The Pathfinder Society was only just recovering from its massive, systemic restructure when the group we know so wee was called to the city of Nantumbu on the Mwangi Expanse. Mission briefings are typically given by the Venture-Captain on location, but even so, they were kept very much in the dark as to the nature of their mission.
Unfortunately, there was only one way to travel that far south of the Inner Sea Region: ship. By the time the rolling waves a sudden storm hits the ship, everyone is thoroughly seasick, including the captain. Putting in at Sothis in Osirion proves a dangerous proposition, and the vessel the Pathfinders travelled on is heavily taking on water by the time the captain docks. Repairs will be needed.
Rather than take the usual boat down the River Sphinx, everyone elects to walk instead. It proves a welcome relief from the sea travel, despite the arid landscape and the mountainous areas the Pathfinders are forced to climb before arriving in the jungle. There, they reluctantly charter a river barge - much more stable than the sea vessel - and navigate the Mwangi Expanse's river ways and lakes, docking at last in Nantumbu.
* * * * * * *
The sun bears down oppressively through the jungle’s humidity, causing the air to shimmer and lending an even greater feeling of otherworldliness to the Mwangi city of Nantambu. Aya Allehe enters the sweltering room in the local Pathfinder Lodge with a worn and harried look in her eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to meet here on such short notice,” she begins, “As you may already know, the venture-captain of this lodge, Nieford Sharrowsmith, has been away for several weeks heading an expedition into the interior of the expanse. A week ago, I received a letter addressed to Sharrowsmith from our agent working in the Aspis Consortium-controlled city of Bloodcove, Malika Fenn. The letter appeared to be a routine report, though I recognized that it hid an encoded message that describes an impending Consortium expedition up the Vanji River, planned to depart within the week.
“Malika additionally informed us that this expedition’s aims are of great concern to the Pathfinder Society. She has collected substantial intelligence to this effect but is unable to get the information out of the city for fear that the Consortium will detect and intercept it. To make matters worse, Venture- Captain Sharrowsmith has failed to check in with any other Pathfinder contacts in the region or send back any messages during his own expedition. The timing of these two events is too convenient for my liking, so even though I am only overseeing this lodge in Sharrowsmith’s absence, I ask that you travel into the lion’s den to retrieve the information that Malika has gathered on this expedition so that we can find out if it is connected to Sharrowsmith’s disappearance. Malika has indicated that she left a message for us in the Witchlight Inn that will help us find her information, so head there first.
“Though these are grim circumstances, they also present us with an opportunity. Once you have infiltrated the city, try to sabotage the Consortium’s preparations for the expedition. You won’t be able to stop it completely, but you can at least buy us some time to determine its nature and formulate a response. I also want you to make some inroads for the Society in the city. Gaining the ability to move agents and supplies through Bloodcove more easily would be a massive boon for our operations in the Expanse. I have some information on some disenfranchised citizens of Bloodcove who may be up to the task. Finally, gather some intelligence of your own. Talk to the people of Bloodcove and see how complete the Aspis’s control over the populace is. Report to me any groups or people of influence who may be sympathetic to our cause and support us in future moves against the Consortium. Once you’re done, get out of the city. Leaving in a different way than you arrived tends to be best.”
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'If they were in such a hurry, why did we just walk for weeks to get here? This seems a bass-ackwards way to get here. Gilligan is all but worn out already!'
"Madam, do we have any idea what this expedition was supposed to be? Also, have their been any other issues with Pathfinder operations in Bloodcove as of late?"
'Who said that?'
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After the long trek, his companions have grown tiresome of the elf's constant complaining. "Someone please explain to me why this ... so called society sees fit to have me tramp through sewage in my new armor, splatter human ... oozes in my new hat, and now I must .... trudge through this ... jungle in my new Espadrilles. I swear my cordwainer will never make me a shoe again once she sees ... these strips of canvas."
Upon arriving at the Pathfinder lodge, Finarin listens attentively as the stand-in venture-captain regales in her story. Upon hearing her finish the story, he begins his queries. "My lady, what can you tell us of the make up of .... Bloodcove? Methinks an elf and a halfling will .... be more noticeable than not in this ... environ? Besides the message for us in the Witchlight Inn, do we have any ... contacts in Bloodcove itself? Walking into a new city, not knowing its ... machinations, will prove quite the daunting task. As always, we are more than up to the ... challenge."
