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"I see" replies the halfling, pursing his lips in thought, looking over the banner to the shoreline as the marines continue searching through the hold, sometimes getting very close to the place where Waki hid the weapons.
After a moment, he shrugs and replies conversationally to Esh: "You know how it goes... Sometimes slaves get ideas in their heads. When enough of them get these notions..." He shrugs as he begins to note down the exact description on the bowstaff, replying to Aiden in turn:"Indeed. Private Zachelli. The items are to be returned in the state they were given to us. Now allow the man to divest himself of his net and apply the seal correctly this time." The Chel grumbles, as the halfling continues: "The attacks happen infrequently, for our infernal Majestrix is wise and gracious even to such undeserving wretches. I am sorry you feel the need to be able to defend yourself in great Corentyn. Might I suggest that if you are attacked, you find the nearest town guard? Or bring your attackers for a lunch at the Wicked Fork, I am told their cuisine is enough to kill a man. If the proprietor's endless blabber doesn't make them die of boredom first of course." He finishes writing in the last few details, snaps his log shut and adds: "The guards should be done here soon. Due to the troubles onshore, I'm afraid any of those crates you wished to ship ashore will have to wait until at least tomorrow. Any arcane casters are forbidden to cast any spells of any real power within five miles of the Esotherium, our local school of magic, under pain of having their fingers broken, unless they are members of this prestigious school or would like to secure a permit for the duration of their stay. The permit is 200 gold if I'm not mistaken? Divine casters of any other but the faith of divine Asmodeus must register with the harbormasters office, something I can attend to immediately. Otherwise if you have no further questions or do not need to register anything else, I will bid you a good day."
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The halfling chuckles. "I am not a captain, just a customs agent in the service of her Imperial Majistrix. We will be done soon. Until then, I suggest you avail yourself of some patience sir."
About ten minutes later, the soldiers begin to reembark upon their skiffs, leaving you alone with the captain and crew. "Well. That went... OK. I can get you ashore as soon as you'd like. The sooner the better actually, we have a lot of things to do still and my men will want shore leave."
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The second the customs agent and his cronies leave, Minkowski breaks out into a tirade.
"Did you hear this guy? 'No spells of real power within five miles of the Esotherium- imperial- spiel. Real power? What sort of vaguely worded garbage is that? Yes, Captain, I promise I won't cast any spells of 'real power'- just the ones that are trivial, and useful."
He turns to the group. "Have no fear, ladies and gents, if all of Cheliax is as cumbersome as these here, Minkowski will talk you through all of them, achieve all goals, set us up as kings!- and Minkowski doesn't even want to be king!- but Minkowski could do it, Minkowski tells you! Now, where were we going- Minkowski wants to make great haste, for Minkowski is already tired and wants to rest."
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Waki watches and waits for the last of the customs agents to clear and the end of the Minkowski's soliloquies before he goes dockside to look around for anything that could be discarded and make a useful weapon in a pinch.
Fortunately, spells of real power I know not. Around the docks, a look I may venture.
He tries to see if anyone is watching as he moves off the ship.
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"That's likely how our whole stay will be. In Cheliax, you either follow the direction of the authorities, at least until they're gone, or you better be ready for a tussle. Sometimes the tussle is worth it. Just know that Hellknights aren't a pushover." He checks what remains of his weapons, mostly sharp knives.
As they move about, he approaches Cassian. "So, the Paracountess has a separate mission for you? Is there something that one of her own can help with? At least so we won't cause any trouble for you." He checks over the man's equipment for any hints as to his purpose.
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"She does" replies Cassian laconically to Aiden. "Nothing you can do to help. Simple really. Just deliver a message to a contact. Can't tell you who that contact is. I'll travel on my own; just need to stick around Corentyn a little longer than you I suppose."
A little while later, Waki begins scoping out the dockside establishments looking for any that might sell weapons, and to test as to how well guarded the docks are. On the first count he comes up with nothing: if there were any weapons dealers, they have shut down, or been shut down by the guards. Or other allied organisations.
However, it seems that for the time being, the guards are too busy enjoying the spectacle of protesters being beaten to a pulp by Hellknights. It might be relatively easy for the Pathfinders to smuggle their weapons to shore.
