Erastus 4th 4716 AR
Last night, an idol died and the city shuddered for its lost jewel.
Corrin Dalery was a celebrated diva from the Oriat who was to perform before the graduating class of ’16 at The Lyceum – the opus of the bardic college who would serve courts and theaters across Golarion. When the curtains pulled back, the audience was horrified at the sight. Corrine’s lifeless body was adhered to a wall; long delicate incisions ran along the length of her body which exposed her veins and arteries which were stretched like piano wire appearing like a lotus in bloom. Fresh blood had pooled into a mandala beneath her feet.
The graduation ceremony was promptly canceled and the theater was emptied except for several key officials. News and rumors spread across the city like wildfire. Everyone pointed fingers, but that wasn't entirely out of the ordinary to begin with.
It's been roughly two hours since the discovery of Corrin's body and the bloody cancellation of her show. You, for whatever reason, have decided to go to the Lyceum and see if you can help find the real party responsible for this tragedy.
Gemma sits with her arms hugging her knees, shaking. She looks particularly tiny now, shriveled up, hiding her tear-soaked face beneath layers of curls, her violin case pinched between her feet.
"It was horrible," she says quietly. "It was horrible..."
This is at least the twentieth time she has said this exact phrase. It has to be the shock. She is normally much more... verbose.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Agnis says, squeezing her shoulders. He's not good at this "comforting" thing, but he supposes it is his duty. In truth, he could use a bit of comforting himself. Zon-Kuthon could not have come up with a more horrible way of killing someone. Even in Kaer Maga, this... this was a lot to take in.
Agnis Zamir thinks of himself as a "patron of the arts." He spends as much time as he can here in the Oriat, away from the rough-and-tumble parts of Kaer Maga where he puts his muscles and his sword to work. Music, singing, dancing, art of all kinds- but especially performance art- calms the fires that rage inside him. Some people call him a "barbarian," but those people haven't seen the way his eyes light up when he hears a Diva crooning on the stage... and few of them crooned like Corrin Dalery.
That's what makes this whole thing so damned awful. Whoever did this, they ruined his special night out with Gemma. They ruined her graduation. And they ruined- destroyed- one of the greatest performers he had ever seen.
He walks Gemma home, gets a few drinks in her, sees her off to bed. Maybe the drinks will keep the nightmares away. Either way, she'll need him before long. She isn't like him. She isn't used to bloodshed. He can't come home yet, though. Someone has to answer for the Diva's murder, and he's going to find out who.
He makes one last stop before heading back to the Lyceum- he swings by his place, the little dump behind the tavern where he moonlights as a bouncer, and picks up his work gear. The familiar weight of his greatsword is one of the few comforts he has on this grisly night.
Somebody has some real gall, doing this to Corrin Dalery. The shock and horror fades as he stomps toward the Lyceum, bystanders giving him a wide berth. He doesn't have any real jurisdiction to get involved. That's what's great about Kaer Maga, though- jurisdiction doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot in a city that thrives on anarchy. And besides, who's going to say no to the six-and-a-half-foot-tall man with the giant sword and the hair that lets off cinders when he gets angry?
And is he ever angry.
"'Ey!" he bellows as he storms through the doors into the theater, looking around for anyone who might be able to provide some answers. "Who's in charge here?"
Am elderly man, with white unkempt hair and a long well groomed Beard walks in. Right as a large, boisterous man slams in after him.
OH! Good gracious you really shouldn't scare us old folk like that you know laddie. We can't take much excitement and what with the happenings here I've about had enough for the day. Oh, confound it, where are my eyeglasses. the man fumbles around looking for the glasses that are caught up in his hair until finally when he leans over they fall to the ground. eureka! Found em! Ah, now lets see. he places the spectacles on and squints around. just where is the poor lass's body at? he begins to walk further in, seemingly forgotten the man and the encounter just seconds ago.
