Tavrus was really starting to hate these drow, and it was showing with his scowl. All they do is waste our time and resources, slowing us down from getting to the real problem beneath. Tavrus remained, seething in the corner, with Edric's expression an emotionless helmet as always.
Responding to Ian with a flat look, "I figured as much. So I saw no need to delay the inevitable. As for my name, Zov Kiveriss."
"I do not work for any particular organization. I'm more of a mercenary", He gives Ian an appraising look. "selling my sword arm to those who need it when something more than simple brute strength is required." While the drow would unlikely be a match for Ian in a contest of strength he is of muscular build and would likely best anyone else in the group.
"Vaek? I do not know the man.", it is only a moment though before understanding comes to his eyes, "One of Anthony's thugs?"
He shows bewilderment at the question regarding the merchant's guild. "I don't know what their association might be with the merchants."
"I know who a few of the dealers are. I could point you in their direction." He adds almost as an afterthought, "I wouldn't be surprised if Anthony's gang..., and this Vaek, are supplying it."
The drows eyes flicker as Valdr mentions The Mistress. He recognizes that title though he offers up no information on it.
When asked about working for an organization, you feel that his answer is honest, but that he knows something more about what you are driving at.
That last comment is more of some hatred he has for Anthony than any certain knowledge he has.
Tomlin frowned with brows furrowed as the drow spoke. The halfling was beginning to think the merchants had nothing to do with this turf war after all.
Tell us more about this Anthony and his thugs. Do you know of their hideout, who they represent? I understand you say you are simply a sell-sword; if so, who had hired you at the time of your capture?
Seeing he has your attention he grows a little more confident and gives a thin smile, "As I told your friend last time" he looks at Tavrus. "I was meeting with a friend of mine to discuss a job she wanted done."
"When I got to where we were supposed to meet though they'd just finished beheading poor Ilvaria." He does not really seemed concerned with the death of his associate.
Ian nods. He seems much less hostile compared to their last prisoner, even quietly respectful.
"Yeah, but I bet you kept your eyes open. I think you know somethin' more about these gangs, Zov."
He listens, continuing to watch Zov closely as he answers.
"I'm guessin' you and Anthony have a history?"
"Tell me about this 'Mistress'," Ian asks, finally, after a moment of quiet.
Zov holds up one hand showing several fingers that are bent in a way that shouldn't be possible. "This was courtesy of Anthony. I owe him for this."
His dark skin pales slightly at being asked about the Mistress. There is a fear written on his face that is easy to read. His voice drops to a near whisper. "She is a black hearted one." His eyes dart to the side as if fearing some unseen shadow. "Shannath Diguri." his voice drops even lower, if that is possible. "Any crime in this city... you can be sure she has a hand in it. You catch Anthony and he leads you to her."
That last he isn't actually certain of. Anthony and this Mistress are certainly tied in some way, but whether they are as close as he wants to make it sound seems doubtful.
"What was the the job you friend was recruiting you for... with details? What does the Mistress look like?"
"Now there is an irony. She had come into possession of some magical trinkets she thought she might be able to sell down in Issust Hold. She was looking for a couple strong arms to escort her down there, protect her from brigands on the road."
Zov sits back at the next question, thinking for a moment, then speaks quietly again, "That is a hard one to answer. The shadow of shadows she is sometimes called. She is drow, but tall, near 6' in height. Beautiful as no other. Whatever rumors you have heard of my kind, she embodies it. Silver hair and eyes to match. She is fond of silks."
"You are lying to us about Ilvaria Cha'ona Zov." Valdr says with a sudden fury. He smiles, though it is an unpleasant thing. "You do know that misleading agents of the tower is a crime, don't you? As is obstructing justice. Do not cooperate fully and you will stay here far longer than you first anticipated."
"We already know that Ilvaria Cha'ona, was one of those responsible for the murders. Her agent Maklo Roath was one of the killers. Who is there boss?" Valdr said, fully prepared to have Zov charged for the crimes he earlier mentioned.
