Mal frowned down at one of the pictures. He kept quiet, thinking on the name and the drawing. Add longer hair…replace twin daggers of hate where her eyes were drawn…yeah, that was Emilura alright. She’d had nothing but hatred for Mal’undil the last time they’d met. Of course he’d been busy telling her why he couldn’t stay with her so long as she continued doing business with that bunch in Copperwood.
Next to him, Lau’s hand tapped in the direction of Emilura’s picture, nothing obvious, but enough so Mal would notice the gesture. Of course the monk would recognize her too. Her brother had nearly killed him. That was early on in Mal’s and his confederacy, but the memory of a pair of crossbow bolts to the side tended to stay with a man.
Mal turned his attention to another of the drawings. “Julian Ta, I know him only as far as my dealings with his brother Cellen and their shop.” Mal looked at the notes scrawled next to the drawing of the younger Ta. “Dealings with Zel, huh?”
“We understand Zel is a slave trader.” Olivia offered.
The half-elf affirmed the observation with a grunt. Then he tapped Julian’s drawing. “A blind man could see that’s why the brother won’t expand on Julian’s dealings with someone like Zel.” Mal’undil poked a finger and drew a page closer to Olivia and the others. “Not sure why Emilura in’Lakoth would be involved though, if Julian was talking to Zel.”
Olivia looked down at the drawing. “Overseas trader in slaves,” she shook her head but pulled an inkwell and quill from her belt satchel to begin taking down notes. “Emilura in’Lakoth you say?”
The look the paladin gave him told Mal to begin explaining. Olivia was beautiful, but her will was the most undeniable part of her. “We have a past, her and me. Back then, she went by that name. I guess she shortened it to Lura.”
“She did try to kill you,” Lau offered, face grim. Caleb and Mal were probably the only ones to note the touch of humor in the monk’s tone.
Caleb held up two fingers.
Lau nodded agreement. “Twice she sought to claim your life, once her brother tried to claim mine.”
The half-elven rogue held out his hands and swept a bow towards his comrades. “Well thank you both for establishing me as a suspect.” He turned towards Karthan and Zandra and embellished a mock plea. “This is the part where you tell them that the nobility of my elvish blood prevents me from being involved in crimes of any kind.”
Olivia shook her head, the hint of a grin on her lips. She tightened the leather tie holding back her dark hair and grasped her quill. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Four years ago,” Mal looked back down at the picture. Though he had left Emilura behind, there was still a soft spot in his heart for the woman she might have been. “I think it was just before we left Absalom to follow Kheegan and Hal’dorel on that quaint adventure to Isger.”
“You’ve told me about that adventure several times over ale,” Olivia quipped. “No mention of this woman.”
“I remember Isger with more fondness than I do Emilura.”
The paladin smirked and added more notes to the page. “Is the information about Copperwood accurate?”
“Yeah. We parted company one evening outside the Toiling Gent when Emilura indicated her desire to diversify interests.”
“Slave trading is not an interest, Mal’undil.” Lau’s tone and face had not changed, but Mal knew the very idea of slavery chaffed at the monk’s morals.
“Well, I decided that her desire to change from the import/export of weapons to flesh harmed our relationship. I left.”
The old bard leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his belly. “Then Copperwood would be as good a place to start as any.” Caleb looked to Karthan and Zandra. “It is a small town to the northeast of the city, outside the walls. It served as an outpost for laborers during the construction of the Absalom.”
Eager to move away from discussing Lura, Mal’undil picked up the small scrap of paper Karthan had found in the money pouch. He nodded admiration to Karthan for his perception and read the note. “This is interesting, however…’Misery, 3rd – LB’.”
Fir’umil sighed, a thread holding back the full extent of his growing exasperation. He cleared his throat, hand tightening around his staff. “Obviously it refers to Misery Row.”
The half-elf smiled inwardly. Wondered when you’d pop, Mr. Wizard… He ignored the elf and studied the scrap of paper instead. “LB could be Lobiere Bim, a guard down at Misery Row.”
“3rd Watch guard?” Olivia offered.
“Just so.”
She pulled the vellum with Zel’s drawing and jotted down the guard’s name.
The vellum document bearing the likeness of Julian Ta lifted from the table, floating towards Fir’umil’s outstretched hand. There was the faint smell of cinnamon in the air. “Might I suggest pressing this Cellen Ta?” He read the notes on the page and looked up, a challenge in his eyes for the paladin. “Perhaps we can convince him…” He paused to clear his throat, swallowing a coughing fit before it started. When he spoke again, his voice took on a more menacing rasp. “…perhaps convince him that he should be more forthcoming when the Temple of Iomedae comes calling.”
Not for the first time, Mal’undil wondered at the elf’s nature. As a rogue, he’d run the tightrope of moral ethics for most of his life, of late, finding a certain comfort in knowing that doing good didn’t always mean following the rules. But for all the years he’d known Fir’umil, Mal felt concern regarding the wizard, especially in the contrast to Hal’dorel’s personality. They were cousins but you couldn’t find two more different people.
Then there was the latitude he and Caleb allowed for Fir’umil’s behavior given the situation with his missing father. Mal’undil’s concern lay in the lengths to which Fir’umil Osseus would go to accomplish his goals.
Caleb held up a hand. “I think it is an option to discuss Julian’s knowledge. But a lighter touch may be called for when it comes to the shopkeeper.”
Fir’umil bowed his head, tilting his face and closing his eyes with solemnity. The elf’s tone gave away that it was only for show. “As you say, Lord Caleb. I only wished to offer my insights.”
“Then there are your observations.” Olivia nodded towards the two elves, the mantle of her office glinting in the light cast by the fireplace and candles around the room. “The scrap of cloth and manacle point towards an abduction of sorts but the ties to the slave trade is obvious and undeniable.”
“The use of magic Mistress Zandra sensed is also a point of concern.” Lau’s finger touched the inkwell. The particles floating in the amber-colored liquid shifted. “Where magic is concerned, there are loftier meanings.”
Mal latched onto something Caleb had done earlier in the discussion and turned towards Karthan and Zandra. “What do you two think?” He counted off the options as he knew them. “Go pay a visit to Copperwood to track down Lura? Head to Misery Row to locate this Lobiere Bim? Or go and discuss things with Julian Ta?”
Personally I would enjoy a chance to get out of doors, while the city is full of interesting things to see, and your hospitality has been most gracious Caleb, I yearn for a chance to stretch my legs after being cooped up on the long voyage.
Yes, I would have to agree with her Mal'undil. Copperwood, seems to be the best option and you would best know how to try and locate this woman. If there is "pressing" to be done it is perhaps better left to our friend Fir'umil who has had time to better grasp the ins and outs of the local customs and the rule of law within the city.
The great cat lounged in his special oasis of gnomish manufacture and shut his eyes apparently restng, but his sharpened ears gave away that he was still very much actively monitoring the happenings around him.
Fir'umil studied their faces for a moment, especially that of the male's. From Kyonin they may be, and broad expanse of wood was his home, but he couldn't help the feeling that he knew them. Something was familiar in the turn of their cheekbones, the way they looked upon the others in the room. The young wizard couldn’t shake the certainty in the back of his mind that he’d crossed paths with Karthan and Zandra before.
He leaned upon his staff, swallowing down another pinch in his throat that threatened to renew his coughing. They were deciding on where to go, which lead to follow. After Caleb’s response, he held his council for the time being.
“The use of magic Mistress Zandra sensed is also a point of concern.” The monk’s finger touched the inkwell, his pitiful superstitions surrounding the magical arts all but apparent. “Where magic is concerned, there are loftier meanings.”
Fir’umil resisted the urge to instruct the erstwhile monk that there were a great many things loftier than his feeble understanding. Instead, the elf gripped his staff a bit tighter then relaxed.
The half-elf turned towards Karthan and Zandra. “What do you two think?”
What? What does it matter what these newcomers think? Fir’umil did his best to school his features.
Mal’undil continued. “Go pay a visit to Copperwood to track down Lura? Head to Misery Row to locate this Lobiere Bim? Or go and discuss things with Julian Ta?”
The druid spoke first, “Personally I would enjoy a chance to get out of doors, while the city is full of interesting things to see, and your hospitality has been most gracious Caleb, I yearn for a chance to stretch my legs after being cooped up on the long voyage.”
“Yes,” the Ranger added. “I would have to agree with her Mal'undil. Copperwood, seems to be the best option and you would best know how to try and locate this woman. If there is "pressing" to be done it is perhaps better left to our friend Fir'umil who has had time to better grasp the ins and outs of the local customs and the rule of law within the city.”
