they were any older, I'd send them to roam around town. You never know when you might need an ear to the ground.
He rubs his hands. "Well, since it seems like you'd be spending some time here, I might teach you all some tricks. Some of the knightly squire b$*@@#@*tery, though. How to sharpen a blade, hold it, and defend yourself and the people you care about. And some discipline." Artistry is nice and all, but we can't all be poets. Teach them some honor and a couple of skills now, and they might end up in a better place than a shopkeeper or a thief. As long as the noble doesn't think I'm about to raise an army., Garvid grins.
"Wha's th' matter, Miss Speaks For The Dead? Don't'cha like the playin'?"
The older woman shakes her head and smiles, responding in a whisper as well. "Not my kind of music, girl. Too flowery." She doesn't walk away though, applauding politely at the end of the performance. It is what she heard that posh people do at events such as these.
The apparent rejection from Vran doesn't ruffle her feathers; Yaziyah simply blinks at the half-orc's words and stands for a few long moments, watching the girl as she gathers her instrument and paces away. She nods at the other musician without looking at him, then follows everyone else to the kitchens. And given the size of the place, kitchens is indeed appropriate. She doesn't know anyone among her people who has a separate room for cooking, nevermind one of this size. But she supposes that nobles do everything on a scale larger than regular folk.
At breakfast, she eats her fill, watching the conversations play out, a half-smile playing on her face as she watches the children. I hope my nieces are safe. I hope all my people are safe.
The young Varisian mother finishes her work and takes a pewter tray filled with a couple biscuits without gravy and she leaves the dining room with a blank expression. Several minutes later, Cal enters the dining room and immediately makes note of how everyone is doing, instead of sitting down for a bite to eat. After seeing to his regular boarders, the young noble comes over to those he's only met yesterday.
He still looks a little haggard, but he's shaven now, and he has a fairly pleasant musky smell. "Good morning friends, I trust you slept well? Hopefully our meager breakfast has filled your stomach and provided you with your necessary fortitude." His own stomach, gurgled a bit at the mention of food. "Yes, yes, I suppose it is time for me to eat as well." He casually remarks as if his belly were another person in the conversation with a wink at the former Lamms. "I just have one more order of business first."
He smiles broadly and claps Garvid on the shoulder. "I've got a fairly sharp knife waiting for you in the mudroom when you're ready. I provided a hand mirror as well."
"What's a mud room?" asks Ziggy, finally speaking up.
"Don't you know?" replies Auntie with a I-know-something-you-don't-know tone. "It's a room where rich folks take off they shoes, on account a keepin' a clean house. I seen one once, even stepped inside."
"You're lyin'" says Unx, still sore about the singing comment.
"Nuh uuuuh," she says. "When we was casin' that old Chel woman in Midland, just a week t'ago, I seen it. She kept an imp for a pet in there, I bet."
"How'd you know, stupid?" he replies, "Imps's invisdible!"
"I knoooow, stupid, that's how come I's bettin'!" Unx is silent, seemingly beaten by Auntie's logic.
You guys was in Mister Cal's mudroom jus' yesterday, goofs - that's where you was takin' your baths. Mouse takes Unx into her lap and tousles his hair. Can't say nothin' bout no Chel woman in Midland, but I know there's loads o' imps in this mudroom, jus' waitin' t' grab little kids as is bein' naughty! She punctuates the jest with a rough tickle of little Ziggy's ribs and a grin. So I don't want to hear stories 'bout no makin' messes or fightin' - 'cept what Mister Garvid's showin' ya.
Suddenly her tone grows serious. An' I don't wanna hear bout y' filchin' nothin' that ain't yours, y' hear? Mister Cal an' his folks is bein' real good t' ya - they'll see y' fed an' taken care of, an' just outta bein' good people. Ask real nice if y' need somethin', an' 'member t' say please an' thank ya. Listen t' what they ask y' t' do, an' if y' see somethin' that needs doin' ask if y' c'n help git it done.
As she watches the grubby faces in front of her, Mouse is reminded of herself, a few months and a lifetime ago, when she had had to begin to learn how to make it on her own. When she'd gotten her shot at turning herself around - the same opportunity Blister, Toadie, Ziggy, Auntie, and Unx were now being given. It ain't like with the Lambs no more - you got a chance here, t' make somethin' o' yourselves without havin' t' steal or starve. Jus'...be good, mmk?
