|Ceallach Mac Seitheach|
"You better be straight with me. I'll deliver your damn trinket. And...thanks for the warning. Maybe we do have a spy somewhere."
"Few of us take up with the former Bianfael by choice, you know that Ceallach, better than most. Both of us ended up lucky enough to be here in a place that will allow us to become free. At great cost, but free. Not so in the lands of the Bisclavret."
He made ready to head back into the city before the gates shut for the evening prayer Office. "You'll know her by the manacles she wears about neck, hands, and feet." With that, the elder wolf moved about his business, the chip on his shoulder clearly visible to one with eyes to look for it.
"I, well, it's not such a difficult thing to go around the back, or through the larder perhaps, maybe a window. Goodness, anything to avoid that woman!"
At the height of Guillaume's indignant explanation the Wand and Flagon's door opened and swiftly admitted two men. One was an otter for whom the term "salty sea dog" wouldn't have been entirely inaccurate, and the other was a blonde raccoon bearing the sigil of the Cathedrale's Witchfinders. Their path took them directly to the seated group without preamble or hesitation.
Delroy isn't a bad sort, though he is naive and perhaps overly inquisitive. You've share the walk to the Wand and Flagon, as likely a spot as any to find the rest of those looking into the problem, and thankfully found them on the first try.
James walks in to the bar with a bit of flair, pushing the door fully open and walking in first, the church boy ol' Viddy sent with him in tow. Viddy was always a decent fellow, but fell in to the trappings of sailors in that he was sometimes a bit on the superstitious side.
It didn't take long for James to recognize the group he was supposed to meet up with. They stuck out like a sore thumb among the regular patrons in their fine clothes, even the one who looked somewhat armored still stuck out as being on the upper end on the class scale.
With a slight chuckle, he pokes Delroy. "Looks like we found 'em church boy." Without waiting for an answer, the heavily armed otter walks over without any doubt in his step and takes a seat with the group of obvious nobles.
"You lot look like yer having some shipping troubles, eh?" A mischievous smirk crosses the otter's face, as he lets out another slight chuckle. He waited for a response to his obvious bravado, scanning the eyes of his table mates with his own fiery gaze.
Delroy adjusted his hat as he stepped in, lifting its brim so he might see better indoors. Moving aside right away to let door close, he scanned the Wand and Flagon's interior with a careful eye.
"Yes, I do think we've found them." That said, the Raccoon removed his own robes, Gray in colour, and hung them on a convenient peg. Underneath he was dressed in utilitarian boiled leathers, Layered and formed into plates studded together with brass rivets.
What could be seen of regular clothing below that hinted towards a moderate station. His parents were neither rich, nor poor, and the Raccoon himself obviously hadn't been outside of sheltering influences for a long time.
The ink on his license might still be wet if it hadn't been dusted. This kid was green as grass, and obviously rankled by the Otter's demeanor. When he turned back, James was already 'making friends', so Delroy joined him, but stood at the table, rather than taking a seat without leave. He did not look fed up as much as simply overwhelmed… He does manage to nod politely to those at the table that he was not yet aquainted with.
"Abbot Lineaus sent me, with regards to a Mister Ficoligne. You are his associates? Yes?"
The small, child-like female bat glares at the otter with her own firey gaze, and shifts a quick look at the raccoon standing there before returning her gaze to her first target.
"I understand that even amoung common folk, an introduction is first made before intruding upon others," Natalia says sweetly, almost too honeyed of words for her demenor.
"Perhaps you could honor that custom, and introduce yourselves. Please?" The 'please' seems to hold a veiled threat of some sort, although the fact that a child is making the threat robs it of much of its force.
|Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont|
Blue eyes blink, and Rosza mutters to herself. "Qwin." She catches most of the rest, ear twitching at Zhongguo. Nobility, perhaps, but from nowhere around here. Not like she has lands, family or power to back her at hand. Still, it doesn't hurt to be polite. Maybe if we treat her like she's important anyone having anything to do with shipping will assume she's some sort of a diplomat.
