Matiscio turns around when Gregor strikes, but the meaty thud needs no visual support to send waves of nausea through his system. A balled fist moves up to cover his mouth as he sucks in a deep breath, air wheezing through the mostly covered rictus. Slowly he turns around to see if the devastating blow had done what it ought to, but no, against all odds the creature still clung to life. It wasn't until Didiana did what she had to that Nox finally succumbed to the thug and pull of Pharasma's unseen but inescapable threads.
Only then does Matiscio realize that the sole reason his being had ached to be here was breathing, ever so softly, so close to him. Jaya. While the others busy themselves with the mortal coil of Nox and the items scattered about in this place, the Chelish sits down and lays the woman's head on his lap. One by one, tears start to wiggle down his cheeks as he studies Jaya's serene visage and, after dancing on the precipice of his chin, rain on down on Jaya, each drop embracing a memory of his of her.
For the first time in forever, he then smiles. For once, he feels victorious and dimly, so dimly, a hope burns on the horizon of his mind. Perhaps all wasn't lost and their quest wasn't in vain.
As Matiscio studies Jaya, he can see that she is battered and bruised all over. Nox’s treatment of her was anything but pleasant. Still, her breathing is steady and none of her injuries appear to be so severe that she can’t recover from them.
As the brawler’s tears rain down on Jaya, she begins to stir. She squints her eyes open and looks up at Matiscio. Jaya seems to be considering the face she’s seeing.
“M-Matiscio? Is that you?” she says tentatively at first. Then, as her haze from being unconscious clears further, she says, “Didn’t I tell you not to get involved in this mess?”
Her words are a bit playful, but still serious. Despite her concern, she doesn’t try to raise her head from his lap and actually starts to smile before wincing from the bruises on her face. Jaya looks into Matiscio’s eyes. She seems to be eagerly awaiting his response.
Evander looks over things. "Okay. With Nox dead, and Lout still distracted, we can probably just leave him and the other Asmodeans here. Let's gather everything and get out of here. Hopefully we won't have to fight to get out."
The teasing words only made Matiscio want to wrap her up in his arms even more, knowing very well what would've been her fate if they hadn't shown up. Like a brother taking care of his sister, he runs a calloused hand through her hair while eyeing their surroundings.
"Hmhm, that you did, but what worries you might have had are all taken care of now so please, know that as soon as my companions are done gathering the items we need from this place, we'll be taking you out of here and to safety. There, you can rest and then later, we can talk."
Oddly enough, Matiscio feels a certain relief. Deep inside his heart, he had already accepted that Master Jalpur wasn't alive anymore, but saving Jaya? Her fate, that he had been most uncertain of. The feelings of regret and sorrow with regards to Jalpur would come, later, surely, but for now, that fire called hope burns bright within him.
"Are we about ready to pack it?" he asks his companions, wanting nothing more than to get out of this horrible place.
Gilda blinks a few times as she receives delayed thinks from Didiana, but simply smiles and nods at the sorceress as the group readies Nox for what would be her final moments.
"Huh, a soul tome. I remember hearin' 'bout these."
Gilda flips through a few pages scanning the contents.
"Looks like these two might have the memories of Rebel Rex's folks written down. Bit scary how they're made. This one here has Master Jalpur's memories captured."
Gilda eyes Matiscio and flips the Jalpur chapter open before she begins to scan it.
Breathe deeply before the plunge.
The words couldn't help but come to her as she stood there, in the shallow water, holding the struggling Nox beneath the stream. Gods only knew whatever power still resided in the crushed shell that remained of the woman, but it was strong; even with her head caved in it held on and struggled. No, not gods. Didiana thought she knew what Nox was now.
Breathe deeply before the plunge.
A bloody fool, that was what she was. She was neither tiefling nor half-fiend. No, she was even worse. At least those damnable creatures didn't choose to be what they were, however small a consolation that was. Nox had entered an infernal contract, willingly. She had bargained for her power, most likely sold her soul for it. The damn fool. The damned fool. Didiana's face hardened further as she tightened her grip on blurred form beneath her, keenly aware that she wasn't just killing the woman; she was sending another person to Hell.
Breathe deeply before the plunge.
Why did you do it, the sorcerer wondered. She must have known, Nox must have known that this is how it would end. Not here, certainly, not under these circumstances, but she must have known that her final reward waited for her in the Pit. An eternity of suffering with the only relief being joining your torturers. Nothing was worth that. Didiana knew. Didiana knew nothing was worth that because she had based her entire life on avoiding that damnation. Beneath the militaristic fanaticism of the hellknight, beneath the adherence to order, that had always been what drove Didiana. What sent her fleeing. That fear. And in the moment before she lost consciousness, with a cold blade sitting where warm flesh should be, when she thought she was going to die, Nox had reminded her of that fear.
Breathe deeply before the plunge.
The broken woman sent sprays of water onto the armiger's face. Didiana didn't even blink. Her blank stare wasn't looking at Nox anymore. This had been Didiana's first near-death experience and she wasn't happy about it. She had been trying to compensate for her cursed blood for as long as she could remember, but what was the point of it all if it couldn't even buy you some peace of mind? Because when Nox cut her up, all she could think of was the eternity of pain that awaited her. She had been afraid. She was afraid. The maxim of the Torrent was both warning and guidance. It cautioned one to be prepared and ready for whatever one's actions led to. Didiana wasn't ready.
Breathe deeply before the plunge.
Perhaps it was simply that same fear, eternal damnation, that animated Nox right now. The sorcerer wondered, was Nox a mother? Was she leaving a lineage behind? 100 years from now would there be some poor brat who would have to pay for their great-grandmother's foolishness? Someone who would be bound by whatever magical vestige remained of that infernal pact? Who woke up one day finding that they could invade others' minds? Someone who would realize that their soul was tainted? Perhaps Didiana should find out... Perhaps Didiana should do the poor bastard a favor and end it all before...
Nox wasn't struggling anymore. She hadn't even noticed. The armiger let her stiff hands relax and righted herself, somewhat awkwardly. She wasn't feeling well. She wasn't feeling well at all. And seeing the corpse beneath her dissolve into dust only to be carried away by the gentle stream, like so many damned souls down the river Styx, didn't help. She looked on in horror at this perfect punctuation to her hideous thoughts on damnation, blood destiny and infinite torment. Didiana stepped out of the water. She looked awful. Her clothes were burnt and blackened, her skin was bruised and blue, she was covered in her own blood, and she felt every bit the mess she looked.
