"These are the men you seek, Marshall, save for Parns, who is a true menace," says Melianthe, giving the other bound men a shove and nearly knocking herself over in the process.
If you know more of this Parns, please share it with us. If not, we are ready for our next assignment.
Cressida's frown deepens as you explain the details from the butcher's shop, and you can see the color rise in her neck. She makes a noble effort to suppress her anger, but you can hear it clearly in her clipped tones. "Believe me, I will make sure Parns and the others pay for their crimes. We will interrogate your captives for possible leads, but I fear it will be tough to track down anyone in the city at this time." She shakes her head. "If Parns turns up, I'll have his head on a pike."
She sighs and leans back, looking at the ceiling for a long moment. Turning back to you, she adds, "I have nothing specific at this time, but be assured I'll have more work for you soon. If... when I need you again, I will send word to the Three Rings. You're free to go, but the Citadel is open to you at any time."
"Be sure to take your coin for a job well done. Korvosa... and I, thank you."
After the party has left Cressida's presence, Absinthe draws the others in close so she may whisper to them: "The thieves' guild may be able to gather us further information on Parns, even if he manages to stay under the guard's line of scrutiny. They will want paying, however."
"I don't make it a point to trust thieve's guilds, Abby. But if you think it'll help, I suppose asking if they have any info wouldn't hurt."
"Trust is not required, friend Demitri," Absinthe says. "But there is professional courtesy -- that, and the desire to earn more money and thus, to be seen as dependable. To a point."
"Fair enough. I suppose you can do that without me then. I have some things to take care of. I'll try to be back soon. " Demitri will take his leave.
After dropping his equipment off at his room at the Three Rings, he will head off toward the temple. It was empty save for a few acolytes dusting and sweeping. He hadn't had time to properly grieve or time to pray not only for his departed daughter, but for the strength to carry on.
"Is this some test for me? Because it seems like I've failed it. Light of the Sword, please give me an answer. Even when I had the chance to get justice, I was not strong enough to do it. I could not even bring him so he could be tried. I helped bring no justice for anyone, not my daughter nor anyone else that demon has hurt. Hallowed be thy name, I would just like a sign, an omen that you hear me. And I pray to you that my little one is happy even though I let her down." He whispers so as to not disturb those working diligently.
His face is solemn as he tries to make sense of himself. For the first time in his life, he didn't know who he was. He looks down at his holy symbol briefly.
During the days of peace that follow, Absinthe does several things.
She visits the hidden shrine of Mirarae to pray and confess her sins in executing Gaedren Lamm the way she did.
She visits the thieves' guild and asks for information on Parns.
She exercizes her skill at arms, as well as her skills with the lockpick and other tools of her trade.
The thing she does that she tries to keep secret as best she can, is her visit to the orphanage where the group left the former 'Little Lambs'. Just to check on the children, to see they are being treated well, and whether any of their families have been found...
Melianthe heads down to her hole in the ground where she has made a simple place to live for so many dark years. Tree roots from the square above pierce the damp earth. I can't leave this place entirely, she thinks, no matter how the world of day and the Harrowing affect my fate. After gathering her things, she does her best to tidy the place and covers it up to escape the detection of wandering humanoids or other creatures. With a sigh, she returns to the Three Rings and speaks with the proprietor a while, and then finds to her delight that there is a second, unused sub-basement with its own entrance, which used to be used for storing supplies when Korvosa was more prosperous. She immediately changes rooms to this one, to the proprietor's delight (it frees up a room), and sets about bustling around in the quiet, dark space.
Once she has made the place more hers, finding a nest for Hloire and some odd subterranean fungi to grow in the dark corners, draping some fineries this place and that--she reflects on the recent events, and feels a motion in her life that she has not felt in some time. She spends hours each day communing in silent meditation with the large scorpion, reaching out into the arcane mysteries of the planes beyond, from whence her magic arises. In the cool of the evening, she tours the neighborhoods in her doctor's outfit, still somewhat new to the point of chafing at points, and trundles under its unexpected weight as she visits patients, giving a leeching here, a poultice there.