The ermine shakes her head, smiling ruefully, "Non. Non, dear Guillaume. She got you involved, and if I show up and start clawing at the walls, our sainted relative might assume things." Rosza sighs. "Much as I loathe the thought of leaving you at that little witch's mercy." It's rather plain that Rosza would find another word rhyming with 'witch' equally appropriate. "Just treat it like one of the tales of the Kindly Ones and eat and drink nothing she's prepared for you and you ought to be fairly safe." Rosza smirks nastily, then blinks a bit as Natalia gets involved, then pauses to take stock as the new arrivals make their presence known and Natalia puts them in their place. That dear girl is becoming less harmless every day.
Rosza shifts in her seat in a fashion any experienced tavern-brawler could recognize as getting ready to clear both chair and table in a hurry, and fixes on the otter as the more experienced (and likely more dangerous) of the two. "As the Madonna Ivanova stated," the ermine hooks a thumb brazenly over the hilt of her rapier, drawing attention to it. "We have not heard who you may be, and dropping the names of merchants may gain you respect from those who count coppers, but some of us hold blood dearer. If I have misjudged, and your names are meant to hold any weight of their own perhaps you should acquaint us with them, rather than bandying about the names of your betters!"
Beneath the table, Rosza prepares to hook the toe of one boot behind a leg of the otter's newly acquired chair and grins at him fangily.
As the otter pulls out the seat to sit Quinn reflexively reaches for her blade about to draw but hesitates and looks to the noble ermine to see her reaction.
As the Madonna speaks, Quinn calmly sets the sketch pad on the table but leaves her hand on her blade, eying the otter having sat down with a very scary expression like she was ready to kill for the intrusion but then looks at the raccoon with a less disapproving look, obviously wondering if he is as bad mannered as the otter.
The Raccoon coughed behind his hand, taking a step back as if he might try to start over again. "I held no wish to offend." He even bowed a bit in his calm retreat. "Delroy Callidus. Sanctioned Witch-Finder of the Holy Church of S'allumer, at your service. I am afraid my name will hold little weight on its own just now, and I apologize for my rudeness. Please, may I join you?" He gestures toward an empty seat if there be one nearby, otherwise he just shyly grins and shrugs like the last student in the Dunnwasser lunchroom just hoping to find a seat.
Quinn looks at Delroy "I believe actually that your friend is the rude one, you on the other side, may have a seat." Quinn gestures at a seat with her free hand.
After he sits, she looks at him outwardly ignoring the otter, "I am Lady Kuin Hiriderin, or Lady Quinn, for the locals that talk weird."
Delroy tried his best to emulate Kuin's Pronunciation of her own name, but he can barely suppress his own Southern Bisclavret brogue behind fancy words. He wound up with "Quinn" as all the rest, despite his admirable attempt. "Thank you, Lady Quinn." Once seated, he removed his hat, placing it atop his rod, where it wobbled jauntily.
"From where do you hail? I've not hears speech like yours. Melodic… Yet a bit halting. Calabrian is not your first language… But you learned it from a native, or from another that did. Yes?" In his curiosity, the Raccoon seemed to have forgotten just why he was actually here in the first place.
|Ceallach Mac Seitheach|
I suppose this means I can't simply wander in and take her, now can I? Though I'd like to see those damn kilters try and take a slave back in here. Bah, Eamonn'd tell me I make too much trouble. Maybe I'll ask those other ones. They seem to have brains more than I.
Ceallach, against his better wishes, moves to re-enter the city. Though he isn't really sure where the bar they mentioned they were headed to was at, he didn't mind the hunt. Hunting places in a city that frowned upon hunting people was one of his few remaining pleasures.
James laughs heartily at the proceedings unfolding before him. These nobles were actively offended at his total disregard for their "status."
Not that he particularly cared. The only "nobility" he would ever recognize was the sea.
But James found himself in a predicament. He didn't like the wily grin that weasel was giving him, and having grown up around sailors knew all the tavern tricks.
With a light flick of his foot, he gently nudged hers away as his laugh trailed off, mildly impressed with her underhandedness.
James looked over at Delroy and tugged the raccoon in to his seat by the back of his shirt. "Sit down church boy, them formalities is just gonna waste good time we could be workin'. You got that there church legal authority, act like it."
"You want names and blood do ye? Well, I've always found that blood was only good for stainin' the deck, and names only good for knowin' who the sea has taken. But if you must know, the name is James. Some folk call me the Reaver, and given the job yer likely t'see why in time."