Leaving off her impromptu lecture, she turns to the others. So...we really goin' t' see 'Er Majesty? T' take the brooch back, an' tell 'er 'bout all the riotin' an' stuff? An' are we goin' today? I mean, it's still right crazy out, if you were sayin' right, Mister Cal... An'...I dunno if I got what I need for visitin' a palace. She looks down at her rough linen tunic, as clean as it's ever been but still torn and frayed. Ain't'cha s'posed t' dress all fancy goin' t' court, with silk an' jewelry an' stuff? I ain't never had none o' that...y' got anythin' I could use, Mister Cal, or maybe one o' your other folks? I mean, I don't wanna be no trouble, but...
The Lambs look at Mouse with a look of genuine surprise.
”Nuh uh!” Unx protests, looking as though he’s trying to convince himself.
”But that wasn’t no room. That was as big as a house!” exclaims Auntie. ” Why a feller need so much room to take he shoes off?”
”Anyway!” says Ziggy, ”If’n there was imps flyin’ round, they’da snatched Toadie already. He done took a spoon!” Toadie gives Ziggy an impossibly dirty look, then slowly reaches up his sleeves and withdraws a spoon, placing the contraband back on the table with a guilty look.
”Ugh, Toadie!” Blister squeaks again.
______________________
Gossip from the street trickles into the house. A mob has rioted in Domina Square, just outside Castle Korvosa, this very morning. The hellknights took control of the situation in their usual fashion, leaving several dead, many wounded, and some imprisoned in Citadel Volshyenek’s jails. With the strike of the dock workers and gatemen, supply shipments have ceased entering the city, with further riots breaking out in a fight to claim what supplies were abandoned on existing ships and carts. Many suspect a food shortage is imminent, as grocers have barricaded their shops, only to have them broken and pillaged by fearful and desperate citizens. In many areas, the thin line between civil order and crime has blurred, as the most desperate of Korvosa’s citizens have realized that the military arm has faltered. Robberies, assaults, and other violent crimes are spreading, especially through Old Korvosa. There are far too many bridges in Bridgefront to closely monitor now, and thugs and vagrants freely cross into North Point.
East Shore, isolated as it is from the rest of the city, remains relatively incubated against this wave of anarchy. Still, the necessary diversion of peacekeepers from the district has resulted in great danger for any who roam the streets in isolation. Ironically, perhaps the safest places now are the Thief Camp and Trail’s End, little more than permanent refugee camps that rest on the eastern shore of the Jeggare, on the Varisian mainland, where life continues in misery, just as it always has.
Cal smiled at the kids' antics, obviously used to having to deal with such things. "I've already got a few people interested in teaching you kids a few things. If you're interested in music, art, or even owning your own shop someday. I also know a few people who I might be able to convince if you want to learn a trade as well. I urge you to try a couple different things and see what you're good at. Some of the people here will help you figure that out and get you to become something amazing."
At the note of getting dressed up to see the queen, Cal scratched his chin. "The Queen is not unaware of the humility of some of her subjects. That being said, you should wear the best you have. I imagine you've not really had time to shop with our gains from last night though. One of you ladies would look out of place if the others did not also raise the state of dress you're in. I can take you to the dressing room. I'm sure you can find something at least temporarily there. Garvid, I think I might have something for you if you like, at least perhaps an old set of dress leathers that we could polish up to a nice shine..." It's clear that he's already picturing what he wants to dress up the whole crew in as his eyes gain a faraway look.
"After breakfast, we'll be off to the third floor. There's a whole room full of different clothes, I'm sure we can find something suitable for everyone!"
Chewing the last few bites of her biscuit all at once, Mouse reaches for another - though this time she follows Cal's lead and uses the plate rather than eating out of hand. Soun's good, she nods to Cal's suggestion. An' I can't thank y' 'nuff for alla this - th' place t' stay, th' food, th' clothes... Her eyes travel to the little Lambs enjoying likely the heartiest meal of their lives, and she pours as much gratefulness as she knows how into her final look at Calcedon.
When she's finished (two helpings later), she gathers up her dishes, along with the dishes of the Lambs who have finally managed to tear themselves away from the table, and carries them into the kitchen. 'Scuse me, miss...'m sorry, I didn't catch y'r name, she half-mumbles to the young Varisian mother. Where c'n I put these t' get cleaned? Or I c'n do it, if y' jus' point out a spot... Looking down at the baby, she can't help but grin. 'E looks 'bout as comfy as I ever seen anyone.
Once the dinner things are seen to, she returns to the dining room, nodding slightly at Calcedon. 'M ready...when y' are, o' course. Don't rush y'rself none f'r me.
