"They're friends," Vencarlo tells Quorthos. "The Seneschal showed interest in Salvator's art, and they've been close ever since. I'm not sure if we can trust him though. He was obviously hiding something when I last spoke to him, but i have no idea what it is."
All the windows of the building are shut tight, and the curtains have all been closed. For a moment it looks like there won't be a reaction to you knocking, but then the front door opens. Within the entrance appears a female elf with long, blue-ish hair. She wears a full bodysuit made of spiked studded leather, and has a spiked chain hanging from her waist.
"Well hello!" the elf says with a broad smile and cheerful voice. "You also here to find Salvator? I can't seem to find him!"
Imoya remains silent. Feeling out of place among his new peers, it felt it best to simply wait until he was needed.
Folding his arms in a relaxing manner, the Ifrit raises a brow to see how it turns out.
"Missing friends..." he mutters.
Baer comes back to the ground to report on her attempts to see inside or find an alternative entrance. When the door is opened by a person she did not expect, her jaw drops. She is speechless, and turns her head to Denario & Mavor to ensure they are seeing the same thing.
"Wha..?"
It's a new thing to see, Baer baffled like this. It takes little time for his response.
"I think your jaw is laying on the floor, better pick it up."
"I don't trust this, she's too polite and with that kind of outfit, this screams 'queen's enforcer' to me."
"Who might you be, miss?"
Tural stands frozen in place, hand still up from knocking the door.
"Ehm... Well... I guess?"
The walking tree says in a very confused voice.
"Tural? And who are you?"
Mavor grunts smirking as Baer stands baffled, then waits for the woman's answer as Denario and Tural ask her the questions he had on his mind as well.
He looks for any insginia about the woman to indicate she might be of some organisation from within Korvosa.
"My name is Laori Vaus, and I'm a devout follow of Zon-Kuthon, the god of pain!" the elf continues in the same cheerful tone.
"I'm here to find Salvator, because I want to talk to him. His art has a lot of themes important to the Prince of Pain's faith, like darkness, death, and destruction. I was also looking for other artists with similar styles, but it turned out they were all dead! Can you believe it?!"
Laori rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "So I cut off their heads and gathered them inside. I tried talking to them with magic, but they just rave like a bunch of sillies. Want to see them?"
Her hand moves to her mouth as she fakes exasperated shock. "But oh no, don't think I'm going to kill Salvator, even if I do like to torture people and watch them suffer! I just want to ask him some questions, that's all! Because of what I said earlier, about the themes of his art."
Laori smiles brightly. "Want to look for Salvator together? It'll be fun, teehee!"
During the entire monologue Vencarlo's jaw gradually drops lower, eventually joining Baer's on the ground.
Quorthos tries to hide any surprise at the elf who opens the door.
Hearing her statement, he tries to play along, not really knowing the game.
"Enchanted, Laori," he begins, taking her hand. "Yes, we're looking for Salvator... I'm also a fan of his art, it's so... dark. I didn't know about any of the religious overtones, though. But, severed heads, you say? I'd love to see them - especially if they're still talking! Performance art can be so evocative."
Quorthos tries to put the strange elf at ease, with the goal of gently pushings past her into the house. "Strange that all of these artists have ended up dead, though, isn't it? With the city as it is, there's no appreciation for true art, I suppose. Salvator is the best - his work reminds me of that Pickman fellow from Ustalav. I hope we can find him."
Assuming she lets us in, we'll close the door and chat it out without any witnesses.
Baer blinks at the openness of Laori.
"Uh...isn't that a bit too much information? Who goes around saying that to strangers?" Baer questions.
"I don't know whether to trust you because you're being so honest and open or because you're just so unconcerned with being weird." Baer looks at the rest to see how they are handling the elf's very open honesty.
"So...why are you looking for Salvator, really? And how did you get into his home?"
Tural has a look of confusion on his face, he clearly doesn't know what to say at all.
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Tural's pretty convinced Laori indeed doesn't mean to kill Salvator.