The more James spoke, the more apparent it became that his dialect was almost exclusively that of a sailor, as if he had spent his whole life on a ship.
He cracked another smile and pointed at the weasel. "I think I like your gall though, missy. Flaunt yer nobility and say yer my better to try and scare me, then use an underhanded tactic ter try and best me. Summin tells me yeeve had experience fightin'."
James flipped a denarii on to the table with a toothy grin to match Rosza's. "Barwench, how abouts a pint o' ale for my new friend the marriana here?"
"I could shut him up if you wished?" Delroy offers to Quinn, unable to hide a bit of a smirk even as he adjusts himself in his new-found seat, he turned to the table at large, "Now if James is done posturing we can get this settled, yes?" Then to the Otter himself: "James, You are a frightening individual. We know this, you take great pains to make sure everyone knows this. Thank you for your transparency."
He sighs in exasperation, waving his hand dismissively toward the Otter.
Host's call if this does anything at all. if not, Delroy would know not to attempt it.
1d10 ⇒ 61d8 ⇒ 41d8 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 3 Vs: 3 (Mind, Supernatural, Aimed)
Resist with Body, Observation Vs: 3
It's a Mystic Spell, so invisible. Kuin might notice it, others can suspect.
Natalia finds herself suddenly neglected, as the otter fixates on Rozsa and the raccoon attaches himself to Quinn.
'Ignored. Passed over, like she wasn't even there. Too insignificant to even speak to....'
As she quitely (for the moment) seethes, an errant waft of wind stirs...
I find it funny that James thought nobility had anything to do with being offended.
"Had we been in my home you would have been carried to the healer already. Do not expect me to show you an once of respect till you can can demonstrate some of your own. If you continue this disrespect I will cut off your legs." She looks completely serious, no bluff checks needed.
Looking back to the clergyman, "Let us deal with him first before we ...talk."
James is suddenly tipped over and gives Delroy a dirty, yet still playful look as he dusts himself off, his shortswords rattling as his readjusts his belt. "Oi! That's a cheap shot Delli, usin' that witchfinder stuff on me."
He resets his chair, noticeably dejected and embarrassed by being bested so easily and asks the bar maiden to make it 2 pints as he mutters under his breath, the dust barely noticeable on the worn and stained leather armor that had clearly seen years at sea.
For Delroy, who for whatever reason cannot access the site from any of his machines today.
""That was Thaumaturgy, the purest and most subtle of magics, I'm surprised you even noticed."
Delroy smirked, though. Smugly, too, "Now, might we try a more civil form of discourse, or shall we continue flexing and posturing like Phelani savages?"
When the barmaid makes her round, he hands her a coin, "A pint of mead would be lovely. Thank you." His smile once again shifted to a smirk, now directed once more to James, "You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar."
James snorted at Delroy and his silly phrases and adherence to "civility."
"What's wrong with Phelains? Had one o' them Atervist fellows in the crew for awhile back when the Capn' ran things. Quiet fellow, but one of the most loyal and noble souls I e'er met." James' eyes glaze over for moment as if in thought. "Lad deserved better an' what ee got from them traitors, tha's for sher."
James laughed again at Delroy's second statement. "Thas' a funny sayin. Flies always seemed ter love the pickle pots more than th' sweets back on the ship. Besides, why would you want flies anyways? Filthy buggers, you'll get scurvy with them around."
"As for discussion, what's ter discuss? We all know our job, and lettin' ol' Viddy down isn't something I've planned for. Good man who found straight work. 'Elpin him out is as much a privileged as it is a favor."
|Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont|
"Methinks the stench of brine and rotted fish have brought enough flies with your friend here." Rosza asides to Delroy.
"Before you get too comfortable," The ermine grins at James, her jaw propped up on the palm of one folded paw, elbow on the table. With her left hand she idly twirls a rather fancy-hilted dagger which she produced somewhere between James hitting the floor and standing up again, whirling it in lazy patterns flat on the tabletop, dragging it with a finger through one loop of fluted steel. "...I'm going to give you the benefit of my doubt, James the Robber, and believe that you've made port in many strange lands with strange customs -- some of which must be obeyed if one wishes to keep one's head atop one's shoulders or one's liver out of others' stomachs."
