As he and Harius watch the protestors, Alistair makes a mental note to include their actions in his next preaching opportunity. Hopefully by speaking to the issues on the minds of young adults like himself, he can bring in more people to his cause. Nothing rallies people more than praise and recognition for the things they do, especially those that are already willing to protest.
Alistair almost misses his step when Harius mentions Amycus. He knew Harius's views on politics were starkly different from his own, but he always assumed Harius didn't really pay much attention other than what he hears from his other friends. The fact that Harius knows who Amycus is bubbles up some pride in Alistair, alongside the temporary pang of frustration at Harius's ignorance.
Knowing Harius would just get defensive if he started to debate him on the topic, Alistair instead decides to see just how much Harius knows of Amycus. "Amycus? You mean Amycus Viamio? He's long dead... How would they be able to listen to him, unless you mean read about him and his views?"
Harius laughs and pats Alistair on the back. It is almost patronizing. "No, no. There's some crazy street preacher who calls himself Amycus, gets the rabble quite roused. While there's always room for improvement, yelling on the street corner's not going to change things. Change comes from laws and doing rather than marching and shouting." He points to the protesting students as an example. "These kids will be jumping off their causes and idealism as soon as they get hit with their first tax bill or it threatens their cushy lifestyle. A few years from now, they'll be the power in this city that their kids are protesting against."
'Of course Father, I am ever eager to serve, and bring glory to the House and your name,' Luca bows stiffly, more through physical limitation than anger. His father does not look up from his ledgers, but Luca can see that he has annoyed the man. He backs queitly out of the door and closes it after him.
The great ne'er-do-well of the Jeggare clan stops outside his sisters door for a moment, a detour as he returns to his own room. The apple of his fathers eye, and in truth the darling of the entire family, Luca has her younger brother had always worshipped her as a child. I'm getting there. I'll find who did this. And it will end. One way or another. He rests his head on the door, not willing to go into the dim sanctum, before being distrubed by some servants bustling through the halls.
He sets off again to his room and changes his boots, with some small difficulty into sturdier riding boots and a less flashy coat. All of this he does in preparation of going to the stables and fetching a horse, and asking in a jovial manner for two of the house guards to accompany him, the streets being a dangerous place for a crippled nobleman. They acquiesce, though sharing strange looks, Master Lucadeno is known for being very freindly with the staff of the grand House, but in many ways this just unnerved the common folk who worked there, or they found it bemusing.
Luca rides his well-bred mare out into the streets with some awkwardness. Its not often I see the streets from a position of height and privilege. It reminds me how easy it is for the rich to unsee the poor. A dangerous trait to develop indeed.
The Heights are queit and beautiful, wealthy estates, walled gardens and scurrying servants, most of the smells of the city don't rise here, with Castle Korvosa looming above atop its great ziggurat.
Its not until they enter the Docks that the need for guards becomes more urgent, men and women rushing back and forth, selling their wares and hawking theit baubles, children scurrying underfoot, many only too happy to liberate a nobleman's fat purse.
Luca and the two guards make their way to the warehouse where his brother now runs much of he families day-to-day business and asks one of the porters there if they know where he can find the heir of House Jeggare.
Elrith gets a look of abject horror. "Marraigable? Kids? Myra's trying to fix me up, too? I figured this was just her way of getting me...a job. No offense, but I'm not looking for that sort of life, not even just for the forty or fifty years that man has left!"
Her expression softens to one of bemused patience. "Myra, Myra, Myra," she mutters softly to herself.
[b]"As for clockwork pieces, I would love some more, but don't have the funds to spare at the moment. Another time, perhaps."
Elrith says her good-byes to Laya and decides to have a little fun (and good practice) with herself. She completely scouts the intersection, as if she has a target, looking for the best vantage points in which to hide herself.
Taking 20 on Perception grants a 27.
There are several possibilities. The building housing the Time Stop is only two storeys high, so its roof would make a good vantage point. It's fairly exposed, however. Getting into position unnoticed would be next to impossible. A deep doorway across the street from the Trapper's Hole would provide plenty of cover, until somebody wanted to go in or out - Elrith notes it for future, nocturnal use. Finally she spots a pile of crates in an alleyway that affords a view of three quarters of the intersection. It'll have to do.
Then, once she has found the best spot, she slips over to it as stealthily as possible. Stealth: Once there, she spends some time really hiding herself as best as possible, rearranging crates, and settling herself in.
Taking 20 on Stealth for 27.
Then, she waits for Knuckles with an arrow against her bowstring.
Leonardo Jeggare, older brother to Lucadeno, receives him with the noble grace befitting their shared station. Leonardo is a handsome man, the pride of House Jeggare and the hope for its future. He is said to be as canny as their father in business, but the old man grumbles at his son's general lack of a ruthless streak. He often says that if he could combine Leonardo's acumen with Lysander's warrior's edge, he would have the perfect son. Leonardo embraces his brother with ease and a good deal of affection. "Brother! It's good to see you at the dock! Come to see the fishmongers?"
Lucadeno grins, his exhaustion temporarily lifting from his features as he embraces his eldest brother in return, he continues to smile as the older man pats him on the shoulder. Lysander is an inch or so shorter than his brothers, but far stockier and stronger, while Lucadeno and Leonardo are cut from the same cloth, though Leonardos hair is very dark where Lucadeno's is auburn.
Leaning back on his staff Lucadeno replies 'Indeed! One must keep the diet balanced! A nice trout or salmon would surely bring a smile to father's oh so stern face,' Lucadeno notices his brother frown slightly at that, the strained relations between Lord Jeggare and his youngest having always irked the House's heir. He continues quickly 'Speaking of father. He mentioned a certain property, and placed my meager aid at your services.'
Leonardo maintains his pleasant expression as they change topic smoothly and chat casually, moving into the office. Once within Leonardo checks to see if anyone is watching them too closely as Lucadeno takes stiffly a seat.
There are few who could possibly notice the elf in her hiding spot, giving her the perfect vantage point to watch the city's inhabitants go about their business. She sees a number of strange and unusual sights, as people are often more free to act as they truly are when they think no one is looking. She notices a merchant who pulled his wagon into the alley and diluted a number of potions, only to see him selling them for full price a few minutes later. She notices some young lovers stealing away for some stolen kisses, only to run off in a hurry when a burly fellow comes looking in the alley. A homeless vagrant moves aside some cartons in secret to gain access to a grate to the Vaults, some long-forgotten entrance into the city's sewer system. All in all, there are any number of things to see while awaiting her irritating contact.
