Affyria snorts as she peers at the label on the wine bottle that the innkeep set down in front of her. "I'd rather not deal with that she-devil all too often, if it's all the same to any of you. Even with their knack for contracts, they are a treacherous lot." She looks off to the side for a moment, and adds, "No offense."
While the source is unseen, Affyria and those seated closest to her hear the softest of chuckles. "Indeed, mistress. Though she has not betrayed you... yet." The chuckle turns into a muffled cackle before fading entirely.
"Well, on to the business at hand. The secret passage." Ordywyt says, dropping to a whisper.. "This is most fortunate for us, to the point of mild suspicion. Why does this humble bar owner have some kind of entrance to Havenlyn's cellar?"
"It's not all that uncommon for these keeps to have hidden entryways in case of a prolonged siege. This innkeep just seems to have found an alternate use for it, and is helping himself to some of the wine stored there," Affyria says, still studying the wine label.
Looking around the bar, she waves over Bellam , and callously tosses the bottle into their hands. "This won't do at all. I'm sure you have a more cultured vintage available, and I'd be ever so grateful for it."
Turning back to the party, she says after a moment of silence, "What? It's not because we're undercover that I'm prepared to give up the finer things in life. Anyway," she says, lowering her voice, "What's the plan for today?"
Kiffex reports that he did managed to follow Captain Eddarly. "Mmmm. Handsome man, very handsome. Skin so smooth. Could make lovely book from it... What? Oh, yes. The woman, Kaitlyn Mott. He is having carnal relations with her. Sooooo dirty. Nasty. She screams like..." Kiffex goes on like this for a moment before he final stops, cackling.
"Excellent. So, now, how do we let the good captain know of his wife's infidelity? Kiffex, what time did Eddarly come by, and how long did he stay? I suppose we might be able to have Kiffex continue to monitor Eddarly, and if he pays the lovely Mrs. Mott another visit, we can give the Captain a note to return home. I'll write one as soon as we're done here. I also need to see if the dwarf has any maps of the keep in his room. Is anyone good with locks? Price was our previous expert, but since she stayed behind with Sakkarot, we've been short a very particular set of skills. It would be nice to get a complete map of the keep, to plot out our assault."
Morthos rises from his sleep practically robotic like. After gathering his things, he moves over to look within the mirror. Fools. This pathetic town is full of them. The sooner this place burns the better. Taking a semi-deep breath, he reverts back to his 'other' self. Studying his 'fake' face for several moments... Ugh, he thinks with a shake of his head, the sooner the better.
The next morning you all awake to the smell of bacon and other things cooking in the kitchen downstairs. As you gradually make your way down, you find Bellam has set aside a table in the corner for you. ”The blonde lady requested it for you...” he says with a look that is both slightly smitten and befuddled. He takes your orders for breakfast and gives you your privacy.
Making his way down with the others, "Well alright, Bertram! Good job!" he tells him with a slap on the arm and a winking nod. Flipping his chair around, he mimics his seating preference from the previous night. As he listens in on the conversation, Morthos raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "Who is this 'Mott' woman? Is she of any significance?"
Asturu addresses Daidalos's inquiry into who has any skill at lockpicks. "I'm, eh, somewhat accomplished in fiddling about with locks. Honesty compels me to admit I'm nowhere near Price's level, but ordinary locks and mechanics should be no problem. Tougher ones might prove to be an issue."
But that's just one of many things they need to talk about. The affair. The wine cellar. Today's tasks. The list seemed never-ending. "About the affair: we could approach it from another angle altogether. Why not lure him out with some blackmail? We can then, if we play it right, frame miss Mott as being the perpetrator. Motive? Eddarly refused to leave his wife for her and wanted to call it quits. Documents and lovers notes are easily forged..." said Asturu with a rare smile. Such devious social experiments reminded him of his youth. In a good way.
"I have a way through locked doors," Timo says while cracking his knuckles, "However, I think it may need a bit more subtlety."
"Captain Mott is one of the three surviving captains of Balentyre, and his wife is... enjoying time with another one of the captains, Eddarly. I hope for our sake Mott has a hot head."
