She sets down her half-full glass and gives Reginald a warm smile. "No, thank you. You're too kind. I think I'll be returning to Galt now. Please see that the statue is adequately protected until Argor returns."
She gives the statue with its frozen look of surprise one last baleful glare, then teleports back to her own estate.
”::Got your message. We should talk in person. Where are you? Need good description.::”
"If you think we should. How about the Lodge? I can be myself there. That shouldn't be too disruptive."
Argor arrives in a flash of light and blue-violet smoke, a few dozen feet from the front door of the Lodge. He hovers there above the ground a few moments to let any onlookers settle and come to terms with the fact that he is not a threat and in fact one of their own before landing and walking in, his staff clicking the floor alongside him.
The masked staff of the Lodge rush out to greet him, and are quickly given approval to escort him inside. The liveried servants make sure he is properly attended to while he waits for Venture-Captain Eliza Petulenegro to greet him.
The diviner finally arrives, remarking how one such as he could surprise her. They have roughly a half hour to catch up and exchange short updates about the Society before Cladissa arrives.
She is accompanied by a tall, sinuous elf with a long curved sword on his back and mail that seems to hug the shadows. He appraises Argor with a cool look, then nods to him.
While Cladissa goes to Eliza and gives her a brief but welcoming embrace, the elven swordsman steps up and offers a hand to Argor. "Palos Kendrosi. Spellsword. Cladissa says she trusts you with her life. I trust mine with her, since she's already saved it twice. Pleasure to meet you."
Cladissa smiles at the elf's greeting, then looks at him with a furrowed brow. He nods as if there was a mental exchange. He walks over to the Venture-Captain and starts to walk away from the two old comrades. "Eliza, did you send word that you may have a clue about the [i]Thorncrown...?" Their conversation trails off as they step out of the courtyard.
Cladissa watches them go, then turns to face Argor. She holds herself very formal. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I hope Eleanir extended my apologies for missing your wedding."
Argor shakes his hand as he studies the man quietly as well, studying any auras about him. ”A pleasure, Sir Kendrosi. She has a special talent for saving people, that is certainly true.”
”Among other things. Perhaps we should talk somewhere private? The Maze perhaps? It’s guardian should serve as a significant deterrent to most prying ears. And she has already agreed to not attempt to accost us ever again given her prior failure,” Argor replies to her.
Cladissa gives Argor an enigmatic grin. "You mean Condria? She's on holiday. I figured out a way to temporarily relieve her of her duties, though she's always drawn back after a fortnight. Until then, the Maze is inaccessible."
She leads Argor into the courtyard and then to the library. As they pass by the entrance to the Maze, she puts her face in her palm and shakes her head. "Oh, my. No matter how smart I get, I remain stupid." She hurries past the spot where Argor had professed his love to her and quickly enters the the nearby building.
The heady scent of musty old tomes greet them as she invites him to sit in a small corner amongst the stacks. The wizard's keen eyesight can spot the tiny, gossamer threads strung throughout the library. As Cladissa sits, one of her spider legs rests lightly on a silken strand that connects her to the rest of the network.
Seeing him take in her precautions, she mentally tells him, ::All my holdings and most of my allies have this network. Whenever I'm present, I'm aware of everything moving throughout the grounds. Like what I used to do with Verde Heights.::
"I've little to offer you, Argor, except more apologies. If I had a little more warning, I could have probably scrounged up something to share. I don't need to eat, so every morsel I come across is diverted to those in need."
Her hands fold in her lap as she regards him with her violet eyes. "I'm fine, Argor. I beat her. As long as you can keep her someplace where she'll never reform, never return, I'll be safe from her. I can trust you to do that, correct?"
Argor walks quietly behind Cladissa as she leads the way to the library, making no mention of his own memories of this place. Once there, he takes in a deep breath of the smell of the library, almost as if taking in a fine wine.
”No need for any offer of refreshment,” he replies, tapping his own ring.
After she goes into her brief explanation for her visit, he replies ”Keeping her bound for an eternity is a trivial matter. But tell me, are you alright? That demon had a profound affect on a major part of your life...encountering it once again couldn’t have been easy on you, though defeating her likely was.”
Cladissa knew intellectually that their magically-induced lack of need for food rendered her need to be a good hostess purely vestigial. However, such social mores were deeply ingrained in her, so she hated not being able to offer anything. "One of these days, I'll have you come to visit and I'll be able to be a good hostess," she promises.
She felt a weight lift as Argor assured her that the demon would remain bound. She knew that intellectually as well, but she liked hearing him say it. Waving her hand dismissively, she says, "I'll be fine. Much better knowing she's stone and locked away for eternity than somewhere out making mischief, or worse.
"At the very least, I got my answer about why she let me go. It was her doing. The others of the Onyx Alliance would have killed me. It's somewhat ironic, if you think about it. In their pursuit to torment us, they gave us a chance to recover and prevail. It'd have been very easy for them to have killed me, rather than let me go to suffer in that shape. It would have been easy to order the changeling to slice your throat one night, rather than wait to reveal that bitter truth."
A slight smile grows on her face. "We can't suffer when we're dead. But by living, we can overcome those failures and push through the pain." She looks away from Argor, turning her head to the high window that lets a dim light filter in. "And maybe even win in the end."
”Victory is a relative term, I have come to realize,” Argor replies dourly. ”It is difficult for us mortals to conceptualize it in the same way eternal beings such as them do. It is a frame of mind that I am finding myself struggling to come to terms with, but I have faith that I will, in time.”
He sits quietly a moment before adding ”I need to apologize for the behavior of my wife. She informed me of what she said to you, and I have reprimanded her for it. I can sympathize with her motives, but her lack of tact and ability to be a polite host to a friend of mine was intolerable.”
”Besides,” he adds, ”we have long established the extent of our relationship.”
___________
Adrenia lands quietly in front of the manor, Argor’s invisibility spell still in effect. He had tasked her with flying around the perimeter to ensure it’s safety before returning. She waited to follow someone else into the Lodge itself before making her way over to an empty seat and sitting down. She crosses her legs and bobs her bare foot up and down as she waits, allowing the invisibility spell to dissipate of its own accord.
She watched the elven spellsword quietly from her seat for some time, waiting for him to conclude his business with Eliza. As the two part ways, she speaks up ”Thorncrown, huh? Sounds terribly uncomfortable.”