"I should say sorry for making you trek through jungle the long way, and for interrupting whatever your mission was to be," says Aya, perhaps in response to Gunari's unspoken question, perhaps in apology for the state of Finarin's shoes, "But the venture-captain must have had his reasons for sending you that way. I don't know what his plans were for you, but in his stead I have to assign this mission to you. We've heard of your capabilities - especially in regards to matters regarding a certain slaver, and also with some nobles from Alkenstar. Very well done indeed. With your past and your already being here in Nantambu, you were the obvious choice for this mission.
"Malika was there to keep a finger on the pulse of Bloodcove, so to speak. As yet, she has been the only permanent operative we have managed to station at that port. While we do have a Pathfinder chapter house there, it is closely watched. All other attempts to get an undercover operative active there have ended... poorly. She mentioned in her report that her cover had been compromised and she has gone to ground for her own safety. I'm afraid you will not be able to contact her directly - for her good as well as yours. You had best head to the Witchlight Inn, where you will hopefully be able to find and decode the message left there for us. If not, you'll have to use your own wits to find her.
"As I say, though," she continues with a sigh, "We would also like you to gather some intelligence on Bloodcove itself. The Pathfinder Society would dearly love to wrest control over such a strategic location from the Aspis Consortium. As the first port south of the Eye of Abendego, it would be most valuable to our operations in the Expanse. We would like to know if the locals favor the Aspis presence there, or if they would rather be freed from them.
"Bloodcove itself is a fairly lawless place. Its main focus is trade, and so the guards are paid for by the ruling merchants (who are the real power, and not the ostensible ruler, the Grand Admiral). Everything is done to keep the coffers full and the traders coming. Anything that doesn't interfere with that is generally permitted - for a price. I'm afraid I can tell you little more about the city's machinations. Hopefully, you will be informing me!"
As Miro ponders Bloodcove, he remembers some conversations with the local pathfinders he had while staying here in Nantambu's Society chapter house. His sources also agree that the Grand Admiral is just a figure head, and that the trading houses hold the true power. Further, Miro recalls them saying that the Aspis Consortium had managed to place themselves throughout the trading houses, and openly dominates the political and economic scene.
Since the inception of the Aspis Consortium, the already cutthroat trading houses have become even more so. The trading houses brutally crush any criminal organizations that interfere with their business. As a result, most of Bloodcove’s criminal activity revolves around exports (such as the drug trade) or else focuses on the poorer citizens. As Aya intimated, it would seem that the local guard only investigates crimes if well paid for the service, leaving most of the city subject to vigilante law.
When she has finished, Miro realizes that perhaps his knowledge of Golarion's geography could use a little tune-up. He knew that Bloodcove lies on the western edge of the Mwangi Expanse (something he could also find out by looking at the map spread out on Aya's desk). As a result of its geographical location and influences, he surmises that the people there will have a blend of the native Mwangi culture with strong influences from Cheliax and the Shackles traditions.
"Miro, good question," Aya says to the halfling, "I'm not sure what the message will be. It can't be delivered to you, so it is likely to be in plain sight. Look for a flyer or bill posted on a board first. If you fail to turn up anything there, any kind of writing or symbols that can be placed in a public space. As for the code, I could only guess. You will have to try to figure it out on your own, I'm afraid.
"The malcontents are not known to us, but it is part of your mission to find them! Knowing which allies the Society can recruit is one of the prime goals for sending you into Bloodcove.
"Oh, and Finarin, I don't think you will look out of place," says Aya as she runs an ebony hand over her brow, her strangely golden glowing eyes look furtively between the Pathfinders and the maps on her borrowed desk, "Bloodcove sees much trade from all over. It is a real mix of people and cultures there. That does raise a point, though. You will need a cover - or covers. In anticipation of your acceptance of this mission, we have prepared forged bounty postings for you to carry into Bloodcove. You may pose as bounty hunters or choose another cover should you wish. If you are all under the same story, it will attract less notice when you act together than if you had different stories. But, I understand that not all of you can pull of the bounty hunter machismo. You will need this cover mostly when dealing with Aspis agents. Any thoughts on what you would like to pose as?"