Leonardo shuffles some papers around on his desk, looking for a document. "Ah, yes, here it is. It seems that there is some sort of purchase from the Crown to an unknown third party of a warehouse nearby. I didn't really think much of it, but if Father wants to have it checked out, I think you're more than capable enough to handle it." He hands Luca the document, a notice of sale filled with legal terms. "If it is a matter of some sensitivity, don't take any of the servants." He speaks in a conspiratorial whisper to his brother. "I hear that Arkona is looking to infiltrate the House with spies. Fortunately, we also have a few spies there as well. Until we know who to trust, family's the only thing you can trust. Good luck, little brother."
'If there's one thing I can do for our family, its be discreet. Don't you worry about that brother,' Luca shakes hands with his brother and hobbles out of the office and goes to talk to the gaurds. He asks them to wait for him at the Riddled Cockatrice near the edge of the district, and gives them a silver each with which to entertain themselves. Both men exchange glances breifly before taking their lord's son's gift and hurrying off to enjoy an easy evening in the large, cheerful tavern.
Luca himself takes his mount's sack and moves into an alley, paying a prostitute a silver to find somewhere else to lay her head for the daylight hours. Shaking his head as the bony woman leaves quickly, Lucadeno Jeggare rapidly dissappears, his clothing stowed and rags donned, his cane covered in rags, as is one of his eyes, he dirties his hair and ruffles it wildly, smearing some ash and dust on his face, and freshening the disshevellment of his clothing. He then checks that his dagger is in easy reach, before turning and moving our of the alley, walking slowly but not needing to lean on his cane, he begins to limp in fashion that is painful to watch, designed to avoke emapthy, and Luca the Gull moves out onto Dockside's bustling streets, and through alleys, appraoching the warehouse purchased, supposedly by House Arkona.
I pray that it is. I relish the chance to pit myself against the Lord's of Old Korvosa, and thier crass adaptations of Vudrani dressing. No gilding can cover their stain upon this city.
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Alejandro freezes, swearing softly to himself.
'By the gods... This could go damn sour, fast!' Sighing, he stands slowly, cracking his neck, turning to face the large Thug. 'Big bastard, aren't you? Why couldn't you be a small drunk one?' Sighing, he takes a slow step forward, placing himself between the man and the Sergeant.
"Listen friend... This man is drunk. You can see that. He did not mean it. A touch too much of the sauce, nothing more. You have two choices here... One, you can turn around and get you and your friends some more drinks, on me!" He pulled a small purse from his pocket, containing ten gold pieces, and jingled it before the mans eyes. "Or two, you continue on this course of action and me and my friend here," he nodded over his shoulder at the Half-Elf man, now standing beside him, "Well... We would be forced to act and that would be a bad thing. There it is my friend, your two choices. Sit and drink or attempt to assault members of the Guard!"
The thug looks insulted by Alejandro's offer. The man's skill at speaking, inherited from his grandfather and father, seems an improper selection at a place like this. He roars out in drunken umbrage, "The Guard? I hate the Guard! You're just the pets of the merchants!" He lunges towards Alejandro with his fists.
Despite his drunken state and the relatively quick reflexes of the guardsmen, he acts first and gets off the first punch. It is of poor aim considering his inebriation. Alejandro doesn't even have to dodge the attack.
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Sighing, Alejandro draws his blade. "Now friend... That was foolish. Re-think this?"
The thug growls sharply and Alejandro nods his head resigned. "So be it..."
Taking a step forward, Alejandro lashes out with the flat of the blade, slamming it as hard as he can in to the mans head.
The blade slams in to the side of the mans head and sends him spinning sideways across the floor, to collide with a table leg. Alejandro tenses, turning to face the room, a frown painting his face.
"This is done. It goes no further. Somebody pick him up and take him home!" He looks down at the unconscious man and tightens his grip on his blade. "I used the flat of the blade on him but mark my words, next person to come near me and my friends gets the edge!"
Alejandro takes a step back, beside Ellerin. "Sheath your sword Brother and grab the Sergeant. Lets get the hells out of here!"
Ellerin snorts at the ease in which Alejandro dispatches the drunk. "Remind me not to get on your bad side when we go out drinking." He grabs Grau by the arm, supporting their intoxicated sergeant with his own weight. "I agree with your assessment of the situation!" The half-elf Guardsmen eyes the other patrons of the bar warily as he pulls the sergeant towards the door.
Half a dozen thugs and ruffians stand up, murder in their eyes. They each have a tattoo of a devil's face on their forearms, its horns and forked tongues unmistakeable as an identifier: the Bastards of Erebus, a local gang largely of tieflings. A quick look at the man on the floor shows that he has a similar tattoo, as well as subtle horns indicative of his devilish heritage. Several of them pull out knives and other weapons, while one of them simply smashes a bottle to gain a jagged edge by which he might shank Alejandro for the disrespect of knocking their fellow gang member unconscious. Things are about to get quite violent. Skilled as Alejandro and Ellerin are, six against two (if six is all they have, something they cannot be sure of at this point) is difficult enough without factoring in having to protect Grau. The sergeant is in no condition to be of any assistance in the fight, and there is no way to get in contact with backup from the Guard unless they simply get lucky.
Elrith makes note of the corrupt potion merchant. Blackmail is such a good way to get good prices; besides, ripping off honest folks always leaves a bad taste in her mouth - much better to do it to other thieves.
Astin exits after preparing breakfast for Rica, the result of many years of ingrained habits. It is an exquisite meal of poached eggs and ham, which the elven servant thankfully brought with him. The cost of food has been going up in Korvosa thanks to the skittishness of the merchants, as most of the city's food supply is imported in from the nearby farms and ranches of the city-state. While the Korvosan Guard keeps the lands free of banditry and thieves, the farmers cannot transport the food to the city themselves and contract with the merchant caravans to bring it to market. They make a tidy profit, especially the noble Houses that own the docks, such as House Arkona in Old Korvosa and House Jeggare in West Dock. Rica's own family has a number of investments in the transport of foodstuffs from the outlying farms, though it is only a small share of the city's imports and a small portion of their holdings. Rica would be hard-pressed to afford such food herself, as she has no discernible source of income and no particular means to earn it legitimately. It is an unspoken understanding between her and her family, as is her apartment, clothes, and general lifestyle. Her parents may not approve of her choices, but they continue to pay for her comfort. It is simply not something that Rica chooses to discuss with them or think about with herself.
