Vyshael says, "She did seem to indicate that we keep making ourselves available...", his tone turning wry, "...so we should try not to get arrested or killed in our scheming."
"Well, I'm kinda serious about taking inventory of the food they're ordering. See if it seems like they're ordering less than we'd expect for all the patients they must have. Might even be able to intercept one of the deliveries and take their place to get a peek inside. Or I can stake out the delivery door to see if they ever haul anyone out of there. Even if they're not up to no good, they ought to have some bodies, due to the lethality of the plague. None of that should count as interferin'."
"Alright, I'm up for that. Let us know what you'll need and where you need us. We can cover you as you search for more information."
Neva thought for a moment. "We might also try approaching some of the Doctors on their rounds...away from the Hospice. Some might be willing to share information. If we're persuasive enough."
Vyshael smirks at Rutter's suggestion, "Or, at least, it's defensible. I'm thinking that there may be something to Neva's suggestion of auguries to try to find a path to follow as well."
He then shrugs, "I'll help with whatever I can, but in the meantime, I'll want to copy things into my spellbook... and maybe prepare a few scrolls for when we do find something nasty."
"Ye don't think there's any way we could infiltrate the operation and escort one o' these deliveries ourselves, do ye? These folk yer so suspicious of might not think twice about us if we're on the payroll."
It be a pretty tight ship o'er at the doc's place, Ral. That be a hard task.
Felgar scratches his beard.
We could be goin' in dark, and makin' like its a smash an' grab?
"Night-time is when the Grey Maidens stand guard, so that's a fight, no doubt. Listen: the place is either a hospital or a prison. We go in too hard, and it's a hospital, we screw ourselves and we screw Kroft. We go in too soft, and it's a prison, we kill ourselves. And we screw Kroft. It's too risky to go in blind, in case we guess wrong."
"I stake the place out, I'm just hanging around. Nothing wrong with that. I ask around about how much food they're buying, I'm just taking an interest in the challenges of supplying food for such a big facility, and commending a local for meeting that demand. Nothing wrong with that, either."
Rutter pauses thoughtfully. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Neva, want to come?"
Sounds good, Rutter. Scope it out, fer us. I am up fer a few cold'uns. How 'bout you, cuz?
Neva winced at the thought of trudging from tavern to tavern all day. She always got such strange looks when she went in. Like priestesses don't need to drink!
But what she really wanted was to sit down, have a cuppa, and do some more writing. It was soothing, and it made her feel more powerful when they were facing challenges a bit bigger than a boozy flirt.
"Well if Felgar, at least, will go with you, I'm going to stay home, Rutter. I'm no good on these things", she said apologetically.
"Sure, why not? Seems proper ta start off a profession'l arrangement such as this wi' a bit o' drink. Happy ta tag along, runt."
As Rutter and the Stoutaxes make their way through the pub crawls, looking to get answers non-chalantly, they have no problem getting conversation. Unfortunately, there isn't much information within the talk. Everyone seems to be as equally uninformed about the hospice, mostly from not wanting anything to do with it for what it represents, and sometimes from having a sick family member dragged off there by the Grey Maidens or the Physicians despite protestations.
After the last dead end for the night, Rutter nudges Felgar and Raliscar. "Hey. That old lady sittin' in the corner has been tailing us to all the pubs we've been to. It's a little early for anyone to have caught on to why we're askin' 'round. And I think she's a little old to be a Maiden, anyway."
"Bah. She prolly jush shinks yer cute, Rutter. Bwaha! Ash 'er if she'd like a drink!" Though his speach is slightly slurred from all the cheap ale, there remains a bright sparkle in Raliscar's eyes. It's plain he's happy to be reunited with his cousin.
Felgar elbows Ral.
Aye, Rutter, go ahead o'er an be sweet talkin' her. We got yer back.
Back in her room, Neva tried to remember the last time she'd taken time off on a Starday afternoon. Her inablility to recall made the sound of the tea kettle that much more comforting.
Once the brew was prepared, she sat down to enjoy it in silence.
Refreshed and contented, she turned her attention to the recording of some prayers.
Gathering up her materials, she made herself comfortable and began the process of writing. It was cathartic, and she felt her cares roll away as the pen began to move.
Once she was done, she tucked the exquisite papers into a scroll tube and tucked the tube in her belt.
Looking up to see that night had fallen, she wondered how Rutter and the others were doing.
"Pfft!" Rutter rolls his eyes, but he climbs off the stool, and walks over to the old woman with his ale in hand. "I couldn't help notice that you're taking the same pub tour as myself and those two shameful dwarves over there." He sits down at her table. "So what's the purpose of your pub tour?"