Upon returning, she ponders the outfit, thinking that she will outgrow it at some point as her powers increase. Her study of the arcane and time with Hloire brings new formulae and visions into her head, and then one evening, in the early hours before dawn, she feels transported to a different place, strange, yet extremely familiar. All manner of crawling arthropods and creatures scurry and scuttle around her, circling her and Hloire, and a voice calls from the shadows.
"'the noble and proud shapes', they say. And yet no one within Nirvana acknowledges the necessity of those who pick the bones of the dead, turn refuse into fertile soil, clean the very earth to give it new life? You know better, Melianthe. I bring you a new gift: you can recognize the humor in the fact that I and those like myself are hidden from the eyes of those who rule. You have suffered so much injustice in your mortal life; imagine those such as me, condemned to hide forever. Laugh at the absurdity. Feel its power."
Melianthe listens to the words of her patron, and a deep chuckle escapes her lips, the first in years. She can sense the waves of magic flowing from the sound. She bows to the shadows, and when she opens her eyes again, the creatures and her unseen patron are gone.
"I've been so full of secret sorrow, Hloire," she says, petting the scorpion in a way that most people would find horrifying. "It's time to banish that. Let us go and make a way for ourselves, with our friends."
With that, she lets him slip into his familiar sling and heads to the outer world, grabbing her doctor's mask to protect a bit against the early morning.
Segang watches his new friends depart to various corners of the city to attend to their lives saying nothing. As the last leaves he walks slowly to the barracks of the common men, ignoring the stares of some men who do not know him. Its the tattoos. he reminds himself. These "civilized" people do not mark their faces as the Shoanti do. When questioned by a low ranking officer he responds Check with the Field Marshal's office. I am sure they will vouch for my presence.
Finding a bunk away from most others he drops and stows his few possessions. After, he sits and ponders his position. My job here is done. I have no true place here. I should return to my people. Only now the city of my youth is is turmoil and my new friends seem to need my strength. As an emissary of the Shoanti what role do I play in this? He ponders this question as he walks the city, spending much time on the city walls gazing towards the plains that are the ancestral home of his people.
Rosa finds herself last to return to her home of several years, a temple near the harbor district that, normally, caters to out of town clients desiring some discretion. Today, however, she seems a bit more in tune with the city's ebb and flow than she has been for some time. Waving off the usual welcoming offers of return to take herself before the true shrine, in the basement.
"I have tasted of thy favor these past days, Lady. The man who would dare defile your doorstep is gone, although the one he took...I hope she's happier in your realm than her final days with me were." Rosa chokes up. "...it wasn't enough. I believed I could be satisfied, but I'm not. Did I just not have time to do the job properly? We were in a rush. But. . . no, that's not it, was it?" The girl looks very young for a moment, yet very old in the shadows at the same time. ". . . it wasn't vengeance because he didn't give a damn. We just killed him, we didn't hurt him. He won, because he went to the grave knowing we could never have what he took, and we didn't deprive the old bastard of anything he wanted."
"...But, I suppose that need not be the end....one day, I hope You can grant me a way to a small measure of what I hoped for from that night."
Her prayers complete, the Calistrian retires to her chambers to change into something far more comfortable.
There's a city in need of...consolation, after all.
Not finding anyone else at the Three Rings (Didn't Segang say he was going to the Guard? she muses), Melianthe considers where to find people, ticking off locations with long elven fingers under black gloves.
A short time later, she steps into the quiet of the Temple of the Inheritor. At the shrine, she can see the inquisitor gazing at something in his hand. Removing her doctor's mask and letting her hair spill over her coat, she walks quietly to Demitri's side and and stands silently beside him.
Without looking up, Demitri acknowledged Melianthe. "I had a feeling that one of you was going to find me. Though I wasn't sure which one of you girls it was going to be." He then turns his head and the doctor can see the remnants of tears on his face. In his hand is his holy symbol, his expression one of doubt mixed with sorrow.