Jaya smiles at Matiscio’s words and says, “I’d like that very much. It seems like so much has happened since we last talked.”
The young woman raises her head toward Matiscio and kisses him on his cheek before settling back into his arms. No longer unconscious from Nox’s abuse, but still exhausted from the ordeal, she’s soon fast asleep in the brawler’s embrace.
-----
Gilda scans the chapter on Jalpur, which is actually a book all its own. What she reads speaks of a wise and elderly Vudrani Iroran master. She notices that he cared for his students like a father would a child. Jaya was one of his students, as was Matiscio. The brawler became one of Master Jalpur’s students after Jalpur encountered a heavily inebriated Matiscio one night in Aria Park. There’s much more, but Gilda would give away her casual perusal were she to read more now.
Didiana had to look away at Jaya's chaste little peck to Matiscio. Even in her current mood (positively lugubrious), watching a teammate display any affection struck her as... invasive somehow. Vulgar even. Still, she was happy for them, both of them, in her own way. Matiscio deserved every happiness in the world as far as the sorcerer was concerned. He was a good man. She just hoped that he wouldn't let this get in the way of the job... Romance had a way of distracting one from what was truly important. For a brief moment Evander's dalliances with that tiefling tart came to Didiana's mind, very unbidden, which didn't help her mood one bit.
"Are we about ready to pack it?"
"Yes, please."
The sorcerer was tired, spent in just about every way there was. She wanted to sleep, if nothing else than to escape her own stupid thoughts for a few hours. She hefted some of their forcibly won loot, a slightly larger share than what might be usual given that Matiscio's arms were otherwise occupied, and prepared to leave. Of course, she didn't get far before being reminded of one unresolved issue remaining at the Many-Steps Monastery. It was hard to miss; Lout was huge.
Didiana let her face slump into her palm. She couldn't deal with this right now. And yet she knew she must. The enormous simpleton was still under her spell and would remain so for the next few hours. He was her responsibility. To make matters worse she felt genuinely sorry for the poor bastard. She could only guess that the half-ogre was used and abused as muscle either within the local church or by Barzillai himself. Gods only knew what they would do to the oaf when they discovered that he had let the Ravens go about their business unobstructed. The lord-mayor had proven to be rather torture-happy and the church was no better. The merciful thing might be killing him. But if the group attacked him the spell would break and he would defend himself. Disregarding her own state, Didiana didn't think anyone in the team was up for fighting a betrayed half-ogre right now...
Conversely, allowing him to be found meant that he would be questioned. But then, what did he have to tell? Nothing that could really hurt the Ravens. Their identities were all safe underneath Evander's disguises (or in her case a helmet) and... and...
Did Lout really deserve her mercy? The armiger paused. The creature was no doubt compelled into the Asmodeans' service; he was too simpleminded to devote himself to any higher cause. The true blame lay with the church who wielded this half-wit like an instrument. But so what? Hellknight philosophy wasn't concerned with morality; it only cared for practical results. And the practical outcome of this ogre bastard's existence was suffering and injustice. So what if he served evil unwittingly? Intent was trivial. Only action mattered. And the Lout had undoubtedly done awful things. The maxims of the Hellknights came to her.
NONE ARE INNOCENT.
No. Nobody was really innocent. Some not even from birth.
"The devil-lady is resting, Lout. You may rest too."
Didiana left.
Closing the soul tomes , Gilda begins packing them up while smiling wistfully as Jaya and Matiscio reunite.
She considers musing aloud about her own Lenny, but observes Didiana's weary expression and simply closes her eyes and muses about times long past to herself.
"So whatcha wanna do with that Asmodean? The one we apparently promised that could keep his magic mace, even though he shouldn't have any need of it ever again... except becoming a thorn in our sides once more."
Gregor surveys the 'battlefield', taking into account the various players and how they stand. Seeing Matiscio leaned over his compatriot, in her state of injury, he offers. "I don't mean to interrupt, but we must be on our way. May I offer my assistance?" With that, he leans in and attempts to tend some of her injuries. It's not much, but it should help her be more ambulatory, instead of a burden on Matiscio in case they need him for another fight.
As they remove the items of value and use from the devil-bound woman, he gathers them all together, bundling the armor and axes into the cloak, and tying it around the haft of the glaive. The whole setup makes him look like some traveling vagabond, but it beats lugging it out by hand. "We should investigate the complex thoroughly. We came here for answers, removing Nox and the Asmodeans was purely a lucky happenstance. Seeing as the Scrivinite did not challenge us in our fights, I'm all for finalizing the deaths of the unconscious and bound Asmodeans."
When asked about Azvernathi, though, his tune is different. "We gave the man our word, and took a symbol of his person, that we will use against him should he go back on his part. I say we should honor our agreement, and let the coward flee. We should not demand the weapon we said he could keep for his own self-defense, merely because we value it. It is foolish in this world to think that he would not need it to leave the city and face the dangers of the road. We are not the only things that would prey on a cowardly Asmodean."
Jaya stirs briefly as Gregor works his healing magic. She doesn’t appear to have been unconscious from her injuries, just asleep, so she’s a bit put off at being disturbed. Many of her injuries appear to be non-lethal in nature. Still, she nods to Gregor before dozing off again in Matiscio’s arms.
The brawler nods at Gregor and, had he a spare hand what with Jaya occupying both, thanked him with a gesture as well.
"We have beaten him once and I am confident we would beat him again if he decides to be as foolish and break his side of the deal. Almost I would suggest to take him downstairs, so he can see the folly of such a course, but honestly, I'd rather face him again than have another mortal witness the cruelty we had to inflict here."
While an electric heat surged within him whenever Jaya stirred against him, there was a hole in his soul the size of a needle prick. Self-reflection and contemplation will be needed to locate it and, once found, well, what then? Matiscio had no idea, but so far, he had been able to figure everything out along the way.
Surely this would be no different.
Evander shakes his head. "Let's leave the Asmodeans be - they aren't a threat right now. No doubt there is magic that would allow them to tell what they know even if we killed them, unless we took the time to cut out their tongues or otherwise render them incapable of speech. As for Azvernathi, we said we would spare him and allow him to keep his mace. Let him run. If he betrays us to Boarzilla, he'll probably be executed for surrendering to us so easily. Besides, if we keep our word to let him run with his mace, he'll be less likely to break the deal. We could always make him sign a contract, of course. That would likely hold him to it." Evander's mouth twisted in amusement at the idea of using the Asmodean priest's own religion against him.