Zov shrinks back, realizing his mistake in associating himself with the name of Ilvaria. He looks as though he might sick up. "Ilvaria sought to overthrow the Mistress. They... they meant to take over, but there was another, Firyin, he double crossed her."
Zov puts his hands to his head, brushing his thin fingers through his hair, shaking slightly.
"What is the purpose of all this infighting amongst your people in our city?" Tavrus pipes up, incensed.
Now we are getting somewhere, Tomlin thought as the group closed in on the verbally cornered drow. He understood Valdr and Tavrus' angry demeanors, but for himself a sense of progress overwhelmed other emotions. He kept his face a mask of grim calm however. Moving in next to his companions he looked Zov squarely in the eyes. I strongly suggest you provide elaborated answers to the questions we ask. As you can see, we know considerably more than you might first suspect. Your full cooperation may be only thing keeping an ax from parting your head from your body. Giving that thought a moment to sink in, he went on. Tell us everything you know about Ilvaria's group, those who follow the Mistress, their involvement with the pesh trade and where Anthony's little group fits into all of this. Be careful not to embellish or tell half-truths; one more slip up like that with Ilvaria could be your last.
Ian watches, not wanting too many chefs at work here.
Zov swallows hard. "Ilvaria planned to remove the Mistress and take over her organization. She had plans of some kind with Firyin, but I don't know much of the details with that. Only that he was supposed to send some of his followers to aid Ilvaria in removing the Mistress. They didn't show though, or Ilvaria wouldn't be dead now. I can only assume the rest of her group have scattered or been slain though, or maybe they've sworn to follow the Mistress in exchange for their lives."
"Anthony's thugs follow the Mistress. It was they who chased me down and tried to kill me when I fled. I... I don't know if they are really involved in the pesh trade. You can be sure the Mistress is, but whether Anthony's group helps with that I don't know for certain." Zov looks up, "Drail Banden. Talk with Drail if you want details about that, he should be able to tell you who makes the pickups."
After listening to Zov, Ian looks to his colleagues.
"The tower's got a lotta' problems need solving, and we're all stacked up on this one thing," He gestures a thumb towards Zov.
"And to be honest, all this--these gangs and backstabbing, I can barely keep my head around it. I'm gonna' spend some time around town, see if any of these names shake up the local pesh dealers."
"I am, honestly, inclined to agree. At this point, I'd almost rather just lock them all up than try to solve some gang war. Let them fight each other, kill the ones we can find." Tavrus says, almost wearily.
With the question over everyone departs to their own business for an hour or so before the lateness of the evening calls for sleep.
As the group seems to be working towards a variety of goals, Serelina notes aloud: "Before we look to far into the Pesh trade or the interworkings of these theives and merchants, I think we should remember that we were tasked with investigating the attacks in the hamlets outside of the City. Mayhap we should focus on this one task and let the rest stew a bit. Who knows, maybe they will all kill each other off in the mean time."
Valdr did not like what he was hearing. He was charged with maintaining order and the rule of law within Coran and its protectorates. The pesh trade and the gang war threatened all that. They could not sit back and let thief murder thief. To do so was to prove that the guards were useless and that the Mageocracy had no control over the city.
"More murders in the streets will only further destabilize the city. The thieves and their chaos spewing war is of a higher priority then some farmstead which may or maynot have been the victim of a long missing criminal. We should shut down the pesh trade and bring the Banden's involvement in all this to an end."
Arrangements for surveillance can be made, setting up some of the city guard with a bit more talent for secrecy and silence to keep an eye on things.
With Drail Banden's death naturally the business is in a bit of disarray. Many of the things stocked in the warehouses no doubt are legal property of various merchant's or other wealthy citizens. Do you want to have the warehouses raided and everything inventoried? Or keep to the subtle approach and see if a few plants among the day laborers and dock hands can discover anything over a week or so of time?
The more subtle approach it is then. It will be assumed you discuss this with the appropriate persons in the morning.