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You arrive on shore, unaccosted, as the hellknights finish putting down the troublemakers closest to the docks. Leaving that grisly business behind, you make your way to Corentyn’s Museum of History, a structure a full floor higher than it's nearest counterparts. Though night has fallen you cannot miss the broad marble steps, barely dulled with age and showing only the tiniest of cracks that lead to the solid, reinforced double doors of the museum. The building stands, now that you can look upon it, is in stark contrast to the surrounding structures and not just by it's height; most of its neighbours are small, cramped, and crumbling. Two city guards stand at the intersection nearby, watching the tradesfolk, fishermen, vintners, and others who make High Quarter their home come and go.
Stepping up to the doors, it is clear that while the hour is late, the museum is still open to the public.
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Stepping into the museum, your sense of smell is overwhelmed with the odors of linseed oil, old paper and wax. The museum is, as one would expect, empty at this hour. Carefully maintained (and you suspect carefully selected) pieces of historical art are displayed for visitors to look over.
From a nearby wing, no more than 80 feet away from the entrance, come the sounds of activity, footsteps and after a few moments, a distant "Hello?"
Stepping towards the noises,
a man in the muted green robes of a scholar takes a step towards you, before briefly looking back through a nearby window giving onto the street and then walking up to meet you. Who are... Why do you have these things out! Put them away before... Damnation" he spouts out nervously, motioning at your wayfinders before going back towards the window, looking through and stifling a curse. "Asmodeus's balls. Shit. Who are you?" he asks as he turns back to face you all. "Beyond being Pathfinders I mean. And while you are at it, what do you want with me? What are you doing here?"
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Listening and watching to see if the man is alone or if others within the building are joining him (or if Hellknights watching from anywhere on the streets).
Like this not do I. Not right at all this feels. he muses
Uncomfortable with the man's line of questions and reaction, Waki will attempt to stay out of sight and in the shadows to the side.
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"I am Zefiro Balinger. And you have not just disrupted the delicate balance I try to maintain here but put me and anyone I care for in danger! Have you ANY idea what you have just caused here?" he snarls at Aiden, as Waki manages to sneak to the window. He does not spot anyone else in the museum. More importantly, he does not spot anyone in the street out front. Noone.
After a few breaths, Balinger calms down, motioning all around. "I'm sorry but... All this. All this could be "disappeared" in but a few scant moments, the books burned down, the artifacts smashed or taken away and myself in a jail cell. Your presence here makes me look like a possible sympathizer to unpatriotic elements. And things look grim enough as is for me, with my friend Mireille having been convicted of being "unpatriotic" and as a seditious spreader of "fake stories". They are going to "disappear" her tonight and there isn't a damn thing I can do. Not anymore at least. Perhaps..." he muses, looking at you all in turn, tapping his lip pensively. "Listen" he finally states. "You need my help? Fine. I'll help you. But you need to help me. Mireille Goldenglow is a historical treasure of unadulterated facts about our past. Her disappearance would be a blow to this nation's collective memory, and the Order of the Rack is likely to snatch her tonight. Perhaps I'm wrong. Go check on her at the Fox Den, a place of business by the docks. If I'm wrong, great. If they have found her, help her escape. She'll likely have a safehouse where she can lay low for the time being. Do we have an agreement?"
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"You should be doing this because Mireille is a half-elf whose longevity and life in Corentyn has allowed her to witness a great many things. She is one of the few who still remembers Aroden being alive, or around depending on your views on the matter. She also remembers a different Cheliax, one that prided itself in being the Empire of Men, the fruition of Aroden's vision. The recipients of humanity's Manifest Destiny. The stories she can tell or has told... Well." His tone turns bitter. "It does not always coincide with what the latest official history book says. In any case you are doing this because you need my help, and my help comes at that cost. With any luck though, the hellknights won't be deployed to get her with the uprising and all. Doubtless they'll want to find the roots of this one and ... chastise them adequetely."