Cladissa rests her elbow on her chair's arm and puts her chin in the palm of her hand as she thinks on Argor's statement. He's trying to shift from a mortal's mindset to that of an eternal. Which I guess he is, now. He's what, triple my age now? Or, wait. That was a year ago. I'll bet he's lived dozens of my lifetimes now. "Well, that's something you have a limitless supply of now. Time," she says with no animosity.
She speculates a little. "Well, I think you focus on the little victories. The epic battles; the gargantuan forces of evil out there... if you only worry about those, you alienate yourself from the mortal realm. You know, the one child we saved sticks with me more than the countless undead we've fought? That's what matters."
She shrugs. "Or, maybe it's the mortal in me."
Cladissa looks uneasy and squirms a bit in her chair as Argor apologizes for Eleanir. She shakes her head vigorously. "No, you don't need to apologize for her. Besides, it's... probably for the best that I heard that."
She hugs herself and looks away. "I'm sorry, Argor. I didn't handle it well. Any of it. I was confused, and I sent mixed signals, and..." Her head drops down and she studies her lap. "And I didn't know if what drew me to you was coming from me, or coming from the serum."
She gives herself a shake and smooths her skirts. She meets his eyes evenly. "And it doesn't matter now anyway. Our relationship is, as you say, established. Defined by our respective paths before us. You're an immortal wizard, and I will be queen one day. And we'll always be friends."
==================
Palos reacts with a start, his hand quickly moving to his curve blade. He pauses as he takes her in, eyeing warily at first but then relaxing. As he returns to his easy stance, he tilts his head at Adrenia. "I would imagine an angel would have more flattering things to say about an artifact of Iomedae. Though you may call it the Truecrown. The remains of the Inheritor's helmet when she ascended to godhood. It was looted from this Lodge's vaults when it fell to disrepair during the early days of the Revolution.
"Cladissa feels that it would be a powerful symbol of the healing of the country if it were recovered."
Argor nods. i didn’t need to, but wanted to.”
”Yes, we shall always be friends. And my offer to lend you assistance in your endeavors always stands. But you know that. Nevertheless, rest assured your succubus problem is handled. Currently her statue rests in a secure location within a circle of binding, a field of silence, and a ward from scrying, all with an eternal duration.” He smirks and adds ”She has a pair of other statues to keep her company...one treasonous venture captain and an alien giant, each similarly warded.”
==========
[ooc]Lodge Main Room:[/b]
Adrenia continues to nonchalantly bob her bare foot in the air. She giggles at the elf’s words. ”And I would have expected a mortal to have a more developed sense of humor,” she replies with a wink. ”So...you have acquired a lead on its location then? What are your plans to acquire it, and what will you do with it should you succeed?”
Cladissa's mouth twists into a wry grin as she imagines the succubus joining such esteemed company. She nods her head toward Argor. "Thank you. You don't know how relieved that makes me."
===================
Palos rests his hands on his hips easily, arching a fine eyebrow at the angel's giggle.
"My plans? I've none. Though I believe Cladissa has a paladin in mind to whom she would bequeath it." He shakes his head sadly. "Though I'm afraid it's less of a lead and more of a rumor. Its last supposed sighting has it outside Galt's borders. It will be up to her if she will undertake the quest herself or send anyone on her behalf."
He unlimbers a mandolin that had been at his side, and plucks a few strings. "I take it you're the angel that is always in Lord Argor's company? If you'll indulge me, I've always hoped to play for a being of the upper spheres. At least, one who might show some appreciation. That cat of Cladissa's is quite hard to please."
The sweet sound of Palos' music fills the rear courtyard of the Lodge as Cladissa and Argor leave the library. The elf plays with a stirring passion and energy, causing the servants and Pathfinder agents within earshot to pause in their business and listen for a time.
Cladissa watches him perform with her regal bearing, hands clasped at her waist. ::A Gray Gardener had cut his right hand off and three fingers off his left because he came to the aid of someone she had condemned. My regenerative hex gave him his music back:: she explains mentally, not wanting to disrupt the music with her voice.
::He's good. It would have been a shame to have lost such a talent to the likes of the Gardeners.::
Adrenia listens politely to the song, a genuine smile growing on her face as he plays. When he finishes, she joins in applause with others before standing and making her way over to him. "Beautiful, Sir. Beautiful! I can think of quite a few Lillend's that would be envious of your skill! When I next return to the heavens, I will spread the word of the wondrous music and charm of Sir...?"
The bard bows as he finishes. "Palos Kendrosi. And you do me great honor," he tells the angel.
He steps over to Cladissa and Argor. "Have you concluded your business?" he asks with obvious respect in his voice.
Cladissa looks at Argor with a smile. "Concluded? No. But we've reached the time when our respective paths must diverge once more, I believe."
”I believe so. Until they cross once more...” Argor says with a nod of his head as he turns and walks towards the door. ”Miss Petulenegro,” Argor says in farewell as he passes the Lodge Venture Captain.
When he reaches the door, Adrenia says ”Wait a moment,” before turning and walking back to the elf. ”A humble gift for the maestro,” she says as she steps up to him and gives him a kiss on his forehead. She then turns back towards the door and catches back up to Argor, who is looking at her quizzically. She shrugs at him and asks ”What?” as the pair step outside, the doors closing behind them.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?" the woman asks as she enters the grand bedroom.
The old man was sitting up in bed, still frail-looking, but his color was back. His meal was on a nearby tray, half-finished. He looks at it, then back to the mysterious woman who had rescued him from the demon.
"Still weak. There's a strength that's left me that I cannot seem to recall."
The woman takes a couple more steps into his room, hands clasped at the waist. She frowns. "My healing magics have restored your body, but the life force the succubus drained from you is not something I can restore. Such spells are granted to powerful clerics, but even the most benevolent gods demand a small fortune in diamond dust for the spells to work."
High Accuser Edmund Torvayne winces. The foul harlot, he had learned, not only took his appearance but spent his wealth indiscriminately on all sorts of opulence. She must have delighted in making him appear a hypocrite -- one who condemns the nobles for their excess yet lives as one. Now his fortunes, accumulated over a lifetime of austere living, are so depleted that he cannot afford the magics to restore him to full health.
He clenches his fists in impotent rage. "She ruined me," he whispers, more to himself than to his mysterious savior. The woman quietly nods in agreement.
He looks at her closely. There was something almost otherworldly about her. Definitely unnatural, with her glowing violet eyes. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, easily the match of the succubus's in beauty, though the rest of her was pretty without being beautiful. Something about her and the way she looked at him made him uneasy.
