Karl's blade sings along the man's neck, opening his remaining life to mix with the rain and mud. He collapses to his knees, eyes glazed and unseeing. Beckett, bellowing his anger and fury caves in the Stag Herald's head with a mighty blow of his hammer.
The mud and rain and blood mix at your feet. The roar of battle still fresh in your ears, all you hear is the rain falling and the heaving of your own breath. But looking around, there are strangers in your midst. Newcomers that joined the battle and seemed quite content to fell the same enemies like so many trees in a forest.
From the rain and shadows emerges Agidor, a helpful hand for Linkah who apparently has an injured leg and is clutching his side.
➢ 16 Lavios (HP 11/13)
➢ 16 Drogan (HP 8/9)
➢ 14 Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ 12 Linkah (HP 14/16)
➢ 8 Jak (HP 33/34)
➢ 8 Agidor (HP 9/9)
➢ 7 Beckett (HP 8/9)
|
Beckett jerks his hammer free from the corpse and spins to face the newcomers. Rain trickles from the brim of his hat and runs along his face, the streaks of cleanliness giving evidence to his blood splattered countenance.
He takes a step forward, pointing his hammer toward Lavios and Jak, his eyes still ablaze with wrath.
"Who are you?" he growls. Then, gesturing toward the bodies, "What is your part in this?"
|
Lavios stares intently at Beckett, not easing the grip on his trident.
"Just about to ask you the same thing"
Lavios clears his throat
"These... vermin... slaughtered and kidnapped my people, I'm here to administer justice and rescue my people. As for who I am, I'm Lavios Daleborn, a proud zealot of Gozreh, here to weed out heretics and miscreants alike"
Lavios nods towards Jak
"He's my partner, Jak, he came to help me and to bring the Stag Heralds to an end. Now that I have gave an introduction let me hear about you and your purpose"
Karl gives the dead and dying bandit leader his heel toppling him unceremoniously over into the mud. Karl crouches down, pulls a handkerchief from a hidden pocket from inside his leather outer jerkin to wipe his blades.
"If you can still hear me, you are dead now. I hope you enjoy it, but in my experience, evil begets evil. Evil seldom rewards with anything, but evil. Enjoy your just rewards. You welcomed it after all."
Karl returned his blades to their scabbards with a flourish. He eyeballed the other combatants while he extended his other senses to appraise his group's current tactical situation. He takes the hand axe and slips it into his belt.
perception
sense motive on the new comers
"A good question Mr Beckett, but be easy. The one with the short sword, Jax, has cultivated the image of a local drunkard, someone to not take notice of. He flits from drinking hole to inn to tavern . . . And he is quite unusually skilled with that blade of his. A good piece of steel as well. More so than one would expect from nothing, but a local drunk. The other one, the boy Lavios, fights with passion. Recklessly so even. I suspect you two might find you have much in common Mr Beckett. . . Finally, and most importantly, they have archerers . . ."
"In any event, what we need to know is, do they wish to prevent us from moving along our path or to interfere with our objectives."
"So gentlemen, will you be needing anything more from us or are we all free to continue on our way?"
Looks away from the others for a minute to assess Linkah. "How bad off are you?"
Then to Drogan and Agidor indicating the dead gang members . . .
"Lets roll them quickly and divest them of valuable and useful items."
Searching bodies.
"An interesting choice of weaponry Master Lavios . . . and thank you for the information . . . We are not kidnappers and we do not know know where any of your family members are unfortunately. The Stag Heralds happened to get in the way of our goals, hence the clash."
"Are any of the items here contested? I believe you will find us liberal in negotiations."
Drogan tips his hat to the newcomers. He begins to speak as he goes about the business of gleaning his pay from the dead.
"Well then, seems our wandering band has gathered a few more then. Drogan Anvilsong at your service. This is my cohort Agidor," He says, thumbing towards the other musician, "That delightful fellow with the shoutin' is Beckett. The surly looking one is Karl. And the little one is Linkah. Don't take any mind of him if you ye don't understand him. We barely do and he's a friend."
Drogan cleans the blade on the cloak of one of the bodies before returning it. "Yer welcome to tag along if you'd like. You earned that much in the fight. We've got business with Marcum. As Karl said, so long as you don't mean us any trouble with that, I've no problem callin' you friend."
|
|
Beckett stares intently into Lavios's eyes, searching for truth. Then he nods once sharply and lowers his weapon.
Turning toward Marsh, Beckett smiles and shrugs. "Certainly, I'll go easy, my friend," the frantic harshness entirely gone from his voice. "Nothing to get upset about" he grins. Glancing back to the newcomers, "We may have found common cause with these fellows." Then he walks toward Linkah.
As the Inquisitor passes Drogan, he puts a single hand on the dwarf's shoulder and nods in thanks.
Nearing Linkah, he goes down to one knee to examine halfling's wounds with concern.
The one introduced as Jak is still staring down at his blade like it's an alien thing gripped in his hand. A heartbeat later he sheathes the weapon in a scabbard secreted away in the small of his back and under his coat. His eyes are far from the drunkard's stare Karl had seen on occasion in the Fen. "You know who you downed here?" He toes the dead leader. "This one's Hem, usually pals around with an ugly cuss named Dobbs...Ardo's second in command in Cassomir, not that many know it. From what me and Lavios discovered, these Stag Heralds are up n' comers, but Absalom their usual territory."
Jak pauses and takes stock of the situation. "Guess it'd be a strange thing us arriving at the same place at the same time. Strange if we weren't dealing with someone like Marcum." He takes note of the dwarf's introduction and frowns. "Agidor, huh? Hem here, we heard he and Dobbs were looking for you." His tone makes it clear they weren't looking to chat. Jak looks back to Karl and nods appreciation. "Good to know you're more than a reputation, Marsh. As for our archer pals, they work for Marcum. I'm guessing that's where they went."
As Agidor thinks on the new information, Linkah gives a trademark halfling grin, but even in the dark and the rain, his pain is evident. At the concern of other Karl and Beckett, he laughs. "Longshanks stuck me with a knife n' kicked me over. Then he went after Agidor..." The halfling winces in pain and stops talking.
"Good thing for me he missed Link's sling. Took the bugger in the back of the head and ended him." Agidor finishes for him. The thin-faced bard looks to Karl then to Drogan then to Lavios. "Did I hear you correctly? You're here to see Marcum?"
To Beckett's eyes Linkah has a bleeding wound in his thigh, but the deep puncture wound to his right abdomen is the more concerning. Blood seeps through his fingers where he tries to keep pressure.
The group stands in the rain amongst the carnage and realize that for one reason or another, they share a destination.