Yaziyah's lips thin at the mention of fancy clothing, but then she smiles at Mouse. "You in courtier's dress, that will be a sight. But don't expect me to dress up. I am who I am and if Her Majesty doesn't like it, that's too bad." She pauses, frowning. "I am very worried about my people. I'm dying to get some news of them, but by the sound of it the streets are less than safe. But if we're heading to the palace... perhaps Thousand Bones is still there and he knows something."
After breakfast, she helps tidy up, gathering and stacking dirty dishes, wiping the table and arranging chairs. After eyeing the children for a moment, she hands them out small packages of dried meat and dried fruit. "Here, something to chew on until the next meal." In her experience, children are always hungry and these ones even more so, as they have most likely suffered from privation.
Over the course of the day, the atmosphere on the estate is tidal. For some, like the Lambs, the mood tilts toward nearly ecstatic glee as they are introduced to the wonders of the rich ("Clean skivvies on da daily?!"), and receive their work assignments from Roland and Vran. Gaedren's death is a joyous occasion, to be sure, and perhaps many of them breathe a little easier knowing that his wicked ways are done.
But in this, the light of a new day, some have realized that a taint lingers on their souls. Gaedren was only one man in a city swarming with crooks, thieves, murderers, and the criminal masterminds who oversee their grizzly work. Gaedren's demise has lifted their spirits, surely, but it also highlights the nature of this city, that where one wart is cut off, three more may sprout in its place.
This simple truth is inescapable, what with the turmoil that rages all around the edges of the estate. Far to the west, beyond the expanse of the Jegarre, Citadel Crest rises above sea level. Castle Korvosa's gothic spires dominate the skyline, even from this distance. Platoons of Sable Company Marines are in constant flight, patrolling the edges of the Castle as well as taking the fight where it's needed elsewhere in the city. They swarm like bats. The occasional arcane detonation reverberates off of buildings, and rioting citizens can still be seen, though the number of armed Korvosan Guard and Hellknights seems to be drastically overtaking the anarchists.
In the third floor of the Fordyce Estate, however, this state of anarchy is temporarily forgotten. Here, in dreamlike moments that seem to span hours, our heroes are presented with garments the likes of which many of them have only ever dreamed of. Laid out lovingly across large, soft beds, tuxedos, court dresses, and ball gowns flood the eye with their complex patterns and sophisticated craftsmanship. Here, Zellara's chosen gather, preparing for an audience with the Queen.
Garvid nods at the suggestion. "As long as it doesn't have those weird frills, I'm in. If I had the time, I'd probably get something tailored. A mercenary's outfit or something similar. Not going to say no to a gift suit though, even if it's not bespoke.", he grins at Calcedon. "And kids, if you want to make sure that folk like Lamm don't harass others like you, you might consider joining the Guard. Or the birdbrains, if you're so inclined.", he says, leaning down. "Always looking for honest people."
Garvid looks up at Yazi. "Thousand Bones? Sounds like a name I should know.", he asks, sending a small smile at the Shoanti woman. "If I had to go on assumptions, thousand is about five bodies worth of bones. Might be good to know if I should watch out.", he grins. "Probably less skeletons in the closet than most people in the palace, though.", he says, before wincing. "That was a bad, bad pun."
Li looked at all the fancy clothes with scepticism. "Is this really necessary? I never wore anythin' so fancy and I don't wanna be ruinin' any of tha nice things." Li thought a little harder before adding, "I don't think I've even wore a dress before. How do ya even choose?"
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I dunno...y' jus'...try 'em on, see what fits good, what colors y' like best? In truth, Mouse was almost as lost as Li when it came to fancy dress...but you were supposed to dress up to visit royalty, and the first thing Mouse had learned earning her keep from catering to high society was that people simply responded better when she did her best to act as she was expected to. She molded herself to their expectations, just as she had molded herself to Zellara's, to Gaedren's...and losing herself was easy, when she didn't truly know who her self was.
Eyeing the dresses with an air of confusion, she finally settles on one that looks about the same width as her tunic, a green velvet gown with gold and white accents. But then lying beneath it is some kind of mountain of ruffles, a stiff piece of fabric with ties down the back, another slimmer-fitting gown in a pale beige...an' it's all s'posed t' go together? But hauling the pile behind a folding screen, she finally begins to piece the puzzle together. If I ain't never seen these, they're prob'ly s'posed t' go under...the ruffles, some kind o' skirt maybe, with the ties at the waist?