The wizard cared little if anything about local customs or rules save for those that kept him out of unnecessary entanglements. His work with Tabir was far too important to jeopardize over a foolish, human rule. In a rare measure of respect, Fir actually appreciated the bold move by his human mentor to offer the services of his student to the temple of Iomadae. If anything, the relationship aided in their goals.
He scrutinized Karthan’s response, thinking on the tone of the ranger and seeking any underlying meaning. One thing having involved himself with humans for so long, he was out of practice when it came to proper discourse. To be sure, Fir’umil really never had a taste for the nonsense. Dancing words and hidden meanings were among the many things that infuriated him about the Council of Elders in Kyonin.
“Perhaps I will accompany Fir’umil on a visit to Cellen Ta,” Caleb offered gingerly, responding before Fir.
“I am at your service, Lord Caleb.” The wizard bowed and smiled. There was a small sense of satisfaction in Fir’umil knowing that as each day passed, the elf could almost see the famed bard getting older.
He glanced back towards the other two elves, studying them both…there was that tickle of recollection. Perhaps later he could meditate, close in on the ethereal memories that eluded him.
“Be cautious, Dawnsetters,” Fir’umil spoke in an elven dialect peculiar to the Grey, gauging their responses. ”This land cares not for our heritage or our prestige. Our bodies are of more use to them than our history. Do not suffer trust outside this circle if you can help it.”
Thor sits up, arches his back, then splays his claws in a indulgent stretch before padding over to Zandra.
Sense motive
Zandra easily notes the poorly veiled disdain on Fir'umils face. In her practiced court tounge she responds, "May the dark cloud about your health be driven from you like a fog before the sun. Are there none here powerful enough to cure your malady? But aside from your health we do appreciate your words of wisdom. Having not spent our time among the the people here we shall keep our eyes open."
"Yes, new hunting grounds and unfamiliar prey requires caution and vigilance lest the hunter become the prey or the bait for a much greater hunter." Switching back to common and turning to Mel 'undil he adds, "I assume our hunt can wait until morning? Or must we prepare to leave immediately?
He kept his silence for a moment, held the anger tight within him until it dissolved in the furnace of his will. There had to be a measure of ignorance in her words, Fir’umil would have to allow for that possibility. Of the pupils at the Arcanamirium, there were few to match him in skill or power.
Were there mages in the city powerful enough to heal his malady?
“Oh yes, young mistress,” the soreness in his throat brought his voice to nearly a whisper. “There are many in this place with the skill and the power to heal my crushed throat. I hold onto my malady…” Fir’umil openly sneered at the word. “…so that I am always aware of my limits.”
Slipping his hand further down upon the staff, Fir’umil stared deeply into Zandra’s eyes. “A few months in the City at the Center of the World will most undoubtedly see to it that the pretty face you choose to wear and the one you keep hidden will both see their share of scars.”
With a smile that never touched his eyes, Fir’umil gestured towards the others in the room. “Seek confirmation from any of these adventurers and they’ll have a most gratifying list of maladies…some more than others.”
With every word the fires of his anger were quenched further and further, tamped down under the surety of his path and his will. His wound, it would heal of its own accord, or perhaps not at all. In either case, it served its purpose in reminding him of his argument with Hal’dorel. It was a reminder just as surely as the dried blood of his cousin that stained the blade of the dagger at his hip.
The female’s tiger offered a rumble at the back of his throat and a not so veiled warning. Fir’umil’s eyes narrowed and the forefinger of his left hand shifted within the sleeve of his robes. He’d regret the exertion, but it would be an opportunity to further test a new spell if the creature caused him dismay.
Oh, but the more Fir’umil saw the two elves in Caleb’s shop, the more he disliked them both. They were a whispered clutch of thoughts in the back of his mind confirming all the reasons why he left Kyonin in the first place. But a tickle along the skin of his forearms turned a new thought loose in his mind. The elf maiden may be of some use…
Soft footsteps from the hallway moved into the silence left behind by Fir’umil’s words. Caleb’s servant nodded towards the front of the shop, gnarled hands at his sides. “A guest, sir.”
The old Bard shifted in his seat, he’d been studying Fir’umil, bushy-grey brows furrowed in consternation. His blue eyes, concern and questions and conclusions swirling in their depths, turned towards Hindre. “This late? Was I expecting someone else?”
Hindre shook his head, deep creases in his face granted shadowy aspect in the candle and firelight. “He is here for Master Tabir’s pupil.”
Fir’umil drew up his hood and turned for the door, the heady fragrance of his spell components swirling about him. “I’ll see to this jailor of yours,” he offered, speaking over his shoulder. “Lobiere Bim, you said Mal’undil?”
“If memory serves.”
A soft chuckle from the wizard as he exited the room. “Memory serves us all, half-elven.”
Down the hall, the thump of the wizard’s staff marked his passage to the front of the shop and out into the night.
Quarrelsome as always, Fir’umil Osseus, Caleb thought to himself. Always the same with that one, a never ending duel between the elf’s pride and propriety. Not for the first time, Caleb wondered at Tabir’s choice of pupil.
“Perhaps I should accompany him,” Olivia rose from the table, looking into the shadowed hallway behind Hindre. “The hour is late and Misery Row is no place for a pit viper, much less…”
“There is no need, for I have a feeling I know the man who came calling for our esteemed wizard.” Caleb raised a questioning eye-brow towards Hindre.
A squeeze of the forehead and a stiffening of the shoulders in his assistant’s bearing told him all he needed to know. There were few people who troubled his old friend; fact was you could count them on the bad hand of Linkah Four-fingers.
A gentle touch on Olivia’s arm and the Bard offered his insight. “It would seem that Tabir’s bondsman will be accompanying Fir’umil this late evening.”
Olivia looked to Hindre, “Alaric?”
Hindre nodded, snorted his own derision for the name and turned back to the front of the shop muttering about egotism and men of hardened natures. Not all of the old man’s words were fit for children.
“Never understood why Tabir suffers his company.” Olivia returned to her chair and took up her quill once more, notating in a corner of a sheet that the lead on LB would be followed.
“Who, Alaric or Fir’umil?” Mal’undil seemed to have relaxed a few measures with the wizard’s departure.
“Both.” The right side of Olivia’s lips turned upwards in a grin. The gesture cut a mischievous facet in her normally serious beauty.
Caleb saw Karthan and Zandra sharing a brief word and smiled warmly in apology. “Fir’umil takes some getting used to, that’s for certain, my new friends. But he is a quick study and has an acute sense of things which has been an aide to us all on several occasions.”
“Not bad in a scrap, either.” The paladin offered. “Only a few of the higher level mages I’ve seen are faster at spell-slinging than that one.”
“But it comes at a cost.”
Caleb held up a hand towards Mal’undil before the half-elf continued. “Now, now, Mal, the wizard has been through a lot. A little latitude is necessary when dealing with one such as him.”
Mal’undil shrugged, not quite sold on the Bard’s words but willing to accept them out of loyalty. “Guess he’s better than Alaric the Grim.”
With a wink, Caleb returned his focus to Karthan and Zandra. “I believe you asked if we would embark upon this hunt tonight.”
Karthan nodded.
“I think a few hours sleep will do us some good. At first light, Mal’undil and Lau will most assuredly benefit from you accompaniment to Copperwood.”
In a matter of moments, the paladin had gathered her materials into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll make my report to the Temple this evening, then return tomorrow morning. Lord Caleb, perhaps you’ll join me in paying a visit to the Ta residence then?”
“It would be my pleasure, Chaplain-Protector.”
A touch of amusement swam behind the paladin’s eyes. She bid her farewells to the others and made her exit.
“For you two,” Caleb said to Karthan and Zandra, “I have a wonderful room awaiting you directly above this one. It’s sizeable, with two beds for you and a comfort bed for Thorandil here.”
Caleb waited for any questions from the two elves before summoning Hindre to show them the way upstairs.
Sense Motive
He kept his silence for a moment, held the anger tight within him until it dissolved in the furnace of his will, Zandra could see it all play out. It is so sad that this is the way you have chosen to deal with the loss of your father.
"Oh yes, young mistress,” his voice nearly a whisper. “There are many in this place with the skill and the power to heal my crushed throat. I hold onto my…so that I am always aware of my limits.”
Slipping his hand further down upon the staff, Fir’umil stared deeply into Zandra’s eyes. "A few months in the City at the Center of the World will most undoubtedly see to it that the pretty face you choose to wear and the one you keep hidden will both see their share of scars.” Wiith a smile that never touched his eyes, Fir’umil gestured towards the others in the room. “Seek confirmation from any of these adventurers and they’ll have a most gratifying list of maladies…some more than others.”
With a warm smile and a cheerfulness Zandra cocks her head, "We'll, we again thank you for your insight." "I hope that I may bear my scars and burdens as well as you have weathered them."