"I am an excellent tracker," says Melianthe with a smile, and then grows serious.
"Now you can grieve, Demitri. Your heart can beat again, even if in doing so it gives you pain." She touches his shoulder to reassure him, then looks at his holy symbol and his face.
"Your faith, does it give you comfort?"
A shadow beside the doorway detaches itself, somehow turning into Absinthe. "Tracking Demitri was not that easy for this one," she says. "But a doctor with hair the colour of the moon? People remembered that." She smiles briefly at Melianthe.
The tiefling looks slightly nervous as she tip-hooves into the shrine of the Inheritor, but enter she does. Gently, she puts her hand on Demitri's other shoulder.
"Demitri," she says, her whisper carrying to her comrades' ears. "There is a darkness festering inside of you. Let it out. Howl. Cry. Scream and swear. Make room for the light to return. No one here will condemn you - not us, not the goddess."
"I don't know if I can. I've tried to. My faith used to give me comfort. I thought with prayer would come the strength to do what was right. To bring justice to those who needed it and to find justice for my little girl. But I was wrong. Even when it came to destroying that wretch for what he did, I couldn't do it. I was so weak that I let Abby do it." Demitri lets go of his holy symbol to let it hang around his neck. "I want to roar to the heavens themselves. To demand the Inheritor to give me back my little girl, but I can't find the strength for it. Do either of you have any ideas?" The man looks completely lost.
"I should make sure it doesn't stick out of my cowl," says Melianthe self-consciously. "...I've grown careless in our new comfortable life."
The dusk elf turns to the inquisitor, her features full of concern. "Demitri, I do not know the ways of the Inheritor well, but I have heard that the path her followers take often include not taking the life of an innocent--or someone who is helpless. He was at our mercy. We chose to give none. You, despite your anger, held your sword."
She turns to the shrine, looking at the images of Iomedae in battle, in radiance, the knights of Ozem fallen behind her, and continues softly.
"It is not the way of gods to give everyone their every wish. I know that much."
"You are correct. We do not harm the innocent and we show quarter to the helpless. It has always been our way. But it has also been our way to punish the guilty. And no one was more guilty than him." Demitri takes a deep breath. "I know, gods do what they think is best. This is not the best place for me right now, but I know what is. If you two would join, I'd like to show you something. But first I need some flowers."
Absinthe comes to stand in front of Demitri - between him and Iomedae - and very softly taps his cheek.
"Do not claim that to which you have no right," she says. "You did not 'let Abbie' do anything. She chose to take the choice out of your hands so you would not destroy yourself."
Looking up, she firmly addresses Melianthe: "And it was she who made the final choice not to grant mercy."
Her tone softens a little. "One does not feel you should feel compelled to hide your hair. It is beautiful."
The tiefling sighs, and walks further around the Inquisitor, coming to stand behind him, her fingertips on his shoulders. "One will accompany you, of course. But first: would you wish for us to roar for you? One offers it in all seriousness. Wolves howl finest as a pack. Perhaps you would feel free to let it out in company."
Seren says his goodbyes to the others, but looks back and smiles with a certainty that he'll see them all again.
Tis time, I believe, to march down the path that I started so many years ago. Lamm's gone ... shouldn't that be enough
Returning to his run-down apartment, Seren secures the doors and closes the shutters leaving minimal light in the room. After listening for a few moments, he proceeds to pry up one of the floorboards revealing a small hidden space. He takes out a black leather tome bound in tarnished silver and a small velvet black bag. Embossed on the front of the book is a skull with spiked chains emerging from the eye sockets.
Seren runs his hands slowly over the symbol, shivering.
The source of this is malicious and evil, but how I choose to use it is what defines me, right ...
The half-elf rationalizes his trepidation and remembering his humiliation at the Acadamae and the toll that Lamm took on his family, he steels himself.
