• Mission Status: First Tier Verdant Seer with Staff on Two Horizontal Bars
• Resources Assigned: Dauntless Team
2) PRIMARY: Establish contact with Gale through known contact if possible (Skyseer Nevard Sechim as possible liaison, no known terrorist actions in file, terminally ill status unconfirmed). Any actionable meeting to be redirected to CI Saxby and Dauntless Team ASAP!
SECONDARY: Investigation of Gale terrorist cell contacts within Flint (Nilasa Hume confirmed as Gale operative; Danisca and Blander Wareye under arrest as lesser operatives; Travis Starter, Ford Sorghum, Gill Gamble, Deorn Feldman and Silvo crew in guarded protective custody w/ dossiers in progress; dossiers compiled on Jered Lawman, Renard Woodsman, Heward Sechim, Skyseer Nevard Sechim; unknown whereabouts and intentions of Doctor Wolfgang von Recklinghausen)
TERTIARY: Investigation of Nilasa Hume death at Danoran Consulate (official status: death by security forces from failed burglary attempt; unofficial status: murder by former R.S.S. agent – S.T.T.I - for reasons unknown; confirm true purpose of Hume’s mission).
QUARTERNARY: Investigation of both ‘The Family’ and ‘Kell Guild’ connections and contacts to expose further operations and exploit weaknesses of criminal activities within Flint.
• Mission Status: First Tier Verdant Seer with Staff on Vertical Bars
• Resources Assigned: Emerson Hill, Anneca Summers, Tobias Utegg, Fethryth Teldanona, Jesselle Wesmere and Gemma Atherton
3) Investigation of Vekeshi Cult assassination attempt upon Constable Atherton (focus on initial carriage attack and possible ties to Spring Season action upon Axis Island – i.e. death of Sorkana Dell)
• Mission Status: Second Tier Crimson Wolf with Spear on Crossed Bars
• Resources Assigned: Alastair Rayne, Devinn LeMont, four Risuri soldiers assigned by Captain Umurn for protection detail
• Note: Undercover status approved by ACI Delft
4) PRIMARY: Ongoing search for “Ragman” serial-murderer in Parity Lake District (eighteen deaths officially recorded, coordination of investigation with Parity Lake Police Inspector Reginald Filby)
SECONDARY: Investigate possible links between eighteen factory arson fires and forty+ deaths for criminal pattern (Gale terrorist involvement as primary motive, other motives undetermined)
• Mission Status: Second Tier Crimson Wolf with Spear on Two Starbursts
• Resources Assigned: Wilhelm Coin, Talyssa Dane; two full police squads assigned to search detail
”A hundred-and-sixty thousand crowns?” A low appreciative whistle was heard by no less than Wilhelm Coin himself at the final take of treasure for the foiled exchange. Besides the six of them in the briefing room, only Coin and Talyssa Dane were present, with the senior constables of Dauntless typically not present…and now Constables Rayne and LeMont conspicuously not present.
”I’m still trying to wrap my mind around two-hundred and fifty or more Crisillyiri wands,” says Talyssa Dane in an amazed expression, the brief series of warble-squawks by her clockwork familiar Skimmer echoing her amazement. ”And you say they can be used by the non-gifted…um I mean those that cannot cast magic I mean? Even in limited fashion?”
”That’s gonna put Will Stock’s smallclothes in a right twist,” says Coin in a gleeful barking laugh. ”Besides having to sort through all of those sticks, that anyone can pick one up and use it. Eh Tal?”
”Good…serves him right.” Talyssa Dane shakes her head even as she moves a strand of jet black hair into place. It’s no secret that Researcher Stock and Constable Dane had dislike towards each other, as she edged him in the prospective class of “Four-Nine-Eights” for final selection to constableship.
”Hey now, can I borrow one or three of those? I want to see what all the stir is about.”
”No, Coin, you may certainly not do so.” ACI Delft spits into his brass spittoon and spreads his hands wide at the briefing podium, glaring at his constables in a dare to see who wants to delay the progress of the briefing. ”Any other witty banter? No? Right then – let’s get on with it. Ladies, you may begin transcriptions again. Constables, full tallies of the treasure and weapons confiscated, as well as the names of those arrested or otherwise in our custody are detailed on your draft briefing estimates…third page in…you six check those numbers and tell me if that’s correct or not…”
Even as the accounting of the prior day’s actions are related in the briefing as succinctly as possible by the constables, their events took nearly forty minutes just to relate and clarify for ACI Delft. On this morning no less than two undersecretaries sit in the corner of the briefing room, taking furious notes in shorthand in order to enhance the briefing summaries that Chief Inspectress Saxby wants in her hands by ten o’ clock. The constables can reasonably conceive why this is so, for even now a large host of daily scribes with their retinues are gathering up outside Flint Branch, with a public briefing to be held before midday on the foiled smuggling operation by Lady Saxby herself.
