CURSE OF THE CRIMSON THRONE
Chapter 1: Edge of Anarchy
Pharast 3, 4708
It has been a long winter in Korvosa and the first signs of spring are just beginning to emerge. Nonetheless, this morning is grey and dreary as a soft rain falls on the city's cobblestone streets. As the sun rises over the Mindspin Mountains and the first sunbeams of the day reflect off the Jeggare, the city awakens.
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Alastair is shocked.
Who could've put this here? And unnoticed? I have no choice but to go, though. For Alex.
He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of a bad memory, and continues down the street to find something to eat.
Rivane tucks the card in an inner pocket of his vestments, and focuses on the mornin services.
After leaving the chapel, the oracle goes to his quarters where he examines the card with a spell of magic detection.
If what this card says is true, that bastard Gaedren will be in the care of the Lady of the Graves really soon.
He conducts his daily affairs and at sunset, after asking for directions at the Cathedral, he heads for Lancet Street.
Xavaros reads the words scrawled on the back of the Harrow card for the third time before finally allowing himself to blink. After the fifth reading, he takes a deep breath and carefully places the card back in his spellbook, closing the cover. Turning aside the theadbare blankets, he rises and begins to dress. Putting on his dark grey linen breeches, he stares blankly out the window. 'I know what Gaedren has done to you.'
He pulls his once white, now grey shirt over his head and hastily tucks it into his pants, fastening his belt as he does so.'He has wronged me as well.'
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he laces his worn leather shoes and ties them onto his feet. 'I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.'
Opening his pack, he places his spellbook inside along with a sack containing his writing supplies and what little coin he has left. 'Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset.'
Walking across the room to a rusted footlocker against the far wall, Xavaros pulls an iron key from his pocket and fits it into the lock, popping the lid open. 'Others like you will be there.'
Reaching into the chest, Xavaros pulls out a heavy bundle wrapped in sheet of burlap. Setting the bundle on the bed, he unwraps it to reveal a crossbow, a quiver of bolts, and a dagger. Fastening the quiver and the dagger onto his belt, he picks up the crossbow and tests the weight. 'Gaedren must face his fate.'
Pulling a bolt from the quiver, he loads it into the crossbow, pulling back the lever until the bolt clicks into place. Hefting the loaded weapon, he tests the sights and takes aim at a cockroach slowly scuttling across the wall above his bed. 'And justice must be done.'
Xavaros squeezes the trigger.
Red puts down her drink and studies the card palmed in her hand, a faint crease appearing on her brow.
She knew what Harrow cards were - at least, the part of her that was Varisian vaguely remembered. She'd never liked the idea of little bits of paper being able to change her future, and she certainly didn't believe that they could.
But someone, whoever had written on this card, apparently knew things. About her. About Kristen. Knew where she could find the man responsible for it all. Sham fortune-telling or not, she couldn't afford to pass this chance up.
"Destin..." Red slides a coin across the bar, her voice still husky from the previous night's attempt to forget the spreading numbness inside her chest. "Do you know who... lives at 3 Lancet Street?"
Nodding at his reply, Red carelessly tosses back what's left of her pint before retrieving her belongings. Without bothering to pull the hood of her cloak up, she strides out into the rain, daring the sky to do its worst.
"What the blazes is this?" Travigan looks about the room, as if he might catch whoever left the card as they try to slink away. Muttering to himself about apprentices and foolish pranks, he tosses the card away and continues preparing for the day's work.
As the burly half-elf breaks for lunch and tosses his apron over the rickety wooden coat rack by the door, the same card slips out of the front pouch and flutters to the floor, coming to a rest just before his feet. Grumbling, he bends down and snatches it up angrily before storming through the door. He growls at the card threateningly, as if it were a ornery young child, "Now you'd best not be trying to pull the wool over ol' Travigan's eyes if you know what's good for you! If these legs walk all the way over to blasted Lancet street and this ain't fer real, one o' us ain't comin' back!" He slams the card down on the table, grumbles and grouses to himself as his fixes and eats his lunch, then grumpily stuffs the card into his belt pouch before returning to the forge for the afternoon.
He closes shop an hour early, sends his apprentice on her way, then forgets to take off his heavy leather apron before heading out for Lancet Street.