"There's a pickman fellow in Ustalov with similar art? By the jolly Dark Princ, I did not know! Do you remember his name? I'd be interested in checking out his work!"
Laori lets you into the front room. The smell in this entry is of must and mildew, much of it coming from the mud tracked over the floorboards, as if a small army had marched through the room. To the south stands a single empty set of shelves.
The mud tracks lead to one of the two doors leading from the front room, and Laori opens it. A small hallway's revealed, with two more doors in it. While Laori merrily chats on, she leads you to the door the mud prints don't lead to and opens it. "Well, the door was open when I arrived so I just entered! I found a key inside the bedroom and decided to crash here!"
"And I just told you why I'm looking for him, didn't I? Did you already forget, silly?" Laori giggles while looking at Baer. "Aaaaaw, it's okay! Nothing to be ashamed of! I'm looking for Salvator, because his art shares themes with the Midnight Lord's faith!"
Inside the room beyond the door Laori opens are two tightly shuttered windows, yet the air inside seems strangely fresh and scented, no doubt from the six large candles that burn within. Each candle has been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of these impromptu and grisly candle holders has been placed atop an otherwise clear desk to the west, arrayed in a gentle arc. A chair sits before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sits inside the arc of skulls. To the south stands a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn.
"Sooooo as you can see I decided to make neat candle holders of the dead people's skulls," Laori informs you. "It sucks having no purpose, you see?"
"They haven't been able to tell me a lot themselves, even with my magic, but while researching their backgrounds I discovered they'd all committed suicide some time after losing their inspiration. They could apparently not handle living without."
Laori rolls her eyes. "Draaamaaaaa!"
Denario casts message, while the elf is talking out loud ranting like crazy.
This woman's a nutcase. I'd not be surprised if she'd stab us in the back, gleefully speaking of what she'd turn our bones into.
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Baer's eyes widen as the elf keeps speaking.
"Yes, please tell us more about your 'art'," Baer agrees, but makes the crazy-crazy,loon-loon gesture to the others when her back is turned.
"Well, if Salvator isn't here, we'll check back later. I guess."
Mavor kneels down and looks at the mud prints, almost having the sense as if he's putting it all together. He then stands back up, looking slightly baffled and worried.
"Strange...This much of a mess indicates indeed that there were a lot of people. Usually such large groups don't have good intentions, especially when in a hurry to not wipe their shoes."
"Half a dozen humans were involved in making this mess... There are also tracks that show a seventh person was likely dragged out of the building, I saw scuff mark of what I think are dangling feet. If we act fast we might track them and hopefully Salvator down."
Tural says as he takes a good look at the tracks.
"Shall we?"
He moves outside and tries to pick up the tracks.
Hearing Mavor and Tural interpret the scene, Quorthos turns and heads to the door, dropping his bluff. "Hells... they've got him already. Let's move!"
On his way out, Quorthos nods to the woman. "You probably shouldn't be here with a bunch of severed heads when the guard shows up," he notes, and heads out to follow Mavor and Tural.
As Tural moves outside he instantly loses the tracks. He concludes they have to be at least a day or two old, and were probably washed away by rain.
Laori follows Quorthos and Tural outside. "If you want to know who took Salvator I can tell you! I think I even know where he is right now. But before I tell you, you have to promise I can come with you."
"Oh! Oh! I found something neat, by the way! Look, it's a scrap of cloth I found in Salvator's bedroom!"
She produces a bloodstained fragment of cloth, which is obviously from a high-ranking government official in Korvosa — the city's coat of arms appears on the fragment.
"Say the word and I can purify this place."
Imoya mentions casually, taking in the scene with a curved smirk. His eyes narrowed at the skulls 'repurposed' use.
Looking at the cloth, Imoya simply didn't recognize the coat of arms. Likely beyond common nobility crests.
Baer looks around for tracks on her own, but finds little. She trusts others to track better than her, and moves to follow. She's not too excited by the news of cloth in Salvator's bedroom...as that is where many people keep their clothes.