Gilda closes the latest of soul tomes before stowing it and perks up at Evander's suggestion.
"What? Like sign his soul over to us should he back outta the deal?"
Gilda stands and contemplates for a few moments. She had never considered being on the other side of such a deal. She stands a little taller as she imagines herself the benefactor of such a situation.
"I always thought I'd make a good boogeyman. Lotsa the kiddies used to run screamin' from me dependin' on how much I got myself together in the mornin'. Sometimes I'd add a little boo here or there..."
"Not quite, but we'd have his signature agreeing to run away in exchange for his life and his mace. At worst, that puts him in the torture chamber with us, and at best, it means we never hear from him again."
"Let's leave the Asmodeans be - they aren't a threat right now. No doubt there is magic that would allow them to tell what they know even if we killed them, unless we took the time to cut out their tongues or otherwise render them incapable of speech. As for Azvernathi, we said we would spare him and allow him to keep his mace."
"No, you said we'd spare him," Didiana replied surly.
"I say we at least break his spell-hand. Make sure he can't hurt anyone else for the foreseeable future..."
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. The sorcerer knew she was just being contrarian for the sake of it, like a sullen child. She really was in a bad mood. Azvernathi was most likely, as Evander said, largely harmless in his current state and she didn't give a toss as to what happened to him. Besides, she had already broken the fool's holy symbol earlier and he'd probably be hard pressed to get a new one from the church he betrayed.
The armiger let out a sigh and crossed her arms. "Whatever," she said, relenting before anyone could even begin to argue her point.
As for Gregor's suggestion - Cayden's taint, no. Didiana had done all the killing she could handle for now. Killing in self-defense or for some grander purpose she could justify, but murdering a bunch of nameless mooks, who posed little threat to the Ravens even if accepted back into the church, in their sleep? No, her moral code wasn't surviving that. Hell, she might not survive that.
He nods in agreement with Evander's suggestion, "Having it in writing, in his own words, combined with the breastplate he gave, will show that he chose his exile. That will likely prevent him from returning."
Gregor turns to Didiana with a lowered brow, "I hope you mean 'you' collectively, as I did not make the decision alone. Besides, you of all people should know there is no 'spell hand'. Either hand is capable, and he is actually more hindered by his lack of an unholy symbol than a broken hand."
Gregor scrunches his face in confusion, "We have to decide, at some very near point, how we will consistently deal with our enemies. We can't exile the entire Asmodean following, or whatever forces Thrune brings against us, one by one, especially if they are not as willing as Azvernathi to leave." He doesn't want to say Dottari, as it makes it too real to think how many of his former order he will be faced to potentially fight to the death. He knows it is inevitable, and the group themselves even asked if he was going to be able to commit to the cause to that degree.
Just like he had to accept that there are deaths he'd rather not deliver, he was not the only one. "We also, however, cannot let them all just up and out with their tail between their legs. Some may get punished, and suddenly our hands are clean, but Thrune will realize he can't keep killing off his own resources. If they were willing to fight us to the death, why are we unwilling to stand by it if we failed to kill them outright when we struck? How is finishing a man bleeding out from combat suddenly on a moral high ground over finishing a man struck unconscious in combat? Or even worse, just let a man bleed and if he makes it he's lucky, unless starvation, thirst, or the carrion eaters take him where we left him. Some even consider finishing off an enemy on the battlefield as a mercy. How is it a necessity for Nox, but not a gathering of Asmodeans?"
He shakes his head is disappointment, "If none of you want to be the actual hand that wields the blade in this war we started against the recognized authority of Kintargo and its vassals, then I will. But I do not make this decision alone, and you all have to accept that we will need to spill more blood than we would like in order to win. That blood will be on all of our hands, regardless of who literally spills it."
"I hope you mean 'you' collectively, as I did not make the decision alone. Besides, you of all people should know there is no 'spell hand'. Either hand is capable, and he is actually more hindered by his lack of an unholy symbol than a broken hand."
Didiana stared wide-eyed at her long-time comrade in arms. Was she hearing this right? 'Why don't we do unto them as they do unto us?' 'Why is letting someone live more morally sound than killing them?' What? What? The sorcerer had always known Gregor to be particular, but she could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth now. Had Gregor the civilized man been cleverly switched with an orc savage while she wasn't looking? Did she have to explain to a grown man why killing others was wrong?
And yet beneath the cover of incredulity one emotion surged to the forefront: rage. How dare he? Clean hands? She was still wet from drowning another human being. How dare he criticize her for not leaping at the opportunity to kill these... these... misguided nobodies? For wanting to preserve her sanity? Her humanity?
Gilda stood witness as Gregor delivered his monologue, the ex-dottari's words helping her to realize the severity of their situation.
For the most part, Gilda had spent the better part of a few decades as a rabbl-rouser, never really considering the consequence of her actions. Just allowing her heart to tug her to the next decision, whether that be rigging a bucket of sewage to suddenly find its content spilt onto the ever-annoying Miss Featherbottom or to find her hand drawn into the belt pouch of a merchant who had an entirely far too unreasonable earnings season.
Now she was swept up in a rebellion where they basically needed to "take care" those loyal to Beetleboss or whatever-his-name-really-is.
Gilda glanced about as she silently effected air quotes, but allowed herself to mutter verbally confirmation of her thoughts to herself.
"Take care'a business..."
How did people in charge make it known the consequence for doing wrong?
"Hey... I think we got some more flyers to hand out. Maybe it's time to serve notice to those who ain't servin' Kintargo. Let 'em know what the consequences of their real bad decisions is..."
Gilda draws a line across her neck.
"Look, they's a traitor to the people. Let 'em know it's their choice. If they see a flyer, they know what the deal's gonna be when we cross their path. Otherwise when it comes drownin' time, we can read 'em to those folks and let 'em make their choice. There's some fancy Hellknight term for them words. Some sorta rites, right?"
Gilda shrugs off the practicality of their foes coming back over and over again if they choose exile or lie about switching to the side of right, the side of Kintargo.
"The Rev's real good with words. He can write 'em up and we can read 'em."
Gilda gestures, somewhat indicating herself in the matter of all things.
"All I know is Ol' Kintargo chose yours truly to make somethin' happen. Way I see it, they pissed the City off real good so they got what's comin' to 'em. And the City, well she's gonna be around a lot longer than alla us."
Gilda squints at everyone.
"Lest one'a yous a elf real good at hidin' yer ears."