At the appointed time, you arrive at the little house on Lancet Street. After walking up the steps, you find the door to be ajar and a soft light to be coming from within. Stepping inside, you find a cozy chamber filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice. The haze comes from several sticks of incense smouldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke itself seems to soften edges and gives the room a dream-like feel. The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling men’s hearts, another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall hooded figure shrouded in mist, a flaming sword held in a skeletal hand. Several brightly-colored rugs cover the floor, but the room’s only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throwcloth and several elegant tall-backed chairs. A basket covered by blue cloth sits under the table.
Sitting atop the table, you find a simple note weighed down with a stone paperweight. It reads:
"Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please, have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you."
Travigan enters the house, looking about inquisitively as he does so. "Hello? HELLO?" Not hearing a response, he sighs heavily as the tapestries swallow up the sound of his voice. He reads the note on the table then glances underneath to acknowledge the presence of the basket. Sighing again, he rolls his eyes and mutters to himself, "Oh, aye, this is surely on the up an' up, ain't it just? Smelly incense, creepy-as-Rovagug's-balls tapestries, and nary a soul in sight."
He slumps sullenly into a chair, his back to the black-skulled heart-juggler, and begins flipping the harrow card he'd found earlier in the day between his fingers. Might as well wait for a bit longer at least. I'm already here aren't I?
Alastair approaches the house and absent-mindedly draws one of his many daggers concealed around his body. He hides it, and goes inside.
Travigan jolts as someone walks into the house, genuinely surprised someone actually showed up. He remains seated, but roars at the newcomer nonetheless, "Eh?! Who're you then? I take it you're the mysterious so 'n so who can help me get you know who? Well?! Out with it! Naomi ain't gettin' any more un-lost now is she?"
His pack and crossbow strapped to his back, Xavaros turns the corner onto Lancet Street just as a frigid wind blows in from the West. Pulling his cloak tighter to resist the chill, he walks the rest of the way up the street, up the steps of #3, and through the door.
Staring intently at the tapestries surrounding the chamber, Xavaros nearly trips over the little halfling man who had apparently just entered as well. "My apologies little fellow, I didn't see you there." Looking up from the halfling, he notices the middle aged half-elf at the table. "Ah, hello. I didn't see you either it seems," he says with a slightly embarrassed smile.
Confusion growing ever so slightly in his mind, Travigan casts a suspicious look at both of the newcomers.
"Two of ye? I can't say I was expectin' that, but no matter. What do ye know o' Naomi and why the silly card and sneaky-sneak, hush-hush stuff? Jus' be plain and tell me what ye know so so 'n so can get what's comin' to him!" He throws the harrow card onto the table then slaps his hand down on top of it loudly, his excitement, frustration, and burgeoning confusion getting the better of his patience.
Rivane walks down the street, using his spear as a staff. He pauses before the door of the apropiate house, and hearing the conversation inside, opens the door and steps through.
"Good evening. I am Rivane Hears-the-Departed, priest of Pharasma. If this card is to be trusted, it seems we share a common enemy." He says showing the harrow card. "I am sorry to say I know nothing of this Naomi you speak of."
Turning to face the newcomer, Xavaros reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own card, holding it up for all to see. "I don't know anyone named Naomi either, but I believe you are correct in regards to our common foe." Glancing down to the halfling and back up to the half-elf, he continues, "Do you all seek Gaedran Lamm?"
Rivane's silver eyes flash in anger and his otherworldly voice thunders.
"I do. He has a blood debt to pay, and by Pharasma and all the Ancestors, he will be made to pay it. What greviance has infliced that cur upon you?" He asks to all the gathered.
Alastair nods his assent.
"He caused my brother's death. I want nothing more than to put my dagger through his back."
A dagger deftly slides into his right hand, which he twirls and then slides it back into position up his sleeve, almost unconsciously.
He took my whole life from me.
At the sound of loud male voices from inside the house, Red halts where she is on the front steps, momentarily uncertain of what comes next.
You must. You owe her that much.
Without bothering to knock, Red takes a deep breath and eases open the door, her left hand tightly gripping the handle of one of her kukris. As those inside the house look up at her approach, Red deftly retrieves the harrow card from where's she tucked it inside her belt, holding it up with a slight flourish.
"... I'm looking for... the one who sent this."
