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Words, wispy entities like butterflies, unable to find sustenance once spoken, would only deepen the memories of it all and so he but nodded when asked if ready to proceed with dumping the body. Dumping. It almost made him gag, but some truths had to be looked in the eye.
The walk itself was horrible. From the pressing weight on his shoulder to the morbid evidence of their recent activities in Didiana's arms, nothing about this midnight farewell was something he'd fondly remember. Together they'd drown and that only seemed right. The man's lips did part once the body found the water's cold embrace, being tugged down under by the trunk's weight, but again words didn't come. In his mind he uttered a prayer to Pharasma, begging the Lady of the Afterlife to take good care of this unfortunate soul, but even the prayer lacked confidence. Wasn't it most likely the man's damned soul was already being tied down to the forge of souls in Asmodeus's very own layer of Hell?
And there it was, an audible sigh in reaction both to his dreary thought and the redhead's words. Are you alright? came the question. There was more heart in those words than he could bear stomach right now. The man clenched his fist and exhaled. Wisdom from another life drifted to him. Truth travels with you. Look not behind you, but take it with you, take it forward to where you want it to go. He had never quite grasped the deeper meaning behind Master Jalpur's words, but on this night the seeds of wisdom were starting to blossom.
Seconds after the question had been asked the man's voice came like a midnight soliloquy. "I think I am. Parts of me are struggling to come to terms with what it is I must do, what it is I have done, but the destination is clear: a tomorrow where the nights aren't filled with terrors. The tyrant must be disposed so that we can breath again."
There it was again. That need for intimacy or rather, the desire to feel warmth after all this soul chilling cold. "To answer your question, no, I hadn't and it honestly disgusts me to the core that I am forced to do so. What sick parent forces his children down a road where they're forced to do the inhumane? Irori fend." He paused and turned to face Didiana, trying to get the woman to lock her eyes onto his. His voice was steady yet there was a fragility to it that made the man look like a boy next to Didiana. "I don't know if I'm alright, not right now anyways, but I am convinced that come tomorrow I'll find the way forward again, one step at a time. Please, don't be afraid to reach out when you must, because we need not walk this path alone."
For him, that path would consist of meditation and contemplation, acts of compassion and mercy by donating foods and goods to the suffering, and pouring copious amounts of energy and sweat into their would-be rebellion. For her? He dreaded the thought and it was this that drove the man to reach out in such a drastic manner. The thought of Didiana paying a draconic penitence was like a millstone grinding down on his soul. He wouldn't have it.
And so a callused hand, stained with evidence of today's horrific events, reached out for hers. For a squeeze. For that human touch, to remind the soul that there was still warmth out there in the world.
They wouldn't walk alone.
Once in the Tooth and Nail, Evander smiles and says, "I'll just have a local brew - nothing too powerful yet." As she hands out the mug, Evander looks about the tavern at the drunken crowd.
Matiscio's words were both balm and torture to the armiger's ears. She was endlessly relieved to hear of his internal conflict, that the death of eight men did not leave him unaffected. It lent both validity to her own internal turmoil and reassured her of the brawler's character. Murder should disgust him. It should disgust anyone. It should be the base response of any decent person and to hear Matiscio vocalize it only made her fonder of him, even as it verified her own distaste as merely human. It was a small thing, but the infernal sorcerer cherished any such evidence of her own humanity.
But the brawler's words were equally distressing. For even as Matiscio lent validity to their shared emotions, the hellknight within her rejected them. 'EMOTION IS WEAKNESS' sounded the maxim, one of the six core dictums of the hellknights. It was all well and fine for a civilian such as the journalist to acknowledge his own distress. It was good, even; were the world populated by nothing but people like him, averse to violence, it would be that much closer to the knights' ideal. But hellknights were held to a different standard.
'SOCIETY CANNOT SURVIVE MERCY'
'NONE ARE INNOCENT'
Even as Didiana drew comfort from Matiscio, the hellknight within her admonished her for feeling at all. It was their duty to do whatever ugly but necessary; to balk at this, a few deaths in service of the greater good, was to betray their cause. 'Heartless' was in the job description, and Didiana's trepidation and subsequent encouragement from the brawler were both equally antithetical to her sworn calling. She could not acknowledge her anxiety, only deaden it. It was maddening.
And then Matiscio reached out for her hand.
Didiana couldn't have withdrawn faster had her palm touched a burning stove. She looked at him now, finally; stared at him through eyes huge with something resembling primal panic. This only lasted a second, however. Matiscio's goodwill was poorly rewarded indeed, as the sorcerer's look hardened with fury. His genuine empathy threatened to bring her humanity to the forefront, and at that the hellknight retaliated.
"Get your hand off me. Who do you think you're speaking to? I am a proud armiger of the Torrent and your simpering sympathy does not apply."
Her tone was edged and laced with frustration.
"I've seen your kind all too often and I am not that. Philosopher pundits; self-satisfied old men who believe they have the world all figured out. Who will sit and preach moderation and tolerance even as the world burns. You know nothing! The world is an evil place that needs to be beaten into submission! You wonder who would ask others to do the inhumane? My kind would! Because sometimes a select few must do grotesque things so that the peasants can live in peace, blissfully unaware of the awful price of the prosperity they enjoy. I don't begrudge them that. You can't begrudge ignorance. But you..."
The eyes that bored into Matiscio had gone beyond anger, and now frankly resembled nothing so much as madness. Light spittle flew from her mouth.
"You and your so-called enlightened kind who preach harmony and understanding would be the death of us all if left free. Your kind wouldn't even exist if not for people willing to do ugly things for the greater good. You peddle peace when the hard truth is that the only thing capable of stopping a bully is an even greater tormentor. We killed a few fools who chose the wrong side. So what?! Without fear of a stern master's hand, chaos and depravity would reign. We shouldn't even be hiding these deaths, we should be announcing them from the rooftops! They should fear us. Fire should be fought with hellfire. But no, you can't do that, because to sink to my level would threaten your sanctimonious sense of superiority!"
Didiana was breathing heavy. The outburst had exhausted her as an uphill marathon might. The manic fury that had lit up her eyes went out little by little, as the woman herself, thoroughly spent by this entire day, seemed to deflate. However, Matiscio stood near enough to see the sorcerer's features slowly, over several seconds, go from anger to abject horror. Didiana could hardly believe the words that had escaped her.
"I'm sorry. Matiscio, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean any of... I don't really think of you like that... Oh Hells, I'm sorry."
The heavy breaths were fast turning into hyperventilation. Why had she said those things, she wondered in her now just slightly hysterical mind. Was she really so afraid? Was she really having this much trouble reconciling the ideal of the Order with the actions of the Ravens? Was she really so terrified that the wants and needs of Didiana the person would screw everything up that Didiana the armiger had to drown her out? Was she really so undisciplined that she feared that Matiscio's genuine compassion would break her own restraint? She looked at the brawler with wet eyes.