Upon finding the man in charge he introduces himself
ah, yes I am professor Variel Vinnick Alaran. Scholar, philosopher, teacher, and oh blast it. I was sure I could remember it... he then begins mumbling to himself for a few moments until he suddnely seems to snap back, [b] oh, um, yes right. At any length, I greatly enjoyed the lass's performances and so I've come to offer what magic I have to assist this case.
"Huh...?! Hey, , old timer! Don't just stand in doorways. Unless, y'know, you want to get bowled over when people come through." He huffs. Look like you'd just puff away into dust if I ran into you, anyway, he thinks.
Whoa, cool down, there, Agnis. Just an old guy tryin' to help. No need to explode on him.
He clears his mind for a moment as the old man finds his glasses. "Uh... sorry if I startled you. I'm, uh, a little wound up. But seriously, don't just stand in front of the door, man. Great way to get hurt."
For once, Sarrus was actually sleeping at night. The life of a Duskwarden seldom matched the cycles of the sun, and with most of Kaer Maga proper tucked safe and sound between the walls of a bigger damned wall, he ended up just catching a few winks whenever he could.
But, as fate would have it, that wasn't going to be the case. One of his two roommates--the smaller of the two, but with a voice that certainly belied his size--came bursting in full of spit and hellfire. Mortimus had practically jumped onto the table to tell his story about what had happened to Corrin Delery. Sarrus himself was only half awake for the story, but the grim details woke him up right fast. It sounded like the sort of awfulness you only found deep down the Halflight Path, when someone had fallen off the beaten track and poked the wrong beehive.
Except that this wasn't just some braindead Chel trader trying to make a trip to the slavemarkets of Kaer Maga, but one of their own. He didn't get down to the performances at the Lyceum as often as he'd have liked, but he sure did like Corrin's voice. She had a gift. A gift that was, apparently, now splattered across the stage like when one of the twice-born got loose and decided to have a snack.
Leaving his buddy Mortimus to scamper about sharing the news, Sarrus grabbed his blades, strapped his bandoleer across his chest, and threw on his warden's coat. The Lyceum awaited, and someone had to play at justice. Gods knew Kaer Maga wouldn't do a damned thing on its own.
As he neared the building, Sarrus hears the booming voice of the fire-headed man he'd seen walking in front of him echo through the fine acoustics. He raises an eyebrow, then slips through the door behind him to find an old wizard-type poking about.
At least he wasn't the only one with a moral compass the sense to do something about it. The thought brought a smirk to his lips. He follows the advice of the hotheaded one and steps to the side, leaning against the wall and surveying the scene. One thing was for sure... Mortimus hadn't been lying.
"Agreed," he says with a sly grin, "but busting through doors like that's liable to do as much damage to you and the door as it is the old folks on the other side. I take it you're also here to mourn our Corrin?"
well now, its not often you find such careing in people within this city. Good on you lad keep that about you. It's worth a something. However, whenever did you startle me?
Vinnick pats agnis on the shoulder as he speaks.
He then looks to the new arrival.
hmm. Mourn, yes... I suppose, but my real purpose here is to discover what happened to her, and by whos hand it happened lad.
That night, Zaliana had looked forwards to playing the role of spectator instead of performer. She had been comfortably seated in the theater, eager to take in the full spectrum of the performance, and try to imagine new ways to weave magic among the notes and harmonies.
When the curtain was drawn back to reveal the horrid scenery, her first instinct had been to flee. The words of her uncle Zstelian rang uncomfortably in the back of her mind "When something bad happens in a city, the first reaction of the townsfolks is usually to turn and see if they can spot a varisian to blame!"
She felt alone and exposed, on her own away from her family and clan, the safety of the caravan. So she pulled her cloak tight around her and quickly left.
But as she wandered the streets, taking care not to attract attention, she began to feel anger and frustration. Someone had attacked her beloved art, tried to carve the music for Corrin's throat and in the process silenced her songs forever.
