Penance waited patiently for the meeting to unfold. He was used to waiting, biding his time was often a necessity in his line of work. Waiting for the precise moment to strike required not only patience, but a keen awareness as well. Indeed, the waiting was the easy part. The hard part was remaining focused on the task at hand, staying alert even when bored or tired. Now there was the challenge. So it was that Penance waited.
Once the meeting started, Penance listened intently as his...no, it would be theirs now, as their employer spoke. He watched the others for signs of interest, surprise, even joy at being assigned such a simple and straight forward task. Truth be told he was rather disappointed. He was hoping for something more...interesting.
As the human woman presented her hand, he returned the gesture. He then bowed formally and introduced himself.
"A pleasure to make all of your acquaintances. You may call me Penance. It is entirely poosible you may have read about my...findings. My reports are occasionally published as...propaganda I guess you could say, but I digress. I am trained in the fine arts of persuasion, calligraphy, and instruction, with a personal passion for languages. If you are the bruiser my lady, then I guess that makes me the mouth, for lack of a better description."
"Archbaron Fex takes word of the Glorious Reclamation very seriously. Rather than seeing Longacre become a mire of fetid thinking, he seeks to steel his holdings against it before it takes root.”
"A likewise pleasure, Master Penance."
Kayal folds away his own copy of the document before hissing a Shadowtongue word and raising a hand to the rest. A wandering shadow promptly rips itself from his form and claws its way to the papers before splitting the collection into equal quarters and lifting the fourth such stack towards the Fetchling himself. The shade falls away as soon as the scrolled up declarations are dropped into his grip.
"Quell the discontent. Lance the wound. Perfectly understandable." Kayal blinks flatly at the screen and the silhouette beyond. "Where would you have us start?"
Vokrin lets the others introduce so that his may be one of the later and more self-important. "I am the arch-mage Vokrin, in that I am a mage and am often rather arch." It seems somewhat clear he's not entirely aware of the true meaning of the word. "You would do well to take heed and be cautious."
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"Wait, THE Archmage Vokrin? Your reputation proceeds you grand mage. I am honored to be in the presence of such power. Truly the Dark Prince has placed me in great company."
"I suppose we should be off. These missives won't hang themselves. Well, maybe in Kayal's case. The great mage is right though. Caution should be the word for the day."
Cimri has quietly been gathering bent nails and a hammer from around the building for the job. She returns quickly with her sash on, "Penance, good to meet ya, now let's go put some laws in effect!" She explains the four places on the way down the stairs and back to Longacre proper, "We'll need to post these in four locations, the Notice Post in church square, Castle Gate, The Last Stand Tavern, and the Jail and Sheriff's office. If-" she stutters, but plows through her sentence as fast as possible, [b]"If you don't mind I'd rather do the Sheriff's office last so I can avoid my aunt a bit longer.
Rurisa arches an eyebrow at Cimri, but doesn't comment. "Five of us, four locations, we can be done in a heartbeat if each us of us picks a different place."
Kayal nods, not finding complaint with either course of action, unless of course some citizens of Longacre take issue with the Archbaron's commands and see fit to retaliate. His expression flickers from candid agreement to furrowed thought at the idea of potential hostilities...but he's neither willful nor cowardly enough to voice it.
"Rurisa makes a good point, but I wonder, is there a need to finish our assignment fast? It would seem to me that if we separated and one of us failed in our task, the rest of us would not know about the failure and as such may not be seen as successful by our shared employer. Perhaps engaging in this mission in pairs might be a more cautious endeavor. Or we could just accomplish each one together, in the pleasure of each others' company. That would allow us to learn more about each other while better ensuring our goals are accomplished."
"Doesn't matter to me, so long as we hit the sheriff's office last." Cimri leans against a convenient tree and begins playing with one of her daggers.
"Courtesy dictates that the Archbaron's demands are met with due haste." Kayal leads a hand towards Castle Gate, close as it is, his other arm laden with scrolls.