"Please forgive me... I'm... not well. I'm sorry."
This confirmed it. It couldn't be denied or postponed any longer: Didiana desperately needed to sort herself out. But for now, it was all she could do to beg forgiveness from the man who had only tried to help her.
It wasn't the rejection that caught Matiscio by surprise. Part of him had expected it, going by what little he knew of the woman's background. Forged in the fires of an order that knew not the meaning of compromise nor compassion, Didiana would and should recoil when confronted with outright sympathy. Still, there had an been undeniable call to at least try and so he had.
What did catch him by surprise was the complete change in character that she showed, as if possessed by something altogether not her. The woman's eyes, normally the reflection of calculated reason, were now cesspools of vitriolic hatred and rage. Nothing about it was fake and that darkness momentarily choked the life out of Matiscio, causing the man to inwardly stumble and fall weren't it for a lifeline of wisdom that he managed to cling onto.
The reflection of truth brings out the monster in those who have suppressed it, for it is in their nature to devour any and all proof of it. Woe the person holding this mirror.
The words had been those of an ancient Vudrani master, passed on through the years by his disciples of which Jalpur was one. It explained the nature of tyrants and chronic liars, of those lost in darkness. Weather this storm, Matis, and be strong. Be the truth that shall not bend nor break and she'll eventually succumb. Reason and contemplation are like water to the soul, a necessary source of sustenance for anyone who still has at least a shred of sanity to them. You owe her at least his much.
And so she did. Whatever fire burned within her had failed to consume. Instead, it had consumed her. Reflecting the sorrow in her eyes with his own, the man blinked away the tears that were about to blur his vision. "There is nothing to forgive. Please, let us return home and if you ever feel the need to, I am there for you to talk to." Yet more words stirred within him. She could feel it in the way he stood next to her, like he was choking on something. "It is in fact I who should apologize to you, for I clumsily held up a mirror to your soul and showed you truths that neither of us were ready for. But .. I'll shut up because I've already said too much."
While Matiscio and Didiana have their heart-to-heart talk, Setrona says to Evander, “One Chellish ale, then. Like I said, it’s on the house. The rest of you want anything?”
Setrona looks at each of you in turn with an intense gaze, seeming to study you. Then she says, “I get plenty of shady folks at this hour. And plenty of people who’ve already been kicked out of another bar for being took drunk. But you lot? You aren’t shady or drunk, as far as I can tell, anyway. So what are you all doing here at this hour?”
"There is nothing to forgive. Please, let us return home and if you ever feel the need to, I am there for you to talk to." Yet more words stirred within him. She could feel it in the way he stood next to her, like he was choking on something. "It is in fact I who should apologize to you, for I clumsily held up a mirror to your soul and showed you truths that neither of us were ready for. But .. I'll shut up because I've already said too much."
Didiana could scarcely believe the man in front of her was real. Not only did he forgive her for the baseless, foul accusations she had lobbed at him in anger; not only did he still offer his help; but he also (no matter how the cynic in her protested) seemed to genuinely feel for her. The sorcerer could honestly say that she had never met anyone like him.
"You're too good for this world, Matiscio."
These words carried some weight beyond the stock phrase for the armiger. For there was one thing in her mad invective that she did truly believe: namely that the world was an evil place. She looked at the brawler with newfound fascination. His sheer decency was no result of mere naivety, as she may have suspected, somewhat condemnatory, upon first meeting him; the man was genuine. She was unsure how someone like him came about in a world, in a country, like this, nor how it hadn't crushed him yet. But she was glad their paths had crossed.
With Matiscio's speedy forgiveness, Didiana was quickly regaining control of herself. After some deep breaths she stood tall again, with the only sign of her brief mental dismantling a certain sadness to the fine features usually set in a purposefully stern frown.
"Thank you."
It wasn't profound but she didn't know what else to tell him, so she took his own advice and shut up. The gratefulness emitting like a glow from her, however, spoke volumes. She was unsure if the man would ever understand what his unconditional acceptance really meant to her in her moment of total self-condemnation, but she hoped that she would be able to repay him someday. She suspected not. But there was one thing Didiana knew as the brawler called for them to depart: she wasn't going back to the Torrent compound. Not tonight. She needed some time to think.
-----------------------
The armiger accepted a plain beer from Setrona so as not to be rude, but had no intent of finishing it.
That was the best he was going to get. Part of him yearned for more, to have her hand reach out for his - if only for just a squeeze, to at least feel that human touch - but he knew it wouldn't happen. And it didn't. "Let's go join the others."
Didiana was no Jaya, a girl whose heart longed to be filled with hopes and dreams, beating with a desire to see the world become a better place. No, her heart had given up on that, and instead had submitted itself to the cruel and harsh lessons of those who had gone before her on the path of the jaded truth. Stoic? Yes. Depressive? Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
These reflections highlighted at least one truth within his own being though. He missed Jaya and was starting to project her on the people around him. He definitely had to stop doing that.
"Well, my dear, there was a card game we just had to clean up on. I think we did quite well for ourselves in it, and came out much better off for it. I am not much of a storyteller, however, so I'll leave it to others to do so."
Evander notices that one of the pairs of people toward the back of the tavern’s dining room seem to be eyeing you intently. They aren’t trying to be subtle about it either. He also notices that there doesn’t appear to be anyone else working there besides Setrona.
Didiana didn't drink. That is to say, she was ignoring the drink in front of her at the moment (an ale she was sure someone else would describe as perfectly lovely if they weren't regurgitating it), and she also didn't drink in the more general sense, that is to say at all. The reason behind this was twofold, like so much else with her, as she was acknowledging tonight. The public reason, the one the armiger would have told anyone wondering, was that it was a matter of professional devotion. Hellknights generally avoided alcohol, famed as they were for their discipline, and because being judge, jury and executioner didn't mesh particularly well with being drunk, no matter what the Caydenites said. The private reason, the one Didiana admitted to herself tonight, was simple enough: she didn't trust herself. Not without her inhibitions in check.
Also, she thought whilst seeing Kossrani's vapid enchanted eyes in the still surface of the now flat drink, she detested anything robbing one's mental competence.
Gods, Didiana wished she was drinking right now.
Instead, in search of some distraction, she ended up following Evander's gaze over to a pair of bar patrons giving them the evil eye. What with knowing Gilda, they didn't impress the sorcerer overly much but then the old bird had a mean Evil Eye. Didiana looked over to the writer.
"I'm with you if you want to confront them."
Didiana still had enough magic left to make the stalkers talk. Even if she hadn't, she was still fairly sure she could make them sing. She didn't have any more killin' in her tonight. But blowing some steam? That she wouldn't mind.
Besides, she was in the mood for getting punched in the face. And how often was that?
