Dramin pauses, there was something he had forgotten. Amidst all of the talk about beatings, night creepers, theories and nightmare; he had forgotten the woman of said nightmare.
Forgotten was probably not the word he would use, it would be closer to forcibly ignored. Upon looking at Dalton and mentioning his studies and the research of the night, he didn't have enough time to realize his mind went about seeking for her. He unconsciously thought of her again and the room went spinning as it always did.
Though this time he wanted to be in control. That face and these clues won't escape. In an instant his memory became a battleground and his ego a tactician. He would pin down some link, or at least provide aid for the others.
He jumped ahead only fractions of fractions of a second to see where the links led.
An average outcome wouldn't do. He needed a new plan before he committed. He decided to follow a different stream of thought, hoping it would lead further than before.
That face, the bugs, the phrases, this potential Desnan nemesis... There was something there.
Like a stroke of inspiration, it comes to you.
Ghlaunder, the God of parasites, infection, and stagnation. An obscure deity, one known mostly only thanks to its mentions as a nemesis within Desna's holy texts. The Gossamer King. It is said to take the form of a huge mosquito-like creature and descend from its dwelling beyond the stars to feed upon the heart blood of its faithful and devout- or, one might imagine, their victims. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, other than that it was awoken by Desna in her travels from its cocoon upon the ethereal plane and became her most hated enemy. You know this much of the deity, but little regarding the faith and worship of it.
The pieces fit together too well to ignore.
The only thing that sticks out as odd to you is the phrase regarding the whispers and knowing the way. That seems more the territory of the Whispering Way, that strange cult that worships the concept of undeath and its wicked patrons. So far as you know, Ghlaunder would have no ties to such a cult.
Unless, of course, the similarity in the phrasing is purely circumstantial... or the Whispering Way is not as well-understood as you thought.
Calwen returned the look of the woman curious but friendly. There was something heart warmingly innocent about the way the villagers tried to shun her, be subtle and intruige against her. You are out of your league, young woman. She felt like a vixen in a chicken stable, though she would not let that feeling give her a wrong sense of safety. This was still hostile territory.
"The light may shine on your, path, Mister Lupesco. Miss Lupesco. I am Calwen Snowpaw, Knight of the White Rose." She chose an elven greeting, she had considered a 'The dream tender guide you', but that would have sounded artificial from her mouth. She let a curtsey flow into her motion, though she did not stop to perform one, that would have been too much. It was better to serve the preconceptions they may have to make them feel safe.
She was surprised Shel came out on her own to see her. Did she know what Calwen was up to? Calwen would not be surprised if Shel was adapt in using a few bats of her eyelashes to form most younger villagers into her own network of spies.
"There are a few items I require, but actually I have indeed come to meet young lady Shel here." She hoped it did not seem exaggerated to refer to her as "lady". She dropped her backpack, the belt over her shoulder with her bastard sword and her shield as she continued to speak to Saul, careful to not look threatening. "A bottle of strong, important spirit would be nice, a highland whiskey maybe, as well as a few fishing hooks, a net and fishing line and, if you have, ink, a few sheets of paper and a pen." The bottle in order to help dealing with Robb Bartley, the fishing equipment to help keeping Dio fed and the latter in case she needed to write a report. It was inconvenient that the Lupesco's knew about that, but she doubted they would be able to see through cryptic references in Sylvan.
"What I actually came for, however, is you, Miss Shel. I understand tonight is the night when the festival queen for the year is chosen, the great night for the young women of this village and you are all meant to shine. I do not know how much this means to you, but I know how much it would have meant to me when I was younger and I have seen you working on your dress when we arrived. Your devotion honours you. So, I thought one of the debutants from the village should wear this cloak of mine for tonight. And given the similarity of or teint, I thought it would look good on you." She phrased her words melodically and returned Shel's cold look with an open, friendly one. She spun once around her axis and took it off, holding it out to her. "We did help the Bartley girl a little, so it was only fair if you took it." That statement might reap her a lot of antagony, but it was better to say it. "You better attach it to your shoulders and wear it on you back, lest it hides too much of your beauty; it should compliment it, not veil it. I made the Bartley girl an offer to play a song on my flute to present herself, I am extending the same offer to you, if you desire so. This should be a night for beauty. Shelyn be with you, Shel." She angled her head slightly to see whether she would take it. She was curious whether the girl would take her cape.
Shel might very well use the cape for different things than wearing it, like publically rejecting it, maybe even burn it or something like that. That would be her choice to make and even if she took it, Calwen was curious how she would use it. Calwen hoped that the girl would take it and use it as it was meant; a friendly gesture. Not for Calwen's or Marleyna's sake, but her own. Calwen did not want the young girl destroyed in the veiled conflict around them.
"So, are we ready to fight the whole village Sebastian? We are going to need an alternative plan to get across the river if the village turns against us."
♤
♢
♧
"Best laid plans..." Bacarov mutters to himself. He withdraws his notebook again and looks over a rudimentary drawing of the village he'd been working on. He sees the location of the rivulet and the way the buildings they've seen so far are situated.
He nods Dramin's way and notes something in the man's eyes. What ate you thinking of, Master Jodare? "You make a good list of valid points. We've a good deal of coincidence that borders on serendipity. And with so much of the web unseen, staying together at this stage might be best. I like the idea of keeping an eye on the Korzha farm in case our arrival attracts the wrong sort of attention to them..." A look out towards the farm house and he shakes his head. "But we may need to keep the wagons circled, so to speak, and stay together."
At Vinnie's practical question, Bacarov nods agreement. "One of the reasons I had for having a camp outside the town was to study the comings and goings." He smiles wryly at Marsh because the big man probably knew the next part. "I also wanted someone on the outside in case we ran into trouble in town. But we may not have the option now." He places the book open and flat in his hands so all can see the basic map he'd drawn. "With the ferry being the best way west...the forest to the south..." He shakes his head as his finger traces along where the Troll Stones are located. "If it comes to escape, Vinnie, we may have to depend upon the wisdom of others."
He looks Marleyna's way. "If I may, I've the impression that you sometimes seek solitude to quiet your thoughts. In your place, I'd do the same." He holds the book towards her, beckoning her over. "And I'd probably have envisioned ways of escaping this place should the dream of freedom demand to be reality. Would you know of quick ways out of town that bypass the ferry?" His face is serious, the Inspector looking to convey the importance of the situation and his dedication to the safety of the group.
If she approaches, he nods his thanks and continues "And which of these homes belongs to the Chenowiz family?"