Daidalos explains to 'Terrick,' then turns to Asturu, "Why bother? We need to move swiftly, before Eddarly leaves to find Varning. Blackmail is fine and all, but it still runs the risk that Eddarly values his duty more than his reputation, and then it all falls apart. Anonymously providing information to Mott carries far less risk, and not only is secrecy paramount, we want the attention focused on Eddarly. If we can get him dismissed or suspended from duty, excellent. If he's killed, even better. They may well lock up Mott for that, and we would remove two more captains in a single blow. Lovers notes, though, are a good idea. It could substitute for needing to find a time with them in their company, and between the two of us, we could make a near-perfect copy. To make a convincing forgery, though, I think we would need a handwriting sample. Perhaps we can send Kiffex to investigate Eddarly or Mott's house for a sample of writing?"
Kiffex listens to the instructions then offers back his own advice. "Mistress, my compulsion will only have an effect on the human's mind for so long. With your permission, I would suggest we wait to play this gambit until tonight." Assuming there is no objection, that evening Kiffex goes to seek out Captain Mott.
That evening, Kiffex heads out on his mission. The hours pass and the night grows long until, while getting ready to either retire or set out to discover what's happened, a man bursts breathlessly into the Inn's common room. "Mott! Captain Mott! He's challenged Eddarly to a duel! He was buggering his wife!"
The patrons gasp and break out into expressions of shock and confusion, while others tsk-tsk and say they knew it all along.
Over the day, Daidalos scribes a scroll of Mage Armor in his free time
As they relax in the common room after dinner, he kicks back, amusing himself by watching the people pass by. When he hears the news of how their venture went, he sits up straighter,
"Well, that's interesting. Should be quite the show, you all interested?"
"Well," Raven remarks as the out-of-breath man bursts into the inn with his news, taking care to keep his voice low, "that certainly went better than expected. From personal experience, dueling one unto death is... decidedly frowned up." Although the elf does manage a thin smile, it is more than a little forced, understandable considering whom he had killed in a duel.
Taking a deep breath, he lets out a sigh in an attempt to chase the memory away. "I am curious to see how skilled these captains are, I must admit." As he speaks the pale elf's right hand moves towards where his sword's pommel would be before remembering the illusionary disguise he is wearing.
A subtle smile plays about Affyria's lips, unnoticed by most. "If I recall, it is also a punishable by death offense. This is a convenient turn of events, to say the least."
Looking off to the side, she adds in a whisper, "Well done, my pretty."
"I for one would love to see this duel. Even if the survivor isn't punished for his crimes it would at least give us some insight into their fighting style"
Nodding in agreement with the others, "I concur," he says as a wicked grin forms. Clearing his throat, "Alright! A good ol' fashioned duel! Don't see those every day and I sure don't wanna miss this one. Let's go!" 'Terrick' then rises from his seat and heads out the door, making his way to wherever all the commotion is.
With a little conversation (or just eavesdropping) you learn the duel is scheduled for high-noon the next day.
Asturu- To keep the timeline straight, shall we infiltrate the dwarf's room today?
The rest of the night passes uneventfully. The next day much of the town gathers to watch the duel in a grassy field just west of town. Present are the two captains and a woman quietly weeping identified by several of the spectators as Kaitlyn Mott. Also present is a stern looking man with a finely trimmed beard and grand mustache. He is clad in ornate plate mail and seems to be the recipient of great deference by both the guardsmen and townsfolk.
This armored figure approaches Mott and Eddarly and has a quiet conference with them. The duelists only stare at each other; Mott with hatred, Eddarly with regret. When the armored figure is done talking, he waits for a response and gets an affirmative from Mott. When Eddarly remains silent, the armored figure’s voice rises and can be heard more clearly, ”I said I need an affirmation that you understand, Captain. Yes or no.”
Eddarly nods once, then again as he says something in the affirmative. The armored figure doesn’t seem particularly pleased at either man’s response but accepts it. He steps back to join a group of guards who watch with glum expressions.