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The streets of a city are exactly where Cyrus feels at home, even if it is far away from his homeland. It doesn't take but a few hours before he has the territories of the different thieves guilds mapped out in his head, and to his surprise, the flow and organization of the scheming "legal" businesses follow in the same type of pattern, seeming to almost mirror the borders of the shady businesses. He picks his clues from some who he can see would rather not talk, and picks the ear of a few of the street rats who can never seem to shut up. Once he has the information he needs, he meets back up with his friends.
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"Bounty hunters you say? I think we can pull that one off!" Gunari looks at Finarin, and continues, "Well, most of us could, at least. Where's Lort when you need him? Always off gallivanting around in the Land of the Mammoth Lords, or something. Anyway, me and my little buddy here can pull off being bounty hunters, can't we Gilligan?"
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"Why don't you just stick it up your arse? That tummy's getting mighty flabby..." Lort grumbles, though uncharacteristically he does so under his breath.
"What was that, Lort?" snaps a bristling Ambrus Valsin, "For a moment there, I thought you might be muttering something insubordinate during your etiquette lecture. It was one thing for you to address me so familiarly and insufferably in the lodge, but when I heard what you had said to Ambassador Dremdhet Salhar, I decided to make good on my promise of a lecture.
"Now, turn to page three hundred and forty four: Addressing Nobles of the High Court of Osirion. Read the first eighty pages and when you are done answer me this question: How does someone of incredibly low standing address a Kelish foreign dignitary while their superiors are entertaining them at a function?"
'Your Fatness?' Lort thinks and almost says, the movement of his mouth almost betrays the words. One scowl from the severely mustachioed Venture Captain and Lort thinks better of it and turns to the right place in the book. Oh, someone is going to pay for this. Probably Finarin. Yes, Finarin. I bet it was him who ratted me out to Valsin. I hope they're enjoying the humidity in that f•cking jungle. I hear it's unbearable this time of year.
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Ibid listens intently to Aya's discourse and information, taking sporadic, untidy notes the weathered journal in his lap. His eyes glance up from time to time, beneath a furrowed brow apparently bent in thought.
"Agreed, Gunari. On both accounts," the old man says, shifting is gaze to the man while lifting the faded brim of his leather hat with a long, knobby index finger. "We could pass for bounty hunters, and where the hell is Lort when we truly need him?"
This is certainly a time when Lort's intimidating, unrefined ways would have been a boon. Ibid muses, but refrains for voicing his thoughts to the others. I hope that half-orc never changes...
Ibid knows that the Aspis Consortium watches the local Pathfinder chapter house constantly. Foreign Pathfinders who visit it frequently disappear.
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"Gunari-man! Good to see! Amaranti good. There big party in Absalom, got really drunk. Four nights later wake up in prison. Good times!"
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Amaranti considers the options for disguise. "Amaranti big man, not good for sneaking. Best at looking scary, like mercenary. Maybe merchant, if get funny clothes and you do talking."
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"As much fun as it would be to play a bounty hunter," Cyrus says while simultaneously affecting an awkward swagger and drawing his blade for effect, "I would be far better blending into the streets and keeping out of sight." He quickly puts his blade away and returns to a normal, subdued posture as he mentions that he will be trying to keep out of sight.
"Miro, if you ruffle your clothes like this... and move... this and... there. Nine of out ten humans will now mistake you for a child. Its not your fault, so don't take any offense. Most of us are just... a little too focused on ourselves to pay attention to the details of the myriad of races around us. Yes, I think several of us will do just fine keeping a low profile."
I am anxious to get in this city... I'm not sure why since it sounds like death awaits pathfinders who venture in, but the excitement is palpable...
"Oh! I almost forgot. Should probably keep this thing hidden... Cyrus says, lifting his wayfinder into the air to indicate the thing he was referring to, "Unless we absolutely need it."
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Miro nods at Cyrus's friendly advice, not taking offense. With a few modifications, he walks in a hurried, yet carefree way, swinging his arms widely while putting a bounce (well, more of a bounce) in his step. He withdraws his arms an inch or two into his shirt, to make it seem a tad overlarge. "Ready to go, I think!"
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"Gentlemen, though I feel I am able to ... hold my own in a fight, methinks that it would be much easier for me to have a .... different cover. I am able to move as gracefully as any of my people, and like Cyrus I can ... vanish. If that proves .... cumbersome, I can always pretend to be a merchant ... wealthy of course. I fear time is not on our side. I do hope that Malika's message to us remains ... undisturbed."