Thank you Caleb, it appears Absolon has done little to nothing to improve our cousin's personality. I fear that he walks a dark path now. I am glad he held his spell. Had he made a move it would have been unfortunate. He needs more than a crushed throat to remind himself of his limitations. Perhaps a lesson in humility would be in order. His self assuredness will harm him someday. The only thing that is stronger than his need for power is his need to tear down, destroy and put down those around him. This is why he came here, to seek power for none would show him the magic he craved in the Elven Court for they knew his heart.
It appears that weeks at sea and my cousins presence have caused this celebration to come to its end. I will retire.
With cheerfulness and a warm smile, Zandra cocked her head, "Well, we again thank you for your insight." She moved towards him and lay a hand over the wizard's wear it held is staff. "I hope that I may bear my scars and burdens as well as you have weathered them." She felt the blood beneath his skin, sensed the fevered pace of the wizard's life under her finger tips. Looking at his movements, his speech, his stature… There was confidence in him built on experience. But further than that…
Soft footsteps from the hallway moved into the silence of the room and interrupted Zandra’s thoughts. Caleb's servant emerged from the hall and nodded towards the front of the shop, gnarled hands at his sides. "A guest, sir."
Fir'umil took the opportunity to extract himself from Zandra's touch. But it had been long enough for the druid to punctuate the growing picture of her distant relative. The wizard was of a single mindedness she'd never experienced. He was an owl in the deep wood, sighted in on a red-furred mink, seeing all the branches and underbrush between him and his target. He wouldn’t move from the shadows of his perch until all avenues were seen, all dangers accounted for…but he would not be dissuaded. The mink would die.
She looked to his neck, some of the bruising barely peeking out from under the scarf he wore. He carried it not just as a reminder of his limits, it was a promise that he would push beyond all those limits to see his goal attained. She saw in the wizard's bearing there was no good or evil, there was just his will, there was just a means to an end.
Caleb shifted in his seat, he'd been studying Fir'umil, bushy-grey brows furrowed in consternation. His blue eyes, concern and questions and conclusions swirling in their depths, turned towards Hindre. "A guest this late? Was I expecting someone else?"
Hindre shook his head, deep creases in his face granted shadowy aspect in the candle and firelight. "The caller is here for Master Tabir's pupil."
Fir'umil stared down at Zandra, new judgments being levied…the owl finding another tree around which he must navigate… Then, just as his study of Zandra had begun, it was over. His course alterations made, Fir’umil drew up his hood and turned for the door, the heady fragrance of his spell components swirling in his wake. "I'll see to this jailor of yours," he offered, speaking over his shoulder. "Lobiere Bim, you said Mal'undil?"
"If memory serves."
A soft chuckle from the wizard as he exited the room. "Memory serves us all, half-elven."
Down the hall, the thump of the wizard's staff marked his passage to the front of the shop and out into the night.
Quarrelsome as always, Fir'umil Osseus, Caleb thought to himself. Always the same with that one, a never ending duel between the elf's pride and propriety. Not for the first time, Caleb wondered at Tabir's choice of pupil. But there were other aspects of the young elven wizard which overshadowed his lack of social graces.
"Perhaps I should accompany him," Olivia rose from the table, looking into the shadowed hallway behind Hindre. "The hour is late and Misery Row is no place for a pit viper, much less…"
"There is no need, for I have a feeling I know the man who came calling for our esteemed wizard." Caleb raised a questioning eye-brow towards Hindre.
A squeeze of the forehead and a stiffening of the shoulders in his assistant's bearing told him all he needed to know. There were few people who troubled his old friend; fact was you could count them on the bad hand of Linkah Four-fingers.
A gentle touch on Olivia's arm and the Bard offered his insight. "It would seem that Tabir's bondsman will be accompanying Fir'umil this late evening."
Olivia looked to Hindre, "Alaric?"
Hindre nodded, snorted his own derision for the name and turned back to the front of the shop muttering about egotism and men of hardened natures. Not all of the old man's words were fit for children.
"Never understood why Tabir suffers his company." Olivia returned to her chair and took up her quill once more, notating in a corner of a sheet that the lead on LB would be followed.
"Who, Alaric or Fir'umil?" Mal'undil seemed to have relaxed a few measures with the wizard's departure.
"Both." The right side of Olivia's lips turned upwards in a grin. The gesture cut a mischievous facet in her normally serious beauty.
Caleb saw Karthan and Zandra sharing a brief word and smiled warmly in apology. "Fir'umil takes some getting used to, that's for certain, my new friends. But he is a quick study and has an acute sense of things which has been an aide to us all on several occasions."
"Not bad in a scrap, either." The paladin offered. "Only a few of the higher level mages I've seen are faster at spell-slinging than that one."
"But it comes at a cost."
Caleb held up a hand towards Mal'undil before the half-elf continued. "Now, now, Mal, the wizard has been through a lot. A little latitude is necessary when dealing with one such as him."
Mal'undil shrugged, not quite sold on the Bard's words but willing to accept them out of loyalty. "Guess he's better than Alaric the Grim."
With a wink, Caleb returned his focus to Karthan and Zandra. "I believe you asked if we would embark upon this hunt tonight." Karthan nodded, his bearing more guarded. "I think a few hours sleep will do us some good. At first light, Mal'undil and Lau will most assuredly benefit from you accompaniment to Copperwood."
In a matter of moments, the paladin had gathered her materials into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll make my report to the Temple this evening, then return tomorrow morning. Lord Caleb, perhaps you'll join me in paying a visit to the Ta residence then?"
"It would be my pleasure, Chaplain-Protector."
A touch of amusement swam behind the paladin's eyes. She bid her farewells to the others and made her exit.
"For you two," Caleb said to Karthan and Zandra, "I have a wonderful room awaiting you directly above this one. It's sizeable, with two beds for you and a comfort bed for Thorandil here." Caleb waited for any questions from the two elves before summoning Hindre to show them the way upstairs.
“Thank you Caleb, it appears Absalom has done little to nothing to improve our cousin's personality. I fear that he walks a dark path now. I am glad he held his spell. Had he made a move it would have been unfortunate. He needs more than a crushed throat to remind himself of his limitations. Perhaps a lesson in humility would be in order. His self assuredness will harm him someday. The only thing that is stronger than his need for power is his need to tear down, destroy and put down those around him. This is why he came here; to seek power for none would show him the magic he craved in the Elven Court for they knew his heart.
“It appears that weeks at sea and my cousin’s presence have caused this celebration to come to its end. I will retire.”
“Fir’umil has many faults, Karthan Dawnsetter, but he carries much in the way of obligation.” Caleb stood, glancing over towards Mal’undil and Lau and then Olivia. They were still hanging on the pronouncement that Fir’umil was blood to these two elves.
Mal’undil braced his elbow on the table and waggled a finger towards Caleb. “And how did you orchestrate this, Scroll? Four Grey Elves in Absalom, all of blood relation?”
“Fate played a hand in the boarding of the voyage, but the wind in the sails has been Fir’umil all along.”
“He’s not putting any wind in my sails, old boy.” Mal’undil leaned back and crossed his arms, obviously irritated he’d not been brought in on the full picture. “The only thing being put any where by anybody is a pain in my arse by you.”
Lau and Olivia remained silent, digesting the information and the potential ramifications. The paladin went so far as to reclaim her seat.
“Rump-pa-pah-pa-pah…” Caleb sung in two alternating notes, low in register. The fire in the hearth, having been dying down, brightened and grew until it licked at the small iron cauldron. Moving slowly towards the fireplace, stretching his back as he went, he said, “Let’s have some tea to end the evening.”
“I think in one shape or another, we’ve known Fir’umil for 6 years.” Caleb smiled towards Karthan and Zandra, then reached for a towel above the mantle so he could lift the lid to the cauldron. “Not long by elven standards, I know, but a significant period in human thinking. Long enough to know his story and to better understand his motivations.”
Mal’undil still had his dander up. “Here’s me hoping these two are more akin to Hal’dorel than Fir’umil.”
“You should reconcile with the young wizard. After all you know the pain he suffers.” Caleb opened the box also on the mantle, a small, oaken rectangle that held his tea leaves. As he moved, he set a rhythm to the process…a tap here, the cauldron’s lid clanking, the sound of the chain from which it was suspended over the fire.
Mal’s mouth opened then shut again. Sighing with closed eyes, the half-elf waived for Caleb to continue.
“There is no great mystery to Fir’umil Osseus once you know his story.” Caleb grabbed a chair near the fire so he could watch over the water. “Hal’dorel told us as much when they arrived, even if Fir’umil was unwilling to share initially. Point of fact, I actually heard the tale of Hal and Fir’umil from an old friend in Greengold. You remember Oleron don’t you? How we helped him with that trouble in the north?” He looked to Mal and Lau, continuing the subtle rhythm of his movements.