Rosza tilts her head. "The custom here would be for you to stand your salt-tailed self up, uncover your head, bow to the Madonna Ivanova, and humbly apologize to her before asking a seat. We nobles, you see, when we are not deferring to our betters, which we term Respect, or being coyly offensive to our equals, which we call Wit, engage in killing each other with magick or sharp objects, which we call Honor, which some of us consider great fun." Rosza cranks her grin up to eleven. "...and since you have about as much of the magickal about you as one of the Dunwasser College's privies, I judge that correcting your sad lack of civility would fall to me, unless the Lady wishes to accept goodman Callidus' very kind offer."
"Now, would you do us all," and here Rosza looks around the tavern, which (given its proximity to the college) is probably filled with students of the Arts Magickal, and perhaps even a few professorial types holding forth in what would -- normally -- be cheerier surroundings than the College's halls, but most likely has a fairly significant magical peacekeeper as well, given what a drunken sorceror or elementalist can do, "the minor, civil favor of apologizing to the Lady Ivanova so that we can go back to our business...And your own, presuming our business truly does include you. I don't say it doesn't...James...but you've certainly kept us from it long enough."
Something about how James' spoke of 'ol' Viddy' and his old crewmate gave Delroy pause, even while the statement "You are remarkably impervious to Metaphor, James." was passing his lips. The Otter might have some redeeming qualities hidden somewhere within, un-traceable even to a Master Cognosceni, perhaps, but there none-the-less
Kuin, Rosza, Natalia and Guillaume are met with the 'coon's amber gaze next, as he fretfully twisted his whiskers between two fingers. "Uhm, Well met? You have my name, Might I know yours, since it would appear that my associate will not be taking 'no' for an answer."
James sniffs his arm at Rosza's comment "It ain't that bad lass, I bathed last week."
Looking over at the small bat Rosza seemed to mention, James remembered she had said something before he had been distracted by the weasel's attempt to trip his chair up. He then looked back at Rosza with a questioning look. "Why would I stand up ter apologize? Standin' is for fightin'." He then turns to the bat with the most serious and solemn tone he's had throughout the encounter. "I am sorry though miss Marriana Ivananaorva." He then stopped for a moment and looked at both the bat and the weasel. "Is that a popular name for lasses in this port?"
James continues to look at Rosza quizzically as she tries to explain how nobility works, the concept totally foreign to him, having lived in a world of equals with the only real leader being more of a father figure than anything.
When she finished he simply scratched his head and shrugged. "Well growin' up, the Capn' always told me that yer betters were the ones who could do more work, not bein' honest with folk was askin' fer trouble, and that there was never any honor in killin' unless they shot first."
He smiled back at the weasel with a fun loving, mischievous grin that came with a life of freedom on the open seas. "Ol' Viddy never mentioned I'd be workin' with a confusin' sort like you to get 'is shipments back. Mighta' asked for pay if I'da known that."
James lets out another hearty laugh.
Guillaume de Laurraine managed to sneak a short word in between glancing frantically between Rosza Juette and this...James character, hat clenched in tight grip, betraying his nervousness and lack of the utterly iron demeanor of his friend.
"Guillaume de Laurraine, of the House Lissemanteau. You're with the Cathedrale by your dress...I suppose I could spare you a moment graciously..." He looked again to the standoff...sitoff rather with a look that begged the assembled personages to stand down.
When it became clear that wouldn't happen, or at least that the words exchanged were going to make things confusing rather than clearer, he cleared his throat and spoke again.
"This really, really isn't going to help things...and you still owe the Constabulary for last mardi's altercation Rosza Juette. More trouble certainly won't make them forget it faster." He turned swiftly to the Reaver and spoke in a clipped tone that indicated haste rather than anger. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, young lad, rather than simply toss you to the consequence you so rightly seem to deserve. Make an honest attempt to learn how things work here and stop acting like a savage." His piece said, the marbled polecat sat and turned to Delroy to offer that gracious moment he was talking about, when the door slammed open and in walked a muscle-bound Phelan wolf with an air of mild confusion that a door should be so flimsy, the mien of a quietly proud and resourceful individual, and casting about until his eyes lit on the near-brawl at the table.
Guillaume merely stared. "Or perhaps do. That one at least knows when to keep his address to himself."
Delroy nearly spit his mead in surprise upon seeing the Wolf stride in. Or perhaps the bang of the door spooked him, as he had chosen to sit with his back to it. He'd nodded as he was sipping just moments before, regarding Guillaume's statement of the Raccoon's affiliations.
He'd just lifted a finger to make a point in the midst of swallowing, a signal that he was about to speak when he caught his breath, and that was the moment the door's report and the cause behind it startled Delroy into choking on the last mouthfull.
Just like at home, mention the Phelani in a disrespectful manner and one just seems to show up.
Natalia watched the scene unfold, fuming.
The raccoon's supposed use of thaumaturgy peaked her interest quite a bit though.
'I wonder if I could look over his books and notes,' she pondered, distracted from the rude otter. 'Deloy Callidus, his name was? And with manners too. I'll speak with him later.'
Hearing the otter mangle her name brought her attention back to the matter at hand.
'Is he deliberately trying to mock me?' she wonders, gritting her teeth just a bit.
Standing on her chair (since standing on the floor with her head peeking over the table's edge would not make a good impression), she gives a nod of acknowledgment.
"I am Natalia Ivanova of House Repense." She obviously turns towards Deloy (as if omitting James from the next phrase). "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
Regaining her seat, she again glowers at the otter, wondering what other insults he would manage to make.
Recovering from his surprise, and clandestinely wiping his mouth with the Wand and Flagon's tablecloth, Delroy turns his head and looks up just as Natalia addresses him. He has that 'little kid caught stealing sugar' look to him, even more so just then than most Raccoons might. He dropped the freshly mead-stained corner of the tablecloth, then stands as well, lifting his hat from the tip of his staff, and flourishing it behind him in a bow befitting their difference in station.
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Ivanova." She wears the starred robes, the mark of Dunwasser's Elite…
He had been sizing her up, that much was obvious. His job is to recognize rogue Wizards and users of proscribed magics, after all, and the 'Starred Wizards' are rumored to command great mystical might.
Rosza is next in line for the meet and greet, and judging by her attitude, dress and manner of speech, Delroy risked a bow to her as well, figuring her Blooded status was almost certain. "I should hope my earlier indiscretion can be forgiven, M'lady. I am honored to be in such company."
|Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont|
The ermine winces at Guillaume's reminder and sighs, dropping slightly back in her seat. "You are correct of course, my friend. Paying off old debts should take some small priority over incurring new ones. At least where the constabulary are concerned. They really should permit regular customers in good standing to run a tab."
"Goodhomme Callidus." Rosza inclines her head graciously at the raccoon's display of courtesy to Natalia, "Or would Messer or Padre be more correct? I've never had much to do with witch-finders, being myself quite 'artless." The ermine smirks slightly. Was there a pun in there somewhere? She winces once more as Ceallach slams the door open and strides in, but does aim a curt nod of recognition in his direction.
"My sister likely has more experience of them, or so I might wish. I am Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont of the de Vieuxpont Lissemanteau, Écuyere d'épée and daughter of Léon de Vieuxpont." The blue-clad ermine glances at the otter fractionally. "And while I am sure this needs no explanation to a learned scholar of the Church, for the benefit of the inarticulate and mad, I may be addressed without giving offense as Madonna de Vieuxpont. Though I may be persuaded to forgive 'Madonna' on its own from one so obviously used to talking around a mouthful of shells." By this point she's clearly addressing Delroy again. "Did I overhear that you," those blue eyes start to slide sideways towards the otter again, then snap back to Delroy as if by an effort of will. Her tone becomes slightly drier, "You both are here to proffer your assistance in the matter of certain missing goods?"
"You may simply call me Delroy, I hold no pretense to title save from those I hunt, Lady Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont… Though I should hope to be able to shorten such an illustrious name for brevity's sake? My office is a Civic one in Triskellion, though I do believe in the Avoirdupous demense, the division of Church to Government is rather blurry, and a Witch Hunter such as myself might enjoy more power within the two circles I must straddle?" He took a breath, looking quit satisfied after having been called 'Church Boy' so often by James. "I may hold a Civic office, but if I am to answer to an honorific I will earn it. This is my first assignment. I would be pleased to have you call me Messer if we succeed." He then nods, "We are, and while James, whom I have just met today, seems coarse… I think I have heard enough from him…"[b] He turns his eyes to the Otter, narrowed just a bit in polite warning, [b]"To understand he has a good heart where it counts." He looks to Rosza and the other nobility in turn, "Enough that I do not think killing him is necessary." This time Delroy's amber eyes fix upon Kuin in particular, and he just grins helplessly.