"Three of ye- bah, now four! That's five of us what got these blasted little cards?" The broad chested half elf rises, slapping both hands on the table and rumbles, "My name is Travigan Frost but I'm not the one who brought this merry troop together. I'm here because me brother's youngest, Naomi, went missing some time ago. The closest I've got to who took her is a name, an' it belongs to that black-blooded, thrice-damned, motherless son of a donkey's arse Gaedren Lamm." His face is flushed with anger as his finishes. After a moment, he takes a steadying breath, willfully calming himself down. When he continues, his tone is soft and considerate, "Ah, forgive me. I lose me head sometimes. Who're you lot then?"
Red holds her ground as the one who calls himself Travigan slams his massive hands on the table.
"I am Red. I've been looking for Gaedren Lamm. My... friend... has been murdered." The lie slips easily from her lips after years of practice. Nevertheless, Red looks away as she speaks, her voice low and her eyes narrowed in silent pain, unable to shake the image of Kristen's broken body, lying there in the alley.
"I... I have reason to believe that he... or one of his gang's got something to do with it," she finishes in a fierce whisper.
Stepping further into the room, Xavaros takes a seat at the table and pours himself a mug of wine. "I am Xavaros Dalanar. Thanks to our mutual friend Lamm, I've spent the past fifty years behind bars beneath Citadel Volshyenek." He pauses to look up at the others, "Wrongfully accused of course." Setting the bottle down, he sits back and takes a long drink. "It seems Lamm has made quite a few enemies since I saw him last."
"He has indeed," answers a woman's voice from the door. As all heads turn towards the new arrival, an attractive middle aged Varisian woman with long dark hair enters the room. Making her way through the chamber, she sits down at the head of the table, produces a Harrow deck from a pocket, and idly shuffles the cards. Her skill with the deck is obvious as the cards seem to float and dance over her hands and the table. With a nod of her head towards the remaining empty chairs, indicating you are all welcome to sit, she begins to speak in a soft but clear voice.
“Thank you for coming, my friends, and for putting up with my unconventional method of contacting you. I have reason to remain hidden, you see — a terrible man would see great harm done to me if he knew I was reaching out for help. This is a man you know, for he has done something terrible to each of you as well. I speak, of course, of Gaedren Lamm, a man whose cruelty and capacity to destroy the lives of those he touches are matched only by his gift for avoiding reprisal. You see, a year ago, his thieves stole this, my Harrow deck, from me. It is important to me, an heirloom passed down through a dozen generations, and also my sole means of support. When pickpockets stole it, my son, Eran, tracked them down. The thieves were in the employ of Gaedren Lamm, and in reward for finding them, Gaedren murdered my son.
“I sought help from the Guard, but they turned me away. And so I asked around. I paid bribes. I consulted my Harrow deck for advice. And recently, I was rewarded — I found out where Gaedren dwells. He can be found in an old fishery north of here at Westpier 17, where he trains his abducted children to be pickpockets and counts his stolen treasures."
"And now, I need your help. I cannot hope to face this man on my own, and the Guard moves so slowly that if I were to go to them, Gaedren would certainly know of their coming well in advance. Even if they did arrest him — what guarantee would I have he would be punished? This criminal has evaded the law for decades. But you know of these frustrations as well, for word on the street has it that Gaedren has wronged each of you, too. So there we are. It is time for him to pay.”
Setting down her Harrow deck, she passes her eyes over each of you in turn, waiting for a reply.
How do we know that we can trust even her? Perhaps this is a trap.
"What exactly do you propose we do? Gods know that I hate Lamm as much as anyone, but I don't fancy getting myself caught by his men."
"Aye, what he said!" Travigan gestures to Alastair as he focuses his attention on their mysterious benefactor. "Yer wantin' us to what? Storm 'is provervible gates? Not that I wouldn't mind doin' jus' that, but how're we to know you're on the up an' up? If you've got a name to go along with your fancy story, that'd be a good place ta start."
"My name is Zellara," replies the woman calmly, despite the brusque questioning. "I don't make any claims as to a lack of danger involved in what may lie ahead, but if you desire to take down Lamm as much as I suspect you do, I am confident that you can find a way around any impediments which may arise."
Red nods grimly to herself, arms folded as she listens. She knows about precious things being stolen. She knows all about the Korvosan Guard being slow for people who have no noble title and who aren't of Chelish stock. Oh yes, she does.
