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28th of Rova, 4704 AR – Just before noon
The smell of the rain comes up wild off of the streets of North Point. Crowded roads and alley ways, now mostly empty under the rain, stretch out in all directions, weaving a beautiful design through the streets of Korvosa. The sun is overcast by thick grey clouds and the shadows of buildings stretch longer, blur easier under the muted light. The air is wet and cold. The scent of petrichor fills your nose, mixed with the only slightly-detectable scent of offal coming up out of the sewer grates and gutters of the city.
This is the smell of Korvosa.
Ridgefield smells no different. This is where the run off of the rich flows, down hill until it hits the waterfront. If Ridgefield was the gutter of North Point, Bridgefront was the sewer. Where Ridgefield was simply a poor neighborhood, Bridgefront was the overpopulated favela. Buildings built on buildings built on buildings rose precarious from the streets, and even from across the canal one could easily make out that none of them were ever originally that tall. They had simply been grown upon, like vines over vines, trees over trees until the forest floor was dead for lack of daylight. Bridgefront wasn’t a forest, but it might have well been. Danger lurked within the boughs of the Shingles.
The massive battlements that separate the well-to-do people of North Point from the sight of Old Korvosa are filled with gates and portcullises here and there, allowing a glimpse of the poverty of Bridgefront through them. Separated from the mainland by the Narrows, a thick canal spread over by a multitude of bridges, Old Korvosa gleams ugly in the bay like a dead thing floating in the water.
Last night, a halfling courier passed a letter to you inbetween alley ways on your way home from your work. You recognized him as someone who’d gotten themselves thrown out of a tavern by you a few months back, and it seemed he did too for the speed he left at after the letter was in your hands. It had the crest of the Korvosan Guard on the wax seal, and in the interior, a message:
Ms. Mugwort,
My name is Lukain Silvaski. I’m a member of the Korvosan Guard and I am formally requesting your assistance in a matter of importance.
This matter revolves around a woman. Her name was Iszanna Imoroa, and she was an actress that will soon be performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown.
I understand that you are accustomed to protecting others; this talent is what I seek, above all others, in this endeavor. I’ve also received a message written in a language that no scribe in the Citadel could read; when I placed it in an Acadamae scholar’s hands, he told me it was a language of darkness. Some tieflings profess the gift to understand the language of their bloodline without ever having spoken or heard it. I would be most honored if you would translate this message for me.
While action would be normally swift, there are reasons that threaten my capability to undertake this task. Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Ridgefield in North Point. Your time and effort will be rewarded.
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
Inside, weighing the letter down, was a gold piece. The spoils of things to come.
You had been preparing to head to an expensive South Shore event when one of Simon Jeggare’s men dropped the letter through your door—he was always sending you leads, messages, items at all hours, keeping the knowledge of your existence as secret as he could. It clunked when it hit the ground, and begged to be opened.
Ms. Ishihara,
My name is Lukain Silvaski. I’m a member of the Korvosan Guard and I am formally requesting your assistance in a matter of importance.
This matter revolves around a woman. Her name was Iszanna Imoroa, and she is an actress that will soon be performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown.
We share allies and interests in this event. I was informed of the death of a woman by a mutual friend of ours and was asked to investigate officially into a number of files at Citadel Vraid. According to our acquaintance, this woman had a daughter who would be of adult age. The information I uncovered was very interesting; the nature of the skills I heard this girl possesses even more so. Perhaps one good deed could deserve another?
While action would be normally swift, there are reasons that threaten my capability to undertake this task. Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Ridgefield in North Point. Your time and effort will be rewarded.
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
Inside the letter was a brooch, dusty and old. Jade and silver. A tien symbol glitters on the front of it: what it means may as well be a mystery to you, but it feels like you’ve seen it before.
As you sit in your workshop behind the Temple of Shelyn in North Point, a young messenger brings you a letter that shifts heavy with weight. She dismisses herself to listen to the music in the garden before you can hardly get a word out, disappearing amongst the hedges.
Ser Percivel,
My name is Lukain Silvaski. I’m a member of the Korvosan Guard and I am formally requesting your assistance in a matter of importance.
This matter revolves around a woman. Her name was Iszanna Imoroa, and she is an actress that will soon be performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown.
Upon requesting information on who would be best suited to this task, my informant brought your name up almost quicker than I could ask. I’ve laid witness to the accounts of several incidents that were described to have stemmed from your direct interference. As an upstanding member of the Guard, I have vested interest in the extralegal occurrences so credited to your person; As a man who desires, above all else, justice, I have nothing but admiration for your work. I hope we can work together amicably to discover the truth of the disappearance of this actress.
While action would be normally swift, there are reasons that threaten my capability to undertake this task. Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Ridgefield in North Point. Your time and effort will be rewarded.
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
PS. Included is a tithe to the Temple of Shelyn, may her rose blossom eternally. Whether or not you respond to this letter, I wish for you to know my appreciation for your actions.
Inside the letter is five gold pieces, a veritable sum for those whom the Temple provides—more than a week’s worth of food for the destitute of the Temple.