Mal’s face broke into a grin as he shook his head. “No, I remember you talking a clan of Minotaurs out of killing us and I remember me wondering if I’d brought an extra pair of breeches.”
“I lost my quarterstaff that day,” Lau mentioned wistfully.
Olivia chuckled a bit. “Didn’t one of them gnaw it in half?”
Caleb cast a net over his memory, enjoying the change in tone and tempo of the conversation. “Well, it was Oleron who contacted me 8 years ago regarding Hal and Fir’umil’s situation. He wanted someone he could trust conducting the young wizard into Tabir the Grey’s care. He also told me of how Fir’umil witnessed his father’s abduction.”
His demeanor softened, Mal’undil spoke. “Look, I know I beat on the guy a bit too often. I get why he’s so driven. But don’t you think Karthan has something? Perhaps it’s not so much his desire to rescue his father we should be focusing on, perhaps it’s the elf’s methods.”
“I would like to disagree with Karthan’s observation,” Caleb admitted. His brow drew down briefly, anguish and regret. The bard looked to the two elf siblings. “My understanding of Fir’umil is that the Council of Elders would not aide him in his research of the Shadow Plane due to his youth and the speed at which he wanted to learn. This led to him seeking the aide of Tabir the Grey.
“All his life now is a charted course towards his father. So long as he breathes, he will not stop until he can bring his father back or be assured of his demise. Every ounce of motion and effort is a step along that path.” Caleb looked to Olivia. “Even the assistance he provides to your Temple is not without some element to further his work.”
He stopped long enough to check the cauldron’s contents, then slipped back into his chair. He directed his attention to the siblings. “Are there further insights you would like to share?”
The grey elves settled in to their new chambers. Karthan was less than relaxed despite how richly appointed to room was as he sunk down into the eastern style pillow topped mattress and tried to find a pillow not so overstuffed that it kept his head at an awkward angle. Tossing he lamented that he had traded the constant rocking of the blasted human built ship that hammered its way through the ocean for the new tempest of having met Fir'umil and all the other drama this city was sure to bring to them. Finally unable to take it any longer he rolled over and sat up to confront his sister.
"Why must you insist on stirring up drama at every opportunity!? You know the darkness that is in Fir'umils heart. Why did you tempt him to use his magic against us? You place all of us in danger by doing so. I was afraid that if your tongue didn't start a fight your darn cat was going to draw first blood. As estranged as Fir'umil may be to the court he is still of our blood. Though he may not even know us, I am in no rush to be deemed a Kinslayer, your safety would leave me no choice, but to strike and strike hard for we both know his magic has grown."
Zandra was splayed out over bed and burried under the covers. The silks and sateens of the bedclothes were a welcome sensation against her skin. She was soaking it all in along with the exotic scents and potpourris in little sachets sprinkled about. As fun as the adventure was coming across the ocean Zandra welcomed the soft warm bed and the feeling of utter cleanliness that she felt after her hot bath with the extensive and expensive collections of salts, sugar scrubs, ointments, powders, perfumes, tonics, creams, oils and extracts that had been left to her disposal in the washroom. Her feminine revelation was cut short by her brother's insistant tone. Sighing she stretched and then sat up to face him.
"Surely you don't think that he is so black hearted as to strike down a fair maiden in the presence of a paladin, a master bard and his henchmen do you? Besides I knew that you and Thor were there and would make sure that I came to no harm . . . Huh!? Isn't that right my little Thorsey-warsey, who's my kitty kitty . . . " Zandra said as she scratched her devoted animal companion under his chin whiskers right where he liked it.
"Cousin Fir is a dour one, but I don't think he is as evil as he is far beyond driven to succeed at retrieving his father or his fathers body. I did what I did in order to get close to him and sense his life energy and to see what his heart and blood would speak to me. It was . . . fruitful. He stands on the fence. He is not evil per say, but not a virtuous soul either. Now lets get some rest."
He dwelt in the stillness, listening to dust motes dance upon the beams of a new sun. Down on his knees, forehead upon the stones, hands outstretched palms down, the monk brought himself low before the altar so there was no room for pride to stand in his heart. Around him, other monks and priests were offering their prayers to Erastil. Their burnt offerings swirled about the altar, a fragrant renewal of their dedications to peace and wisdom. Early hours at the temple, the sun just peaking over the city walls, and the shared breath and focus greeting the new day, it was a magical time.
Lau Fu Shan lifted his forehead from the stone floor and drew his hands along its smooth surface as he ended his meditations. The night's sleep had set his mind on the next day's duties and his morning katas and meditations refreshed his spirit. Within that renewed sense of peace there came a clearer grasp of the things said and unsaid the night before. Of the group, Lau had known Fir'umil the longest. Within him, the changes he’d seen in the elven mage were perhaps the most unsettling. The longer he knew Fir’umil, the more the elf persisted on storming away from peace. But Lau had not the pain of loss the elf suffered. Despite all his training, he knew not how he would live and react were he to face the same situation.
One of his students bowed greeting after turning from the altar. Lau smiled humbly in return. He admired the man's progress. Of the dozen or so students in his charge, Te-Long exhibited a true balance between the need for martial abilities and the central tenets of a peaceful existence.
Zi Fu, the jacket common to Breythorans, fastened over his shoulders, Lau stretched to the balls of his feet and moved towards the temple exit. There he gathered his shoulder satchel and staff and looked to the East. The sun was cut in twine by the edge of the city wall, time to leave the Ascendant Court district and make for the Northeast Gate. Mal’undil would be there with the others.
******
“Took you long enough,” Mal greeted as Lau emerged from the throngs lining up to exit the city. “Thought you decided to sleep in...”
The monk bowed, fist in palm to the three awaiting his arrival. “My apologies.”
A flurry of return bows and other forms of welcome and the group made their way through the Northeast Gate to Copperwood. Outside the walls, the mixture of the salt and brine of the nearby ocean mixed with the sour smells of animal dung and the masses of “Copperheads” lining the road into Absalom. Their group received a wide berth, Thor seeing to it others were properly intimidated simply by his presence.
There were many strange animals in the City at the Center of the World, but tigers were a rarity outside the zoo and traveling carnivals. Thorandil was even stranger in that Zandra’s petite figure sat astride a saddle made just for the cat.
Karthan rode upon the horse he’d brought from over the seas while Mal’undil rested upon Gertrude, his camel mount. As they cleared the gate, Mal’undil reached down to bring Lau into the saddle behind him. Balanced upon the camel’s hump, Lau brought out his small bamboo Dizi (flute) and began to play Gertrude’s favorite tune. The camel grunted and snorted approval.
Mal hummed a few bars before speaking. “We’ll start at the Toiling Gent, see if we can’t pick up Emilura’s trail there.”
“Did Master Caleb provide instruction before you left his shop?” Lau asked, pausing his tune.
“Nope. The old man was gone before they woke up.” He nodded towards Karthan and Zandra. “I arrived to see Hindre warming up some eggs and elvish grain crackers for our lucky guests.”
“I am to assume there is nothing left?”
Mal patted his stomach and grinned over his shoulder to Lau. “Sorry. Not my fault you chose the life of austerity.”
The monk shrugged his regret and returned to the Dizi.
Ahead of them, the short road split Copperwood in two, cobblestone and hard-packed mud and a gauzy, morning haze trapping the miasma of earthen smells and animal waste close to the ground. Most of the buildings were a mixture of heavy woods and stonework, signs of the older workshops and warehouses underneath. The denizens were different outside the walls, a tension among them as they saw the people leaving Absalom to do business or perhaps to give them work within the city.
There was a quiet desperation to Copperwood that circled Lau’s heart like a buzzing bite-me, ready to infect him with the same feeling. He remained focused on his music, eyes centered ahead to focus on nothing and everything as his old master had instructed him. To focus too long on one thing will cost you the treasure of all things…
They left the main road, traveling down mud streets and alleyways until they arrived at the eastern side of town. A heavy oaken sign hung still in the dead, humidity of the morning, the effigy of an old man bent low beneath a mound of chopped wood in a carry-all on his back. In the old man’s hands was a shovel, blade cutting into the dirt. The sign was scarred and a single arrow, the end broken off, was driven deep into the word “Toiling”. The arrow was a customer’s testimony that no toiling would be accepted in the tavern.
They rode around the back of the tavern to the barn, there were no porters at this establishment.
Mal’undil looked towards Karthan and Zandra, “Do what you want, but I think Thor would be best suited to stand guard over our mounts.”
The tiger growled low at the half-elf’s words.
