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A nights sleep refreshes Phedron. Awake in the predawn, he sits by candlelight attending to his grimoire. Magic has always been more of a hobby than a pursuit. The events of the past day play through his mind. The threat though further away, seems larger than it had. "Perhaps" he considers, "I should make more of a study of magic. I know so little really."
Morning studies done, he glances out of the window to see a clear day dawning. Dressing in his finery, he sets out to break his fast.
Along the way he inquires of his uncle. "So how far do we pursue this evil? Do we go to Absalom? I am curious about their real objectives. Is slavery really a part of their operations or was a means to an end? Have you... been in contact?"
Reaching the table he nods cheerily at the others and seats himself promptly. "Morning friends. The sun favors us today!" he says looking at the table laid before him.
Listening to the others chat he considers Nosa's question.
"Well, hopefully the library have treasures we seek. I for one am glad to be rid of the gloom. As an aside, does anyone have a tailor or seamstress they could recommend? My clothes need cleaning and mending." he says, unabashedly mixing the important with the mundane.
♞ ♞ ♞
The elder Rushing strides alongside his nephew and considers each question. "It would seem that our contacts have brought us to a larger problem. We could turn aside, delay the charge, and consider the enemy we could be facing." He rests a firm hand, calloused by years at the reins, on Phedron's shoulder. "But this challenge was brought to us for a reason. A dark evil stirs to life, darker even than the sin of the slave trade."
"Thus far I would say Absalom is the next step. But there is also a trail that must be followed locally. I've not heard all the information, but this may lead us to part company." There is a moment's pause where Carnon weighs his next words carefully. He is like that, cautious in his engagements but once he decides on a tactical course, there are few more dogged. "I have a working knowledge of this region which will serve our interests. But of Absalom I have no experience. That is where you and this cohort may prove able to the task."
They approach the dining hall, both can hear the strumming of a guitar and voices from within. Canon pulls them up short of entry. He faces his nephew, dark eyes crisp with intelligence and contemplation. "Take this day to conduct your research. Lord Ricton has been generous with his connections in getting you access to the Abadaran temple library. Take in all you can, and put together for me a battlefield assessment. I will want your decision on the best course of action this evening." Carnon grips forearms with Phedron and allows the corners of his lips to curl up in a smile of approval. "I will make further contact with our people here in the city and get a feel for just how firm the ground is beneath our hooves."
Carnon turns and strides away.
♞ ♞ ♞
You may yet find that place.
Nosa looks thougtfully down at his plate.
One day, your labors will be rewarded and you will find yourself in such a place.
As for myself. I feel my journy is just beginning. It seems for a time at least, that your path is intertwined with my own.
Nosa then looks up at Marsh
I will help you get to this place if I can.
A sharp retort dies on the older mans lips as he looks over the young warrior hearing the earnestly delivered words. Karl's face softens a bit.
"You know I never did get Paladins of Abadar. They pretend at lawful perfection while venerating a god that demand structure and often organized cruelty. . . The Lady is different."
"I believe you mean what you say son, but be careful what promises you go around making and what oaths you take. They can be hard to keep sometimes and you just end up letting people down. Do what you can and learn to accept your limitations."
"Even if I left for that place I described tonight, I would not have peace. It going to take some serous detangling to fix my life problems."
"Glad to have your sword in my corner though kid."
♧♢♤ Citadel Dining Hall ♧♢♤
Breakfast
Agidor finishes the more jovial of his practice tunes and lays his guitar across his lap. "Ah, a touch of reality, chaps." He nods to Phedron's request as he pulls an oiled cloth from his guitar case. "I know of friendly group of halflings in Threegates what run a tailor shop."
"Skivles still owes ya a favor eh, Agi?" A familiarly shrill voice announces as he enters the room after Phedron. Linkah grins broadly and plops himself in a seat next to Karl. "Mornin' ol timer. Ya get ya zzzs, then?"
"I hope all of you were able to get some rest, few have earned it more the last two days." the voice then the whisper and whir of a clockwork leg announces the arrival of Lt. Tacitus Olfrey. In his hand is telling scroll case of the late Hektor Lenz, to his right, Legate Vendana Aureleum follows. He looks about the room and takes in the faces. Then he turns to the Legate. "The dwarf, Drogan Anvilsong is missing, along with the Southridge man, Lavios, yes?"
Aureleum nods once.
"Very well, then I'll await major announcements until the last two have arrived and said his peace. Mister Lim'ehl has indicated there may be more pieces to the puzzle." The Lt. looks at Phedron. "Lord Rigdon has cleared your entrance to the Abadaran library. In addition you have an appointment to see Father Syntepera this morning." He places the scroll case on one of its ends, unscrewing the other end to reveal its contents. "Thanks to some timely arrivals we have been able to gain access to this thing. Unfortunately it is not better news, only further dismay to myself and the city."
He pulls a leather bound collection of papers, vellum and parchment, and lays them on the table. "It would seem that the three ships we know about, four now that we can count the Lamprey, may be involved. And it would seem that Lord Sahi Ralios is the only noble of 7 who has admitted their part in this...conspiracy."
---------
A sharp retort dies on the older mans lips as he looks over the young warrior hearing the earnestly delivered words. Karl's face softens a bit.
"You know I never did get Paladins of Abadar. They pretend at lawful perfection while venerating a god that demand structure and often organized cruelty. . . The Lady is different."
"I believe you mean what you say son, but be careful what promises you go around making and what oaths you take. They can be hard to keep sometimes and you just end up letting people down. Do what you can and learn to accept your limitations."
"Even if I left for that place I described tonight, I would not have peace. It going to take some serous detangling to fix my life problems."
"Glad to have your sword in my corner though kid."
I do not make promises lightly. While I know they are hard to keep, I intend to do my best to keep them. If something gets in the way of their success...
Before he can finish his statement, the others arrive and catch his attention.
|
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As his uncle roughs out a plan, Phedron's stomach falls through his shoes. "By myself?" he realizes with some shock. Somewhat weightless he nods as coherently as he can. "With these people?"