As you spent your night in the new hovel you call home, a Korvosan Guard member dropped by. Stern-faced and older, he looked like he might have been more interested in being home with his kids, but instead pressed a letter into your hands. ”From Lukain,” he said, and left without much else explanation.
Raikdar,
This is from Lukain. I have something for you if you’re interested; it’s got a lot of leg work, the danger is high but the reward that Corporal Kroft has put out is enough to be on the radar for a guy like you.
Like always, the trouble’s a woman. Her name is Iszanna Imoroa, and she was an actress that would’ve been performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. No one knows where she went.
Normally, this would be a Guard thing. But this isn’t normal times. Field Marshal Balko has his hands full with King Eodred’s marriage this weekend, and security is high and tight. We need some outside assistance, and now’s a great time to get your foot in the door to impress the Corporal. Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Ridgefield in North Point. I promise that this will turn up good for you!
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
The thing about saying ‘everything’s going to be fine’ and ‘I promise this will turn up good for you’ is that it always makes you worry about why everything wouldn’t be, and why it won’t.
It was easy to see that the Guardsman didn’t belong here by the young blush on his face when the catcalls started coming out of the windows, pouring down on him like yesterday’s rain. He handed you a letter, shaking in his boots, and disappeared back into the night. You never knew they came that young.
Mr. Felar,
My name is Lukain Silvaski. I’m a member of the Korvosan Guard and I am formally requesting your assistance in a matter of importance.
It would almost be a day later that your mother talked you into reading the rest of the letter. Fishing it out of the gutter where you left it was lucky—right on top. Sometimes Desna smiles like that. Maybe she was laughing.
This matter revolves around a woman. Her name was Iszanna Imoroa, and she is an actress that will soon be performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown.
I understand that your time with our organization was brief and full of calamity. I know what you do and how you do it. There is a certain sense of honest pride I have in the youth of Old Korvosa, so willing to protect their own. It must be a difficult task to organize so many people. The woman who has gone missing, much like the women and men you protect today, was innocent of any real crimes. I hope you may look beyond the Korvosan Guard seal on this letter to the woman who, right now, is afraid. No one is coming to help her. Help me, and we can help her before it’s too late.
Unfortunately, there are reasons that threaten my capability to undertake this task. In such a trying time, I turn to you. Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Ridgefield in North Point. Your time and effort will be rewarded.
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
No wonder it’d stayed on top of the pile; Someone had dug it out. A firm imprint of a gold piece, long gone, sat pressed into the paper.
After another long, desperate night seeking answers that had a lot more in common with fog than anything else—ghostly, ethereal, and completely intangible—you’re approached by a halfling courier who has a look of worry on his face, but one you can’t place. He gives you a letter with a wax seal on it—and on that is the emblem of the Korvosan Guard.
Ms. Mableanbh,
My name is Lukain Silvaski. I’m a member of the Korvosan Guard and I am formally requesting your assistance in a matter of importance.
This matter revolves around a woman. Her name was Iszanna Imoroa, and she is an actress that will soon be performing the part of Ilsandra in a non-violent staging of the Six Trials of Larazod. Unfortunately, she has disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown.
I’ve gained wind of your connection in regards to the unsolved murder of Zsaren Bakeli’s wife, read the reports and come to the conclusion that there’s something else at play there. While Zsaren isn’t talking, I have a gut feeling. I’d wager whoever ended up untangling the web to find the murderer at the center of it all was a more than accomplished professional of sorts; I’m wagering that it’s you. Of course, if I’m wrong, feel free to disregard this letter. But if I’m right, won’t you stop by and listen? The life of a human being could be on the line.
Please meet me at 1414 Wave Street in Bridgefront in North Point. Your time and effort will be rewarded.
Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment
Simple as it could be, there was a gold piece weighing down the corner of the envelope.
The house that Lukain’s letter points to is an old run down garbage bin of a place. The numbers hang stilted, hung up on nails after having fallen free the first time. The building sits shoved into a corner and distorted like a crumpled piece of paper, the shingles loose and the windows broken. Cracks run up and down the exterior like veins. Its door is slightly ajar. A condemnation notice from the City of Korvosa hangs from the knocker along with a notice of foreclosure from the Bank of Abadar, glistening faux-gold like a medal. Korvosan hell-hole competition best in show.
The interior is empty except for a few suspicious looking chairs and a flat table. Dark stains cover the floor and a fireplace, empty except for scorch marks sits along the wall. The room is cold and alone. It seems you’re just a few minutes early.
Raikdar stands on the porch of the boarding house, that is his current home. He feels a running surge of anticipation. The letter from Lieutenant Silvaski was the break he had been waiting for. Hoping for. Last night's card game had not been as productive as he could have hoped for. He had barely broke even. Hopefully, this new job would pay off, and more importantly. lead to more and better jobs.