"I understand you are a persuader by trade, Master Penance?" The Fetchling blinks once, dragging himself from the shade of the trees and into the unpleasant light of the day, sighing as he leaves: "I would welcome a tale or two, if the offer stands."
Rurisa sighs, "I daresay you're all making this take a good deal longer than it needs to, but very well--so, Penance, about that story?"
Cimri leads everyone along to Castle Gate, intent on the story as everyone else is.
Longacre’s western gate looks almost as if some great giant picked up the stone gate from a rugged frontier fort and dropped it across the road leading into town. A set of weathered wooden doors stands open in the fortified stone.
A woman calls out to you from atop the gate under a rigged-up awning, "Ho Cimri and friends! What brings you here this day? The woman is graying and a touch past middle-age, though she carries herself with the bearing of a soldier, life-long or otherwise.
"Archbaron's orders," is the extent of Kayal's unusually authoritative response, and he wastes little time in holding up a copy of Fex's demands. He cares little if the woman above takes issue with his asking Cimri for a nail and hammering the declarations to the gate, or wherever else might be more appropriate, and for his part leaves further explanation to those better suited to the task.
"Eh? A story you say? Oh very well. Let's see. Ah yes, one of my personal favorites."
"There once was a young man who was raised to be very religious. So religious in fact, that he took up arms in the name of his spiritual affinity. He studied both book and blade so much so that he surpassed all others around him, until that fateful day that she walked into his world."
"A young lass, pretty as could be and almost as faithful, and as luck would have it, to the same deity no less. Ah yes, a couple bound for the heavens and slated for success against all odds. They survived strife, war, and inquisition alike only to grow founder of each other as they aged. It was true love, blessed by their god and cloaked in faith. A stronger bond could not be forged in a hundred centuries."
"But, as in all things religion, eventually it came time to pay Penance. I say, love really is a curious emotion."
As they approached the gate, Penance admired the handiwork. Like most of the underground folk, he appreciated good stone work and tactical structures, even something as simple as a gate.
"Official duties, in capacity of the Archbaron Fex, to discharge royal decrees and announcements of mandates in service to Longacre and our most humble of officials."
"What!?" the woman growls. She slides down the ladder, wear in her gloves and boots indicating this is her usual way of reaching the ground and roughly pulls the Archbaron's decree from your hands to read it over. Her face grows increasingly red, and at one point you can see a vein throbbing in her temple.
Her explosion is both predictable, and extremely graphic. Her cursing of Fex, and by extension yourselves as his 'lackeys', is innovative and mired in the kind of filth only a soldier could come up with. "We've kept this town safe and this gate open—except for nights and holidays—for all the eighteen years Dent and I have minded it! No cow-pile baron or his trumped-up dung-berries are going to make us close it!"
Cimri sneers just a touch with the comparison to her and the material used in the tannery, "Listen Bo, I know you're mad, but that's the law now, you can't just ignore it."
Rurisa gives the woman a puzzled look. Facing her squarely, she says, "It's a gate, it's very purpose is to be closed in times of difficulty. I'm sure your execution of your duties has been exemplary, but the we all have our orders--the gate is to be closed."
Kayal barely seems fazed by the befouled speech, and quite promptly takes out another scroll and continues his efforts to nail the decree to its proper place, brow and quint narrowing as he works. If the guardsman sees fit to stop him a second time, the Fetchling's glare suggests a less than cordial response, though not one he'd prefer to follow through on.
"Your years of service are not in doubt," he sighs, not turning from his task but punctuating the notion with a solid whack. "Orders are orders."
An older man comes from the nearby home wiping his hands with a dish cloth. "Bo? What's wrong and who are these people"
Bo sharply turns showing him the decree and explaining what she can in her anger, "Dent! These dogs, with their eyes on food and cotton between their ears are here to close the gate and post proclamations, because orders are orders. Can't see the snake they're in bed with and they're gonna get bit. Serve 'em right, it would."