Didiana doesn’t notice anything else as she passes out of the monastery, other than the alarming amount of food Lout managed to eat in the short time he was out of your sight. A good quarter of the monastery’s total stock appears to be gone. It could be a trick of the eye, but Lout also looks a bit rounder that when you last saw him.
Gregor, on the other hand, notices that the books and documents that were in the room with Lout - the ones many of the Asmodeans abandoned when they attacked you - could be valuable. In total, they weigh about 15 pounds and are worth 1,000 gp.
-----
Without much choice in the matter, Azvernathi agrees to sign a document indicating he chose exile.
He says as he does so, “You know this isn’t at all like a diabolic contract, right? It’ll work well enough to convince Thrune of my culpability or to show to other Kintargans, but it doesn’t actually, you know, bind my soul or whatever. Just thought you should know that.”
Once he’s signed the contract and been given back his weapon, Azvernathi looks at each of you in turn. He slowly backs away toward the Fantasmagorium’s side door. He doesn’t seem to believe you’re actually letting him go.
A few more moments pass, then his eyes widen as realization dawns on him. You really are letting him go. He hastily gives you a nod before turning and opening the side door. Azvernathi glances back and forth down the street before rushing outside to the right and vanishing from sight. You think you caught a look from him that was some combination of relief and exhaustion.
------
After you’ve gathered everything below and left the remaining living Asmodeans and Lout to their fate, you head back to the Wasp Nest to report your findings to Laria and Rexus. The pair are sure to want to hear what you’ve learned.
Your actions this day will bring the Silver Ravens greater recognition, both for better and for worse. You’re confident that you’re well on your way to becoming one of the most potent threats to the oppression of Barzillai Thrune. Kintargo is far from free, but the seed of the city’s liberation has been planted.
Evander shakes his head to Gregor's words. "We've done enough. We have all the evidence we need to publish another newsletter - let it be spread that the Church of Asmodeus and Barzillai Thrune sent Asmodean Redactors led by Nox to slaughter Iroran worshipers and animate their corpses as the undead. Some of the nobles may even hesitate to fully support Thrune if they know they're willing to do that, especially if we say that they did it to Lord and Lady Victocora."
--------------------
Evander chuckles at Azvernathi's words. "We know. This is merely additional insurance so that if you don't leave the city and betray us, we can make sure you get subjected to the same...tender treatment...we are."
As Azvernathi backed away, Evander took his hand and made a shooing motion, conveying that he should abscond.
It was hearing Gilda offer some half-hearted agreement with Gregor's plea for wanton murder. That's what did it. That's what let the outrage win out on the distress. Didiana exploded.
"Where do you get off?" she whispered because true anger wasn't fuming and loud; true anger was cold and terrible.
"We're standing knee-deep in death and misery, surrounded by the dead and dying. The blood on our shirts hasn't dried yet. We've put our lives on the line in the second massacre this place has seen in as many weeks. We still have to tell a friend that his parents are dead, were reanimated, and then killed again by us! And you say you want more?! The battle is won. The killing is done. Victor and loser has been decided. It's over. We get to walk away alive and with some small achievement at that. And you have the gall to berate your compatriots for wanting a reprieve from the carnage? How dare you?"
The armiger's face was frustrated and twisted, but while her voice carried her ire all that could be read in her expression was the exasperation. She couldn't believe what was being suggested. She couldn't believe she had to explain this.
"This is a civil war! We're fighting for a cause and losing doesn't just mean our lives; it likely means the lives of everyone we love. Every family member tortured for information, every friend rounded up on suspicion of dissent. That is what rebellion means. And you dare to question our dedication? For what?! For not wanting to kill some grunts? Foot soldiers? Already incapacitated misguided dumb children? Excuse me for wanting to preserve some human gods-damned dignity! Does that constitute weakness in your mind? That I carry every death I cause with me? That I can't sleep at night? That I'm scared, really bloody scared, that with every kill I'm deadening something inside myself until... until I can't tell why I ever hesitated killing."
She stared at Gregor.
"Just like you. Until I'm exactly as cold as you."
Anger. Vexation. And something new. A profound sadness encroached upon the sorcerer's righteous indignation.
"The Silver Ravens will not be an execution squad. We fight for a reason and we kill when we must. Clean hands..." Her mouth twisted. "Nox had to die because she was the fu*king right hand of the opposition! She had to die for there to be a revolution! These nobodies - ?"
The armiger indicated the bodies littering the floor.
"There's no reason to kill them beyond putting a small dent in Barzillai's resources. That's not justice. That's not retribution. That's not even peacekeeping. That's pragmatism! That's jumping to whatever solution is most convenient! It's laziness and cowardice! You accuse us of not taking responsibility?!"
"And you!" she said turning to Gilda.
"We're not advertising how the Silver Ravens will murder anyone opposed to us. We're not winning over the people by declaring ourselves psychopaths. And even if we were to issue such a warning, using that to dismiss our own culpability in murder, as if our every opponent just ran into our fu*king swords of their own accord, is as ridiculous as it is shameful. And don't let me ever hear you talk as if you know a single thing about the hellknights ever again! Take some damn responsibility for every death you cause."
Gilda's not coming from an intent to institute a new lawful order, but rather from stirring up chaos as rebels and stickin' it to the current source of (in her view) unreasonable law. Her proposal to sprinkle letters warning Barzillai's thugs that the Ravens are coming is likely to cause more chaos than order in practicality, as well, given the group effecting the promise numbers the five of us and whatever henchmen can do.
Her pseudo-inspiration that I'm trying to draw from is fairly random and arbitrary in wants and judgement. I opted to play her as drunk on what just went down by taking out the Asmodeans and letting the power that the Rebels are amassing get to her head.
When it comes to her wisdom, I'm trying to apply mostly to instincts guiding her rather than thoughts guiding her, which is a tough hair to split.
At any rate, this is further complicated by the general murder hobo'ness of most APs, particularly urban ones...
Gilda blinked a few times as Didiana finally unloaded whatever had been bottled up during the past dozen or so minutes. She should've realized the sorceress was balancing an emotional tightrope after drowning the devil-woman with her own bare hands.
Knowing that no argument would be won this close to such a heated matter, Gilda looked for a reason to delay the conversation further, hoping that time would separate Didiana from the emotional wound she just sustained.
"Well whatever we do, we're better off not discussin' it here. Could be one of these lunks is comin' to. Or they got some shift change comin' in here in a minute for a status report or whatever it is they do..."