"I am fully aware of my debt to you, but why are you here in my bedchambers?" Torvayne demands.
"You would have died but for me. I took it upon myself to nurse you back to health and manage your estate until you were of sound mind. Your household servants are now free of the charms of the succubus, and they have agreed to allow me to heal you. Now that your faculties appear to be restored, we can talk. Then whether I continue to have guest rights will be up to you."
Torvayne nods his head, hating that he had to accept it but not having much choice. "Well then. If you're to be my nurse, will you be dressing me? Or can you leave me to do that so we may talk like civilized people?"
The woman bows her head slightly. "If you're up to it, then I shall be waiting in your parlor." Torvayne shoos her out and begins dressing himself with shaky hands.
* * *
The woman was waiting for him in his parlor when he arrived, trying not to show how winded he was. He settles into a high-backed chair across from her. The woman had a large black cat in her lap that she was petting absently. The cat eyed Torvayne with its intense yellow eyes.
He frowns at the animal, then stares at her. "Who are you?"
The woman smiles humorlessly. "Straight to the point, then? Very well. I'm known as Weaver. But that probably doesn't tell you anything, since you've been unaware of current events for the last eighteen months or more."
Torvayne tries unsuccessfully to stifle a gasp. Eighteen months in that dungeon as that demon's plaything? His shame was piling up, and his debt to this woman was growing. Still, he refused to be this woman's thrall. He'd been one too long already. "'Weaver?' You're right, that's meaningless to me. Why don't you tell me who you really are, what you're doing here, why you saved me, and what your game is?"
Weaver arches an eyebrow at his demands. She looks down to the cat in her lap, who raises its head and meets her eyes. For a moment it almost looks like they exchange some words except neither makes a sound. Then she looks back at Torvayne. "You haven't earned the right to know who I really am. Just know that I'm a daughter of Galt, returning from a long exile. I've found my country in near ruin. I'm here to forge a lasting peace, but I'm not a conqueror. I'm a facilitator. A healer. A weaver, who takes many different threads and unites and combines them into a beautiful whole.
"I've found that the chaos and hate of this unending cycle of revolutions have drawn demons and daemons from the nether realms. They frolic in the lawlessness, stoke the flames of rebellion and lap up the misery Galtan inflicts on Galtan. It has to stop."
She scratches the ears of the cat as Torvayne looks skeptical to the point of disdainfulness. "I came to you because of your status, and your history. You've a lot of lives on your hands. You've had a long career and sent hundreds if not thousands to the Final Blades. I had hoped that you would join me, as a symbol of healing and progress."
Torvayne would have guffawed if he had the energy. "Naive girl, you've no idea. An exile? Then no doubt you're convinced that you're some sort of noble and all will be fixed once you show up. The Revolutionary Council will have your head, you know. You saved my life, so I'll give you the opportunity to leave. Flee. Go back to wherever you came from. Do you really think that a High Accuser would work with an exile?" He grasps the dagger that he'd had hidden in his nightstand and carried down with him hidden in his sleeve. He rises, cursing his weakness but determined to die fighting. "I assume since I reject your offer, I'll need to be eliminated, correct? Your sanctimonious overtures are hollow!"
Weaver doesn't rise, or appear particularly cowed by the old man with the dagger. "You're wrong on both accounts. I've no plan to kill you if you decide to not work with me to heal Galt. And I do not think you, a High Accuser, would work with an exile."
Torvayne falters, the woman suddenly making no sense. The dagger trembles in his hand as he tries to parse through her words. He frustratingly couldn't find her meaning. "So what, then? Why are we even talking?"
The corner of Weaver's lip curls. "Because you are no longer a High Accuser. The demon charmed several people to remain silent about your -- her, I mean -- excesses. It's been six days since I've removed her influence from Galt, and those charms are beginning to wear off." She rises from her chair, ignoring the dagger pointed at her. She moves to the window and stares out into the night.
Torvayne moves to stand next to her and follows Weaver's gaze out beyond his estate to the growing mass of torches gathering at his gates. The dagger slips from his fingers and falls to the floor with a thud.
Weaver turns to look at him. "When I first came to you I harbored a hope that you would join me willingly. I know now you wouldn't have. Though I saved your life, I will make no effort to save your title or reputation. Now, as the Revolution comes for your head, I must ask you: what would you like to do? Will you die under the old regime that calls for your death despite your innocence, or live and work to change things?" She holds out her hand.
Torvayne stares out the window at the mob assembling, then looks at Weaver. His head turns back and forth between the doom approaching and the woman offering her devil's bargain. In the end, he didn't have a choice. He takes her hand.
The servant wore thick glasses that hid a large portion of her face, but Torvayne was still able to detect the air of hostility from her. She avoided looking at him directly, but she always positioned herself as she went about her chores so that he was in her peripheral vision. She obviously knew of him, and clearly resented having to come in and change his bedsheets and chamber pot and supply him with his basic needs for the day.
He studied her body language and her barely-disguised hostility, and wondered why Weaver would send a servant such as she to tend to him. She wasn't a girl, likely being well into her thirties, but she still moved gawkishly and unrefined.
"You don't seem to like me much, do you?" he finally asks as she was just about done with her chores in his room. Torvayne was still accursedly weak, so he had requested help in the maintenance of his small cottage.
"I like you fine," she replies in a neutral tone, still unable to look at him directly.
"Pish. If what you say is true, look at me." The woman reluctantly raises her head and looks at him through her thick lenses. Now that she was facing him, he could see she was quite plain. Her hair was thick and frizzy, likely impossible to tame. Her lips were pale, her skin slightly olive in complexion. Had he been a younger man, he would have been sorely offended with such a plain servant. "What's your name?"
She looks down again, unable to meet his eyes even through those thick lenses. "Cla-- Cladissa. Velorryan."
Torvayne drums his fingers on the arm of the chair in which he is seated. That name...
The silence stretches between them uncomfortably. Cladissa looks up again and meets his eyes briefly, then turns to finish her work.
"You know who I am," he says softly.
The woman freezes in her task. "Yes." She turns her head toward him, still avoiding eye contact. "Do you know who I am?"
Torvayne's mouth twists. "I know the name Velorryan. I then must assume that you are related to Atticus Velorryan?"
Cladissa's voice is barely above a whisper. "My father."
The former accuser sighs. Some sort of object lesson from Weaver? He refused to be baited. "Well, then. I take my tea at an hour before sundown."
"Yes, sir."