Setrona listens to Evander then says, “Card game, huh? Must have been quite card game to be playing this late. If there’s a story involved, I’d like to hear it.”
The proprietor sees Evander and Didiana looking over at the patrons who’ve been staring at them. She says, “Watch out for those two. You don’t want to get on their bad side. They’re nothing but trouble. I heard they snitched to the dottari when another patron made a joke about not having a portrait of the Queen that was up to code. I would hate to see such good clientele fall prey to their kind.”
"Well, I most certainly concur about not wanting that sort of trouble. I can handle people staring at me - although I don't think I'm that pretty," Evander chuckles slightly at his joke before saying, "You seem to be working all by yourself. The servers all go home for the night?"
“Card game, huh? Must have been quite card game to be playing this late. If there’s a story involved, I’d like to hear it.”
"What about you, Ms Sabinus? Do you have a story?"
Didiana was not one to pry. She had drawn away from most every social relation upon entering the Torrent, and it was additionally a common doctrine within the Orders that as long as people were able to follow local laws, the knights had no right butting into others' lives. But she was really missing her lictor right about now. Never mind her own personal crisis (although she could do with some fatherly advice...), Kintargo itself needed its hellknights. Octavio Sabinus was sorely missed.
"Sorry if I'm snooping. But you share a last name with our good lictor, no? Any relation?"
She had already decided that whatever the lictor was up to in his absence was no business of hers. If he wanted his subordinates to know, he would jolly well tell them. That said, Didiana could not deny her curiosity. Not tonight. There were a lot of things she stopped denying to herself tonight.
Setrona sighs at Evander’s question and says, “It’s hard to get good help these days, much less help at all. My last two servers headed for Varisia when Thrune moved in. But I manage. I have a small operation, so it’s not that bad running it on my own. I guess that’s not entirely fair. I do have one hired hand, but he’s not big on late nights. He helps out during the day, though.”
The proprietor looks a bit surprised when Didiana seems to recognize her connection to the lictor. She replies in a lowered voice, “You might not want to say my last name too loudly, my friend. The wrong people hearing that could be bad for business… and living in general. Of course I have a story.
“Octavio is my cousin. His disappearance is… troubling. I hope he’s okay, whatever he’s up to. I’d hate to think that Beerlizard got his hands on him. He’s always been a bit legalistic when it comes to following the law. I hope that didn’t get the better of him this time.”
Evander says, ”Well, you certainly seem to be handling things quite well. A testament to your skill and fortitude.” He offers a slight raised mug to her on toast before taking a sip.
Gregor stays silent once the work is done, and on the trip to the bar. He doesn't fully understand the reason the others would want or need to get a drink, but then again he has never understood. Wanting to be within full control of both his actions and faculties, Gregor has never had a tongue for alcohol. It helps that Ivan raised him to think of it as a way to pacify the weak minded and embolden the unlawful into acting out, both of which helped the Dottari to quell the citizens from rising up en masse.
He asked for a simple cup of water, to rehydrate after their activities, and wash the salt, thick in the air at the works, from his mouth. Hearing about the two men staring their direction, Gregor turns with no subtlety, and raises his cup in their direction. "Cheers to you good men. Reporting those that would tout the laws of our fine city as nothing but empty words is the duty of every law-abiding citizen." There was a clear honesty in his words, as he truly believed it, though the others that were familiar with his way of speaking noticed that he placed emphasis on the words 'law-abiding', that told of a melancholy in his voice.
He could no longer call himself as much. Despite whatever order they would deliver unto the city, Gregor knew he would forevermore still be a criminal in the eyes of his Kintargo. He turns back, and stares into his cup. His mind far away, chasing down rabbit holes of what degree of criminal behavior he would allow himself to perform, how far he would go from his own beliefs for the goals of the Silver Ravens. The events of the Salt Works were no bother, he had no qualms killing a man, especially a guilty one, to further the needs of a just and fair society. The laws he broke, that was the cross he bore. Breaking and entering, tampering with evidence, and theft to name just the blatant ones, and all for the Silver Ravens. He had to accept this new life now, as the crimes have been committed, and there was no turning back.
He nods as the barkeep issues her concern, "Yes, being committed to the word of the law can lead to internal struggle in the face of adversity, especially in trying times. It is important to have faith that the system supports those that use those laws to make the city greater, over those that would use them to destroy her from within."
Gilda held her glass of mead between her hands, using their warmth to bring the dwarven brew to just the right temperature for enjoyment.
She sighed and closed her eyes as she took each sip.
As she did so, she imagined the whole process of crafting dwarven mead. As part of the brief mental detour, she smirked as she imagined a family of a dozen dwarves in bee-keepers outfits staving off angry bees.
Opening her eyes, she saw Muscles lean over to Red, continuing the tail-end of their now somber exchange and sighed again.
The thoughts of dwarven bee-keepers led her thoughts to the Savored Sting. And witnessing Red's near-emotional collapse reminded her of her own youth when she was a "bee-keeper" herself nearly thirty years ago until Lenny put up a similar mirror for Gilda to recoil in horror upon seeing her own image.
"Oh, Lenny.."
Gilda sighed, giving the others a guilty look as the Reverand tried to bring her into a conversation to support their late night detour.
Shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, she glanced towards Red and Muscles one last time, smiling to herself as she was certain the armiger would eventually stumble upon the same "cure" she herself did decades ago in the effort to find her place in the world.
Gilda finally rejoined the conversation and let it drop several times that their earnings had come at the misfortune of a member of the Chelish Citizen's Brigade who seemed to be freely bragging about taking his comrades for all they had. She seemed a bit distracted in the effort, but perhaps it didn't matter since most ears present were already ringing from several hours of excess drinking.
She did allow her tone of voice to indicate she did not think too highly of that particular individual or his life choices when within earshot of Setrona.
Gilda grinned at the mention of "Beerlizard".
"Beerlizard? That's not one I thoughtta yet! Almost as good as Barge'o'lies!"
If she wasn't so comfortable and warm with two full glasses of mead coursing through veins, she would've considered standing and offering Setrona a "high five" for that.
Nonetheless, she took advantage of the opportunity to ply a local tavern-keep for information useful to their cause.
"So what's the word 'round here? What do peoples think'a what's goin' on?"
Setrona smiles at Evander after his remarks. She says, “Thank you, friend. I do what I can.”
The two lookers in the back seem to tense up when Gregor begins to address them. However, something about the ranger’s demeanor quickly calms them. They raise their cups at him and nod, but otherwise remain silent.
Setrona tilts her head at Gregor as he speaks of the law and making the city greater. She replies, “Faith is something I have in short supply these days. This ‘system’ you speak of doesn’t seem to be working very well lately.” She lowers her voice before continuing, “Not when someone like our current Lord-Mayor is in charge.”