"Well, is that a clue? Maybe Salvator has been entertaining a government cosplayer."
Baer grunts at the silliness of that idea. She's ready to move on, having nothing else really to go on.
Denario isn't versed in local nobility. It didn't matte to him in his daily life anyway.
"Purify, you mean incinerate.
That'll attract even more attention."
"Well, at least we have something to go on."
Tural says, also ready to go.
And so our merry band of adventurers, led by a sadistic masochist elf who wears a tight-fitted spiked leather bondage suit, heads to the next location.
while walking Laori tells you that Salvator Scream has been taken by the self-styled ruler of the region — the Emperor of Old Korvosa. In his previous life, this Emperor was a man named Pilts Swastel, the owner and director of Exemplary Execrables, a notorious playhouse that specialized in violent, gruesome productions. Already a bit unhinged before Korvosa fell apart, the riots, a bout with blood veil, and the quarantine were enough to push Pilts the rest of the way. With his knack for showboating, organizing crowds, and his horrifying imagination, it was a relatively simple thing for him to make the transition from director to gang lord.
Today, Pilts's position of power is growing. Every day, his mob absorbs or murders more of Old Korvosa’s remaining citizens, and his resulting influence grows. For some unknown reason the Gray Maidens don't approach the building he's claimed as his 'Palace'. Worse yet, as the Emperor's empire grows more and more Gray Maidens appear to be withdrawn from Old Korvosa and deployed into the streets of the newer neighborhoods. This causes the Emperor's chaotic reign to grow stronger by the day, which in turn causes Old Korvosa to slowly collapse in on itself.
"Pilts?" Baer's head cocks to the side, thinking.
Knowledge (Local)
"Oh, this isn't going to be fun. We might have some issues....hmm..." Baer grunts and explains the stuff in the spoilers. "Of course he's going to be an issue, isn't he?"
Tural grunts.
"I know that name... It's all over the streets these days."
He looks to Baer.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking? I think we have to play by his rules and in his game..."
He looks out over the streets, in thought.
"Are we going directly to his palace, or are we going to let us be captured by one of his mobs?"
"So...It's a type of Arena then?"
Imoya asks, not having heard of this person till now.
"A murderfest spectacle, is what this sounds like.
Despicable."
Baer grunts.
"Sure, it's murder. And spectacle, but at least it's not the Queen's rule," Baer continues to trudge toward where Pilts might be.
"Laori... how do you know who took Salvator? And was he with anyone? This bit of cloth has some sort of crest on it, it doesn't look like Savaltor's usual outfit..."
Quorthos' eyes narrow as he pieces together information about this so-called "Emperor". "I don't think we need to 'speak' to this pig, or play his games... we need to go in and free Salvator and any other citizens he has captured, and then prevent him from harming anyone else. Thugs like this who take advantage of the city's troubles are just another plague on Korvosa, and need to be excised the same way." He nods at Imoya. "Our new friend here has the right idea about 'purifying' things with flame, in this case."
Oh, my, getting a little bloodthirsty, aren't you, Quorthos? What about the rule of law and all that? Seems like a good idea when it's abstract, but now suddenly you don't mind taking a few shortcuts...
"Shut up." Quorthos says out loud, but seemingly not at anyone present.
Laori answers Quorthos's question in a disturbingly cheerful voice, "I extracted the information from some people who worked for him. Want to know how? I can tell you the details, if you're interested? I just love talking about torture, heehee!"
The streets surrounding the Palace are littered with bodies, rubble, and refuse; feral dogs, stirges, shingle spiders, and other vermin scuttle around with a bravery not seen in the city before the quarantine. The further one ventures into Old Dock and draws near the Palace, the fewer citizens appear behind boarded windows, and the more the signs of the Emperor’s mob grow. Vandalism, brutalized bodies hung up on display, remnants of fires, and other evidence of public violence are everywhere.
You don't go unobserved, and you soon notice a small group of six thugs approaching you. From a distance, they loudly and brashly demand to know, "The heck's the meaning of this?! The hell are you doing here?! You looking for trouble, punks?!"