Breaking away from the days' work, Tomlin spent a portion of the evening in his local haunts near the halflings quarter of Coran. Part of this was to maintain appearance and part was to see if any additional rumors of interest had surfaced.
Later in the evening Tomlin returned to his abode, and proceeded to continue his grim work brewing poison.
As you return to tiny town you see Yabel, and elderly gnome and the head magistrate in tiny town hurrying away from his place of work, a wide grin across his face. The lateness of his work hours is not surprising, but the grin is, those who know him or know of him would swear he is never in a good mood.
”Two guardsman were killed this afternoon by an elven woman, and one of the catfolk. Said they belonged to a organization of thieves.”
.....
"The goblins of the Chaggath Spine have grown more bold. One of the caravans was attacked last week crossing through the long canyon. Several men, horses and wagons were lost in the attack while the rest of the caravan fled."
.....
"The desert nomads have been ranging farther northward, moving closer to Issust Hold then they have in the past."
Ian was getting more and more tense the further he got into the poorer southwest districts. He passed thieves, con men, smugglers, drunks, beggars and thugs--but they weren't what worried him.
It started to rain. Four streets past the Pig's Coin Tavern, then north until the Ringing Iron Blacksmith, the house is just across the street, he repeated Hazel's directions in his head. Worn and beaten faces watched him from the dark windows and nooks of the closely packed houses. The streets were filthy, and he was drenched by the time he spotted the blacksmith. The ex-guardsman got nervous, sweating. Good thing for the rain, he thought.
The day had been cold already, before the rain even started. Hazel's bed was always warm, for a price. They had known each other for almost a decade now. He was stalling, thinking of Hazel. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing out in the rain, in front of that run-down house. Back in the guard, this would have been a place to raid and flush out the pesh addicts. His hands were shaking--he clenched them into fists. Mustering his courage, he wiped rain from tired eyes and walked up the steps to the front door. The planks underneath creaked and groaned. He wanted to leave the coin purse on the doorstep and go home, but he had to make sure. He had to knock.
Ian raised his gauntlet-clad fist to knock, but hesitated. The door opened, and a face sneered at him through the gap.
"Who'you? Whatdya want?" The young man asked.
"I'm looking for Kira, I was told she lived here," Ian responded, feeling like a wet dog, and hoping he didn't look it.
"She ain't here," The stranger said, before slamming the door in Ian's face.
He looked at the closed door for a moment, the coward in him wanting to take the chance to leave.
"I have coin," Ian finally said.
There was silence on the other side of the door for moment, but he thought he heard whispered arguing. As he was leaning in to try and hear, the door opened a crack.
"Fine, give the coin here, I'll give it to Kira when she's home."
Ian grimaced and held the heavy coin purse out. When the man reached for it, Ian shoved the door open, knocking him flat.
The inside of the house was worse than the outside--holes in the floor, broken glass, cobwebs. It was dark, save a few candles and a fire in the fireplace. Smoke clung to the ceiling, and the air stank of whatever was in the cauldron, stewing over the fire. Ian looked down at the young man, who was clutching a bloody nose, and saw Kira crouched over him. When their eyes met, Ian grinned wider than he had in years--but the look she gave him made his heart sink and his smile wilt.
"The hell did you do that for," she asked, pulling the young man's head up on her lap and cradling it.
Ian looked at him. Dagger on his belt, but sense enough not to draw on me. Least he's got that going for him.
"I needed to see you," Ian answered. He wanted to say more.
"Just leave the coin and go. You haven't caused enough damage? Now you break into my home, attack my friends?"
Ian choked up, gesturing angrily at the injured man, "He wasn't gonna' let me see you. I needed--"
"--to see me, yeah, you said that. Please just go."
His throat constricted, he stood there in silence a moment. The young man pulled free from Kira and stormed off, holding his broken nose. Ian watched him go, contempt seeping into his expression.
Before he could say anything, Kira cut him off.
"Don't. Who I'm with is none of your business."