》 (Marleyna)
Dalton nods seriously in regard to Dramin's request. "I will help in any way that I can. Just tell me what you need of me..." his voice trails off as he watches Dramin's mind working, seeing that he is on the verge of inspiration.
In response to Bacarov's concerns of escape, Dalton feels he must speak up. "The townspeople we've met so far seem slow to anger. If we watch our words and speak diplomatically, a hasty escape may not be a necessity." When Bacarov glances over at him sharply, the monk blinks and raises his hands. "Not that it isn't wise to be thinking of such things. I just think it prudent to be discussing what exactly we will be telling the Mayor when we speak with him."
Something outside seems to have drawn the attention of Saul Lupescu, who narrows his eyes as he looks out the window. "Shel, go to the barn an' see how yer mum's comin' along with those sausages," he says, and something in his tone causes the first spark of emotion you've seen in Shel thus far- a hint of alarm. Without question, she nods and starts to make her way to the back door.
"You might wanna make yerself scarce, too, longears," Saul says. "Consider it a friendly warning. Markham Dagwood either don't like elves, or likes 'em a little too much, dependin' on yer perspective. An' he's back in town in time fer the festival, from what it seems."
Outside, a large wooden cart pulled by a thick old mule has parked, and a giant of a man steps down and begins unloading some kind of product from the back. He is near seven feet tall, with thick arms and enormous shoulders, wild salt-and-pepper hair, and a beard that reminds one of hanging moss. His eyes, from the brief glimpse you get of them as he moves past the window, are as keen as any raptor's. You get the distinct impression that this man is a predator, and it's not just because he is clad in animal hides.
Quietly, Saul Lupescu offers: "You can go out through the back if you'd like. I know you probably fancy yerself a knight of some kind, but I would not risk myself around this man. Some folk call him the 'Ghoul of Ravenmoor,' and fer good reason."
- - - -
When Bacarov turns his question to her, Marleyna gulps. "Well... um... This is really my main hiding spot, since papa usually don't wanna mess with the Korzhas too much by lookin' for me, but... If I wanted to get out of Ravenmoor in a hurry, well... eventually, you'd have to cross the Lampblack. I'd try to head up north across the marsh- it ain't easy ground, but I'm pretty nimble, so I would expect if I had a bunch of big, awkward townies chasin' me, I'd be able to lose 'em in there. Eventually it'll catch back up with the Lampblack, where it curves off toward the east again, an' around that ways there's a bit where it shallows out a little, an' there's some big rocks that you could use to get across a little easier- I've hopped those rocks myself before. From there, though, it ain't nothin' but wilderness, unless you wanna head west toward the Chavali River and Riddleport past that, but that's several days away... Or north until you hit the Storval Rise, an' I can't think of any good reason to go that way. Otherwise, we could snoop inland, an' that'd take us into different marshlands, but eventually we could circle around an' meet back with the Lampblack south of here, an' follow it down to Wolf's Ear... Or we could just swim across the river and run off into the Churlwood. That's assumin' you don't buy into Mr. Skender's stories about the water-wolf. I don't think anybody would be quick to pursue somebody too far that way. Still... all of 'em would be dangerous."
She takes Bacarov's map and begins circling and labeling various spots. "All right, here are some of the places I know of," she says, and then fills in a few more buildings in the areas Bacarov has not seen yet. Although she is clearly intimidated by these proceedings, she seems determined to help however she can.
Calwen was certainly not expert in reading the emotional reaction of humans but this girl would probably have been challenge even to the others, she guessed. Sarcasm? Irony? Or simply distrust? Anger? Indifference? Fear to be connected with an outsider whose doom was impending? Fear of her fathers reaction? Calwen could not say, but the feeling that Shel did not really care and that Calwen had misjudged her intentions was gnawing on her. She would have expected her to try and manipulate Calwen, not to actually show her coldness.
If only there was a way to make her understand that Calwen had meant everything she had said.
Lupesco obviously did not like elves much. For a tradesman is overt hostility was a bit surprising. She was a customer. Should he not try to relief her of her gold? In part that was probably due to her approach on his daughter.
"I shall take you up on your warning and leave in silence, Mister Lupesco." she replied. No reason to make a big scene out of this, she did not need that kind of attention.
She picked up her sword in its sheath as well as her backpack, but strapped the shield onto her arm as she left through the rear exit. She hesitated a moment there to see what was going on... maybe she would hear what was being discussed, even though she tried to not make it obvious. Her eyes searched the environment to look for a good route back to the stable and as to who noticed her already and who would be noticing her.
As you exit through the rear of the store, you linger near the doorway and remove yourself from line of sight, hoping to overhear or catch a glimpse of something useful. Even from out here, you can hear the heavy footsteps of the man entering the Lupescu shop and the creaking of the floorboards under his weight.
"Markham," Saul Lupescu says, in a far more friendly tone than what he afforded you a minute before. "Back in time for the Festival, I see."
The big man does not reply to this greeting. You hear him shrug something off onto the counter. "Ten gold for this one," the man growls. "An' the ol' man's medicine. Be quick about it. I'll brew it myself."
"All right, all right," Lupescu says, and you hear him bustling about.
"I smell somethin'..." Markham Dagwood says. "Smells of fey-blood in here. Any visitors into town, Saul?"
After a moment's hesitation, you hear the shopkeep say: "Yeah, group from Magnimar, most likely. Got an elf with 'em, looked like a lady knight of some kind. Probably an escort. They had some foreign devil along, too. Real shady group."
"I don't need your opinion," Markham grunts. "Elf was here recently. She ask any questions? You see which way she went?"
"Just missed her, Markham. She was plannin' on buyin' a few things, tried to charm my Shel. Typical hollow-boned fairie tricks. But naw, I don't know where she went." There is a pause. "I don't like that look on yer face. Don't you go causin' no trouble, now."
"This elf," Markham says, his voice hushed but still audible, "she got black hair? Thin, beautiful? Talks like a poetry reading?"
"Blonde, sorry. Otherwise fits. Why?"
"Not my Bel, then," Markham says, and you hear him spit. "You send for me if you see this elf again. There's money in it for you. You know where to find me."
"I'll... consider that, Markham. I'll consider it."
You hear the big hunter stomping away, and peek back in through the doorway. It's a tough call as to whether Dagwood's boots match the tracks back at the scene of Armand's murder, though you suspect you would remember feet that big. You happen to see what he laid atop the counter: an enormous boar, slain in his hunting trip, no doubt.