=============================
The Velorryan woman wordlessly entered his cabin, performed her chores, then left each day. She didn't strike up conversation, and neither did Torvayne. He figured sooner or later the woman would demand to be replaced, and someone else would be assigned to tend to his needs.
Weaver had provided him with a small two-room cottage, though he wasn't exactly sure where he was. She had teleported them from his estate, so he wasn't even sure if he was in Galt. The view from his windows aided him little in figuring out where he was, and he lacked the strength to venture out far past the small garden surrounded by the high hedge. Weaver had visited him a few times, inquiring about various individuals in the Senate and names of the Gray Gardeners to help her in her crusade. Old habits die hard, and Torvayne hadn't been very forthcoming.
After Cladissa started coming, Weaver hadn't visited. He figured that it was a psychological tactic; being waited on by someone whom he had grievously injured. He expected her to eventually start making comments, to try to evoke sympathy or a show of regret. But he had none; he had followed the law, and executed a traitor to Galt. The fact that Atticus Velorryan had a daughter while committing crimes against the citizens was his fault.
But after a fortnight of Cladissa coming, wordlessly, through the gate and up the path, performing her chores and then leaving, Torvayne finally spoke to her again.
"Why did Weaver give you this job? You can't find it pleasant," he asks.
Cladissa looks up from her chore with a start. "Um, I don't question Weaver. I'm happy to help."
He looks unimpressed with that answer. "I doubt it. Why don't you tell me what she told you? There's no way you would have agreed to this. She's trying to rub salt in my wounds, right? Being tended to by the daughter of someone I condemned?"
Cladissa pushes the glasses up on her nose as she faces him. "No. She's teaching me to push past the hate in my heart. I, um, asked if I could kill you. She gave me this job, instead."
Torvayne stares at her disbelievingly. This time, she doesn't break eye contact as the time stretches. Finally, he sags back into his seat, the debilitating weakness still with him. He wonders if this might be true. That rather than playing some psychological game, Weaver is truly trying to help this woman come to see him as something other than the horrible villain from her childhood. It was too ludicrous of a concept, and he actually laughs. Playing along, he asks, "So, how's it coming along? Do you still want to kill me?"
Cladissa looks at him evenly. "Some days."
Torvayne and Cladissa talked.
She would come each day to perform the chores, and Torvayne would make conversation. Though he pressed her for news of Weaver's campaign, Cladissa did not have much to offer. She knew little, and much of what she did know she had been instructed not to reveal -- such as where in Galt they were.
So he asked her about her life, where she went after fleeing with her mother. He learned that they had settled in Taldor, but she had done some traveling since then. She was vague and evasive enough on the details to let him know she hadn't had a happy life.
She didn't ask much of him, which surprised Torvayne. He'd assumed that she would be trying to get information from him about the strengths and identities of the Gray Gardeners on behalf of Weaver. But she didn't. She remained as standoffish as ever, answering his questions or declining to answer, but not asking questions of her own.
The supposed lessons that Weaver was imparting upon the girl gnawed at him as the days and weeks passed. He had been High Accuser. Weaver saved him so she could learn his secrets, not stash him away as some lesson in forgiveness for a common servant. His gall slowly rose as the girl never asked a question. Never sought to learn from him. Never even tried to ingratiate herself to him.
"You're failing in your task for your Mistress," he finally blurts out one day.
Cladissa rises from her cleaning, confused. She checks her work, trying to find the spot she had apparently missed.
"No, not your drudgery," he sighs. "Moving past your hate. I suspect you still detest me."
She opens her mouth to protest, but closes it. She lowers her eyes, nodding.
"She's instructed you to talk with me, hasn't she? You're my only human contact; I believe she hopes that I'll become so desperate for companionship that I'll spill all my secrets."
Cladissa is silent for a moment, but looks wary. Her hands check the fasten of her dress around the collar, closing up the small amount of flesh around her neck that had become exposed.
"Not that kind of companionship," he sighs. His time as a thrall to the succubus had definitely turned him off such carnal activities.
"Oh," she says. "No, she didn't mention that. Though... she did say I should talk with you. To... see you as a person. I guess you're right. I should, um, talk."
She moves to a chair and sits straight-backed and tense. Torvayne tries to keep from rolling his eyes. "I've asked you questions. You should ask me one."
She thinks for a moment. "Okay. What sort of Galtan songs do you remember? From your childhood? Songs you don't hear today?"
The question rocks Torvayne back in his chair. He hadn't expected that. But he also would have been surprised if she'd straightaway asked something of import, since he didn't believe Weaver would send her here without instructions to learn from him.
But still the question sparked a bit of nostalgia and he finds himself quietly singing a simple song once sung by his mother. She listens attentively, asking for others, and then offering a few half-remembered songs from her own childhood to see if he could fill in the gaps.
Before they knew it, it was evening and the two of them had been singing old Galtan songs for hours.
===========================
The conversations flowed more easily after that day. Cladissa's questions were always about culture. Artwork, statuary, architecture, poems, and stories of Galt's past, prior to the current and bleak times. It was clear she had very rose-colored memories of her childhood in Galt; her parents had insulated her well from the realities of the Revolution until it finally caught up to Atticus.
Yet, so much of that culture was decadence; the symptom of a corrupt aristocracy. The gilded cages that trapped and suppressed the common folk. Clearly, Cladissa didn't see it that way. She remembered just the beauty, and lamented its loss.
It was naive, but somewhat charming nonetheless. He decided to keep the fact that Galtan history, art and culture were steeped in oppression away from Cladissa, instead regaling her with what he remembered of the days before the Revolution swept them away.
She left each day filled with old folk tales, songs, poems and other snippits that he could recall. She eagerly listened while she completed her chores day after day. Her demeanor changed from one performing her tasks reluctantly to one who looked forward to being there.
Torvayne then asked her for something. A tidbit of news from the outside. A morsel of of current events. Something of Weaver's campaign against the Gray Gardeners. She hesitated. She didn't really know much. She certainly wasn't one of the planners or messengers, or anything. She was a servant. She cleaned, she served. She hadn't really considered listening in as Weaver and her lieutenants made their plans. But she started.
Over the next few days, Cladissa reported a few things she overheard. Weaver had made contact with Senator d'Umal. Accuser Sendral Celeste had captured one of Weaver's spies. The Red Raven was still active in Isarn.
Each overheard bit of news gave Torvayne a piece of the picture. Something for him to mull over, regarding Weaver's campaign. His understanding grew.