"I will make him pay.," she growls aloud, her eyes bright with sudden fury and her hands fisted as she glares at Zellara meaningfully in the eye."He won't... hurt anybody any more. I will kill him for you. Alone if I... have to. But I want to know this first."
Stalking to the side of the table, Red stands before the older woman and firmly slaps the harrow card she received face-down on the table before her. "Who told you about me? What do you know about... my friend?" There is the barest hint of a plea in Red's voice, despite the anger in her movements.
Hearing the others' tales, Rivane explains his own.
"I was married. His name was Fane, and he was a priest of Serenrae. And now he is dead, either by Gaedren's hand or on his orders."
Rivane listens to the fortuneteller's story, comprehending and sharing her grief. He also shares her reservations with the Guard... After all, they couldn't even find the connection between Lamm and Fane's murder.
"I will see Gaedren dead. Irok devit fendrik swork, by blood it is sworn." He sees Travigan's and Alastair's reticency and speaks to them. "I feel the spirits have had a hand in our meeting, and I'd say they have choosen well the agents of their vengeance. I say we five could take that spineless coward down, and I hope Red and I don't have to attempt it alone... Every sunrise Lamm lives to see, it's another day your Naomi is lost, another day his lies go unpunished, and another day our loved ones go unavenged."
Zellara fixes her gaze on Red and her eyes soften, "I know what Gaedran has taken from you child. For the wrong he has done to you and to us all, he must be punished. As for how I know, I listen to the music of the city and my Harrow cards tell me more than they tell most." Picking up her deck again, she resumes shuffling the cards. "If you would like, I can give you a reading, free of charge of course, to guide you on your path."
Travigan sighs deeply, his sense of urgency beginning to outweigh whatever distrust he might harbor, "If this'll help me find an' save Naomi, then aye, I'll help however I might. Still, a reading as you offer, Zellara, might go a distance in settlin' me nerves. I'd 'preciate it at least, though I can't rightly speak for any o' you others."
Xavaros raises an eyebrow, "I have heard of Harrow divinations. If you possess the skill to read the cards, please proceed." He then turns to Rivane, "As for the business with Lamm, I am with you. Together, we will make him pay."
...A card reading?!
Red stiffens and lifts her head ever so slightly. There is a man who needs killing, a woman who claims to know where he is, and here she is fooling about with silly bits of paper instead of doing what needs to be done?
She is about to protest at this outrageous waste of time when the realisation hits her - that if Zellara speaks true, then this Harrow deck is all she has left of her son. Her son who was taken from her, murdered by Gaedren Lamm.
Red briefly closes her eyes to contain the sudden upsurge of emotion. All the rage, all the pain that she's been feeling these past weeks. Surely, Zellara has gone through the same. Perhaps worse. Red's never been a parent, but if the feeling of losing a child is anything like what Red felt for Kristen or when her mother faded away all those years ago... And for a parent, not yet old, to see your children die before you...
"A reading... will be all right." Taking a deep breath, Red looks up and nods at Zellara, her voice gone unexpectedly gentle.
As she casually shuffles the deck, Zella begins to smile. The cards dance between her hands with increasing speed and fluidity as the lights in the chamber begin to grow dim. "Time," Zellara begins speaking in a husheed tone, "Time is a path we walk all but blind, glimpsing only the ground at our feet. Looking back, we see shadowy traces of what has passed. Looking forward, there is naught but mist. The Harrow sheds light on the path of time. Its cards are stepping stones, which we walk up and down upon to see what has been, what is, and what might be. These sights can weigh on a harrower's soul, but they also grant great opportunities to change not only what might be, but what has been, and everything in between."
Setting the deck down in the center of the table, Zellara passes her eyes over each of you in turn. "First, I will conduct a choosing. This will determine your role in the events to come." Spreading out the deck and drawing nine cards, seemingly at random, she sets them out in front of you face down. "Now, choose.
2 - The Cricket
3 - The Juggler
4 - The Locksmith
5 - The Peacock
6 - The Rabbit Prince
7 - The Avalanche
8 - The Crows
9 - The Demon's Lantern
"Choose a card, eh? That all there is to it then? Well alright..." Travigan hesistates for only a moment before slapping his meaty palm down on a card and flipping it over.
"Bah! 'is sword is broken! Shoddy work that, shoulda got his blade from me 'fore prancin' into a fight. Ha!"