If singers die, music dies. she thought. Her magic and spellsong could help. She could read men's thoughts, sharpen their wits and bolster their courage.
And suddenly, her steps had taken her back to the scene of the crime. Several people were already gathered there, obviously intent on investigating the murder.
She took a deep breath, then stepped through the doors. Once inside, she pulled back the hood of her cloak to reveal her tumbling auburn hair, held in place by her intricate orange headband which seemed to make her face glow in a special light.
I am Zaliana, a bard and spellsinger of no small skill. If I can, I will help find the killer and ensure that noone else are hurt in this horrible way.
As she entered, she searched her memory for all facts about Corrin that she could recall.
Soon after, a towering 6-foot-8 suit of gray armor with a shield nearly as tall walks through the door gently next, stopping to look at the people gathered here. Halastus had been sent to pay respects to the body, as well as to investigate. Without saying a word to the group, he walks over, metal boots stomping against the floor, to see the body.
Halastus had heard about the incident only minutes ago. With little information, he headed over to find the body. Though he was well-respected, he would get into unnecessary trouble with worshipers of evil deities much too often. To prevent this, Halastus wore his armor. Everyone still knew who he was, but nobody picked fights with him anymore.
Halastus had not seen the body before this moment, and shook his head. He looks to the nearest living person and asks,
"Excuse me, who did this poor woman worship?"
His voice is deep, fitting the outfit quite well.
Touched by the armored knight's concern for the spiritual wellbeing of the slain diva, Zaliana moves closer and stands beside him.
I do not know for sure, but many singers and performers venerate Shelyn. she says softly.
"I see."
Halastus kneels down and begins to pray to Shelyn, speaking of the diva's deeds, seeking for her redemption if she had sinned, and wishing her a peaceful death. He then stands.
"Thank you for the information, madam. My name is Halastus, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am here to investigate the passing. I suppose you are here for the same?"
As he speaks, you realize it is quite slow and deliberate. When he introduces himself, he bows down to eye level.
Zaliana returns Halastus' greeting with a tired but warm smile.
I am Zaliana, a travelling singer and dancer. I had come here tonight to hear the diva sing, so I could learn from her skill. But I never got to hear the sound of her voice. Still, I feel a kinship with her. And if I can aid in the capture of her killer, I will do so gladly.
"Heh, that makes what-" Sarrus takes another quick glance around the room, marking off all the onlookers that were simply there to gawk or the mourners that had little intent of doing more than cry senseless tears. "-Five of us. Have to admit, it's a better turnout than I'd expected from this city. I half thought I'd have been the only sap with a sense of justice and a love of music. Nice to see I was wrong."
Satisfied with his cursory inspection of the room, Sarrus makes his way to the stage and joins Halastus the armored giant and Zaliana the singer beside the grim spectacle that was once Corrine. "The name's Sarrus Twynn, protector of the dark places beneath this strange city. A pleasure to make your acquaintances," he adds with a playful bow. He only realized afterward that the gesture seemed somehow irreverent in front of Corrine, but what was done was done.
Agnis remains quiet during the armored hulk's prayer. Even he knew better than to smart off during such a moment.
"Yeah, real motley crew we've got going here. Not that that'll do us any good unless somebody knows where to start this investigation!" He then turns to Sarrus. "What, so you're a Duskwarden, huh? You'll come in handy, I bet." He nods to each of the others. "Well, uh, I'm Agnis. My, um... well, I was in the audience tonight, too. With my, uh... well, it doesn't matter. Let's just say I'm right there with, uh... Zaliana, right? Yeah. Right there with you on that."
They seem like a good crowd, though he is in no hurry to admit it. The man in the armor made him a bit uneasy; it was not every day he found a warrior even larger and more intimidating than himself, and he seemed quite pious as well. He'd have to watch himself around that one.
"Hello, Zalania, Sir Twynn, and Agnis. I am Halastus. It is a pleasure to meet you all."
He bows again, professional.
"I, unfortunately, do not have much information about the passing."