The captains' seconds each bring out their weapons and the two men take positions about five paces apart. Eddarly says something quietly to Mott -- perhaps an apology -- but Mott only spits on the ground, clearly it having it. A moment later, the master of the duel lowers his arm to signal the start of the fight. Mott lunges forward and Eddarly parries, but it's immediately clear Mott is trying to kill the other man.
There is no cheering on the part of the crowd. Rather, there is a sort of rapt silence as everyone watches with bated breath. Swords and armor clash. Eddarly is the first to draw blood and it seems to be almost by accident, but the blow just eggs Mott on to an even greater fury.
Another round of blows are exchanged. Mott takes another massive swing with his sword, forcing Eddarly to take a step back but he trips, falling to one knee.
Bash.
Crack.
Slam.
Eddarly deflects or parries one blow after another, increasingly desperate as his arm begins to shake. Finally, he drops his sword and his mouth opens as if to say something when Mott's sword comes thrusting forward, driving through the kneeling captain's armor, and ends his life.
From the crowd, Kaitlyn wails in sorrow while her husband looks between her and her lover's corpse. He says nothing, but drops his weapon and faces the bearded man who addressed the two captains earlier. All is still for a moment, then the commander says, loud enough to be heard by all, "You know the penalty for dueling. You acknowledged it prior to engaging in this spectacle." To the other guards, he says, "Take Captain Mott into custody and secure him in the dungeon pending his court martial."
Mott is promptly seized and escorted up to the Watchtower. Eddarly's body is attended to be some acolytes of Mitra before being covered, placed on a litter, and also carried to the Watchtower. The bearded figure follows behind them with the rest of the guard while the townspeople slowly disperse.
Timo idly muses to himself as he makes his way back to the inn. "I'm not sure if that was a true display of skill. It appeared to me Eddarly had no intention of truly fighting back." As they return to the privacy of the inn, Timo says quietly to his compatriots. "I am honestly surprised. I thought for sure they would have brushed the dueling crime under the carpet. Better for us. What is that now, three captains down? That should only leave one captain, which they may send to check on the one we ambushed, The Lord, who may be too busy dealing with the outcome of the duel, the priest and the wizard."
"You ready, Dai? Let's hope my fingers haven't grown fat from all this lazying about we've done here." For the first time in ages Asturu is a little bit nervous. Fighting people is one thing, but having someone rely on your rather mediocre lockpicking skills - oh, he remembers how good Price was at it - means one could only fail himself. The worst kind of failure, that is.
The pale elf, wearing the disguise of a middle-aged human man, as nondescript as can be, approaches the inn's bar shaking his head, a sad and disappointed expression clearly evident on his face.
"Such a shame tha' was, aye," he muses, partly to himself and partly to the barkeep. "Where's this fine an' goodly land comin' to, when a man can't trust a friend an' fellow officer..."
"I wore the uniform once, y' know," he goes on, his eyes looking up as he appears to reminisce for a moment. "Not for long, min' you, and it's been a wee while," he adds, patting his round belly with one hand. "But still, I do remember the carm... camer... rad... the brotherhood..." Another sigh. "Hey, how 'bout this barkeep? A roun' of drinks for everyone here? To wash down the bad taste, help us put it behin' us, huh?" Turning to the people gathered in the inn, he repeats the offer before asking, "What do you say, eh? Sounds like a fine idea, ain't it?"
"Hey, how 'bout this barkeep? A roun' of drinks for everyone here? To wash down the bad taste, help us put it behin' us, huh?" Turning to the people gathered in the inn, he repeats the offer before asking, "What do you say, eh? Sounds like a fine idea, ain't it?"
There is a dour mood about the common room and Bellam, the innkeep, seems particularly down and not too terribly interested in engaging in conversation. But, when Raven offers to buy a round of drinks, the other patrons begin to talk and the level of noise begins to slowly increase. Bellam nods at Raven, as if acknowledging the idea is a sound one, and says, "To times of brotherhood, then."