When Cladissa reported that Weaver and some of her forces had decided to strike Accuser Celeste's compound and were already on their way, Torvayne allowed himself a chuckle. Cladissa looked confused at the response. "Why would you laugh? Do you not like her?"
Still smiling, Torvayne shakes his head. "No, she's a particularly skilled Accuser. But I'm one of very few who know her other pastime. She enjoys converting the headless bodies of those she's condemned into powerful golems. Her entire compound is full of them. She'll likely let Weaver breach her walls and then crush her forces once they've poured through."
Cladissa looks distraught. "But-- but-- that's terrible!"
Torvayne nods sympathetically. "Terrible, but inevitable. I know you believed in her, but I knew it was only a matter of time."
The serving girl flees.
================================
Cladissa races down the lane as fast as her two legs can carry her. Once she rounds the corner of the hedge row and is beyond the sight of the cabin, her additional arachnoid legs extend and carry her at a pace beyond most thoroughbred horses. Her illusion falls away as she reaches her own home, hidden beneath a powerful illusion.
Golems. Golems, dammit! Almost as bad as undead! I'd already ordered the attack. I could teleport there and assist, but there's so little that I can do to affect them.
Maybe... Maybe I should ask for help.
She pauses, but quickly settles the debate. Her people are likely getting slaughtered.
Envisioning Argor's courtyard, she teleports.
Cladissa arrives in the courtyard of Verde Heights in a flash. Several staff members shriek in panic at the arcane intrusion, resulting in several guards approaching wearing tabards with a light blue rune on a deep green background. A few of them she quickly recognizes as Argor’s hired Ulfen personal guard from the Blakros Wedding debacle. They soon enough recognize her and call out with heavy accents to the other house guards to stand down.
Eventually, she is guided to Reginald. The butler approaches her and says ”Ah, Lady Cladissa. So good to see you again,” before he notes her urgent expression and adds ”I take it this is not a social call. You wish to speak with Lord Constantine, then. Right this way...”
He guides her through the building to his office, where Adrenia sits by a window, gently petting Nightfang, Argor’s pseudodragon familiar. ”Miss Adrenia,” Reginald begins, ”Lady Cladissa is here for Lord Constantine.”
He bows and takes his leave as Cladissa stands and a broad smile comes across her face. ”Cladissa! So good to...Cladissa...what’s wrong?” Adrenia asks with concern.
Cladissa shakes her head urgently. "No, it most certainly isn't." She directs her attention to Nightfang. "Is your master nearby? Can you call him here? I've not much time."
She looks at Adrenia, her face full of grave concern. "How do you feel about flesh golems?"
"Bothersome abominations, to be quite frank," she says as she crosses her arms. "I take it you have a problem with some. I'll go and let Argor know you are here. He's been gone for quite long enough now, anyway," she says, the annoyance evident in her voice.
She leaves and several minutes later, she and Argor return. Nightfang leaps into his arms excitedly, as he just casually strokes the pseudodragon's neck. He looks at Cladissa with a look of some confusion, almost lack of recognition at first, before he says "Cladissa...Adrenia informs me you have some sort of problem with a construct?"
Concern touches Cladissa's eyes for a brief moment, but the urgency of her mission reasserts itself. "Argor, I ordered the attack. I thought-- I didn't imagine that the Accuser would stoop so low. To use the bodies of those she's condemned as the parts for golems... It's barbaric."
She looks at her hands, flexing them, then back at him. "Mindless automata immune to most magics? Argor... we'll take too many losses, even if we prevail. I need help. Where's Gianluca? Or someone, Thrassk, Grommeson, I need strength at arms. Please."
Argor nods. ”Strength of arms I can provide. Give me just one moment,” he says before excusing himself.
When he returns just a few short minutes later, he appears vastly different. He is wearing a headband, belt, and robe that radiates magical power, and on his hip is a rune etched rod whose aura makes the other items pale in comparison. He has his staff in his left hand, and one of the rings on his hand also emanates significant power. He looks at Cladissa and says ”Alright, I have made my preparations, and scried the location of your forces. When you are ready, I can take us directly to them and provide aid, which based on my divination they sorely need.”
Cladissa takes a step back. "I was going to... nevermind. Okay. I'm ready."
Argor raps the base of his staff onto the marble floor and uses his other hand to weave a conjuration. A field of magic begins to encircle the two of them as Nightfang hops excitedly onto Argor’s shoulder. The energy fluctuates from blue to red, then to white, as tendrils of magic radiate from the gem in Argor’s staff and spirals around the group, growing in intensity. Just as it seems to reach its zenith, Argor looks to Adrenia and says ”I will resummon you shortly, once the bulk of her forces are dealt with,” and the energy pulses and the three of them appear in the center of a courtyard, a small battle waging all around them, going heavily in the favor of Accuser Celeste.
”Call your forces back,” Argor says as he quickly weaves an incantation and Nightfang hops off his shoulder to the ground a few feet away. In the flash of an instant, several things change. Nightfang grows into a version of himself the size of an elephant, and four elementals of flame erupt into existence. But even more impressive is the golem that stands imperiously in front of Argor, made of a silvery metal with alien sheen, lacking almost any features beyond a humanoid shape composed of highly polished and reflective mithral. Argor looks to the elementals and the golem and says ”Destroy every enemy golem you find.”
The four elementals all spread out, engaging the flesh golems as they encounter them, as the large golem that Argor controls lurches to life and quickly moves with unnatural speed and fluidity and begins rending into a nearby flesh golem. Nightfang roars and takes to the air, grabbing a golem in his claws and flying up and out of the courtyard. While this is going on, Argor conjures up a pair of pits between the retreating men of Cladissa’s forces and the remaining golems near them, some of them swallowing up the constructs, but ultimately creating a safety net for the warriors from the golems.
The scene was nightmarish. Accuser Celeste had stitched faces into the torsos, backs, and limbs of the golems. The most prominent personas were given the place of dubious honor as the golems' heads, but all the faces were frighteningly recognizable as victims of the Final Blade.
Weaver's forces were not equipped for the psychological warfare, and were suffering terrible losses by the grotesque army. They fought in disarray, cowed by seeing the faces of their loved ones and former leaders contorted in agony on the abominations.
Cladissa flew up on her broom over the fray, rallying her forces and calling them back so Argor and his summoned minions could work. Once those who could fall back had done so, she swoops in and starts applying her regenerative hex on the wounded.
She holds her fury at the atrocities at bay while she tends to her forces. Though a large percentage had been routed, the stragglers rally to her.