Although she had passed throughout Kaer Maga and her birthplace of Absalom many a time after leaving home, Ingre hadn't felt the need to settle down anywhere in particular, preferring the winding roads and clack of wagon wheels that went with the wandering life. Desna's call had led her to take up the mantle of the travellers' defender, and in a strange twist of fate, she had been awoken a week ago in her bedroll, a voice ringing in her head to return with haste to Kaer Maga.
This is how she found herself, standing on the steps of The Lyceum. She had intended to see the performance, enjoying and gravitating towards all types of art as it ran in her blood, from the grandiose opera to the simple sparkly trinkets hawked in the bazaar. Her heart had dropped when she had heard of the untimely death of such a gifted woman, the horrible tragedy infuriating her and awakening an electrifying desire for answers and vengeance. After sparing a few hours to commune with her goddess, it became clear to Ingre that the answer to her quandary lay inside The Lyceum. It was time to pause her wandering to fulfill that which had called her to this city.
Ingre emerged from the alcove where she had sequestered herself to see an odd grouping of individuals engaged in conversation. Readjusting the pack slung over her shoulder and the starknife that glints at her waist, she moved a bit closer to try to grasp the general gist of what they were talking about so she could choose a good opportunity to interject, if they were in the same mindset she was.
Determining that the brief lull in speech was enough to insert herself into the discourse, Ingre gracefully stepped in between the red-haired woman and giant armored individual.
Her voice is clear and pure, her hands outstretched in a peaceful gesture, the tattoos covering them disappearing into her colorful robes. As she spoke, she turned her head to address all five of the assembled, her clear violet eyes sparking with emotion.
"I apologize if I am being rude, but I overheard you talking about the terrible tragedy that happened tonight."
Ingre paused and shifted her weight, pushing the wayward thick strands of turquoise hair out of her face. The reddish cat that had been following her settled at her dark leather-clad feet.
"I am Ingre, crusader of Desna, and I believe that whatever caused this needs to be brought to justice. I wish to help you."
Families clung together in quiet desperation as a small group of officials gleaned what information they could regarding the diva's death. They moved about the room in a circuit, offering their condolensces and blessings upon the distraught onlookers. As if some evil was spoken, their attention turned promptly onto the newcomers and they approached.
At their head was a man adorned with long flowing robes of immaculate color. A golden harp entwined with silver ivy shone from his breast. A pair of slightly pointed ears could be seen from under his elaborate cap.
” Your voice plays the tune my heart desires!” cried the headmaster as he promptly caresses the newcomers. ”A foul tragedy has befallen our beloved . She was plucked from her mortal co-” he said before breaking down in sobs. One aide at his flank offered her shoulder to the stricken half elf. ”Never in my family's history has such a catastrophe happen. A black mark, a dirge if you will upon the name of Giovée and his lineage!”
As he cleared his tear stricken eyes, the headmaster took a quick look at each of the new comers. ”Forgive my rudeness. I am Thaddeus Giovée, head maestro of the . Judging by your demeanor, I assume you are adventurers for you speak of justice.” Thaddeus cleared his throat and carefully guided the party before Corrin's body.
”There...extinguished in her...pri” Before he could finish, Thaddeus melted into a sobbing mess.
Corrin Dalery is a half elven performer who is known as the star lotus (mostly due to her fondness for ribbon dancing and stringed instruments). She is a devotee of Shelyn and Desna, favoring their coloring palettes and iconography in her performances. You recall that she was the top of her class a generation ago with her hit performance – A Season's Bloom. Her rise to fame was very quick as if the gods favored her. It's a high honor that she was selected to perform for the graduating class.
now now, let us remember that the young lass is in a place of eternal music now surely. I very much doubt that she would wish to be remembered with tears, rather, focus on the fond memories.