Astin leaves a note with the location and time of the meeting as he exits Rica's apartment. She reads it with some distaste on her face, seeing that it is an address in the run-down warehouse district near the docks. It is a dangerous part of town, especially at the last ring of the Epochal Tower when the meeting is arranged, but she preens with the thought of summoning defenses against some unsuspecting would-be robber. She indulges in an extended fantasy of the way her attacker would beg for mercy at the jaws of whatever beast she would summon upon first seeing the glint of his knife. She dresses as she spends time in this reverie, looking forward to the meeting and hoping for the opportunity to make her fantasy into reality.
As Sergeant Fristwell prepares to teach the cadets the finer points of riding a hippogriff, he sends Senjin off with his compliments for the day. As the hippogriffs are in use for the day and Conroy is on stable duty, Senjin has no tasks for the rest of the day. Fristwell reminds him that they are planning on doing night maneuvers, so he is not expected back at work until first light in the morning. The Sergeant passes him two gold Crowns with a wink and a laugh being a heavy suggestion in their use. Senjin heads back to his small room, clutching the pair of coins and grinning at the old soldier's praise and affection. He pushes aside the light wooden door to change into one of his few simple shirts that does not identify him as a member of the military.
"Hello, Senjin." Senjin freezes in his tracks when he hears the voice. It is one of the lower classes of Korvosa, the unmistakeable accent making it nearly impossible to escape the circumstances of his birth. It is an accent that Senjin is fortunate not to have, the heavy tongue of his Shoanti blood drowning out any Korvosan underclass dialect, though it is debatable which sounds worse to the average Korvosan. The voice in question belongs to Harley Zendo, a halfling "businessman" with delusions of being more legitimate than he is. He was the fence to the gang that Senjin used to be part of, and now he sits atop Senjin's bed with his feet up. He offers an idle wave to his former associate.
"Don't worry; no one from the Outsiders knows that I am here or even where here is. As far as any of them know, you fled the city when you left their gang. I think you know that I don't like them sellin' drugs out to the kids and addicts, especially considering now that the Bastards of Erebus are thinkin' that they're pushin' in on their territory. Jimmers is a moron, thinks he's invincible, but he's going to get himself and all the others killed. Ain't none of this that I'm here about, but it is a matter of some relevance to each other. Think you'd be interested in joining a group lookin' to make some real change, not just shovelin' horse-bird dung for the rest o' your life? This group, it can make some changes in this city, drive out the drugs in favor of a more traditional model o' criminalizing. It'll be tough going up against the gangs, especially the ones with 'secret' big money backin', but you done showed me that you ain't afraid o' nothin'."
The third son of House Jeggare wanders incognito through the city that most of the nobles never see. The dockworkers pay him no heed, few of them even noticing him, while rushing about their business. A few sidelong glances into some of the abandoned properties has a number of drug addicts huddled together, shaking in the effects of their narcotics. A few small urchin children run through the streets, likely not far from home only because they have none. It is a sight of urban decay, far removed from the gilded halls of the Heights. It is fortunate that none of the people here would ever see the lives that the nobility live, for they would surely revolt in revulsion at the excess and waste that the nobles take for granted. A beggar woman looks at him with piteous eyes, though she does not ask for any money. No one here has anything to give. A few minutes from now, she will find the Crown that he slipped into her cup, enough to feed her for weeks, though she will have no idea how it got there.
It does not take too long to find the warehouse that Leonardo mentioned. It is a large structure, built decades ago. Its crumbling plaster and cracking paint suggest that it is long fallen into disrepair. The seal of the Korvosan Crown would be present on the door until the sale, as the city gains possession of abandoned property once it has stood in such a state for enough time for someone to notice. The Crown is not the best steward of such properties, not in this part of town, thus explaining its current condition. There are no cobwebs, though, no signs of anyone living inside. It is at least presentable, likely made that way by whoever purchased it.
Luca presses onward, looking for any signs of the purchaser and warily looking for other signs of life. The last thing he needs is to come up captive in the hands of one of his father's rivals. That would surely be too much of an embarrassment for the man to bear. The door opens silently, a well-greased hinge being more evidence of some recent care. The warehouse is large and empty, save for a number of rows of wooden boxes. It will take him a while to search for any evidence of a conspiracy. Fortunately, Luca the Gull has enough time to spare without servants or anyone looking for him.
The day cannot end fast enough for Alistair. His work continues interminably, with his accursed employer not even bothering to show up and make the least bit of effort for the day. Since it would simply lengthen the day, it does not bother Alistair, who quietly steams with umbrage at the unfairness of the strange sale. No one but the city's rich would receive such favorable treatment from the Crown, which is supposed to represent the people of Korvosa instead of just its moneyed elite. When the halfling-created clock purchased by Morvius (an expense that Alistair certainly disagreed with at the time) chimes five hours past noon, Alistair nearly rushes out the door. He almost bowls over Harius on his way out, uttering a quick apology and excuse as he slips free.
He arrives on the street to a scene of utter chaos. Hundreds of people, many of the civil servants like himself, clog the street in their rush to get him. While it is only perhaps a mile or less to the warehouse district, it will take a while to manage through the people. Fortunately, Alistair has some skill at maneuvering through crowds and will likely be able to make it in half the time. It doesn't hurt that he knows the shortcuts of the city very well, as such ways are easier to find when he preaches at night.
As the streets teem with people looking to make it home after their days of honest work (and some, such as the merchant selling diluted potions, less than honest), Elrith lays in wait for her prey. Just as he said he would, Knuckles arrives looking for her. Despite his claims of having sharper vision than a hawk, he does not spot her hidden deep within the sets of boxes. She takes a moment to ponder the human burglar. In a rakish, nontraditional way, he is an attractive man. His brown hair is longish and unkempt in a manner that suggests that it is wholly intentional. He is spry and fit, but relatively short for a human. He likely is skillful by their limited standards. He has a number of knives hidden on his body, something that Elrith can appreciate. He looks around for her, seemingly not worried that he can't see her yet.