This is the only path I have to make things right ... the only chance. It's merely a tool, I'm the moral compass
With that, he sets the book down and opens the felt bag, pulling out a cold smooth obsidian disk that he stole from his Nidalese contacts. Trying hard not to make his hands shake, he grits his teeth, takes a deep breath in and stares hard into it. The nightglass expands in his vision, becoming a large window that he opens with his mind and his projected image, shadowy and translucent, with merely a hint of color steps forward onto the mental landscape.
Cold and dark, there is a small line of shrubs to the left and a long, seemingly unending road leading off into the darker darkness. The entire place seems created of shadow, but somewhat solid. Seren takes but a few steps before a shadowy human coalesces in the road. With the faintest hint of long claws, nubs of wings and legs that trail off into a shadowy mist, the thing looks more demonic than not. Without a word it flows forward, grasping Seren by the throat and swallowing him whole.
A second or two passes before the shadow creature realizes something is wrong. His awareness is made complete when Seren steps from the shrubs nearby.
I needed both you and a way to remove myself of my own shadow. Thank you for being so eager. But now, my mortal body has a void to fill ...
Seren incants a phrase in a foreign language, and with a silent scream the shadow is pulled through the window into the waking world.
Seren opens his eyes and looks about. He reaches in and feels the power of the shadow, along with it's capacity to grow. He smiles genuinely for the first time in a long time.
Lighting a candle, he turns to look at his own shadow ... well, his new shadow. After a few moments of watching, he sees it move, ever so slightly, of it's own accord.
You're bound to me now ... let's go make good use of your power
Left unspoken, unremembered, and hardly thought is that power comes from the shadow's ever-increasing hunger for souls and every day will be a struggle for Seren to keep his intact.
Melianthe takes all of Absinthe's comments with nods and a chastened smirk. "Lead the way, Demitri, and then, yes, let's to the roaring."
Absinthe comes to stand in front of Demitri - between him and Iomedae - and very softly taps his cheek.
"Do not claim that to which you have no right," she says. "You did not 'let Abbie' do anything. She chose to take the choice out of your hands so you would not destroy yourself."
Looking up, she firmly addresses Melianthe: "And it was she who made the final choice not to grant mercy."
Her tone softens a little. "One does not feel you should feel compelled to hide your hair. It is beautiful."The tiefling sighs, and walks further around the Inquisitor, coming to stand behind him, her fingertips on his shoulders. "One will accompany you, of course. But first: would you wish for us to roar for you? One offers it in all seriousness. Wolves howl finest as a pack. Perhaps you would feel free to let it out in company."
"I.. suppose you are right. I could not stop you if I tried. You are also right about her hair, it is beautiful. You want to roar for me? No, but I would be honored if you roared with me, though not here." Demitri leads the pair out of the temple. After stopping for some flowers, he heads off to the cematary. Off in a corner of it is a lone grave. The name on it is Julia Severin, much loved wife and mother. He walks up to it flowers in hand and whispers a short prayer before speaking out loud."Beloved, our daughter is no longer missing and she has been granted justice and peace thanks to my new friends." He looks back to Mel and Abby. "Thank you. I would have wallowed in my agony at the temple forever if you hadn't showed."
Absinthe ghosts forward and bows formally to the gravestone.
"Lady Julia, wife of one's friend Demitri, one salutes you. Should Demitri be willing to assist one, one shall endeavour to create an image of your child, that it may be placed in the earth near your marker, to hopefully symbolize your reunion in the hereafter."
Turning back to Demitri, the tiefling smiles - slightly. "One is a carpenter. One would make an image of your child in wood - later. First: Drink. Song. Perhaps some small bit of violence. Thereafter: copious tears and roaring. A cleansing, my friends, my clan-mates. We are united. We should stand by one another. Mayhap we might also call upon the others to join us?"
"I would very much like that Abby. And I think they would too. Let's go with your plan and find the others." He inches forward and puts the flowers on the grave before turning around to walk back with Melianthe and Absinthe.