Flipping the hood of his cape, up over his head to keep the drizzle off, Raikdar steps down onto the streets. The cold rain carries the promise of winter, but at least it keeps most of the crowds that would be thronging the streets, at home. Seems like everyone, and his uncle are in town for the wedding. Raikdar stops at a corner vender and buys a cup of none too hot coffee and a scone, then makes his way on to 1414 Wave street. Cautiously, he enters the building. The empty place seems a little creepy, Raikdar's earlier good feeling is replaced by a sense of unease, that the Magus can't quite seem to pin down. He does hope that Lukain gets there soon.
Percivel re-reads the letter twice. He takes the gold and finds an acolyte to pass it along to. Then he heads back to his workshop where he sits, surrounded by violins, lutes and cellos in various states of assembly. He stares vacantly at the strings as he ponders this new development, then nods to himself. Yes, Shelyn would wish him to investigate this poor woman's disappearance. It served the cause of art and beauty and besides, it was the right thing to do. He sighed, gathered his things and bolted on his breastplate, emblazoned with the sign of the Rose. He retrieves his glaive, taking it from its place beside the door, and began the walk toward the address, noting it is not in the best part of town.
When he arrives to find the house condemned and repossessed, he pauses to check the letter. Finding it the proper address, he looks about, then enters. Seeing the other man there, he nods politely. "Are you here about the missing actress as well?"
"Indeed." Raikdar lets his hand fall away from his sword hilt. "She must be pretty important, to warrant this much attention."
Hania turns the brooch over in her hand slowly. "Where did this come from? Simon, you have a knack for finding things don't you?" Hania thought to herself.
Hania read the letter slowly to take in everything. Her curiosity was piqued at the offer. When she sees the address her mind took her to that part of the city.
"Pretty low class over there. A peasant will do wonderfully."
She gets out some clothes and gets ready. She pulls a worn shawl over her head and steps out into the rain.
Finding herself at the house she shuffles up to the door and enters hesitantly.
Seeing the two men there she seems to be somewhat afraid as her eyes dart from one to the other. Seeing nobody else in the room she makes her way to a chair and sits down.
"Seems like I'm not the only one with an offer am I?" in a perfectly calm voice.
Uriel smiled as he saw the imprint of the vanished piece of gold, hopefully whoever took it used it to feed his or her family, not on some illicit goods or activities.
It was odd, being requested by the guards to lend a hand. He wondered who's illegitimate daughter the girl was if they were willing to hire others outside the guard. She could also be someone's mistress, that would explain the reason for hiring outside forces. What ever it be, he hoped the girl was safe as that was the sole reason he was doing this this.
On the appointed day he instructed his two lieutenants to keep things afloat in his absence and then went on his way. Hopefully things worked out and Gala wouldn't be distracted by her deadbeat husband and his shenanigans. It was surprising she hadn't kicked him to the curb, but that was spomething for later.
Uriel looked up into the sky as he head for the Shingles. It was always hard to decide whether this area was better or worse than his part of town. On the one hand there was less crime here but on the other hand supernatural dangers were far more abundant here.
When he arrives at the house he draws the axe before entering. Noises could be heard from inside and one never knew what kind of squatters lived in a house like this but the threat of violence was often more than enough. Inside however he finds faces that don't fit squatters, well except for the woman. One of them seems slightly familiar though. He puts away his axe as he starts to talk, "Good day all. It seems the guard has fallen on hard times, calling together a group of strangers. Well, almost strangers, you're from the temple of Shelyn aren't you? I think we spoke before." He looks at Percivel as he speaks before suddenly realising something.
He turns to the woman in simple gown, "Excuse me ma'am, but we aren't invading in your home, are we?"
Lanny received the letter, read it then mulled it over in her mind. There was mention of a mage. She fingered her lucky rabbit skull for a moment then tucked it away, out of sight. Mages meant magic and magic could get nasty very fast. Then, there was the reference to her heritage. Other tieflings knew her for what she was. Humans mostly threw rocks.
If it's trap, and I skip taking the bait, they will probably come at me some other way. But why would it be a trap? I mean, sure I piss people off. Do it all the time, like that halfling messenger. But most drunks don't hold a grudge that long after they've been 86'ed.
What would the priests think now, me being hired to a be a translator? All those years they spent forcing her to read when she really wanted to be outside climbing trees. One gold piece ain't bad, and that's just the bait.
On the third hand (hey, don't judge!), someone may have kidnapped the actress for her own good. The 'Six Trials of Larazod' were notoriously risky. And awful. No god worth worshiping would ever extend her protection over a production of it. Saving an actress from having to play Elsandra was a quest worthy of paladin. Or was her name Eslindra? Lanny couldn't remember.
What was important was that Lanny had no delusions of being a paladin. The money looked good. The job didn't sound evil and might result in doing some good. The actress might really be in trouble, after all. And it was always worth it to have a guardsman in your debt. The next time you run into him he might actually believe your side of the story about why the little man had his jaw broken.
Mind made up, Lanny left the dress shop to the relief of the proprietor and walked to 1414 Wave Street. She loitered outside. From a discrete distance she watched four people enter, all obviously unrelated to each other. Looking around, she entered cautiously. The fireplace looked cold and solid. Lanny leaned against the wall next to it and surveyed the room.