Vencarlo tenses a bit, but looks a bit startled when Laori starts clapping her hands excitedly and asks, "Shall we kill them? Shall we?"
Mavor grins at Laori's remark. She's weird, quite evil absolutely, but there's something likable about her.
Mavor steps forward a little, his imposing size, shiny new armour and greataxe does not dissuade anyone from noticing his bulging muscles and the gleam of seriousness in his eyes.
"Trouble? Us? I fear you are gravely mistaken sir, for you see it is you that are brashly and loudly coming toward us. If anyone is looking for trouble it would be you fine gents. Now I won't lie, I like a bit of exercise myself and the last two groups we've met didn't quite warm up my muscles yet. We're on harmless business here and don't have the time to idly chat. Introductions can be made if you insist, it's what the other two groups tried forcefully. As for the reason of our visit, we're being expected, but that's none of your concern really."
Baer snorts, backing up Mavor's words with a few thumps of her staff against her hand.
"Yeah." Baer yes man's to Mavor.
Aid to Intimidate
"The gore still sticks to my boot, it's a hassle to clean."
Tural stands by idly, not intimidating at all.
Shall I use enlarge person on you, Mavor?
Mavor nods at Tural. "Aye, a good idea. Keep it ready if they want to become frisky."
Quorthos tries to look slightly bored at the approach of the thugs. "Again with the gangs?" he asks Baer, but loud enough for the thugs to hear. "I wish they'd travel in larger numbers, it might make things interesting for once." A dagger appears in Quorthos' hand, and he idly cleans his fingernails with it.
"No, we don't need to kill them, unless they keep asking questions," he answers Laori's question. Wow, she's bloodthirsty... "Remember, they don't yet know that they've been replaced as the Big Men about town."
"Street toughs..."
Imoya muttered as a small flame gathered around his finger tips.
A sphere of fire shifts from his hand toward the group, exploding with intensity.
Empowered=64 fire damage
"Scum...all of them."
Baer turns her head to glare at Imoya, concerned about the unnecessary killing.
"We were talking here," Baer grunts. "They hadn't even had a chance to run away. WE GIVE THEM A CHANCE TO RUN AWAY, OKAY?!"
"Baer or Mavor might have had a chance to rough them up for information. That might be out of the question now..."
Mavor frowns at the wanton carnage/barbecue.
"Well at least that takes care of our problem... ish...O'm guessing other watchers on will mention our approach. Might we get more problems or less because people know we are dangerous."
The big green orc, walks over to the roasted bodies and pokes at them with his axe.
"I think they're done alright. I like my meat more medium-rare instead of well-done though."
Mavor quips, but obviously a look of worry across his face.
Brute force aye, but usually after the indirect approach. This new guys dangerous, good thing he is on our side.
"Some times some survive enough for easy questioning." Imoya says, looking to Baer.
He looks to the others giving them a nodding shrug.
"I will restrain myself further." he says stoically.
"I will restrain myself further." he says stoically.
Baer sniffs at the burning flesh, clearly trying to keep her anger under control.
"We're not killing the people we're trying to save her, Imoya," Baer says, stepping into Imoya's face. "If you're going to help us, you're not going to burn down the piddlespotting town around us. You got that?"
Baer's orc tusk drip saliva, her eyes narrowed.
"For piddlespotter's sake, save it for someone who actually deserves it."
Tural dashes forward towards the men who just went down. He kneels down at each one of them to see if any still live.
Concluding that every one of them is dead he turns around, dead silent. His eyes focus on Imoya, a flicker of rage stretching across his face.
Denario gives a disapproving look, but looks around to check if anyone is coming after the smell of burned flesh.
Imoya nods slowly to the Orc. realizing he had crossed a line.
"I see I've over stepped. I apologize. I'm not used to the group mechanic nor am I used to giving street tough's the chance. More often than not, they have proven useless to me and I acted premature as I would have outside of the city. If you'd prefer, I will keep my spell flinging to a minimum and utilize such things only at... Oh... Quorthos' command." He waves a hand toward the tiefling.