As they go through the specifics for what must seem like a third time since disembarking hours earlier, the six constables cannot help but notice that their mission on the assignment board has been modified yet again from the prior day. On one hand, their mission has taken First Tier priority, meaning that CI Saxby herself has approved and authorized the importance of it. The objective priorities within the mission, however, have changed: no longer is the true murder of Nilasa Hume the priority, but instead her involvement and ties to Gale have primacy now. They also have a fourth mission objective, dealing with exploiting any opportunities to learn and disrupt any activities of either criminal syndicate – the Kell Guild and The Family. Quite a difference a day makes.
Tobias stifles a yawn as he looks at the updated mission board. His eyes would be wide if he could afford the energy to do so, but even the two cups of coffee he already has this morning had done little more than help him dress and stumble into work.
"Speaking of borrowing the wands, um...Chief?" Tobias says, a little unsure of how to approach the subject of the wand from last night as he pulls it out of his coat pocket and walks up to the Assistant Chief Inspector.
"I'm handing this to you here, in front of everyone as a show of what I hope is good faith. Everyone from last night can attest to the fact that I placed this wand back in the boxes, Jesselle in particular likely remembers." He nods toward the bard but makes no further mention of her suggestion to hold onto the item. Carefully he places the wand on the ACI's desk and backs away.
"But when I woke up in the morning that was on my bed. I don't know how it got there. I know based on my training, this probably looks suspicious, so I'm handing it over now, again, before anyone can even make note that it was missing. Maybe I was just exhausted and filched it without realizing, I don't really know, but I don't have an excuse. I just know that I meant to pack this up, and somehow I have it, and I'm turning it in." Tobias frowns down at the wand, and looks back to Delft wondering what the inspector will make of this.
Delft looks incredulously at Tobias for a moment, then at the golden wand with its old man carving, then back to Tobias, his face turning more towards a scowl. ”What are you…well I certainly don’t want it!”
The inspector uses his cane to push the wand off of his podium onto the briefing room floor with a dull clank, as if the object might have had contact poison on it. ”Utegg, I know this isn’t your first season and I know you know how to run requisitions and turn in evidence, so just take care of it and no harm done. Last time I checked my office the Noses weren’t there, so we’ve got better things to do than to play pinchpence, right? Right.” With an audible huff their boss adjusts his bowler hat and then leans forward to look at the wand on the ground one more time in clear dislike. ”It’s as if that wrinkled old dodger’s eyes keep looking at you whichever way you look at it…figures for old Crisillyiri ‘looms…ech…Utegg get it off my floor and just tell Babcock’s juniors to throw it in an iron coffer or something.”
He waits until Tobias retrieves the wand, notably ignoring Wilhelm Coin’s tawdry remark about Tobias liking to handle metal sticks and rods too much for comfort. ”Anything else? Did someone misplace some sunken treasure in the cleaning closet upstairs? Right then, let’s get back to…”
The Assistant Chief Inspector is interrupted once again as the briefing room door opens, with the impeccably dressed Chief Inspectress Margaret Saxby entering in, her R.H.C. dress grey uniform decorated with gold buttons and lapels, along with a decorative silken blue embroidered rope across one side that reaffirms her noble status as a Lady of the Realm, in addition to being the ranking officer of R.H.C. Flint Branch. She gives a slight clearing of her throat and steps in just far enough to deftly close the door behind her with a grace that denotes martial awareness.
”Am I intruding, Inspector?” It’s clear by her high tone and demeanor that her asking of the question is purely formal politeness and she doesn’t really care if she’s intruding or not, her gaze drifting to the two women in the corner who seem to almost be trembling at their scribing desks.
”Of course not, Lady Saxby.” Delft’s reply is deferentially smooth and professional, as if all was right with her asking. ”The constables have just finished confirming the final details of the summary drafts from early morning.”
”Excellent. My commendations for your attention to detail, as usual.” Saxby smiles serenely, though the smile never seems to thaw her cool exterior or touch her ever-calculating eyes. ”You two may go now and ensure the secretarial pool writes up the final copies of the briefing reports, to be on my desk no later than half-past-ten for signature.”