The proprietor listens to Gilda’s bluffs about the origin of their earnings. Unfortunately for the shaman, Setrona was still very much in control of her faculties. She raises an eyebrow as Gilda tries to persuade her that the Chelish Citizen’s Brigade had a member who had taken advantage of his comrades.
Before Setrona has a chance to dwell on Gilda’s words, the shaman compliments her on her nickname for the Lord-Mayor. “Barge’o’lies is a bit more accurate, I must admit,” Setrona replies. “Perhaps I can help spread the word about this man who took advantage of his comrades.”
Setrona gives Gilda a look that, in no uncertain terms, indicates, I know what you said was a bunch of crap, but I’m okay with this particular variety of excrement.
When Gilda inquires about local rumors, Setrona says, "The word? There are plenty of words. Most of them outlandish and implausible. One that’s not so far-fetched, however, is about Thrune’s bodyguard. That woman, Nox, is a half devil. Or so it is rumored. Might explain that dead look in her eyes. If you’re ever in… proximity… to her, I would be sure to take some measures to prepare for the possibility she has some devilish qualities.
“Also, from one Kintargan to another, take care to avoid travelling alone at night. If the dottari and hellknight patrols don’t catch you, you might just find yourself mugged or worse in Redroof or Temple Hill. The gangs aren’t too happy about the new Lord-Mayor and are growing restless. I hear the Red Jills’ boss has gone some sort of crazy.”
"We'll take care. Thank you, Setrona." Evander finishes his ale, thinking, The gangs will complicate our actions. We'll need to make sure we're distinct from them and their actions.
"In what way has the Red Jills' boss gone sort of crazy?"
The armiger arched a red eyebrow at Setrona's claim to kinship with the lictor. Cousins, huh. Didiana didn't know the first thing about Lictor Sabinus's family background. Never asked. Never been her business. But the cousins had clearly taken different paths in life, she thought as she observed the bar owner and her slightly south of seedy clientele. She couldn't see much of her lictor in the woman. But then, Didiana reminded herself, perhaps she shouldn't judge; after all, she would not appreciate a comparison to her own mother.
And the less said about the circumstances behind her sorcerous power, the better.
"I'm sure he's fine," came the evasive assurance.
"The word? There are plenty of words. Most of them outlandish and implausible. One that’s not so far-fetched, however, is about Thrune’s bodyguard. That woman, Nox, is a half devil."
"No, she's not."
While her opinion of herself was currently lying somewhere in a metaphorical gutter, Didiana had lost no regard for the Torrent or the education they had provided her with. Hellknights were predictably required to study Hell, its society (for despite what the pious might claim, Hell the civilization was an effective machine indeed), and its inhabitants. They studied devils in order to learn from them, to utilize them, and to, inevitably, end their vile lives. While no more than an average student, Didiana had taken to the subject of the planes and its outsiders easily and instinctively, for portentous reasons she'd rather not think about. And she knew perfectly well what a half-fiend amounted to.
"Well, not without some heavy illusions or shape-changing or some such..." she continued, seemingly speaking more so to herself than to anyone else. Nox was an obstacle the group would have to climb at some point.
"Reproduction amongst devils is fairly well understood. The coupling between mortals and devilkind results in a foul amalgamation of the two, worse even than a tiefling. These half-fiends are, after all, where their cursed breed springs from. If a tiefling is instantly recognizable, then anyone so directly touched by the Pit should be doubly so. Horns, fangs, wings, claws... Nox lacks any of these features. She seems like something more... tangential."
Didiana lapsed into speculative silence, as if her mouth no longer wished to vocalize the thoughts into Nox's nature still ongoing in the sorcerer's mind. She did, however, try to follow along the conversation on the Red Jills. She had heard something similar to Setrona's suggestions back at the protest, and the thought of breaking up a gang of proper, no nonsense, definitely-for-real, authentic criminals was not an unwelcome one. Whatever benefited Kintargo.
Evander listend to Didiana's explanation on half-fiends, tieflings, and their breeding before pausing in his own thoughts. My ability to see the life force of certain people...could it be some fiendish taint? Mother was always cryptic about my father...now I wonder who - or what - he was.
Learning that it was possible for humans to breed with devils opened up a wide realm of possibilities. The part of him that approved of his more violent actions, that had felt comfortable with his time in the gang...could that be something more sinister than just circumstance? Could he have a blood connection to the denizens of Hell?
Setrona grins a bit when Evander asks about the Red Jills’ boss. “She’s a strix, so it wouldn’t take much. She might be mad at all of humanity once again. Who knows for sure?”
She looks over at Didiana with a curious expression. “You seem to know quite a bit about devils and fiends. I’ll try not to ask how or why you know so much. I still say there’s something not quite right about her. Maybe she’s not a half-devil, but there’s something unnatural about her.”
The conversation winds down and you say your goodbyes to Setrona. She thanks you for visiting and lets you know you’re welcome anytime. The questionable pair in the back glance at you as you leave, but don’t react besides that.
You report back to Laria and Rexus who are glad to hear the raid went well. Crowe and his men are recovering in the Wasp Nest where Lia led them before she left quietly.
Before you go your separate ways for the night, Laria offers a bit of advice. “Don’t feel like you have to run yourselves ragged by running missions all the time, sweethearts. It’s good to get the Silver Ravens started big, but slow and steady is what will topple Thrune and his lackeys. Get some rest and we can reconvene to discuss a more long term strategy tomorrow... or later today, I suppose.”
-----
Fireday, the 14th of Arodus, 4715 AR
On your way to the Wasp Nest, you notice quite a few fliers with the same announcement . They all indicate that the dottari are asking for every Kintargan’s help in locating members of the Chelish Citizens’ Group. Members are wanted for questioning. No further explanation is given.
Gilda permits herself a discrete fist pump as she spies the fliers seeking CCG members for questioning.
"Heeeey! Whaddya know? Our plan worked! Betcha that Setrona was asked a few questions the next day or two!"
Feeling on top of the world that things are all going their way, Gilda hunts down their resident faerie dragon within their base of operations.
"Heeeey! Wings? How's it goin'? Ya mind checkin' up on somethin' and doin' a little recon for us again? See, there's this strix runnin' this gang called the Red Jills. Ya ever hearda' them?"
“She’s a strix, so... ”
Had Didiana been drinking her beer, then this would have been the moment she chocked on it. A strix? One of their isolationist kind in the city? And running a gang at that? It sounded every bit as peculiar as Nox the maybe-devil, but Setrona seemed certain enough. Regardless, the armiger didn't like the sound of muggings one bit.
----------
The quill danced over the parchment, quickly and efficiently. Very efficiently at that, considering that no hand was holding it and it was instead writing on it own accord. It flew over to the inkwell to dip its tip before returning to the parchment. Well, not exactly on its own accord; the inanimate object wouldn't be doing a whole lot of animating without the sorcerer looming above it and willing it to do so.
