Rodergo's reassuring manner calms Laris, and she is able to recount the tale which she told Lightbringer.
With or without Janosz, at his discretion, I return to the enclave. I secure 4 half-orc mercenaries, specifically not house members just muscle, and arrange to have a letter of commondation sent in reference to the good sergeant Croke. I would do the same for the schlep by High Walls, but somehow I forgot to get his name...
With or without Janosz, at his discretion, I return to the enclave. I secure 4 half-orc mercenaries, specifically not house members just muscle, and arrange to have a letter of commondation sent in reference to the good sergeant Croke. I would do the same for the schlep by High Walls, but somehow I forgot to get his name...
I lay in a full plat piece for the mercs, combat bonus i guess.
The letter is a sommondation for his level headedness and skill, while gracefully thanking him for his even temperment and compsure while dealing with the house.
I have it addressed to his superior. I am certain that the houses maintain a few 1st level scribes about for just such minor uses.
"Laris, I know this might sound odd at face value. But is there anything about the human who led the gnolls that struck you? Any interesting way of talking, or any mannerism? A certain way of walking, or a tendency to...scratch his chin, play with his beard, crinkle his nose? Does he wink a lot? Or start every sentence with hmmm?"
"Also, was he armed? What hand did he hold the weapon in? Was he armored? And can you remember if he had any unique or interesting possessions?"
Laris gets a little flustered, but thinks for a bit and says, "He held the knife in his left hand, I think - yes, definately his left. And he did this thing where he put his hand in his pocket and would play with the coins in there when he was thinking. Does that help, Brother?"
"Anything could help. Knowledge is power. You may have given us a valuable chink in the enemy's armor. Thankyou so much for your assistance, Laris."
Oh, and I'm thinking a small pig, some marzipan, and some rendered lard to paint the pig with; let the pig loose in front of the tannery to draw the gnolls out and spring a 'bush on those pogues. A melon'd work to throw in front of the place to keep the pig there; I just wanted to say marzipan.
"Trose tells me he thinks that Sgt. Croke is at the watch station in Dagger Watch, in Upper Dura, so that's where I'm heading. We can all rendezvous back here in a couple of hours." With that I start walking.
Runzyl watches the Flamebearer walk off and looks to his companions. "Let us make our way to the marketplaces and secure our items, then. I must see a few of my kinsmen about a superior weapon and hope that they have one prepared. The forging of these blades is not undertaken lightly. I shall front as much of my own money as I can. I feel there is little else I will need it for."
Lightbringer kneels down to be on a level with Nox. “Farewell my friend, and good luck in your mission. May the Sovereign Host and the Silver Flame both look over you. I have enjoyed our talks. Send word to me should you ever require my assistance.”
Wishing Flamebearer Xativa the Flame’s blessings on his mission, Lightbringer then leaves with the others to the Kundarak Bank, offering to stand guard over Ezreal (and anyone else) whilst he rests and prepares his spells that evening.
Rodergo starts the hike towards Dagger Watch, thinking he needs a little time to sort out all the information that has just been handed into his lap. His sense of economy also wins out; it seems such a waste to throw away good coin on something as frivolous as a skycab, not when a brisk walk can get the blood pumping to one's brain.
He meditates on the pattern of it all, the pieces and players, the unknowns. The imminent time of blood approaching.
"I've seen armies clashing before," he thinks to himself. "I've seen what is left when the dust clears. I can never get used to it. I hope I'm up to this task."
He muses on his life’s journey as he walks – he is a long way from his boyhood in rural Thrane, or the seminary in Flamekeep. Life’s questions seemed to have easy answers back then – if your faith was strong enough, there was nothing that could not be overcome. His was stripped of that illusion some time ago. Now everything is nuance and shades of grey, and what is right is more of a matter of opinion and tough choices than simple dogma.
The Daggerwatch garrison is the biggest in Sharn, keeping watch over the most unruly part of an already turbulent city. It becomes apparent he is in the right part of town as the number of guardsmen visibly increases, either setting off on patrol or hanging about while off-duty. The garrison itself squats purposefully atop one of the larger towers, its battlements crenulated and with drawbridges to isolate it if necessary. Its main entrance gapes open, the fangs of a portcullis hanging down over the guards.