She knew how she looked to them: A large, muscular figure with a block like shape, reddish skin, odd bumps everywhere, greased black red hair tied up in a knot, held by a small pink bow. Her teeth were sharp and uneven. Her eyes were red, not the pink of an albino, but the dull red of dried blood. Her armour was worn, but serviceable and she had both a bow and a greatsword and carried them with ease.
Lanny kept her expression neutral, with only the faintest touch of menace.
The other inhabitants of the room seemed chatty.
"Waiting, are we?"
After a night flushed down the gutter, the note provided Rhiannon with something tangible to go for. She'd wasted another night running through the sick streets of a bad neighborhood, and the chance to do something good, something real and perhaps with a lead or two, sang sweetly to her. She twirled the gold piece between her fingers a few steps, until she found a beggar hunched up against the side of a building. She set it on her thumb and forefinger and launched it up. It landed in the poor woman's cup and she gave her a nod before setting off.
She arrived wearily to the house, the big cloak of her traveler's clothes pulled over her. She'd been ready to prestidigitate herself clean before meeting a prospective client, but she found the house in such shambles that she was, by comparison, immaculate. "My time and effort will be rewarded?" she muttered sarcastically as she took in every detail of its battered edifice all at once. It seemed unlikely by then that she'd be getting anything, and of course it may well have been a trap entirely.
She walked in, keeping her right arm near her rapier and her left kept so that in a second's notice she could release her dagger from its spring-loaded sheath. It wasn't likely someone would forge a lieutenant of the guard's letter, but it was also unlikely a man of repute would insist on meeting in some destitute home, so she kept herself prepared. At the sight of four people gathered in the house already, a very strange and inconsistent looking batch, she hissed and drew her rapier halfway out before noticing a familiar face in Percivel.
With a sigh, she eased her tension. If he was there, it was likely to be a matter above the board. She gave him a nod and a smile. "Well, this is interesting," she said, walking slowly into the room and finding a wall to set herself up against. "I've never known an actress to be worth this much attention."
He turns to the woman in simple gown, "Excuse me ma'am, but we aren't invading in your home, are we?"
"Actually, no. I received a letter with an offer as I imagine all of you did as well."
Percy smiles at the banter. "Well, if she's not around for opening night, I daresay we will never know her true worth as an actress. So, I was invited here by a Guard Lieutenant unknown to me. Is it the same for everyone?"
Lukain Silvaski? Lanny smiles very slightly.
"If she's warranting this ragtag bunch of investigators and not the guard proper, then I suspect her worth is not going to be found in her stage abilities." She looks back down to the note again and nods. "Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski," she muses, trying to place the name
Uriel arched an eyebrow when the older woman commented she received an invitation as well. T'was odd that someone that age would be involved, but maybe she had her contacts. Or maybe she was a mage of some sort, age mattered little if you dealt in magic.
"Indeed, chances are she is someone's illegitimate daughter or mistress. Doesn't change the situation though." He started pacing around. Now there were six people here waiting on some guardsman. Six people who by all means should be strangers, the fact that some knew each other mattered little, who were all gathered for one goal. Odd.
Lanny pulls out a wad of wool, shakes it out and begins picking part of it apart. It's blue and looks like an uneven pair of woolen shorts with a long dangly bit coming out the middle. Lanny has two knitting needles and she focuses intently on her task while everyone waits.
"I know Lt. Silvaski. Not well enough to vouch for his complete honesty though." Raik smiles wryly. "He's a city official, any job he offers, has got to be better than what I'm doing now."
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As you muse on the nature of Iszanna Imoroa and the task at hand, the door opens and, along with a cold gust of wind, a man in a red cloak and silvered chainmail walks into the room. He's got an air of authority about him, and the symbol of the Korvosan Guard-- a tower with a pair of sabers crossed behind it-- is patched across his shoulder.
Some of you recognize him-- some of you don't. It's made apparent when he raises a gloved hand and speaks. "It seems I'm late. My personal apologies. Lieutenant Lukain Silvaski, Korvosan Guard 2nd Regiment. Pleased to make everyone's acquaintance." His voice is taciturn yet authoritative. It's easy to imagine him shouting 'Stop!' at a fleeing outlaw's back.
Lukain lets his eyes cross the room, noting everyone's face. He raises an eyebrow at Lantana-- perhaps he hadn't imagined her so big?-- and the much older woman-- who he seems partly confused about for a moment. His gaze hangs...
, ,
... but he moves on. "Perhaps we shouldn't linger too long."
Lukain bustles to the table in the room and retrieves a rolled map from a bag at his side. He spreads it across the table, and it's easy to see that it's a hand-drawn street map of Korvosa, old water stains, dirt marks and other unpleasantries marring the old and very finely crafted map. A handful of red X's are scattered across the map, some in Bridgefront and others deeper in the districts of Old Korvosa. They don't seem permanent-- and whatever ink drew them doesn't seem real. He weighs it down with a dagger on one end and his hand on the other, looking to the group expectantly.