Elrith slips quietly backwards off her perch and back out the alley through its other end and around, so as not to betray her newly-discovered nest. Knuckles, despite his general incompetence and clumsiness, has an uncanny knack of tracking her down (though he usually can't see her once he's located her general area).
Stealth to leave nest:
Coming around the corner from whence Knuckles himself arrived, she casually makes her way up behind him.
Stealth to sneak up on him:
She comes up in his blind spot, preparing to goose him in a fit of uncharacteristic playfulness, when she sees a flicker of a smile on his face, telling her that perhaps his eyes are more hawkish than she first thought. She quickly pulls her offending hand away and attempts to pretend like she was about to do nothing of the sort. Her stern, cold gaze as he turns around should be enough to freeze lava, but the insufferable man merely sloughs it off with one of his rakish grins.
"I don't understand why I haven't killed you months ago," she says by way of greeting, "shall we get moving?"
Senjin's eyes open wide in surprise at the sight of the halfling. He looks quickly up and down the hall, before entering the room and firmly closing the door.
Luckily Zendo keeps talking while he tries to get his thoughts together. But then Zendo always liked talking, and his opinions. But he did always give us a fair shake, and if Senjin really thinks back on it, he probably even gave them better. So he would hear him out...but he does raise an eyebrow.
Senjin gives him a shrewd look, but with a half smile. "Zendo, are you just forming a new rival gang, to get back to your 'traditional' criminalizing? And how did you find me...and get in here?"
As Senjin strips off the sweat stained shirt, Zendo can see the collection of poorly healed scars. Pulling on a new shirt, "Scanlon did that, if you can believe it. We were like brothers. I spent a week in a vault, without the strength to crawl out."
"But shoveling bird-horse dung, as you call it, is a good thing. I got food, shelter, real pay..." He opens his hand to reveal the two gold coins. He stares down at the coins, never in his life had he ever had this much that wasn't tied up in a stolen item or divvied up by the gang...his family. He closes his hand and holds it out to Harvey. Zendo looks at him quizzically, then holds out his hands and Senjin drops the coins into them.
"See that Graden gets that, maybe as part of your next deal, something for the little ones. I would say Olivia, but I imagine nothing has changed there.." Zendo can definitely hear the regret in his voice.
Senjin takes a deep breath to steady his convictions. "Alright, give me the run down and I will think on it. If it can really help free the streets of drugs, I will be interested." No harm in listening. I got the night off and the Sergeant wanted me to get into a little trouble.
Zendo claps him on the back, despite being close to only a third of his size. "Good man! Word on the street is that some of the big money bigwigs are looking to clean the city up of the drugs, put a dent in poverty too. I am particularly interested in this avenue, as more folks with plenty of property means more people from whom I can spread the wealth. The gentrified gentlemen who plan on bankrolling this operation are the kinds who keep their hands clean and soft, thus there is some deal of separation between them and the street-level operations. These street-level operations are something that certain other gangs and factions might want to stop, as their source of income is primarily related to their sales of illicit substances. They'll need some protection, something that I know you have in ample supply. It's supply and demand, my good man, supply and demand. There's a meeting tonight, when the Tower rings 6 o'clock, out in the West Dock area, of interested parties."
Senjin doesn't mind getting used. Zendo has been doing it for as long as he knew him, which is almost longer than he knew anybody. But Zendo always gives a fair shake. Sure this helps him, but if it helps those trapped in the Outsiders, it is a fair trade off. Also, Senjin never feels used by these arrangements of Zendo's, he feels wanted.
"Alright, give me the details and I will give them a listen...and try to leave even quieter then however you got in here."
Once informed, Senjin gets up and heads for the door. Opening it, he slips in the hall and carefully starts to close it. Just before it latches he says into the room, "Thanks."
Now with free time and no money again, Senjin heads for his refuge. He stops by the kitchens for a small lunch to take with him, before continuing. He knows a way to the roof. He found it on one of his first days that he had free time. He found it best to stay out of the way of bands of students during the day, and the roof provided that separation. At night, some students seeking a better bond with the animals will come by individually to the stables. Senjin finds these students more approachable in such a setting. This has led to his offers to help them in weapon training too. They find him a challenging opponent, for he knows none of the formalities of fencing that they had been weened on. He is fast and strong and some of the students have come to respect that and even try to teach him some of the finer points of finesse.
But on the roof he is free of all students and discipline, and even free of his past. He imagines it like on a boat in the river that he now looks down on. In the distance he can see the pyramid and towers of the city. But around him is the dangerous currents represented by the Shingles of Old Korsova. Being a roof runner was the closest thing he ever imagined he could get to being free of the city. He has surpassed that dream now with the 'Griffs.
He cant see the east docks from here..where his friends...where some of his friends still call home. The haphazard clutter of the Bridgegate rises up to block his view. That was his first home..though he doubts now that he would even be able to find where his parents had their place.
Thinking on his lost parents, his gaze again goes to the Pyramid and Castle. One of the few memories he has left of his father is the two of them sitting on the roof of their upper floor hovel and looking out toward the pyramid. He feels like it was somehow important to his father, that perhaps that is why they came here in the first place, but he never talked of these things, at least not to the young Senjin. And eventually drugs replaced all his father's desires one by one, till even Senjin was unwanted.
Skritch His thoughts are disturbed by a slight scraping sound on the tiles of the roof. He starts to look down to find a small psuedodragon stretching over the peak of the roof to try to steal some of the bread and cheese he brought with him. Senjin freezes..the creature continues to stretch its long neck, but its eyes are on Senjin, while in return, Senjin does not turn to face it, but keeps his eyes on it. Then, surprisingly there is a soft pleading voice in his head "Cheeeessssse..."
Senjin breaks off a small piece and nudges it toward the small flyer. With a burst of quickness the pseudodragon snatches the bigger slab of cheese from Senjin's hand and takes flight, leaving the small piece for Senjin, who stops it from rolling away down the roof.