“Hold on, big fella.” He held up his hands as he looped the reigns of his camel around a post. “I’m just saying, Gertrude here would love the company of a strong and intelligent companion such as yourself to keep the riffraff from taking her away.”
The cat looked on dubiously.
“Besides, they aren’t that frequent, but there may be one or two Centaurs in the area and your horse can go a long way towards not offending them if he was in the proximity of Thor here.”
Mal shifted his great coat on his shoulders, flexing his wrists and making sure the edges of the garment weren’t getting caught on his short sword. Lau noted on the half-elf’s other hip there dangled a cudgel. “As I said, it’s up to you.”
With that, the half-elf headed towards the alleyway leading to the front of the tavern. From inside, the raucous laughter and cheers belied the early morning hours. Most likely, the ones who’d passed out the night before were wide awake and ready to continue the act of drowning the desperate notes of their lives.
For himself, Lau slipped his Dizi into a small pocket inside his jacket, grabbed up his staff and followed Mal’undil. “Be mindful, my new friends.” He spoke to the elves. “This is a nettle’s bush of villainy. We must be cautious.”
Lastly, as you enter the Toiling Gent, go ahead and roll a Perception Check for both Karthan and Zandra.
As Karthan dozed in the field his keen ears alerted him to the sound of approaching slippers and brought him awake. Rolling to his feet Karthan prepared a quick excuse which died on his lips as his benefactor made a curt move of his fingers and spoke, "The young do not desire the discipline of the Path, but rather their curiosity drives them to try every fruit from the tree. Thus it is that so many take the Path of Wandering or the Path of Damnation in their first years of adulthood, and so the great tragedy of our kind is played out again and again as the number of our people shrink from generation to generation."
Karthan grimaced and responded, "I am sorry, I will redouble my efforts. I . . .
Zandra chuckled at her brother as he came out of a deep sleep from her gentle jostling. "Hey it's time to wake up and gather gear, but first wipe the sleep out of your eyes and come downstairs! I can smell something cooking that just promises to be heavenly. Who were you talking to anyways? In your dream I mean?"
Hindre lifted the pan away from the heat of the wood-burning stove, careful to not let the crackers over crisp. Above the kitchen, something stirred. He cocked his head to the right, listening. They were moving.
One hand, gnarled by age and hardened by experience, held the pan above the stove. His other drew a pocket watch from the vest he wore. A small grin and the watch went back into the pocket. Hindre flicked his wrist and the crackers flipped to place their opposite sides to the heat. He continued his cooking, head still cocked askew as he listened.
Soon...soon...
Thor padded his way into the kitchen scenting the air. It smelled of meat snacks, sweet goodies and other yum yums. Ah yes there is the food servant. Why is he not giving me food? Oh, ok, you hairless ape, I guess I need to play the food servants games they liked. Like placing paws on them, getting on your back legs and walking or nuzzling them. Thor set about getting something to eat.
Zandra skipped down the stairs in time to see Thor pressing Hindre against the cabinets with his anvil sized head rubbing and purring as the man tried to maintain control of his cooking implements and remain on his feet from the big cats attentions.
"Oh Hindre! Thor likes you! That's a good thing you know, he is a good judge of character. Aren't you? Oh yes you are! Come over here you big kitty and let Hindre do his work!"
Karthan rolled his eyes at his sister and set his equipment by the doorway, everything meticulously stowed, strapped and arraigned. Then he sat down for breakfast. Even if it didn't show on his face he was looking forward to whatever it was that smelled so good.
Thors feline face looked impassive as he sat regally in the temple the strange small ones had constructed to worship him in. The elf cubs had learned the old music man had left the den. Zandra had his saddle out, there was always excitement and hunting when the saddle went on, the cone is another story he thought angrily. The cubs had been on the road for a long time they were bringing everything with them. Did this mean he would not be returning to his temple?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------
Thor was being left outside . . . Again . . . With the horse, who was forbidden meat. But at least the "Centars" might come and if they tried to take his horse they might be tasty.
Karthan followed Mel and Lau through the doors to the human swil hall. It smelled of filth, feces, skin maladies, unwashed bodies, stale dribbled drinks and smells much less identifiable yet no less rankling to the nose. "These humans are like the rats that infest and force eagles from their nests. This is the race that will inherit the earth that mine now retreats from? They are a diverse race and the manner in which they live even more so. These must be the underclass of their society." Though his face and eyes remained passive and unemotional as a player of a six tiered dual delochie game, Karthan was watching and listening to everything using practiced techniques to attune keen senses to the environment to help sift through the background chatter and focus on the more meaningful sights and sounds.
Perception
Karthan, followed the half elfs lead ready to unleash his offenses if necessary, but hoping to look dangerous enough not to challenge and humble enough not to cause offense.
Zandra frowned as Karthan herded her to the side and stepped in front of her protectively as the group entered the human drinking club. She made sure that he didn't see her reaction for she understood he was just doing it out of love, but someday he would have to accept she was a grown woman now and not defenseless by any stretch of the imagination. Turning her attention back the scene in front of her, her large eyes drank the scene around her in. These humans were so diverse like species of birds on a far off tropical island. Natural selection and isolation led to different subspecies of elves, but nothing like the variation among humans. Unlike the elven subspecies, who differed in magical and or physical adaptations, the humans differed in size, shape, facial characteristics and skin and hair shading. It was fantastic to behold. There were exotic perfumes, and unfamiliar food and drink smells in the air and in the corner a dark haired Varisian girl whirled and danced with colorful pieces of silk the rhythm of her hips and the prominent way she presented her partially exposed chest definitely a kind of mating or courtship dance . . . And it appeared to be working, she smirked. Human men were even more visual and easily tempted than elves, Zandra would use that to her advantage if needed.
Perception
There were more important things than what met the eye however. Using the noise and her small size to her advantage she cast Detect Magic and surveyed the scene anew.
After that she closed her eyes and ungloved a hand to touch one of the exposed beams of the building. Such activity and energy, what the humans might have lacked in individual complexity they more than made up for as a whole, this place was like a beehive teeming with motion and emotion, but there was a dark aggressiveness here and lusting. She pressed her whole hand to the beam to see if the nature of this place might reveal itself further . . .
There is a foulness most establishments can only dream to attain, a richness of character that stains the most seasoned walls and calls to mind the worst representations of the lower strata of society…the Toiling Gent was all the worst and all the best in quality for a proper tavern in Copperwood. Past the heavy, oaken doors of the 2-story establishment, the miasma of smells and filth can be overwhelming for most. The occupants in the vast common room are a mix of humans, a couple dwarves (one particularly foul-tempered one behind the bar), a half-orc teamed with two brutish humans acting as muscle (they mostly stay in the back, behind a pair of batwing doors, but emerge to clean up a mess or two).
Scattered amongst the round tables of the common room, the denizens are tired workers, most coming off an all-nighter at the local work house ready to drink or gamble their wages in one of the more notorious taverns in Copperwood. There are dice games, assorted card games ranging from Rook to a clutch of older men in a corner table playing at Harrow deck for an ancient game of Towers. These older men were dressed better than the rest, others in the tavern gave them furtive gazes of resentment.
Towards the right, rear wall, stairs lead up to another area with tables. Through the bannister the waitress serving whoever was in attendance was fairer than those serving those in the common room.
In the back corner, a raised platform holds a trio of entertainers. One scrawny, ill-favored looking fellow claws at a lute, his raspy tenor singing melancholy refrains. The second performer runs a consistent rhythm on a worn drum. The last member of the troupe is a dark-haired woman made more attractive than her given features by her sinuous maneuvers to the music.
Every person in the place, including the two or three serving girls is armed; knives, short-swords, a rusty cutlass or two, even a crossbow leaned against one table where three men and a Halfling played a game of cards.
Based on his role, Karthan sees…
…one of the older men at the rear table take particular note of Mal’undil and Lau, recognition plain in his pale-blue eyes. After studying the newly arrived group, the older man goes back to his game.
…the scrawny bard plucks an out of place note but recovers quickly when he sees Mal’undil.
…several of the men at the surrounding tables sight directly on Zandra, some openly leering in approval. Not all possess there entire compliment of teeth.
…Karthan gets the alarming sense that every single weapon in this place, despite being sheathed, is pointed right at his head.
------------
Based on her role and her casting of Detect Magic, Zandra sees…
…resonating under her hand, the wood bleeds with the desperation and foulness of the tavern. (Picture the paranoia scene in LOTR when Frodo is at the Inn of the Prancing Pony). Within the walls of the Toiling Gent, many years of nigh unspeakable forms of evil have been cogitated, formulated or committed.
…there are minor incantations or cantrips in and among the people. Several charms or other minor relics. The iron-banded cudgel wielded by the dwarf behind the bar has an enchantment to keep it from being broken. The room at the top of the stairs has been magically warded.