"Sicko," Saul Lupescu murmurs to himself, his words only barely audible. "Leonard's gotta do somethin' about him, 'fore he turns that scythe on one'a us."
There is no one outside behind the trading company, and you feel safe enough to remain here a few moments longer. After another minute, you hear the sounds of Dagwood's cart pulling away and heading northward down the road.
"Who is Bel?" she wonders. It did not really sound like he was obsessed with her. She tried to memorize his exact words. It might be interesting what turned out if she confronted him on his farm, but not without backup. He might turn out helpful after all. In this village being a loner and a bit of an outsider was not a bad thing. Since she would not be able to avoid him at the festival, better to confront him sooner than later.
However, Armand had distinctly mentioned a scythe, and there were not many people who used a scythe for anything but cutting crops. There were no tracks of a cart at the crime scene, which may have been due to the fact that they needed to cross the river, however. She did not really think that it were his boots that she saw.
She remembered the sensation of being watched. If what she just witnessed inside there was not an act which she was meant to witness, it had not been the villagers watching her. They actually did not seem to know about it. There was this pause when Markham asked about her. She had heard what Lupesco replied, but he might have made any kind of gesture. However, Calwen found it more likely that the scene had been real.
It had also sounded like Markham was an addict, but that did not really concern her. If it was flayleaf that he bought, he did not chew it raw however, he brewed it into something.
She cast a quick glance to the side house where Shel and her mother were supposedly making sausages, but she did not wish to be caught snooping around.
She followed him when his cart turned around the corner and put the shield back on her back.
If Lupesco thought her favour for Shel had been dishonest, she was curious what he thought what her game had been.
She walked back to the barn with the others. "I just witnessed something curious... Let me report before the details start slipping." Calwen closed her eyes and reported what had happened in as much detail as she anyhow could.
"I believe it would be best if we took the initiative in that matter and go see him. But I need backup on this. I should easily be able to draw his attention, and draw him out of his hut. Obsessed as he is he will probably not notice you before he he is in a tactical inferior position."
She paused. "I still believe seeing the mayor would be a good idea, though. We might do that first. What do you think? And what did I miss?"
Dramin makes eye contact with Bacarov and nods.
"This theory you guys have. The one about the other religion and the nemesis. I had heard such a thing in an old tome days ago but never quite put two and two together until now." He takes a breath and reaches towards a piece of loose paper on him and writes down a name. It reads 'Ghlaunder, Parasites, Infections, Stagnation'. "In this place it is best not to speak aloud too much." He begins to explain the small history of the abomination to the group . When he gets to the whispering way however...
"This cult doesn't seem to be linked to this monster." He displays only the tiniest hint of doubt. "I feel that the cult is either cover for the god or vice versa. I don't think we know all of the information regarding these fiends." He stops for a moment and looks at the woman who provided the escape and eyes her down.
"Do the words 'the whispering way' have any meaning to you?"
- - - -
Marleyna looks up at Dramin and shakes her head. "'Whispering Way' doesn't ring any bells. All this cult-talk, though... y'all really think there's something that big goin' on here?" She lowers her gaze to the floor. "If that's the case, I guess I ain't crazy, after all... an' I really did see Old Man Wrinkles outside my window that night."
His interest gets piqued.
"Old Man Wrinkles?"
His voice no longer has its detached and cynical sound to it and immediately perks up as his eyes get that familiar light of excitement.
"Do not be afraid. Everything is just a puzzle to be solved, and this Wrinkles may very well help us solve more of this bewilderment right now."
Marleyna hugs her knees tightly after sitting back down next to Dio.
"Old Man Wrinkles is the name of one of our local boogeymen, kinda like the Night Creepers. They say he's an ol' man who's been alive so long, he doesn't have any facial features left at all- just wrinkles upon wrinkles. They say he walks in the reeds and the fields at night, stark naked, with long arms an' a weird, crooked walk. Some folks say he's the last Chenowitz, that he haunts their old farmhouse, the one I circled on Mr. Bacarov's map. I never put any faith into stories about him, of course. Just another story to scare the kids with."
"But one night I couldn't sleep, an' I thought about sneakin' out the window to wander down an' explore a little- back when that kinda thing seemed kinda safe. I went to my window an' opened it up, and... there was this man, standin' in the tall reeds just across the way. I thought at first that it was Mr. Korzha, since he lives so close, or maybe one of the Dagwoods, but it couldn't have been. This man was just standin' there, starin' right into my window. He was naked, but his skin was... saggy, wrinkly, an' red. His head was all... it was like a big bulb, just folds of skin, an' it was shakin' all random, like it was filled with angry bees tryin' to get out. He jus' stood there, starin' at me, 'cept he didn't have no eyes to stare with, at least not that I could see. An' I saw his mouth open, 'cept it opened up-ways, instead of sideways. Three tongues, lookin' like worms, come out an' licked at the air, like how a snake does. An' I swear it was chantin' something. I turned around and went right back to bed."
"...thought I had a nightmare, all this time, 'cept it felt so real. If all y'all are sayin' turns out to be true, I wouldn't be surprised if I really did see that thing out there."
"Heh. Simple job, it'll get you outta town he said. Now we got some kind of horror with long arms and a bulbous jiggly head roamin around. Some crazy dark haired elf chick stalking Dalton's sleep, a stalker with a scythe---Look, at this point it sounds like the taxes were already paid for, we've got a juvenile ward in our care, let's just say hi to the mayor and cut town."
"Dang it, I know I've heard somethin like Mr Wrinkles before. Crap, I can't think of where it was from though. Great Vinnie way to brain fart when it matters the most Huh."
Calwen listened to the fragments of stories of the others. She watched Marleyna as she spoke of something as intimate as her nightmarish experience. Unfortunately she did not really know what to say about this; it might have been real, it might have been a reaction whatever dark rituals were performed in the environment to tear and rearrange the natural order of things, or it may have been a deliberately induced dream. If she said it felt particularly real it had likely not been a normal dream. Calwen hoped that it was physical. That would make killing it simpler. "No harm may come to you anymore.", she whispered as she sat down next to the girl. Not in this world, anyway.
"I am not so sure whether this stalker with a scythe is truly our enemy. He might have been involved in Armand's murder. He might not." If he ever had anything with an elf he might as well be Armand's father. The scythe was what was haunting Calwen.
"What I most curious about is this Chenowiz place. Armand went there and stirred something up which eventually hunted him down. There was something there he was not supposed to see. Part of which was probably that the Night Creepers were perfectly real, but also perfectly human and at least one of them perfectly dead now, left to rot in the field."