Dent gets just as visibly angry as Bo, though both resort to no more than name calling. Obviously upset, the couple leaves a trail of muttering and nasty names behind them as they return to their home, to watch your efforts to close the gate under their entrance awning.
Checking around inside the tower you find a pulley mechanism that will help to close the gate. Once the gate is closed and the notice is up Rurisa and Cimri, being the two strongest members of your party, lift awkward iron braces into place, locking the gate in a more permanent fashion.
Huffing from the exertion Cimri questions, "All right, where to next?"
"Should we ever make Lord Fex's acquaintance," Kayal muses aloud as the others work, watching Bo and Dent retreat to their home, "Remind me to ask if those two are...required personnel."
Once completed, Kayal thinks on Longacre's layout, one tendril of shadow tugging a scroll into his hand as another simultaneously attempts to yank it out again (though he perseveres with the latter and swats it away without much disruption). He's hardly local, but his time meandering the streets at twilight and beyond has given him a reasonable memory of their respective points of interest.
"Candidly done, ladies." Kayal briefly offers the two a proper smile, though it looks somewhat off-putting with the sun in his eyes. "Should you wish to avoid the company of your relative with some measure of efficiency, Ms. Staelish, I would traverse east to west. Last Stand Tavern. Pass around the stores to Church Square. Drop south to the jail."
That said, he simply blinks, as ever; waiting to know if his suggestion is to be acted upon or replaced.
Rurisa has taken the measure of Bo and Dent, and turns away, unconcerned at their ineffectual railing. Acknowledging Kayals compliment with a nod, she scans the street & rooftops for threats--standard protocol.
"That sounds acceptable, if there's nothing else we should move on."
Cimri smiles and bows playfully, "Why thank you Mr...." her face screws up before she shrugs, "of Ridwan." Her grin becomes genuine, "Thank you. Off to the Last Stand! Hopefully its as good to us now as it was last night!"
Colorful wooden shields and weathered antlers hang upon the deck girdling this rustic public house. Overhead, a sign carved with crenellations bears the name “The Last Stand Tavern”—the letters “L” and “T” formed with painted greenfletched arrows.
"Well," says Cimri, "let's get this decree posted."
Sweeps her hand to indicate the nearby posts and nods her head at Kayal, then walks towards the Last Stand, before leaning casually against the wall by the front door.
True to form, Kayal's response is to unfurl the current paper and unflinchingly move to hammer the thing into place. A light frown appears as he works, though anyone present on their previous excursion to the tavern would know not to blame it on sympathy; simply that The Last Stand's utterly lacking array of proper Nidalise spirits had yet to offer him anything but abject disappointment.
The sound of hammering draws thunderous footsteps from beyond the tavern's door. A great hulking slab of a man with wiry red hair, bearing a wooden spoon and a half full pot of what smells like spicy chili bangs the door open.
"What in the nine Hells are you doing to my beautiful tavern?!" he demands.
"Putting up a decree you big blowhard. I swear Bolgart, you explode at the littlest things."
This man is Bolgart Caggan, the tavern owner and bartender that assisted you last night. Cimri regaled you with tales of his exploits throwing people out of his bar when talking about the town.
Bolgart stomps down and reads through the decree. His face turns a lovely shade of puce before he turns around, ladle gripped so hard you can hear the handle crack. "Why don't you take your ridiculous gods-damned decree and shove it where the sun don't shine! I'll even knock you in the gut to get it out, just so you can take this smeared and grotesque monstrosity back to the Archbaron for revisions. I'm sure he'll enjoy smelling his own s!$! coming from your faces so much he'll make deputies out of you!"
Caggan's colorful tirade has drawn more than one curious face to the windows of his establishment, waiting to see your response.
With one arm cradled in the other, Penance tapped his chin in thought.
"I do rather like the sound of deputy, but I fear your words are close to blasphemy good sir. Perhaps you should return to your kitchen and keep to your stews, lest you become one."