Gilda ushers the lot of everyone out of the monastery as swiftly as she can, knowing that distance, both physical and time, will lead to a more practical discussion about how they deal with the next round of Barzillai's muscle, and offer them a choice in whether or not they're stabbed, drowned or have their throats slit while they sleep.
Matiscio can't help but blink at his companions and stare at the mess that's unfolding right in front of him. Luckily, the one witness was sound asleep in his arms, but it isn't her that looks on with terror written all over her face. "Friends, we've achieved victory. The battle has been fought and we won. We took out their local leaders, scattered their grunts, and acquired valuable information and materials, not to speak of the injection of liquid assets we've acquired for our rebellion. Surely the topic of sparing some lowly grunts cannot stand so tall that it would cast shadows over that? Please, I'm exhausted and Jaya needs medical attention. Could we please just go home?"
Evander found it strange to be on the same side of an argument with Didiana for once. Usually they took opposing views - his distaste with certain aspects of Chelaxian law at odds with the Hellknight view of the Law at all costs. That they were both on the side of not slaughtering unconscious foes was rather surprising. "I concur with Didiana. Once our foes are down, they are down. If we are going to succeed, we need to show a clear distinction between us and them. We need to make it obvious there's a choice - the Asmodean way of pragmatism at all costs, and slaughtering all who oppose us regardless of whether or not they are a threat at the time. Or, a way where those who oppose us aren't slaughtered out of hand. Where defeated foes are shown mercy. We need to make it clear to the people that we are more than murderers - we need to show them we are better. Let's make sure the crimes are placed on those who deserve them. We'll tell the people that Nox and the Asmodean Redactors murdered the Irorans, then a priest of Asmdoeus animated their corpses as undead - including those of Lord and Lady Victocora. That should serve to dissuade some of Boarzilla's support, and undermine him at the same time. We don't need to murder everyone we encounter, especially those we've already beaten unconscious and tied up."
Gregor, knowing Didiana from a ways back based on their own long discussions of the law and its purpose and outcome, merely stares impassively as she berates him and Gilda for their suggestions and arguments in the matter. He raises a single eyebrow at her comment of his being cold, acknowledging on more than one occasion that his steely demeanor has led many to consider him emotionless.
"I do not bemoan your wanting a reprieve from the carnage, as you put it. Nor do I look down on you for the weight that you may bear from not having the will, desire, emotional fortitude, or stomach for doing some things that must be done, whichever one may apply to any one of you." He looks in turn to each of those opposed to his suggestion, before turning back to Didiana. "No one tasked you with personally holding that devil-bound under water to her death. You took the act upon yourself unbidden. I would have harbored no qualms about doing so myself. Do not, however," his voice comes sharp and clipped, "presume that I do any of this because I want more. I do what I do out of necessity. I steeled myself long ago from allowing the deeds that must be performed in the name of justice to weigh on my soul. Do you think that I enjoyed imprisoning the thief stealing to feed his family, killing the rabid dog that bit its owner, or leading the unruly drunkard to the stocks? I did the jobs required to keep order and civility in this city I proudly call my home." His demeanor does not soften, it's hard to tell his emotional state, but that has often been the case.
"My father, grandfather, and the Dottari I have called brother or uncle have taught me long ago, that succumbing to my emotions will only get in the way of doing the ugly deeds of keeping the peace. You talk of what this rebellion means to not just us but our loved ones. How many of you may very well have to be the one forced to take the blade to those men with which I once served proudly beside? How many of you may be forced to square off against the only parent that raised you? Do not act like I do not suffer the consequences, nor understand the risks, of this rebellion. That was a decision I had to come to terms with the very moment I chose to join the cause." His brow is furrowed in anger, as his jaw is clenched tight.
At the notion of calling what he does laziness or cowardice, his demeanor slips, fury evident on his face. "Killing the Asmodeans is not merely an act of pragmatism. It is justice, meting out death sentences to those that massacred the Irorans. It is retribution, taking vengeance on those men for the aforementioned Irorans, and for the acts they performed on the Victocoras. It is peacekeeping, for if we don't stop them now, nothing stops them from returning and doing it again to another group of innocent people. They are not innocent just because they are low-ranking. They are not unaware of what they do, nor just following orders. They are devoted followers of an evil god. You think my decision is what it is because it is convenient? My decision is what it is because I'm trying to save more lives than the ones I choose to take this day."
"Mine is the burden I bear, with every single deed, because I know I can hold myself together. Because I know I can check my emotions at the door. Because I wouldn't demand any of you perform it, just acknowledge that I do not perform it for my own wishes, I do it for the rebellion to succeed. I do it, for us. I do it to save those very families that you worry about having to face the wrath of Thrune. I do it so that this rebellion can be won before I myself have to possibly stare into my father's eyes while baring steel against him. This is not some hasty suggestion out of convenience, this is accepting what I must do to put and end to this whole fight before more lives of actual innocent civilians are made to suffer any longer under the rule of a madman."
Evander shrugs and says, "Fine. Do what you will. But, unlike those obsessed with law and order and an ideal of justice, some of us are willing to show mercy, to prove we are better than the Asmodeans. Some of us know that doing the same thing they would do makes us no better than them." Turning, Evander walks away. "Kill them if you want. I won't have any part of it. Just remember that the road to the Hells is paved with good intentions."
Didiana walked up to Gregor. When exactly the two pieces of flint had replaced the sorcerer's eyes was difficult to say, but she walked up to him without ever breaking her stare. He was only slightly taller than her as they stood there next to each other. No difficulties looking into each other's eyes. Didiana removed her helmet. And her anger and weariness stood out all the clearer because of her great beauty, like cuts in a wedding dress.
Then she crouched. She broke eye contract to place her metal headgear up against the arm of an Asmodean, the nearest one to them still breathing. With the helmet thusly carefully balanced she rose up to her full height again, and resumed glaring at the ex-dottari.
Then she stomped.
*CRACK*
The unconscious diabolist's breath caught in his throat. The mind was out cold but the body was all too aware that it was under attack again. The Asmodean's right arm was bent at a slightly unnatural angle, starting right underneath the armiger's helmet. Didiana gave it another stomp for good measure. It gave the sound of crackling dry branches and a whimper escaped her victim's mouth.
"Now what?" she asked Gregor. Her eyes had never left him.