Melianthe takes a small pebble from the ground and mutters an incantation, causing it to glow with light. She places it on the grave.
"Did I hear something about drink and song? To the barracks and Rosa's temple, then! Er, you don't have to go in, Absinthe. And then, the only question is, which tavern can handle us?"
"One knows of some places," Absinthe says. "Honoured to guide. Come."
The tiefling puts one arm through Demitri's in a purely friendly gesture.
Demitri just follows them, Abby's arm around him. If only he was sure of one thing, it was that he had great friends.
Melianthe walks beside them, calculating the distances to the barracks and the temple of Calistria.
After the cemetery, Absinthe leads Melianthe and Demitri to the barracks first.
"We seek the Shoanti, Segang," she tells the first soldier she sees. "Is he in?"
Seren will join the group.
You see a man sitting at the bar, of sullen mood and obviously depressed. He stares into the depths of his flagon, though he grants your group a momentary glance when you enter. He manages a half-smile as he stands and walks over towards you. He wears a guard uniform, though it is filthy and he stinks of stale sweat and booze.
He blinks at Seren, "Neffi? Ish that you? Remember me, from Shandpoint?" He gives Seren a companionable clap on the shoulder. "Come, letsh share a round..."
"I'm surprised you two know each other, Watch Sergeant Soldado. I am Demitri Severin." He tries to shake the man's hand.
The man winces slightly as you mention his rank, but he covers it squinting at Demitri. "We'veh met? What'sh your name?" He hiccups.
"I just said it. Demitri Severin. Are you alright?"
Seren glances coldly at the man for a mere second and then shakes his head as if emerging from cold water as Demitri intervenes, "Uhhh ... ya, right ... Sandpoint. Um, don't think I've ever been there." He disentangles himself and melts behind Demitri watching carefully.
"You don't know him? He seems to know you, or he thinks he does. Any ideas on why?"
He frowns, "Yeah, I heard you the firsht time. I'veh been better, but better than you, I guessh." He leans towards Seren. "Neffi and I go way back. We grew up in Shandpint... er, 'point'!" He chuckles. "Shpeaking of pintsh, letsh have a round to catsch up."
"Neffi. Why does he.." Then it dawns on him. "You should have a drink with him and catch up. We'll be over there." When the rest of the group is out of earshot of the pair.. "I've never seen the sergeant like this. He's always the peak of professionalism, not some sloppy drunk like this."
"One notes he seemed to object to the title you gave him," Absinthe says. "Is it possible that he has been demoted -- or removed from duty? A new ruler sits on the throne. She might wish to change the command structure to suit her own preferences."
While Rosa accompanied the group, it was in...considerably less clothing than she wore while expecting trouble. Although at least it isn't bedroom-wear. Probably. The very short miniskirt and tight top are, at least technically, within the bounds of what's permissible under the old regime. She still has her whip, and her holy symbol is displayed prominently. "Ahm, dear, perhaps you've had your share. There's not enough to go around if you keep hogging it all..." A blatant lie, one disproven by simply looking at the bar. But then, drunks will buy the strangest ideas.
"Possibly. Though, why him? He's just a sergeant and while that is important, it seems like getting rid of a sergeant is a waste of time for her. If he were Captain, it would make more sense."
Demitri tries to ignore the salacious outfit Rosa has, though every now and again he unconsciously looks.
Absinthe gives Rosa an undisguised look, up and down -- and then just shrugs and returns to the discussion.
"One has never been in an army, but has heard some stories. Are not sergeants the fix-it men? When captains bark orders for things to be done, is it not the sergeants who say who does what? The character and loyalties of a sergeant would then become of considerable importance in determining the disposition of armed forces, no?"
As Rosa accosts him, he loses all interest in 'Neffi'. He leads her over towards the bar and slouches on a stool. In seconds, the joy has been sucked from his demeanor. "I don't drink for me... I drink for Korvosha."