The steadiness and direction his uncle has provided thus far as been a comfort unrealized until this very moment. He would follow Carnon into a volcano, but to do so on his his own?
Mustering his best, undaunted smile he clasps arms with his uncle. "Very well, I will have one ready tonight."
-
♧♢♤ Citadel Dining Hall ♧♢♤
Breakfast
Olfrey pulls a leather bound collection of papers, vellum and parchment from Lenz's scroll case and lays them on the table. "According to that drug addled betrayer, there are more than the three ships we know about, four now that we can count the Lamprey. And it would seem that Lord Sahi Ralios isn't the only noble involved in this...conspiracy."
Lavios makes his way into the dining hall and finds a set. Olfrey places a hand to his chest and greets him. "Legate Aureleum has told me of your loss, but also your bravery in seeing several of the Southridge villagers freed. My sincere condolences for your loss."
There is a silence in the room as the gathering takes stock of the situation. There are still villagers unaccounted for, and the possible leaders behind everything are on the loose. Then there is the mystery of this new threat, a cult of unknown origin and potency.
The Legate reaches into the pack laying next to her chair and withdraws a leather pouch tied shut with a simple chord. She lays it on the table and pushes it towards Nosatrub and Beckett. "He means it for the group, but Lord Ralios wanted to give his thanks for finding his daughter...the girl from the tannery, it was her. He identified her this morning."
Footsteps at the door announce the arrival of Drogan Anvilsong. He takes up a seat and begins filling a plate of food and a mug with a cool beverage. The Lt. greets him and asks about what he has discovered, alluding to the hints of progress Agidor had mentioned earlier.
---------------------♤♡♢♧♤♡♢♧---------------------------
Have a look at the Campaign Info tab, there are three spoiler sections there that encompasses the research conducted by Drogan.
----------------------♤♡♢♧♤♡♢♧----------------------------
After hearing the news of Drogan's research, Lt. Olfrey considers the options before the group. "There is the arming conspiracy here in Cassomir that will take most of my office's attention. Then the departure of what looks to be 8 ships in total, the vessels linked by Hektor Lenz's leverage. Each of the vessels have varying ports of call, but half are destined for Absalom." Olfrey stabs one of the vellum sheets in front of him with a finger and reads. "The others are going to Osirion."
He places a hand on the table and shifts his weight on his clockwork leg, drawing a tight wound scroll from a hip pouch and handing it over to Phedron. "You, and whomever else wishes to attend, have access to Father Syntepera at the Abadaran cathedral. With him being the curator of the library there, perhaps there is more information to be had on this mysterious cult. Master Anvilsong's discoveries, while disturbing, may shed some light on them." He wraps a knuckle against the table. "Perhaps a visit to Demgazi in the south would be in order. Although the priest's journal is 100 years old, there may be more stories to draw from that town."
"We passed descriptions of Danton and the elf among the naval guardsmen." Aureleum adds. "Hopefully the net is broad enough that a trace is found."
-----------------------
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Beckett bow his head, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and muttering under his breath.
The Grand Prince is a fool! Casting the Everlight from his realm. What else would he expect to happen other than the festering of the shadow!
The Inquisitor sighs...
All I wanted was to get to Absalom... To receive training so as to be fit to fight the devil spawn infecting the world. But it seems that the Dawnflower is calling me now, ready or not."
But... Osirion? Demgazi? The money changers of Abadar in Magnimar?
Why are all these choices laid before me? Place the devil spawn in my path so that I can ferret them out! Strike them down! I have no mind for this cat and mouse! As always, the truth lays in simplicity.
Beckett looks up, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
"If the closest of these scum is headed for Absalom... would it not be best to track them there? Once we find them, I'm certain that they could be made willing to divulge what they know..."
"Their minions likely know very little. We know that Absolom is one of the destinations, but ships are also sailing to other cities. This cult transformed simple village folk into monastic berserks in but a few days."
"I can see merrit to following them to the City at the Center of the World, but I also see the advantage of going to their possible point of origin. . . . If one has a problem with bees, you could run all about the countryside individually killing bees, or you could locate the hive and set fire to it and kill the queen that is the source of the drones."
"Of course if you are not properly equipped, attacking a hive could prove fatal. The bees are quite fanatical and swarm whomever threatened their queen, dying in the process."
"Osirion is hot, but definately not what I would consider a tropical paradise. If we go there your oath is not fulfilled Sir Nosatrub. Heh heh heh."
"Absalom has some nice bars, inns and taverns. I could check them out. Nosa could visit the cathedral and we could send Phedron to the Arcanium for a few classes. We bring along our halfling compatriots and a few staff members and we could establish some sort of a hearth house to support ourselves by."
"All just musings."
Louder for the group as a whole.
"I am still unclear as to this Danton's, or whatever his true identity is, ultimate goal and purpose in the cult. Is he infected by Droskar? Is he motivated by goldlust? What would he have traded the Derro in the tunnels and what would they have provided him in turn? There are so many questions around that dwarf. One does not simply call upon the dark dwellers for trade without prior introduction."
♧♢♤ Citadel Dining Hall ♧♢♤
Breakfast
---------------------
Just as a remnder, have a look at the Campaign Info tab, there are three spoiler sections there that encompasses the research conducted by Drogan.
♬ Cassomir’s Locker (Underground Tunnels)
♬ Cultist Activity
♬ Symbology
----------------------
Nosa remembers his vision, one of the Lady, and Absalom.
Our road seems to point toward Absalom.
Drogan stands in the hall doorway.
"I want Foeward's head on a pike more than any man 'ere. But I'm thinking there may be darker things afoot not all that far from here, and I'm pretty sure it's connected to whatever that Duergar turd is trying to cook up."