♧
♢
♤
(Old Man Wrinkles)
(legends of the same)
Bacarov leans again the nearby wall, puffing away at his pipe and considering the discussion. At Marsh's comment he glance over, a doubtful look given to his old friend. I've never seen you walk away from a challenge, mate.
But in the topic of the Old Man Wrinkles, he begins sifting thru his knowledge like walking his fingers thru files on his desk.
"These Chenowiz seem to be at the source. Then there's the big bloke Markham and his mysterious ability to sniff out fey flesh..." He glances Calwen's way with a raised eyebrow. "Unless elves have taken to wearing the same perfume to make them easier to spot?" He smiles softly and shakes his head as if to say, 'probably not'. "But what you've learned so far, Calwen, gets me very curious. I'd most likely be in the Captain's office requesting a warrant on Dagwood. But there's a few more pieces to the puzzle I'd like to find." He nods once in the knight's direction to acknowledge her good work.
To Warshawski, "Big bloke like Markham, seems he'd have a fair amount of ghosts in his history. Guy like that doesn't act this way without cutting a red path. Maybe a sneak and peek at this guys house, see what's floating around?" If this guy did kill Armand, chances are his ghost might be lingering.
"Mayor first, I say. Then we investigate the Chenowiz' in the midst of the festival, maybe use the the celebration as cover." He scribbles some more notes down in his book. "As for this hulking hunter, Markham Dagwood, what do you all think? Do we go and prosecute a direct inquiry? It would seem both the Chenowiz' and Dagwood are...curiosities." He doesn't like the idea one bit, but he wants to get the others opinions.
Dalton shakes his head at Calwen's report. "Legendary monsters are all too often a simple human in disguise," he comments, "Though even psuedo-Night Creepers do not deserve to be left in a field to rot."
He crosses his arms. "This Wrinkles character sounds like the real deal, though...if you saw such details, and assuming you did not merely dream them. I certainly would rather face such a monster in my dreams than in person..." the monk's brow is furrowed as he stares at the ground. "It feels fishy. There's something drawing all these factors to this town, and we still don't know how it's really connected to the tax collector."
Calwen nodded as Sebastian spoke. Normally a human could not smell the previous presence of an elf; a wolf might be able to do that. The impression of him as a hunter was so strong that she had not really thought about that.
She primarily addressed Marleyna as she continued. "When you spoke with us you referred to the 'Chenowitz place', but never to an actual Chenowitz family. Do those Chenowitzs still roam their forsaken territory in...", she dug in her memory, "the 'sick fields'? It might be enlightening to learn more about the story of the place and the name. Has anything been discussed I am not aware of? Or did I misunderstand you, Sebastian, and you do indeed not intend to join the festival?"
She raised an eyebrow at Sebastian: "So, you wish to investigate the Chenowitz place during the festival? Or ask questions about Old Man Wrinkles?"
"Anyway, there is not just Markham, there is also Abner, the latter of a less strange sort for what Viorec said. If neither of them is missing now, the dead body of the man with the stirge mask must have been someone else." She was not exactly comfortable with the word inquiry, but there was no point in discussing semantic details. "If we do not go to Markham, he will come for me, anyway, or for you if he does not find me. The question seems to be limited to whether we take the initiative or leave it to him. We do not seem to be the only ones with questions. Not that I knew anything about this 'Bel' he referred to. It might be an abbreviation or nickname, though."
She added as an afterthought to Marleyna:
"I minor detail: That wicker statue of Desna, particularly its wings, seem old. Yet it is made of wicker, which does make me wonder whether it is be sacrificed by flames."
I listened to the back and forth. People drawing out memories. Pulling facts from the corners of their minds. I watched Calwen try to comfort Marleyna. I heard Marleyna's stories about Old Man Wrinkles.
Bogeymen and abandoned farmsteads. Wicker gods and elf sniffers. The whole damn thing was running in spirals. I prefer my mysteries as straight lines.
"Ghosts." I started slowly, "They can be funny. Some stick around. Some don't. Some are nothing more than shadows - vague memories and balls of emotion and rage or sorrow. Some are so real you could swear they're next to you in the mortal world."
I stood up and stretched.
"Logic suggests we split up. Investigate on multiple fronts since we have so many possibilities. Logic is wrong. We don't know who or what our enemies really are. We don't know which villagers are part of the conspiracy and which are simple dupes. Splitting up is asking to be picked off. We need to stick together."
Calwen nodded as Warshawski spoke.
"We should remain united, complement each other with our strengths and be mindful that we are operating in the enemy's realm." She sighed. Neither ghosts nor investigation was not her field of expertise, but she did know about operating behind enemy lines, partisan warfare and small group tactics. Sometimes it was helpful to split up - in order to enhance the chances for one messenger to get through when success was doubtful or to attack from multiple angles. But the prior did not apply yet and the latter assumed you knew the territory and the enemy very well.
"I need to write to write a report in sylvan and formulate it so cryptic that it would not do the enemy much good even if our veiled adversaries intercept it and translate it. Dio might get it out of here should things look grim. But now there is Marleyna, too. Windmane never carried anyone but me, but he is faster than anything they have; he might get her and, if required, Orni out. But the problem with the river remains. A war horse needs a road to be fast, it will not help them much in the thick of the forest. Does any other way out of here lead over a path or open terrain?" The stirges might be pretty fast, but Calwen doubted that they had the endurance to chase a war horse or that they were smart enough to do so without being constantly lead. Explaining the location of Lyila's grove to Dio, even with the help of her map, would not be a simple task, but she could not ask Dramin for help on this. Carrying the message to anyone but Lyila would not be helpful, because only then could Calwen formulate it cryptic enough and refer to knowledge they both shared.
"Marleyna, do you know any location which is typically connected with fey in the area? A mushroom circle, a particularly beautiful grove which is said to enchanted?" She tried to evaluate different options as she got her map out of her backpack and unrolled it. With the blight around the village it did not seem likely however. A pixie messenger would be great right now, however, the quality that might them so very helpful was at the time the reason why she could hardly hope to meet one: They were elusive and extremely hard to find.
"Anything on the task which brought you here, by the way?"
Calwen's eye and ears moved as she scanned the environment for eavesdroppers.
Marleyna thinks a while on Calwen's questions.
"That same effigy of Desna's been there for as long as I've been in Ravenmoor. I don't think they plan on burning it, although there are some ritual burnings during the festival- offerings to the Dream Tender, all that."