Vinnick pats the sobbing man's shoulder, remembering when the world took from him his daughter and son in law from him in a single day.
now then, ahem, perhaps my magic can aid us in discovering the happenings. My good sir, I have not studied in the field of necromancy, however I do have in my possession a scroll that should allow me to speak to the spirit of the Recently departed. At least, my peer claims that to be so. If you would like, I can use it. I however, understand if you are against it, and while I was told no harm would be done to the recipient of this spell, and I have faith in my peers understanding, I have no knowledge of it, so cannot gaurentee that in any way.
As Ingre stepped forward introduced herself, Zaliana could not help but feel comforted my her appearance. The starknife, like the one she herself carried, tattoos, symbols of Desna and the obvious look of a fellow wanderer.
Careful. her uncle's voice said somewhere in the back of her mind. She may look familiar, but she is not family. Never lower your guard among outsiders.
Although she is reluctant to look too closely at the gruesome scenery on the stage, Zaliana suddenly recalled something about Corrin which makes her take another look at the way the body is arranged.
As I recall, Corrin Dalery used the stage name The Star Lotus. And she once received great honor for her performance A Season's Bloom, when she graduated a generation ago. See how her body has been arranged to resemble a lotus in bloom. Perhaps there is some link to her music or her past performance. Headmaster Giovée, do you know if anyone would have reason to consider Corrin an enemy or rival? Perhaps another student from her class, who felt slighted by her success? she remarks softly.
It took a moment for Thaddeus to collect himself. ”Come on Thaddeus. Your great grandfather didn’t build this school for naught” he said under his breath while pulling himself together. ”You’re absolutely right. Music…evokes emotion and memories which is something that Corrin was quite good at. ” Thaddeus looked longingly at the scene of the crime and a confidence slowly rose within the headmaster. ”An attack against her, is an attack against the school. Far too long have we seen such crimes happen within the Oriat without proper justice. Tonight, one of our own died and someone needs to answer.”
He placed a delicate hand upon Vinnick’s shoulder. ”Venerable Magus, while your offer is bold and well received. I trust that you would not make a mockery of our dear Corrin. You may proceed should you desire so.”
Thaddeus’ attention turned towards the Varisian woman.
” For a gyspy I am quite impressed with your knowledge of Corrin for her fame and reputation is dwarfed by so called theatre critics from Magnimar and Korvosa.“ he said in a matter of fact tone. ”But…this…” while pointing to the scene of the crime ”baffles me. Why would someone kill her let alone have the gall to mock her performance.” Thaddeus gave the Varisian a moment to digest his words while moving about on stage. The headmaster’s hands formed various clasps and positions before returning. ”The is a bohemian school open to all lovers of the arts. I can’t see why a fellow peer would feel slighted by her success – we’re a family after all. I mean, Corrin is loved by her peers and for those who aren’t above childish predilections can learn a thing or two from her!”
Thaddeus Giovée is the great grandson of Tharius Giovée who founded the . Like his ancestor, Thaddeus also trained as a bard and was a prolific performer before taking the mantle of head master. Not much else is known except for a view of shame from other bardic colleges for Tharius’ philosophies.
It's difficult to read Thaddeus. You're not sure if its the practiced face of a headmaster or accomplished performer that was before you. Perhaps he was showing his true face...
Agnis nods to the new arrival, Ingre, in appreciation. "The more the merrier, I guess," he says. He is not normally a man inclined to trust in priests or self-proclaimed crusaders, but Desna was one of the deities he disliked the least, so perhaps this lady would be all right.
Thaddeus' appearance in the moments that follow draw an impatient frown upon the suli's face. He seems properly torn up by this, but... "Who actually talks like this on a day-to-day basis?" he grumbles under his breath.
Zaliana's impressive knowledge of the scene is a good sign. She seems to have an even more exhaustive knowledge of the theater scene than his own. "Hey, Mr. Giovee, are you sure you don't know of any other students who had a grudge against Corrin? I don't think we should ignore that possibility."