"I dare say, my dear, that you have mastered it."
"Thank you, sir."
Crissali spoke with just a hint of pride, whether in his student or in his own teaching ability she was not sure. Either way, it made Didiana uncomfortable. She was used to stricter instructors, the type for whom 'pedagogic encouragement' sounded like something that should be followed by 'gesundheit'. They were sitting in the eponymous bookstore, opposite each other across a table strewn with texts and paper. Outside the window the sun was setting, but Crissali did not rise to close shop. The store was closed today at her request.
"Quite quick-witted, aren't you, to be able to pick up the spell in a single day?"
"Thank you, sir."
"Handwriting could use some work though."
"... Yes, sir."
The sorcerer blinked and stopped her intent stare at the quill. It stood upright for just a second, still but for a few twitches, and then fell over dead, the spell broken. It, or rather she, had just managed to finish copying the last paragraph of the great Ulfen poet's, Sturla Sturlason, saga, a rambling and nonsensical tome in Didiana's opinion, although Crissali seemed rather taken with it. No accounting for taste, she thought. The text had served perfectly well for practice, however. With the store owner's help, she now wielded a spell capable of quickly copying text from one page to another.
As far as magic went, it wasn't exactly as glamorous as conjuring explosive balls of fire or summoning the celestial hordes, but she hoped that with the help of Evander and Matiscio it would eventually do a great deal more damage to the lord-mayor than the other two options. Didiana sighed. She was tired. It had been a long day and exerting your arcane will on a not-at-all cooperative universe took more out of you than might be expected.
"Thank you again for doing this, Mr Crissali."
"Not at all, my dear. That spell is nothing much to me, an old standby in my profession. Happy to pass it on. And besides, you paid for my time."
"Still. You have already done so much for the cause. I don't wish to put you at risk..."
"Nonsense. Don't you start with that now. Any friend of Rexus Victocora is a friend of mine, come Hell or high water."
She smiled at the old man. It was difficult not to with such a staunch ally. Five minutes later the two were standing by the door sharing an amicable handshake, the armiger ready to leave. She was somewhat weighed down by the supplies she had taken the opportunity to buy at the bookstore, including paper and ink, but she really should report back at the Wasp Nest. Except as she turned towards the door she didn't leave. Instead she just stood there, trying not to fidget in her indecisiveness. There was something she had been meaning to ask about since spying it at the bookstore, but the by now familiar conflicting forces within her were not in agreement over its importance. Finally, just before Crissali could voice his concern, Didiana spun around and asked:
"Sir, could I see that book over there? At the end of that shelf?"
"Hmm? Which one, this here? 'The Collected Plays of Diegorius Drost'...?"
"No! I mean... Other one. Right next to it. The blue one."
"You mean... Really? 'Unbinding the Fetters'? This is the chief holy text of the Irorans. My. You didn't strike me as the pious type."
"I'm not. Not really. But... a friend... spoke well of it. ... How much?"
Gilda finds Vendalfek pestering a couple of Crowe’s men. The faerie dragon seems a bit miffed for being interrupted, but listens to the shaman’s words nevertheless.
Vendalfek replies, “I’ve definitely heard of strix. Not exactly the most pleasant of folks. And they tend to stick out, especially in a place like Kintargo. Not really familiar with any strix in particular, though. Or the Red Jills. If you know where they are, I’d be happy to go give ‘em a look. I tend to go unseen in those types of situations, given my ability to avoid being seen at all.”
The faerie dragon looks proud of himself for his ‘joke.’ He waits for Gilda’s response, hoping she’ll laugh and give him the gang’s location.
Crissali smiles at Didiana’s question. He says, “Irori’s not exactly a fashionable deity to worship in Kintargo. Not at the moment, at least. I’m afraid I can’t keep giving things away if I’m going to make a living, especially with the current political situation. That one in particular was copied, illustrated, and bound with quite a bit of care. For you, though, I’ll part with it for 50 gp.”
With nothing pressing, Evander begins taking the time to work on what he will say in the newsletter they spread about detailing Kossrani's crimes - as well as assisting Rexus with decoding the scroll.
He will also casually probe Didiana for more of what she knows about devils when the opportunity arises - including traits that can show up to mark someone as devil-blooded.
He will also casually probe Didiana for more of what she knows about devils...
Didiana was perfectly willing to answer any question of Evander's, especially on a subject she felt fairly comfortable with. She spoke seriously, almost reverently, of the devils, literal embodiments of corruption and domination. Avoiding how these intersected with hellknight philosophy, the armiger instead started with explaining common weaknesses of their kind, assuming that the writer wanted to know how to combat the fiends. It was, after all, not unlikely that the group would have to face them in Thrune's employ at some point.
Instead, she was surprised at Evander showing more interest in their accursed spawn.
"Well..." she started.
"Fiend spawn is just as diverse as their progenitors. Whatever results from a devil and mortal coupling, the creature will generally be more monstrous the more infernal blood it carries. That is to say, the direct descendant of a fiend will always be more powerful than the grandchild. It's from this diluted taint that we get tieflings. Half-fiends can in this sense be considered first-generation tieflings. But make no mistake; no matter how many generations pass, that corruption never truly fades."
It appeared as if the sorcerer was trying to combat a sneer from her face in speaking on this subject. She was failing miserably.
"What marks a tiefling? Well, you've seen them. How can you not recognize them? Horns, fangs, ruddy skin, funny eyes... all the variety of the lower planes. They don't come in any standard mold. The most you can say about the average tiefling is that they can see in the dark and have some inherent hardiness; fire and cold doesn't bother the filthy things. Mind you, some of the bastards are well and truly deformed. Saw one once with insect mandibles for a mouth. Saw another who didn't cast a shadow. Disgusting. The ones you have to have to watch out for are the ones who manage to hide their corruption. Sometimes it manifests in subtle ways, such as an extra nipple or what have you... But, even so, they're easy enough to recognize."
If Evander showed any sign of curiosity for whatever telltale sign Didiana spoke of, she was quick to follow.
"Because they're evil. All of them. Not entirely their fault. They can't help but be. They can only be as decent as the blood they carry, and there's no redemption for a devil. Their deformity is a manifestation of very literal corruption. Shouldn't be allowed in the city. Should be rounded up and driven off..."
Didiana was clearly not without bias on the topic. For whatever reason, the armiger obviously had a strong dislike of the horned folk. This was, of course, not uncommon. It was far rarer to find someone with any positive thoughts on tieflings. And yet there was something off about how she spoke of them; something in how she seemed uncomfortable even thinking about them. For she was. To Didiana it was very difficult not to draw parallels between the evil that was their kind's birthright and the infernal energy she herself had been born with.