"With?" Ian asked, his anger rising again.
Kira stood up and confronted him, looking him dead in the eyes.
"It's none of your business. You made damn sure of that."
His anger was replaced by desperation as he felt his chances slipping away.
"Kira--"
She held her hand out. He almost smiled, then realized she just wanted the coin. He held the pouch out hesitantly. She snatched it away. Then she crossed her arms and stared him down.
"You're welcome?" Ian chuckled dryly, but he was struggling to keep his composure.
"Yeah? You should be thanking me for taking this, so you can't spend it on pesh."
"Kira, I'm clean. I've been clean."
"Now that's a familiar song."
Ian clenched his fists, the metal gauntlets creaking. He knew there were words that would make her understand, make her forgive him, but all he could think of was the same lines she was so tired of.
"It was...it was good to see you. I'm glad you're okay."
For a moment, she seemed sad. Ian felt like there was a connection there, that he could almost reach, but then the moment was over. She steeled her expression and met his eyes again.
"You gave up the right to worry about me a long time ago. When I needed you, you weren't there. And now you're here, breaking my boyfriend's nose, and you're glad I'm okay?"
"Boyfriend?" Ian's anger flared up, "That druggy kid?"
"You're such a f@!&ing hypocrite."
It all went so wrong, he screwed it up, another chance blown. He didn't know what to say. How many times had he said 'I'm sorry'? It just pissed her off now, but it's all he could think of.
"Get out," She said.
When he didn't move, she pushed him.
"Get out!"
She pushed him harder, a wisp of a girl--no, a woman now, but still a leaf pushing on a castle. He took a few steps back. A part of him was grateful she was this close to him, and he felt pathetic for it.
"Sweetheart..."
She was shaking, face red, eyes watery. "Don't call me that."
Ian took another step back, outside the door now.
She shouted at him, her voice cracking, "You were never my father, never. You can't make up for abandoning me, not with coin, and not with 'sorry'. You feel guilty, you want to haunt me and give me your coin, fine! But don't act like you'll ever be part of my life," she was screaming at him by the end.
The door slammed in his face. He smacked it once in frustration, then stepped back down into the rain, glad that it would mask how much she hurt him. He wiped his face anyway, and started walking. He still had two more coin pouches, one for Pityn and one for Dona. Two more chances. Eight streets north of the Ringing Iron blacksmith and Kira's house, five streets west...
Ian thrusts the man against a wall where he has been taking cover from the rain under an overhang. The man winces as his head cracks against the wood. "Blast man." He puts a hand to the back of his head a moment then bringing it back to take a look in the dim lighting, a tiny smear of red on his fingertips.
The dealer looks both ways nervously, looking like he might bolt, but apparently judging the chances against him. "Look man, I don' know none of them people. But see, I'm not part of that circle. I'm just trying to make a livin' see?" Making a living or trying to pay for his own habit, its likely one and the same with the man. He again looks both ways, "You should talk to Rosuc. Mebbe' he knows them peeps."
After last nights rain the morning brings a smell of cleanliness to the city that does not match the past several days events.
Each of you arriving at separate times at the tower grounds you wait in one of the side buildings as is usual. There is a flurry of activity on the grounds, with robed wizards rushing into and out of the tower grounds, with several higher ranking members moving in and out of the tower itself.
It isn't long, once all have arrived, before a servant enters, "Master Veray would like you to come to the tower itself." The servant himself seems rather stunned and surprised at this unusual venue.
Heading up the walk you see the Master waiting just inside the door leading into the tower. His expression is sober, which is uncharacteristic for the man. As you get close to the door he simply gives a terse, "Come." and turns into the tower expecting you to follow. Before he turns his back to you, a brief glimpse of his face up close reveals his eyes are puffy and rimmed with red.
An 8' wide corridor runs the circumference of the tower. Walking till you hit the east side of the building you come to a set of stairs leading up.
You know from the one other time you've been in the tower that had you traveled the other direction you would have circled around from the other direction to reach the same point with a set of stairs going down.