➢ 12 gold
➢ 33 silver
➢ 10 short swords
➢ 1 Hatchet / 1 Dagger (Leader's) **
➢ 10 short bows
➢ 42 arrows
➢ 2 crossbows
➢ 12 bolts
|
|
Beckett smiles at Linkah reassuredly.
"Not going to be easy keeping my word to Lord Bromathan if this guy gets himself killed."
Beckett's mind flashes back to the image of the man he'd killed. The first man he had ever killed. The look of fear and regret in his eyes. Beckett's own eyes going distant, his smile fading.
"Why?"
After a brief pause, Beckett snaps back to the present, and renews his smile.
"Why, you are going to be just fine, my friend. I am no healer, but I have spent considerable time among them. We'll finish your little errand, and you'll be as good as new in no time at all. You'll see."
Beckett stands and listens to the others. He tries to make note of the names and events, but his mind keeps wandering.
"How about we just get this done, and get me out of here?"
Beckett crosses his arms and waits.
Drogan looks at the items collected. He takes particular interest in the hatchet and the knife.
"Let me have a look at those. I've an eye for this sort of thing"
(+2 if non-magical)
(+2 if non-magical)
After examining both the weapons, he drops the dagger.
If one of you wants to take that, you have my blessing and a warning. I don't want anythin' te do with it. That blade serves no purpose but to end a life in the worst way possible. It will not, and probably will never, cut clean. It's the filth on the knife that does the killing there.
He holds the hatchet and chain in hand. "This, on the other hand, is fine work. Worthy of a dwarven forge, but nothing we've ever made far as I know. It's a sort of variation on a kusarigama. If you know how to use it, it's well worth your time. However, if you don't know how to use it - we're probably better off just sellin' it at the local market. It'd be more use as coin in our pocket."
Hatchet & Hook
➢ Value: Approx 45 gold
➢ Stats: 1d3/1d6 (x2) / S or P / (double, grapple, reach, trip)
➢ Masterwork Weapon (+1 to Attack)
➢ Exotic Weapon Proficiency Req’d for Double Weapon use
Linkah grins up at Beckett and chuckles. The effort earns him another wince. "You're a right bad liar, Master Beckett...but thanks." He whispers.
Agidor rubs at his neck subconsciously taking a step away from where Drogan drops the poisoned dagger. "Poison, bad business." Regarding the other weapon, the hatchet, Agidor considers that and the rest of the gear. "I know a guy in the Fen...but I bet Marcum might know some folks where we can move these weapons. Someplace where they'll have a better use... After those here decide if they want any of them or not."
He looks to Jak in response to his previous announcement about a potential bounty. "Hem and Dobbs, huh?" At Jak's confirmation, the thin-faced bard involuntarily shrugs his shoulders where his guitar case is still slung. "Wonder which reason they had to come after me?"
"That one over there..." Jak points to one of the bodies.
"Gibby?" Agidor guesses.
"He told me n' Lavios you were workin' an angle with Marcum. That you and him messed up one of their deals." Jak hooks his thumbs in his belt and waits.
"They're trying to get into the slaver market. The Stag Heralds." Agidor sighs. "I found someone Marcum could work with, a half-elf who's got the ins and outs of the underground. This half-elf is trying to help the lower classes, keep 'em out of the way of the nobility. But I figured he'd be able to put a burr in the Stag's saddles if you know what I mean. Marcum was keen to do it. Knowing him it offered him a way to keep tabs on this new gang and stop the pour souls from being sold on the slave markets."
"The axe is quite interesting. Perhaps it the chain off it and use it. Or sell it, whichever. The dagger I will keep hold of. Death is death, poison is horrible, but so is being melted to death by a wizards acid arrow or peeled like an onion by a clerics blade barrier or . . . Immolated by holy fire. I will keep hold of it if for no other reason a starving child doesn't find it and attempt to cut his bread crust with it."
Karl offers the axe to the Dwarven bard.
"You, of course, are the dwarf I was speaking of when I mentioned I knew one that would be interested in it."
Karl looks down at the man with the ruined head that Jax jabbed at with his toe.
"Interesting . . . Where do these other leaders reside in interest of if and when it comes time to deal with them. It sounds like we may expect reprisals? How are they liked to Tarik?"
Karl picks up a short bow and handful of arrows.
"If anyone else needs a ranged weapon please pick one of these up. Lets grab the coins and the weapons that we can carry. I believe we should be on our way sooner than later. We can get a better look at the halflings wounds indoors and out of this rain. . . Mr Linkah, will you be needing a tourniquet?"
Agidor shakes his head regarding Karl's question. "Not sure. They're a new lot in Cassomir. Marcum might know more about them. I know what I know because of him."
"Tarik likes them," Jak replies. "The ugly half-orc likes the way their boss thinks, fella name of Ardo. But Tarik's second, a sneering human named Eutharic, he doesn't like him at all. Views Ardo and his boys as a threat."
Dagger (poisoned)
➢ Value: Approx 10 silver / unknown for poison
➢ Stats: 1d4-2 (19-20/x2) / S or P / (broken condition)
➢ Unknown Poison substance
➢ No Sleight of Hand bonus due to existence of poison
➢ The pommel has a setting at the end indicates that something - a signet or perhaps a jewel - once rested there. But a dramatic impact must have dislodged it long ago.
"Well, it seems we'd better keep our appointment with Marcum then, by the sound of it."
Drogan straps the hatchet to his belt for safe keeping.
"I'm ready to go whenever Linkah gets tended to."
Lavios,
I saw on your character sheet that you have some skill in Healing. I went ahead and rolled it here to go ahead and move forward with the timeline. If this is something your character would not have done, please let me know. I’ll make the narrative effectively general so you can add your character flavor as needed.
- Jeff
The rain continues to fall in Dog’s Teeth, soaking the dead and the living. Linkah stares up into the night sky, willing himself to not feel the pain as his wounds are tended and wraps applied about his thigh and torso. In a more typical halfling fashion, he gives a grin and a small chuckle. ”Dawnflower be praised, eh? The rain seems ta be slacking.”
And as the group’s blood cools in the night, they notice it too. The rain seems to be lessening.
The wounded treated and the gear of the fallen gathered, the group heads off to the northwest and Marcum’s shop. It’s a short distance, maybe a block or two before they site the low-slung, stone-walled building with the wood roof. A surprising feature of the building are the casements in the windows to prevent inclimate weather from intruding. Add to that a solid looking door stands between the adventurers and the interior. Agidor steps forward and tries the door, finding it unlocked and the oiled latch easy to trigger. Instead of opening it, he knocks firmly.