He points to the priest's journals, "It's hard to know for certain what that priest saw, but here's one thing for sure - his people disappeared, then came back with a pleasant enough but vacant disposition. Plain as milk, they were - when they were riled up days before. I've got a mind to think that whatever was going on there was right in line with those bastard grave diggers 'at all but did myself and our young knight here in."
The whistling still remains. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get it out of his head. Even as he speaks, his mind hums a counter tune to drown it out.
"I don't think it's too far a stretch thinkin' whatever's recorded about the twists and turns of the underthings in Cassomir's Locker - I'd sooner face it than let the old dwarf bastard get to it before us. Absalom will wait. I say we leave the ports in the hands of our dear legate here and head to those dark places no good man dares to tread." He looks to the soldier, his fellow showman, and those gathered, "I always thought my story'd end in darkness anyway. Might as well make it interestin'."
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Listening to the others for a good moment to speak, Phedron interjects.
"I feel that Demgazi may be the place to start. So after his entries, suddenly everything was ok and no other mention for the next decades? I want to help the missing people of course. I suspect they are en route to Absalom, so I'm not opposed to going full sail after them.
"My biggest interest in Demgazi is that it might offer clues that could be too tangled to detect in Absalom. The truth may be buried under fewer layers. Absalom is filled with evil and may muddy the waters."he concludes, looking around to judge reactions.
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Beckett sits back, taking in the conversation. Finally, he waves his hand dismissively.
"It matters not. Demgazi is not too far. We could stop at Absalom on the way, or pass it by and backtrack at need."
Either case will get me out of Dawn forsaken Taldor. If I stay here, I truly will burn this festering pile to the ground!
"So I count one for Absalom, one for Demgazi, one for spelunking in the underdark and one noncommittal. Let's see what you have learned having spent time with the twisted little imp that set the stage for this meeting, yet is painfully absent having gathered the actors and lifted the curtain to start the show."
"Let Marcum be. He's not much on the eyes, but we have an understanding. He's about business that I believe will ultimately help us, even if he isn' here at the moment. I believe the truth of it'll be found in Demgazi. I don't like the sound of what the priest tells there, and I've read more than any man's share of stories that start off like that. They rarely end well."
You have no idea what you're getting into, Old Man. I don't care how strong you are, an archivist should know better than to go traipsing off after shadow things. It is always an ending. Never a beginning.
"I think it's the best place to find answers. You never know - a place that filled with questionable history may have an entryway or two into the Locker itself. I'm for it."
"Ah piss, fine, Demigazi it is, but I have some business to see to in town first and I might need to make some arrangements for people that would have been accompanying us to Absalom."
Karl plops his napkin down on the table and looks out the window with a distant and thoughtful look.
♧♢♤ Citadel Dining Hall ♧♢♤
Breakfast
Olfrey stands at the edge of the table listening patiently to the discussion. In his dark eyes it's clear he is going beyond the words spoken and delving deeper, exploring the musical theory as Agidor might put it, behind the conversation. As the group decides on their next plan of action he stands a bit straighter, hands clasped behind his back, and nods once to the Legate.
Aureleum stands from her seat and inclines her head sharply. "I'll see to transport immediately." She places a fist to her heart and departs the room.
"So south it is then, the town of Demgazi." Olfrey sifts through some of the documents on the table and unrolls a maritime chart. "The main shipping lanes to southern Taldor can get you to Golsifar. Then it's a matter of a caravan or horse trek to the east. Demgazi is a three day ride from the coast by caravan, two if you've got good horses and are riding alone. I will provide you with letters of introduction to Fort Luxtavian that watches the area. If the township is unfriendly, you may seek your rest there."
To Phedron, "As I said before, you're free to ply Father Syntopera with your questions. The Abadaran Temple is just next door to the Citadel. Any of you may accompany, bit I'll be honest, the good Father is an odd one so patience is in order when making conversation."
To Karl, "Mr. Marsh, Lord Ricton has held up his end of the arrangement with respect to transport to Absalom. That goes for any of you..." Olfrey waves to the others at the table. "Passage has been secured for yourselves or any you wish to accompany aboard the Prince Rhineholdt. So provide me with the names and I'll see to it their passes are noted."
Olfrey concludes the meeting, gathering up what materials he'll need to conduct his investigation into the corrupt nobility involved. "If memory serves, the next vessel departing to the south is the Eyrich. So conduct your business and meet back in the Citadel courtyard by 4 this afternoon."b The Lt. inclines his head by way of greeting, the gesture one of gratitude and acknowledgment. He spins on his heel, his clockwork leg giving a grinding protest, and marches out of the dining hall.
"Hells' bells, Marshy, I better see to joining ya, otherwise, how'll the guvnah know where to send your pension?" Linkah waxes mock concern that ends in a laughter. He wipes a tear and looks about the table. "Sides, you lot bear the needs of good humor. All dark and dreary day in n' out, that'll kill ya faster n' a dagger in the ribs, like as not."
"Speak for yourself, ya bloody halfer..." Agidor chuckles and finishes rubbing oil on his guitar strings. He slips the instrument into its case and snaps the latches shut. "Count me in, I'll lay a wager I'll get a gig in Demgazi faster than you, mister Drogan. Care to lay a 'prince' on it, mate?"
-----------------------
Leutenient Olfrey Nosa speaks I would trouble you before we are to leave. When master Beckett, Agidor and myself were with Lenz, he had a man in his employ by name of Alaric. This man was one of honor and working toward changing his life's path.
Nosa looks thoughtfully at Beckett, knowing his new friend has taken the death of Alaric particulary hard.
He gave his life protecting his charge...
Alaric had a wife and children I believe. I would see to it that they are informed of his sacrifice as well as cared for, if at all possible.
Nosa takes the small leather pouch that the Legate laid on the table in front of him. He slowly opens it, examining it's contents. He casts a quick look at Beckett, and assumes his feelings to the matter.
Can you find and arrange a meeting with them before we depart?
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Beckett stares at Nosa... then pulls his hat down to obscure his face.
Stupid! Weak!