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"It is a boarding house for Corentyn's unwanted. Mostly children and the like. Hold up." The curator leaves you alone briefly before coming back with an ancient-looking scroll clutched against his chest. "Before a deal with the devils was made, we were proud to remember that one of our own was Aroden's Herald. And after that, she became Aroden's Inheritor, something that should have filled our hearts with joy. But it doesn't; like it's a dirty family secret. This scroll here is said to have been penned by Iomedae when she was but a novice in the Arodenite temple. Here" he says, proffering the scroll to Nectambo. "Take it. Use it if you must. But think of it as a token of my gratitude. Honestly, I half-expected you to tell me to shove it."
Finding your way to the Fox's Den is simple enough, even as late as it is getting to be. Hellknights and guards are too busy, the former dispensing harsh justice, the latter taking advantage of the Hellknight's efficiency. Zefiro's directions are clear and easy to follow, however some of you might feel that he should have mentioned a detail: it's in the middle of the Red Light District, right by the docks.
Subjected to catcalls and rather... aggressive marketing techniques, you nonetheless spot the building; a squat, sad-looking affair in the middle of a neighborhood that smells strongly of raw fish, with the aromas of sweat and old booze wafting to you every so often as you get closer or further away from the various seedy establishments that litter this section of the city like dead leaves around a tree. Buildings are mostly wooden, mostly single floored, and mostly built around narrow canals filled with things not necessarily meant to be in water. The sounds of boisterous singing, raucous laughter as well as ... other ... sounds surround you as you approach the from door of the building, with a sorry looking sign depicting a fox hiding behind its own bushy tail. Judging from the sounds coming from within, perhaps boarding Corentyn's unwanted isn't the only activity taking place here. Most of the windows are boarded up, with the notable exception of the stained glass window pane in the front door.
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Having stayed silent during the exchange with the man, Esh takes a look and then a magic look at the scroll.
He nods and says "Well, I thank you a lot. This is quite an impressive item you are giving to us. Does anyone among us worship Iomedae?"
Striding in the streets and approaching the den, Esh sighs with a grin. "Feels like home."
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There is an audible sigh from the other side of the door. "You've been talking to Balinger haven't you. Come on in, I'll unlock the door."
The door unlocks and you come into a rather sorry looking den of vice, with a few patrons drinking, and clients walking in and out sporadically. However, you attention is caught by the chestnut haired half-elf who seems to be telling the nine children in front of her a story. "And Rius called upon lady Shelyn's love to grant him the power he needed to battle the fiend Baraxial" she says, eyes closed, as if reliving the scene in her mind's eye as the door is shut behind you by another Chelish woman, this one more haggard, and a little concerned by your appearance. "I hope you're not bringing trouble here. These kids have enough on their plate" she snaps caustically as the half-elf continues: "The Esoterium mages cowered as their hellish champion took to the streets, but you could see in Rius' eyes that in spite of all of that, all that they did, he felt sad for them, even though they had tarnished their honor and the honor of all of Cheliax by accepting such a mean contract. Wielding his glaive, the joined in battle, and oh what a mighty battle it was; the bearded devil with all it's hellish glory, trading blows with Rius and mocking him for his tears. But it was his tears that gave him the power he had. A power so great that when they traded blows, parts of the arch fell into the sea. Finally Rius smote the creature back into the depths of Hell, before shouting out to any who would hear that he would not let devils take over his beloved homeland. It was at that cry that my old father, bless his heart, told us we had to run. And run we did, but not far" she concludes, opening her eyes. "After all, I couldn't leave my beloved Corentyn... Oh, we have visitors. Everybody say hello!" she enjoins, finally noticing the Pathfinders.
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Mireille smiles as she gently shoos the children away. "That story, lord elf, is a tale of complete fiction. I would rather tell them true stories, or as true as I can tell my audience; fiction is abundant in Cheliax nowadays." She gets up and continues "Who are you that you know my name but I not yours? And what friend? If it is words you want with me, we can have them in this here corner. People who come here keep to themselves; this isn't the most luxurious of establishments as you've noticed."
As she grabs empty tankards off a nearby table she continues: "I work here. Not exactly what my parents had in mind when they raised me, but opportunities for those who speak truths to power do not have the best prospects in Cheliax."
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Aiden watches Mireille for a moment as he sits at one of the tables. "Zefiro Balinger sent us. He is quite worried about your disappearing in the night. As for who we are, I'm Aiden Richter. We are with the Pathfinders. Zefiro owes us something, but asked us to make sure you were ok before we concluded our business."