You can tell that the rolled map is far longer than the bag, yet it emerges swiftly, unmarred and unfolded.
"I take it the red X marks are points of interest?" Hania asks as she eyes the map carefully.
"What do they represent"?" she queries.
Lanny stows away her knitting and walks over to the map. She is clearly attending to what is being said and what is being shown, but she says nothing.
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"Disappearances," Lukain says to Hania and looks up to see Lantana looming over him. "If everyone's paying attention, let's waste no time and begin."
"In the last few weeks, there have been a number of missing people throughout Bridgefront, Old Korvosa and North Point. Not reported-- just noticed. People disappear in Korvosa almost every single day, and no one bats an eye. A choker catches a Shingles runner, a West Docks worker finds himself chased by a loan shark's hatchet man, a pesh addict slips into the sewers for warmth and never comes back out again. But there are different." As he speaks, he begins to tap the marks on the map with a gauntleted finger. "Here-- a priestess of Erastil from neighboring Harse left her personal affects in an inn room in the Laughing Waves. Over here, a Varisian street vendor's cart was found empty. An Endrin Military Academy cadet's bunk was found empty in the night with a note explaining that she was returning to Palin's Cove."
"At first glance they appear disconnected. Like I said-- someone disappears almost every single day. But I was able to put in the leg work and I found out two things-- every one of those people was seen with a tiefling with a devil's tail, and every one of them was a beautiful woman."
He leans away from the map, letting it curl onto his fingers. His engaged, determined face is cut with a look of helpless frustration for a moment. "Field Marshal Balko didn't see the connection. He said I was leading the witnesses and ignoring the truth-- that it was all random in the end."
With dramatic resolve Lukain places his finger down on the westmost mark on the map. "Until Iszanna Imoroa."
"As far as I know, she's the first to be reported. She was preparing for her upcoming role as Ilsandra in The Six Trials of Larazod-- I wrote this out in my letter. Iszanna disappeared two nights ago, and her absence was immediately noticed by her mother. I was contacted by another guardsman, and we were able to gather two things-- that one of her brothers found a note in her room written in a devil-tongue, and that Iszanna was a beautiful woman."
He chews on his next words. "The Field Marshal recalled the investigation before I was able to question any of the members of the theater." A dim anger simmers under his carefully collected expression.
"With King Eodred's marriage this weekend to Ileosa Arvanxi, the Guard has been pulled into double shifts and security features along the length of Senechal and Castle street, Domina Square and the Grand Mastaba. I've been placed in Castle Korvosa itself. The investigation has officially ended due to lack of personnel."
His eyes flash. "But that's where you come in."
"Corporal..." He pauses, almost to correct himself. "Lieutenant Kroft was able to pool a reward together. She asked me to find a capable group of people and offer them a job-- Investigate Iszanna's pre-mature vanishing act. Find her. Discover the truth about the disappearances, and whether they're connected or not. I contacted you all because either your skills are uniquely suited to this job, your motives will be in assuring these people's safety, or a combination of the above." His determined eyes linger on Raikdar-- Lukain knows that Raikdar is, in actuality, a bit of a third wheel. A favor for a friend. He glosses over it without pause.
"In return," he says, and looks at the others, "I can help you. Some of you are seeking answers and others are simply trying to stay afloat. Lieutenant Kroft is offering one-thousand eight-hundred gold pieces in return for this job. That's three-hundred each. You get the gold and you get my gratitude."
Lukain removes his hand and the map rolls up onto the dagger. He looks out to the group of people, hopeful. He lets out a breath-- perhaps he'd practiced saying this. "What do you say?"
Sure. I will help. What did the note say?
"You know I need the work, Lukain. How could I refuse?"
If Raikdar has any doubts about his ability to solve the case it doesn't show. He doesn't remember hearing about any tail sporting tieflings about town, but then most of his conversations are about intimidation. In the ring, or over a hand of cards, Raikdar strives to project an aura of power.
"So why does this actress draw the attention of the guard? The fact that she was reported can't be enough, especially among the buffoons that run the guard in this district." Almost every single guard he had met had been incapable of performing his job correctly, either through greed or through sheer stupidity.
"I'm in, if only to figure out what is happening and to put a halt to it." The money was insignificant. At least twice that amount exchanged hands in his area on a daily basis. The problem was what it was spent on.
At the human man's words, Lanny tilts her head and looks at him curiously. The money was pretty good. Clearly the actress had a fan base or someone else was taken that hasn't been mentioned. Someone important.
And what kind of person insults a guardsman to his face? All guardsmen had one and only one special power. The power to summon guardsmen until there were enough to overwhelm the opposition.
He is very pretty. Best to enjoy his good looks while he still has them. Pity he is so pale. If he had skin like umber and horns, that would be something right there. For now I will look and not touch. Ever.
Rhiannon listens intently to his explanation, her eyes moving between him and the map intermittently. She takes in everything she can from what he says, trying to figure out where good leads would be in his explanation. She needed somewhere to start, after all. It all started to make sense, at least; one actress may not have been worth that much coin, but a mysterious serial killer sounded more like it.