"Still going to kill him? Why? Because he's a 'threat to innocents'? Not like that he isn't. He's neutralized. And don't tell me that the church will fix him up straight away because we both know that isn't true. Cuts and scuffs are one thing, but broken bones are a whole different matter. They require strong magic. Expensive magic. And the church isn't going to spend several hundred gold pieces on every grunt they employ."
She removed her foot from the unfortunate Asmodean's shattered arm. He would be in for a whole lot of pain later, but for now he was blissfully comatose.
"So if you're not going to kill him to protect the people, then why are you going to kill him? Go on, say it. I want to hear you say it again. I want to hear you be just that arrogant again. 'For justice.' You're going to kill in the name of justice. It's a strong word, isn't it?"
Didiana's frown deepened.
"And yes, since you asked. I do think you enjoy it. I think it makes you feel strong. I think it makes you feel powerful. I think it gives you purpose. No, I know that. It's how you were able to turn your back on your family. Because you didn't need them. You had your law and that was enough. It was painful but it was enough to sustain you. 'Justice.' It justifies you. It allows you to kill. And the difference between you and any other murderer is that you're right. Of course. Ward, there is nothing more dangerous than a man who believes he is right."
Somewhere between the words she had the wherewithal to wonder: was at least some small part of this actually her venting her frustrations with something more personal? The self-righteousness. The end justifying the means. Was she raging against the Hellknights themselves? Yeah. Maybe she was. A little.
"You speak as if you've made sacrifices. As if your willingness to do whatever it takes ennobles you rather than lessens you. You are not justice, you stupid man. You are not an agent of the law. You are not even dottari. You are just Gregor Ward. And the death penalty is not yours to wield however you wish. If this is how little respect you have for life, then you never deserved to be dottari."
She didn't want this. She didn't want her friend to be like this. It was meant to be the other way around.
"How dare you speak to me about sacrifice? I... I sacrificed my soul for the Law." Rather literally, as the sorcerer had joined the Torrent in a bid to save her soul from Hell. "But I am never going to sacrifice the soul of the Law. I will never abandon the purpose behind the Law. I am never going to abandon the sanctity of life. I will never allow myself to become that. I will never allow 'justice' to become an empty word."
While some disagreements remain as to the rebellion's philosophy, you all make your way from the Many-Steps Monastery and the Fantasmagorium back to the Wasp Nest. The activity in your hideout has grown quite a bit since you first established it. The space is quickly filling up and you bump into a few people inadvertently as you make your way to report to Laria and Rexus.
You find the pair in Rexus's makeshift office, where you once questioned Blosodriette. Laria looks anxious to hear what you have to say. She also looks a bit worried as she sees how wounded Didiana is and that others have also sustained injuries. Rexus smiles as you enter. He seems genuinely excited to hear what you found and your injuries don't seem to dampen his mood too much. He does look behind you, though, to see if anyone new accompanies you.
"Well," Laria says, "I'm glad to see you all made it back alive. What do you have to report?"
Evander takes a deep breath and says, "The Asmodeans were there. We encountered a group of Redactors in the Fantasmagorium proper, along with a priest of Asmodeus. They also had animated several corpses as undead zombies," here Evander looked at Rexus, then motioned Gilda to produce the Victocora signet rings, "including your parents. Once we got down into the Many-Steps Monastery below, we found a scrivener named Yilliv had been summoned to prevent intruders. We were able to talk our way past him thanks to Didiana's rather impressive grasp of the law. We then found more of the Redactors, as well as Nox and Mephiry. We were able to kill both Nox and Mephiry - although Nox was rather difficult to keep down. After that, we recovered these soul tomes, which Irorans used to record their thoughts. We brought this portrait as well." Evander gives Rexus the soul tomes belonging to his parents, and the portrait they found in the bedroom.
Evander felt sorry for Rexus. To have gained the hope that his parents were alive, only to learn they were, in fact, dead and had their corpses desecrated, would be devastating.
At Evander's prompting Didiana pulled the portrait out of her backpack. There was a slightly awkward pause as she struggled to retrieve the thing; it hadn't been easy showing it into the rucksack due to its size, and pulling it out was proving a greater challenge still. She passed the portrait along. This was not a happy occasion and the sorcerer wore an appropriately dour face. She didn't find this difficult. It had been a dour evening. Not that she had to fake any sympathy. She did genuinely feel for the nobleman.
"I'm sorry, Rexus."
She didn't know what else to say. What else was there to say?
Gregor's expression doesn't ease, wondering what Didiana's plan is with the helmet, expecting a slap or a punch from her at this point. That completely changes to one of both shock and confusion, and not just at the one strike, but the second as well. He leans over the man to inspect both the wound just caused, easily at the very least a large compound fracture, and the man's pulse and vitals.
He stands back up, his head turned slightly, looking at her askance, "I may not need to kill him. You potentially just did so yourself. If the injury didn't do it, bleeding out just might." His anger has vanished, now there is only concern in his eyes. Not for the men, but for the mental state of one of the few people he would call a friend.
As she proceeds to rant against him, his expression deepens to one of a touch of melancholy, as he truly absorbs what she's saying. Only having one question, his voice the softest she's ever heard it "Why are you attacking me? I have been civil for this discussion, and all you have done is berate me."
He turns, walking toward the door and away from the unconscious men, but pauses to add over his shoulder. "Thank you.." He emphasizes the codename, "all the same, for speaking my full name and former profession. I've heard even sleeping men can retain what is said to them, and could possibly be magically compelled to speak it. I wonder how much my own safety concerns you, as you have just exposed my identity to these men. We'll see whose life you value more, their's or mine." He walks away, briskly, attempting to put as much distance between them and himself. With the others having the books and Jaya in tow, he should make headway easily enough.
--------------
Gregor does not accompany the others to the coffeehouse, and can not be found nearby upon leaving the Fantasmagorium. He is not present at the coffeehouse ahead of them either.
You notice Gregor try to stealth away from the group when you leave the Fantasmagorium. He heads in the opposite direction of the Coffeehouse.
-----
Rexus’s hopefulness is devastated upon learning of his parents’ deaths. He shakes his head in disbelief until you produce the signet rings. Tears quickly fill his eyes and begin falling down his face. He slides down the wall behind him till he sits on the ground, then buries his face in his arms.
“No, no, no… I was so sure. No…” he says to himself.
While Rexus mourns, Laria listens to the rest of your tale. She nods solemnly as Evander recounts what happened.
Once he’s finished, she says, “The Iroran masters… Thrune killed them all? His depravity truly knows no bounds. Why? Why did he feel the need to do this? Why come to Kintargo in the first place?”