After a few enquiries Rodergo is led to an interview room. It is plain, with whitewashed stone walls and floor and a table with four uncomfortable wooden chairs. He waits for a few minutes, listening to watchmen pass by the door and, once, the sound of someone wailing in pain in the distance. Eventually, the door opens and a young, blond-haired sergeant enters, presumably Croke, accompanied by a large, muscle-bound ordinary watchmen.
After a perfunctory introduction, Croke asks, “So what did you want to see me about, Flamebearer Xativa?”
The valenar live communally in a few rooms over a shop on the outskirts of the Bazaar. As the companions approach, they see a few elves seemingly lounging casually on the steps by the entrance. The appearance is deceptive; the elves notice immediately as the party approaches, standing up swiftly with their hands by their weapons. One, a slight female elf with thick red hair tied back in a ponytail and stunningly huge green eyes, intercepts them, her hand casually resting on the hilt of her scimitar.
“Tirith maer Runzyl. Corota gama neth faershi joomna?”
*Non-elves – mildly derogatory, especially in valenar circles.
"Aaah, Sgt. Croke. Good to meet you Sgt. I am Brother Rodergo Xativa, of the Church of the Silver Flame. I have been brought up to speed on the detestable events of the day. I was simply wondering, is there anything else you could tell me? This large sky cab they escaped in with Brother Erfan--do you know who it belongs to?
Also anything you could tell me about the perpetrators of this heinous act would be useful in my cleanup and security efforts at the shrine."
He stands up, opens the door and holds it there expectantly.
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For DM Aubrey:
“Thank you so much for coming today. You’ve made a good day even better.” Croke’s companion chuckles at this, until a poisonous look from his boss quells him instantly. “I’ll have Constable Dornas here show you out.”
With that, Croke turns on his heel and walks away down the corridor. Dornas gives a somewhat insincere, gap-toothed smile and ushers Rodergo in the opposite direction towards the exit from the garrison.
"Well, I bungled that."
Runzyl smirks at Jalana's questioning and moves forward to embrace her in a tight hug for only a second before releasing her and responding. It is evident that he is extremely happy to be in the company of his own people once more. "Moot-tua Cannith. Niasa hosse et dagor-eithel, na mellona. Neek Lammen'Quessir."*
Runzyl laughs slightly at the end of this statement, smiling back at the party, then turns to Jalana once more. "I seek a smith to craft me a finer kaane-hyanda than this old thing. We face a great battle and I wish to honor my ancestors with the trappings of war should I find myself amongst them tomorrow morn."
Runzyl gives Jalana a wicked grin in response. "Dagorlye Daask. Ron nandorna vithel Wethrinaer," he spits on the ground in disgust before turning to his allies. "I must meet with someone upstairs. I shall return shortly and then we can be on our way."
Runzyl gives Jalana a slap on the hip as he passes her with a wink and heads up the stairs to meet with Caerlyn. He hoped that the disruption of the elder's reverie would not put him in one of his moods...
With a blank look, Janosz turns over to Ezreal. "Did you get any of that?", he mutters. "I sure didn't".
"Runzyl, what do you want?" As Runzyl explains, Caerlyn opens his eyes and appraises him. As Runzyl finishes, Caerlyn smiles, climbs to his feet and begins some stretching excercises. "You seem different, not the angry, callow youth who barged in here just a few weeks ago. I think your ancestor is by your shoulder now - maybe where your father could not succeed, you will truly achieve honour in the sight of your forefathers and the Valaes Tairn*."
Caerlyn stops stretching and regards Runzyl, hands on hips. "There is a smith, though he is an Aerenal rather than one of our people, and he lives in Shae Lias in Upper Northedge. Nevertheless, he is a weapon-forger of renown, and over the centuries has forged blades that have honoured the memories of many of the ancestors. His name is Talcren. But be warned - he asks for more than simple coin.
"Go - find your destiny." Caerlyn turns his back and begins some particularly demanding excercises. Runzyl gets the impression he is dismissed.
Runzyl bows respectfully and thanks Caerlyn for his aid before returning downstairs, walking tall with pride and eager to prove himself. He smiles at Jalana once more, turning to his allies to speak.