But the Inquisitor nods, still looking down.
Yes. We should ensure they are cared for.
Beckett walks past Nosa, briefly placing his hand on the big man's shoulder as he passes.
I... uh... need to tend to my effects.
Without further word, Beckett takes his leave and walks toward his room to gather his belongings, tears streaming down his face.
Nosa is so like Bromathan...
And I'll be a light blinded fool... but I do believe I'd follow that big Paladin to the gates of hell...
Karl turns from staring out the window to focus on Lt Olfrey as he speaks. The old warrior's eyes crinkle at their edges, the only sign that the officers words are having an effect on him.
After a slight pause he clears his throat.
"Thank you good sir. I know we are doing you and your city a service, but I at least feel that it is more to you than just that. Give his lordship my thanks for his treatment of us as well. Those under you are fortunate, not all that serve have such men for masters . . . I know that too well. I will see that our mission is carried out in good faith, although I have no recognized duty to Cassomir."
Karl stands and speaks to the group.
"We will need all of us here to execute this venture successfully---I don't want us split up between two cities. Fate has brought us together. Going forward, we may be our only allies and we will need to watch one another for the signs of what befell the priest sent to Demgazi a hundred years ago. The region we travel to is nominally controlled by Quidra, or however you pronounce it here, which is in turn a part of a larger empire with a distant Capitol. However, it was once a part of the ancient Osirion Empire, hence the strange cultural customs of the people that can trace their roots back to that time."
"I have business to attend to with Linkah. I propose to send a forward team to Absalom, which includes Linkah's family if they are willing. Then we need to sell off the gear we have collected that is of no use to us. We can reoutfit after that. Get all the unknown items identified."
"If a cart could be sent to the Knuckle, or I could barrow one, I can load it with our baggage."
"Phedron, you and our archivist are our best bets to send to the library with Marcum missing. Perhaps Agidor has some skill in that area as well, just don't let him chase any skirts on the way through the stable lot. I will try to meet you there if possible."
"Oh and take your drawings and that wood chunk you grabbed, but tell the good priest before you display them. He may want to consecrate a circle before being exposed to them."
"Any thoughts?"
"Alright short shanks lets head back to the knuckle right after I catch up with Mr. Beckett. If you'd excuse me for just a moment."
---------------------------
Karl moves down the corridor seeking out the young inquisitor in his room.
Nosa quickly gets up and follows Beckett. He places a hand lightly on his shoulder to stop him, but does not turn him.
Alaric is at peace my friend.
He came to me last night. Showed me something. Something I do not understand but will in time.
He is saddened by what he left behind, but is grateful that he died a man. A man with honor.
With that, Nosa turns back and walks to his seat, waiting for Olfrey's response.
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With great restraint, Phedron elects to leave as much sarcasm as he can behind in the presence of his uncle.
"Perhaps while about, Karl, you might see about any recent news from Demgazi. Just general climate of course; anything unusual. I wouldn't be surprised if all is quiet there. I'm sure you have know people who would know.
"I'll see what Father Syntopera has to say about the pieces I've collected. I'm sure he may want to use a protective circle. Perhaps the library may also contain some general knowledge Demgazi, particularly on local customs and taboos." he says in a friendly passive-aggressive manner.
Standing up, Phedron says "Well we all best be about our business quickly, if we are to leave tonight."
From there, Phedron seeks the library.
"Phedron, I was trying to pay you a compliment and you just pull the rug out from under yourself. My brother is or was a high priest of Abadar so I know a little on the matter. Clerics are more sensitive to auras than most. You are about to present a man of rule and order with items of pure chaos."
"And I do know people who know many things. I have also spent a good deal of my life traveling about and being informed about what's going on in the world. So if your snot nosed BS little comments were supposed to impress anybody here I hope it worked out for you."
"If you want satisfaction, please choose buffers or clubs, because I am not into killing rebellious little brats."
Drogan leans in to Agidor, "Before this gets too crazy, I'm off te lighten our load and fill our purses in town. Be sure that those two don't," He cuts himself short as he looks at Karl's face, cold as tempered steel and just as deadly."... make sure Karl doesn't kill the boy will ya? If anyone asks, let 'em know where I went. I won't miss our departure."
Drogan leaves the hall. Sifting among the spoils of war, he grabs the armors and scroll casings.
"Might not be many options, but I'm sure I can find a dwarf swinging a hammer around this town somewhere, and the sooner we can get these scrolls away from us the better. Too much temptation if we hold onto 'em."
Drogan slips out into the city. There isn't much time before the road rises to meet him again. There's business to tend to.
☦☦☦ Nosatrub Shieldarm ☦☦☦
》2 Tourmaline gems (50 gp each)
》1 Black Pearl (250 gp)
》Finely carved turtle, 2 inches long
》Note, tightly rolled
Note
Masters Nosatrub and Beckett,
here are few words I can express by way of gratitude for the return of my precious daughter. Although my heart breaks for her death, the pain of not knowing was far worse.
I must reconcile with the pain I've caused to all those families who even now do not have the closure you two gentlemen have given me. My selfish efforts to save my daughter may have condemned their loved ones to a harsher fate. But I will ultimately pay for what I've done and accept the consequences fully. If two strangers can stand for me and render aid, the least I can do is stand for myself.
Enclosed with this note you will find what little treasure I can render unto you and the brave fellows who found victory. The Abadaran temple and justicars of the Citadel have rightfully seized my estates and fortune. While I'm uncertain of the quality of those who should benefit of those things, I can at least ensure that some of it goes to men of stature.
Of the items enclosed, the jewels are your to do with as you please. The carving may be of use to you. It is an access totem given me by Fir'umil Osseus, an elvish wizard and instructor in the Arcanimirium of Absalom where my daughter attended school. If you should be in that city, he is is a good contact to have and will speak openly. He will know this totem as belonging to my family and will give you aid.