She thinks for a while as to whether or not she is aware of any locations around Ravenmoor that have connections to the realm of the fey. "Well... not that I'm aware of. There are trolls in the hills and mountains off way to the east, but I don't know of any real glades or anything like that on this side of the river. That doesn't mean they might not exist, though."
All this talk about mosquito men and night creepers finally makes the wizard break form.
"There are no such things as night creepers." He grins, his idea of a joke being quite unfunny to all. "Something like that just cannot exist naturally, not from this or another plane." He takes the opportunity to look around, his face lighting up and in a moment he breaks out into a sincere laugh.
"And to think I focused on the silliest possible thing when there are thousands of other knives and eyes in the dark here!" His idea of humour is somewhat off-putting considering the situation though he makes light of it anyway.
Stifling his laughs slowly he talks to the party with his faced turned away slightly, still tittering a little on and off. "But in all seriousness. We do not split up. There seems to be many forces at work here and we can remain more whole if we continue acting as one. I do want to get out of here alive, I have much more to still do in this world."
"You've got a lot to learn kid. Sebastian and I seen plenty of freaky alien s$!~. There are more things in this world than any one man could know and more worlds than you can comprehend."
He turns to the large man and his eyes shine.
"The way I see it Marsh, if I am wrong I get to learn more; and if I am right, well then we shall all have a chuckle again. There is no losing here."
Whether he is sincere, scared, acting macho or even trying to comfort the now terrified Marleyna; his voice becomes glass again and the small spark of excitement gets snuffed out and buried back away.
Calwen listens to the men's posing and arguing with a neutral expression beneath which a mixture of being entertained by it as well as an undercurrent of frustration by the lack of focus on their common enemy lay. In a way, she men were all the same, elf and human alike, and she loved them for that as much as it annoyed her. But that would be but another highly subjective generalization, would it not?
"In order to fight an enemies we must deprive it of its mysteries, regardless how worldly or otherworldly it may be. And ultimately it is that we need to outwit."
"Shall we see the mayor now and review the situation subsequently?" She asked, folding her map again and getting ready to go, just to see how her comrades would react to that.
Marsh gets up and dusts hay off his pants.
"Yeah, let's get this over with Sebastian. We better keep together. You know your going to have to inform the girls dad you've taken custody, right Warshawski? I am guessing we'd better tell the major too."
- - - -
"Y'all ready to go see the Mayor, then?" Viorec Korzha says as you approach. He rises from his seat. His wife, Brekka, has returned and they share a quick kiss. "Be back in just a little bit, hon," Viorec says, then gestures to the door.
Outside, he points to the manor atop the hill across the creek from the Korzha residence. "That's the Kriegler place, right up there."
It is a short walk; you cross a small wooden bridge over the creek, then march your way up the hill toward the manor. Again, it is the finest building in Ravenmoor by a fair margin; it looks as if someone has put a great deal of work into maintaining it. It is almost inviting, in fact.
Before you can make it to the door, however, you see a figure rise from doing yardwork in the little garden just north of the house. This figure, a rather burly man, wipes his forehead with the back of his hand before spotting your group heading for the manor and immediately leaps to his feet. He strides toward you quickly, nostrils flaring and eyes wide. you hear him shout, his voice hoarse. "The hell d'you think you're doin'?!"
Viorec quickly turns to the party and raises a hand cautiously. "That's Leonard Kriegler, the mayor's li'l brother," he says quietly. "Watch what you say around 'im. He's a powderkeg."
Leonard Kriegler is a barrel-shaped man in his late twenties, with short-cropped thinning hair, sweat-stained clothing, and a weak jawline, though his intense glare and thick arms show that he is likely far more formidable than his somewhat homely appearance might suggest. His breaths come fast and hard as he draws near, his work sickle still gripped tightly in his right hand.
"What're you bringin' this city-scum up here for, Viorec?" Leonard snarls, thrusting an accusing finger as thick as a sausage at Viorec, who seems to shrivel a bit. Before Korzha can answer, he turns on the group, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you all as he rants. "Magnimar-folk, I bet! You know they all smell like rat piss! You gonna poison Andretti with their stink! And women! You can't bring women around him in his state- his heart can't take it! He'll drop dead in a heartbeat! And an ELF! You know what I say about elves, huh?" Instead of finishing that thought, he sticks his face right up next to Marsh's. "Looka this tough guy! Bet you jus' love throwin' yer weight around against us humble country folk! Look, Viorec, he got EVIL in his eyes! Y'all better roll on back down the hill, 'cause Andretti ain't got no time fer y'all suckers an' scumbags!" He spins around to Dalton and starts to open his mouth, then seems to think better of it and instead proceeds to start screaming in Bacarov's face, unwilling to let anyone talk over him. "Y'all comin' to extort money outta these good people, ain't'cha? Ain't nobody in Ravenmoor got no money for the likes'a you, so pull up yer britches an' get outta here!"
And then, before Leonard can blow up any further, another voice comes from the doorway to Kriegler Manor:
"Whoa, whoa, Down, boy!"
Andretti Kriegler steps through the door with an embarassed smile. He is rail-thin, with a dramatically receding hairline and piercing blue eyes. It is plain to see that he was handsome once, but years have stripped the top few layers of those good looks off. He is nonetheless well-dressed, in a crisp vest and shirt complete with cravat, and his beard is sharp and trim. He immediately goes to Leonard's side, his mere presence seeming to take the fight out of his younger brother, who shrinks back in shame.
"It's quite all right, Leonard," Andretti says, patting the much larger man on the arm. "These people are guests here. Why don't you go get back to your work and allow us to talk?"
"Yeah, sure," Leonard says after a moment, but not before shooting Marsh another hateful glare.
Andretti turns to the party and bows his head sheepishly, his cheeks red. "I am so sorry," he says. "Leonard can be... overprotective." He offers his hand to each of you in turn. "Andretti Kriegler, mayor of Ravenmoor. I was told we'd received visitors from out of town today, so I was expecting you. I suppose Leonard didn't get the memo." He chuckles weakly. "Now, ah... what can I help you folk with?"
Marsh will smile and wink at Leonard as he backs down.
"I'm not from Magnimar, nor do I consider myself particularly evil in any way, I am actually quite fond of country folk cause I come from even humbler stock than ya'll here, but I'll take the lookin tough as a compliment, thanks."
"Not sure if you were pickin me out thinkin I was the leader of this entourage, but that man would be right over here. Inspector Sebastian Bacarov and Agent Warshawski, just Wasshawski, she doesn't have any other name or title. And I'm Vincent Marsh, but you can call me Vinnie if you prefer, or anything else polite."