”Marcum?” he calls through the door. ”It’s Agidor, I brought Linkah and some others. I’m going to open the door, okay?”
The bard looks back to his companions, seeing that they’re ready and waiting in case of problems within. When he gets a nod of approval, he pushes the door open and enters…
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
The paladin had returns from his reconnoiter with Helios and the others, his clothing and cloak soaked through from the pouring rain that had not seemed to stop since their arrival in the Dog’s Teeth. His long strides carry him to Marcum’s Shop where he finds the short, narrow-shouldered man with spectacles seated behind his counter calmly reading a book on Osirion.
”Did you find them? The villagers?” he asks in his reedy voice, not looking up from the book.
”Yes. But Kheegan was captured.”
Marcum sighs, calmly placing the book down on the counter and closing it. ”Then we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?” He rubs at his right shoulder, the ache that never seems to go away, then returns to his reading. ”They will return soon, then we’ll know the Towers hand.”
Nosa remains at the shop, ready to defend the information broker with his life if need be, that is the paladin’s oath.
Minutes pass, the rain and thunder all around the little shop threatening to break away the stone walls surrounding them or tear away the wooden roof. Leaks were prevalent all around, pots and dishes used to collect the water. After a long period of waiting, they hear the sounds of battle beyond the door. Nosa draws his sword and readies his shield, stepping into an open space between the counter and the door, marking his battleground as his father had taught him.
But through the doors, instead of enemies, the storm admits Helios shouldering a badly wounded Hal’dorel. ”We ran across two people, staking out the tannery like us. One of them,” Helios gulps in some air, but manages to look at Nosa and grin. ”Only you’ll believe this, but one of them is Lavios Daleborn, the guy from Southridge who’d set off after the Stags.”
Nosa’s determination firms. ”The goddess watches over us.”
”Son,” Helios says, setting to work on their elven comrade. ”...you’re making me a believer.”
-------------------------
-------------------------
A knock at the door brings all their attentions around. Nosa draws his sword out of instinct, shield coming up as he places himself in front of the wounded elf and Marcum. Helios’ hands are filled immediately with his longbow, an arrow knocked.
”Marcum?” A voice calls through the door, words somewhat muffled by the wood and rain. ”It’s Agidor, I brought Linkah and some others. I’m going to open the door, okay?”
Nosa looks back to his companions, seeing that they’re ready and waiting in case of problems without. But in Helios’ eyes, there is a small measure of relief...but he still keeps his bow at the ready.
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Agidor opens the door, and with the wide framed entryway all feel a wash of warm air and the smell of a fireplace. Inside, the shop’s walls are lined with shelves holding odds and ends, the occasional book or scroll but mostly tools and parts. Three quarters of the way into the shop a merchant’s counter rests, its maple bulk housing a display case. Behind the counter, a human stands; short to the point of nearly dwarven height, shoulders narrow and misshapen, head devoid of most of its hair and thick glasses resting on his nose and arrested by a piece of twine looped around his neck.
But most prominent in the room is a towering man clad in banded mail, a steel shield raised and a finely crafted longsword held at the high guard. Behind him, an elf rests against the wall, blood ruining the front of his tunic where three short bow arrows protrude like gruesome hands of greeting. On the other end of the maple counter, a half-elf holds a longbow, arrow knocked but pointed towards the ground in front of him.
Goddess guide me.
Nosa stands firm, sword and shield at the ready. He glances down that the wounded elf, one he has come to call friend in their short travels together. He positions himself between his friends and the newcomers, his desire to protect coming to the fore.
He quickly surveys the newcomers, trying to discern who the most dangerous foe may be, but the group is a strange one and he is unable to come to that decision.
Goddess guide me.
Do you know this lot Marcum? Are they friend or foe?
"The evening is pregnant with possibility." the man behind the counter says, voice high pitched and reedy. He nods greeting and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hello, Agidor."
Nosa glances at the small man, usure what to think of the first comment. The second comment however, is enough to let him know that Marcum is familiar with at least one of the newcomers.
Well, one at least is known to you, what of the others?
Nosa continues to stand in defense of his charge, still unwilling to forgo his commitment to defend.
Speak now Marcum. Shall I allow them in, or dispatch them?
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"My my my, don't you stand out like a freshly struck silver mark amongst a heap of copper farthings. I did not know that you were employing shining knights from Ustalov, but you have always been a man full of surprises, Marcum. . . I dont doubt your resolve brave knight, but as you can see there are eight of us and one of you and I don't feel like being dispatched today. So put your sword away before someone gets hurt. We are here to make a delivery."
"Rest easy, as rude as this elder fellow is, young man, Agidor is known to me," Marcum sees a diminutive figure among the group as well. "As do I see and know Linkah with whom I have business."
Helios lowers his bow completely and spins the knocked arrow in his off hand. "That one there, he is Lavios of Southridge. He and his confederate Jak are the ones we met earlier." The half-elf grins towards the armored man. "Stay your weapon, good sir." Then he spares a nod for the human bard. "Agidor, good to see you this side of the ground."
"Good to be seen, old friend."
The half elf nods towards Beckett and touches his brow in polite greeting. "Good to know Agidor cam muster some well mannered souls. I am Helios Sunchaser, my elven friend is Hal'dorel." He nods to Nosa to make his own introductions as he sees fit.
Linkah, a halfling of singular fortitude steps forward with the aid of the one Marcum indicates is Agidor. The human carries a hardened leather guitar case over his back and the hilt of short sword at his hip. "Marshies right, Mister Marcum. I got the delivery all safe as houses." The halfling produces a small object wrapped in oiled-cloth from the pocket of his vest and places it on the counter. "Whatdya say, can ya get us the coin, get me n' my mates out from under?"
Marcum smiles over the counter at Linkah as he slips the wrapped object closer for inspection. "I took the liberty of sending word to Ordna earlier this evening when I heard the Lamprey had docked."
"You mean...we're..."
Marcum reaches behind his counter and withdraws a book which he flips open with one hand whole unwrapping the cloth with the other. "...free. You and your family are quite free." He goes thru the pages of the book and does a comparison. Satisfied his eyes leave the book and his hand produces a pouch for Linkah. "Free and sight bit richer. I trust you'll be able to handle the promised payment in conjunction with said freedom. And be able to distribute to those I assume aided in your deliverance."
Linkah, for the first time in the evening is speechless as his big eyes well with tears.
|
|
Beckett stifles his first instinct... to throw Linkah over his shoulder and sprint out of this dawnforsaken pit.
"Be calm. Ignoring evil is aiding evil. Best to be certain that we have not furthered any sinister cause."