Weaver's appearance draws the attention of Celeste's forces, and a contingent of Gray Gardeners move to strike from the shadows. Cladissa animates several statues in the estate hand has them wade into the fray while her followers draw around her to fight off the strike force.
Cladissa rises back into the sky on her broom and flies over her animated minions, forcing the attackers to choose between pursuing Weaver and putting her forces behind them, or to be caught with the spellcaster in a position to rain magic down on them.
Several arrows then streak out from another ambush spot, some of them finding purchase in Cladissa's resilient skin. She blankets the area with glitterdust to outline the ambushers, but soon feels the burn of poison in her veins.
Before tending to herself, she drops to the ground and extends her spider legs beneath her illusion and races to a safer location behind Argor's vanguard. From there, she sends a line of electricity through the flankers still assaulting the remnants of her forces.
Argor maintains his focus on the constructs, making sure his own automaton and summons are targeting things optimally. When Cladissa falls back to him and he notices the Gardeners, he narrows his eyes and points a finger at them, sending an arc of electricity that leaps from one to another, causing them to convulse and spasm as their bodies char and burn!
Another group attempts to rush them from another angle, and Argor opens up a tooth filled pit beneath them, causing the entire retinue to fall in. The pit begins chewing on them, causing the men and women within to scream in agony and terror as they are consumed alive by this extra-dimensional maw.
Cladissa takes the brief moment given to her by Argor to undo the damage the poison had done by casting heal. Restored, she steps forward again to rally her forces when she's hit with a blast of displaced air. She has barely enough time to recognize Accuser Celeste standing in front of her, with her second-in-command, General LeGuyer apparently having dimension doored her into striking distance.
Celeste's blade flashes multiple times, twice cutting deep. Cladissa stumbles back, her spider legs out and stabilizing her while she spies LeGuyer starting up a fresh spell. Weapons will take a few moments to kill her, but magic could end it all in a single spell, so Cladissa targets the general first. Her spell takes hold of him and he freezes in place, petrified into stone.
Celeste, however, steps up and continues her assault. Two of Cladissa's arachnoid legs are severed and she screams in pain. "For Galt!" the Accuser shouts as her bloodied blade is poised once more to strike.
"For Galt???" Cladissa shouts back while throwing a hex her way. Arctic winds howl around the Accuser, but does not encase her in ice. "You're destroying Galt! You're perpetuating the bloodshed!"
Celeste drives the point of her blade into Cladissa's shoulder and twists it. She sneers as she draws in close while the witch gasps in pain. "I'm saving Galt. From itself."
Argot had been intently focused on dispatching the remainder of the golems. Nightfang has made good work of burning the golems to cinders once they were clustered and subdued, as were his fire elementals. The pained screams of Grey Gardeners had all ceased, the only sound remaining being a sickening crunching as the toothy pits continued chewing mindlessly.
He turned and saw Cladissa just as Celeste had plunged a blade into her chest! He scowled and muttered a spell and his body began to shift into a huge silver dragon! He let out a deafening roar before turning and slamming his tail at Celeste, forcing the golemcrafter to gasp and retreat from Cladissa or else be crushed by the massive tail!
The sinewy tail slams in the space between Celeste and Cladissa, forcing each to take a step back. The former Pathfinder clutches at her shoulder to staunch the blood flow while staying away from the High Accuser's blade.
"Let's... take a break, shall we?" Cladissa says through ragged breaths and flings a spell at her. Celeste has a brief look of confusion before she disappears!
"Whew. Let's see how smart she is. But I doubt it'll take her too long to escape the maze," she says.
Cladissa first starts regenerating her wounds, then starts spinning a network of webs around the area where Celeste is about to return.
She's back fast, and only slightly stymied by the webbing. Cladissa reacts and throws more on her, entangling her further.
As Celeste slashes at the fibers around her, Cladissa calls her broom back to her and she rises up into the air. "It's over! You've lost. Your golems, the Gardeners, gone! Surrender."
Celeste scowls while holding her blade up, still slick with Weaver's blood.
To emphasize the point, Argor’s mithral golem, a pair of the surviving elementals, the huge black draconic form of Nightfang, and the equally large and silvery scales dragon that is Argor all land and converge on the woman.
”Your only hope for mercy is surrender, golem-crafter. The atrocities you’ve done to these people ends now,” Argor threatens through his jaws.
Celeste scowls at the ultimatums thrown at her. She tugs at the strands of webbing still anchoring her, then in frustration flings her sword at Cladissa. The spinning sword nicks the witch in her arm as it passes her by.
Cladissa clutches at the fresh wound while she shakes her head. "Not good enough. It's over," she tells the accuser.
Celeste spits in defiance.
"Very well," Argor says as he turns to his own golem. "Restrain her, to the point that she cannot move or speak."
The golem silently moves to obey his command. It presses her down to the ground and holds her there, while bringing a hand up and pinches her head and jaw shut, just strong enough that she cannot move it effectively enough to work any magic of her own.
Argor then turns to Cladissa and says "Shall we? Let us see what crimes she has committed."
Before moving off, he summons Adrenia to his side. She raises her warhammer onto her shoulder and leads the way inside, making sure the area is clear before signaling Cladissa and Argor to continue their own advance into her estate...
Cladissa lowers herself on her broom, coming close to Celeste. "That's enough; she's beaten. I won't have captives mistreated, regardless of what crimes she's committed." She huffs, realizing that Argor had already moved inside the compound.
She gives a glare to Celeste, then goes to follow Argor.
Adrenia and Argor move through the manor, examining each room thoroughly. A cursory search does not reveal much amiss. However, the trio are not your ordinary adventurers any longer. It does not take them long to discover the secret doorway which leads down to the network of passages and chambers below the estate.
Adrenia manages to handily deal with the various golems and guardians she had placed as a last line of defense, allowing them all to move safely to her dungeons. There, they found several pitiful souls who had been tortured, as well as have had various parts of their bodies removed, skin flayed, and other atrocities. All while in view of the woman's main golemwork station. It was soon clear that not only had she harvested her parts from living victims...but she made them watch as she created her golems from their own bodies.
Argor raised a handkerchief to his mouth and nose to block out the smell of human waste, blood, and filth from his senses as he examined the laboratory. It wasn't until he came to the woman's library that he paused, and his arms hung unmoving to his side as he stared at the vast collection of tomes before him...
Cladissa falls silent in horror at the scene. But in seconds, she masters herself and keeps the tears at bay. "This. The people need to know. We have to--"
She's cut off by a blur of motion in a darkened alcove. Her head snaps around to spot the golem crafter, an emaciated half-orc, emerge with some strange device. Her eyes glare balefully and a gust of arctic wind swirls around him, encasing him in ice.
"There. We've won. And the atrocities perpetrated here for years will be brought to light."
Argor gingerly, almost as if afraid he would break it, raises a hand and removes one of the books from the shelves. He opens it and looks over the inside cover a moment before taking another...then another...and then another, always scanning the first page or two before moving on.
"No...this...this is unforgivable..."
He turned and looked at Cladissa, his eyes filled with a rage she had never seen before, before working a teleportation spell and vanishing!
He appeared back in the courtyard just beside his golem. He stormed over to the restrained Celeste and railed through clenched teeth "So many mages...slain! And for what? For you to play blunder about the art of golem creation and perpetuate this cycle of violence and bloodshed here in this beleaguered nation?"
She just smirked and stared at him defiantly from within the golem's grasp in reply.
"Well...you're days of murder and the destruction of knowledge is over, Celeste," he adds.
"Under what authority, wizard? You have no power here. And the Grey Gardeners I have at my disposal will see to it I will be released soon enough," she says mockingly.
Argor fixed a cold gaze upon her and replied "You are correct, Celeste. I hold no authority here. But you forget..." he pauses as he steps closer to her. "This is Galt. The nation is in endless civil war. There is no authority here. Not yet," he adds before turning to his golem and commanding "Tear her apart, limb from limb. Save her head for last so that she may feel every agonizing moment of it."
"What!?!? You caaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" she wailed as her arms are torn free of her body like a limb ripped from a dead and half-rotted tree! A moment later, her legs follow suit! Her eyes flutter with consciousness as Argor leered down at her as his golem placed a hand on either side of her head and began applying pressure until her cranium ruptured like a melon in a vice!
Once the task was done, his golem piled her parts into one pile, and Argor used his magic to turn them into a hideous conglomerate of stone. The next moment, he sent a green beam of energy into the rock, turning it utterly into dust which began to quickly drift away into the wind.
Cladissa shunted her horror into a tiny space in her mind and let her analytical side come to the fore. Everything she saw that made her want to react in disgust, she instead focused on how it could be used to unite the people of Galt in shared outrage. She was determined to turn these atrocities to good, somehow.
A cold shiver ran through her when Argor teleported away. He was similarly outraged, so she didn't expect that he would have left so soon. She moves over to the volumes of books he had been inspecting and glances over them. No, he hasn't gone yet, she thinks as a new concern washes over her.
She hurries out of the golem workshop on her spider legs, covering the distance rapidly. She emerges into the courtyard to hear the end of Celeste's screams. She speeds across the ground, but too late as Argor has completely dealt with her remains.
"NO!" she shouts. "She was a prisoner! She was going to face justice! Public justice!" She storms up to Argor. "You had no right!"
Argor turns to face Cladissa and folds his arms behind his back, a pose she has seen him take many times when he felt a matter was settled. "She was a murderer, torturer, and manipulator of the people. I dispensed justice on your behalf so that you would not run the risk of her conniving her way free or arranging an escape courtesy of the Grey Gardeners in her pocket."
He then reaches into his magical pack and begins retrieving tomes, pointing at their arcane markings one at a time. "Archmage Tiberius, of Taldor, a Pathfinder. Maven Richtor Gordus, of Absalom, member of the Arcanamirium. Lady Enchantress Vespa Ardania, of Nirmathas, Pathfinder. These are just a few of the spellbooks I picked from her collection of dozens that are down in that hold. And I know for a fact all three of these individuals have been missing for quite some time. Their fate is now evident."
He lays the spellbooks at Cladissa's feet and adds "This land is a bloodbath, 'Weaver.' You aim to bring order and civility to it, and to that end I will aid you as best I can. But criminals such as this..." he says, gesturing to the flesh golems still smoldering in a heap, "cannot be allowed the opportunity to escape, or their allies and underlings abroad to have the chance to free them. You know as well as I that we have personally dispensed similar justice more than once in the past. How is this any different?"
Cladissa steps back, her face contorted in anger. "Because I said so! This is my home, and I am trying to do things differently!"
She spreads her arms wide, gesturing at the carnage everywhere. "Where's Celeste's body? Where's the one we can point to and say, 'she's the villain here!'? You've left me with nothing to work with!"
She steps closer, her spider legs raising her up to Argor's height. Her voice drops low and menacing. "The difference, dear Argor, is that I don't get to walk away. I don't have the luxury of returning to the Pathfinder Lodge for another mission. I have to figure out how to rebuild from this."
Argor remains unfazed. ”Difficult to rebuild when your enemies continuously try to tear down your progress. Especially enemies who are unrepentant, mislead the populace with disinformation, and have the ear of the rabble rousers who perpetuate this eternal revolution. Her guilt was evident, and you have all of these people here as thankful witnesses to your victory against her atrocities,” he says, gesturing to her forces.
”Were you just wishing to be the one to do the deed yourself? Is that it?”
Cladissa recoils as if she'd been physically struck. Outrage mixes with incredulity at Argor's accusation. Her anger rises and for a moment she looks like she's about to retaliate.
The moment passes. A look of profound sadness touches her features as she shakes her head. "Have you spent so much time in your sanctum that you've forgotten who I am?" Cladissa's eyes go wide, conveying the heartbreak she was feeling.
She swallows once, then nods her head. She straightens, affecting a regal bearing, cold and aloof. "Thank you for your assistance, Argor of Absalom. Though I believe I shan't be requiring your services from now on. Take whatever spoils you desire from our victory here as payment, since it won't be of use to me."
Argor arched an eyebrow at her response. "I fail to understand your problem with this. She was a dangerous threat whose guilt was absolute. If this was a place of order and laws, then holding her for a proper trial would be the prudent move. But this is a war zone. Has been for before either of us were born. To suggest battle-judgement as improper is folly."
He floats closer to her and lands. "Cladissa. You know I am acting in your best interests here. Why else would I be here? I have always acted to help you as best I could, have I not?"
Cladissa shakes her head sadly. "I am doing things differently. I am not using the lawlessness of this country as an excuse to act lawlessly. I am not using the evil of others as an excuse to do evil. I'm sad that you fail to understand this."