Actually, I highly doubt that's what's happened here, but... let's just keep this guy talking. Even if he doesn't turn out to have anything to do with it.
"So, wait... ol' man, are you telling me you've got some kind of magic that'll let you talk to Corrin's, uh, corpse? That's... well, I don't know how I feel about that, but it's a start, I guess."
hmm, possibly, its of divine origins, but I think I might be able to make it work. I got it for scholary purposes, buy perhaps this is a better use of it. And he spell is limited. I believe they said it would only allow three questions asked.
He searches through his bag muttering all the while. He spends several minutes muttering "no, not it", " ah, oh, no wait that's my grocery list", among other things before finally shouting Eureka! and pulls out a scroll.
He walks up to the body
now then, how did that spell go.... Ah, well I'm sure it'll be fine. Ahem..
There it is, the same old prejudice, barely hidden beneath a thin veneer of civility. A bit sad, really, that they think their songs sound sweeter, because they sing them behind walls.
We Varisians may not build grand colleges, but we still manage to pick up a scrap of knowledge or two along the road. After all, we have sung the songs and told the stories of these lands since before Thassilon was more than a few scattered hamlets. Our ways are different from yours, headmaster, but our commitment to the bardic tradition is strong none the less. I should think you great grandfather, who founded these halls, would have agreed that bardcraft can be taught in more ways than one. Zaliana says mildly, as if making nothing more than polite conversation.
When Vinnick begins to cast his spell, she turns to watch in respectful silence.
While all eyes are on Vinnick and his magic, Sarrus knew enough to keep his eyes on the crowd. Magic was flashy and fancy, sure, but anyone worth their salt had seen a few spells cast. Sarrus himself had seen this one cast once. On a fellow Duskwarden, way down in a tunnel past the Halflight Path. The answers weren't pretty. They sealed that tunnel later that day, against Sarrus' wishes to go in and avenge his brother in arms.
The real trick with people, though, was to see who reacted strange. Speaking with the dead was a good way to find answers. So was following those that didn't want you speaking with the dead. He keeps quiet, but close, with an eye to the crowd.
Ingre gritted her teeth at the disrespect shown to the Varisian woman by Thaddeus, coughing to show her displeasure at the prejudice being shown by the rude headmaster. Being on the paths and wilderness had often found her in a Varisian camp, bartering for a meal or simply listening to their tales. They had always been polite and gracious if a little guarded towards outsiders. Ingre, being visibly different herself from the average person and unable to hide it, felt a bit of kinship with the
Letting the others taken the lead as Vinnick began to perform the ritual that honestly gave Ingre a bit of a stomachache at the thought of disturbing the dead, Ingre's eyes flicked up towards Thaddeus, his slip of etiquette simultaneously intriguing and infuriating her. It was strange that someone with such a golden tongue, albeit under pressure and sorrow, would make such a slip.
She lowered her head as if in prayer but surreptitiously glanced at Thaddeus to see his reaction to the macabre ritual being played out before them by Vinnick.
As Vinnick finishes he turns to the others,
well, do any of you have a question to ask?
Well, that’s one golden use of a natural 20 UMD check!
Forgive me if I’m wrong in this assumption (I’ve never dealt with Speak with Dead before.)
I assume that the scroll is CL6…which would net you a total of 3 questions. I’ll let you handle who gets to ask which questions and what not.
YOU SEE MADNESS AND DARKNESS! Just kidding.
Under the dim lighting of the theatre, large shadows cast strange shapes upon the onlookers of Corrin’s crime scene. You could discern pockets of similarly dressed people – family, friends, or perhaps colleagues? However, you did notice that one particular individual held a permanent sneer towards the dear headmaster. She had angular features and walked with practiced grace as she consorted with her colleagues.
You could hear above the murmurs – ”Angeline, shush!”
THE GOGGLES DO NOTHING
You hadn’t noticed anything striking or remarkable about Thaddeus’ general behavior.