Beckett slaps Linkah on the shoulder.
"Congratulations, my friend! The light will shine on free folk this morn!"
Beckett looks at Marcum. "Thank you, as well, for your part in this." Gesturing toward the unfortunate elf. "It appears to have been a bit of an inconvenience for you. It is good to know that the key is in capable hands, given... well... the dangers involved..."
Beckett nods knowingly.
"Yes, as I said, anyone willing to go through the level of trouble to obtain it knows what it goes to. . . I may be surely to be sure, but I am not ignorant. Now that we have been directly involved with the killing of several of the Stag Heralds, favored of Tarik, we will need to find a way to ensure that our small friends can survive to enjoy their newly earned freedom without being killed. . ."
Perception
What language is that written in?
Karl looks about the room taking stock of everyone's injuries.
"How about you Marcum? How do you plan on weathering that storm? With the exception of your joust jockey over there, your camp is looking worse for wear. On the way here we killed Hem. He had a dagger with Agidor's name on it. Sounds like there may be a bounty on your head Marcum, but don't be getting your sword and board, platinum panty wearing buns all pinched together over it Sir Knight. I am not here to try to collect on it."
Nosa looks at Marsh, eyes beginning to burn. He lowers his shield and sword and strides over the man and stands just inches from him.
"I am Nosatrub Shieldarm, son of Veras, squire to the Knights of Ozem,servant of the Blessed Lady of Valor, and it was she that guided me to a small village named Southridge that was set upon by fiends and villains, burned to the ground. It's people stolen for slavery. I rode with these two," nodding toward the elf and half elf "in search of the beasts who would commit such a crime. We also knew that one of the towns own rode here on the same errand. Now I here that the one from Soutridge is in this place and it seems we are close to finding the captives. Were it not for the fact that justice needs to be done and that whipping you would take time that we may not have, I would use my sword to remove your forked tongue from your mouth. Never insult me again."
That said, Nosa turns on his heel and walks over to where his Elven friend lays wounded. There, he takes up his vigil of standing defense over his companions once again.
Drogan scans the elves with a sigh. As I feared. Not a one of them is him.
"Your friend's wounds need tendin'. I could summon up a bit, but it's been a long day. Don't know how effective it'd be. But, any port in a storm so they say."
As Drogan has learned the hard way, it is not a wise idea to approach a warrior's vigil without invitation - especially when it involves his friends. So as he awaits reply from Nosatrub, he turns his attention to Marcum.
[b]Might be none of my business, Marcum, Sir. But I know that key. Seen it in the Iron Archive in a tome of Dwarven lore. So if you pardon a bit of curiousity must 'ave rubbed off of our halfling friend there - what's an elf-kin merchant want with key made by dwarven and gnomish hands?"
sleight of hand
"Never show an enemy your back Squire Shieldarm and that's no insult, just common sense, though I like your cheekiness."
A hint of a smile appears on Nosa I understand the common sense of the matter sir, though apparently the message I meant to send was lost on you.
Something though seems amiss with this human, Nosa cannot say why.
Nosa turns his attention to the dwarf who offered healing to his wounded Elf friend.
Good Dwarf, if you have healing skills, I would most appreciate any hand you can give my friend here.
"Turning ones back may be a grave emotional insult in court, but here it shows you to be an easy mark, careless, unaware. That was the lesson I was trying to impart, so that you can can live to become old, rude and wise . . . Now that you have finished with your threats, gave us a brief synopsis of your quest, and said your piece, you ask us to heal your friend . . .who presumably might then help you dispatch us? heh heh heh. I think we will wait on that, though I have nothing against those of the fairfolk, especially one from Kyonin. Its just that Marcum has got things so stirred up, and in close proximity to Tarik's den, that we might need our healing to make it out ourselves."
Marsh turns his eyes back to Marcum.
"I've done my research as I am sure you have Marcum . . . could you please answer a few of the questions fielded to you before we proceed further. Information might help ease tensions and even lead to a healing of relations."
Nosa turns his attention to Marcum, knowing that further discourse with the older man with his jabs and slights would prove pointless. He does his best to hide his confusion, not wanting the strangers to be aware of how uncomfortable he is in his present situation.
Goddess, am I prepared for all that lies ahead of me? Give me wisdom and knowledge to go with a strong arm.
Well Marcum?
Marcum pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, giving his book another glance before wrapping the key once again. "I'm afraid I know little in regards to this key, Master Drogan." He draws a finger from the key to the open book. "First, I know that this key goes to something indicated on this page...and it says so in a language I don't understand, nor have ever seen. I'm extrapolating of course." His round face is a study in unabashed vexation. A thought occurs to him and he looks over the rims of his glasses at the dwarf. "Though I'm short enough, I'm afraid I'm just a human, but thanks for the compliment."
" તે ખૂબ જ મુશ્કેલી ન હોય તો ..." Hal'dorel grits in his native tongue, Helios going to the wounded elf's side to see to his wounds.
Marcum glances over from where he is studying the book again and waves towards the back of the shop. "Yes, yes. Back of the shop, Helios if you would be so kind."
The half elf, leaning his longbow against the wall and shrugging off a lute case to rest alongside, helps Hal'dorel to his feet and walks him to the back room. The two disappear through a doorway and soon a light can be seen coming to life as a lantern is lit.
Marcum goes back to studying the book and the depiction of the key with the strange writing. "An elf passed through here 10 months ago, had a book on him with this picture in it." He drums his thin fingers along the page. "Granted I didn't have a chance to commit this to my book for 2 days, I've got an excellent memory. One of the few things I can pride myself upon... Dwarven tome you say? This elf sought my help in getting this key from Korvosa. He indicated that a dwarf would be along to pick it up." Marcum slides the book and key a bit closer to himself when he sees something in Drogan's eye. "Sorry, Master Drogan, but you are not that dwarf. I checked."
"There were dwarves down at Farns Tannery." Jak mentions. He's leaning against the wall, arms folded. "One of 'em looked like like a boss of some kind. But he was talkin' civil with a couple half-orcs."
"That would be Stigion Ironhand." Marcum says to the group, then turns his attention back to Drogan. "Spomenuli ste je u Iron Arhiva ... čekić je barovi drži SIGIL od arhivista. Znate li ime?"
"It is to this Stigion that I've been told to supply the key." Marcum sighs and leans on the counter, hands pressing down into the wood. "I arranged everything. From handling the delivery of the key, to coordinating the payment with Linkah, to exchanging a message to the captain of the Lamprey, to pointing Ardo and his gang towards a discreet ship for ferrying cargo to Absalom. Of course, now Helios informs me that the location Ardo and his Stag Heralds is using, Farns Tannery, as place to imprison innocent men and women and children from the village of Southridge."
