Absalon desCoine's page

'The cat,' the words lay an icy pall over the Sembian's thoughts. 'The damned cat!' He gropes through his memory, through the murky recollection of those gloomy incense-filled nights on his mother's bony knees. Her own familiar creature was an emerald serpent; she was seldom apart from the creature. But what became of an arcanist's familiar once the master was dead? Had he even noticed what became of the cat during the fight above? It may well have been sent on an errand that would bring the rest of the guard down upon them with lethal finality...time was short.

He straightens and takes a step forward. "Alright, you say he was just assigned to you. Who assigned him? Give me a name. Further, what would have become of us had his enchantments overcome us? Where would you have taken us?"

Absalon begins formulating his final question, even as he decides where he will lay the first cut. The throat, of course, as unimaginative as it strikes him. He knows that he's grasping at straws with this one, but finding even a sliver of a clue might justify the risk they took in taking the time to question him. Next time, he considers, we must find a way to take one of these spellguards alive.

Knowledge rummage arcana

"Don’t sell yourself short,” says Absalon smiling. His dagger twisting in the dim lantern light. “Believe me, it tends toward ill-health.

“And after all, a man on patrol sees and hears a great many things that may interest an enterprising merchant such as myself. And if you manage to say anything to improve my foul mood, I might be persuaded to leave you here for your compatriots to find…eventually.

“I’m Cadmus Mallar of Sembia,” he says with nod of his head, relishing the comfort of dragging his father’s name into the gutter. “Now you don’t look like a scholar, so I don’t expect that you’ll realize that we’re merely tradesmen ourselves trying to eke out our coin, same as anyone else.

“There’s no reason – I see none – for our business to come under such harsh opposition. So what I think you may be able to tell me is what places – such as this place here – have you been instructed to mind especially. Conversely, I’d be pleased to the point of mercifulness if you told me what places your patrols have been told to give wide berth.

“And mind you,” he indicates Shador with a toss of his head. “My friend here has a talent for snatching lies out of the air that would put a mind-flayer to shame.”

Intimidation abounds, and I suppose a bluff or two. Three actually, taking to account that we have no plan of letting him live.

Absalon held up the sorcerer's badge and smiled, "What do you think? This may be useful 'ere long." He dropped the badge into his belt pouch and stuffed the wand into his pack, making mental note to estimate the wand's nature later on. The dagger he examines for a moment, '...fair sight prettier tooth than mine,' he thinks. He deposits it and coin pouch into his pack.

"We can divide this spoil later," he comments.

He crosses the alcove and takes the fallen guard by the shoulders, then slowly backs the captive down the stairs into the cellar. Setting the man down on his back on the gritty stone floor. The entire scene takes him back to another cellar, this one dank and foul with ill-kept food. The prisoner was Cormyri, and a sight bigger than the guard. He valiantly held on to his secrets, at least until just before the end.

Absalon draws his dagger. With the lantern lit just behind him, the Sembian's bloated shadow spreads out across the guardsman. He gives him a swift kick in the side.

"Wake up - you Calishite dog."

"This one is past being of use to anyone," he sneers, his blade hanging over the sorcerer's heart.

"Still, he may have articles upon him that are more telling...and useful than any lies we may have bled from him." He pauses moment giving his new ally a chance to dissent, before plunging his sword through the sorcerer's chest.

He sheaths his blade, and begins to carefully search the arcanist's body, calling upon his modest knowledge of The Art, for anything of interest: scrolls, trinket, coins...dare he hope - some Spellguard symbol of authority. "That other one may rouse awake at any moment. More guards may be about, but if you're feeling bold," he says managing a smile. "I believe I can get him to answer anything we ask."

"Our advantages are few. He may not know how the Shadow Thieves so swiftly fell, but we might learn whom - if anyone - is being left unmolested by this overabundance of Calishite virtue."

...meanwhile back at Alej's Ointments
'Hurler of Thunders! This enchanter has gone mad,' Absalon spins about to face the sorcerer, and bounds forward. 'My mother might have wrecked havoc with the two of us by now. I'm not about to let this bastyrd keep trying until he succeeds.' Confident that the remaining guard will be easy work for Shador and himself, Absalon joins the dwarf's attack on the spell caster.