Senjin laughs in surprise and pauses...He has not remembered laughing in quite some time. He sits back against the roof pitch and watches the antics as the tiny dragon swoops and rolls, all the while savoring the cheese. Senjin comes to realize..That is what it must be like to truly be free. Soon he is throwing chunks of bread off in random directions, all caught with dizzying acrobatics.
His meal gone and the sun still near its zenith. Senjin closes his eyes and enjoys the sun and breeze, imagining that he too could fly. Tonight all that might end as he is back on the streets.
It isn't till much later that he rouses himself to go back to his room, thankfully empty. He pulls on battered armor the Sergeant gave him clean and never asked for again. A hatchet he tucks into his belt, and an axe on his back, he was not stupid. He did not know if he could trust anything about this 'Meeting' other than Zendo alway looked out for him.
I like the fluff of it, but understand the boost there too. So would pay for it with a feat or similar class ability such as the Sable Marine for a 'griff, if the opportunity came up.
But I leave things in your capable hands, I just wanted to create options. Just like you incorporating the NPCs we create into the meeting setup...Nice.
Luca moves up to the door with great care, and raises the bandage covering his eye, taking a moment to peer inside quickly and look for inhabitants or guards.
Perception:
Returning his eyepatch and putting on his beggars hobble, he moves as queitly as he can inside to the nearest stack of boxes, hoping to look like a beggar seeking an opportunistic place to sleep. Once he reaches the boxes he bagins to examine them for marks or seals, and try to see if he can ascertain their contents.
Alistair dodges in and out of crowd with ease. He has always had been good at working his way through a crowd, starting when he was an orphan on the streets. Back then it was even easier, as he could duck under legs and fit through smaller openings. Now he was forced to wind his way in between the crowd, but even this he has had experience with. This skill came in very handy when he needed to avoid guards.
Alistair took his favorite and quickest route back to his flat, climbing up onto the shingles at the last moment and climbing in through his window. If he was going to check out the warehouse, better to be prepared. Alistair puts on a set of studded leather armor that he only wears occasionally. He doesn't like to use it too much as it restricts his movements a bit. He prefers to run rather than to fight, but he bought this armor for this very purpose, a dangerous situation where anything could go wrong.
Alistair grabs his dagger and morningstar as well. The morningstar is placed in a loop at his waist and the dagger down by his ankle. He also grabs his buckler, longbow and quiver. This is more than he normally carries with him, but better to be safe than sorry. Finally, he throws his cloak over everything and puts his hood up. He does some quick work on his hair. The cloak does most of the work in disguising who he really is, but because of the longbow and quiver on his back, it doesn't do quite as good of a job as normal. The perceptive will notice the hump in his cloak, but Alistair doesn't want to wait too long to get it right.
He leaves quickly, exiting the way he came and heads straight to the warehouse district. If things go right, he'll be able to make it there shortly before the bells ring 6 hours past noon.
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"Well now... looks like we have a might of trouble here. Could be we need to leave, and now!" Alejandro smiles over his shoulder at his friend, before moving a step forward, and raising his voice.
"Now now boys, can't you see that this man attacked me? There is no need for any of this. Come now, can we not just leave? We will not bother you again, I can promise you that!"
As he spoke, he moved slowly towards the door, keeping his eyes on the thugs, trusting that Ellerin was moving behind him, keeping the Sergeant on his feet.
"Just let us leave. We ain't going to bother you any more!"
The armed group looks Alejandro up and down. As the defeated thug stirs on the floor, one of them steps forward. A tiefling with prominent horns and visible fangs, he seems more akin to a full devil than a halfbreed. "You'd better get out. We see you in here again, I'll kill you and feast on your soul." He unfurls a wicked-looking barbed whip, using his tail to flick its tip.
The Bastard on the ground spits up a bit of blood as he sits up. "Vethamer! I demand blood be spilled!"
In a flash, the tieflings' leader wraps the whip around his neck with a cruel crack. "Dravano, you fool! You want blood spilled? You should really specify whose you mean!" He tightens the barbed whip, causing blood to flow freely from a half dozen small puncture holes. Dravano whimpers in pain as Vethamer looks back at Alejandro. "Well? Get out unless you want his request granted!"
As Luca, in his guise as Luca the Gull, looks through the boxes for some proof of another House, footsteps alert him to the presence of at least three people in the warehouse. He peeks from around a box to look at them, unsure of who they might be.
The first of them is an impressive figure, a tall half-elf with long black hair. He is handsome, but more importantly, carries himself with a tremendous confidence. He wears a breastplate emblazoned with a prominent holy symbol of Iomedae, along with her favored longsword to his side. He is flanked by two women. The first, a beautiful young human woman with light Chelaxian skin and dark hair, wears rough leather armor under a plain shirt and carries a longbow on her shoulder. She is frowning as they walk, clearly not one whose natural state is cheery. The other woman, a middle-aged Varisian with a colorful scarf tying down a mass of curly brown hair, seems far more serene. She holds no weapons and wears no armor, but flips cards incessantly from a Harrow deck as they walk.
The group walks forward, the half-elf speaking to the woman as they come closer to Luca. "If we can recruit enough like-minded followers to be heroes of the people, we can be powerful enough to institute real change in the city. With the King on his last weeks of life, we have a unique opportunity. The Queen's rule will be far from absolute. If we can unite the people, we can demand that the nobility and royalty accept the combined voice of the masses. Such a small minority should not rule so great a majority, not without the consent of the governed!"
The harsh-looking woman suddenly draws his bow in the blink of an eye, pulling back an arrow before Luca can relax. Its arrowhead glimmers in the light as she points it at him. "Arael, watch out!" She turns her words to Luca, her bow ever steady. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
The half-elf gently pushes the bow aside. "Janiven! Calm down! This is the very sort of person we are here to help. I'm sure he is simply looking for a place to stay after being forgotten by the ruling elite." He offers a hand to Luca with a winning smile. "Come, join us. We are friends."
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Alejandro nods sharply, before turning on his heels and grabbing the Sergeant. Between them, the two men manage to carry their Superior out of the door and in to the street. Looking back over his shoulder for a minute, Alejandro frowns.
'By the Gods I hope I never have to go in there without backup again...' Sighing, he motions for Ellerin to follow, as he begins to lead the way back towards his apartment.
"Sergeant, you better appreciate this... Ellerin and I put our neck out for you. By the Gods I hope you know that!" Shifting, to keep his sword arm free, they walk on in silence.