"Why do you ask, Evander?", she queried, oblivious of the man's nature.
Gregor has very little personal errands he feels he needs to accomplish. Instead he busies himself with what be does know, organization of resources. He focuses on creating a good working space, room for training, storing and recording supplies. His efforts in creating an efficient and effective work environment actually helps him center himself.
Gilda snaps her fingers, points at nobody in particular before winking as she enters the "safehouse" the next morning, planning to show off a trick she'd be working to master for rebel purposes.
She'd used it a few times, mostly to nose around her neighbors and ensure that wasn't a dead body in the apartment two down from hers. It sure smelled like a dead body, but she discovered that Mrs. Globtrobben was actually just an entrepreneur who had learned she could store waste in her apartment for a dozen silver a week, long enough for the rats to devour most of it.
"Alright, just gotta find a comfy place to sit down. You guys think we should start decorating? Maybe some chairs? With cushions? Anyone got a favorite color?"
Gilda unrolls a moth-eaten blanket, something she found in a dumpster on the way. This specimen was pretty spectacular, too - with only just shy of seven dark and reddish-brown stains marring enhancing its surface.
Sitting upon it, she strikes a pose reminiscent of an Iroran master.
"Just need a moment!"
With a couple gestures, some deep breathing and a couple crumbs (also pilfered from the same origins as the dumpster-rescued blanket) handed off to Sprinkles, suddenly Gilda's body twists and lurches. Her eyes roll back and she snorts.
"Nnnnnphhhhh! Hnnnnnphhhhh-hrrrglllle."
Opening a single eye, she glances about to see who's watching before quickly shutting it again and actually carrying forward with her incantation.
Setting a dirty tan-grey brick on her blanket, she lays an open palm on it before leaning back, her eyes rolling back behind her lids.
About twelve seconds later, she lifts her hand from the brick and smiles.
"Got it!"
Gilda concentrates on the Red Jills and is able to catch glimpses of faces and voices, but most of them are too quick for her to make out anything distinctive in the first few seconds of the spell’s duration. However, toward the end of the first half of the spell, she catches glimpses of a humanoid creature with pointed ears, grey wings, and a grey face. The being’s most distinctive feature is a nasty scar across her forehead. A single name comes to the forefront of Gilda’s mind: Scarplume.
During the spell’s second half, Gilda catches glimpses of Kintargo's skyline. Specifically, she knows that she’s looking upon the buildings found on the eastern slopes of Temple Hill. More words and images flood her mind. An abandoned building. Decaying toys. Beds that have fallen into disuse. A rickety ladder leading to a trap door in the ceiling. Tieflings on a rooftop. And a lone human man. Another name crosses Gilda’s mind as the spell ends: Zeke Crus.
Without any significant happenings, the remainder of the week comes and goes with little fanfare. The next week begins, and the Silver Ravens are faced with yet another week’s worth of rebellion activities to undertake. With any luck, Thrune’s troubles have only just begun.
-----
Wealday, the 19th of Arodus, 4715 AR
Rexus gathers you all in the Wasp Nest. He seems quite excited.
After everyone arrives, he says, "I finally managed to uncode some of what these documents say. The first part talks about the Silver Ravens' founding. They were established in 4606 AR in the wake of the chaos that swept over Cheliax after Aroden's death. They were founded to help protect the city of Kintargo from oppression.
"That's just the first bit. I'm sure there's much more to learn from these documents."
Muscles rejoins his companions in tip-top condition. From the healthy sheen of his skin, thanks to a rather thorough and unforgiving massage session, to his freshly washed clothes: someone had spend some time on taking care of himself. With thoughts and experiences being given their proper place, Matiscio was once more ready to take on the many challenges ahead of them.
"How interesting. 4606? That means the Silver Raven's .." and the man visibly cracks his brain, trying to recall the many history lessons he had had. "They were born when Cheliax was plagued by decades of civil war and strife, before House Thrune had secured the throne."
Gilda shares the details of her research with the others, providing whatever details she's obtained if asked.
"So, Greyface... seems his name? Her name? Might be Scarplume? Now that's not a Gilda name, but one I heard a whisper of..."
Gilda rubs her temples.
"Then I got somethin' 'bout a ruined building 'round Temple Hill's east side. Lotsa them half-fiends and some 'lug named Zeke Crus. That ring a bell, anyone?"
"Then I got somethin' 'bout a ruined building 'round Temple Hill's east side. Lotsa them half-fiends and some 'lug named Zeke Crus. That ring a bell, anyone?"
"What? Hold on, what did you see exactly?" asked Didiana, for whom quite a few metaphorical bells were indeed ringing.
She was not intimately familiar with young Zaccheus 'Zeke' Crus, but had taken an interest in him some weeks ago. For all the daunting fearsomeness of the hellknights, for all the bluster and bravado, the armiger believed that the orders were ultimately a force for good. She wouldn't be a member if she didn't. It was all just scare tactics. It was where the 'hell' in hellknights came from. And so she had tried to scare this street urchin soon-to-be career criminal, Zeke, onto the straight and narrow. Had even set up an apprenticeship for him with a tanner in Old Kintargo. Hadn't been the first time she'd done something similar, and was even quite proud that it had worked on a few. But not this time. She'd been very disappointed when she saw Zeke at the protest; not as a demonstrator but as a cutpurse.
"I know him. He's an urchin, currently out with a warning for petty theft. I ran afoul of him a few times on my patrols. Gregor, Matiscio, you've seen him too; he was the pickpocket you chased off at the protest. What's going on, Ms Grabapple? Has he joined up with some tiefling outfit?"
Didiana seemed a tad worried about her previous pet project, in her own way. Any association with the horn heads would inevitably lead to moral corruption or death; all she wanted for the boy was simple jail time.
"Why do you ask, Evander?", she queried, oblivious of the man's nature.
"Curiosity. Do you know if there's a way to create a Tiefling through magical means? At the protest, I watched Nox pull a dagger out of her throat and the wound begin to heal automatically. She may not be half-devil, but she clearly has some sort of supernatural abilities. We had best find more out about devils and their weaknesses - regardless of Nox's bloodline, we will likely face some in our trials ahead of us. Forewarned is forearmed" Evander is grateful they have other reasons for finding out about devils - after all, it helps hide his more personal reason for asking.
Laria and Rexus listen in on your conversation about Scarplume and Evander’s question about tieflings.
Vendalfek also materializes from thin air a moment later and says, “Boo! Did I scare you?” He smiles widely, or whatever passes as the dragon equivalent of that facial expression. He continues to smile widely regardless of your response as he is quite proud of himself.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I’ll go see if I can find this Temple Hill place and this Bread Bills gang you talked about. I don’t know building names, but if I find ‘em, I’m sure I can lead you back there.”