Marcum looks to the others. "Things were going exactly as planned. Ardo sent his men to have a chat with Captain Ordna, They made sure that the good captain is aware that the contract between himself and Linkah's family is effectively at an end." The misshapen human chuckles to himself. "Of course it hadn't taken much to have the right people tell Ardo ahead of time that there was profit to be made in the Korvosa to Cassomir run. I like that part. By having the halflings off crew, it opened the way for Ardo to supply his own Halflings...ones of less savory community than others and willing to make sure the Lamprey stays afloat and profitable for the Stag Heralds."
He glances over his shouder then over to Nosa. "Then there was Helios and his friends, the news of the villagers taken from Southridge. The realization of why Ardo had asked for transport to Absalom. Apparently he plans on sending the villagers for sale in the slave markets of the City at the Center of the World."
Marcum looks around the shop at the others. "So, I see a young man whom Linkah trusts and who knows how to pay proper respects." He grins slyly at Beckett and gives him a knowing wink.
"I've got a man who's sought the refuge of a whole in which which to crawl, deciding on the Scarlet Knucke." Marcum eyes Karl. "Yet he wears the weaponry of a vastly different profession."
"Now a young warrior of Iomedae joins forces with Helios and his band, traveling the Taldan frontier and finding another warrior seeking his captured family." he looks at Nosa and Lavios in turn.
"And then there is Master Drogan and his curiosity of keys."
Marcum smiles broadly and steeples his fingers in front of his face. "All of you know what I will ask next. To accomplish what I'm thinking would mean ensuring Linkah's safety, the freedom of Lavios' comrades and perhaps some answers for those of you with questions." He glances in Karl's direction then towards the others. He awaits the questions that are sure to come.
Nosa looks at each of the others that Marcum had addressed in turn trying to gauge their response to the strange man.
Goddess you have led me here to this place. Are these people with whom I am to take up arms with? They all seem to be here for goodly reasons. Rescuing the little ones from some life of misuse, saving the villagers from Southridge. All but the rogue it would seem? His motives I cannot guess. Though it would appear through Marcum's words that there is much more than meets the eye with that one. The dwarf as well, his intentions I cannot read, though he was quick and willing to lend aid. Trust your instincts Veras would say, the lady will guide you.
Iomedae herself guided me to this place. It is by her grace and through her providence that I am here now. I don't know what questions you speak of Marcum and I don't rightly care. What I do care about is that injustice has been done to the townsfolk of Southridge and seemingly to the halflings. Point my sword in the direction it needs to be and I will see justice done for all of them.
He with elves, halflings, and - apparently - the stout folk as well? Trust a back-alley merchant to have his hands in every passing pot. Somehow I don't think I'll get fair trade if I try to sell this blade here.
He nods to Marcum.
"And I meant no disrespect about the elf-kin comment. I've never been accused of being observant. To make it up to you, I'll lend myself to this task. You never know. Villagers saved, villains thwarted. Maybe they'll sing songs about me back at the Knuckle before long?
Having completed his business with Marcum, he removes a piece of wool twine from his pouch and begins to separate it. Kneeling by the wounded man, he says, "Now then, let us take care of this wound. Like I said - it's been a long day, so the lot of you better mind your steps 'til we get good rest and a stiff drink. I'm not a surgeon."
He presses his hands gently against the most egregious wound and mutters the words.
He sits back on his heals. "There. That should keep you through the night and a bit more. If you stay out of trouble, you should heal good as new."
"Yeah, well it looks like you have got things well in hand here. Just send the Squire the world is black and white here right down the middle, the elves can blot out the sun with the fletchings of their arrows, Marcum, you can man the door ram. Have fun storming the castle. . . I am not interested in being a fly caught in your web."
"You might keep a few of those weapons we acquired to give to your sprung captives. Sprinkle some holy water and stuff your pockets with clover for luck. You're gonna need it. That place has about 20 armed men at it and that's not counting the remnants of the Stags or Tarik's thugs."
"I've got my own matters to attend to and a group of my own to worry about. Linkah, you coming? Beckett?"
Linkah steps away from Agidor's supporting arm and stares up at Karl. The joy that had been there at the news of his kin's freedom is gone. The halfling gives the pouch full of coins he'd
received from Marcum a bounce then tosses the pouch at Karl's feet, the contents a mix of gold and a few valuables spilling out. His little hands ball into fists and he sets his jaw. "You know theres other ways sides tryin' a punch n' poke. Or is Mister Marcum's right, huh? You'd rather crawl your long shanks back down a hole?"
He juts his chin out and nods to the pouch on the ground. "Think that's enough ta stop ya from leavin' them folks ta their onesies? Think it's any better ta see 'em high on tha haven gettin' soldnin tha markets down on Misery?"
Despite the pain in the halfling's side, he stands straight and stares Karl in the eye with veracity. "Serenrae saw me n' me mates out from under. Least I can do is return the favor. That or ne'er see the sun on me soul again without a touch o' black."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Karl softens a little, but looks Linkah in the eye.
"Look, slavery sucks. I don't like it. I don't believe in it. I've shed my blood to end yours and others, but entire empires are built on it. Heck the vaunted "city at the center of the world" has a whole district devoted to it---right by the Temple of Iomedae for cripesakes!"
Karl lets that hang for a moment.
"The city of the Living God Aroden, had slavery . . . Now look, if it was my . . . If it was my family in there I would be all for storming it however I could, or If I was on my own I'd bleed each one of those responsible, one by one, til they were dead. But that's not the case here. I hear what your heart's telling you and if you want to join in, great, your call. People are gonna get killed and it might be you. If it's you, whose gonna get Corvim, your uncle and the others to safety? Huh? You're the smart one and you fell for the last contract. You've got to be there to make sure that doesn't happen again."
"You know Miranda. You think she wanted to be sold to the men upstairs at the knuckle? Do you think her mother wanted to sell her to keep her younger siblings alive? How about when the men that make their coin off Miranda's back that took her ability to have kids? What's anyone else done for her!?"
"I keep her and the others from gettin carved up see!"
"That man behind the desk is right about a few things. I do sit in my little hole. I control what I can. I have turned my back on a lot. I have fallen to sloth."
"I have done my crusades, fought my battles and I've killed my fair share. I promised to get you and yours freedom. I've seen to that. Now, I am gonna take Miranda out of the Knuckle and get your kin to a new life. Know anyone else whose gonna do that?"