Luca coughs horribly and stumbles to his feet, gripping his cane. Bit theatrical old bean, but this chap is a bleeding heart, or playing one fairly convincingly, Luca's mind speaks to himself in the voice of an old tutor with an antiquated Taldan accent. His face remains nervous and facing at the ground as he mumbles.
'I was jus' lost sirs... and ladies. I was jus' goin' ta lay me head down is all... I'm sorry to disr.. uh... being in yer way. Please sirs. I didn't mean no harm by it.' He limps awkwardly backwards towards the door as he speaks, making placating gestures with his hands, eyes occasionally darting to his audience to guage their reactions. Its an act, but I'm not exactly fast on ym feet if I need to run.
Alejandro and Ellerin pull Sergeant Grau along, who is nearly unconscious with inebriation. His feet drag against the cheap cobblestone, hitting each and every bump. They drag him to Citadel Volshyenek, his dead weight making the half mile seem more like ten. As they enter the vaulted gates of the great fortress, several Guardsmen rush out to greet them and take possession of their wayward brother. They greet Alejandro as they take Grau, as he was held in high esteem by the rest of the Guard before he left. A few of them stick around to chat with him, happy to see their old friend returned to the Citadel.
"Endrin! Get over here!" The voice is one he heard many times during his tenure at the guard, often causing him to stiffen up to parade ready as instinct. It belongs to Field Marshal Cressida Kroft, commander of the Korvosan Guard. She stands in the wooden palisade above the main square of the Citadel, where she usually stands to address the assembled troops. She is an attractive, if severe in the way she pulls back her dark hair, woman dressed in her immaculate red uniform. "I appreciate that you're on civilian time now, but I need to have a word with you in my office."
As she turns to head back into the keep, Ellerin cracks a grin at him. "You're in trouble! Don't worry, it's not like she can suspend you any more!" His words are teasing, as everyone in the guard nearly worships Kroft. She worked her way to the top despite being born to a street vendor, making the arrests and earning the respect of the male-dominated Guard by being relentless and never mincing words.
The half-elf Arael walks up close to Luca, who turns his eyes downward to give the impression of a deferring beggar. He grabs Luca by the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "Bless you, friend of Korvosa! No one should have a right to push you out onto the street without a single copper, not caring if you live or die." He takes a step back and lowers himself to Luca's eyeline. "I care. I want to help you. What is your name? I am Arael. These are Janiven and Zellara."
Janiven, having returned the arrow to its quiver, looks him up and down. She eyes him suspiciously, apparently not one to trust easily. If she sees through his disguise, she keeps it to herself for now. She exchanges a look at the Varisian woman Zellara, who views Luca with pity in her eyes.
As Astin cooked, Rica stayed fairly quiet, silently seething over the thought of her parents. She loves them dearly, but the thought of keeping in contact with them causes her very chest to tighten in anxiety. They may care for her, sure, but not as much as Rica would like them to, and that's the heart of the matter. Rica wanted -more- than they were willing to give, and that knowledge almost hurt as much as the thought that they would have preferred an easier child.
Rica pulls her black fitted jacket on, leaving the first two buttons undone. The outfit she wears is her usual; black dress pants with a white dress shirt, a black ruffle just bellow her neck, black dress boots, and a black jacket with long coat tails. She runs a hand through her hair as she looks at herself in the mirror, pleased by the image she gives off. She's obviously quite well off, but is hardly dressed like your average noble Korvosan lady. She smiles and grabs her cane from where it rests against the wall, and poses for just a moment before spinning around and heading out the door. Her chain shirt and crossbow sit untouched in her closet. It's just a meeting, and it's not like she can't handle any danger with just her magical talent alone, right?
After the man embraces him Luca tries hard to maintain his omposure but reckons that any real beggar would be equally shocked. Maybe he is really into helping the cities people, theres not many men would embrace a beggar. So, on a whim he decides to give his 'real' name and see where that leads him.
'I'm Luca, sir. I'm just lookin' for somewhere to rest that's all. It gets cold out at nights and my leg gets stiff.'
'Is...' He looks nervously at the gathered folk. 'Is this a...' he stumbles over the word 'sanctuary for folk like me, I herd they have 'em in some places. Places to rest at night maybe... another furtive glance, 'Get some simple grub some times.'
If these are Arkonan foils, this is a strange feint. But what the hell are they doing with a formerly state-owned warehouse? How did they afford this? And how serious are they about their seditionist talk? Luca's mind buzzes with questions as he glances at Areal's two companions.
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Alejandro smiles at the Guards gathered around him. These were his people, the men and women he once called Brother and Sister. He felt most at home here, in this Keep. He turned to address Ellerin, intending on replying to a comment the man had made, aimed at how Alejandro himself was growing soft, without the Guard, before freezing, a chill running down his spine.
'By the Gods... I am as nervous as a new recruit!' He felt himself stand to attention as the Field Marshall spoke. 'Old habits die hard it seems...' He shakes his head, to dispel his thoughts, before smiling at Ellerin.
" She can not suspend me but she may very well trounce me!" Grinning, he clapped the man on the shoulder. "If I am not dead or in a cell, by the end of this, we will catch up later yes? A game of cards perhaps?"
With a quick farewell, to those gathered, Alejandro heads in to the Keep. He straightens himself up, as best he can, and walks on, head held high. 'I wonder what this is about...'
Upon reaching the door to the Field Marshall's office, he knocks once, before stepping inside.
He snaps off a quick salute, before speaking. "You wished to see me ma'am?"
Arael smiles and holds his hands out to his side. "If we have our way, this whole city will be sanctuary for all its members, not just the spoiled nobles who grow fat and rich off the backs of the poor." He looks over to Janiven, who returns his look with exasperation then pulls one of the boxes to them. Arael gently sits Luca on the box. "We are members of a group that wants to help people like you, to help everyone who is being oppressed by the government and the rich. You can rest here as long as you want. We have benefactors who share in our views, who own this building. We are arranging a meeting tonight at the evening ring of the clock tower where we will recruit more heroes of the people. Would you like to join us for that?"
Field Marshal Kroft returns his salute, though his retired status makes that more of a courtesy than a requirement. She gestures behind him. "Close the door." With the sound of it shutting, she gestures for him to take a seat. Her desk is spartan and utilitarian, hardly more than a few pieces of wood nailed together to give a writing surface. Every item on it is meticulously in place, giving the entire office a very official look. She sits at her own desk and looks at him for a moment. "Endrin, it's good to see you. I hope being a civilian is working out for you. As a matter of fact, you are exactly the person I need to see. I received some intelligence that needs investigation, and I can't send anyone from the Guard. You're a good man, the kind that I trust to do the right thing. There's a group that is meeting tonight at the six bell. It sounds like they're low-grade revolutionaries, but movements like this can get ugly fast. Look at what happened in Galt. I need someone who I can trust, someone who isn't on the Guard payroll, to make sure that they remain productive, rather than destructive. You'll do what's right for the city, I'm sure of it. Do you understand what I'm asking?"
'I'd really like that sir,' Luca bobs his head with excitement. 'I han't got too many uses, but...' he looks side to side conspiratorily, 'I hear things. On the streets like. No-one looks at a poor beggar like myself, with my bad leg and weak eye, no-one remembers I gots ears, not even alot of the other beggars, sir. We all hear things, things no-one else hears. I can be a use sir... I can.' He stands unsteadily off the box, Arael taking his arm to steady him, he smiles nodding his head, and not showing teeth that he didn't take the time to blacken earlier. Continuing with his apparent distracted excitement.
'I'll go now sir, and ladies, and see ya at the clock tower. I'll use my ears for ya sir, so I will. You'll see sir!' he hobbles off quickly, his gait awkward and painful to watch before any can stop him, muttering a little to himself and clearly excited. He leaves the warehouse and turns out of several streets, down connecting alleys, his gait improving, becoming smoother and no longer requiring the walking stick though he keeps it at hand, and still heavily favors one leg over the other.
He finds a safe place and transforms once more into Asmodean robes, standing tall and imposing now, cane hidden in his robes folds, and wearing a mask, his hair tied tightly to his scalp he strides back onto the streets and goes to pay his respects to Prince of Lies, and appropriate god, if not one he worships in truth. Then, he thinks as he slowly stalks towards the temple glowering beggars and malcontents that only half an hour hence were his comrades, falsely worshipping and getting away with it might be the greatest homage to the Archdevil of all.
The Temple of Asmodeus is an impressive building, especially considering it is one of the largest buildings in Korvosa. It is larger than any other single temple, though it is still smaller than the Pantheon of Many. The star-shaped building, seen by many as a cancer upon the city, buzzes with clerics, Hellknights, and a few petitioning followers who have run out of options.
"Initiate Brusar!" One of the Asmodean priests strides up to Luca's nefarious alter ego, causing him to mentally catalog the priests of the temple. This one, like most of the priests, has a goatee and fair Chelaxian skin, which only eliminates a handful. He is young for his black and red robes, which helps narrow it down quite a bit. He determines that it is Julentar Tarrus, one of the newest priests fresh from signing his contract with Asmodeus. Tarrus has been cordial enough to him in the past, but not the first choice Luca might have for manipulation of information. Still, his inexperience makes him a better target than most. "May the blessing of the Archdevil be upon you, Initiate. I beg a favor of you." His tone makes it clear that it is not a request. He holds up a parchment with a still-smoldering fiery signature on bottom. "This contract must be sealed in the blood of a witness. As a party to it, I need another." He holds a knife out in the other hand, expecting Luca to cut his hand to drip sufficient blood onto the proper location of the contract. The contract is in Infernal, but likely says the same thing as all the others: eternal possession of the signer's soul in exchange for some sort of mortal power.
Luca/Brusar bows as deeply as he can with his injured leg. 'Exalted Priest Tarrus, your contract seems solid and correct, however surely you know I am a local of this backwards city and have not yet mastered the Great Tongue. It would be remiss of me in violation of scripture in Chains 2:10 to act as a witness that is not legally culpable, for I have not seen the deal. It would then cast a shadow of legal doubt from the outside on this contract, and legal and technical validation are truly among the highest virtues as says Tyranny 1:21, does it not? So I'm afraid most glorious one that I cannot befoul your contract with my meek hand. I beg your forgivness, and will scourge myself in repentance.'
Tarrus looks Luca up and down, seemingly both impressed and annoyed with him. "You are right, of course. However, you must practice your skill with the language of our god. How else will you confer with his diabolic emissaries? Be on your way to self-flagellation in punishment; 10 lashes will do." He takes a prideful joy in issuing the last order before heading off to find another to sign the contract as a witness.
The Ephochal Tower rings six bells, the sign that the day has waned. The peals of the bells are audible all across the city. It is one of the few things that unites the rich and the poor in Korvosa, as they have little else in common. As the final bell rings, a meeting begins in a nondescript warehouse in West Dock. A tall, handsome half-elf stands atop a set of boxes, addressing a crowd of nearly one-hundred. Most members of the crowd simply appear to be a collection of bored college students, desperate beggars, and general rabble-rousers, but there are a number of able-bodied people in the crowd. For a seditious plot, they certainly have more potential than most meetings. "With the ringing of the bell, Korvosa shall be free!" The half-elf waits expectantly, getting a few scattered claps in response. "I am Arael. Not so long ago, I was just another citizen like you. I saw the ways that the nobles stepped on the regular citizens, calling them common for no reason other than the circumstances of their birth. I did nothing. I saw the way that the Queen used the city's gold, paid for by our work and our taxes, to buy herself whatever she desired. I did nothing. I saw the Hellknights, invited in by the Crown, oppress the people and suppress any dissent. I did nothing. We were in a slow decline, and the effects of their excess on the people were subtle enough that I did nothing."
"It wasn't until the son of my friend Zellara was killed by a criminal named Gaedren Lamm that I awoke to see what is going on in this city." He gestures to a woman standing next to him, a middle-aged Varisian woman who nervously plays with a deck of cards. "Lamm, as it turns out, had friends in high places. The Guard tried valiantly to bring him to justice, but there is no justice in this city when it is ruled by greed. One of the 'noble houses' was protecting him, as his drugs paid into their coffers. No judge would sign the warrant. When even justice is for sale, the system is broken! I stand up and say, 'No more!'"
The crowd seems quite excited by his speech, and the members of the crowd speak amongst themselves for a while. He regains their attention with a rhetorical flourish that gets the crowd even more buzzing. "Will you stand up and be heroes of the people? Will you do what is necessary to restore justice to this city, which has not seen it for long enough that it has forgotten the very idea? Will you take up arms and fight for a system, or will you allow the corruption of this city to take your spirits as well?"
Stealth:
A man with tussled hair and an easy smile stands barely visible and at his ease against a stack of crates near one if the exits. Behind him, stands an elven woman even harder to see. If you are able, you can tell that she is anything but at ease - poised ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. Her elven longbow on her back has already been strung.
She says nothing during the speech, nor does she applaud. Anybody close by, and able to spot her, sees her head snap to attend the speaker at the description of Lamm. The smiling man with her leans over and comments, "Sounds like the type of target you like, isn't it? If these people can get you gigs like that, it might interest you, hmm?"
"Yes, Knuckles," a soft female voice replies from the shadows, "You may have kept from screwing up...for once."
Senjin emerges from the academy into the crowded streets of Old Korvosa. Once he steps into the bustle of foot traffic, he dons the cloak he had been carrying over his arm. It is early in the day and little warm for such a layer, and draws some looks, but it conceals his head and face, so they can look all they want. It also covers his armament, not that carrying weapons on the streets is unusual, he just doesn't want to draw attention to it. A large hooded figure does get some notice, but no one is curious enough or stupid enough to try to pay more attention to him.
Travel on the Shingles would be quicker and draw less notice. But the few eyes that are there, are much more curious and more dangerous. The hour is still early, the streets should be perfectly safe.
He finds the address and is surprised to find that it is a building he is familiar with. It had been vacant for years. It had always served as a safe waystop if someone needed to drop off the Shingles quickly and quietly. A window on the south side upper floor doesn't latch. He looked around noting the heights of the surrounding buildings and their intervening distances. Strange to be looking up at these details.
He pauses long enough outside to tie a rag across his face. Not knowing who will be here or if this is even legit, he thought it best to attempt to protect his identity. The rag has a scent of metal and leather from his work in the tack room. It helps remind him of what he has to lose. No use losing my job or my life over a couple of hot-heads.
Inside he sees the arrangement of boxes and chooses the one closest to the southern ladder. If the meeting is raided, it will likely be from the street, and he means to make an escape up and out of this place.
Once the meeting is underway he is surprised at the audacity of the speaker, Arael. This would be a dangerous game. Yet were not his words, Senjin's thoughts just this morning. How could he help? How could he give back when he face is no longer welcome? This was how...
Senjin glanced around fully expecting the guard to come bursting into the warehouse at any moment. He sees the murmurings and stirrings but no one yet to make the move. The city consumed his parents' souls and he saw his friends heading down that path. If he can step onto that path ahead of them, and redirect them...this will be worth it. He is not surprised to find himself rising to his feet. He already made a stand once against the drugs that are destroying his friends, this time he is a little better equipped to handle the consequences.
Senjin pulls back his hood as he addresses Areal. His hair, shaggy black, much longer than when he shaved his head in imitation of his ancestors when he was on the streets. The rag he leaves in place.
"If what you say is true, that you want to get the drugs off the streets, than I am willing to join you in that endeavor. I have witnessed its ravages with too much frequency and the Guard's indifference to the poor in pursuit of protection of the rich. I will raise an arm for this cause." The speaker's eyes and what features are visible of his face are strong, likely Kellid or Shoanti. His voice is deep and clearly Korvosan, but young, very young. It is not the voice of the young hotheaded barbarians across the river. This voice voice carries a conviction that helping Areal and the city is very real cause for this young man."
At Senjin's vow, half a dozen more join in to support him. The crowd murmurs more, the declarations of seditious intent exciting many in the crowd. No one appears more excited than Arael. "The first of many heroes of the people! Remember, one voice can change a room, a room can inspire a neighrhood, which can set the entire city free!" The half-elf holds his hands out to the others in the room. "Who else is brave enough to stand up for what is right?"
Luca the Gull winces sharply as a man bumps into him, his hurrying around all day having taken a toll on his leg, his knee feels as if his joints were filled with sand and glass.
He listens to Arael's speech with great intent, careful to keep his face vapid and expressionless, easily mingling with the cloud of dissident beggars. Important to turn them away from hating nobility in general, he notes as he watches. Trying to guage how well the passionate young Arael is swaying people. He notices a man raise his hood and lend his word to the proceedings. Thats one way to get in on the ground floor. Steering them to productive ends could be useful. Convince them that the Arkonas are the root of the cities problems, the crown is too heavy in dock tariffs. Leo would appreciate that. He continues to muse as he watches the crowd, to see if others will move forward as the well-spoken Shoanti had.
Alistair arrived at the warehouse in West Dock in time to see a few lower class citizens enter, the same types of people he has been preaching to. Wondering why these folk are here, he pulls his cloak tighter around him and heads to the entrance. Poking his head inside, he sees many people standing around waiting for... something. A quick head count turns up around one hundred people in the room. Alistair walks inside and moves to a corner near a few boxes and scans the room.
Shortly after entering the warehouse, a meeting begins and Alistair is surprised to find a group with similar motivations and goals as his own! Alistair finds himself nodding at what Arael says and is excited to see another man stand and offer himself up in service to the cause.
Alistair thinks to himself, Seems as if Milani has had a hand in bringing me here! He then climbs up a nearby sturdy crate and stands tall, leaving his cloak to cover his face. "Let it be known that I lend my aid to this cause as well. It is time for a change! Milani, The Everbloom, stands with the oppressed! You have my skills at your disposal."
It isn't long before Alistair hears someone in the crowd mention the name Amycus.
Senjin looks around at the others in the room and begins to wonder what exactly he got himself into. Beggers, clarks, and students?
A little embarrassed at how swept up he had become, the reality was catching up. If he wants us to go up against gangs and thugs, it is not going to be with the bulk of this lot. Sign wavers and bleeding hearts...well that is not all that will be bleeding.
Senjin's eyes focus on the thin Varisian calling out his pledge. At least this Milani bloke had the sense to come armed, for this will be a war. But he did stand up and call out his name...some guts there." He readjusts his mask making sure it is still in place, too much at risk, too much to lose..