…there is a sickening sense of darkness through the bat-wing doors at the back of the common room. Cruelty and malice and other emotions better left alone.
…there is a basement to this place…
In some small way, it was like a homecoming for Mal’undil. This was one of the first locations he’d used to acquire jobs when he arrived in the region. In his youthful exuberance, he’d thought of trying to cut it in the big city, but there were far too many folks who were far more knowledgeable…and far better equipped to open his throat to avoid further competition. No, the Toiling Gent had provided a “friendlier” location from which to begin his career and keep his jugular intact.
He sniffed at the sweat and blood and what passed for ale in the tavern and smiled broadly. In the far corner, a wiry looking bard plucked at a beaten lute while his fellow performer pounded out the rhythm for a rather zealous Varisian dancer. The bard’s voice, despite his frame, was a gravely, baritone well suited for his chosen tune. If Mal was up on his Riddleport tunes…and being that he’d been in the Varisian pirate haven only a few years ago, the scrawny entertainer was croaking through a passable rendition of the Red Right Hand,
”Past the square, past the bridge
Past the mills, past the stacks,
On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with a red right hand…”
The bar took up the whole left wall, a cracked mirror with shelving flanking, bottles with worn out labels promised the spirits of long dead nations to carry you away to oblivion…if your coin was bright and your look didn’t annoy Old Oak.
“Oy, sip dis ya freeloadin’ piss-cup!” A loopy man, clothing soiled and torn in the way of tannery workers, sprayed blood upwards in a beautiful arc as he flew off his barstool and hit the floor with thud.
Mal moved slightly to the left as a few bits of crimson landed next to him. He looked to the bar, a cudgel swinging back and away, gripped in a fist adorned with heavy rings to match the thick fingers of one of the ugliest dwarves Mal’undil had had the displeasure of laying eyes upon. The cudgel, nicked and chipped and weighted by an iron band at the end, had more appeal than the face of the dwarf who wielded it.
Old Oak Kreig ran the tavern firmly. One misstep and you were escorted to the floor by either his fist or his personal weapon, Bruiser. If you were still conscious, then the Oak’s men would see to it you weren’t.
In fact, they arrived on cue, grabbed up the fallen tannery worker (who was quite unconscious) and dragged him to the back of the tavern, disappearing through the batwing doors leading to a place most didn’t want to go if they didn’t work for Old Oak.
Mal felt a chill run the course of his back, his hackles standing on end as he felt eyes upon him and his group. A homecoming, yes. But one he’d rather have left beyond the long shadow of his past.
He made sure his coat hung loosely, right hand flexing as he studied the population of the tavern.
Glancing over his shoulder to Lau, he offered his roguish grin, his left hand brushing at his stubbled chin. “At least the Oak hasn’t lost his touch, eh?”
Lau didn’t respond. His dark brown eyes were studying the area of the bar.
“Hey! We don’t serve dere kind in ‘ere!” A thump and crash as the old dwarf managed to bound from a pair of boxes behind the bar to plant his feet on the counter top. He waived Bruiser menacingly towards the front of the establishment. He wore have leathers, beard braided through with an assortment of rings and iron bearings. The bushy, grey brows were drawn down into a menacing V as spittle launched from his lips. “Get ‘em out or I’ll sell ‘em ta Dyrianna.”
The batwing doors came open, the half-orc emerging from whatever he’d been doing to the fallen tannery worker. He wiped his chin, a toothy grin across his malicious visage. “I think we keep da wee one, boss…” Black eyes upon Zandra, then surveying the group. “…Den we drip-dry da rest.”
One eye narrowing, hand gripping the handle of his cudgel until the wood creaked, Old Oak Kreig hocked up a fresh one and shot it into the tankard of a passed out barfly to his left. “I don’t pay ya ta think, Harole…”
Mal’undil held up a hand, he sensed Karthan tense. “Steady,” he warned in Elven. Then in Common, “Look here, you old Minotaur turd…I’ll give you a copper and call it even.”
Silence. The bardic troupe had finished their song and not begun another. Did the skinny singer smirk?
The dwarf glared at the half-elf, muscles taught in the jaw beneath his thick beard.
Then there was laughter. Old Oak Kreig guffawed, left hand slapping his knee while he swung Bruiser in the dank air towards Harole the half-orc. “Clear outta table ya half-wit!”
He hopped down from the bar in a single bound while Harole grabbed up a pair of men hold up at a table near the front door. They moved quickly after a thumping, even gathering extra chairs so all of Mal’s group could be seated along with an extra for Kreig.
Mal nodded for Lau to get the group seated while he crossed the common room to greet the dwarf. “Can’t say it’s nice to see you, Kreig.”
“Mutual, half-breed.” Kreig accepted the offered hand. “Whaddya want? I thought you was done wid da likes o’ us when ya ran off wid da Scroll.”
The half-elf folded his arms, “I’m looking for Emilura.”
“Bit late, aintcha?”
Mal frowned.
“Lura’s not been in fer a long while.”
“She still running with Lamech?” Mal’undil felt eyes burrowing into the back of his head. But he stayed focused on the dwarf. With Lau and the others, he had plenty of folks watching his back.
Kreig nodded, something clicked shut behind the old dwarf’s eyes. He gestured to the table behind Mal. “Have a seat, half-breed. Lemme look in ta something…”
Mal watched him trundle off towards the batwing doors. As he went thru to the back, Kreig nodded to the bard.
The scrawny singer stamped his feet in a dirge like rhythm and began a new song.
”She was a middle class girl
She was in over her head
She thought she would stand up in the deep end
He had a ready smile
He had gold to drop
She thought she had the moon in her pocket
But now she's dead...so very dead...forever dead and lovely now
I've always been told to remember this...
Don't let a fool kiss you
Never marry for love
He was hard to impress
He knew everyone's secrets
He wore her on his arm just like jewelry
He never gave but he got, he kept her on a leash
He's not the kind of reigns you fall asleep at
But now she's dead...forever dead...forever dead and lovely now
Come closer, look deeper you've fallen fast just like a gull on a stormy sea
She made up someone to be
She made up somewhere to be from
This is one business in the world where that's no problem at all
Everything that is left
They will only plow under
Soon every one you know will be gone
And now she's dead…forever dead and lovely now
Now she's dead…forever dead and lovely now
I've always been told to remember this...
Don't let a kiss fool you
Never marry for love
Everything has its price
What's more romantic than dying in the moonlight?
Now they're all watching the sea
What's lost can never be broken
Her roots were sweet but they were so shallow
And now she's dead…forever dead and lovely now…”
Zandra had begun to drink too deeply of the Mana and Gia of this place and fought to keep her mind buffered from the screaming tormented under song of the place. Her awareness split between worlds her subconscious was calling her back with urgency to the present. Though stoic on the outside in her mind she struggled as a swimmer desperately trying to break the surface in order to give breath to burning lungs.
Karthan focused on the dwarf who had presented himself as a large target on the bar. His threats were blunt and raw. Karthan centered himself, in a blinding single movement he would erupt into a blur and loose two arrows at his target, he could get two maybe four more off before he had to draw his long knives and start the dance of blades. 6 maybe 7 second from the start would mark the arrival of Thor answering his mental call. The cat would crash into the assembly below scattering the noncombatants and revealing the true targets. By that time the floor would be a mass of tangled grasping thorns and brambles, then the summonings would hit. The troop was ready the stage was set----
"Steady."
Karthan stayed his attack.
Zandra pulled herself back, her eyes rolled back and her pupils shrank to reveal the color of her eyes. Zandra watched the evolution of the scene before her.
Zandra moved to the table that had been offered. sneering she looked at the patron closest to her chosen seat, "Have you no manners? When a lady comes to the table one pulls a chair out for her. Especially if one likes their ears. Once the chair is pulled she waves a hand to clean it with prestidigitation before taking a seat. "Thank you." With an air of confidence and her face set as though a game of towers is to be played she gives the innkeeper a wry smile and introduces herself. "The name is Zandra, and just how much do you think Dyrianna would pay for us Mr. Oak Kreig?
Karthan could not believe what Zandra was doing, Where did that come from? Well too late now best play along . . . And hope she doesn't get us killed. He looked to Lau and Mal for any indication of how to proceed, then adjusted his cloak and took a seat sandwiching her between friendlies. He willed his senses to help him see or sense an attack before it came. Always expecting the vipers strike prevented one from being surprised even when it came from an unseen serpent.
The last man cleared from the table, having completed his task of pulling out Zandra’s chair bobbed a head towards the elf and then towards Harole the half-orc before moving off to be seated elsewhere.
The monk bowed his head to Karthan as the Ranger met his eyes with a gesture for all intents and purposes spoke to following a drifting path. The leaf upon water will be carried by the gentle stream or the rapids to a destination all but assured.