"Bah ha! Look at 'im! All swagger an' sass, that one!" Raliscar chokes on a laugh then as Rutter sits right down at the woman's table. "Felgar? Did ya see that? Th' lil' scamp jus' sat right down at 'er table! Lil' chap's got some boulders! Ha!"
At 'is height, I'd be callin' 'em pebbles! Har, har, har!
Felgar stands, as a seriousness crosses his visage. He says lowlyn and without mirth.
Come, Ral, we need t'be coverin' 'is back.
Felgar saunters over to a spot near the table with a stern look about him, as he sips his ale.
Raliscar follows suit, but he can't quite stifle a chuckle at his cousin's sudden seriousness.
The old woman is not attractive, with a pointy nose, jaundiced yellow eyes, and a strong fishy odor. She is quiet, and startled a little when Rutter comes right addresses her. She responds in a mousy voice, eyes darting nervously as she speaks "My name's Eries Yelloweyes, and I've been looking for you guys. I've come looking for your help, with something I'd like to keep under wraps. If someone doesn't do something it could be as bad or worse than the old rat-purges."
Considering the nature of Rutter's pre-guard 'work experience' he has heard a few stories of the rat-purges. It was a government sanctioned cleansing, of the ethnic sort, from the sewers of the city. There was a large and hostile rat and were-rat population living below, to the point that they were openly attacking citizens. The rat-purges took place roughly a decade or two before Rutter was even born.
Rutter raises an eyebrow to the reference of the rat-purges as bad. "So how do you know who we are? I don't even know who we are. And what do you think is going on that's, uh, worse than the rat-purges?"
The woman looks suspect at his act of unimportance, "Your actions for the guard, and elsewhere, have gotten some attention. I have contacts where I need them." She lowers her voice and leans in, "I am a were-rat, and I have lived in this city for some time. There have been many of us living beneath the city, often thought as just tales just to keep kids out of the sewers, we live in seclusion. Giving voice and violence to the fear of the plague, a mob of Midland citizens discovered a foolish, alley prowling were-rat and publicly executed him with a silver axe. Their misguided violence quickly extended to a few drunken dockworkers braving the sewers to hunt us, blaming their problems on those of us believed to dwell below. Used to fear and abuse, most of us respond to the attacks by abandoning our dens and hiding elsewhere in the city. One wererat, however, a firebrand called Girrigz Ripperclaws, refuses to do so, instead calling our kin to war against the weakened humans above."
She heaves a heavy sigh, worry and pain crossing her features, "I've seen much suffering in my time, including the devastating government-directed rat-purges, and I fear Girrigz’s warmongering ways could quickly incite another one. I tried to talk sense to the violent were-rat and his gang, but failed."
She looks to Rutter pleadingly, "Something must be done about Girrigz before more lives are lost. Please, speak with him and, if necessary, offer him an example of the force the city will doubtlessly employ should his rebelliousness continue. I beg of you, do not to kill my people if it can be avoided. We are just trying to live in silence. If you can help, feel free to take what you want of his camp. I may even be able to shed light on the plague, and its cause, but only once I know Girrigz has been dealt with."
Raliscar suddenly holds his breath as the woman leans in, the dwarf fully expecting things to escalate between her and Rutter in short order. He releases the breath as it becomes clear she's only whispering to the halfling.
"Sounds reasonable. If it does come to violence, silver is the thing to bring, huh? Can you tell us where he is, and how many people, well, followers he's got?"
Before he takes his leave, Rutter leans in, "So y'all ain't gettin' the plague?"
Felgar nudges his cousin, and in a low voice says.
Seems like he is gettin' somethin' from our tail. let's hope it be good. Another round, then?
He turns to the nearest barmaid.
A round for me friends, lassie!
She thinks for a bit, before responding, "I think he has no more than ten followers, and a few big pet rats. As for silver, yes, you will want that." She can't help but shudder as she says the word silver, a look of both disgust and hatred on her face. "As for us not getting sick, purely lucky I guess. We tend to stay away from most of the city folk. So if we're any more protected against it, I couldn't tell."
She then proceeds to give Rutter hushed directions on where to go in the sewers to find where Girrigz and his gang hole up.
"Alright, we'll probably look into it. Listen, though. In the future, y'all wanna peaceful existence, maybe y'all shouldn't be naming kids things like, 'Ripperclaws'. Hard to imagine a kid with a name like that growin' up to be a haberdasher, y'know?" Rutter gets up and rejoins the dwarves, "Finish yer ales. If y'all can walk, we need to go meet up with the others."