Without another word, Vendalfek flicks his tail, flaps his wings, and leaves the Wasp Nest to head to Temple Hill.
Laria’s brow wrinkles at the discussion of Scarplume and Zeke. “From the little I know of the Red Jills, they wouldn’t just let a common thief into their ranks. They prefer to sow chaos rather than engage in petty theft.
“I’m also afraid you’ll find they’re disinclined to joining a formal rebellion. They’re less interested in restoring order than in preying on the chaos. Especially with a strix as their leader, I doubt words will get you far with them.”
Rexus looks over at Evander as the investigator asks about tieflings and Nox. He says, “There’s no magical means that I know of to create tieflings. Just the… natural… way. Or as natural as it gets for creating those beings.”
“They’re people, too, Rexus,” Laria interjects. “They may not look like us and the majority may be inclined to evil, but they aren’t inherently depraved. They are more than just the blood in their veins.”
Rexus nods and says, “Yes, of course. I just only hear stories about the bad ones, it seems. Perhaps there are members of their race that are redeemable. Regardless, I doubt Nox is a tiefling. She doesn’t have the usual signs. No, I believe she is human, but perhaps one who has been made less so than most. I’m sure there are some in the city who know what causes her to be able to heal so quickly. Perhaps you just need to ask around a bit.”
Laria says, “So what’s the plan now? You’ve successfully completely your first real mission at the Salt Works. What’s next for the Silver Ravens?”
"We should definitely find out more about Nox, but the actions of the Red Jills may end up taking temporary precedence. If they decide to go on a killing spree, Boarzilla could lay the blame for that at our feet, and turn popular sentiment against us."
Thinking a moment, Evander says, "Or, perhaps, we could use them as the patsy for any major crime we have to commit and divert the dottari towards dealing with them and taking them out. We may gain less support in the short-term, but once the Red Jills are gone, it eliminates a potential distraction from our long-term goal."
Gregor scowls and purses his lips, shaking his head more as Evander continues. "No, we should not let them continue. Sowing chaos only works to undo what work we are trying to accomplish. If the actions of these Red Jills get paired or associated with us and our deeds, we lose the support of the people. Beyond the fact, that as we work toward a better Kintargo, letting them ply their trade only hurts the city and its people."
“They’re people, too, Rexus,” Laria interjects. “They may not look like us and the majority may be inclined to evil, but they aren’t inherently depraved. They are more than just the blood in their veins.”
"Blood is blood. The sparrow may wish itself an eagle and copper may be shined to appear gold, but in the end it's just not so. In the end blood is blood."
Although significantly more aware of her own neuroses since her talk with Matiscio, one did not climb a set of stairs simply in acknowledging them, and the sorcerer was still a ways off from avowing the root of her feelings on tieflings. Didiana turned her somber face over to Vendalfek, addressing the fairy dragon.
"Hold up. I'll show you here. Don't want you getting lost."
Another thing the sorcerer was loath to admit to was feeling some measure of responsibility for young Zeke.
Gilda shrugs as Red plies her for more details on "Zeke".
"Eh, dunno. Just a name that popped inta' my head?"
She narrows her eyes at the sorceress, licking her lips a bit at the chance to indulge in some gossip.
"Why? You know him?"
**
As the group begins to plot their new actions, Gilda snaps her fingers.
"Heeeey! That's what we gotta do! 'sides all the papers we's printin' we gotta start leavin' callin' cards when we do somethin' good. Maybe we clean up these Red Jills and it's like we's doin' what the dottari ain't!"
Gilda observes Gregor cautiously, dancing a fine line between the currently present dottari and her example dottari who aren't so.
Rexus nods appreciatively at Evander and says, “I think I should be able to progress on the documents much quicker this week with your insight. Thank you.”
Laria looks a bit disturbed by Didiana’s comments about tieflings. Even Rexus looks a bit surprised at the matter-of-fact way in which she states her opinion.
-----
Vendalfek begrudgingly lets Didiana accompany him to Temple Hill. While they travel, he keeps up a constant monologue, or dialogue, if Didiana decides to chime in.
“So back in Ravounel Forest, there was this tree. It was a really big tree. Lots of branches. I used to love that tree…
“Once I came to this Kintargo place, I had to make friends fast or act like I already had friends, at least. They were tryin’ times, I tell you. I figured out how to make it…
“Then I found this place called the Thrashing Badger. Really nice place filled with really nice folks. But then it burned down all of a sudden and it was no longer a really nice place, much less a place at all. So I had to find another place…
“That Clenchjaw’s place did okay, but then I found your Wasping Nesting place and it seems much better. It’s less stuffy, even though it’s actually more stuffy. It’s complicated, I guess...
“I saw the strangest thing yesterday. One of the boxes in the Wasping Nesting seemed to move on its own. Well, more than one box, quite a few, actually. But never more than one at a time. I went to investigate, being the helpful dragon I am, but the boxes stopped moving and I didn’t see anything. Very peculiar that Wasping Nesting…”
Didiana and Vendalfek finally arrive at the Temple Hill district and the faerie dragon mercifully ceases his rambling, if only for a bit. Vendalfek flies off to investigate the buildings of Temple Hill.
While she waits, Didiana overhears part of a conversation between a pair of men walking down the street. One of them says, “Someone’s killing tieflings down in the Devil’s Nursery. I’ve heard that whoever’s doing it is taking trophies, but I’m not sure what kind. Sounds like the Slasher’s back… just what we need!”
Vendalfek returns to Didiana about a half-hour later and says, “Well, I think I found your nasty strix and tooth-things. Like I said, I don’t know the name of the place, but I’ll show you where it’s at.”
Vendalfek leads Didiana to the place he found. Didiana finds herself in front of a pair of boarded up and dilapidated buildings.
The faerie dragon explains, “I found a nasty strix with a nasty scar on one of the roofs. There were some tooth-things and a human man as well.”
Vendalfek accompanies Didiana back to the Wasp Nest so they can both report their findings to everyone else.
“So back in Ravounel Forest, there was this tree."
"Uh huh."
"It was a really big tree. Lots of branches."
"Uh huh."
"I used to love that tree.
"Mhmm."
The armiger couldn't have looked any more removed from the conversation had Gilda hit her with her Sleep spell. They were an unlikely pair, walking down the streets of Kintargo, and unlikelier conversation partners still. The dragonling chatted away whilst Didiana gave only the barest acknowledgements possible that she was even cognizant of the words.
“Once I came to this Kintargo place, I had to make friends fast or act like I already had friends, at least."
"I see" Could I kill him?
"They were tryin’ times, I tell you."
"Really?" I probably could.
"I figured out how to make it..."
"Hmm." Restraint, Didiana. Remember your restraint.