Zellara's eyes light up as The Choosing begins in earnest. "Ah, the Rabbit Prince. He is battle personified and nothing if not capricious. I can see you are an able warrior, but beware - his broken sword shows that any combatant can fall in battle, no matter how brave or skilled."
May the Ancestors guide my hand. Rivane thinks as he passes his hand over the remaining cards. He turns over the card that speaks to him most.
As Rivane turns the card, Zellara visibly shudders and gives him a grave look. "The Demon's Lantern. These will-o'-wisps and the man who sought their light represent an impossible or intractable situation. If you are not cautious, traps and tricks of those who wish to do you harm could lead to your demise."
Narrowing his eyes, Xavaros considers the remaining cards carefully before making his choice.
As Xavaros flips his card, Zellara draws a deep breath, glancing between it and The Demon's Lantern that was flipped previously. "This does not bode well. The Avalanche. This card, simply put, is disaster. It is an unthinking, unreasoning thing that overruns all who get in its way. It is possible this disaster can be averted, but there will be consequences."
When the Rabbit Prince card is drawn, Alastair reaches into his pocket, but finds nothing.
I know that was the card I found this morning. How did she get it back?
He stands up tall and grabs a card, turning it over and placing it face-up on the table in the blink of an eye.
"Never been much a fan of locks."
"Hmmm, The Locksmith. He presents the keys one needs to unlock one's destiny. But though he grants the tools, he does not grant insight into how or where to use the tools thus granted." Looking over the table at the halfling, she continues, "You have the keen eyes and nimble fingers needed to open the locks to many doors, but beware where those doors may lead before stepping through."
At the sight of the exact same card she found under her drink this morning, this time without the writing, Red's eyes widen. Now that was just freaky.
Zellara peers at the card and chuckles, "Very interesting. It seems that The Juggler likes you dear. This card represents fate, the gods, or those who play with the lives and destinies of others. It is clear that you have been through a lot lately, but if you can keep moving forward and keep your rhythm, you will pass through this dark time. Yet you must be careful, if you falter your steps or try to walk backwards, everything will come crashing down."
Gathering up the cards from the Choosing, Zellara shuffles them back into her deck. "Now that we have discovered your roles in the upcoming events, let us peer deeper into the mysteries of the Harrow." Setting the deck down in front of her, she draws out nine cards and places them face down in a three by three grid. "These cards represent the past," she motions towards the left column, "the present," the center column, "and the future." and finally towards the right column. "First, we will look into the past, for what has come before shapes what comes to be."
With a deft hand, Zellara flips the cards in the left column, revealing from top to bottom: The Betrayal, The Wanderer, and The Peacock. Studying the cards carefully, she places a finger on The Betrayal. "This card shapes the past. It speaks of a person whose loveliness hid an evil heart. She sought great power and was prepared to betray any who stood in her path, but the alignment of this card within the spread shows that it was in fact she who was betrayed and overcome by an even darker power. Very interesting..."
"Now, let us reflect on the present." Flipping the central column, Zellara reveals: The Survivor, The Midwife, and The Carnival. As she looks over the cards, she begins to smile and points first to The Survivor. "This card sits perfectly aligned and holds extra significance. The Survivor represents a person who has been through a great ordeal of some kind. Surrounded by his fallen comrades, he is left alone." Her eyes soften as she looks up from the cards at each of you. "The Survivor is you. Each of you has lost much, but this card can also represent rebirth through ordeal." Moving her finger down to The Midwife, she continues, "Given the position of The Midwife directly below the survivor, I am certain that this is the case. This card is a conduit to creation, it is the key to a new life and I believe it represents the coming together of the five of you as a group. Though you have each lost much and it would be easy to retreat to solitude, together you will rise from the ashes and accomplish much."
With a reassuring smile, Zellara moves to flip the cards in the right column. "Now, let us see what the future holds for you." In the final column, Zellara reveals: The Paladin, The Joke, and The Juggler. As the final card turns, Zellara freezes in place and looks up at Red, a great concern evident on her face. After glancing back down at the cards, Zellara clears her throat and begins speaking in a worried voice, "Now, first, before I speak of the future I must make one thing clear. These cards represents a possible future. Nothing is set in stone and fate can be changed." She looks again at The Juggler in the bottom right corner, takes a deep breath and places her finger on the card. "The Juggler. This card represents you my dear," Her voice shakes as she looks directly at Red. "In this position at the bottom of the column, it speaks of a great tragedy or failure that will befall you. I do not know what this tragedy will be, but it is possible that it could be overcome." Moving her finger to the top of the column over The Paladin, she continues, "The Paladin symbolizes staying strong in the face of adversity and doing what you know to be right, even if the choice is difficult. And The Joke," She moves her finger down the column, "Tells us that the terror that faces you cannot be overcome by physical means. I do not know what this horror could be child, but if you are to face it and survive, you must stay strong."