"If it would make Korvosa safer for an innocent young woman, then I will take the job." She finally eases up her hand and relaxes her body, letting her investigative side take over. "Did any of the other victims' homes or effects turn up anything of note? Or should we start with the theater company?"
Percivel considers this, but his answer is really a foregone conclusion. "I will help, of course. I thank you for your concern and appreciate your actions, Lieutenant. Is there a good way to contact you should the need arise?"
"I'm in." Hania states. "I did always love to solve a good mystery."
"Is there any place you would like us to start looking?"
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Lukain digs into his pocket for a moment before bringing a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He hands it to Lantana. "Lantana Mugwort, correct? It's good to meet you."
The piece of paper, unfolded, reveals in multitude ink scratches written in Infernal tongue.
ווען אין שאַנד מיט מאַזל און מענטשן ס אויגן
איך אַלע אַליין בעוועעפּ מיין ויסוואָרף שטאַט,
און קאָנפליקט טויב הימל מיט מיין באָאָטלעסס געשרייען,
און קוק אויף זיך, און קללה מיין גורל,
געוואלט מיר ווי צו איינער מער רייַך אין האָפֿן,
פעאַטורעד ווי אים, ווי אים מיט פריינט באזעסענע,
ווילן דעם מענטש 'ס קונסט, און אַז מענטשן ס פאַרנעם,
מיט וואָס איך רובֿ הנאה קאַנטענטאַד מינדסטער;
נאָך אין די געדאנקען מיין זיך כּמעט דיספּייזינג,
האַפּלי איך טראַכטן אויף דיר, און דעריבער מיין שטאַט,
ווי צו די לאַרך אין ברעכן פון טאָג ערייזינג
פון סאַלאַן ערד, סינגס כימז אין הימל ס טויער;
פֿאַר דיין זיס ליבע דערמאנט אַזאַ עשירות ברענגט
אַז דעמאָלט איך ביטל צו טוישן מיין שטאַט מיט מלכים.
קענען איר טרעפן מיר הייַנט בייַ נאַכט אין אונדזער נאָרמאַל אָרט? איך קענען קוים בער דיין אַוועק
-X
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Can you meet me tonight at our normal spot? I can hardly bear your absence.
- X
With your upbringing in the arts, you can tell that this poetry isn't the writers-- because the real writer has been dead going on three hundred years. Severino de Vitis was a famous Chelish playwright and author of over a hundred sonnets-- this is one of them, you're almost certain. Severino lived and died during the Age of Enthronement, long before Cheliax had fallen to its current state of devil-enslaved disgrace.
You can tell that this poetry is actually a sonnet composed by Severino de Vitis, a famous Chelish playwright and author of other a hundred sonnets. De Vitis died during the Age of Enthronement, nearly 300 years ago.
Lukain smirks and says "Raikdar, that's of course why I asked you-- I knew if everyone else declined an appearance, I'd at least have an audience of one."
His jovial expression is wiped clean. "If that's how you choose to see it-- Uriel Felar. What drew my attention was that she was missing. The trail is still hot, and it makes it far more likely that it could be followed." He doesn't seem like he wishes to argue, and he keeps his indignation at his organization being insulted to a minimum.
He turns his attention to the young woman and then nods. "Rhiannon... correct? Pardon me, but I've only seen your name in writing and have no wish to subject you to my fumbled guess."
His hand trails to the map and he unfurls it again. He takes his middle finger and swipes it across the parchment-- to your surprise, a green marker paints itself on the page. "The priestess' room in the Laughing Wave, as far as I know, is pristine-- the proprietor was... obstinate in his decision to uphold her privacy. In the end, I couldn't obtain a legal warrant and had to leave it untouched. Seeing no other alternative, I paid the innkeeper for the rest of the week. If you can convince the old codger to allow you into the room, I'm sure there must be something there."
"On a more risky suggestion..." he says, and dabs at another part of the map with his ring finger-- this time the mark is blue. "Dagger Alley, here in Bridgefront-- the Shingles. One of the women who went missing lived here. Where, specifically? That's as far as we got. The people of the Shingles don't trust the Guard, and to talk is a fate worse than death. Her home is somewhere there, and if you can find it, perhaps something there could help."
"And, finally, the least risky suggestion." He uses his little finger to mark a yellow X. "Miss Imoroa's home. Her parents and brother weren't particularly helpful, but perhaps asking a second time might help them recollect something useful."
He takes the time to mark a blue circle around the Firenze Theater, on the westmost point of Old Korvosa. "When we're done here, you'll be taking this map with you, of course. Just don't lose it-- it's an antique."
"Just mention your direct need to contact me to any Guardsman you see walking the street and you'll have my attention within the hour. You're also welcome to make the trek across to the Grand Mastaba and ask for me, in which case I can oblige much sooner. Percivel of Shelyn, correct?"
He shakes his head. "'Queen' Ileosa is already making things harder on us by the moment, isn't she?"
Ileosa Arvanxi is a Chelish noble from far-off Westcrown in Cheliax. A legendary beauty who appeared for an unannounced diplomatic meeting less than three months ago, Ileosa has all but wound King Eodred Arabasti, the King of Korvosa, around her finger. The fact that she's disbanded the King's scandalous harem single-handedly is a testament to either her stubbornness or skill. They're due to be married in little less than three days in a lavish ceremony in the Korvosan Gardens.
A lot of people dislike her-- she's already thrown a handful of extravagant parties on the Castle's dollar and has been all but quoted on her disdainful opinion of the 'lesser' races, such as the Varisian settlers or Shoanti refugees of Korvosa.
"And that makes you..." He pauses, and then resumes. "The theater would be the best place, in my opinion. Like I said, the trail is warm. Lots of eyes and ears there. Someone must have found something. There's got to be more than this than meets the eye."
"So we're dealing with a lover of the arts," she muses. "Or one who would feign such to court another. This just became far more interesting, and would explain the disproportionate representation of the artistic community."
She smiles cordially and shakes her head. "You pronounced it just fine, don't worry." She takes a moment to think about how she could find her way into the inn. Charm was a typical manner, but if there were others involved, a more elaborate con could work if that failed. "I don't think it will be too difficult to get in there. The Shingles are a bit more of a challenge, but it would be boring otherwise. Will this be a clandestine task, or if we happen to end up caught with a pick in a lock, will we able to to identify as doing the guards' jobs for them on an official level?"
"I've got the Shingles covered, I'll get some of the youngsters to ask around, they shouldn't draw any attention. They tend to be quite good at these sorts of things as well." For a short moment he glowed with pride as if it were his own children he was talking about.
He looks at the map again before pointing at the easternmost cross, "What's with that one? That's pretty close to home for me."
She smiles cordially and shakes her head. "You pronounced it just fine, don't worry." She takes a moment to think about how she could find her way into the inn. Charm was a typical manner, but if there were others involved, a more elaborate con could work if that failed. "I don't think it will be too difficult to get in there. The Shingles are a bit more of a challenge, but it would be boring otherwise. Will this be a clandestine task, or if we happen to end up caught with a pick in a lock, will we able to to identify as doing the guards' jobs for them on an official level?"
"Getting in shouldn't be too much trouble for me should charm fail us. I can make a disguise that would do the trick."
@Hania: "And that makes you..." He pauses, and then resumes. "The theater would be the best place, in my opinion. Like I said, the trail is warm. Lots of eyes and ears there. Someone must have found something. There's got to be more than this than meets the eye."
"Do you know if there is a performance within the next couple days? We can use that opportunity to see who would attend and maybe find out something. Also, what type of patrons are likely to stay at the inn? I take the more wealthy type?"
Lanny gives a glance, says "Thank you. Likewise." She then takes the piece of paper from him, and spreads it out on the map.
Very slowly she reads aloud:
"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Can you meet me tonight at our normal spot? I can hardly bear your absence.
- X"
"That's that poet guy, Severino someone? Except the last bit. I do not remember the poem ending with a request for a rendezvous or being signed with an 'X'. Anyway, that guy wrote a lot of Chelish poetry. Why on earth would anyone translate it into Infernal? The poem itself is well known and Infernal isn't the language of love by any stretch. If it were me, I'd say elven or maybe Abyssal."
"And if the innkeep very firmly believes that I want into that room, he'll keep a wary eye on me as I perform, which will allow someone else to sneak in while his back is turned." She smiled a little. "Make sure they're watching one hand while the other seizes their coin purse."
Raikdar chuckles at Lukain's comment. "You know me too well."
Then he turns to the others.
"We wouldn't be very good investigators if we fail to check on all three leads."
"The question is: Should we split up for the sake of saving time, or should we play it safe and visit each scene one by one?
"That depends on what we need to do at each location. It would look less conspicuous if we didn't all show up at once. Although it does give us more to work with if we are all at one location."
"Like I said, the one in the Shingles isn't a problem. I can send some of the urchins to ask around. Even if they don't find out exactly what happened they should be able to narrow things down for us while we look at the other places." Either they were hard of hearing or they ignored him. Both would make any further investigation increasingly difficult.
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Lukain nods along. "Glad I got the first name right, but, unfortunately, your surname... nevermind. If you're caught undertaking a task in the name of this operation that's less than legal, there's not much I can do... past the second time. Not to say I condone things beyond the scope I expect here, such as merciless killings and armed robbery, but I doubt that this mystery's answers will wait beyond open doors and conveniently unguarded passageways that only lie on public property."
"Which is to say, you may spend some time in lock up, but I'll be swift to retrieve you. So do try not to be caught, then."
"The Sticky Mermaid," he says with a bit of distaste in his mouth. "One of the patrons left a significant tab and disappeared in the night. The leads were fairly dry there, unfortunately."
"Unfortunately, as I see it, their next performance was the Six Trials of Larazod. The Firenze isn't exactly entirely operational at time, if my source is correct. They were hoping the Six Trials would propel their business forward."
"The Laughing Waves is one of the oldest inns in Korvosa. It's not exactly an upper class establishment. The people who room there are normally from out of city, as it's a popular tourist destination-- something about ghost stories and Shoanti princesses. I never really paid the rumors mind."
He sat back to watch the others plan, keeping the map unfurled. His apprehension has faded to excitement-- Lukain must love it when a plan comes together.
"Why don't we speak with her family then follow the other contacts as they lead? The more personable of you should do the questioning and I will back you up as needed."
"Also, old Asmodean proverb: 'Always make them split the party'. Splitting the party is almost always a bad idea."
Lanny scowled. This was getting outside of her comfort zone.
She nodded in understanding. "I've no intention of becoming the city, lieutenant. I'll try to make your job a little easier in that regard."
She turned back to the party, her mind still racing, formulating ideas and figuring our plans. "Street urchins are not the most investigative lot. Perhaps have them run recon, but it's likely we'll need to visit there ourselves regardless. And I agree with Lantana; if we stray, we die. We don't yet know what's going on here, and if there is a group behind this getting wind of our snooping about, it would be far easier to pick us off."
Percivel nods at the guard's assumption of his name, listening carefully to the conversations around him. When Lantana mentions not splitting the group, he nods. "Wise words, Lantana. That poem is an old one, penned by Severino de Vitis quite a few years ago. Let us begin with the most recent kidnapping and work our way backwards."
Raikdar shrugs. "Uriel says he has children that can spy for him. That's what made me think we should split up. Unless he has an urchin in his pocket, he's going to have to head over to where they are, if he wants them to start looking."
"There is certainly strength in numbers, if it's a fight we are facing."
Raikdar eyes Lantana. Clearly she has outsider in her ancestry. Strong as an ox no doubt. He notes the greatsword and decides he is glad he never ran across her in the fight club circuit.
He nods in agreement."I was thinking much the same, myself, though the priestess' room at the Laughing Wave is going to to be turned out to rent again before too long."
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"Agreed," Lukain speaks, and shifts his weight. He picks up his dagger, letting the map roll into his hand. Presenting it to the nearest person , he moves out from behind the table. "As much as it thrills me to learn the truth behind that message, the men in the Castle must be hard met to explain my absence for much longer. Sadly, I must depart."
"If you discover something, feel free to send a runner to me or Lieutenant Kroft at the Longacre Building."
"Any final questions?" he asks, pausing just an instant.
Readying himself to walk back into the rain, Lukain disembarks from the abandoned house, disappearing into the murky haze that was Korvosa within just a few seconds.
"If you are willing to wait here for a moment I can go and give the order. My district is only a five minute walk north from here. You are welcome to come along as well, of course, but I'd ask you to keep quiet about our business. I trust my friends there with my life, but there are some less savory elements around as well." He looked at each of them in turn. Many people would not want to be found dead in the area he lived, and if it was up to him none would be.
"Mad people skills, I do not have" Lanny rumbled wryly. "The chatty types may want to split up and the rest of us sort ourselves out between them. I'll join whoever is heading for the roughest areas."
As soon as she finished her sentence Lanny regretted it.
Since when am I paladin? Next time I volunteer for the nice part of town!
"I will accompany you. I know discretion well." Percivel nods to Uriel and the others. "If the rest of you would like to stay and plan our next move?"
"Sure thing. We should be able to figure out where to go first. We will need a permanent place to work from and meet up at. Any ideas?"
"Perhaps the inn? The Shingles and her home first, then the two groups meet up at the inn for both 'a round of drinks' and a round of drinks." She puts the rolled-up map into her pack, giving a thankful nod to the guardsman. "By then it will likely be too late to canvas the theater, so that could be our first act come the morning, should the leads turn up nothing."
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A creaky set of stairs leads up to a small dingy bedroom. On the second floor, the ceiling is stained over with water damage but it's still dry. From here, a pair of shattered windows have a remarkably clear overlook of the street. In the corner is an empty, doorless closet and a narrow doorway leads into a room with a large white claw-footed bathtub that, upon closer inspection, is wider than the door. There doesn't seem to be anything else here.
Raikdar does have a quick question for Lt. Silvaski before the soldier exits. "Who owns this house? Do you think he would mind if I squat here for awhile? These damn city flop houses are draining my pinches away faster than a troll eats a horse."
Raikdar actually still has a tidy sum of coin, but he figures it may be needed to bribe the Innkeeper, if nothing else works. Anyone can be bought, it's just a matter of price. The cost may not always be counted in coin either. Wizards always want a new spell. A priest probably wants your soul. A monk would like serenity. So what would an innkeeper like?
"Perhaps the inn? The Shingles and her home first, then the two groups meet up at the inn for both 'a round of drinks' and a round of drinks." She puts the rolled-up map into her pack, giving a thankful nod to the guardsman. "By then it will likely be too late to canvas the theater, so that could be our first act come the morning, should the leads turn up nothing."
Once Lukain has left:
"Since you mention it, shall we investigate her home then? It seems to me a good place to start."