"We must seek an Aerenal bladesmith by the name of Talcren. He dwells in Shae Lias in Upper Northedge. He can produce the weapon I require, but he may have some additional service to ask of me for his wares beyond the price of gold. You need not concern yourselves, however. It will be my burden to bear when our work is done here."
Turning again to Jalana, he speaks quietly. "Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva." He gives her another, less playful and more meaningful embrace before departing with the others.
Jalana smiles softly. "Hellas borun ta vael."
"See ya later, then", Janosz says as Runzyl heads off to the elven weaponsmith. "We'll be at the Tharashk enclave". Waving goodbye, he wanders back to his apartment.
Personally, I'm completely confused - could someone put me out of my misery and decide where people are going to meet up?[/ooc]
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Trose explains his need for a “special” set of tools. Daaga grins. “Going fishing, are we? I’ve heard about your freelance work for House Cannith. Don’t get burned, boy – I like you, I don’t want to be the one who has to go looking for your body to bring back for your Grandma, I’m too bloody old.” He reaches over for a scrap of paper and scrawls on it before signing. “Take this to the quartermaster – he’ll give you what you want. Still cost you, though – you know what a mean bastard he is.”
Eventually he reaches his destination. This is the elven part of Sharn, but most of the inhabitants are either Khorvairan elves or Aerenal expatriates rather than members of the Valaes Tairn. The architecture reflects Aerenal tastes which much use of wood, especially livewood, in the construction of the tastefully opulent villas in this district. It is leafy and cool, with elves strolling in leisurely fashion, the place lacking the urgency and immediacy of Valenar. It is both familiar and unfamiliar to Runzyl, and makes him feel slightly disconcerted to be here.
He finds the address he was given, and wonders for a moment if he is in the wrong place – it is a simple, anonymous shop front rather than a smithy. He shrugs and enters. Inside it is gloomy and dark, but his night vision easily picks out the walls, on which are mounted numerous blades of various kinds: kukris, scimitars (double and single), falchions, daggers, longswords, short swords… Runzyl tentatively reaches up to touch one when he hears a cough. He whirls, hand reaching for his weapon, to find a robed and cowled figure – surely he wasn’t there before – standing amongst the weapon displays.
The figure greets him in Elven. “It isn’t often I have a member of the Valaes Tairn in my shop. How can I be of service?” The figure, presumably the smith, wears a floor-length green robe, decorated with an intricate floral design, with a raised hood and cowl covering his features. Even his hands are covered by matching gloves, and his whispery voice sounds like the scratching of a quill on parchment.
Runzyl explains what he wants in typically brusque fashion. The smith stands still for a while, and Runzyl begins to wonder if he has taken offence, though it is impossible to tell with no facial or bodily cues. Eventually, Talcren speaks. “Caerlyn – it has been a long time, before the War even, since we last spoke. I am surprised he still remembers. Alas, I am too old now to craft weapons, but I still retain an interest and deal in them occasionally. When a suitable recipient comes along.”
With a soft rustle, he moves to the display of double scimitars. “Hmm, no, not that one – that is a blade that somewhat fastidious. No, not that one – lacks focus. Ha! Definitely not that one. Ah, yes…… Here we are.” Talcren lifts down a double scimitar, hefting it in one hand with surprising ease for someone claiming to be infirm. “This is Falla Caesenri* – I would say it was made for you.” He proffers it to Runzyl.
Runzyl takes the weapon, seizing it by its well-worn grip. As he does so, he hears a strange sibilant whisper in the back of his mind. He shakes his head, and the feeling does not return. He wields it experimentally – it is perfectly balanced, the edges razor-sharp, the waves of its pattern-welded blades weaving and twisting in the half-light of the shop. The smith watches on as Runzyl makes practice swings.
“This was wielded by an ancient warrior, now long dead, whose ancestor was one of the founding fathers of our nation in Aerenal. This is truly a weapon with which to forge a mighty reputation and honour the dead.”
Runzyl nods his assent, and gives the smith the money he brought. “I am sure you will be well satisfied with the blade. I only ask that, once you have used it in combat, you return here. Moonless Midnight holds many mysteries – perhaps you can be the one to unlock them in this modern age.” With that, Talcren bows and exits through the back of his shop, leaving Runzyl alone in the dark with his new purchase.
*Elven: Moonless Midnight.