"It looks like you've decided on your cover, then," says Aya, the rings on her turban jingling slightly as she nods in the Pathfinders' direction, "While we do not have any Pathfinder contacts in Bloodcove who could help, there is someone in Bloodcove who has been of aid to the society before. Once you have located Malika's message, you should get in touch with Novaria, a spokeswoman for House Cartahegn. House Cartahegn is one of the smaller trade houses of the city. If you mention my name, Novaria should at least hear you out. You will need to rely on your own charms to convince her to help you - she is not beholden to the Society in any way."
Aya slides the forged bounty postings over to the group, "These should help with the bounty hunter portion of your cover. Once you are in Bloodcove, I encourage you to go to the Witchlight, an inn favored by first time travellers to Bloodcove. There is a bounty board there, and this is the most likely location for Malika's encoded message.
"Now, take a little time to collect any additional equipment you think you might need. When you are ready, tell me and we will get you onto one of several convoys of fast riverboats that travel through here bound for Bloodcove."
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"Besides for those mentioned, are there any other factions of power that we might need to look out for? Anyone who doesn't care for Pathfinder Agents?"
Miro chuckles, giving Aya a swift bow. "Charming people is one of the skills that I offer, my lady. Although my recent practice of it leaves me in doubt, at times."
"Luckily, you will only have to look out for Aspis agents and heir allies while in Bloodcove," says Aya, her shining golden eyes turning to Miro, "But alas they are numerous and looking out for them will prove difficult enough! Spotting them can be easy at times, when they choose to wear the symbol of the consortium openly. Many do in Bloodcove, but not all. Your wits will be your greatest ally in this."
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"Once you all have had your questions answered, I can say that I think I'm ready to begin this next great adventure," the old man says, finishing a few notes in his journal and proceeding to pack the tome away in his satchel. "My skill-set will make it so I won't be the face of this party, nor its shadow keeping from sight. Fortunately for me, I'll be largely protected in this middle of this group, and not as exposed as others here. But I will lend every bit of knowledge I can to aid in our task."
"Reporting back to us will be a matter of returning to Nantumbu, by whatever means you can manage," says Aya, almost apologetically, "I'm afraid we will be unable to assist you in this. Once you have sabotaged the Aspis Consortium expedition, you will no doubt need to leave Bloodcove as quickly as possible. I imagine it will be very hard to do so without blowing your cover. The Consortium are no fools and they will likely draw the correct conclusions when it comes to the crunch."
Smiling now, Aya looks to Finarin again, "Thank you very much for the concern you have shown for Venture Captain Sharrowsmith. All of us here at the Lodge share your concern. It has not yet come time for a rescue mission, as we don't even know where he is. However, we are getting prepared. We'll not let it go another week without at least looking for him. To that end, I have already despatched a missive to one Hamilton Trask, who you may have heard of. He is a veteran of the Worldwound and has a very special set of skills. He can be a complete pain in the backside, but he means well and always gets the job done.
"We've also sent a backup letter," she adds, "To a scorpion riding halfing Qadiran druid... but who knows if she'll ever turn up. If you have finished your business in Bloodcove by then and if Venture Captain Sharrowsmith hasn't turned up by then, I would dearly love to have your help in tracking him down. However, let us deal with the matter at hand, and worry about getting on Sharrowsmith's trail later."
Freshly stocked with supplies, the Pathfinders are finally ready to push off down the river by midday. Even on the fast river boats and with favorable currents, the three hundred mile journey to Bloodcove takes the better part of a week. Such a large convoy is relatively safe from river pirates and random marauders, and the journey south and west is uneventful.
It is early morning on the seventh day of travel when Bloodcove appears upon the horizon. The river luckily flows out to the sea, as the stench from the city itself is palpable. Having all been to Riddleport, you are instantly reminded of that wretched pirate city. The buildings are a combination of gaudily opulent and utterly ramshackle, with ramshackle being the clearly dominant style. The bridges and piers are poorly maintained, save for the well guarded ones with the nicest looking ships docked at them. It is as though the foulest city in all of Golarion (Riddleport) has somehow had a carbon copy of its most criminally active district (the Docks) transplanted to the far reaches of a tropical jungle and made into a town in its own right. Riddleport at least is lucky enough to be situated in the colder parts of Varisia. Bloodcove, on the other hand, suffers hideously of heat and humidity. Everything left to rot on the streets (and there is much left to rot on the streets) doesn't just decay: it festers.
Accompanying the smells are the sounds of Bloodcove. The town has woken up and is making an unspeakable clamor. Hawkers, livestock, street urchins and more besides all vie for a voice on the crowded streets and alleyways. The sounds of fighting can clearly be heard at one point as the riverboat sails closer, the fight ending abruptly in a blood curdling scream. As the sounds of the docks become more distinct, the companions can separate out the loud voices of the dock workers, though the sounds they make are indistinguishable from laughter, arguing or singing. Despite the hardened and rough appearance of Bloodcove's workers, everything seems to hum along with a ruthless efficiency.
After paying the bridge fee, the arrival fee, the docking fee and generally placating the numerous racketeering operations, the riverboats dock and the crew waves goodbye to their erstwhile passengers.
"Kenna wait t'be outta 'ere," says the grumbly captain, a dwarf by the name of Korgan, to his crew as the Pathfinders alight, "Sill yer wares'n be ready t'be off'n five hours. Bist make't four. We ain't hangin' 'round t'see the sun go down. Not 'ere." There will be no return journey on these vessels for the Pathfinders.
It is not hard to find the Witchlight. For those ships without a regular mooring at Bloodcove, they are forced to dock on the south eastern bank, opposite to the town proper. They must haul their cargo for sale at the markets across the rickety bridges that span the river cum open air sewer. The Witchlight is an inn that has been set up precisely to house such newcomers, and located just inland of the dock the Pathfinders were dropped off at. Several lots of armed men and rowdy looking individuals come in and out of the crowded inn. The Pathfinders seem (so far) to not look out of place at all.
The dim atmosphere inside the Witchlight contrasts sharply with the bright Mwangi sun. The sour stench of unwashed bodies and stale beer fills the air as a throng of warehouse workers, ship crews, and less reputable folk take their morning meals. The innkeeper stands behind the bar chatting amiably with patrons, while servers hurry between tables.
As the Pathfinders find themselves a table, Miro notices that the waitresses seem to be stopping at some tables for a longer time than they need to, straining to overhear certain conversations. They also take circuitous routes to and from the bar, favoring passing by tables with interesting looking groups of individuals. Clearly, they are attempting to gather as much overheard information as they possibly can - and in a very coordinated fashion.
After a while sitting down, everyone eventually notices the bounty board hanging over the entrance to the common room. It is packed with fliers that you cannot read from this distance. It is clear, however, that if you wish to search it for an encoded message, you'll need to do more than just pass by for a casual read.
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"Is hot..." Amaranti grumbles as the group makes their to the inn. In truth, it is not the heat that bothers him. The Garundi is very used to hot places, calling deserts his home. But the humidity, that is a strange and uncomfortable sensation.
Inside the Witchlight, Amaranti orders a beer and sits down, looking around and eventually noticing bounty board. First, the summoner tries to squint his eyes and read the notes from where he is sitting, but soon gives up and walks closer to take a better look.
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Following the group in, Finarin removes his silk kerchief from his sleeve, looking at the chair, he lets out an audible sigh. He wipes the chair, but instead of cleaning it he has only managed to just smear the grease and debris around into a noticeable swirl pattern. Closing his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply, Finarin sits down. "Ah yes, young miss. I will have a .... do you have anything from fermented grapes?"
Glancing at the bounty board, even with his elvish eyes, he cannot make heads or tails of a possible pattern.
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Never cared for the heat and humidity, and even worse, never get used to them either, thinks the old man to himself, lifting his weatherworn hat and brushing away a few sweat-soaked, tangle of hair from his forehead with a jacket sleeve. Give me a fur-lined jacket and snowfall over this any day.
As Amaranti moves toward the board to get a closer look, Ibid instead turns his head to watch the throng, hoping to detect any surreptitious and curious glances toward his friend.
Adding to Finarin's request, the old man mentions, "And if possible, I'll take anything that will give me a chill."
"And I do mean from the temperature of the drink..."
"We've heard of wine here, ya moron," says a surly waitress, her bosom so ample you could probably lose Finarin in it, "Choice isn't the issue, it's the coin. Something Chelish, eh? Got the finest Chelish red ye've ever tasted. That'll be five gold fer the bottle and an extra gold thrown in fer being such a condescending prick."