One the second level you march around the outer edge of the tower completing a full circle. You pass several closed doors along the way. In the process you also pass several mages chatting with one another coming the other direction. They give a nod to Master Veray and a slight look of surprise at the group following him.
Next to one door in particular is a plaque on the wall with the word Seiffno Siambr.
Siphoning Chamber
Again a set of stairs leads upwards and again a full circle is made. On this floor only a single door on the south side leads to any inner chambers. Again a plaque on the door gives some clue to what might lay beyond, Astudiaethau Dimensiwn
Planar Studies
This time the stairs level off for 15' or so, then climb again. A single door on the short balcony between stairs allows access to some inner room. Master Veray continues right past the door climbs what must be the equivalent of two more levels of stairs, placing you at the top of the tower. Dason greets Master Veray at the top.
The stairs lead up into a large single room that spans the entire top floor. Despite what must be solid stone above, the light of day illuminates the room as though as though the ceiling were made of one way glass. Against the north wall is a bookshelf half filled with old volumes. A desk next to it holds a stack of a dozen books.
What cannot help but catch your eye though is the floor of the entire room is a mural of the entire city laid out in miniature. The image is lifeless but the detail on the buildings from an eagle's eye view looks precise in detail.
Again terse in his speech, Master Veray instructs Dason, "Go ahead and demonstrate for them."
Dason, whether oblivious or indifferent of the Masters somber mood gives a bow, "Of course." He retrieves a wand from inside his robes and with a single word of activation a thin beam of light springs from the wand and strikes the mural in the center. As it does so thin faint spidery lines of light explode outward from the center of the mural racing down the streets of the miniature city. Then in a moment all the lines race towards an area of the southernmost docks, converging on a single point which remains glowing while all the lines fade away. The glowing point of light moves slowly down the street, turning south and ambling its way in that direction.
Dason clears his throat, "I was up all night figuring out how to make this work with Master Veray's help."
"This" he holds up the wand, "is only half of this bit of magic." He tosses the wand in the direction of Serelina. "And this," he pulls a second wand from his robes, longer and of a lighter colored wood. "Is the other half."
"This wand is used to place a tracer on an inanimate object. Either something in your own possession or something lying on the floor or a table, or wherever. It leaves a magical trace which the magic of the first wand can follow for a few hours time as I've demonstrated here. It will be blocked by all the typical things that block scrying magic. Lead, thick stone, and the like. Plant the enchanted object on the individual you wish to follow and it becomes a simple matter to track them anywhere within the bounds of the city while the trace holds." Dason tosses the second wand to Serelina.
Ian hits him against the wall again.
Ian watches the wizards running to and fro, thinking they look like ants. He smirks at the servant that approaches but says nothing.
When he spots Master Veray, he bows his head then follows, silent except for his armor clanking and rustling each step upwards. By the top he is breathing heavy, yet looks disappointed the climb was over.
He takes a few steps back as the light races towards him, looking a bit spooked for a second before realizing it was just pointing to the docks--where he had been standing. After chuckling, he crosses his arms and listens to Veray's explanation, nodding.
"That's a hell of a trick. You bring us up here 'cause we get to use this thing for our investigations?"
As the party gathered for the meeting the next morning, Tomlin mentioned the rumors he overheard the prior night , noting ruefully that none of it may matter for the current objectives. Still, better to keep all inform in case any of it does.
Tomlin marched up the stairs near the back of the group as they entered the Tower. This for him was a rare honor, and combined with his perceptions of Master Veray's mood made the normally dour halfling even more so. He examined the signs as the group passed, but understood none of it. He didn't expect to; that was a job for others and Tomlin knew his place.
The halfling stood straight with hands clasp behind his back as Master Veray and Dason demonstrated their evening's work. Almost simultaneously with Ian he stated. Sir, do you have a particular use for these wands in mind?
Tavrus remains silent, but the expression on his face reveals that he is pleased that such an invaluable tool is available to the tower.