"Is that fair?" he offers as a work around to limit infuriating the group further.
Tural slowly nods, not sure what to make of the newcomer just yet. He walks over to the Ifrit and grabs him by the shoulder, imbuing him with a battle ward.
"Try to be more careful of your actions."
The moment the walking tree healer casts the hex his body flexes. Scars from every wound he has taken seem to appear all over his body, and the grit of battle seems to cling on him. He grows in stature, becoming taller and more muscular, with a grimace of rage stretching across his face. A few moments later it fades again, turning him back to his normal seemingly weak state.
"Let us find a way to get to the 'king'."
Before he releases the man he creates a life link between himself and him. Imoya feels an odd sensation, as if Tural is somehow connected to him.
Mavor stands up from his poking around, looks at Imoya with seriousness in his eyes.
"Then you'll probably be surprised that I was once, not long ago, a similar street thug like them. My only saving grace is that I've got an equally sufficient brain going with my muscles so I can think for myself. A lot of these people who can't either need guidance, leadership or a goal in life, most gang lords offer one of those. It's always a challenge to sort the bad eggs from the scared ones. We've removed multiple serpents' heads already these past months, kidnappers and drug lords. Usually goons like these are the least of your worry and only need to get scared off."
Then Mavor walks up to Imoya and claps him on his shoulder.
"Now you know a part of our story, there's a lot more to tell of it, but what brings you here? I reckon you're not just some sap trying to be a vigilante or something, so what's the deal?"
When Tural kneels down to see if any of the thugs survived the fireball he discovers two of the unconscious thugs are still alive, though barely. A quick application of healing magic or the healing skill could save their lives.
"I'll be more mindful." Imoya says to Tural as he seems to change appearance in ways the cause the fire caster to widen his eyes. He gives the tree a nod feeling an odd, binding sensation. Shaking it off he took a step foreward only to catch Mavor's glare.
He took a deep breath, knowing he had done this to himself...
Hearing the that orc was once a thug briefly flared a spite, visible by a tension at his shoulder and neck. Mavor's should clasp added more to the tension but he rationalized that this group wasn't like those he just scorched.
Mavor asking about him seemed to ease his tension lightly. his shoulders lowered, exhaling a breath.
"My wife was murdered in this town's streets." He said looking to the burned group. He motioned toward them with a nod of his head, changing the subject.
"Seems a couple survived..."
Quorthos stands slack-jawed, dazed by the fury of the ifrit's assault. He doesn't react for nearly a minute, as the others try to explain to Imoya the fault in his approach.
"If you'd prefer, I will keep my spell flinging to a minimum and utilize such things only at... Oh... Quorthos' command."
At the mention of his name, Quorthos shakes himself out of his reverie. "No, not me," he declares. "I'll not be responsible for unleashing that fire." He closes his eyes briefly and calms himself.
"Imoya, I know that you're not a native Korvosan, but this city is my home, and it's under attack. The Queen is trying to ... change our city, for the worse, by sowing dissent and turning citizens against each other. She is the real enemy. These people," he gestures to the charred bodies on the street ahead, "these people are my brothers. We may need to fight them to solve the bigger problem, but we try to talk first. We may need many of them on our side before this is over. Besides," he half-smiles, "it's easier for them to show us how to get where we're going when they can still walk."
At Mavor's speech, Quorthos nods. I didn't know that about you, Mavor... you're the example of what a man can become.
Quorthos grimaces when he hears of Imoya's wife. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says, gripping the ifrit's shoulder. "I understand, a little. "
Giving a nod to Quorthos, the Ifrit seems to gather more understanding.
"Your felt kinship with your home's people...regardless of how degraded... is amiable." He says aloud considering his words carefully.
One his shoulder is once again clasped he raises a brow. He simply looks to Quorthos at the mention of his understanding with a stoic, blank stare. He eventually looked away, back to the writhing survivors.