Fair well, stay true,
Sahi Fethbora Ralios
"An honorable request, Master Shieldarm. I'll see to it arrangements are made for you and Master Foxglove." He considers from a moment and adds. "Do you wish to meet them directly? They were given summons earlier this morning to be brought in for identification of the deceased. They should be here by noon."
♞♞♞ Phedron Rushing ♞♞♞
The Currency of Knowledge
Phedron departs the Citadel, the letter of introduction secured in his hip pouch, the morning's conversation fresh on his mind. At the gates, a fresh-faced youth dressed in the dark blues of the Imperial Naval Guard responds efficiently to the wizard's request for directions to the temple.
"The Lawgiver guide your steps, good sir." the guardsman intones, posture rigid and manner formal.
It takes a moment to register with Phedron, but the response to his presence is something he'd noticed peripherally as he left the tower in which Olfrey held office, crossed the courtyard and exited the Citadel. With the guardsman's tone, Phedron rumor had spread about his and the party's exploits the day before. It was...respect.
The bells of the Abadaran temple bring him out of his reverie, the structure only a few blocks away. He resolves to consider his observations at a later time. For now it is time to be about the business of knowledge.
Settled at the crossroads of two main roads into Cassomir, the Cathedral-Bank of Abadar is large enough to overshadow the rest of the temples and shrines in the city combined, comprised of elaborate stonework and statues. The latter representing the various Taldan saints of the faith who had given their lives to see the city prosper. Above the doors carved in bas-relief into the marble pediment is the likeness of Abadar; strong Taldan features with sharp eyes and prominent nose, and in his right hand the set of keys to knowledge and understanding of law. The doors, gilded and ornate stand open for admittance.
Inside, most of the priests wear robes of white silk trimmed with golden thread with a belt of gold holding a single, golden key. Along the walls are various murals depicting the acolytes and clerics of the faith combating hordes of beasts and monstrous plant life in the never ending effort to civilize the Blackwood swamp that threatens to push the city of Cassomir into the sea.
There are a myriad of acolytes and servants going about their ordered lives, several nobility discuss private matters with the clergy while others content themselves to pray at one of the many altars.
After being greeted by an acolyte and providing his bona fides, Phedron is escorted to a side passage and down a circular stairwell. "You've been given special access, Master Rushing, to the library and more specifically to Father Syntopera." The acolyte is Phedron's age, his accent bringing to mind a seafaring man he'd met in his youth who'd hailed from Azir. As the two reach the bottom of the staircase, there is a long hallway leading away lined with polished brass sconces. "The good Father is...temperamental at times, depending upon the topic. But if your credentials speak of him in particular, then you must know his topic of choice that has guided his life's work thus far."
The hallway is also lined with doors each with intricate carvings and inlays to depict a tone or theme. Here is one with scales weighing overflowing coins against a scroll. There is one bearing the likeness of a bust with two faces on either side; one a scowl and elderly, the other firm concentration and youthful.
"Each of these rooms is a section of the library. But Father Syntopera will direct you where you need to go. As Curator he is responsible for everything down here." They arrive at the end of the hall, a set of double doors stands open for their arrival. Inside is a large office, ceilings vaulted and lined for every foot with shelves. The musty smell of ancient books and scrolls pervades the space. At the back is a large desk with a human of advanced age seated behind it, quill in hand, dark eyes focusing above a set of half-spectacles at the two new arrivals.
The acolyte bows respectfully to the old man. "Father Syntopera, might I present Master Phedron Rushing, here to interview you per request."
Eyes never leaving the newcomers, Syntopera replaces his quill in its holder and waves away the acolyte. "Leave us, Jubal. Close the doors behind you."
The acolyte bows again and complies quickly.
Silence stretches between the two of them as the old man's eyes bore into the half-elf wizard's.
Nosa looks through the contents of the pouch, already assured of his actions with it.
He takes out the carving and places that into his bags along with the note .
The rest he returns to the pouch.
I would meet with them in person if possible. They should know how he died from those who were with him.
Finally overcome with grief, he turns his gaze away.
♬♬♬ Drogan Anvilsong ♬♬♬
Bargain Basement
Agidor chuckles quietly at Drogan's warning and casually clasps his hands behind his head and leans back in his seat. "C'mon now, friend of mine. Better to let the tune play here than out on open water." But despite his calm demeanor the human bard gives Drogan a wink as if to say, "Don't worry, I'll keep things sorted."
The dwarf heads out of the room and makes his way down to the courtyards. The pace is slow going as he gathers the gear he's looking to barter, but one of the guardsmen who'd admitted him along with Aureleum offers the use of a pack mule to carry the load.
"Not to worry, Master Dwarf. Have the use of her for as long as you need." He dips his chin respectfully.
The Cassomir dockyard and market areas are alive with the swarthy and the manicured alike, hawkers crying out their wares ranging from fish to tackle to caravan gear. But as Drogan travels deeper into the city, he spies those less savory types that are fixtures in any metropolis.
After a few conversations and running into a one-armed human who recognized the dwarf from a performance in Admirals Fen, Drogan finds himself outside the bedraggled blacksmith shop of one Hiffen Brasshelm. A foul-mouthed dwarf missing the last two fingers on his right hand, dark hair and beard from either natural color or the forge soot floating in the air, Hiffen looks ready to send Drogan on his way.
"Grady, Tamb, get this drummer outta me shop..." He turns back to the quencher, stirring up the water and adding a fresh helping from an iron pitcher.
The two gnomes, burly and unseasonably ready for a fight move forward to escort Drogan from the establishment. But one places calloused hand on the other dipping them short. "Hey boss, chummer 'ere got some iron...might be worth a lookie look."
"You pair over stunted dog turds..." Hiffen stumps back to the open area of his shop to spy Drogan once more. "Alright, ya got something I can outfit a fighter wid? I gotta one goin' in on a pit match tonight wid nuthin but a piece o' heavy iron plate."
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Fortunately for Phedron, his olive complexion does not belie embarrassment.