Serelina watches the display of magic with a keen eye. "You say it lasts for a few hours? If it was cast upon something ingested by someone it should track them until that time is up or the object is digested or passes, no?"
Dason looks pleased by Serelina's questions. "Oh yes, it would work on food or beverage, unless the imbiber had lead lining in their stomach." he chuckles with a twinkle in his eye. "Though a solid food would be preferable to a beverage. Liquids tend to disperse rather quickly through the body and the concentration of the magic will not last as long in such a case. As to the duration? He ponders for a moment. "Hard to be certain. Liquids probably not more than half an hour. A solid food may be good for a bit more than an hour or so."
"There are a couple possible ways of making use of these tools though. Want to follow a beggar for some reason? Give him a copper that has been marked. Need to keep an eye on a certain merchant for a time? Bargain or trade him something that he will keep on his person."
Master Veray breaks in, his voice is somber. "You will need a key to be able to make use of this observatory." He stretches out his hand to Ian, dangling from it is a pendant on a silver chain - a crescent moon about the size of a gold coin. "There is only the one key for you to share. Do not reveal to anyone that you have this key, and should the need arise it would be better that it is destroyed than it should pass to unknown hands."
The man grunts as he strikes the wall again. "Near the south gate. In the back alleys."
Taking the pendant and feeling the weight of it, he nods to Master Veray.
"Destroy it--so just crush it in hand? Under boot?"
He puts the chain over his head and drops the pendant to hang under his breastplate, snug against his chest, then nods to Serelina, glad to be part of a team.
"Under your boot heel should be sufficient."
"Most useful."Valdr says simply. Divination magic had always held the dwarf's interest, particularly because he had very limited experinece with it. Conjurations and evocations came much more easily to the magic-trained soldier.
Dason gives a bow to Master Veray, "Is there anything else you need Master Veray?"
The head of the council gives a shake of his head, "No Dason, that is sufficient, thank you."
Adian Veray is silent for a moment lost in his own thoughts, but at last turns to Valdr. "I also bear grievous news. Master Torenest was attacked late last night, not a hundred yards north of the library, well after the meeting had adjourned." Adian's eyes are moist. "Both of his personal guards were killed. One beheaded, the other torn to shreds by a leopard. Two city guardsman were also badly injured."
"There has been no sign or word from Master Torenest. The guards who showed up only moment after the sounds of fighting were heard never saw him, but this was found." Master Veray holds up a spell component pouch. "It has been confirmed with belong to him."
"Our information is scant. The report is that four assailants were seen in the attack, though most of them scattered as the city guard arrived. Among the attackers was a half-orc, one of the catfolk, and a winged demon of some kind."
Master Veray wipes away the beginning of tears, "We are assuming the worst at present."
"An affront to us all. To attack someone of our order, so close to our enclave... This could be the work of someone seeking to distract us from another matter."
Ian watches Veray a moment, expression unreadable.
"What d'we do? Say the word and we'll tear the city apart looking for him."
For a moment Valdr just stood there silently listening to the tale of woe that was repeated. His teeth clenched tightly together and began to grind against one another as moisture brimmed in his eyes. Balling his fingers into fists he was slow in responding.
"Master Torenest is a good man. A noble advocate of the people and defender of the city. For someone to attack him... " He let his voice trail off.
"Powerful magic must have been involved. A leopard... a winged creature... Torenest and his guards are no easy targets to bring down." Valdr stared at the spell component pouch. "Have our diviners been able to use this to find Torenest?! Master Torenest must have left methods for him to be identified with? We must find him and those who would attack a member of the council! They must not be allowed to get away with this!" Spit flew from Valdr's lips as his anger blazed within him. His face reddened and he took long ragged breaths.
"Did we not hear something else about a catfolk somewhere?"
Master Veray's voice is halting, tinged with sorrow, "Divinations... have revealed nothing. But we have not had much time to look into it yet either."