"And you want to know the messed up thing? When I leave the Knuckle, someone else will fill my seat. The others there that never knew I did a darn thing for them won't have me there. Life will go on, the hells in the basement will continue, the nobles in the high district will sip their tea and say how do you do, while another ship sets sail from the harbor packed with fresh children bound for death in the salt mines. That's the way of the world though crisis and vacuum."
"You have to chose your battles."
Drogan's magic having taken effect, he tries to fiddle with some basic bandaging for the rest. Sadly, these endeavors are woefully less effective and take more concentration, so his eyes do not venture up from the groggy elf.
"You needed to stop while you were ahead, Karl."
The dwarf's sudden interjection makes them skip a beat. Then he continues.
I was all ready to back you there. It probably is a foolish idea. Probably will git some of us hurt in the end. I've got mah reasons for going that goes beyond the plight a' those folk from Southridge? Southshire? Southfork? Whatever it was. But that doesn't mean anyone else needs to follow."
"It was that bit at the end when you went all wrong. Doesn't matter how much or how little ya done. There's always somebody that'll remember the choices you made an' the things ye done."
At this point he stands up, shaking the dust from his knees. His eyes are still facing downward, almost heavy.
"And when you make the wrong call - you end up carrying that regret with you. You never know when you might get the chance to make it right." He sighs. "If you ever will."
He walks to Karl, looking him as eye to eye as a dwarf can, and says "So go crawl back to the Knuckle if you want. I'm not goin' te stop you. But when you cuddle up with that serving girl of yours, the one whose suffering you so eloquently cataloged for us. I want you to hold her tight and whisper into her ear that you could have stopped the same thing from happenin' to dozens more just like her and you let 'em rot."
The air is tense for a moment before Drogan pulls out a pipe and fills it with tobacco. He starts to walk outside for a moment when he says, I just was under the impression you were made of better stuff than the regular kuckle draggers."
"I was, Mr Drogan . . . ask my dead children. . . Where's your mother and father dwarf? Would you trade them for the lives of people you don't even know? . . . There are children starving less than a bow shot from here, you can't feed them all. You storm that place and the kids that are held there die are you ready to live with their faces for the rest of your life? Save those whom you can and learn to live with yourself."
"Goodnight gentlemen . . . I bear you no ill will."
"If you're goin', Marshy," Linkah starts with a heavy sigh, limping forward to gather up the coins and hand the pouch to Karl. "Secret these ta Corvim n' tha lads. Tell the lot they're free, jus' don't tell 'em where I've gone. They'll come for me, like as not. No hard feelins, Marshy. I never knew you was carryin' that stone on ya. Sorry for ya kin. Nothing worse than losin' your hearthmates."
The halfling gives the aged warrior a grip on the forearm then returns to stand with Agidor. He sniffs and wipes away a tear. "I'll sing a tune at the Dawn for ya hurts, Marshy."
|
|
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Beckett turns to leave with Marsh.
"Marsh is right. I've kept my word. Time to get out of this pit"
His step falters, and his eyes grow distant.
That visage. Why?
Beckett knew that the Dawnflower was with him. His abilities were proof of that. But, never before had he received a direct visage from her. Now he had, and that visage was linked to the first man he had killed. Not surprising. But he had expected a visage of glory and victory. Instead he received fear and regret.
”Why?”
He could leave. He was free. He could honestly tell Lord Bromathan that the task was done. But... There was something else going on here. He needed to know.
"I need to know why.” Beckett breathed softly.
Looking up at Marsh.
“I used to be like you son," Karl had said, "a long time ago and in a different place, but my sword has been riding heavier as of late and no longer sings in my hands.”
I thought he was wrong.
”The dawn reminds us each day that there are new beginnings for all of us. That there is redemption on the other side of darkness… That we can take joy in the light and despite whatever situation we find beneath our feet...the sky promises deliverance.” Lord Bromathan’s words still rang through his mind.
”You’re right, you know.”
Beckett's smile doesn't touch his eyes.
”We are alike, after all.”
Beckett pauses, looking at the floor, considering.
”I died. Years ago. In a fine mansion. Everything was taken from me. And I was... changed.”
Beckett looks up again and shrugs.
“I just haven't stopped moving yet.”
The Inquisitor’s stands up straighter. His eyes taking on an intensity, but his voice soft.
”You died too. Didn't you. Everything taken. Everything changed.”
Beckett’s face gleams, staring into Karl’s eyes... searching...
”But you are still fighting to live. Why? The woman... Link here..." Beckett gestures to the halfling. "Losing them terrifies you.” He cocks his head in puzzlement. ”Why? A dead man should know no fear.”
”Yes." Beckett nods. "That is why you are in so much pain, my friend. You are neither dead nor alive.”
Looking thoughtful, Beckett repeats some words slowly, with no melody, considering each one in turn.
"One man's story is another man's shame
I ain't bound for glory, I'm bound for flames
Take to the woods boy, and cover up your tracks
Go away child and don't look back"
Beckett's gaze returns to Marsh, his face filled with honest puzzlement.
"Why do you look back?”
"It is of no difference to me, my friend. But... why live in these two worlds? Life and death? If you are alive... go be happy. Free your lass and live a life filled with joy.”
The intensity returns to Beckett eyes.
”But if you are dead... truly dead... then let them go. Let it all go... Be free at last.”
Beckett takes a small step toward Marsh, standing close, almost whispering in his ear.
”I am going with them. There is something I need to learn.”
The Inquistor glances back at the group, then returns his attention to Karl.
”Is there anything you need to learn?”
Chills started in his face and ran his back. Fire ignited in his finger tips, blood drained from parts of his body and rushed to others as his heart ramped in reaction to his mind. The screams filled his ears, but it was only Marsh could hear them.
Much of my duty was routine, dealing with petty criminals and traitors to the realm. As my father said many times, a thorough investigation, threat or use of force and knowing when to turn a blind eye, protects both you and the crown.
When I heard the pounding on my door before first light on that fateful day, I expected something out of the ordinary. I didn’t realize then just how dangerous the case would be. Fortunately, some hidden intuition led me to put down my notes on paper. I must have sensed even on that first morning that the case would involve the truly powerful in the city. The notes were written partially to gather my thoughts but also as my guarantee that even if I was somehow removed, the guilty would still be punished. . .
Looking back at my notes, it’s surprising how much I missed. The signs were there. Toward the end several people of power suspected who the murderers were before I did and purposefully kept information from me. If I had that information even a day earlier . . .
It’s not to say that I’m blameless; I ignored many of the events that lead up to the first murder that would end up being vital clues. If I had started my investigation earlier and not been blinded by events happening to the lower classes, I would have been better prepared and able to focus on a much smaller list of suspects.
