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15th Harvester, Starday
- Well rested after their journey to the Ethereal, the Broken Company meets in the Dining Hall of Promont to discuss the matters at hand.
"I never knew that my father... was a dream. Although it does explain a lot, it opens up more questions. But what are we to do with this Orion and the Scarlet Inquisition?"
"For better or worse they are our enemies now, and they'll no doubt pursue us to our deaths. The most obvious course of action would be to return their sentiments. But their numbers are evidently vast and we know not of their full strength, a confrontation would be unwise to say the least. Perhaps a bit of research is in order?"
Cereanos leans back in his chair, grooming the remaining bits of dried blood and gore from his hair and beard with his long fingernails. His monstrous appearance is contrasted for a moment by his elegant demeanor - until he pauses to savor the taste of blood on his palm. He leans back in his chair, propping his feet on the table, and promptly drifts into deep thought, one coppery-stained finger still in the corner of his mouth.
"Vhile I do agree vit Cereanos zat ve should do some research I believe our virst order of business should be vinding a vay to protect ourselves here in ze house. Iv zey are poverful enough to open a portal on ze Ethereal Plane zen ve should presume zey are able to do it here as vell. I suggest some protection magic just in case zey decide to make a house call."
Ilsa curls into her chair letting her unusual eyes look over each of the other members present. She unconsciously strokes the fur of the large cat, Bartok, lying on the floor next to her. Bartok rests his head contentedly on his paws and a loud purr is heard.
As Duour speaks, her voice is like gravel, grating and harsh against the ear like a broken nail.
"As well as sealing our home against sudden intrusions, I should like to cast my vote for something nasty & sharp to lay in wait of their arrival inside. If they bring the fight to us and our place of living, I should like to have a few trophies waiting ready once the scuffle is over. I think a nice shawl of their faces would be divine, but then that also leaves entrails & limbs un-used. Hmmmm, what to do. There's always furniture I suppose. A grand sitting chair of their arms & legs would be most comfortable, I think."
Snatching a large leg of unknown meat from the table, her visible eye drifts upward in thought as her teeth gnash through meat & bone with cruel ease. A line of fluid drips from the corner of her mouth to her chin, which she wipes away as a second thought with a bit of fine cloth made of baby skin.
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Morpheo takes a seat as well, coils of shadow swirling around his cape and form.
"If the Inquisition know who we are, it stands to reason that soon they will know where we are, though for the time being they have lost Yorrick, who was their primary informer of us. Tomorrow let us head into town to inquire about protections mundane and magical we can acquire."
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The evening passes with good conversation and a meal that continues to endure, cold food being picked at in between bouts of ponderings and plans. More than once Sloke reaches out for a tasty morsel, only to be disappointed when his ghostly fingers pass through the supper and table. At last you all part for different rooms of the house to take solace or respite.
Sloke invariably finds himself drawn to the hall where his life was cut short by the hungers of a dragon. Dried dwarven blood still stains the wood, and hours pass with the ghost just listlessly hovering over his demise.
16th Harvester, Sunday
- Fog from the bay rolls over the town in the predawn light as the Company gather in the Foyer to head into Murkhaven proper.
Cereanos finishes adjusting the straps and buttons on his clothing, and drapes his backpack over one shoulder.
"Shall we do some shopping while we're in town? Perhaps I'll buy a green-bearded scarecrow with which to occupy our dwarven companion while we are away. It may yet find him better at conversation than I," he says in light-spirited humor. The fog and dark of the morning seem to have lifted his mood considerably since last evening.
Duour adjusts a few bindings on her wrists, long clawed fingers moving carefully so as not to slice through the cloth with accidental ease. Her gaze passes over the room, a full two heads above her compatriots. She waits for the others to begin the trek before taking her first long stride towards the town, taking up the rear of the procession.
Ilsa moves up to stand beside her new companions while pulling on a well-worn travel cloak. Bartok walks up silently next to her and sits down, his tail twitching from side to side as he peers up at the group with golden eyes.
"So I take eet you have spent some time in zee town, yes? Vould eet be vise for my Bartok to accompany us or should he stay and keep zee dwarf company?"
Ilsa bends down and pets the big cat, her laugh tinkling through the hallway,
"I zee Bartok. Very vell you shall go and ve vill find you some fish. Just stay close and stay out of trouble, yes? Then ve are ready vhen everyone else is."
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"Bartok should not cause much of a stir, we have done the town some good and they are coming to know us. Since I entered this town under a different guise, however, for myself I shall enter Murkhaven as the elf mage they think me to be." With a flourish of his hand Morpheo's appearance melts to a fair blonde haired elf. "Shall we, then?"
Sloke floats by the doorway, eyes gazing down on the town.
"We'll have to do a bit better for ourselves before the town will tolerate a story telling ghost. I will stay at Promont."
As the Broken Company leaves their home, a light drizzle accompanies the fog enveloping the bay. From the church of Deep Sashelas, the sixth bell tolls, the haunting iron bells echoing across the entire bay, each steady tone following the next. Its call is answered only by gulls.