Affixing an apologetic expression on his face, he retorts in an even, calming tone. "It was merely a suggestion to gather additional information to aid us in our efforts. Please, pay me no mind. I don't seek to upset you or to intimidate."
Wisdom pecks at the back of his mind, but adrenaline and youthful pride easily brush aside cautions about prodding rough men.
Not a fan of pleasantries and sharp tongues? No worries. It'll be good to shake the dust off the brogue. It's maddening talking to these people.[/i
"I don' know yoo, but yer accent sounds familiar. Either ye hail from Highhelm, same as me, or you been behind the wall long enough te pick up the tongue. Either way, seems a fella knowin' what you know would be keen to know the former trappin's a' Foeward's finest. Got ma han's on breastplates straight frum the hands of a' pair a' Black Hammers 'emselves? They needed replacin' seein' as they wuz a bit dinged up, but seems a dwarf a' fine skill such as yoo could fix 'em right in two shakes an fit your boy with the finest steel the Hollow e'er forged an' the Old Keep evar tested. I've heard stories all along the highways, an' I've heard tale a yoo fer sure. Knew I'd be quick to a good deal here I did."
[i]No need to go tellin' exactly how I got those plates. Seems a bit skittish, and I aim to move this stuff quickly
"An' there's more too. 'Ow's yer lad with exotics? Dang'rous things from highways an' byways come inta my possession. Boy-oh knows how to swing it, ain't nothin' ken get in is way. Clear a pit afor you thump a hammer."
Drogan produces the arms and armor he mentioned. The rest is just a bit of leather. Good for selling, but not so much for showing. He leaves them in his satchel until the deal has been struck on the pricier items.
"It was merely a suggestion to gather additional information to aid us in our efforts. Please, pay me no mind. I don't seek to upset you or to intimidate."
Karl turns to face Phedron and rests his hands on his swords belt buckle feet set about shoulder width apart.
"You and everyone else with a lick of life experience in this room know what your intention was and what you were seeking to do. Spouting flowery about it only makes it worse and you look like a pithy woman. There is a place for bravado, innuendo, thinly veiled taunts and threats, but it isn't here and not with me."
"What I had said before your last response was meant as a nice and gentle nudge, a gift if you will, but you obviously want to press the issue."
"Perhaps your feelings are still a little bruised that I dared tell you to keep off the front line, because you are a spell caster and a green one at that. I see you carry a saber, sure, sure. Where is your armor? Are you so dexterous that you have no need of any? I think not . . . In fact I think you are quite average in that department. Strength, meh, your fit . . . like most your age. You're obviously educated. You're flashy and cause many a maiden to look your way no doubt; and your smart. You've got a keen mind . . . A mind so keen that it grasps the formulation and manipulation of magic."
"So why don't you use it and think before your alligator sized mouth gets your hummingbird sized ass into a situation you can't sass and upperclass your way out of? You don't see your uncle interacting the way you do, do you? You've got balls kid, let other people figure that out for themselves and recognize you for it. Don't go around showing them off and tea bagging people or someone with cut them off and feed'em to you."
"You see these blades? I earned them before I could put them on. . . And then . . . I had to keep them . . . because people will test you when you wear these. I am still wearing them and I know you are intelligent enough to connect the dots on that."
"I don't want to harm you. I don't want to embarrass you over and over in front of your family, companions and betters. I don't get a charge out of that. . . I spoke well of you last night . . . But, I will give and expect respect returned---Do you get me?"
"Where I'm from you have already pushed well past the point of blood on the cobblestones. Different place, different customs, I get that. I fought with you, I don't have an interest in fighting you . . . what man wants to skewer a kid that is just trying to be accepted as a grown up in his own right amongst his peers? I was your age once, I know people showed me difference . . . But not everyone will."
"Truth be told, I don't really want you with us, not if you are going to be constantly baiting and trying every person you disagree with or get your ego snubbed by. This adventure is not an opportunity to measure compare your member by."
"I've burried enough kids like you. Some were my men, others were enemies of Abadar, the crown I served, the common man, or just plain monsters that had to be put down. I am done burying kids, I don't want to burry your uncles bright, but brash nephew for any reason. If your are coming with us I especially don't want to have to tell him you talked s+%@ to rough men or caught a case of being dead because of stupid misplaced courage or because you like that hot feeling of the blood rushing through your ears and pounding in the veins of your throat. Yeah . . . I can see that. So can others."
"You don't wish to upset or intimidate me? Please! . . . "
"Now I am through talking to you as a boy and I will treat you like the man you want to be treated as."
"You can walk away . . . Or you can press your challenge . . . Do you want to learn how to wield that saber? Or do you want a chance at taking my blades from me, because they are getting heavy. Is your little stunt here over? The balls in your court handsome. Don't draw, try to cast or anything else unless you are ready to bring it."
♬♬♬ Drogan Anvilsong ♬♬♬
Bargain Basement
At the mention of Foeward and the Blackhammers, Hiffen’s brow darkens with suspicion. The pair of tongs he has resting on his shoulder transition from being tools to being a potential weapon. But as Drogan continues, laying out the how’s of his possession of the armor and weapons, the blacksmith relaxes his hackles and gives the two gnomes a nod. ”Let ‘im through, lads. I’ll have a looksee.” He sets the heavy iron tongs down next to the quencher and wipes his hands on his apron and waves Drogan into the shop’s interior. Over his shoulder he says, ”Grady, Tamb, keep an eye out here n’ keep the kiln hot or I’ll toss ya both in…”
The interior of Hiffen’s shop is darkened by normal standards, but certainly bright enough for dwarvish and gnomish eyes. Soot-grimed windows line the shop, propped open by a stick or other implement to allow some ventilation and the meager beams of grey light from the overcast day. The blacksmith thumps his fist down on the counter as he climbs a pair of steps to the raised deck behind it (as to see all customers eye to eye). There is a similarly raised bit of deck on the customer side of the counter for Drogan.