"And James, by the Light itself I know you did not ask me to help or speak on your behalf, but in the interest of quickly getting underway as I know is your wish, I will do what needs done."
|Ceallach Mac Seitheach|
Ceallach wanders over to the table with no real indication of recognition to anyone. Seeing the table's available seats already taken, he unceremoniously takes another seat from a nearby one, not bothering to check if it is occupied or not. He sits firmly, and casts his eyes at those gathered, sniffing the air.
"I leave for a moment, and you replace me with a sea rat and a green 'coon?" He speaks swiftly, the sound of his Calabrese inflected with a heavy brogue more reminiscint of two rocks being hit together than of language.
So it is that obvious.
Delroy looked suddenly mortified until Kuin spoke up. Even then she was saying things he knew he would say when messing with someone, so he just smirked, and nodded to the Wolf, "I am Delroy Callidus, Witch Finder of the Holy Cee of Triskellion. Might I have your name?" He even offered a hand, the other holding his Wizard's Rod of Cypress-wood.
Pardon my poor choice of phrasing. Delroy would say something like 'Replace the sea rat' as a joke, yet he's not entirely sure Quinn is 100% serious, given how offended he can tell she is. totally an 'In Character' mixed message, he's choosing to see the lighter side of the situation for the moment. Sorry if I caused any confusion with this.
|Ceallach Mac Seitheach|
Ceallach snorts in amusement. "You'd need far more than two to replace me." He shrugs, as though it doesn't matter to him. "I see that the otter has gotten on your bad sides already. At least I'll have company now. Another matter is more important to me right now though. I have a friend, Eamonn, who works with another goods house. They are losing things also. The robbers apparently know what to take already."
"This is why I like you. You may not be overly respectful, but you're not rude and you do actual work without asking for praise, pretending to better, or complaining. Hope you can teach it some of that, if I'm not allowed to kill it anyway." At "it" she gestures at the otter. She finishes with a hopeful glance at Rosza.
|Rosza Juette de Vieuxpont|
Rosza Juette's delicate brows rise at the wolf's statement. "Hmm-hmmmm. That's interesting. I thank you." She shrugs helplessly at Quinn, "As I've been reminded, the next paperwork the constabulary fills out on my behalf really needs to be a receipt for payment of fines in full rather than notes on additional unpleasantness." She ponders a moment, then her eyes light on a flash of color near the door. The ermine slips out of her chair with all the subtle grace of a shark closing on its prey (which is to say she's graceful, albeit about as subtle as a smithing hammer). The heavy-bladed dagger she had been playing with finds its way back into its sheath as she pushes through the crowd.
Wouldn't do to stab someone accidentally, after all.
Student mages trying not to be caught watching the ongoing confrontation at the party's table duck out of her way hurriedly as she comes up behind a marten in an outfit which certainly looks like it was expensive cloth-of-gold and rather supple leather, once...Perhaps before its current occupant spent too many nights sleeping in it. Now it just looks rather worn. He has what seems to be the current stylish weasel-noble ensemble going, not dissimilar to Rosza Juette or Guillaume. Rapier, lace, slashed and puffed sleeves, attitude, and a big floppy hat with a plume in it.
Well, at least there's a plume in it until Rosza slinks up behind him and yanks it out...Tugging the hat roughly off his head before the feather parts ways with the pin meant to hold it in place.
There's a sudden scramble of other drinkers to get clear as violence ensues between the two mustelines.
Wait, no, that's not violence, it's a playful hug. Or it is until Rosza slips out of it when the other weasel's hands start moving southward. Hats are reclaimed and resettled, then some argument about the stolen plume commences, said argument ending when Rosza's playful jabbing shoves at the marten's chest carry him entirely out the door. A brief exchange of words is followed by a lengthier exchange of bows, more sweeping the floor with floppy hats, and then Rosza saunters back towards the table with the marten's beat-up green ostrich feather. She eyes it skeptically before sticking it into her hatband alongside her own battered white panache.