"I would think you smarter than to mouth off like that. Are you looking to aggrieve us? Are you seeking violence? We do not come bearing it, but it surely can be found." Vokrin supports Penance's efforts, but also trying to make them not seem the bad guy. After all, they're following orders.
Still stood aside the now pinned decree, Kayal does nothing in the face of Bolgart's raving and simply stares, frown fading quickly to a less-than-impressed sneer of ill-gratitude. If the lumbering oaf of a man deigns to throw a punch, then Kayal more than welcomes him to try.
For now though, the Fetchling says nothing, eyes unflinching from the dopey-faced hulk at his front, with shades writhing angrily at his feet.
Rurisa remains leaned up against the wall by the doorframe, and smirks behind her helmet at the barkeep's antics. Otherwise she doesn't move.
The puce of Bolgart's face becomes a deeper shade of purple, veins throbbing on his forehead and neck. Something seems to snap behind his eyes as he throws his pot of chili at Penance.
Caggan calms once the pot has been thrown, though that doesn't stop Kayal's shadows from reciprocating and covering him.
The man screams, covering his eyes and face, swinging wildly about with his ladle. "You won't take me devil! Leave me be!" He proceeds to flee back towards the Last Stand.
The moment he throws the pot of soup, Rurisa shoves the door closed and steps in front of it. If Bolgart tries to flee past her she'll make an unarmed strike.
Rurissa's swing clocks Bolgart cleanly, and though he doesn't drop he does press himself as flat against the door as he can, away from Kayal. He continues babbling about a devil, with coarse hair and terrible tusks.
"Ahhhhh! Of all the bloody ignorant bastards in this s@+@e infested hole of a town."
Snarling angrily, Rurisa will follow up with a ridgehand to Bolgart's throat, followed by a kick to his knee, then grabbing him by the ear and smashing his head against the tavern wall.
Kayal's brow raises as Bolgart begins gibbering of fur and tusks—curious fear, that one—but Rurisa's slamming fist lends him confidence enough in their soldier to leave the barman to her care as he turns his attention to their scorned inquisitor.
"Hold still, Master Penance."
Gathering the loose fabric of his sleeve, Kayal moves to clean Penance of the food-stain and soothe the burn. "Be wise, sir. Your misanthropy is showing."
Rurisa's strikes are as accurate as they are debilitating and Caggan goes down quickly. Kayal is able to clean off Penance so he is none the worse for wear just as one of the Sheriff's deputies runs up. "What is all of the commotion going on here?" After explaining the situation he says, "I'll be sure to get Sheriff Staelish down here immediately to talk to Bolgart."
Cimri pipes up, "And that's our que to leave. Quick, quick, while the getting's good, doesn't like Bolgart will be getting up for a bit."
The church square has a few people out and about on this nice day, lots of them hurrying along as you head towards the notice post. A fifteen-foot-tall wooden post, scarred by nails and plastered with faded pronouncements, rises from a bed of posies in the church square. A verdigris-stained copper archer swivels atop a squeaky weather vane at the post’s summit.
After a lingering glower at the unconscious barkeep Rurisa follows. As she passes the message post, she stops and reads a few of the missives, then shrugs and plants herself a few feet away. Other than nothing the rooftop archer's presence, she pays no further attention--after all, they were acting under the Archbaron's lawful authority, what had they to fear of a city guard?
The sound of pounding hammers draws the attention of several members of the crowd. One of the first is a rather severe looking woman who reads through the decree quickly. Making sure that you're still around she poses questions, looking hopeful.
"Will those who break curfew to see to a medical emergency be arrested? Half of Longacre is related—what does “family” mean in this context? Is a group gathering at the tavern assisting the establishment in “the natural course of its business?” How can those from outside town obtain a writ of passage if they’re not allowed in to visit the notary?"
She looks earnest while some ten or so townsfolk begin grumbling about being treated like prisoners with curfews and injustice around the post.