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As the Company wanders down the path to town, Cereanos makes an arcane gesture with his hand and utters a couple of spidery words under his breath, casting prestidigitation. He holds his hands at eye level and causes the rain in front of his face to change colors as if part of a rainbow. It then coalesces into a small orb, and he swallows it. "Hm. Strawberry." he smiles, seemingly amused by his own antics, his playful nature deceiving the darkness of his true self. When his amusement is satisfied he falls in with the others, basking in the moisture choking the air.
Duour chuckles deeply at Cereanos' antics, the noise of her stifled laughter similar to wet gravel scraping against itself. Her strides are held back to keep from overtaking her party members and as the group descends down the hills towards the town, she gives a look over her shoulder, almost to make sure the house still stands behind them, unmoving and dark as stone, glittering with fresh rain.
"The magics of the house itself are strong. Perhaps we should attempt not to keep them from entering, but arrange for them to face the same perils we did, only vastly more potent and lethal. I'm sure the Oathmaker alone would provide a good bit of trouble for them. We should inquire as to other guardian creatures we can arrange to have at the ready. Spells are all well and good, but snapping bones, bruising flesh and breaking skulls appeals to me much more as a method of thinning their forces. I want those who move forward to do so with the memories of their fallen, eviscerated comrades fresh in their mind as the blood on the floors. Perhaps Stasia might have some information for us. I may also make a stop at the Lady's Lounge for a drink and a bit of inquiry with the locals."
"A sound plan, Duour. I believe the abode could handle itself against most intruders, and when choosing a stage for battle, I would rather it be one that we are familiar with. Nonetheless, in time I would think to take a more proactive approach to the Inquisitions interest in us. I shall likely be spending most of my time in town this day doing research. I don't expect to find much in the way of details, but perhaps someone can tell us more than what we know. Stasia could indeed be a reliable source of information. The difficulty will be in discretion; for if rumor spreads that we are being sought by the Inquisition, it would be most unbecoming of our reputation here."
Cereanos continues to entertain himself with his magic, creating small clay effigies of the late Yorrick the wizard and inflicting various crude injuries upon them.
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Smiling at the arcane theatrics, "It is unlikely that the Inquisition's hunt for us has become public knowledge, but discretion would be wise. Yorrick's trail may have led him here to Murkhaven, though we won't know for certain until we start socializing. It is also true that there are still many secrets of Promont we ourselves have not discovered. I would hate to depend upon our home only to have our enemies exploit a weakness we are unsure of."
It is not long before the merchant block of Murkhaven comes into view. The only open stall vendors are fishmerchants, but there are many shoppes opening for business already. The air is heavy with the smell of seaspray and its bountiful morning harvest.
The fishmongrels start their daily cries, swearing their wares fair better than their neighbors,
Elf Fisherman"Fresh fish straight from the bay!"
Halfling Fisherman "Best catch o' the day, right 'ere! No better fish 'n all of Murkhaven!"
As the group makes their way to the merchant block Bartok's ears perk up and he nudges Ilsa. Letting out a "meow" he looks up at her expectantly. They approach the elven fishmonger first.
"Yez, yez, I zee zem Bartok. Good morning! May ve zee vhat you have for zale today?"
I wander the wharf, seeking out the scent of fresh roasting meat, grumbling stomach providing an accompanying chorus to the sound of my heavy stride.
Using prestidigitation, Cereanos lifts a couple of gold coins from his pouch with invisible fingers. They float through the air towards Ilsa. "May these treat you and your feline well." he offers.
"We should choose a place to meet when our errands are done with. I'll be off shortly to speak with Stasia. If anyone would accompany me they would be welcome, otherwise I shall see the rest of you soon." he says, and waits for input before departing.
"Though I am certain the piscine palatte is wonderful, I will accompany you to see Stasia." Morpheo smiles as the coins are lifted from the purse to Ilsa.
Cereanos flashes a slightly embarrassed smile and nod to the fisherman, surprised at their wonderment, forgetting that common folk are not used to even simple displays of magic. With that he sets off for the alchemist's shop.
Thank you Cereanos. Ve shall meet you at the shop as soon as ve are done here.
Smiling at the impromptu magical act Ilsa approaches the halfling's stall.
How much for the cod?
"Mmmm, I think today I'll favor the swine. How much for the largest piece you have?"
"I shall take two now and vould it be possible to have a barrel delivered to the house?"
Bartok rubs up against Ilsa obviously pleased with the idea.
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"Aye, miss. I'll 'ave a barrel sent on up ta Promont wit'in the hour!"
***
Dwarf Butcher "Salted pork be four silva a pound. What'll ye have?"
"Thank you! Vill two gold and 4 copper be acceptable to you?"
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Cereanos and Morpheus-
A few blocks away you reach the small bay-windowed shop of Stasia, the door is open, and entering you see the violet-haired vixen placing various vials on shelves, labeled in her spidery script for the public to see. An elderly half-elven woman peruses the healing tonics and ailments section, but otherwise the shop is empty.