"Enough of this," he bites and slashes at the spell caster.

Well, if nothing else you should be able to count on a witty banter from a swashbuckler.
Move to space south of Majib, and attack on sorcerer.

Absalon's dark eyes flash over the guard, studying his defensive stance. He could easily have this fool disarmed, he decides. ...But this one seems the type to run, and the last thing I need is to have another city in an uproar around me.'

Behind the claret sheen of his blooded rapier’s tip, a wicked smile curls Absalon's lips. "Did they pay you enough, boy?" The Sembian purrs in his best Alzhedo, "Well enough to die today?"

Absalon advances, his teeth bared, and shoots his blade out towards the guardsman.

Attempt to Demoralize the guard, followed by an attack.

Absalon yanks his rapier free in a glint and blur. A hot rage washes over him, more for the presence of the sorcerer, than the guard's clumsy attack.

"Let's not disappoint," he quips, lashing out with a flourish at the overeager guard.

Quick Draw followed by attack

"Undue attention," said Absalon. "I've drawn a fair amount of that already I think." He then crossed his arms and lowered his gaze once again to the worn cracks of the stone floor.

"Still, it's a line of inquiry we may have to follow, ere long - failing the emergence of any other leads."

Absalon leaned a shoulder against a damp wall, resting his hand on the braided hilt of his rapier. He listened to Shador's response, judging the meticulous dwarf's words, and his astute appraisal of their peril. ‘Yes, this one is a professional. One no doubt that would be an asset in the long run - provided his current allegiance was not a ruse.’

His brow rose at the first mention of the names, Kaja and Morn. ‘Every question spawns more puzzles,’ he thought. ‘Gods, what I would not give to be a simple blade’s length from the cowards behind all this.’

Then as Majib spoke, Absalon tilted his face towards him, listening with mounting dread to the sullen Calishite’s tale.

“Hells! This alliance between the royal family and the merchant’s guild is damn shrewd,” said Absalon with a clear tone of admiration. “Sembia’s merchant-princes play at nobility, but never to such devastating effect,” Absalon pushed himself away from the wall and flexed his fingers together. His eyes cast a blind gaze at the floor as his words chased his thoughts.

“Who benefits,” he looked up at last. “That’s what I find myself asking. This was a narrow attack meant to cut out the desperate middle of Calimport's shadow wealth. I’ll wager there’s one hand behind all this. It wouldn’t surprise me if some rival cult was involved. One with recently acquired sway in the merchant’s guild, the royal family or both.”

"How much do we know about the heads of the guild?" Absalon asked turning to Majib.

"Good enough," said Absalon. Allowing the tip of his own blade to drop. True enough, there were any number of ways the dwarf may have killed one or both of them.

He scrutinizes Shador for another moment, and then returns his sword to its sheath with a small flourish. "Let's talk, then." He retreats with Majib into the cellar, and once the lantern is lit, "Why don't we begin with how you happened so readily upon us this morning. Perhaps you can tell us where the disciples of the Shadowlord have taken to."

In a glinting flash Absalom's rapier was in his hand. The lean Sembian remained tensed, a snake coiled to strike. He stood there, inwardly cursing his disadvantage as he fixed the Dwarf with a cold, dark stare.

Nothing of the diminutive devil recalled his previous assailants, but he found little comfort in that. 'Not a Calishite by his tongue,' thought Absalon playing and replaying every possible line of attack, every parry and thrust that was possible from his position on the stairwell. While it didn't make sense that Majib would save his life one night, and take it the next - he obviously he had more in common with this dwarf than he did with him.

Not liking any of his options Absalon kept his eyes fixed on the stealthy prowler. He then permitted himself a sly smile, "and another player joins the stage with talk of mutually beneficial arrangements...you play your part well, Dwarf, but I've already had my instruction on Calishite betrayal," then without shifting his eyes away.

"Majib - what the hells kind of farce is this? You said this was a safe house, is your associate here a guard dog then?" His crooked smile faded, "Take his leash and have him lower his sword, or he'll learn how little my temper has fallen from last night's crooked business."