Then the elf-girl focused her attentions on the dwarf as he walked towards the batwing doors leading to the back of the tavern. “The name is Zandra, and just how much do you think Dyrianna would pay for us, Mr. Oak Kreig?”
For all his stoic nature, Lau couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her tone. Next to him, Mal was finding his seat and reaching to the middle of the table to scoop over the deck of cards left behind by the previous occupants. The half-elf froze briefly, his shoulders slumping as he dragged the cards towards him. Mal muttered a phrase the monk didn’t recognize; a question in elven he directed towards the tabletop.
Aglareb qualmisti anfaug il Annatar? (Elven – Do we thirst for the glorious death of pain, oh Lord of Gifts?)
Harole’s brutish brow fractured into a frown, barely tethered hatred for the elves visible in his eyes. “Oh, boss, ya ain’t ta be spoke ta dat way, eh? Want us ta bleed ‘er?”
The monk took stock of what was on the table, seeing the heavy tankard within hands reach. He noted the subtle twitch in Mal’s right wrist. He knew the blade the half-elf kept within the sleeve of his coat.
Kreig was paused at the batwing doors. His stubby fingers brushed along the wood of the door frame, tracing through the odd rune symbol here and there. Still facing the doors, he chuckled. “You a dog, Harole?”
The half-orc’s frown turned to a question as he glanced towards his boss. “Nah…ain’t no dog, guvnah.”
“Den get yer tongue outta my arse ‘n’ watch da bar whilst I go.” Kreig turned slowly, leaning against the door frame and folding his thick arms across his chest. Black eyes stared out from under his grey and black brows and into Zandra’s.
Intimidate Check to go with Kreig’s next words…
Old Oak chuckled, a sound where mirth went to die. “How much? Heh, oh, little moppet, ya know a decision would need makin’…” Twin pools of malice remained, brows altering to a dramatized look of concern as he counted two options on his fingers. “…whedah ta have my boys make up yer face ta all kinds o’ ruin fore I hand ya over…or ta do da work all by me onesies…”
His black eyes rolled to Mal’s. “Control yer fairy-meat, half-breed…”
Lau swallowed, his senses casting about to what was about him, almost finding it hard to turn away from those dark, dwarven eyes.
Lau’s Perception –
Harole was prominent, but he saw others amongst the assorted tables that would be trouble…a dozen or so…even one of the waitress’ eyes fell into that long gaze of readiness the monk recognized all too well. But his attention was ever drawn to the dwarf casually promising death at the back of the common room.
Wisdom Check
Perception Check
Idle threats must be the way of many of these people. First threats, then laughter, then the threat to sell me as a slave, then he clears a table and offers me a seat . . . then back to threats. I would not be of much value at market as a slave if he sold me beaten to a pulp. Perhaps working my face over is another crude sexual reference, like the Vistoni man who said my face decoration would make a perfect target for his own decorations he would work up for me. Ah, well, I shall do nothing to encourage him. I am sure Mal's friendship with this dwarf has some interesting stories and explanations to go along with it, for he certainly does not seem to be Mal's type. I for one don't see the attraction.
Turning to the half elf and oblivious to the situation Zandra continues, "Since you are holding the deck I assume we have time to spare in our search to play a few hands. While aboard our benefactors ship I became quite good at cards, not something one has much exposure to at court. Not too many hands though, lest our companions and my guardian outside become restless and decide to make an entry that would most certainly disrupt the entire inn. It would not be polite to cause such a scene and I would feel responsible if we were to cause any injury.
Karthan had already been on point and ready to strike. His senses taking in everything around him. Mal's seized movement and elvish curse along with Lau's arched eyebrow and looking about we're signs that things were possibly about to bust loose sideways. By Erastil's example, Karthan showed no reaction and was still and silent on the outside while he gathered himself to strike on the inside. "Though the viper is swift and deadly, the mongoose must be still and wait for the viper to strike. For when the viper strikes, the mongoose must strike more swiftly. Strike for the neck of the viper which is only vulnerable when it moves to strike and not before.
“Control yer fairy-meat, half-breed…”
Mal kept his composure, doing his best to maintain eye contact with Kreig. “They’re not mine, Oak.” The half-elf rested a hand on the back of the chair he intended to use…either to sit or for the fight that may have been brewing over the kettle rim.
The dwarf blew out his moustaches and fixed Mal’undil with a thick finger. “They’re wit ya, half-breed.” He nodded towards the upper room. “Ta ’im, dat means yer togedah.”
Mal didn’t turn his gaze from the dwarf. But he knew who the onerous owner of the Toiling Gent meant when he said him. If word from his contacts was true, the him that resided in the upper meeting room of the tavern had risen to a rather esteemed local position.
“My responsibility,” Mal tipped the brim of his hat towards the dwarf. “I understand completely.”
Satisfied, the dwarf turned on his heel and pushed through the batwing doors to the back of the tavern, calling over his shoulder. “Harole! Gi’ yer miserle arse back here!”
The half-orc’s hand had been resting on the head of a jagged-bladed hand axe at his rotting leather belt. He jumped at the dwarf’s call, rubbed a hairy hand across his mouth to gather up some spittle and turned to follow Kreig.
For his part, the scrawny bard brought up the volume of his tune, seeing that the conversation (and tension) was at an end. He launched into a new song, a tune about an old farmer turned thief. A few of the drunken men too delirious to know any better hooted their appreciation.
Zandra nodded towards the deck near the half-elf’s hand. “Since you’re holding the deck, I assume we have time to spare in our search to play a few hands. While aboard our benefactor’s ship I because quite good at cards, not something one has much exposure to at court. Not too many hands, though, lest our companions and my guardian outside become restless and decide to make an entry that would most certainly disrupt the entire inn. It would not be polite to cause such a scene and I would feel responsible if we were to cause any injury.”
Mal was still sorting out the interaction, watching as the half-orc stomped after his boss and through the batwings. The situation here has changed, Mal’undil. We must be more cautious than I thought…
“Cards?”
Lau’s question brought him back to the table. The elves were looking to him, the girl seemed to only have an inkling of the danger, but Karthan was more aware. Mal’undil flexed his right wrist, putting his hidden dagger back to rights. “Cards, yes indeed my friends.”
The monk glanced to his right, the general direction of the stairs that lead to the upper gathering room. Then he looked towards the table of sharper dressed humans near the table off the left of the stairs.
Mal’undil began to deal the cards, a set normally reserved for Harrow, or fortune telling but could be used for other games. “Let’s start with a game of Towers, yes?”
Lau nodded. The sharper dressed men were playing that very game, and they were the most immediate threat. Mal would have to be cautious with them. One of them appeared to recognize him too. All had been ready to join the fight had things escalated.
Then there was the second table from the back, the one with four humans and a Halfling. A very interesting Halfling if it turned out to be Linkah Four-fingers as Mal estimated. He narrowed his eyes towards the diminutive figure…the past 8 years sure hadn’t been kind to Linkah… But then again, there appeared to be many changes at the Toiling Gent, most not for the better.
Across from him, Karthan was looking intently, awaiting further explanation or direction. Mal wasn’t sure at this point when it came to reading the two elves. He’d hoped to simply come in, get his information and move on, maybe shake a tree or two. But the near confrontation with Kreig was an unpleasant surprise.
“Old Oak was my first fixer in the city.” Mal’s voice was low, and he kept his lips as still as possible.
“Fixer?” Zandra was intrigued, but she kept her attention on her cards as Mal dealt them.
“My first few jobs in town were arranged by the Oak.” He noted he’d dealt himself the Mute Hag. The half-elf shook it off and continued the deal. “But I don’t recall him being this…cantankerous.”
“If he has not seen Emilura in so long,” Lau arranged his cards and placed the first move, dropping the Sickness card to open. “Where does he go?”
Mal was staring at the card Lau had placed…depending upon the next card…it could mean a misalignment, perhaps the sign of prevented disaster. The half-elf shook his eyes from the card. He wasn’t superstitious, why was he drawn to a game of Towers. A true Harrow was far different than the game they were playing. He looked to Lau and responded.
“Best guess? To get us an audience with Rook, maybe a line on Lamech.” he nodded towards the stairs.
“Permission to operate?”
Mal nodded affirmative to the monk. If Rook was the new local boss, then they would need to pay their respects before asking too many questions.
Karthan lay his card, still focusing on Mal with the expectation of more information. Mal had to reconcile that the elf was both Ranger and older brother. A hunter needed proper information, but the brother would not suffer unneeded danger to befall his sister.