The halfling pounds her fist against Rexus’s office desk. She’s clearly frustrated by the situation. In contrast to Rexus, she’s angry, not sad.
Rexus looks up from his sobbing to take the tomes from Evander and the portrait from Didiana. He holds the portrait with one hand while touching it with his other. He wipes away his tears to keep them from falling on the picture, but they stream down his face once again only a moment later.
He puts the portrait to the side and takes up the soul tomes of his parents. “You… you said they record thoughts?” Rexus says. “At least I will have some memory of them. It’s… It’s more than Barzillai intended to leave me.”
At the mention of Barzillai Thrune, Rexus clenches his fist and grits his teeth. The nobleman looks more angry than you’ve ever seen him before.
The moment passes and he gathers up his parents' soul tomes and the portrait before rushing out of the room. As he does, he says, “Thank you for retrieving these things. I… I need some time alone. This is too much to process all at once. I’m sorry.”
Rexus finishes rushing out of the room and down the hall. He seems to be headed to the emptiest corner of the Wasp Nest he can find.
Laria shakes her head after Rexus is gone. She says, “How many more? How many more families have to be destroyed by Thrune before this is over?”
Addressing you more directly, Laria says, “You mentioned you killed Nox. Thrune’s bodyguard. Is she really dead? And these soul tomes… if they record thoughts, it might be worth seeing what the Irorans knew. Maybe they can provide some insight to the evil that has befallen Kintargo.
“With the Irorans dead, what do you plan to do now? The Ravens still need allies if you’re going to overthrow Thrune. You have anything specific in mind?”
Gilda sighs and yawns, gesturing at Didiana and Gregor like a grandmother might gesture at two grandchildren arguing about how to divvy up a box of candies.
Nonetheless her eyes search the area for any signs of additional value to their efforts before she vacates the premises with the others. Seemingly she strokes Sprinkles Too for comfort as she kneels in a few choice locations and rummages through the possessions of the Asmodeans.
Setting foot in the city streets again, Gilda seems to struggle with her rodent companion before it escapes her grasp and flees down an alley.
"Sprinkles! Ah, you guys go on ahead! Sprinkles!!"
Once outside Gilda recuses herself to chase the fleeing Sprinkles, she will circle back and ensure the Asmodeans cannot return to duty against them in the future, making the practical choice.
For Kintargo.
Gilda ignores Gregor's departure, assuming it's a different course than the one she takes back inside.
Should Gregor have had the same thoughts, she winks and smiles at him without a word before going about her business.
Evander ignores Gregor’s attempt to sneak off. He assumed the ex-dottari was circling back to finish off the Asmodean, and had already told him to do what he wanted. Gilda’s lie, though well-crafted, was given away by what was an intentionally bad hold on Sprinkles, as well as the hint of relief in her voice at her telling them to go ahead. He didn't call her on it, but he’d expected better from her.
———————————————————
He allowed Rexus his time alone - he remembered how he’d felt when his mother died. He turned to Laria and said, ”First, we need to make public the slaughter of the Irorans, as well as the fact their bodies were animated as undead by the Church of Asmodeus - especially the Victocoras. If the nobles begin to feel that they won’t be respected, they might start turning on him. The average person will find the Church's use of such black magic repulsive, and that will weaken their support. As for allies, I think we need to look into strengthening our ties with the Rose of Kintargo. Their network of support would be quite useful, as well. I don’t have much else to go on right now - there might be more in the soul tomes, though.”
You're able to circle back to the monastery after everyone else has left. The Asmodeans are still tied up and alive. Given their current state, you're easily able to finish them off.
-----
Laria nods at Evander’s suggestions, “Indeed. Letting people know about the massacre is a good plan. But we should try to keep Rexus away from it, I think. Another reminder of his parents’ death may only worsen his state. The Rose could be a useful ally, especially considering how our options seem to be diminishing by the day. There’s just the little matter of finding him or her…”
The halfling trails off, then adds, “What else? Anyone else have anything in mind?”
Matiscio is despondent to anything not-Jaya. Where others might notice Gregor's departure, he does not. With one step at a time he closes the distance between him and his destination: the safety of Laria's coffeehouse.
--
"We have acted and now, upon hearing the news of what has gone down, surely we can expect Thrune to act soon enough. Will he opt to put into place more restrictive rules that make people question his sanity? Or will he, like a true tyrant, round up a bunch of innocents and proclaim that if the perpetrators don't hand themselves over, he'll execute them? In a sense, knowing that he'll react in such a manner if he can't reach us directly, makes me want to act proactively even more. Even if we don't have the best of leads right now. I guess Evander is right and we ought to turn to the books to see what the Irorites were on to?"
Laria nods at Matiscio’s suggestion. “Let us hope Barzillai doesn’t act like you think he will. The situation in Kintargo is already bad. It would be far worse were Thrune to start rounding people up. Whatever you can learn from the Irorans could indeed prove useful. I suspect they would be glad to learn that their deaths had not been completely in vain.
“I suggest you take a bit of time to rest while you study the tomes. It seems like you’ve all had a rough time of it at the Fantasmagorium and the Monastery. Kintargo wasn’t built in a day and it won’t fall in a day either, but you certainly might if you try to do too much at once.”
Laria waits to see if anyone has anything else to add, but otherwise heads back up to the Coffeehouse to see that things continue as normal above. Even in the midst of tyranny, the day-to-day affairs of life must sometimes continue.
"There's one other thing we need to consider - I think it's time we set up another safe house. The Wasp's Nest is a good base, but we need places to hide people from the CCG or dottari who aren't necessarily taking an active role. We're already hiding Zea, and now we have Jaya. We need to find a place to keep them safe." The Many-Steps Monastery is definitely not an option.
Gilda returns, making an extra effort to display Sprinkles Too before tucking her pet into an oversized pocket.
"Silly dog... took me to meet a bunch of his pals. They were havin' a big ol' meetin' Seems like I can call on 'em if we ever need to chew someone's eyes out. A couple'a 'em looked real scrawny, almost rat-like."
Now in the safety of the coffee house, Gilda helps herself to some of the complimentary beverage before flipping open the first of the tomes from the comfort of a chair.
"I betcha somethins' in here that got the Asmodean's knickers in a tizzy."
Evander gives Gilda a look as she comes in, merely adding, "Well, that will be useful should we need it." He clearly knows what her actual purpose was, although he doesn't call her on it.