After several minutes' more effort, she re-emerges with every piece in more or less the right place, though the bodice is a tent around her waist and it's clear the corset is sitting on her hips rather than fitting close. Judging size off her baggy tunic clearly didn't work out so well. This ain't what it's s'posed t' look like, is it?
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Three tries later, she finally settles on a slim-skirted sky blue gown - a simple day dress to someone in the know, designed for afternoon tea and rambles through the countryside, but to her still one of the nicest things she's ever touched, let alone worn. It's loose over her small chest and a few inches too long, but it's styled to be worn without a corset, and she'd quickly given up on those after the second gown, when she'd discovered how an almost-properly-fitted one was supposed to wear.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she can't help but stare in wonder for a few moments. Seeing herself in a mirror was strange enough to begin with, but the woman standing before her, long black hair tumbling over smooth silk and stiff organza, looks like a completely different person from the one who'd unloaded ships all day yesterday, and slogged through a fishery all evening. Y' could almost mistake me for some kind o' lady... And yet one link remains - the scar on her chest, its end peeking out past the dress's square neckline.
Turning to the room, she spins slowly, nervously meeting everyone else's eyes in turn. Well? she squeaks, looking most intently at Calcedon. This right? I done it up ok?
Yaziyah claps slowly as Marial pirouettes to show off her new clothes. For she was no Mouse now; even her posture had changed. I wonder how I would look in one of these.... But she chases the thought away. She must not forget herself, especially when facing the Queen. Who knows, perhaps looking different to what the queen is used to and what she expects will be a good thing. Or perhaps not. Only time will tell. Suddenly, she longs to be outside, to feel earth beneath her feet and hear the wind in the grass. The grand mansion feels like a cage of marble and gilded steel; she wants to act, not stand around and play dress-up. She shakes off that feeling too, strides towards Marial. "Now let's see what we can do with that lovely hair of yours. Get me some combs and hairpins, I'll put it up nicely."
A childish snigger, followed by a harsh Shh!, followed by an "Ow! comes from the doorway. A mess of red hair can be seen ducking back into the hall, though Blister is immediately pushed back into view by...Ziggy, who tumbles out ahead of...Toadie, who is railroaded by...Unx and Auntie. The children collapse into a tangle of small arms and legs, cursing each other like sailors, but giggling furiously all the same.
Blister sits up, gasping at the sight of Mouse. "Gosh, Mouse, I'd never'd knowed ya if I'd seen ya. Ya really goin' t' da castle??" .
"O' course, dummy!" says the sassy Auntie. "What, you thinkin' she dress like dat for church?" Auntie climbs to her knees, her hands clasped in mock piety as her eyes turn to the ceiling. "Dear gods, thank you fer deliverin' us to Mr. Calcedon and his good food. It's way better than them dock dumplins, ew!"
Li still had her doubts about playing dress-up but she took her lead from Mouse. The rogue chose a dark burgundy dress with brocade details. It felt foreign being in a dress and Li felt vulnerable without her armor. She stood awkwardly and quietly with her arms crossed as if trying to protect herself. She was surprised that the dress fit her as well as it did, almost like it had been made for her. "This better be workin' in gettin' us in ta see tha queen. I be feelin' ridiculous and hopefully it's not fer no reason."
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_______
By the next morning, the worst of the civil unrest and outbreaks of riots have been quelled, thanks to swift action by the Korvosan Guard, the Sable Company, and the Hellknights. Yet still a thick tension hangs in the air, and riots, fires, lootings, and similar events continue to erupt, with certain small parts of the city remaining entirely out of control. Shops and grocery halls stand open to the elements, their doors and window shutters destroyed by looters. Their interiors are a mess of broken jars, spoiled foodstuffs, and torn fabrics and books. An eerie silence permeates Midland now, because for all the noise the soldiers make as their platoons march up and down the streets, there is a distinct lack of life. The urban fervor that usually alights through the air, bringing the city to life in a glow of the washed and the unwashed, the constables and the crooks, is gone. There is no music from buskers on street corners, no shouts or laughter from open bars and brothels. There is now only the sound of martial law.
Keeping your heads low and your feet moving, you actually make it through Eodred's Walk without incident. While the occasional guards ask you to state your business, your level of dress throws off most suspicion. Soon Field Marshal Avenue sprawls ahead of you and, towering above you, Castle Korvosa itself.
As a terrifying testament to the power of whatever mighty overlord ruled this land thousands of years ago, Castle Korvosa's long shadow looms over the city. A magnificent achievement of architecture, the castle’s walls and gothic spires rise high into the sky above. The entire structure looms even higher for its ancient foundation--a Thassilonian ruin in the shape of an immense flat-topped pyramid. Although one corner of this impressive foundation has fallen into ruin, the additions built onto the sides by eager and talented Korvosan masons have created one of the most recognizable landmarks in all of Varisia.