Elsa, please believe me . . . I did my best with the information I had. . .
I still see it clearly . . . all of it. . . I arrived at the murder scene just as the first hint of dawn. Between Lord Bashar’s men and the local watch, there were almost twenty men, most with torches surrounding the body. The building at one time may have been a warehouse. All four walls were still mostly intact, but the roof had fallen years ago and the rumble had either been dragged away or used for other buildings. Except for the body, there was no sign that anyone had used the building recently. It was a good place to dispose of a body . . .
. . . He was spread eagle on a stone slab, about three feet off the ground. I could smell the body, so he’d been dead for more then a day. It was a cool morning to help preserve the body. I tried to ignore the . . . Oh gods no stop this . . .
I examined his skin, it was waxy but hadn’t begun blister or slip. dead no more then three days. I was sure that once we talked to his family we could nail down a closer time of death.
It was dark . . . I had the torches brought close so I could see clearly and to drive away the vermin that had already gathered to feast . . . I had lost my revulsion to the stench of the dead long ago, but I still didn't the flies. Alastar had been cut straight down his chest from his throat to his stomach. The skin had been pulled away and the ribcage sawed open. The killer had methodically dissected Alastar. His heart was gone. . .
I didn't know any better then. I was blissfully innocent.
The missing heart confirmed my first impression, that he was killed by a jealous noble who had probably already delivered Alastar’s heart to an unfaithful wife. These kind of things happened more than those in polite society care to know. There are ways to punish and force submission through fear of one you would have love you . . . Sick, but effective.
Before I left the body, Lord Bashar showed me the bruising around Alastar’s wrists and ankles. He had been bound and was alive when the killer started to carve into him. There were no signs of whatever restrained him and there was very little blood at the site. I thought this supported the theory that he was killed elsewhere and dumped here.
I would need to return the body to the family, so I ordered it brought back. Before I gave it to the al-Cashan’s there was someone else I wanted to see it, Yolan, an Inquisitor who worked for my father for forty years. He knew more about the human anatomy and torture then any man alive. If there was something I missed, he’d find it. . .
Nosa nods in agreement.
Goddess there are people suffering. Guide me so that I may help to bring justice for them.
Indeed sir, we must act swiftly so as to not allow suffering to continue. Though not without care. I may only see things in black and white, but I see them clearly and I see that rescuing your townsfolk is going to be a mission of great danger to all involved. I am ready to help as I may, but not without a good plan. Iomedae has a purpose for my life and that purpose is not to die here.
The young man's words snap Karl back into the conversation. He drew his eyes up and examined those assembled.
They are new. Almost all of them, fresh and unknowing. . . Is this how the Sword-master saw me the first day in the yard?
<Achkhem> Karl cleared his throat and brought himself to look Lavios in the eye.
"There are tortures inherent in the process of what's happening to them, but they won't be killed yet. . . A frontal assault would likely result in casualties to your kin, any friendly to them and the Heralds would be left to pedal their trade unopposed."
Karl then moved his gaze to the crippled man behind the desk.
"Why must it always be sawmills, taverns and tanneries Mr Marcum?"
His eyes worked the room.
". . . You must learn to think asymmetrically. Therein lies the answer. . . And I must learn where a soul goes that's been torn from its owner, but has not been returned to Pharasma."
A pained grin of chipped and age worn teeth greet the young inquisitor as Karl's eyes meet and fix his. The older mans bravado and will to keep living have been peeled back. The weight of past trials and deeds wear heavily on his frame and mind. Old scars become more prominent across his features. His nose has a slight crook to it, one of the sockets of his eyes looks pushed in and smoothed out, both his eyelids droop from trauma to his temples and the younger man notices the bow to his right arm. Slight but noticeable.
Look at me! I was once as you were! As I am you will become!
"Very good Mr. Beckett. You have a sharp mind."
"You've torn me open and poured me out. Pain holds me, fear grips me, growing hate still shakes me and the sands of my time continue to run out. . . .Tell me why you've chosen me for this. . . ."
"I would not like for you to think that the Lord William Elliot Whitmore reference passed unnoticed. . . and you tried to lead me to believe you weren't well versed in music."
. . . Where do I take this pain of mine?. . .
. . . I rarely dealt with their families. I usually left it to an underling to deliver the body and question the family of the deceased, but Alastar was a noble and his family had influence with the army. I had no choice but to go personally.
. . ." I should have been more . ." .
I had little time or sympathy for grief back then, especially for someone who provided little and probably deserved to be soundly beaten or killed for sleeping with another man’s wife. Revenge and retribution were things I understood.
The al-Cashan’s would want justice I couldn't provide if I found that the killer was a highly placed noble. If he was deeply entrenched clergy, he would also likely be likely be beyond my reach. I could pass the information up the chain, the Marquis would have to decide to act on it or not.
I went directly from the where we found the body to the al-Cashan estate. It was early, barely the first hour after dawn when I arrived. I was unshaven and my eyes were dark from lack of sleep. I thought it would work to good effect; they would know I was working all hours to find the killer.
The servants roused the household and I was offered breakfast. It amused me to watch the al-Cashan elders try to demand information while treating me as my rank required. They knew my family was favored and that through my office I could make them suffer. Still, they were the aggrieved party and I was the officer of the court who was supposed to protect them.
Without providing many of the details, I told them that Alastar had been dead for at least a day and roughly where the body was found. I also told them that the body would be returned to them after my office had finished examining it and preparing it for them. That comment sparked a few respectful questions that I was able to deflect by stating that I hoped to find out more about the killer by how Alastar had been killed. I was not going to tell them about the state of the body and the missing heart.
The body would be repaired as best as possible and if need be, I would disguise the wounds. There were informers everywhere and the less known about the murder the better.
I fulfilled the basic courtesies then I began to ask my questions. I was blunt. I wanted to know who Alastar had been seeing and who might object to his various activities. The information began to flow.
Alastar had his sights set high, with women from most of the major houses, to include a younger daughter of the leading family. Alastar came and went as he pleased. He fancied himself good with both sword and dagger so he often went without guards. . . That was foolish, as the desperate in City could live for the better part of a year by selling the clothes Alastar wore. . .
The family knew of no reason why he would be north of the city. They had no property or business in that district. After two hours of guarded and often uncomfortable conversation, I took my leave. Had the trip been worthwhile, probably not. The proper form and concern had been shown and the family confirmed that the list of potential killers was very long. Alastar’s movements would be difficult to track and I was really no closer to determining when he died. I did get the impression that the al-Cashans would not let the killing pass without action. If I didn’t find the killer quickly, they would act against whoever they believed killed Alastar. They really had little choice. . .