He stops as he enters the large chamber with the scrivinite, "Yilliv. You probably have access to knowledge, or know if it exists here. Are there any books on engineering, masonry, or just structure building in general? I'm trying to build a makeshift, yet adequate, jail of sorts." He waits and listens to whatever Yilliv has to share with him, before continuing upstairs. He used him time out to figure pricing and such, but was reluctant to use outside labor for both the risk and the cost, when he could potentially do it himself with some of the members.
Once back up top, he takes the time to do what he intended before his own frustration drove him quickly from the premises. He locates the ravaged bodies of Rexus' family, wraps each one tightly and carefully within one of the blankets, covering them completely, and bound with strips from whichever leftover blanket he has. Once each one is wrapped, he finds a safe place to stow them, most likely under at least one or more of the beds below, until he can return for them with help in case the man wants to offer them a proper burial.
-----------
It isn't until well after the others have returned, maybe about two hours, that Gregor shows back up at the Wasp's Nest. He looks a little exhausted, and has adjusted his disguise as something different than the one Evander had cooked up for him before. As he returns, he nods a simple greeting at each member, trying to get a feel for who may have seen his side, but speaks to none of them. Instead, he heads straight for Laria, "Miss Longroads, would you by chance have a map or series of maps that could guide us to use the connected sewers to transport people and or goods?"
Yilliv regards Gregor for a moment. He seems surprised that you decided to speak with him again. The Scrivenite twirls his tassels-for-arms somewhat menacingly. After it becomes apparent to him that you genuinely want his help, he says, “Do I have access to the knowledge myself? Yes, of course. As for a book on such a subject… the answer is also yes. In addition to slaughtering the Irorans, the Asmodeans of course confiscated anything that might need redacting. As it turns out, a work on masonry requires few changes, if any.”
Yilliv floats over to one corner of the room and to one of the monastery’s ruined bookshelves. It contains several intact volumes. The Scrivenite retrieves one of the books and floats back over to you.
He hands it to you and says, “The Asmodeans will likely just burn it along with everything else remaining in this place once they’re certain it’s been stripped of everything they find valuable. Better it be put to some use with you than to no use at all.”
The scrivenite pointedly turns away from Gregor after handing him the volume. Yilliv, at least, seems to be finished with the conversation.
The book Yilliv gave you is entitled Hell’s Builders: A Chelaxian Primer on Masonry.
After his conversation with Yilliv is over, Gregor is able to find a couple beds to put the bodies under for safekeeping.
-----
Laria nods at Evander’s mention of another safe house. “Agreed. The Wasp Nest is getting more crowded by the day. It’s good to see so much support for the rebellion, but this place can only support so many. There’s only so much air to breath down here.”
The halfling proprietor scratches her head at Gilda after she comes in. It seems Laria still doesn’t quite know what to make of the shaman. “Well, I hope your… dog… and his pals know how to behave themselves when you don’t tell them to chew on someone. As with space, this place only has so many supplies.”
-----
Gilda sits down to study one of the tomes. She’s able to get a thorough understanding of what is written inside, but most of the material is mundane in nature. It references things like the Iroran’s daily habits, casual conversations they’ve had, and notes some of their family members.
The shaman does, however, discover one particularly noteworthy thing during her study of the tome. Among the dangerous books once stored in the monastery was a copy of the diabolic chapters of the Book of the Damned. This in and of itself is of note, particularly considering you never found such a book, or part of a book, while in the monastery. In addition to the information about the book itself, you also discover that only one person has been allowed to read it in recent years. The name of the well-spoken traveller who managed to convince the archivists he should be allowed to study the book for a single hour is recorded in the text as Trailblazer Huni, a man who claimed to have been a wandering scholar.
-----
Laria squints at Gregor for a moment when he returns then smiles as she finally recognizes the man. “Hello to you too, Gregor. I thought we had a dottari infiltrator for a few seconds there. The others didn’t mention anything about your absence, so I was a bit worried. Good to see you’re alright.
“As for your question, I’m afraid not. The Network never needed to use the sewers so we never even travelled through the rest, much less mapped it all. After what happened to poor Nan, I’m not sure I want to know what else might lie in the unused and unseen parts of the sewers. I imagine the only people that might have access to maps of the place are now either dead or employed by Barzillai.”
-----
"Trailblazer Huni. That name mean anything to anyone? Seems like they let him read up on devils. That's the first big thing that stands out in this one."
She gestures to the book before handing it to whomever next wishes to inspect it.
As Gregor enters and seems to scan the group's faces, Gilda winks at him and pats her smock.
"Another hideout's a good idea. Maybe we can find one with some natural lightin'? Knowin' our way bout them sewers a real good call too."
"Lemme see if them ra-- err, nice doggies heard anythin' or seen anyone."
Gilda lets out a long breath before taking a deep sip of Laria's coffee before leaning back in her chair. She grips the handrails as her eyes roll back and she emits a high pitched squeak before returning to the present.
Evander gives Gregor a look as he appears, then turns back to the conversation. Still, the ex-dottari's idea is a good one. "Gregor's idea is a good one. Being able to move around through the sewers might not be a bad idea. I wonder if there's somewhere we could go to find maps of them."
When Gilda asks about Trailblazer Huni, Laria shakes her head, “I don’t remember Porcia mentioning anyone by that name. He must have been quite persuasive for them to let him do that. Cheliax has enough of a devil problem without people learning more about them.”
While using her spell, Gilda learns of two places a map of Kintargo’s sewers might be found. The more well-known location is the Records Hall. While the hall was originally a repository of records for Kintargo's nobility, other records found their way into the hall over the years. Gilda hears that the hall is currently being used by an associate of Thrune’s named Tiarise Izoni. She’s said to be a quite dangerous woman. Most of the records in the place have supposedly been destroyed, but it’s possible some still exist. Trying to obtain a map of the sewers from the Records Hall would almost certainly draw Barzillai’s notice.
The other place such a map might be found, Gilda learns, is Andos Hall. Though three stories tall, Kintargo’s city hall seems quaint and cozy sitting in the shadow of the castle. The lord-mayor’s offices occupy the uppermost floor and towers, while Kintargo’s vast web of licensing agencies and trade inspectors claim the rest.
Now that Barzillai Thrune holds the title of lord-mayor, this building has been boarded up; the city’s new ruler prefers spending his time in the Kintargo Opera House or the castle itself. Gilda doesn’t learn of anyone that’s been in Andos Hall since Barzillai took office, so it’s possible any documents inside could still be intact.