”Ya got a full set n’ a sack o’ blood puddin’ ta be hawkin’ the wares o’ the Blackhammers. Damaged or no.” Hiffen raises an eyebrow at the bard, tapping his thick fingers along the countertop. ”But ya tell a compellin’ story, n’ I’m not a dwarf o’ worth if I turn away a fan o’ me work. So let’s have it…”
The sets of armor are lay out on the counter along with the odd hatchet and chain weapon Karl had pulled from the Stag Herald Hem. While the first two earn a nod of approval from Hiffen, it’s the weapon that draws his attention. ”Now, this is a right fancy tool for guttin’ a fish ‘r two...good for the pits…” He runs a stubby index finger along the chain, then lets the links fall from one hand to the next. ”No weak uns...not a nob in the lot...aye, a good un ya brought ta ol’ Hiffen, yes ya did…”
”Alright, ya got me whiskers twitchin’,” Hiffen wraps his knuckles against the counter and taps each of the armors and the chain hatchet in turn. ”I’ll give ya 900 fer tha lot. N’ I’ll throw in a dress up o’ that crap ya got on yer shoulders ta boot.”
Your eagle eye assesses the combination as follows:
> Masterwork Agile Breastplates (2) - 550 gp each
> Masterwork Studded Leather (1) - 100 gp
> Masterwork Hatchet and Chain (1) - 145 gp
> Total - 1345 gp
In a voice loud enough for the gnomes outside to hear, Drogan says, "Yer a good man and a hard bargainer. The price you quoted is a good one, and I than ye fer your willingness to take fair trade."
Drogan leans in to whisper in the thick dwarven tongue,
Drogan leans back, his voice returning to a normal volume. "Do we 'ave an understandin', Sir?"
Nosa sighs at the tension rising between Karl and Phedron.
He steps so that he is between them.
You said yourself Master Marsh that it seems some fate has brought us together. If this is so, we are going to need to learn to trust one another, and while this one seems that he has much to learn, we would be wise to not slice the only spell caster that is with us to ribbons.
He turns then to Phedron.
And you...
Save your barbs and slights. They are wasted here. You would do well to learn to keep your tongue behind your teeth lest it be removed.
Then, he turns sidelong so that he can see them both.
We have no idea what is to become of us with this journey we are about to undertake. In the end, we will need one another.
With that, he turns and sits, awaiting Olfreys response.
☦☦☦ Nosatrub Shieldarm ☦☦☦
Olfrey remains silent during the display of brinksmanship. He'd been in the military too long and knew when to let things reach their logical conclusion. When the squire from Ustalav stands between them he recognized the importance of these conversations.
"You need to resolve these differences, gentlemen." Olfrey says finally as Nosatrub takes his seat. "There is a time for bravado, Mister Rushing..." He shifts his gaze from Phedron then to Karl. "...and there is a time when experience and wisdom wins the day." Folding his arms across his thin frame, Olfrey allows the slightest grins. "And there are going to be times when one must yield time the other. From what Legate Aureleum tells me, it was the brash actions of Misters Rushing and Foxglove that lead to the retrieval of so much evidence. And was the not the wisdom of experience that lead to tactical acumen on the battlefield?"
Olfrey's grin slips away and he thumps the table with his fist, his ring marring the wood surface. "If you have a hope of survival learn from each other and respect one another. Or move on."
Have stands up straight, hands clasped behind his back, the man every inch the officer. He looks towards Nosatrub and responds to his earlier statement. "Your intentions are noble, Master Shieldarm. See to it you are in the courtyard by noon. I'll see to it you have private audience with the deceased's family."
With that he spins on his heels and steps out of the dining hall.
■□■□■□■□
Linkah not quiet up until that point let's out a long whistle. "Gohh, I thought he was gonna ride ya both up a mizzen for sure," The Halfling giggles and throws a punch at Agidor. "I was thinkin we'd haveta 'rrange a tussle down at the pits... got some shiny ta wager now ya know."
♤♡♢♧♤♡♢♧
♬♬♬ Drogan Anvilsong ♬♬♬
Bargain Basement
Hiffen studies the other dwarf for a few ticks, fingers drumming along the counter. "Ya got nerve, laddie. Big helpin' of it, that's a fact." He leans across the distance between them and stabs a finger at one of the breastplates, right on the symbol of the scroll and hammer, his voice pitched low and in dwarvish. "But I know the maker's mark on this bot o' iron, boyo. Ya can fill me sails with all the wind ya can muster, but I know how tough it'll be ta polish these up ta look like somethin' less conspicuous. That's work outta mah arse n' mah coin pouch."
The blacksmith leans back and smiles and switches back to Common. "Ya gotta eye, no lie there. ButIi gotta shop ta run, boyo. Mebbe we can do business o' other sorts if you're gonna be in town a mite. Ya ask around, Hiffen Brasshelm will deal ya fair."
He motions for Drogan to wait a moment as he drops down from the raised deck and stumps into and rear room. Moments pass and he emerges with a pouch and a chain shirt sized for a dwarf and sets them on the counter. "Ya can abide in one o' me own while I see to tha mess you're wearin' now. Ya come back after the high bell rings n' I'll have done with it."
♤♡♢♧♤♡♢♧
Drogan nods. "Fair enough. I'll be back." He turns to walk out the door. He looks back, tipping his hat to the smith. "Your reputation doesn' do you justice."
The gnomes take no notice of him as he makes his way to the street. There faces locked on the flames. Whether from love of the craft or fear of their boss, he couldn't say.
The streets were busy enough as he takes a seat on a nearby wall. Anyone can capture a crowd that wants to be caught. It's the true artist that can ensnare a busy denizen of the marketplace.
"Well, Tharularg, shall we be about our business then?" The carved dragon faces stared at him in silent agreement. "what sort of tune to we want to play for these good people? We certainly have the time." The gem stone eyes catch the afternoon sun. "Really? The new one? We haven't played it since we left the city." Drogan smiles. Here is, talking with a drum like a trusted friend. But really, it's not an entirely far-fetched thought. "Very well then. We won't play it for them though. This one's for us."