If members of their family could be killed without risk, their family was finished. More blood would flow among the noble families unless I exposed the killer. There would be long days ahead.
I had no idea how long. . . No idea.
Karl composes himself more and walks over toward the elf from Kyoninn.
"What puzzles me though . . . Is why you would spend your life's grace on this, noble elf. A thing that occurs thousands of times in a lifespan as long as yours. . . You have something at stake personally in this don't you?"
"Puzzles . . . Yes . . . Puzzles were Yolan's specialty." . . .
I thought about heading home. Elsa and the kids would be home and preparing for their midday meal, but duty won out and I headed for my offices at the court instead.
Something told me I would need to report the events of the last few hours to the Marquis and besides, I wanted to see what Yolan thought about the body.
Once inside the gates to the court, I dismissed my guards, with the exception of Lord Bashar and headed for the Inquisitors’ Hall. Yolan was waiting in one of the holding cells. Alastar’s body was laid out on a table, his clothes removed. Yolan had done a thorough examination of the body looking for any wounds we may have missed. I had great respect for the old Inquisitor. he was one of a very few men that I trusted implicitly. I greatly valued his judgment, as my father had done before me.
As I entered Yolan waved me closer to the body. There was a broad smile on his face, which meant he had found something of interest, something new or something he rarely saw. . . "Great, not going home anytime soon."
“Karlton, come closer and see what I’ve found. This was no simple murder, the man was an artist. Look at where the body was cut. The killer avoided the major arteries and cut deep into the chest. I’m fairly certain this young man was alive as his heart was removed.” . . . Yolan could call me Karlton, he'd earned that right.
I trusted his opinion, but needed to flesh out the idea. “Why, wouldn’t it have been easier to just carve the dead body to get to the heart? Was it just to inflict more pain?”
The old man knew what I was asking. Men could be kept alive for days while tormenters were slowly flaying away their skin and removing body parts making them suffer long after they had given up the information they held. I thanked the gods that I and those under me did not use torture, but there were plenty of others in the city who did, not to mention the various cults and killers that inhabited dark corners. Yolan had gathered his experience over decades of service. He had seen a lot.
"I wasn't sure until I saw the cuts in the veins leading to the heart. Look here, see how cleanly they’re cut; the blood was still warm when they were made. The killer wanted a still living, still beating heart."
[]I tried to think through what use the killer could have for a living heart, and doubt started to enter my mind. If he was killed by a jealous rival, why go through all that effort? “What would they gain from a living heart?”[/i]
He leaned back a small frown on his face, even the old man was stumped, "No use I can see. Dead is dead." He shrugged. "However . . . there are two other things I’ve found. The first are cuts in both of his arms. See? Look how the cuts are shallow. I think they slowly drained away his blood as they cut into his chest. They wanted more then just his heart, they also wanted his blood.” I screwed up my face, but before I could ask another question, he held up his hand and pointed toward Alastar’s ankles. “The marks on the wrists and ankles were probably not made by ropes, my best guess is very fine chains; you can still see the ligature impression of the links on his ankles.”
My hopes for a simple revenge killing melted like snow on hot iron. The removal of the heart I could see, but not the blood. I had thought that the body had been dumped in the northern slums due to the lack of blood at the site, but maybe I had been wrong. "Could he have been killed where we found the body? The limited amount of blood led me to believe he was killed elsewhere?”
“I can’t tell without seeing the site, but you won’t find much blood wherever he was killed. If you can provide me with an escort I’ll go to look at the site myself.”
The old man’s enthusiasm helped ease my concerns. I had a feeling I would need more help from him before this case was over. “Thank you, Lord Bashar will see to it, but before you go, have someone repair the body. The family is expecting it and I don’t want them know that the heart was removed. It is too late to have him raised anyway, no need to cause unnecessary grief."
There was nothing left to learn, so I took my leave. With a heap of unanswered questions and an incredibly improbable motive for murder, I went to report what little I had to the Marquis. . .
The elf nods to Drogan. ”It has been a long time since I’ve given thanks to a dwarf. Minu tänu neile mägi.” With Helios’ assistance, he regains his feet and responds to Karl’s questions. ”Do not sell short the value of a life. If your kind spent more time learning how to live them, rather than take them, perhaps things would be different.” He sighs and straightens his clothing and armor, a complex pattern of leather layers that seem as much alive as a second skin as it moves and shifts with his breathing. ”I am here for my own reasons, yes. They include offering my aid to Helios and his men. That was mine and Kheegan’s offering when we entered Taldor. We saw a need, and committed to it.”
Helios leans against the wall of the shop, arms crossed and thinking. ”I’m not sure it was the best thing for you, my friend. Now Kheegan is captured.”
”I know the mettle of him I call Vinr Alfakyn, Helios Sunchaser. I would dishonor him and myself by turning my back on the very people we sought to help.” Hal’dorel turns his attention back to Karl. ”My personal stake is irrelevant. My long life is irrelevant. Had I succumbed to my wounds tonight, so be it. I would have done so in service to something greater than myself. What use the song of my life, if I don’t use it to improve the world around me?”
The elf’s eyes, soft hues of blue and green slip over to the Inquisitor of Sarenrae. ”You speak with a wisdom I’m not accustomed to hearing from one so young. You’ve been taught well.” Hal’dorel gives an appreciative incline of his head to Beckett.
”If I may,” Marcum interrupts, a wrap of the knuckle on the wood top of the counter. The small-statured information broker rubs his hands together and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ”As has been stated, going at the tannery directly is all wrong. Indeed, from what Helios has mentioned, the numbers the Stag Heralds maintain there makes an attack prohibitive. It is their base of operations in Cassomir, after all.”
He slides his book back in front of him and and flips through the pages, little, pudgy hands moving with a dexterity of familiarity. ”The trick of information is knowing when it cannot be taken, yet understanding that t must be allowed to flow in order to be pulled from the ether.” Marcum’s fingers dance hypnotically through the pages, his sharp eyes cataloguing information. ”A secret ceases being a secret once it is spoken, for two ears have been bent.” More pages, more cataloguing. ”There are tunnels...there are times of transit...Chelaxian purple-seed...and a portly fellow named Hektor Lenz.” After a bit more searching, he closes the book and draws forth a scrap of parchment from under the counter along with a bit of charcoal honed to a fine edge for drawing. ”I”ll be happy to outline the importance of these things assuming I’m speaking with all those who intend to stay?” His eyes come up from where he's drawing and focuses on Karl.