No, there was no way she could kill the fairy dragon. If last night's events had proven anything, it was that she was softer than she'd like to admit. Except now she made an effort to admit these things. Killing Kosssrani had been hard enough; hardened criminals and murderers, these she could justify disposing of. Any random person who happened to be an obstacle not so much. And never allies of convenience, no matter how annoying, she thought looking at the flying lizard.
“Then I found this place called the Thrashing Badger."
"Yup."
"Really nice place filled with really nice folks."
"I bet"
"But then it burned down all of a sudden and it was no longer a really nice place, much less a place at all. So I had to find another place..."
But that wasn't to say that the thought of firing a few Magic Missiles after him wasn't real appealing. Didiana was not a fan of chatterboxes. They made her stoic self feel awkward.
"I saw the strangest thing yesterday."
"That's nice."
"One of the boxes in the Wasping Nesting seemed to move on its own. Well, more than one box, quite a few, actually. But never more than one at a time."
"... Wait, what?"
Didiana suddenly took a very keen interest in the suddenly not so inane conversation, but it was too late. The two had reached Temple Hill and Vendalfek flew off in search of something more interesting than a monosyllabic conversationalist. The topic of objects moving under their own volition in the basement where one death had already occurred would have to wait. Could they be linked, she wondered? Something was certainly going on in the Wasp Nest beyond insurrection. But she wasn't going to find out anything more until the dragonling returned, so for want of better to do the sorcerer set to wandering the area listening for rumors. She hated sitting idle.
The stories of killings in the tiefling slum, especially with trophies, disturbed her. Much as she disliked the fiendish breed, she was a woman of principles. This sounded like nothing so much as a serial murderer on the loose, a thought she could not abide in the city she had sworn herself to protect. Granted, this was probably merely a case of tieflings killing their own, the false scum, but still. If Devil's Nursery now housed some especially aggressive horn-head, then it needed to be disposed off. No saying when it could turn its eyes towards proper people.
Upon his return the faerie dragon explained:
“I found a nasty strix with a nasty scar on one of the roofs. There were some tooth-things and a human man as well.”
"This 'man', was he young? What was he doing? Did he seem to be cooperating with the others? Was he detained?"
Evander shrugs at Gregor's insistence at dealing with the Red Jills. "I don't see a problem with that. I just wanted to present an alternate option for consideration. If we deal with them, we deal with them."
A plan was already in motion in Evander's head - take out the Red Jills, then spread it about that they had taken care of a dangerous gang that the dottari had not. Tying it to Barzillai as a way of showing he cared nothing for the citizens of Kintargo and they did would hopefully help undermine his support among Chelish loyalists, who would perhaps be more receptive to restoring the previous Lord-Mayor, assuming she was alive. Both options would provide them opportunities - it was just a question of which one they wanted to pursue.
"The Humbright House, hmm? There used to be a shrine to Aroden there, prior to his death - or disappearance, whatever the truth. The buildings have been mostly abandoned since then, although every now and then some gang or other will use it as a base of operations. If we can clear the Red Jills from it, we may be able to use it as a second base of operations or safe house."
Matiscio is palpably uneasy with all this talk of 'removing' and 'clearing' the Red Jills from the former shrine to Aroden. "I take it that you want to storm on in, take them out and scatter what's left of them to the winds? I'm all for subduing criminal elements in Kintargo, but using the rumor that the Red Jill leader has gone insane to plan a full-out assault seems a little overboard. How about we talk to some of the locals in the area, get a feeling for what's going on there before we resort to violence once more."
"I'm with Ward," Didiana said.
"The people should not have to suffer large-scale muggings in addition to the abuse their own government subjects them to. Rexus said it himself. The Silver Ravens were established in 4606 to protect Kintargo. That's what we do. We protect Kintargo. From lowliest fiend-blood to loftiest blue-blood, doesn't matter from whom. If this scum wants to prey on a weakened city, then we're the one who fight back."
"And besides," she added. "It would do our cause good if the people saw this gang stamped out not by the dottari, but by an unnamed third party. The populace has to learn of us sooner or later. Better it be in the context of... heroes."
The sorcerer hesitated at the last word. She wasn't much for self-aggrandizement. In fact, most would probably be surprised at how little she thought of herself. The primary reason she had joined the Torrent was to learn how to suppress herself. But she understood social politics. However little she liked the idea, presenting themselves as saviors of the people came with significant advantages.
"I take it that you want to storm on in, take them out and scatter what's left of them to the winds? I'm all for subduing criminal elements in Kintargo, but using the rumor that the Red Jill leader has gone insane to plan a full-out assault seems a little overboard. How about we talk to some of the locals in the area, get a feeling for what's going on there before we resort to violence once more."
"Agreed. All we have is hearsay so far. We should confirm all of this before acting. Even then, I'm for a more subdued approach."
It wasn't so much the saltwork murders that weighed on Didiana in saying this. The armiger drew a very distinct line between career criminals and dumb young people drawn to a political cause. She had few reservations in subjugating this gang through violence. But she'd be lying if she said the presence of Zeke Crus didn't complicate things. And then there was the other matter...
"There's something else. While Vendalfek and I were out, we heard of a supposed string of murders in Devil's Nursery. Sounded grisly. It seemed to be contained in the slum, but I worry that it might escalate. Tiefling killing tiefling is nothing new, of course, but we wouldn't want them to get any ideas about targeting regular folk."
Vendalfek looks surprised when Didiana takes so much interest in the human man he saw.
“I only really got a glimpse of ‘em all before coming back. He looked pretty young, I think. He was just sort of sitting up there. Didn’t look like he was restrained or anything.”
-----
Back at the Wasp Nest, Laria and Rexus let you do most of the talking. They look concerned by news of murders in Devil’s Nursery.
Laria says, “Whether you tackle the gang or investigate the murders, you have my support and always have the Wasp Nest to fall back to, if necessary. This is your show, so decide for yourselves the best course of action.”
Rexus nods and says, “Agreed. We’re here to support you not to lead you. I would, however, suggest that you don’t tarry for long. With whatever Barzillai has planned, the situation in Kintargo will almost certainly get worse before it gets better.”
Gregor can't help but agree with the differing severity of the issues, "Despite tiefling murders don't strike a particular chord with me, given their mere existence is a pox of demon or devil blood corrupting human bloodlines, they are still murders. That reason alone is enough to consider that crime a greater threat than that of a gang operating where they are normally wont to do so."
Gregor's take is born from a pure sense of practicality over any emotional state of offense for murdered tieflings. "The Dottari in me thinks we should quell any murders before petty crimes, and both work toward the same effect. Acting on and solving crimes the current establishment is loathe to waste their time with only serves to elevate the goals of the Silver Ravens as a champion of the city's and people's needs."
"We can do more investigative work on the gang's activities while we work on solving the murders. If we can clean out a former shrine of Aroden, it could go to letting hidden Iomedaens see that we are a force for good and garner support from their end if needed in the future."