"The resta you's wanna intraduce yer'selves?"
"Nice job on the grounds leny, the place looks great."
Dramin gives a stern look at the fast talking man and just shakes his head as he backs down. He eyes him down to quickly scan for any threats that might be on him.
However he realizes the mayor is on his way and has to cut it short to immediately switch mindsets. He adopts his quieter, analytical persona and shakes the mayors hand, pointing to his throat in the process to hopefully indicate he is mute.
He then lets out a cough instead and realizes this would only be able to go so far and drops it immediately. "Dramin. Travel-guard." While he tries to maintain an air about him, his handshake is somewhat uncomfortable to the touch. He quickly gives a glance over to Warshawski and grins. Couldn't do it forever Wari.
Calwen listens to Leonard with a friendly smile and tries to calm him down but is cut off by his speech ever again. She folds her hands and waits with elven patience and his glad when he finally makes an exit.
"... and I am Clawen Snowpaw, Knight of the White Rose." She nodded respectfully. "I am pretty familiar with the forest in general, even though less with the changes as of late, so accompanied these travellers. Miss Warshawski and I may have a delicate matter with you to discuss in private, later. I also would appreciate if a certain discretion was maintained regarding my presence here, I would not want the druids to believe my order was messing with their affairs." For a moment she looks like she wanted to say more, but then she just angled her head, grinned and stepped back.
That of course was a bait. It was true that the blight was druid business and that druids generally did not like anyone messing with their business. In fact, that was why she was here and not Galeth, whose presence was way too well known. However, Calwen had been directly asked for help by a dryad and a druid with whom she had wanted to cooperate been murdered. That gave her more than enough cause to interfere.
She would not be surprised if the others did not like her "interference" any more than the druids would have, with the little difference as that the blight was hardly a matter for the human government. She would not be surprised if it was hardly known in the cities and if so it was probably more a matter in the category "it has always been so, it is supposed to be that way" to them. She did not really care what the human government, or their representatives thought about her dealing with the affair and would certainly not allow them to declare this a human matter and leave her on the outside.
♤
♢
♧
Sebastian remains calm thru the tirade. All the nights he'd spent delivering the grim news of death had prepared him for the reception. He clasps his hands behind his back and let's the anger wash over him. At the appearance of the mayor Bacarov bows respectfully. Vinnie makes a good effort at respecting the brother's concerns and point of view. A good way to unruffle feathers when it comes to a brother just trying to look out for the mayor.
Bacarov simply nods greeting and shakes hands. "Inspector Sebastian Bacarov, it's my pleasure to meet you." He glances Leonard's way and inclines his head once in acknowledgement. "I understand your dislike of visitors from the city, Mr Kreigler. We've heard rumor of rather piss-poor representative who'd been here a few weeks ago. Caused a disturbance and brought trouble to the mayor's doorstep." He looks to both men and says solemnly, "You have my deepest apologies for the affair. I hope our discussion will prove we're not all like that man."
He nods to the others in the group and introduces them, "You've met Mr Dramin, this is Officer Vincent Marsh, and this is Officer Warshawski." A pause and he gestures politely to the remaining two. "And this is Mr Dalton, hired on as additional support for the journey. And you've just met Calwen."
He gestures towards the house. Once they're out of earshot of Leonard, he continues. "We're in the area following up on this representative, actually. While the trail of rumor he's left behind has been, troubling, I'd like to get your impressions of the encounter."
Again, I listened and watched while everyone else talked. Honestly, I was glad not to have to do the talking. It let me focus less on what words I was using and more on what words others were using. Not to mention their body language and expressions. Hostility often hid guilt or worry. Friendliness often masked ill intent.
Dalton merely inclines his neck when Bacarov introduces him. He doesn't take his eyes off of Kriegler. More the reception I was expecting to receive, the monk thinks to himself. I'm glad that his overt hostility seems to be the exception and not the rule here. Truly it has been said that manners cost a man nothing, yet that weak-chinned brute seems ill able to afford it all the same. He watches the man swing his work sickle as he walks away.
His brother, though... Dalton smiles uncertainly when the mayor glances his way. At least he seems to be bearing the death of his wife well.
Your strategy of waiting and watching instead of talking seems to have worked to you benefit. You notice during Leonard's tirade that he seems almost eager for someone to react and take a swing at him- and from the way his fingers tighten around that sickle, and the sweat building up in his palms and on his forehead, that he's begging for a fight... and, either because he's a fool or because he's just that confident, he's fairly sure he can take you.
You also detect in Mayor Kriegler a tiny note of panic when he calls Leonard off, one that the rest of the party seems to have missed. Also, in Leonard, there is more than just embarassment- a sort of reverence to his brother is the reason for him backing down so quickly.
Kriegler's cheeks flush a bit when Bacarov introduces you to him, and you can see from the way he quickly averts his eyes that he feels rather bad about it. There is pain in his eyes, and you seem to have tugged at that wound.
When Bacarov brings up the tax collector, you catch a bit of a pull in the muscles around his eyes and lips. Obviously, this is not a fun topic for him.
In response to Marsh, Leonard seems flustered. Such a civil response is clearly counterpoint to what he expected. He only answers with a scowl and a glare as he departs.
"A pleasure to meet you all," Andretti Kriegler says, shaking each of your hands in turn. To Calwen, he bows his head in respect and says in Elven, "Charmed, milady. Seldom do the feet of elves tread upon these grounds. I would be honored to speak with you of this 'private matter' once we are done here."
"I accept and appreciate you apology on behalf of- Elias Kyle, wasn't it? Ugh. An unpleasant man, to say the least. Made a right ass of himself." He shakes his head in disgust at the memory. "Yes, unfortunately, I did play host to that buffoon last month. Please don't tell me that there's more trouble still to come from that man."
"Mr. Kyle came into town one month ago, on Festival day no less, just as you have. All full of bluster, caused quite the stir among the folk. Made a pass at Anya Lupescu, from the Trading Company- almost got into a scrap with Saul. That seemed to be his theme of the day, almost getting into scraps. Nearly had it out with Markham Dagwood, not that this is a particularly unusual feat. He was here to collect 500 gold in back taxes- truly, I do apologize again for that mix-up. I honestly believed that, as no one had been sent this way for years to collect, that we were... off the hook, as they say. Regardless, for his own safety as much as that of the people here, I asked him to stay at my house while Leonard and I collected the money. Took the entire day, it did, and I was not happy to miss the Festival doing so. Blasted ingrate didn't even want to participate in the festivities! 'Redneck hootenannies,' he called it. In any case, he stayed in one of my guest rooms for the night, and left without so much as a word of thanks in the morning. I didn't even see him go. Good riddance, I say. In any case, I imagine that with your presence here and him being brought up in conversation that not all went smoothly with his return to Magnimar."