Kayal, having tied off the dirtied sleeve of his robe and slipped his arm and shoulder free to reveal a myriad of black-wrought scars and self-inflicted claw markings, listens intently to the woman's questions as he goes about re-organising the faded pronouncements so as to not render them invalid by the addition of the Archbaron's new proclamations, though he clearly doesn't bother to read the older papers for himself. As more come to pander their opinions, the Fetchling loses patience and speaks plainly, voice raised only so that repetition need not be necessary.
"Those of appropriate duty and authorisation may be granted means to address matters of emergency. Nuclear relations alone should suffice Lord Fex's criteria. Unnecessary congregations without further legitimate purpose lack reasonable stature. Writs, ma'am, may thus need to be applied for by authorised personnel on behalf of the inquirer."
Of course Kayal knows none of this for certain, and it is quite clear to those in his company that he does not seek to placate them so much as he bores of their accusal of imprisonment, as if it were some form of punishment. Many of these louts are unlikely to know the meaning of the word, and he finishes with narrow eyes to the squeaking weather vane and a fist clenched about the handle of his borrowed hammer. "Insurgency is no greater than banditry. As I recall, Longacre has a rich history against both. That the Archbaron bothers to take precautions on your behalf is a testament of his loyalty to Cheliax and its people."
Rurisa nods along with Kayal's argument, punctuating with a forceful "Yeah!" at what seem like key points.
Cimri looks around, "Well that's all your questions." She breathes a heavy sigh, "One place left to go. Ugh, this is not going to be pleasant." She brightens up quickly though and snickers, "At least we'll get to see Caggan behind bars."
The woman nods, "That answers all of my questions. Should any of you need me just ask for Doctor Gerya Rohalendi. I have a small practice in the southern portion of town"
Rurisa shakes her head. "Cimri, sweetheart, he's a Nidalese shadow priest. His idea of intimacy probably involves wearing your skin as a cloak. It's also unprofessional to mix business and pleasure. Just find yourself a rough young soldier boy, it'll be easier on all of us."
Giving the other woman a friendly thump on the back she continues, "Buck up! The sheriff struck me as an honorable woman, I'm sure she'll give us no trouble."
Kayal bids the doctor farewell with a sharp nod and little more, returning his attention just in time to catch Rurisa's attempt to raise morale about their forthcoming jail visit. Adjusting his grip about the hammer and his remaining few scrolls, a rogue shadow crawls up his naked arm and succeeds in plucking free a proclamation only to wave it about in mirrored gestures as its owner speaks.
"Honorable, perhaps. Obedience may be another matter," he muses, releasing a small laugh upon being reminded that the over-sized buffoon from earlier should, indeed, be rattling in a cage. As ever it doesn't last, and it seems clear he has no further interest in the church square once their duties are complete.
"Do you fear your family, Cimri?" he asks with genuine, almost amused curiosity. "Our work does speak for the crown..."
The gnome's interest in the prison was feigned at best until mention of the large oaf piqued his curiosity.
"Tell me, what kind of practices do you think have been used? Flaying? Flensing? Ooh, I know, I bet disfigurement. That would seem to be appropriate right?"
His imagination started to run wild and in situations like this he found it best to see how far it would roam. Sometimes he would come up with something completely new that would inspire his passions.
Cimri looks a little uncomfortable, but talks quickly, "I really don't like my aunt. It's kind of a long story, but here's why: She made my parents leave me here. Longacre has always been a prison for me, but it wasn't so bad when we were only here during lumber season." She takes a breath and continues, "Five years ago my Aunt convinced my parents to leave and take jobs up north after one too many nights of being in jail for public drunkenness. She also convinced them to leave me here with her. Three years of blaming her for chasing them out turned to years of blaming them for leaving and forgetting about me."
She slaps the backs and shoulders of those within reach, "But with your guys' help my star is on the rise, and soon I'll be able to leave this s+&@hole of a town."
Cimri looks apologetic towards Penance, "Sorry Penance, but my aunt is too much of a softy to use that type of corporal punishment. The pillories in front of the jail see more use than the cells themselves, and they're rarely occupied for more than a half day."