She steps away from him, then looks over her shoulder. ::You may act with my interests in mind, but you use your methods as you see fit. I cannot allow this. You will always be my friend, but I'll never be your sovereign. Goodbye::
With her terse dismissal of his aid, Argor’s brow furrows and his features grow cold. He stands there in silence a moment before saying ”Very well, Your Highness,” the final words dripping with disgust.
He collects his associates, Adrenia watching on sadly, before weaving a spell and all of them becoming enveloped in red arcane energies, then vanishing in an instant. A few moments later, his golem vanishes in similar manner...
Yosef Talvier hurries down the hall with the stack of messages in his arms. When he reaches the heavy double doors at the end, they swing open without any warning. It never ceases to amaze him; no matter how quiet he approaches, the guards at the door somehow know of his arrival and are ready for him.
He looks past the doors and the burly, silent guards glaring at him into the room beyond. It used to be an opulent house of art and refinement, but though it's been cleaned since the Revolution tore through this estate the hall is far removed from its former glory.
Yosef enters, seeing the Restoration Counsel sitting around Weaver engaged in another planning session. He circles around and watches quietly for his cue to report the daily messages.
"...another twelve statues in Evreux were vandalized, three murals ruined with graffiti and one park burned."
Weaver sighs. "Then task the artisans to make the necessary repairs."
"Ma'am, this is happening in our territory. We're wasting valuable resources on art when we need to put those resources toward keeping the peace and defending our borders!"
Weaver turns her head and glares at the one who spoke. "The art is what separates us from them! Their cities are still gutted and ruined to this day, while ours are coming back to life!"
"It's unsustainable. Isarn toys with you, Weaver! They marshal their forces and strengthen them, then laugh while they send agents to burn down our pretty statuary."
She shakes her head. "It's only a matter of time. We're giving work back to the artists, letting them create once again. Word will spread. They'll soon see."
"We're giving the Revolutionary Counsel a pipeline through which to send their spies and agents."
"Then let them come and see what we've built."
Yosef watched and listened as the debate ran on. He marveled at Weaver's persistence even as much of her counsel tried to change her mind. She was a remarkable woman, considered either the savior of Galt or its greatest threat.
The Revolutionary Counsel declared her an Enemy of the People three years ago after the fall of High Accuser Sendral Celeste. Weaver's followers had attacked the Accuser and her Gray Gardeners at her compound which resulted in the apparent death of Celeste. Though Weaver and her people claimed that the Accuser had committed many horrific atrocities, Celeste's disappearance put all that into doubt. The Gray Gardeners then persuaded the Revolutionary Counsel that Weaver was too much of a threat and had to be dealt with.
The fighting that had ensued was bitter and covered most of Galt. The Revolutionary Counsel consolidated its power around Isarn, while Weaver was able to create a network of resistance that proved very difficult to stamp out.
As the campaign continued, Weaver's territory and the Counsel's became better defined. Any time the Gray Gardeners were forced to retreat, Weaver's cadre of artists and sculptors would move in and begin restoring buildings, gardens and parks instead of fortifying the area in case of counter-attack.
Those actions drove Weaver's more military-minded advisers up the wall.
The Restoration Counsel -- so named to contrast itself with the Revolutionary Counsel -- concluded its business without its members changing Weaver's mind. The advisers rose and left, leaving Weaver to return to her adjacent office. Yosef followed.
She gave him a nod and he began relaying the various messages that had arrived that morning. Most were missives from the campaigns and sporadic fighting that were spread throughout Galt. She listened to each one quietly, occasionally asking for something to be repeated but never more than once.
By the time he had finished, she was seated behind her desk looking troubled. Though he hadn't exactly been the bearer of good news, there wasn't anything especially worrisome in the morning's messages that Yosef had thought. Just the general day-to-day chaos of Galt.
He paused before he left, noticing that her eyes seemed focused on a package sitting on her desk. It was an elegantly-wrapped parcel that bore the symbol of Kyonin -- the land of the elves to the west.
"What is that, Ma'am?" Yosef asked.
Weaver doesn't take her eyes off the package. "Something for which I'd been waiting to receive for a long time.
"Something that will change everything."
Cladissa sent Yosef away so she could think in peace. She knew the contents of the package, though she hadn't opened it. The documents that proved her official parentage and declared her the last of the line of Galtan royalty.
The problem, she saw, was that she was Weaver now. She'd led a revolution against the Revolutionary Council and had been declared an enemy of Galt. Though her humanitarian efforts had created a strong amount of support among the common people, her movement was causing almost as much bloodshed as the previous cycles of rebellion and revolution. She feared that simply declaring Weaver to be the next ruler would lose more support than she would gain.
Cole, sensing his witch's distress, coalesces from a cloud of mist and sits on her lap, purring. She starts stroking his soft fur while she stares at the package, wondering what to do next. He mews softly.
::Hmm? Well, Weaver can't become queen, that much is certain. It has to be Cladissa. But I'm both. I went back to the old me that time with Torvayne, and I've kept it up when I've needed to go incognito. It's been convenient, but maybe now it's time to go Cladissa full-time::
Cole meows a question. ::You're right. What can we do with Weaver? Her disappearance would cause everything I've built to collapse. Her 'death' -- just as bad. If I was an illusionist, that might be a solution, but... wait. Illusion magics. Argor mentioned an arcanist he worked with, in Varisia. Cole, let's go on a trip:: She quickly stores away the package in her sanctum, gathers her adventuring gear, and casts teleport.
=======================
Cladissa had missed the scent of the sea, even though Sandpoint smelled much different than the grand city of Absalom. The town was quaint, nestled upon a rugged coastline, with a bustling populace. It took her no time at all to learn about Archmage Eugeni, one of the heroes of Sandpoint, Varisian Ranger, and member of the group that defeated a runelord. Sounds impressive. Now, all it should take is me getting his attention.
Certainly there was a chance that all her asking around would draw his attention, but she had a different purpose. She needed to get to know him well enough so that a sending would have a chance to work. Though, the basic spell was unavailable to witches so she had to use the much more powerful demand -- though she had no intentions of trying to compel the archmage to do anything.
Once she had his likeness from the impressive statues built up in Sandpoint and a few personal details from the townsfolk, she tries her spell.
"Greetings, Archmage Eugeni. I am Cladissa, an acquaintance of Argor. I humbly ask that we may meet at your convenience. I am in great need."
"There," she says to Cole once the message is sent. "Now we wait."
After some moments, a response arrives. "Greetings. I have read of you in the Chronicles. I am off-Plane at the moment. What do you need?"