Oh Highhelm, Oh Highhelm, your doors remain closed
I begged and I pleaded, "are you not my home?"
Yet my cries go unheaded, on the road left exposed.
I leave, I leave, to forever more roam.
I will find what was stolen, our histories old.
Beware, beware, the wayward son comes.
For my honor I seek, stalking out in the cold
You'll hear, you'll hear, the savage war drum.
I will run, I will ride
There is nowhere you'll hide
In the dark, or the fair, I am coming for you
You will pay for your lies
I will unveil your guise
Highhelm, I, your true son cries for you
More songs he sings to while the time. Stories are shared, and even a drink or two is carried to his perch.
"There are certainly worse ways to spend three hours" he thinks to himself.
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Beckett gathers himself as he tends to his meager possessions. Finally he returns, drawn by the sounds of angry words.
"Your intentions are noble, Master Shieldarm. See to it you are in the courtyard by noon. I'll see to it you have private audience with the deceased's family."
The Inquisitor quietly slides up next to Nosa and whispers.
Neither of them are evil. Why are they fighting each other?
Nosa considers Beckett's question, then shrugs.
Why we're Master Marsh and myself at odds when we first met? Lack of understanding? Lack of knowledge? Slights real or imagined?
He pauses and thinks more, then smiles.
Whatever it is that fuels this is most likely not worth it.
He turns and claps his friend hard on the shoulder.
Come now. Let us prepare for the road ahead.
Karl never blinks and keeping his eyes boring into Phedron who's pride does not seem capable of digging himself out of the hole he has dug himself.
A few moments later and a touch of sorrow crosses his face.
"Well . . . You are rapidly losing your audience and you seem unable to reason this one out yourself. Not all men are as fond of noble airs, bearing and ribald court tounge."
Karl's hands fly to his blades which come whistling out of their scabbards. The flats of the blades impact with sickening whip cracks across the young spell casters unarmored body.
to flat blade
flat footed AC of 10 no crit
Phedron sprawls unconscious across the floor as Karl deftly returns his blades to their places on his well worn belt.
"First lesson, Phedron."
Karl bends down and unbelts the wizards saber.
"He couldn't overcome his pride. He will come to fairly quickly . . . When he does, tell his to come for his sword if he wants to learn how to use it. I will take him as a pupil. He has the steel needed to wield and master the sword if he chooses the path of a sword master . If he doesn't wish to come with us, I will return his saber to his uncle this afternoon and tell him how I came to possess it."
"Mr. Beckett, I wanted to speak with you, but it will have to wait for another time. I have people to meet with."
"Nosa, that was most noble of you, I appreciate your efforts."
"Tell him this is done between us unless he continues to press the issue."
"Good day gentlemen."
"You coming short shanks?"
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Lavios slunks off to a secluded place and spends his time with his deity.
I now know. I came here to save my people, but I've found a greater purpose. There is an evil about that needs to be stopped. My people getting kidnapped was to bring me here, but it wasn't a coincidence meeting these people. It was your will to have us all meet up. Our reasons for coming to this place might have been different, but I feel we're all staying for the same reason. I don't know this reason yet, but I feel it will soon be revealed. Your winds will guide our sails to the location where you will need us. We'll succeed in the task you have given us.
Karl never blinks and keeping his eyes boring into Phedron who's pride does not seem capable of digging himself out of the hole he has dug himself.
A few moments later and a touch of sorrow crosses his face.
"Well . . . You are rapidly losing your audience and you seem unable to reason this one out yourself. Not all men are as fond of noble airs, bearing and ribald court tounge."
Karl's hands fly to his blades which come whistling out of their scabbards. The flats of the blades impact with sickening whip cracks across the young spell casters unarmored body.
1d20 + 6 - 2 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (20) + 6 - 2 + 2 - 4 = 22 to flat blade
1d20 + 6 - 2 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (5) + 6 - 2 + 2 - 4 = 7 flat footed AC of 10 no crit
1d8 + 1 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + 1 + (5) = 14
1d20 + 5 - 2 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (17) + 5 - 2 + 2 - 4 = 18
1d6 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + (5) = 6
Phedron sprawls unconscious across the floor as Karl deftly returns his blades to their places on his well worn belt.
"First lesson, Phedron."
Karl bends down and unbelts the wizards saber.
"He couldn't overcome his pride. He will come to fairly quickly . . . When he does, tell his to come for his sword if he wants to learn how to use it. I will take him as a pupil. He has the steel needed to wield and master the sword if he chooses the path of a sword master . If he doesn't wish to come with us, I will return his saber to his uncle this afternoon and tell him how I came to possess it."
"Mr. Beckett, I wanted to speak with you, but it will have to wait for another time. I have people to meet with."
"Nosa, that was most noble of you, I appreciate your efforts."
"Tell him this is done between us unless he continues to press the issue."
"Good day gentlemen."
"You coming short shanks?"
Karl's eyes keep boring into Phedron's. His pupils start to dilate.
His mind begins to run through the scenario again, but this time he makes a lethal attack with his main blade and follows up with a no leathal blow with the lead filled sap hidden hear his left hip. The attack would leave the wizard near death, but fully alive when the sap's kiss wore off. Karl would take the saber. . . .
"Your blade is forfit and so is your life should you pursue me."
Karl's nostril twitches into a flare.
The scenario plays again, but deadlier this time . . . Phedron lies in a pool of ever expanding blood as his lifeless body drains out. The paladin might jump in . . . He dies too. . . Beckett, well who knows where his mind is right now. . . . Karl's mind would not go there. Everyone but Karl is dead now. Boot steps fill the hall, shouts call out. He is going to be on the run again more people are about to die.
Karl breaks the saber off at the hilt.
"Stupid boy!"
"Get out of here Linkah . . . Sorry."
They may kill him . . . Karl doesn't care.