Despite the waitresses assertion and the seemingly genuine label upon the bottle, the wine is neither fine nor anything that Finarin could possibly imagine coming from Cheliax. The poor elf is left to wonder whether this is was deliberate or simply due to ignorance.
"Fer the grizzly man: iced ale, cooler'n a mountain breeze," she proclaims. It is hideously warm.
As Ibid surveys the crowd, Finarin and Amaranti spot something on the notice board at almost exactly the same time. It is a name: Kreighton Shaine. One of the bounty postings on the board, to read it in passing, has apparently has been placed there by someone of that name. The main content of the message has been covered by other postings, but it appears someone has pulled the posting on its side and even torn one of the covering bounties so that the name is still visible.
In addition to being a Dean of the Pathfinder Society, Kreighton Shaine spent a long time exploring the Mwangi Expanse a few years ago and is also very much enamored with puzzles, codes and secret messages.
Having found the encoded message on the bounty board, the Pathfinders are left with one key dilemma: how are they going to study it that they might crack the code?
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Swirling the glass, looking for nonexistent legs, Finarin slowly sips the red liquid. Before it has passed his lips he instantly fights the urge to spray it all over Gunari. Doing his best, he forcefully swallows the wine. Passing the goblet to Cyrus, "Not only are a man's .... clothes an outward indication of position and rank, but also the accessories that contribute to the ... illusion. Here, try some wine. It will instantly add to your ... sophistication as opposed to Gunari's flagon hefting."
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"Yes, take a hearty drink, my friend. I'm sure it hasn't cooked itself into vinegar in this heat," says Ibid, turning across the table to Miro. "Say, I think there is a posting which might interest you." The old man intentionally points to the sheet beneath the posting the group believes may have a secret message intended for them.
"I don't suppose you might to pull it down and take a closer look at it, back here at the table, perhaps?" Ibid says, hoping that by pulling and studying a different posting they may throw off any watchful eyes and, more importantly, will expose their intended target for later, more detailed inspection.
Miro may be the only one who could truly pull off this ruse without drawing unwanted attention, Ibid thinks to himself, preparing to watch the crowd, inspecting for watchful eyes should Miro move to draw the posting.
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Cyrus is not his normal self, and hasn't been lately. The heat certainly doesn't bother him, much like Amaranti he is used to desert heat. Humidity is never something any rational person gets used to, or doesn't loath, but this still is not the cause for his foul mood. He is lost in thought, and tries mightily to stay focused on the task at hand. He broods in his chair, the collar of his shirt pulled up, covering most of his face from his slouched position. His feet are kicked upon the table, and he lifts his finger when Ibid orders his drink, to indicate he would like one as well.
Taking the offered drink from Finarin, he wipes the scowl off of his face momentarily so as not to offend his friend. He swirls it around in passable imitation of how the elf drinks his wine, and takes a drink. Fortunately for him, his lack of experience with the fruit of the vine leaves him oblivious to these grapes of wrath.
He lifts the empty glass in Finarin's direction, and resumes his previous scowl and slouched position. Someone will get his attention when his skills are required.
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Gunari leans over to Cyrus, who is obviously in a foul mood. He says, in Varisian, and in a quiet voice. "My friend, perhaps you should go see what bounties are ripe for the pickings. Maybe practicing your reading, and other skills, might distract you from this uncharacteristic pouting."
"Or, you know, we can take the chances with Gilligan taking it. Not sure I can direct him that well, though."
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"Of course, there is another way," Ibid begins, leaning toward the center of the table, craning his neck closer to the group, making sure to voice his suggestion before anyone begins to act. "A way altogether different by which we could go about this."
Looking back and forth at the others, he waits a moment before continuing, "If would be a little more effort, but if done correctly, even if this place is watched we could continue to remain unnoticed and invisible to any inquisitive eyes... Of course, it may require us to smother a few... snakes... in the process."
Also recognizing Cyrus darker, brooding mood, same as Gunari, the old man adds an addendum directed specifically at the youth. By the old man's words and warning, it is clear that he fears Cyrus brooding may one day take a more sinister turn, "But before you agree to this, simply because you are looking for a chance to use that shiny blade of yours, Cyrus, remember this..."
"The soil of a man's heart is stonier, a man grows what he can and tends it... that which he nurtures will flourish."