Dalton feels reassured in the presence of the mayor; indeed, he actually chides himself for his prejudiced expectations. You predicted Andretti to be something like Leonard, and not this cultured individual, didn't you? he silently berates. It's clear this man has a good head on his shoulders. Blast. It would have been better if Elias had not been the one at fault here. It's going to be painful to have to deliver the news that we had to chase Elias down to find him...
He speaks up. "You mentioned that it took you all day, but you did collect the 500 gold. Did Elias give you any kind of receipt as proof that you delivered it up to him?" It's all right, Dalton, you can ask questions...you didn't put your foot in it this time... He keeps his eyes trained on the mayor, refusing to glance uncertainly at his companions. Respect the presence of whom you are addressing at all times, the voice of his sensei echoed in his mind.
Unbeknownst to the monk, his steady stare behind his tattooed face can be a little disconcerting to those who don't normally hold prolonged eye contact. The monk's gaze is unintentionally intense because he rarely blinks.
It is in the eyes. The mouth. The way they move. Tension. Wrinkles. The brother wanted a fight. Either he thought he could take the lot of us or he didn't care if he could. Something about me bugged the mayor. Maybe I looked like his lost lover. Or maybe it was all human women.
The mayor's story about Elias Kyle made sense. It meshed with what we'd been told. Maybe a little too well.
♤
♢
♧
Bacarov's face darkens at the description of Kyle's antics. Then at the question from Dalton he nods agreement. An astute question, mate. If the mayor can produce such a thing, it would go a long way to quelling the need for Magnimar to press the matter. And free us up to look at...
"Such a document would greatly benefit our investigation into Elias Kyle." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, like escaped convicts when the prison gates are left unattended. Bacarov did that for time to time when he let his 'detective instincts' override his analytical side. "If it's a matter of this ill-mannered swine Kyle making off with your town's hard earned gold, then we can shift our investigation to a..." Bacarov pauses for effect, searching for the right words. "...different focus."
Okay, you've opened this tanglefoot bag, let's try not to get it on yourself... Bacarov continues, "Chances are this fool ran his mouth one too many times and was waylaid out on the road. In fact, we were accosted not more than one day's walk west of here. A group of bandits and their viperous leader attempted to kill us." He folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head. "I'm glad we made it though, the way I was assigned this case, most likely the city would have sent a party twice this size without further communications."
His frown turns the other way, a smile touching his lips. "Well, thanks to the skills of those in my company, we lived to tell the tale. Point of fact, the first part of my assignment is to follow up on Kyle. But the second part, it's to find out all I can about the bandits plaguing this area. I know your town was put off by this Kyle business, but I think we can do some good for Ravenmoor." He holds up a hand to make an additional point. "Ravenmoor's business is her own. I and my superiors are more concerned with the... infestation of thuggery in the Churlwood. Even more troubling is the reports given us by Calwen here, the dark twistings of plant life in the region." Bacarov gives himself a shake. He also studies the mayor, the detective's use of 'infestation' intentional.
"At any rate, milord, something of proof regarding your payment to this miscreant Kyle will free me up to work the other side of the case." He sighs with a smile. "To be honest, it'd do my company good to be able to sit back and enjoy the festival. Far be it from us to follow in any of the footsteps of Elias Kyle."
As he speaks he keeps a weather eye on the periphery, searching the room for possible items linking the mayor to the darker side of business.
》
》
》 (looking about the room)
Calwen listened to the conversation and started feeling almost dizzy as she listened to the conversation. Before she had been inclined to believe that Kriegler was responsible for Armand's death. She had known that he appeared charming trustworthy to most.
She was a bit surprised regarding the amount of tax which was owed. She did not really know anything about Elias. She was surprised about the amount of tax which was apparently owed as well as the fact that Elias did not like to join the festival.
While Bacarov was talking she discretely stepped by Wasrshawski's side. "Does Elias not joining the festival fit the image you have of him? Why didn't he?"
At a point during the conversation when she could throw a question in she asked as cordially as possible: "Did I understand that right that you are not only mayor, but head priest for the faith of Desna in this settlement?"
Marsh concentrated on watching the mayor as the others spoke to him.
Dramin didn't buy it. Not because he sensed something was up with the mayor but because he saw the rest of the outside picture and decided it wouldn't fit otherwise. When he hears Dalton's question about the receipt it takes whatever willpower he has to not grimace at the monk. The man nailed a good one. He is always surprising every day.
When he starts to hear Bacarov talking, Dramin decides that he could let the man take lead, he wasn't one for this politicking anyway. As soon as Bacarov mentions the bandits and the power the party had displayed, Dramin has a moment to nod his head in agreement.
When Calwen mentions Desna's name, Dramin winces somewhat. He knew they weren't to be mentioning the name of the Goddess, and here she says something in front of the mayor. He watches the mayor for a moment to see his reaction to the name of the Goddess,
Though he is unable to understand the man's motions and characteristics.
- - - -
"A receipt?" Mayor Kriegler seems surprised for a moment at Dalton's suggestion, but then smiles. "Well, yes, of course. I don't have it at hand, of course- but I would be happy to fish it out for you, if you wouldn't mind stepping inside and having a drink while I paw through my records. I'm, er... a bit creative with my organizational methods, so I fear it could take a few minutes, and I would hate to leave you all standing on my doorstep all that while." He gestures into his home welcomingly. "Well, come on in, then. I'll just be a moment."
"You're quite right, Inspector Bacarov," Kriegler says. "The Churlwood is positively infested with lowlifes and bandits. We have been, thus far, relatively lucky in having few run-ins with that sort, though I suspect our local stirge population and Markham Dagwood's bow have much to do with that. I hope that Elias Kyle, as much as I detest the man, did not fall prey to them; no one deserves such an end. I am glad you lot came so well-prepared, though I doubt numbers greater than you own would have been necessary." He gestures across the large, homey living room, directing your gaze to a large wine rack with a shelf bearing a number of glasses next to it. "Please, help yourselves. I've a number of good vintages available, including some holdovers from the old Ravenmoor vineyards in my family's collection."