One thing is apparent, that even in the honeycomb like city of Kaer Maga, even racism and discrimination permeates all matter of people. Even the headmaster of the Lyceum wasn’t above such backwards ways.
The Headmaster’s attention returned to Zaliana as Vinnick prepared the magic necessary to commune with Corrin. ”Hm…perhaps gypsy. Even the musing of a squalid vagabond can be epics to the uneducated. But you are correct about my ancestor’s work. The Lyceum stands as a bastion of the arts not for lining the coffers of its trustees but rather for its acceptance of talent – be it a kernel or extraordinary!” His tone changed in scale from bitter to full of praise. ”But alas, I grow weary of this exchange. If only this…resplendent woman happened to be a bard that I could have a proper exchange.” he said while eying the Desnan cleric. He allowed a moment to pass before examining the rest of the group.
”Vinnick, are you certain that this magic will work?”
Ingre stood to her full height of six feet and stepped towards The Headmaster, clearing her throat. Her eyes sparkled with danger as she fixed him in her gaze, still maintaining a smile as she spoke, an icy tone permeating her voice.
"Those gypsies and vagabonds were the most gracious and welcoming people I met while I was serving my goddess, and their innate musicality and sheer grace are characteristics I can only one day dream of coming close to having. Education alone cannot make an individual into a artist. Besides this woman has the spirit and constitution to truly help your Lyceum and this is the welcome she receives? I would have expected better from the sterling reputation that your establishment carried," Ingre said, cuttingly yet never losing neutrality in her tone.
She merely tilted her head ever so slightly, her tattooed arms folded gently across her chest. Turning her head to Vinnick, her lips pursed as she considered what to ask.
"Surely the events that transpired before her untimely exit would be of the utmost importance?"
hmm. I'll leave the questions to thee. Quick direct questions are not quite my cup of tea.
Vinnick turns to the headmaster.
ah, hmmmm perhaps. But I see that you have great knowledge in all things of your profession. Do you mind, if I may, ask the definition, of a great musical ballad?
He'll reach out and place a hand to calm the gypsy.
The headmaster's blatant discrimination was grating on Sarrus' nerves, even as he tried to keep his attention elsewhere. Almost everyone in Kaer Maga had some particular group they took issue with, either because they'd stolen the shirt off their back a dozen years back or because they just seemed to have a nicer life than you. But Headmaster Giovee had no excuse to be hating on Varisians. Not only was Sarrus' great uncle a Varisian, but he'd be damned if they didn't have some of the finest songs on the planet. He lays a friendly hand on Zaliana's shoulder, shaking his head. "Just let it lie, friend. Even surrounded by strangers some people cling to their flawed logic."
Sarrus keeps to the side while Vinnick completes the ritual and begins the questioning. Best for him not to interfere in magical affairs.
"Hey, focus, people," Agnis says, the irony of him being the one saying such a thing for a change not lost on him. "This isn't about the fop and his prejudices. We need to figure out what we're supposed to be asking the Diva if this spell works. Anybody got any bright ideas?"
"'Who killed you' seems the obvious choice, though I doubt we'll be fortunate enough to get a straight answer." Sarrus shrugged at his own suggestion. He'd tried to wrap his head around magic more than once, and always ended up more confused than when he'd started. Alchemy was just simpler, a science he could understand. "Maybe what she remembers just before she bit it?"
Although touched by the support of the other investigators, Zaliana is eager to turn attention away from herself.
"What happened just before you died?" seems like a good first question. We can let the answer determine further questions.
Better known by her spot within The Hive (Kaer Maga’s theatre review) - Angeline is a venerable but shrewd elven critic who has given theatre owners, bardic colleges, and performance halls a taste of her mind for the past half century. Her presence here isn’t that surprising.
Just as Thaddeus was about to speak, something incredible happened.