He lines up a series of mugs and begins serving, the sounds of chatter and conversation gradually growing as strangers thank the middle-aged human traveler for his generosity and spirit.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Daidalos and Asturu have no trouble infiltrating the room. The commotion downstairs masks any sounds they might make and Bellam is kept too occupied to wander up and check on things. The dwarves have taken all of their tools and equipment and you find little of value, but for a very detailed map of the Watchtower, part of the survey the dwarven team took prior to beginning their work.
'Terrick' claps his middle-aged man accomplice on the shoulder, giving a smiling nod of thanks to the brawler. Raising his mug, "To times of brotherhood indeed," he repeats, smiling a smile that depicts far more than what could truly be discerned.
Daidalos makes notes of everything, faithfully recreating the layout on their sketch.
When everybody gathers together again, Daidalos looks around and nods, "Well, this is interesting. How does tomorrow night sound? I hear the magister has a particular affinity for fire-based spells, so I'll scribe a scroll to take care of that. How do we want to do this? Replacement or secret passage? Replacing soldiers is riskier, but also potentially more rewarding."
Later that night, after Bellam has shut down the Lord's Dalliance and the other guests have gone to bed, you quietly make your way to the liquor room and the hidden trap door that leads to the Watchtower. You realize the trip through the tunnel is probably close to a mile and, judging by the dust and cobwebs, is rarely used -- only Bellam's recent passage having disturbed years of abandonment. The tunnel is pitch black but a torch or light spell easily enables travel.
At the end, you find yourselves in the ancient vault. This room is also naturally unlit and only the light you bring with you offers those without darkvision the ability to see. Witnessed first hand, you see the construction here seems to differ slightly from most of the castle above. This seems to be of dwarven construction. A quick scan of the room reveals a vast stockpile of durable rations alongside barrels of potable water. There is also a case of what supposedly contains fine wines fortified with honey and raspberry.
In the ceiling, a trap door leads up. Based on your earlier efforts, you believe the room above you is the armory.
"Where do we want to hit first? I suggest the magister, personally," Affyria proposes. "If we should happen to run into anyone, act like you belong and let me do the talking."
Daidalos ignites his flame crown as they venture down the hall, allowing for both light to see and because it had been a while since he had the chance.
Once they reach the vault, Daidalos takes the appearance of Loethyn, the unfortunate guard they interrogated after ambushing Varning, figuring that he could say they had only just returned from patrol if confronted.
"Alright, here we go. I do think that taking out the magister should be a higher priority, but while we still have total surprise on our side, might I suggest that we instead try to cut the throats of sleeping guards? The barracks are close by, whereas the magister lives in the tower. With a bit of luck, we could eliminate half the garrison without a hint of our involvement."
When everyone has prepared, Daidalos creeps up to the trapdoor in the ceiling and cracks it open ever so slightly, looking around to ensure the armory is empty, before opening it fully.
Daidalos peeks up through the trap door and sees what appears to be an armory and smithy. There is no sign of any occupants as it is dark and quiet. There is a fully functional forge here that (when in use) vents its smoke through a crude chimney out over the River Tyburn. On racks are twenty halberds, longswords, breastplates and heavy steel shields. All bear the marks of the Talirean military.
Signalling the 'all clear' to the others, Daidalos quickly consults his map and, after belting on a sword to aid in his disguise, casually walks over to the door to the west, acting as though it were a perfectly normal thing for him to do, and entered the hallway, passing through the short chamber into what seemed to be the main thoroughfare.
Morthos - now disguised as a random guard - follows the wizard, moving at a casual pace himself.
Just a guard among a group of guards, Raevanis moves alongside the others, staying alert for anyone or anything that might disturb their well-laid plans.
Affyria calmly follows along, her senses keen for any sign of movement or noise. "Don't close the doors behind us all the way─in case things turn out for the worse, we'll need to make a quick getaway."
Ordywyt follows suit, taking the guise of a guard. While he usually did not use disguises, the aid of magic made his appearance impeccable.
A pleasant breeze flows through the main thoroughfare, with the gates to both the west and east open even at this late hour. Though it is a time of peace, there are three guards standing near the doors towards the west. They cast a brief glance in your direction, then go back to a quiet discussion amongst themselves.