"One of his bodyguards.. the blade had some blood on it. A scrying has not been done on it yet. It may be the mans own blood, or it may be one of the assailants."
"Master Isul has the blade in the laboratory. I believe you know the way Valdr? She is not as good at scrying as Dason, but Dason has spent his strength for the day and will need rest before he can assist us further. As you know, the scrying will take at least an hour. If you have other things to take care of while Master Isul commences the casting you may find your time efficiently spent on those tasks and return a little before she is done."
You indeed recall the laboratory where your blade was imbued with its power. It is one level below ground, first door you come to.
Tomlin had kept quiet after his one question regarding the wands. It seemed to the halfling that the Masters were simply offering additional tools to use, rather than a specific intent. In any event, the pendant-key was closely held by the burliest warrior the group had: as safe a place as any.
As the conversation turned to the assault and potential abduction of Master Torenest, Tomlin's demeanor became even more grim. While Valdr raged openly at the news, the halfling remained silent, but a look in his eyes showed they held vengeful murder in amounts equaling the dwarf's.
Aye, he said in response to Valdr's question. I did hear about a catfolk and an elven woman assaulting guards yesterday afternoon. Rumor has them part of some thieving organization. No mention of an elf woman among Master Torenest's attackers but that is no proof against it. Tomlin paused for a moment to consider before speaking again. If time permits I am not opposed to meeting up with this Rosuc or going to the Mithril Rose, but attacks on the Master's cannot stand. In my mind, this becomes our priority mission.
The headquarters of the Mithral Rose is a small edifice of white marble situated on a plot of land southwest of a temple dedicated to Irori and west of a temple of Nethys.
Several young men are being instructed with practice weapons in the yard by a weathered old man. Some of the young men, not much older than boys, look your direction as you approach the entrance to the building. A sharp command from their instructor immediately puts them back on their task though.
A middle aged man greets you at the door. "You are representatives of the tower?" He waits for both your confirmation by word official documentation to be shown indicating such, then ushers you inside past a small desk at the front and into a door on the north wall. Beyond is a office with a map of the city on the western wall and a map depicting the kingdom and its neighbors. A sturdy oak desk at the north end is framed by a large window, white curtains pulled back to let in the light of day. A book shelf stands in the southwest corner of the room and several chairs line the walls beneath the maps. The office is immaculately clean. A small box rests on top of the desk, looking out of place.
In the northeast corner of the room is a set of full plate mail with a rose engraved in the left breast. On the right breast is engraved a ball of flame.
A man in his late 30's sitting behind the desk immediately rises. His face is framed by dark brown hair, encompassing a square jaw and pale blue eyes. Your escort speaks up to make brief introductions, "Captain Izash." he nods to the man. "The tower representatives as you expted."
The captain comes out from behind his desk to offer a firm handshake to each of you. His voice is a low base, "I've been expecting you today after yesterdays news. The paladins of the Mithral Rose are at your disposal, only tell us how we may help and we will lend our strength of the strength of our god."
A popular stop for travelers just coming into the city through the southern gate, The Silver Spirits sits on the main road not a hundred feet from the gate. It is more a popular spot due to prime location than anything else though. The place is dirty, small, and the food is questionable.
The tavern is filled with those looking for a breakfast, either having just entered the city or preparing to head out.
Two haggard looking women are busy running plates of food from the kitchen to the common room for impatient patrons.
Prior to the heading The Silver Spirit, Tomlin had changed into his nondescript street cloths and stowed his equipment in his haversack. The pack slung over one shoulder in a deliberately haphazard fashion, the halfling looked like a middling merchant's errand runner. Daggers were concealed in each boot but otherwise he was unarmed.
Walking into the inn, the halfling glanced casually around to assess the clientele. With no real description of this Rosuc, he needed another plan to determine if the man was here. Saddling up to one of the few remaining empty tables, he stopped one of the serving maids as she went by. Terribly sorry to bother you miss, but have you happened to see Rosuc here this morning. I was quite sure I'd see him.