The scroll that Vinnick produced glowed a sickly blue as the sigils and arcane crests turned into a smoke that trailed towards Corrin’s body. A shrill sound like that of a corpse taking its last breath filled the room. Corrin’s eyes flash open revealing milky white orbs that stared endlessly. Though secured to a wall, her head moved ever so slightly as if waiting for a command…
After a few moments of silence, as it becomes clear that everyone seem reluctant to address the deceased diva, Zaliana takes a deep breath and says in a clear and melodic tone:
"Honored diva Corrin Dalery. We have gathered to investigate your tragic death, and bring your murderer to justice. Please, tell us! What transpired in the moments before your death?"
Cold grey veins twitched as the Diva’s eyes focused on the source of the inquery – Zaliana. The Diva responded to the bard in a voice that sounded like cockroaches skittering along the wall.
”Darkness…coiterie of flowers…wilted…”
The audience stared in disbelief at the necrotic display. Any semblance of Corrin was betrayed by the voice from beyond the grave. Even the headmaster couldn’t keep himself together. He had melted into a pool of despair, his eyes unmoving from his dear student.
did you know anyone that might wish your death and if so who and how many?
Repressing a shudder, Zaliana does her best to tune out the ghastly voice and focus on the words.
More flowers. There must be some significance there. And this...coiterie...a group of performers, perhaps? Some sort of cult? This seance provides more questions than answers.
She tries to remember if she has heard mention of any other performers or works with floral themes.
"This is creepy," Agnis grumbles. He turns and scans the crowd for any suspicious reactions among the audience- or anyone in a hurry to leave.
The crowd stood in awe as the Diva's response echoed through the room. They talked amongst themselves wondering what Angeline cocked her head in confusion like a summer's crane. Before the throng, Vinnick stepped forth and asked the departed another question and in previous fashion, he was met with a bone chilling reply.
”...twilight...watchers peer in the row...court closes cloister....”
Her voice ended in a somber tone.
Discerning the Diva's clues were no easy task. Her words could have transcended any meaning. Had she been alive, the answers would have been different. But you tried very hard to call to mind anything you knew regarding her words.
Flowers and garden themes are ubiquitious among theatre performers for their classical tones and homage to Shelyn.
Flowers, gardens, well...anything having to do with a garden were as common to performers as axes to dwarves. Invocations of Shelyn be it her rose or beauty in nature may grant boons or serve as tasteful decorations.
You do notice that Angeline is making her way towards the exit.
The whole scene was deeply unnerving, but Sarrus didn't want to let that show through his Duskwarden exterior. They were trained for this sort of thing--even if one or two of them did crack under the pressure once a month or so. Instead, Sarrus kept his eyes to the crowd, knowing that any of them could have been the watchers in the row.
"Courts and cloisters," he murmurs aloud. "Could be she was targeted by one of the monks of the Oriat. For whatever reason." This wasn't really helping them find a place to start. If anything, it only made things more complicated. "We need a decent piece of information to go off. Something that isn't a riddle wrapped in an enigma. Any ideas how to make it-er, her give us that?"
"One second, guys," Agnis says, slipping away from the group and moving to cut this Angeline person off before she can leave. "Hey, excuse me. I understand this is pretty unnerving stuff, but I'm gonna have to insist you wait until it's over before walking out." He makes sure to say this just loud enough to draw attention to the fact that she was trying to leave.
Something with a yes or no answer, perhaps. Zaliana says in response to Sarrus. She then turns her head to observe the sudden disturbance at the exit.
Angeline was in a half step as her peers had made a slow clicking sound. Turning, she saw a tall brutish man cloaked in bronze and blessed by fire. Her mouth was slightly agape at what she saw.
"Hey, excuse me. I understand this is pretty unnerving stuff, but I'm gonna have to insist you wait until it's over before walking out."
” Well you’re certainly something to look at.” she said while taking the full breadth of the man. ”However, my presence isn’t needed anymore. The Hive will make headlines tomorrow. I will leave this tidbit with you, wild man – every performer has their opus. Now if you will. “
With Elven grace, Angeline left the threatre.