Once the two secretarial assistants murmur assurances and rush out the door with their papers and inkpens in hand, the door closes once again and Chief Inspectress Saxby turns her full attention to the constables seated in the briefing room. ”Well then, constables, your pursuit of this investigation, problematic and unpromising as it appeared to be at the outset, has actually yielded some appreciable gains for our Branch this day. I commend you, and well done. No doubt you have seen that I have hereby authorized the elevation of your duties on this assignment to first-tier ranking. Before I give you my instructions – subject to the approval of my second-in-command, of course…”
”Of course m’lady, and thank you.” Stover’s acquiescence seems sincere but so very out-of-place with his usual sarcasm and bite that they typically encounter.
”…indeed. Yes, before my own instructions to you on this day, do you have anything you wish to relate to me firsthand? Questions? Clarifications?”
The long silence is painfully palpable. Whether it is because of the great difference in their rank or Saxby’s severe demeanor is unclear. ’Perhaps it is a bit of both.’ thinks Emerson.
”No Ma’am. I believe our reports are quite detailed.” Offers Constable Hill. ”I would like to ask if you have assigned a priority of tasks for our mission.”
Jesselle confirms that that personally saw Tobias did return the golden wand.
She looks to Lady Saxby and listens attentively, "No Ma'am, nothing here."
”Indeed.” The Chief Inspectress gazes first at Emerson and Jesselle, then at each and every other silent member of the former “Axis Seven” with one of its members now stricken from the rolls just the day before. With her hands clasped behind her back in well-practiced military posture, she seems to be making her mind up about something. Saxby virtually ignores Wilhelm Coin and Talyssa Dane in her contemplations, turning back to give Emerson Hill a curt but noticeable nod.
”The courtesy is appreciated, Constable Hill. However, beyond the general scope of priorities that have been stated upon the mission assignment board, I shall leave the specifics and particulars to you and your ACI to decide upon this day. My own instructions to the six of you are thus: you are to vacate the Flint Branch Compound this morning and leave the public’s briefing to myself, Inspector Delft and Constable Ven, despite the fact that the lot of you have been “invited” to attend it by several of the dailies scribes and their publishers. This active investigation is, of course, ‘Sealed to the Constabulary’ and as such I do not want the dailies to be placing your names and sketches across the city for all to see. Your actions last night and early this morning were noticed, so I shall handle the discourse from the public’s gossipers and rumormongers from this point forward. You are not to acknowledge your involvement in the foiling of this smuggling operation to any member of the public.”
Saxby’s demeanor turns slightly softer then, as if trying to show a degree of camaraderie and understanding with the constables, even though with her hawkish nose and imperious bearing it comes across as stilted and unsettling. ”This is not to say that I am displeased, as I am not. Commendations are to be made in each of your files, with proper acknowledgment of credit to be duly noted in them as well as in my own report up to the Directorate.”
”I’ll make sure they’re out well before the public briefing,” offers Delft with an assured nod to her. ”Three small separate enclosed carriages at interval.”
”Excellent.” Lady Saxby nods to Delft and then turns back to the constables. ”Reed…that is to say Mayor MacBannin penned me a note that you have spoken on the Sechim affair, and are in full understanding of the terms and conditions to that end. Once again, I reiterate that if you receive any contact from the terrorist Hana “Gale” Soliogn or are able to set a meeting with her, you will inform me immediately and turn over all details for the Dauntless team to take point. Do I make myself clear in this regard? Good. Carry on then, constables.”
Assistant Chief Inspector Stover Delft waits patiently as his superior makes her way from the briefing room and closes the door behind her, then turns to the assembled constables with a wry smile and a raised eyebrow. ”Well now, can’t have Atherton getting sick on someone’s shoes or Teldanona punching some impertinent scribe in the face, or Hill doing card tricks and stealing the lamplight, can we now? Let’s finish up so we can pack you all off today without a horde of scribes following you everywhere you go. So. Where is it you intend to be off to?”
"Uh, Chief? I think you have me confused with LaMont. He's the one that does card tricks."
"Clearly then my wits must be addled Hill, on account of LeMont not being here the last two days to keep me on my game."
"Yes, Chief, any word on how that's going?"
Gemma doesn't mean for it to come across the way that it probably does, but she's upset enough about the situation that she let's it stand without apology.
"Other than I've received word from them early this morning and I'm satisfied with both their reasoning and progress on the case? No."