The ermine drops back into her seat, then leans it back against the wall with a grin, and props one expensive (somewhat road-worn) boot on the table as she comments to Guillaume. "I've sent Claudio to find Andre and Stephan, tell them to inquire around the shipping houses, caravanseries and platz, ask quickly if there've been other recent robberies on the road, what was taken, if there was a reward...And if the thieves seemed to know what they were after...Then to get to the Eastern gate no later than the top of the hour if they want an opportunity to shine in the eyes of House Lissemanteau."
1d8 ⇒ 8 Mind
1d8 ⇒ 4 Gossip (Career)
1d4 ⇒ 4 Gossip (Marks)
+ 1 automatic success
"...And dear Guillaume, if I could prevail upon you to please look up Ricard and Beaurigard, methinks you've seen them most recently. You may tell our clever-handed stoat friend there is a deed he might do for the house before becoming our ambassador to the wide, white-snowed expanses of Govorya. Not that one would suggest he needs to redeem himself, but if he's going wandering he might gain some assistance in return for assisting the house in reclaiming its stolen goods."
1d6 ⇒ 6 (Guillaume's Mind)
1d6 ⇒ 3 (Guillaume's Career)
(Possible bonus dice from Guillaume's successes, if any, otherwise ignore)
1d8 ⇒ 4
1d8 ⇒ 5
Delroy seemed taken aback for a brief moment, He'd attempted introductions with the unknown Wolf, and had seemed to have been snubbed.
Purposefully? Perhaps not… He would simply wait and see. He had no knowledge of Phelani custom. It would not do to offend the Wolf in any way.
My earlier post should have been more clear that Delroy was actually speaking to Ceallach, and I also understand things got a little hectic with OOC and such, so consider the above post just a way to say that Delroy stands around looking uncomfortable. heh.
Guillaume put the mound of papers back in order quickly, drained his glass (of refreshing water) and stood quickly without so much as shifting his weight. Giving a respectful nod toward his peers and something resembling a half-nod (or perhaps a spasm of the neck) to the others, he reclaimed his own headpiece and made for the door after murmuring to Rosza with a cheeky grin, "See? I knew you could see reason when you wanted to!" and dashing out the door before she could do more than chuck him one on the arm.
The papers left behind proved firmly that Videliei Ficoligne, the man employing both Delroy and James, was a client of the Fleet Feet Shipping Company, and thus had an interest in resolving the case. Aside from any clues Rosza Juette's friends might turn up, all signs point to Cedric of Launts's contact Jean-Yves as the next best source of information, at the Cornucopia, one day's travel from Harrowgate.
|Ceallach Mac Seitheach|
Hmmm. Apparently my phone post didn't go through as intended. Sorry all. I'll put it back together.
"It's a good try, for one still learning the words of these soft peoples. And yes, I do have uses. So long as they involve my claws." Ceallach smiles toothily. Turning his attention to Delroy, Ceallach sniffs him again, this time closer and in more intrusive fashion. He sneezes.
"Well lad, you do smell green to me, though not for lack of dust, that's for sure. Maybe it's the church clothes you've on. Can't say I'm surprised, though. These pious mice are sending everyone out to do their work these days, and must be running short to be sending fresh finishers out on jobs like this. Nevermind that though. As the tiger here tried to tell you, my name is Ceallach, son of Seitheach. What brings you here?"
Delroy tried to stand his ground, but quailed and shifted his weight back a little when Ceallach gets close and stays there a bit longer than Delroy's bravado could last. He adjusted his collar, and cleared his throat, "Jobs like this? Trust me, you might think a job worthy of your claws would have to be epic in scope but the Masters who schooled me trust that an initiate of my above average accomplishment" He puts his hand over his chest, "can use a simple task such as what has been offered as a learning experience. I have been hired by your employers to aid you in seeking something that has been lost. My skills of combat and Thaumaturgy are adequate to the task, as it is suspected there may be foul magics involved. Now lest you can silence a Necromantic curse being uttered past your arm's reach, I suggest we save the critique until I have been properly tested."
Delroy had been told that the Phelani enjoy a good boast (It's a game to them, or so Delroy has heard, and can gain one respect with proper creativity), and detest weakness. Now he simply waited to see if he had been told correct, or if he might require medical attention soon.