As the Juggler is revealed for the third time that day, Red blinks in surprise and frowns, but remains calm as Zellara gives her warning. A harrow card is just printed paper after all. Red hasn't believed in the Harrow all her life, and she isn't about to start right now just because the same card has been drawn three times. Who is to say that Zellara, clearly skilled with the cards, wasn't deliberately throwing up the Juggler just for the sake of putting on a good show?
'sides... Red reaches for the rosary tied around her wrist and runs her fingers over the worn ivory beads thoughfully. My name is Seraphina. The Burning One. I blaze my own path. Rathi always said I would.
Looking up at Zellara, Red gives the older woman a firm nod. "Don't worry. The Drunken Hero watches over us. I... will be careful." She glances at the others gathered in the room with some apprehension. She doesn't believe that the cards know her fate, but there is no telling what the rest of them believe. And with the cards having pointed to some failure or tragedy linked specifically to her...
"... I will find Gaedren Lamm. No matter... what. Who is... with me?"
Travigan strokes his beard throughout the reading, listening with undisguised interest as Zellara consults the cards. He inhales deeply then answers Red's question, his voice strong and sure, "If Naomi is at this fishery, then that's where I mean to be going. An' if Lamm is there too, then aye, he'll get what's comin' to 'im, lass." He pats the axe at his side.
Xavaros watches intently as the Harrow reading proceeds. Though he knows that Harrow does not employ any true divination magic, he has read numerous accounts of readings foretelling events with a great deal of accuracy. Of course, there have also been a number of accounts of fortune tellers being completely wrong or swindling their customers out of piles of gold. Nonetheless, he takes it all in with great interest.
Once the reading is complete and the others begin to react, he nods in agreement. "As I said before, I am with you. I suggest we strike now, under the cover of darkness, and be done with Lamm once and for all."
"You'll hear no protest from me. Besides, someone will have to lead the way. We halflings have a way of going...undetected."
Besides, what else do I have to live for?
Rivane pays attention to the fortuneteller's words. This Harrow seems interesting, a little like reading the bones.
"Thank you Zellara, your advice is appreciated. We'll exact justice for your son's murder." As the others speak, the oracle nods his head "I agree. I have everything I need with me. Does anyone have to fetch their equipment?"
"I am ready. Let us go."
Red hesitates for a moment, then reaches out and gently touches the back of Zellara's hand with her own before leaving the house. This is... also for your son. Fate or not. Gaedren Lamm will answer for what he has done. I promise you."
Zellara gives you a warm smile as you all prepare to leave. "Thank you everyone. I am confident that together you can put an end to Lamm's evil once and for all."
Filing out into the night, you gather together on the street as the rain showers down overhead. Thunder claps in the distance as you make your way up Lancet Street in the direction of the Westpiers. After walking for several blocks, you reach the old fishery at Pier 17.
The building itself is in bad shape and appears abandoned with boards covering all of the windows and the doors shut up tight. A rickety looking boardwalk snakes around the fishery on the south side, presumably granting access to an old barge moored out back.
There are two visible entrances to the fishery: the front door on the building's western side with a path leading up to it from the street and a side door to the north with a ramp leading up to it, apparently a loading dock of some sort.
"Well I don't know about you lot, but walking up to th' front door seems like a bad idea to me."
Red is perplexed - the building seems abandoned and nothing like what she imagined the lair of a notorious crime lord would look like. Perhaps Zellara has given them the wrong address? Still, since they are already here, there is nothing but to go for it.
"Yes. Maybe there are... guards. We should check." She glances somewhat nervously at the broken down building, pushing wet hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand. The place looks spooky with all the boards everywhere. It is a house that keeps to itself. She sure as eggs is eggs doesn't fancy going inside. "Or maybe we can make them come out?"