There are several doors on either wall, and a stairwell that leads up to what you might presume to be the guest rooms you've been told about. On one of the walls hangs a beautiful painting depicting what appears to be a younger, healthier, clean-shaven Andretti Kriegler and a truly lovely woman with long, blonde hair and a kind smile sitting together, holding hands.
"My third wife, Miranda," Kriegler says quietly as he notices a few eyes turning to the painting. "I had a man paint that of us when we were in Kaer Maga a good ten years ago. We'd just been married. Spectacularly happy, we were." He sighs, his jaw taut, and turns away from it. Quick to change the subject, he decides to finally address Calwen's question. "Yes, my good elf-maiden, I am by some accounts the spiritual leader of this community, albeit in an unofficial capacity. Unlike many members of this community, I have done some traveling in my day, as far as the aforementioned Kaer Maga, in fact. I've studied the Desnan way at a depth these good folk never could, being so forced to stay home and tend their lands. I try, though I fear I must keep certain aspects of the Starsong's faith... simplified, for the sake of the Ravenmoor flock. Good people, though many of them do not take well to change." He smirks and gives Calwen a wink.
Another notable painting comes into view, hanging near the fireplace. A beautiful, dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes and a dark dress seems to float over a field of tall reeds, peasants bowing at her feet as butterfly wings spread from her back. Waves of some kind of power extend outward radially from her oustretched hand, and two robed figures stand with hands clasped in prayer behind her. A full moon hovers over the woman's head like a halo. Kriegler notices the attention the painting garners, but says nothing about it until someone prompts him.
"Please, relax, make yourselves at home. I'll go and find that receipt for you; I fear that, afterwards, I must make my way down to the Festival grounds to finalize preparations. I would love for you all to accompany me, should you wish. Before I do, however, I must ask..." His expression darkens, and he clears his throat. "The 500 gold Ravenmoor owed... was it not delivered? If not... and I fear this may prove the case, being that you are official representatives of the city... must said taxes be collected again, now? It would be a stretch, of course, and something of... an inconvenience, but as the leader of this community, and given our past negligence in this matter, I can promise you that Magnimar's tax ministers will receive their pay. Again, it may take some time to gather what is owed, though it will not pain me so much as before, given that you lot are far more pleasant than Mr. Kyle proved to be. I trust that should this prove to be the case, that upon the apprehension of Elias Kyle, the amount already paid be recompensed in full to Ravenmoor."
After saying this, Kriegler moves into one of the side rooms to begin his search for the necessary paperwork.
Third wife Huh? This guy is hard on his women.
"If we can prove payment was made," I said, though my eyes focused on the paintings. "but lost or stolen along the way back, there shouldn't be an issue. If you made the payment in good faith it was the responsibility of the tax officer in charge to return it to Magnimar."
Which meant Anikee could be in for a load of trouble for the way she handled things. I felt sorry for her but that's the thing about investigation. All you can do is be dedicated to the truth. The consequences are beyond your control.
Something about this entire village nagged at me. The spirits were oddly quiet. Usually I heard them whispering to me, eager for an ear that could actually hear them but, so far, I had heard almost nothing.
"Elias had troubles with the grape and the grain." I whispered to Calwen. "He lapsed back into drinking on his way up here. Any sense of his behavior we might have had before was wiped clean away by that. A man high on alcohol... who knows. Worse if he dipped into the local flyleaf supply."
I raised my voice. The painting was the first representation of Desna I had seen that made any real sense.
"I'd like to know more about this painting." I said, pointing to the painting of Desna. "Please."
♤
♢
♧
"Rest assured, milord." Bacarov says, nodding agreement to Warshawski's statement. "We wouldn't dream of confounding your town with double payments. We can take the note of receipt as our warrant to follow Mister Kyle..." He pauses his study of the paintings and looks back to the mayor. "...wherever that trail leads."
The Inspector bows as Kreigler makes his way out and tuners his steps to the center of the room. He softly whistles the first few bars of a tune , the notes calling his innate magical energies to the fore. He closes his eyes for a second then reopens them, a faraway stare to their focus as he takes in the room and through its contents from where he's standing. Once done with one area, he steps to the next to continue.
》 (10 ft cube 1) incredible
》 (10 ft cube 2) no way
Bacarov frowns. I'm either tired or there's something afoot. Maybe both. He spots Warshawski scanning the place too and hopes her better skills pull the details they need. The mayor's place is nice. The man himself is affable. But rarely do those two qualities run a small town like this...nor keep a big dog like Dagwood in check.
He continues a few more bars of the song, extending his magical aura to the others to aid them as well.
He stands next to Marsh and whispers so hopefully only him and the party can hear. "Had a case my first year out. Real gut twister. This half-elf, he's got all the charm. Manages to convince a good section of folks to follow him." Bacarov looks back to the painting of the ephemeral woman in the field. He spares an eye for the hallway down which the mayor had departed. "Called himself the 'Rambler', claimed to be a priest of Desna. Turns out he worshipped something different. Just a few twists of falsehood into the truth turned the message to poison."
He looks down at his hands and the turns back to the hallway to ensure it's still clear. "I'm curious what sort of mixture is squeezed into the faith water here."
Bacarov spits a distant look in Dramin's eyes as the wizard searches thru some firm of memory amid the painting. What do you see, mate?
♤ ♢ ♧ ♤ ♢ ♧ ♤ ♢ ♧
Bacarov smiles his thanks at the mayor's return and raise a finger as though coaxing a remembered question into the room. "You mentioned a Mr. Dagwood. Markham Dagwood?" He let's his hand fall as he clasps them behind his back in a contemplative posture. "Among the rumors of our ill-mannered Elias Kyle, we've been given...shall we say, friendly warnings regarding the placement of Mistress Calwen and Mr Dagwood in the same vicinity. Something good to do, it seems, with his history with the fey-blooded of this realm." Bacarov raises an eyebrow of concern and asks, "In wanting to linger and enjoy the Festival, I don't want my companions and I to tread upon delicate sensebilites. You've shed a better light on this man by your commentary on his protection of your borders. Is there more you could say on the him?"
(mixing some white lies with the truth)
A detective uses performance to keep allies coordinated, alert, and ready for action. All allies within 30 feet gain a +1 bonus on Initiative checks, Perception, and Disable Device checks for 1 hour. They also gain a +1 insight bonus on Reflex saves and to AC against traps and when they are flat-footed. These bonuses increase by +1 at 5th level and every six levels thereafter. Using this ability requires 3 rounds of continuous performance, and the targets must be able to see and hear the bard throughout the performance. This ability is language-dependent and requires visual and audible components. This performance replaces inspire courage.