On the table, the half-elf saw the Tangled Briar placed atop the Sickness. I’ll be a son of a…
Lau stepped into the silence, his brow twitched at seeing Mal’s fixation on the cards in play. “Rook was not so elevated our last encounter. He was only a man dedicated to Gannor who controlled the other side of business in Copperwood.”
Mal continued looking at the cards… the Tangled Briar…a card of old deeds. Add to it the Sickness and the Mute Hag, an object or person from long ago that will somehow have great influence on a situation. The object or person in question is one lost or murdered in some foul way… It was his turn, and the most logical and advantageous play would be the Mute Hag.
“Lunacy…” he muttered to himself.
“What?” Zandra was paying closer attention to Mal. Deep pools of eyes studying him.
“Eight years,” Mal recovered. “Eight years is a long time in their business.” He swallowed and played his card. Played the Mute Hag and continued. “Rook could have made his move. He’s one for an excessive amount of patience.”
Lau nodded. “Among other things.”
From the raised platform, the thin bard and his troupe continued the tune…
Old Hollis, he lived on the outside of town
Hollis Brown, he lived on the outside of town
With his wife and five children and his cabin
Broken down, Old Hollis lived outside of town.
He looked for work and money and he walked
A rugged mile
His children are so hungry that they don’t
Know how to smile.
His baby’s eyes look crazy, they’re a-tuggin’ at
Old Hollis’ sleeve.
He walked the floor and wondered why
With every breath he breathed…
In the background, Zandra (due to her Perception check) notices one of the shaper dressed men at the other table playing Towers, bend the ear of a waitress. After a brief exchange, the waitress heads to the bar and through a door behind the bar. (Not the batwing doors)
Karthan knew something was a foot. There was nothing he could add to the conversation at the moment. He and the party were better off if he remained like a colored milk snake. It's outward appearance was exactly the same as the deadly poisonous coral snake. Only one bitten by it would know the difference. Right now Karthan felt like the milkshake in the room. Observers were watching him. He did not want to do anything that would cause them to stop believing he was the coral snake.
“Do you recognize the bard?” It was Lau’s turn. He shifted his cards with one hand while scratching at his chin.
Purposefully not looking to the cards in play, Mal shook his head. “Can’t say I do.”
“Gannor’s old runner.”
Mal’s brows steepled. “Little Agidor?”
“Wouldn’t forget his eyes.” Lau smiled as he placed the Keep atop the card stack. “They spent so much time eyeing the Paladin’s figure.”
“The Scroll will be interested in knowing Gannor’s errand boy has a real job now.”
“His music now has the same tone his eyes possessed 8 years ago.”
Mal smirked despite the unsettled turnings of his stomach. What did the Keep bring to the Harrowing? Was it failure or standing firm in this combination? He licked his lips and thought back to the hands he’d played with Caleb and his friends. Warring with the practical and superstitious natures within him…
“Linkah.”
The name jolted him away from the stack of cards he’d begun staring at again. He let slip an elvish curse as he gave a peripheral glance towards the table where the Halfling was bowing a departure to the rest of his table. On the opposite side of the little man’s chair, the waitress stood with a drink tray in hand. The same waitress that had just disappeared behind the bar earlier…
How had Mal allowed that to go unnoticed? To busy indulging in fortune cards like an old Varisian gypsy.
Linkah Four-fingers turned his way around, keeping his back to the table where Mal and the rest of the party were seated. The diminutive gambler made his way towards the front of the Toiling Gent, snaking his way through the tables and collecting a feathered-cap and walking stick on his way out the door.
Mal’undil looked to his monk friend. “Go.” Then he turned to Karthan and Zandra. “One of you, go with him.”
Mal had to wait for Kreig to return and for an audience with the Rook. For the time being, he was stuck right there in the tavern.
"Zandra, you go with Lau." The elf nodded almost impercevibly to Mal.
Senses check
"but we just. . ."
"Antolle ulua sulrim dolle naa lost ne' tate! Karhan didn't move his head or body but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his sister.
bluff
Emotionally, Zandra was struck as if hit in the face by her brothers words, but then immediately knew there was a danger here or something that she had missed. She covered over her shock as best as she could then rose from the table, inclined her head to her brother, "I am your servant as always." She then casually follows Lau from the room trusting his lead.
Lau stood outside the door, hat in one hand, cloak in the other. The latter he held out to Zandra as she emerged from the tavern. "Less conspicuous than your own, my friend." He said, donning his broad-brimmed hat to shield his eyes from the daylight.
The crowds on the street had increased since they arrived. More sullen souls and ner'do-wells... Finding the halfling Linkah would be difficult.
"I'm afraid your education is proceeding a bit faster than even the Scroll anticipated." He continued his scanning of the crowd. "I will need you're assistance in tracking our small statured quarry...We will follow at a distance, better to be mindful if Linkah Four-fingers is luring us into a trap."
Lau's Perception Check
Erastil let him not turn right towards Absalom...
"I am not finding him...If I may ask, how far can you travel from Thorandir before he can no longer hear you?"
Linkah's location if you get it...
Donning the offered cloak, Zandra easily sees the halfling and articulates to Lau his position. She looks over the rest of the crowd too.
"we have him pegged, now what? What is happening in there? I missed something big. Why are we even trying to find this lady. The minstrel made it sound like her husband beat and killed her or something in his song."
Donning the offered cloak, Zandra easily sees the halfling and articulates to Lau his position. She looks over the rest of the crowd too.
There's Linkah, skirting the periphery of the main street traffic to the left. He's heading towards the main road, maybe to the gates into Absalom. As he's walking, a quick gesture calls ths attention of two rough-looking characters across the street. The two had been smoking hand-rolled cigarettes at the mouth of an alley.
The two men are wearing aprons and look to be blacksmiths from their muscled arms and steady gates. Underneath the hair on the back of their necks you see a shared tattoo: a stag's head holding a circular shaped musical instrument in its mouth. From their faces, they most certainly are brothers.
Now that it comes to it, as Linkah gestures to one of the blacksmiths, the collar on his shirt dips down far enough for you to see the same tattoo on the halfling's neck.
Scanning the rest of the crowd, Zandra sees a shadowed figure in the second story window across the street, it looks to be watching the halfling and his cadre depart. The shadow makes a gesture then backs away from the window.
"We have him pegged, now what? What is happening in there? I missed something big. Why are we even trying to find this lady. The minstrel made it sound like her husband beat and killed her or something in his song."
"Alive or dead, our task is to find her. The Temple of Iomedae has called upon our aid." Lau gestured for Zandra to walk alongside him as he moved off into the crowd. "I don't think it is coincidence that had Mal'undil sent on this search."
As stoic as Lau's face normally could be, it was clear the monk wasn't comfortable sharing what was not his to share. "They have a past, Mal'undil and Emilura. Even had the temple not called us to investigate these disappearances, he would have come anyway."
Lau stopped there, focusing ahead and hoping Zandra would not press further. Now that he saw the three ahead, he tried to gauge the danger of the two humans. "If it comes to a fight, we should try and subdue if possible. If a confrontation gets out of hand, call to Thor."
Up ahead, their quarry turned sharply down an alley. Lau tensed as they neared the corner...
"There, by the alleyway, two brothers that look like blacksmiths. Both of them and the halfling have tattoos. They look like a stags head with a circular instrument held in its mouth."
"And there across the street, a figure in the second story window, watching us depart and it just made a gesture."
"Do you know these symbols or these men? I have something that can subdue but it isn't subtitle." Lau sees her pull a slender chopstick from her hair. "Okay then, time for them to show their hand. After you Mister Lau."
Lau turned sharply towards the window Zandra mentioned. He tried spotting the figure she'd mentioned but saw only shadows in the interior. "Better to stay with the our quarry..." He made a mental note to spot any exits to the alley ahead in case the mystery figure decided to make an appearance.
The monk looked back to Zandra, her hair stick in her hand. "As for this stag and horn tattoo, I know not the symbol, friend Zandra. Perhaps Linkah Four-fingers will know the answer."
The monk managed a smile and withdrew a set of nunchaku from his belt. "Come, let us ask him."
Pressing close to the corner, Lau peeked round to the alley. "I will hold the two brutes, you must ensure Linkah does not escape. As for noise, do not worry, there are a great many things in Copperwood that will go unnoticed. Just try not destroying any buildings"
The monk smiled once more then readied himself to turn the corner.
Lau's Initiative:
As the characters round the corner leading into the alley (refer to the pic I texted you), the two men in blacksmith aprons have stopped to turn towards the alley mouth. They're 20 feet in, Linkah is gesturing at them. "Keep them away from me boys!" He shrills, right hand grabbing at his chest, a look of anxiety plain upon his face.
The first thug nods, squaring his shoulders and bringing a dagger up. His brother raises a light hammer.
Linkah's Initiative:
Thugs' Initiative: