"Less talk, more getting the *^&%* outta here!" Cimri cuts off the philosophical debate with a glare.
It's a simple matter to leave through the hole in the side of the palisade, and you follow Cimri along the trail back to the other side of town: Ash House.
Ash House stands just outside the town to the northwest. The dilapidated structure is a dangerous site most Longacre citizens avoid. Looters carried off what little survived soon after the place burned down, and what remains of this manor looks like it could collapse at any moment. Bearing the scars of a decades-old fire, the house is blackened and sags under the weight of its collapsed third floor. Shattered windows pose no barrier to the riot of ivy scaling each gable and invading every cavity.
Bent pillars and a cracked granite porch lead to a warped door bearing a rusty doorknocker shaped like a boar’s head.
Before the Chelish Civil War, the Ash House was Moragatalli Manor, home to one of old Cheliax’s lesser noble families.
Before the Chelish Civil War, the Ash House was Moragatalli Manor, home to one of old Cheliax’s lesser noble families.
In the decades following the rise of House Thrune, numerous supporters of the old order lost their lands, their titles, and - in many cases - their lives. The Moragatallis tried to remain neutral during the revolution and, upon surviving it, congratulated themselves on their quiet canniness.
But after the war, House Thrune gave the Moragatalli lands to House Fex, which had risen in Thrune’s esteem.
Before the Chelish Civil War, the Ash House was Moragatalli Manor, home to one of old Cheliax’s lesser noble families.
In the decades following the rise of House Thrune, numerous supporters of the old order lost their lands, their titles, and - in many cases - their lives. The Moragatallis tried to remain neutral during the revolution and, upon surviving it, congratulated themselves on their quiet canniness.
But after the war, House Thrune gave the Moragatalli lands to House Fex, which had risen in Thrune’s esteem.
The Moragatallis would have complained, of course, had most members of the family not died in their manor’s violent, midnight conflagration. No one doubted what had happened, but the town children’s explanations - blaming witches and ghosts - proved far less frightening than the truth.
"Without them thousand swords, Dollface, your revolution ain't worth squat. 'member that."
He does not look back until they reach the Ash House.
"Hrmph. Pleasant." is his eloquent comment.
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Interesting. I have not visited here often. I could blame it on the childish stories of the fire being started by witches and ghosts, but we all know that it was Thrune agents who eliminated the Moragatalli family. Of course, if the Moragatallis had devoted themselves to the Thrunes rather than trying to play both sides, they would have at least had a 50% chance of siding with the victor. This should serve as a lesson, make a decision and stick with it, because trying to remain neutral in this world is a death sentence.
Drathi recites this as though it should be common knowledge. Her love of all things knowledge sometimes causes her to forget that lesser mortals do not read and memorize everything.
Knowledge(local): <-- anything else for rocking the check?
"Two feet of tongue," Erevan repeats Aelden's words. "What a pleasant mental image..."
Once they reach Ash House, he takes a good look at it, listening to the woman's words while doing so. He smiles at the off-handed way she recites the things she knows about the place. "Interesting. Both the story and the lesson," he remarks before turning to Cimri.
"So, here we are. Deed done and all. And now?"
Bryn, not a local and not caring to learn anything about this flyspeck town, shrugs and pushes on the door. "Why are we here, is the important question."
Lythirra stays quiet during Drathi's history lesson, already knowing most of it as it was relatively recent history when she was young: she, however, nods at Bryn. "Indeed. Are we to meet your contact here, Boss?" the aasimar asks as she peers into the open door "Maybe we should have knocked first..."
Drathi's history lesson is wasted on Cimri and she rolls her eyes as you discuss the architecture. "I use the window - the door's stuck."
With that, the young woman climbs nimbly past the broken glass panes and into the front room. She doesn't waste time, ushering your impatiently up the stairs. All you see in the gloom are pieces of battered furniture and the choking scent of dust and ashes. Shattered brown glass bottles of cheap whisky are strewn around the place. Beneath a mantle crowded with empty whiskey bottles, the fireplace shows evidence of recent use. The scorched, broken visages of curious cherubs leer from atop archways leading deeper into the house.
The stairwell is choked with rubble and ivy; trees have grown through the back window and most of the doors on the upstairs landing are blocked off. There is one however that is open, and a soft light spills out into the hallway, even at this late hour.
Without pausing, Cimri walks in. Toppled bookshelves, a table, and some chairs half-covered in ivy suggest this room was once a library. The ashes and pulp of burned, waterlogged books lay heaped amid fallen furniture, creating a large nest of sorts against one wall. A set of folding paper screens divides the room. A lantern flickers on the opposite side, projecting the silhouette of a shadowy figure sitting in a high-backed chair upon the thin paper.
A pair of catlike, spiny creatures doze fitfully amid a nest of book pulp. They wake instantly when you enter the room, heads tilted forward, but a command from the other side of the screen makes them relax and they return to restless sleep.
At the same time the light behind the paper screen slowly intensifies. After a moment of slow shuffling, a high-pitched voice, sounding as though it could belong to someone either very young or very old, wheezes from behind the screen: “Cimri. Is it done?”
"You got it, boss." Cimri's reply is brash, confident, as she points at Bryn, indicating at him to put the lockbox down on a table just in front of the paper screen. She relates the tale promptly. "In, out, no complications. Knuckles here went wolf - thanks for not telling me 'bout that, by the way, nearly jumped out my skin - and found a gap in the fence, Dogface and Shady took down the guard dog, and Doll and Lady here put the fear of the Dark One into Louislik. You ain't gonna get any trouble from him, I reckon."
The wheezing voice replies after a few moments' pause. “Excellent. You’ve done well, Cimri, and your associates sound like individuals of rare potential. You’ll all find your payment waiting in the parlor below, along with a gift for each of you. Go, enjoy, celebrate. You deserve a reward for your impressive work. We’ll talk more in the near future.”
"You got it, boss." Cimri gives you all a meaningful look: time to go.
Aelden waxes poetic at the shadowy figure's compliment:
"Hrmmph" he grunts, and follows Cimri's nod back downstairs, where he looks for the payment.
Shrugging, Bryn pulls Louslik's business ledger from his pack and places it atop the lockbox. "Archbaron prolly knows what he's owed, but if he needs some proof... or dirt."
Turning, the logger follows the others out of the room. Down the steps and out of earshot, he casts a question Cimri's way. "Cimri - who's Mysterioso?"
Deciding against asking the one who is their actual employer questions, especially considering he does not appear to be the kind of man who would welcome any at least at the moment, Erevan follows the rest of his associates down the stairs.
"That was an intriguing meeting," he remarks conversationally. "Are we going to have a more proper chat with him any time soon?"
Lythirra, too, avoids to say anything to ask anything to the mysterious employer, recognizing that this wasn't the moment to ask him how he found her signet ring.
Following after Cimri, examining the architecture and the broken furniture scattered about the place, not paying attention to the conversation going on. Kneeling on the ground, she picks up the broken, engraved leg of what once was a small table.
"I had a table like this one back when I was young." Lythirra smiles "A bit less dusty and broken, but still."
"Well...we ARE a chatty lot, aren't we?" Aelden grumbles, ever the polite conversationalist. He looks over at Cimri. "When do we get paid?"
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Dawn is breaking as you make your way back downstairs into the main room; it faces East and the first rays of the sun do nothing to improve its look. You can now more clearly see that most of the shattered bottles of whisky have the label "Old Erebus" - a particularly notorious (and cheap) rotgut. Also stashed out of sight is an old mattress and an oil lamp.
A plain wooden chest sits on a table. This attract's Cimri's immediate attention, and she opens it, handing out one cloth bag to each of you. Each back contains 100 gp - a fair result for the night's performance.
in addition, and perhaps of far more value, is an assortment of weaponry, each one carefully labelled with the name Cimri alloted you.
Cimri's reward is in the form of a finely-honed knife, almost the exact twin of the one she left lodged in Louislik's desk. "Sweet!" She spends several moments playing with her new toy, tossing it from hand to hand and throwing it against the wall opposite in order to gauge its balance.
Also in the chest are eight bottles of a fine Wiscrani barbera wine, several loaves of fresh bread, garlic-flavored butter, and a variety of smoked fish and boar’s meat. It’s a veritable feast, and among the best food Cimri — and likely most of you, with the possible exception of Lythirra — have ever had in your lives.
Cimri's eyes light up as she passes the bottles along. "Right, you an' you, get these open. You, start cutting the meat." She herself tears into the bread, buttering it and passing hunks of it around. "Time to celebrate!"
Down the steps and out of earshot, he casts a question Cimri's way. "Cimri - who's Mysterioso?"
Cimri rolls her eyes. "He's the one giving us orders and paying us. Beyond that? Don't know, don't care."
"Are we going to have a more proper chat with him any time soon?"
This elicits a grunt of annoyance. "Trying to eat here! You wanna ask questions? Go right ahead. Me, I like things the way they're headed. Why look for trouble? I'm sure he'll let us know what needs doing next."
She looks around. "C'mon! We did a great job, let's get drunk and enjoy the time we have." Drawing out the mattress, she sits on it, bottle of wine in hand, and smirks. "Great breakfast, huh?"
Bryn clinks the coins around in the bag a few seconds, grinning, before dropping the bag in his pack. Coin like this, and the logger could pack up his tent, get a reputable apartment. But then the thought occurs to him. Why? Why stay around this shite flyspeck town.
"Eh, Cimri," Bryn says, grabbing a dirty kitchen knife and cutting along the boar, thin strips, to be piled high on the buttered bread. "This your flophouse? You think Mysteriouso's got more work for us? Or you know he does?"
Bryn had a good education, in his youth, before things went bad. This Cimri, it appeared, had neither an education nor something much more important - a natural curiousity. The logger would do well to keep that in mind going forward.
Cimri nods. "Yup. Came by a few months back. Razelago moved in upstairs a while after, an' he an' me got to chatting some. As for more work, you bet! He works for Fex, an' Fex ain't gonna stand idle while those Iomedaean bleeding-hearts try to take over, is he, now?"
She snorts. "Now shut up and drink more. Sobriety spoils the party."
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Drathi takes out the crossbow and looks at the wood, running her hands along it and testing it for balance. After a few moments, she takes out a bolt, drops it in and fires at one of the still solid posts across the room, striking the post dead center in a scorched knot.
Nice. Always nice to have a backup when I cannot use my magic.
She takes a bottle of the wine and some bread and sits down, breaking off a chuck of bread and taking a bite.
So, what other jobs has Razelago sent you on that you didn't tell me about? These might not be considered prime real estate, but I gotta admit that the food is pretty good.
She pauses and takes a swig of wine from the bottle she grabbed.
Jobs seem to pay well, always a good sign.
Aelden admires the fine workmanship of the pommel, lost in thought. After a moment, he draws the blade halfway out of it's scabbard. He gives a low whistle as he observes the keen edge. With a snap, he puts blade back into the scabbard and removes his old blade. Strapping the new one on, he moves over to the table with the food and drink.
Settled in, he takes long draws from the wine bottle. In between drinks, Aelden stuffs his mouth with food. If the others didn't know any better, they'd swear this was the last meal of his life.
"Whut?" he says with a mouthful, after seeing everyone staring at him. "Ye don' get tuh eat foodh dhis gud ever' day."
Erevan partakes of both food and drink, though he does take care not to have too much of the latter. No need to have his senses dulled, even among... friends? Otherwise, like the others, he too pockets the coins, smiling as he notices that Cimri's share appears larger. 'She did gather and... well, mostly guide us,' he ponders briefly with what amounts to a sort of mental shrug.
Other than that he takes a few moments to examine his new blade. Great balance and sharp, he finds, and its dark blade does not catch or reflect the light so much, which can prove useful when sneaking about.
"Nidalese perhaps," he says softly as he turns to take a look at the others' new weapons. "Our... employer seems to have either good connections or quite a bit of money or both. I rather like that."
Lythirra absentmindedly pockets the coin and stares with interest at the red-edged dagger, passing her finger first on the blade and then on the pommel.
I still wonder how this Razelago knows about me...I don't know if I can trust him. Still...
The aasimar grins thinking back at the last night
...it's been quite exciting so far. I may start to go mad if things stay the same as the last decades-
The Aasimar's musings are interrupted by the sound of Aelden gobbling up food. After staring at him for a moment, she too puts a bit of meat on her slice of bread and nods at him after a bite.
"I agree. It's been...quite some time since I've eaten something like this."
Cimri gives Drathi a hurt look - "Nothing like that, Doll! Honest, all he wanted was a bit of information about me, what Longacre is like, that sorta stuff. This is the first proper job he's given, an' I shared it with you. Cos we're friends... Here, have some more wine an' pass me some of that ham."
And so the time passes in this way, as the sun rises and the food is consumed. Cimri yawns and stretches. "You lot should move in here, be close to where the action is." She smirks at Drathi. "That way, you'd not have to worry if I'm off doin' fun stuff on my own!"
'zzzzZZZZZZZ <snort> ZZZZZzzzzz' coming from his bedroll is Aelden's only reply.
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Drathi looks over at Cimri sourly as she hands the girl a chunk of ham.
I have a nice flat in town, why would I want to live in this hole? She points to where the water is dripping through a burned out section of the roof. If we are going to stay here, we are going to need to fix things up. A feather mattress and sheets would be nice. Perhaps some walls so that the we do not have to listen to the drunkard over there snoring. She motions her head at the sleeping Aelden.
Drathi takes another swig of the wine.
After all, it is hard to live life like a sweet cherrie, if you are living in the pits.
Standing and wobbling a bit, Bryn wipes a hand across the back of his mouth and belches. "Heres, ehhh? Better than'r my tent. Ir'll be back with my things shortly."
Swaying a bit from side to side, Bryn makes for the door, placing his hands on the frame to steady himself as he walks through.
Cimri smirks. "Good thing we're not all like you Doll, wantin' comfort above everything else, 'cos if I was, I'd not have crashed here, and met Razelago, and we wouldn't have just eaten the best meal we've ever had - but you have a good night, now."
She throws a look at Aelden as his snoring interrupts her. "Aw, look at Dogface sleeping, all worn out from his widdle adwenture. Aren't old people cute?"
She winks at Bryn. "Hurry on back - you can tell me more about that wolf you keep inside you..."
"I'll have to pass up on relocating, too." Lythirra smiles, throwing a quick glance at the molding furniture "It's closer to work, I can't leave old Miss Cembers alone, can't I? However, feel free to call me as soon as there other jobs to take care of."
"I have to echo her words more or less," Erevan says to Cimri and the others. "I have accommodations of my own. But I am certainly up for more interesting endeavors like tonight's."
As he starts to leave he pauses for a moment and turns to look at the Sheriff's niece. "I trust you know how to send word?" He waits only for a little for an answer before finally departing.
TOILDAY 13 NETH 2016 A.R.
Cimri gives Erevan a Look as he slips away through the window and into the dawn's light.
Corridan the tailor opens his shop - perhaps a little later than usual - and the day passes as the days have, thus far.
Lythirra stumbles home to Miss Cembers' tavern, taking care to arrive via a window so as not to give the old dear the impression that she has been out all night. She falls into an exhausted sleep.
Aelden, Bryn, Cimri and Drathi do likewise in the supposedly haunted old manor of Ash House.
The day passes.
WEALDAY 14 NETH 2016 A.R.
Evening
Cimri sent you all word earlier today that Razelago had another job for you, and so you stand assembled in the upstairs chamber.
All is as it was Moonday night (or was it Toilday morning?): the folding paper screens, the lantern, the high-backed figure on the other side - and the two creatures half-dozing in a nest of paper pulp. The only difference is that now there is a small, lacquered box standing in front of the screen, placed almost exactly where Bryn left the chest from Louislik's (there is no sign of that, by the way).
Once again, Razelago's wheezing, ancient voice sounds from the other side of the screen: "With the number of veterans who live in town, it’s not surprising that there’s a church of Iomedae in Longacre. But there might not be one much longer if Tileavia Allamar, its priestess, does what she has in mind.”
Razelago’s silhouette clasps shadowy hands. “There’s growing unrest in the empire, and not just in Pezzack and along the Hellcoast. Many of Iomedae’s faithful have begun speaking more boldly of the monarchy’s vices and the rights of citizens. They seem to believe this is Andoran and that the people have only to reach out to seize power. But they are wrong. This is Cheliax, not Andoran, and we know where true power lies."
He pauses briefly. “Fifth Sword Knight Allamar is gathering all who will listen for a sermon in front of her church tomorrow afternoon - I don’t know what she has in mind, but I suspect some revolutionary claptrap that can only sow the seeds of confusion and frustration among Longacre’s citizens. That is contrary to my wishes. So I’d like you to attend the rally. In the box are sashes marked with the insignia of Archbaron Fex. Wear them, remind people that the lord of this town is not without supporters, and see what transpires. Afterward, Cimri will report back to me. In return, you will all receive double what you did last night.”
The silhouette of Razelago shakes his head, slowly. "As I said, I would like the citizens to be reminded of their true allegiance. I am sure that the lord of this town would not care for a riot."
"Hrmmph." Aelden grunts, more at Drathis comment than anything.
'...doesn't listen a lick, that one...'
"Right." He rumbles. "Show up wid Fex's sashes on. Look like we mean business AND we represent His Lordship. Simple." He says with a look at Drathi.
" 'cept I know these Iomedaeans. They'll get their knickers in a bunch and start feelin' their oats. They'll be lookin' fer someone ta take it out on."
He cracks the knuckles of his sword hand.
"That'd be unfortunate for them."
Bryn looks into the box and takes one of the sashes, slipping it over his chest and nodding to Aelden. The logger knew why he was here, and it wasn't to talk niceties over tea. Still...
"I'll wear the sash, and if need be, heads will be cracked." Gesturing to Drathi, Bryn continues. "But, no one's going to take a twig like this one here, seriously. A stiff wind'll blow her over. Some of us can play the imposing force, others of us maybe shouldn't wear the sashes, if that's OK with you, Mysteriouso? Their talents are better spent in the shadows."
Lythirra moves to pick up the sash, turning it in her hands.
"Twig or not, I don't think it matters." Lythirra comments "We have to get people not to listen to the Iomedaeans: don't need to be physically imposing to do that."
"And if they try to escalate things by attacking us, it would only make them look bad if they attacked us first." the aasimar smiles "I suppose we wouldn't mind that. Can we do something to start swinging things on our side before the protest tomorrow?"
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Drathi rolls her eyes at Bryn and picks up a sash.
Sometimes the tongue is sharper than the sword. If a bunch of toughs simply stand opposite the Iomedeans, the Iomedeans will simply ignore us. No, as he said, we need to make a statement without disturbing the peace.
She looks to the men:
What is your plan, other than putting on these attractive sashes and cracking some skulls?
"Moving through the crowd and, so to speak, putting words in people's mouths might also have the desired effect," Erevan offers, more or less in agreement with Bryn. "Although a sash might make it a little difficult to do so."
Aelden takes a sash and sighs. '...doesn't anyone listen at all???...'
"We don' have ta crack skulls. I just said we might have to if'n the natives get restless. 'Remind 'em of their allegiance' he said. 'no riot', he said. Now I know some of those boys that will be there. Former mates of mine. They take all that nonsense seriously, and when this Fifth Sword Allamar gets 'em riled up, they'll be looking for someone ta take out their frustrations. And who will be standin' there carryin' a big sign sayin' WE ARE CHELIAX? That'd be us."
He tucks the sash away in his backpack - they wouldn't need it until tomorrow anyway according to their boss - and looks around. "All I'm sayin' is: keep yer eyes an' ears open. Mr. Mystery over there wouldn't be payin' double just fer us ta play babysitter at a church rally."
Cimri sighs and takes her sash out of the box. "You're overthinking this, Doll. An' you ain't helping!" This is directed a Bryn, with a glare. "We ALL wear the sashes an' we ALL go listen to the priest. The locals'll do what they always do: stamp an' holler a bit, an' then they'll go home and live their normal, quiet, dull, boring lives." She rolls her eyes.
Bryn stares back at Cimri, a frown on his face. The girl had spunk, but she was about as thoughtful as a wall sconce. "Gonna go for a walk," is all the man says, before he ducks out the doorway, giving a low whistle as the sunlight hits his face. It was a fine day. No need to spend it arguing.
"Yes, I was saying that we shouldn't start anything violent ourselves." Lythirra nods to Aelden, putting the sash in her backpack, before smiling "Please, pardon me if I wasn't clear."
"No worries, luv." Aelden says over his shoulder as he looks for something to eat. "Least...not 'til tomorrow at any rate."
WEALDAY 14 NETH 2016 A.R.
Evening
Razelago's voice, waspish and reedy, floats from behind the screen into your discussions. "Remember: you're there to be seen, and to remind them that the lord of this town is not without supporters. Unrest is unwanted."
TOILDAY 15 NETH 2016 A.R.
Afternoon
Longacre’s Church of Iomedae, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, sits just to the north of one of the town’s squares called, appropriately enough, the church square. The square contains a well, available for use by anyone in town, and a tall wooden post for posting notices and
announcements. Shops and businesses surround the plaza, and a wide thoroughfare runs north and south through the square.
A conspicuous white-clothed table stands in front of the church, apparently in readiness for the sermon, though the table is currently bare. A few small groups of elderly locals and laborers from nearby businesses have gathered in the square, mostly around the well or along the fence surrounding the churchyard, muttering about what they’ve heard or imagined about Allamar’s announcement. As the time of the sermon gets closer, more townsfolk drift into the square until the crowd is
100 strong.
The sashes you're wearing attract some hard stares and some muttering, but nothing outright.
About an hour before the sermon is due to start, the Sheriff puts in an appearance, together with three of her deputies. Rhona Staelish is a tall, lean woman with long brown hair, tied back in a simple ponytail. Spotting Cimri almost immediately, she walks over with a broad smile which belies the light of alert curiosity in her eyes. "Cimri! How's my favourite niece?"
Cimri scowls. "I was doing just dandy, Aunt Rhona."
Undeterred by this not-so-passive aggression, the Sheriff persists with her conversation, although it's mostly one-way traffic.
“Some shady folks you’ve been hanging around with lately. Want to introduce me to your friends?”
“Not particularly.”
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Aelden stands near Cimri, absent-mindedly chewing on a stick of jerked beef he'd bought last night. It was a soldier's favorite, and he hadn't had some in quite a while. He was thoroughly enjoying it. It didn't hurt that Cimri's aunt was easy on the eyes either.
Still, the Iomedaens made him uneasy. He had his reasons, but he tried to put them aside by eyeballing the Sheriff.
Bryn rolls a cigarette and watches the interchange between sheriff and... niece? Flicking a match across his workboot's heel, the logger lights his smoke and inhales deeply, before stepping forward and exhaling... directly into the sheriff's face.
"Whatsit matter, Aunt Rhona? Cimri can hang out with who she wants. And who's saying I'm shady? A man's got a right to know who's besmirching his reputation. Was it Aldo? Don't believe a word that drunkard says, Auntie."