***
Cereanos politely waits for the alchemist to finish her current duties before announcing his presence. "Good morning, fair lady," he says with a wave of his hand. "Have you any peculiar wares for a curious patron?"
Handing the dwarf 5 gold,"perhaps a leg, or two....whichever really." Picking my teeth with a long hooked claw, I flick away an unidentifiable shard of bone and wait, gaze passing over the nearby shops.
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Stasia turns, a smile on her face. "My dear verdigris adventurer, how are you? It has been some time since you have graced my humble shoppe. I am afraid you will find no pearl-harvesting cultists here," she winks, "Have you come for business, or is this a personal call?"
The tender moment is interrupted by a fit of coughing from the elderly customer. Stasia's smile sours as she walks over to the crone and places a few bottles and herbs from the shelf into her hand. Smile plastered back on her face she speaks softly to the matron, who produces a few coins from her basket and hobbles out into the morning.
***
"Quite de appetite, lass." The dwarven butcher pulls out a small hog and sets to cutting off a haunch of hindquarter. He sprinkles more salt upon the pork as he meticulously wraps it in brown paper. "Just a moment an' I'll fetch yer change from the back." The stout skinner turns to head towards the covered partition of his stall.
"Ah, thank you so much my good man. My Bartok and I appreciate your help."
Smiling I hand over the payment and watch as Bartok quickly comsumes the two fish. He lazily cleans his face and looks around the square in boredom after he finishes.
"You are done Bartok? Zhen let us be on our vay to the alchemist shop."
Peering about to make sure there are no other pedestrians near, Cereanos speaks with a smile."Well, since we seem to have the moment to ourselves, I believe I should cut to the short of it. We come seeking information, primarily. It is a bit of a personal matter. May we speak more privately?"
Cereanos motions for Morpheo to join them as he follows Stasia deeper into the shop.
When they are settled into the office, Cereanos ponders for a moment, deliberating on his words.
"Now then, we were wondering if you could share with us anything you may know about a select group of people. Or, failing that, if you would be able to direct us to someone who might know about such things. I would be willing to offer compensation for your time, and of course discretion, on the matter." he says, now his turn to wink, fingering the bag of coin under his belt.
Morpheo nods, and waits silently in the office, back propped against the wall, listening to Stasia and Cereanos converse.
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Stasia has a devil-may-care grin as she watches Cereanos, "Compensation indeed, my time is valuable. One never knows how many frail infirm elf-kin are weakly pawing at my shoppe door for their daily medicinals while we have this conversation." She chuckles, "If I have any information I will pass it along to you, who are you seeking?"
"The group we seek call themselves The Scarlet Inquisition. They are a league of witch-hunters and occult persecutors, probably operating as part of a divine temple or faith. Is there anything you can tell us about this organization?"
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The alchemist looks away for a moment, lost in thought. "The Scarlet Inquistion? I know that they are a religious sect, a group of knights errant, I believe, though I am not certain who their patron god is. I have seen on occasion, groups of one to four Scarlet Inquisitors come through Murkhaven via ship or horseback. They usually keep to themselves, but they always take respite with whatever primary holy faith of a town may be. I will speak to my contacts and gather what I can, but it may take a day or too. You might be able to get some information out of old Father Athrux, or even the Marquise, since judging heretics and criminals is her bread and butter." She smiles softly, "I am sorry that religious sects are not my area of expertise. Is there anything else you were inquiring of?"
"As a matter of fact, we are hoping to procure a few... protections for our manor. Magical in nature, if possible, since deadfalls and murder holes can be just as expensive. Is there anyone here in Murkhaven that can weave such enchantments?"
Cereanos listens intently, absorbing the alchemist's words. "Of course, you have my deepest appreciation, my lady. I shall await further news of the goings-on of the Inquisition, when you have it to share."
When his companion inquires about protection for the manse, he awaits Stasia's response in deep thought.
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"Unfortunately the magical trade doesn't have much of a clientele here in Murkhaven. Our last arcane dabbler of note was the wizard who used to live in Promont. Though I am told that sometimes he would take a small boat and visit the cliffs on the other side of the lake, the ones that open into the Pass that allows all of our nautical imports and exports. Sometimes when the fog is thin, you can see strange glowing lights dancing among the distant rocks. Nothing, I'm sure, to scare soldiers of fortune like yourselves." The alchemist winks.
"Keep it." I pull the leg from the table, quickly peeling back the paper as I tear away a large chunk. I make my way over to the alchemist's shop and upon arriving, quietly rap on the door with a knuckle not covered with pork juices.
Cereanos waits until the party is gathered again, smiling in greeting as the others file into the room. "My compatriots, I believe our most excellent lady alchemist here was just informing us of methods to ascertain protection for our dwelling. While magic sees little in the way of business fare here, we are told that the old mage of Promont often used a particular sea lane to access some remote area or another near the bluffs yonder of the lake shore, which have been said to be plagued by ghostly lights. It may prove worthy of investigation, if perhaps some trace of the wizard's works were preserved there or beyond. What have you all to say on the matter?"