Castle Korvosa can usually be approached from all four directions--ramps or stairways allow access up the sides of the pyramid to the courtyard surrounding the central structure. Normally, petitioners to the monarchy (such as yourselves) would approach from the Great Ramp, wait in the Public Courtyard to speak to the Korvosan Guards on duty, and hope for a chance to be heard. In these frantic times, however, the Castle itself has been locked tight and bristles with pikes and crossbows. Indeed, as you take your first step up the stairs, a contingent of guards, weapons drawn, halts you in your steps.
"Oi! Sta'e yoor bi'ness or piss off!"
So as Yazi turned down the change of clothes, the young head of house Fordyce was fairly disappointed, although he didn't let it show. His acting was good enough for that at least. "Come Garvid, let's get you in that jerkin I was talking about." It isn't long before they return, Garvid looking slightly more stately than he had before, especially with the shave.
When he returned, he felt an odd thing to see the former Lamms looking more like proper ladies than he expected. Mouse managed to wear something fairly appropriate while Li somehow picked out one of his mother's old favorites, fitting it expertly. He stood there, stunned for a moment at the transformation, and then recovered appropriately. "Well, we'll need to tailor Mouse's dress. Once it fits a bit more properly, she'll be ready to go. But Li, you have no need of that. Yours fits perfectly."
The next day, Calcedon himself was arrayed in an impressive attire, though old for anyone with a discerning eye, it managed to be fairly appropriate and decorative for the occasion. Normally any house attempting to catch the queen's favor would show up in their absolute best, but House Fordyce was much less than it used to be. Much, much less. As such, his absolute best was much not much more than any other house would wear daily. In any case, he did wear the locket. It was the most expensive piece of jewelry he possessed, besides the queen's seal of course, but he was about to give that particular thing up.
As they were accosted on the steps, Calcedon came back with a quick and sophisticated retort, meeting the sneer of the guard with a lackadaisical smile. "We have business with the queen that's a bit more than your unpolished ears should hear. As you can see, we're not here dressed for a fight. So let us through to a person more suited to hear our petition. As it is, if you must fetch someone, tell them the Head of House Fordyce has come bearing a small token for the queen."
Court dealings were always laced with subtlety, but dealing with guards rarely was. As much as Cal was not fond of some of the ruling class' decisions, one had to know how to talk to them to get anywhere. He had an idea for introductions more proper when they actually got to someone important, but for now, this should suffice to get their foot in the door.
Mouse stays in the back, her hands tensing around handfuls of her skirt as she prepares to lift its hem to climb the stairs. She was better off than the others, she knew - as comfortable with her fists as with any blade, she'd be ready if it did come to blows (even if she was trussed up like the goose Grub had stolen from a butcher's window once). But for now, it was words that were needed, and Calcedon was the masterful wielder of those most cutting of weapons, she knew.
So while Calcedon speaks, Mouse simply stares at the imposing structure rising before her. She'd seen Castle Korvosa before, of course - it was a nigh-unavoidable sight in the city, rising high to dominate the skyline. But she'd never had any reason to come so close before, and the thought of the guards - these guards - was plenty to deter any idle wandering. So she'd always given the place a wide berth, on the few occasions she'd made her way across St. Alika's straits to the main part of the city. But now she was here, and what's more, going inside...it still made her head spin.
Leaning over to the others, she whispers while Calcedon converses with the guards. 'S somethin', innit?
"We have business with the queen that's a bit more than your unpolished ears should hear. As you can see, we're not here dressed for a fight. So let us through to a person more suited to hear our petition. As it is, if you must fetch someone, tell them the Head of House Fordyce has come bearing a small token for the queen."
The guard bristles at Calcedon’s quip, his hand quivering as it looks like it might reach for his mace. ”What…” But his eyes quickly travel up and down Calcedon’s person, no doubt regarding his manner of dress which, although out-of-date according to the latest Chelish fashions, no doubt impresses an image of nobility and importance upon the lowly guardsman.
”Er...Don’t move.” He says gruffly. He speaks with his men behind the temporary blockade that has been set up at the pyramid’s base, then steps aside to wave you through. ”But,” he says, gesturing toward a large strongbox set back behind the guards, ”Leave yoor weap’ns. All’f em. None’s allowed in’ter castle.” He and a half dozen of his fellows stand by, watching you closely.