When the party is collected, he relates everything that Yelloweyes told him.
"Bah! I kin walk jus' fine." Raliscar finishes his ale with a final swig, nods gratefully to the server moving through the crowd, and tips his hat and winks at the lady Rutter was chatting up. With that, he follows the halfling from the building. "So, are ye two planning on seeing each other again or was tha' a one'n'done kinda affair, Rutter?" The question is matched by a chuckle and an ornery sparkle in the dwarf's eye.
Felgar follows the other two out.
You be knowin' better than t'ask that question, Rut.
"I'll see her again. We just need to take care of her man, first," Rutter jokes.
Raliscar cracks a few jokes and enjoys several draws on a well worn pipe as the trio make their way through the streets and back to the others.
It's good ta' be out and about and doing somethin' other than jus' workin' fer a change. Wish I'd known the lit'l runt was in the city sooner!
"Bah! Pick up th' pace boys. Let's get back ta' th' others so we kin bring 'em all up ta' speed an' get ta' work! Bwaha!"
...she didn't have to wonder long. Raliscar's laugh could be heard down the narrow street.
She started pulling together a few things for a snack. And she put the tea kettle back on.
"So, boys, what did you learn about the Hospice? Anything damning, or are we going to have some more rest coming our way.?"
"Nothin' 'bout the Hospice. They're determined to keep to themselves. Real suspicious. But I met a wererat! Thought I was on to a cure for a second, there, too, but it don't look like it. But she says there's an unreasonable wererat down there trying to rile up a revolution of the rats. She wants us to change his mind or something. If y'all don't have silver weapons already, she says we should bring 'em in case we need 'em. I still got mine. Prolly can't go till tomorrow, anyway, though. These two need to sleep off the investigation we been doing."
Vyhsael asks wryly, "To be clear, we're being asked to kill wererats to save the wererats?"
Neva shared a wry laugh at Vyshael's wry comment.
"Almost. We're being asked to stop a faction of wererats in order to avoid a conflict between humans and wererats. I've seen my share of pogroms over the years...nobody really wins."
Her face darkened with some memories from her youth.
"I'm up for helping. Perhaps we can avoid too much bloodshed in the process of preventing a great deal of bloodshed. I'll buy some silvered bolts, though, before we go."
Vyshael shrugs, "I just worry that it makes an easy way to unify a group -- dial up the external threat, and you bring them together and make them more likely to act. "
He then quickly holds up a hand, "But, if Rutter's convinced that the woman is sincere, then we should do it -- because the cost of not doing anything is worse."
Didna' she say somethin' 'bout known 'bout a cure? If not, then they be good for lookin' into the sunkin' boat, no?
"Well if we mean ta go rat-huntin', I'm gonna need ta get me some silver an' some galoshes. It sounds like we want ta at least check this rabble-rouser out, so when d'ye want ta go slummin' it in Korvosa's sewers?"
"In the day time. We'll sleep tonight, shop tomorrow and then go. We can pretend it's a brunch."
Neva paused a moment.
"Of course, tomorrow is Sunday, and we might not be able to get what we need." She tried to think of a weapons shop that might be open on Sunday.
Vyshael thinks about what he knows of wererats and any additional precautions they might need to take.
Vyshael, you are familiar with the lycanthropes known as were-rats. The call for silver is indeed vital, and can also depend on whether you face natural or afflicted were-rats. The ones who contract it, rather than be born with it, tend to be weaker and unable to pass on the curse. The natural ones, however, can do so with a bite as either a rat or in their hybrid form. The cure for just such an affliction is arduous at best, and the curse is called as much due to how it warps the mind and actions of the bearer. If that weren't enough, as rats they are natural carriers of disease, and can infect you with that in the very same bite that curses you.
"She said somethin' about maybe knowing about the cause of the plague, but she's prob'ly BS'in'."
"Good point, Nev. I don't think we should wait too long, though. If y'all want, I can prolly get some silver blanches late tonight, after everyone goes to bed."
"Or we can ask around about the Midland mob that killed the one wererat with a silver axe, and confiscate it."
"Blanch is 'sactly what I was meanin' ta get meself, Rutter. A little o' that stuff goes some way with bolts an' arrows an' such."
Aye, blanche may be best.
Vyshael nods, "That's a good idea... unless we want to look for scrolls of versatile weapon -- which would last longer than just a few hits, but also cost a lot more."