Jesselle considers Saxby's order but has her reservations regarding meeting with Gale. After all it would be their helping the Skyseer and their actions in the Cloudwater that would gain the trust of the woman and her group. How could they just say 'Sorry we are setting up a met four our superiors to arrest you' If that was how it was going to be, she would rather not have the meeting in the first place. She would not go back on her word.
She is stirred from her thoughts when Delft's query to her companions. She turns to her companions and comments, "I believe the best course of action right now might be to retrieve Skyseer Sechim and make our way to Couladron Hill. From our discussion the man seems to have limited time left in this world."
Turning from Delft to the others, "Unless any of your think otherwise?"
"Well I don't care overly much what you do today," quips Delft with his usual air of uncaring sarcasm that the constables know by now is not wholly genuine, "provided you go and do it somewhere else. Naval Lieutenant Smithe's report to me this morning suggested you all needed a desperate course in basic shipboard skills and navigation, lest you sink the Audacious if you ever take it out on your own, so if you're not in a rush to pick up that old blind bat you can hide yourselves out at the Royal Shipyards..."
A knock at the door interrupts Delft's sharpened banter to the six constables - a pity since it sounded as if he really had a good roll to his sarcastic commentary this morning. "Now what? Yes?" The door opens and none other than gate Sergeant Hunley Stiverson enters the briefing room, his uniform carrying a slight residue of soot and dust that typically accumulates in a morning of compound gate duty. Hunley's friendly and helpful demeanor to all the constables at the morning side gate is mollified somewhat by a nervousness at being in their briefing room, but he gives a salute to ACI Delft and references a series of sealed letters in his gloved hand.
"Beggin' yer pardon Inspector, but these letters came for the constables, both by atypical couriers and with specific instructions on the recipients. It seemed odd and maybe important too, so after having them delved for magic and poison I brought them here straightaway."
"Fine, fine Sergeant," answers Stover Delft with a forced politeness. "You said two couriers? You have...what...seven letters in your hand there? Who are they for?"
"Yessir Inspector. Well now, the single letter came by way of a North Shore scholarly type, though a younger fella and snobbish as many of 'em are up that way...in the service of a 'Doctor Camp' he said. Said it was for the "esteemed and charming Constable Wesmere and her company," the constables that made inquiries to Doctor Camp about a foreign doctor back on Summer 1 in his offices. He left without wanting compensation for the delivery."
"Fine, well what are the other six then?"
"Ahh...well this thin man in all white robes and a high collar - dressed like one of those Clergy types I see sometimes - well he gets out of a small carriage across Gladson Way and brings them right to me at the gate, squirming past all the scribe bands and the general mob of lookers-on showing up this morn. Says they are "invitations" or something of the like, each addressed to the individual, and that they should be delivered immediately. The man then gets back in the carriage and drives off, seemingly in a rush and not wanting any compensation for the delivery either. Oh, and he had an accent too...Crisillyiri if I make my guess. Very odd, sir, for couriers to be doing that."
The Chief Inspector brusquely asks for the letters and quickly scans the names on each. "Thank you Sergeant. You may head back to the gate, and with all the goings-on, make sure you have a word for the lads to keep a sharp eye out for anything else unusual at all. Let Captain Umurn know about this too on your way back for me."
As the door closes, Delft turns irritably towards the six constables with the letters in his hand. "Have you all reverted to amateur prospects back in the training yards? Did you all leave calling cards littered across the Pine Island canals? Six of these letters are addressed to the six of you lot with your individual first names on the front of them!"
"I don't recall us ever being undercover per say, Chief. Not really our realm of expertise."
Gemma gives a mirthless smirk and then quietly awaits her letter.
Fethryth shrugs. "We lost them a hundred-and-sixty thousand crowns. I'm sure they turned the town upside down looking for our identities, and we have been all over the place since getting called to the Danoran Consulate."
"Going to Cauldron Hill today sounds good to me, get away from whatever that mess is" she says as she points to the letters. "Bets on it being an 'invitation' to go feed ourselves to the piranhas?"
"Constables have their names on display in the paper half the time, is it so weird that some might know even ours?" Tobias reaches up for the letter hoping it's interesting.
"That being said, I should probably warn my roommates to be careful. I'd hate for anything to happen to them. You might want to keep tabs on your sister Gemma."
Tobias nods at Feth when she suggests Cauldron Hill. "The old man isn't getting any younger, we should get him up there while we still can."
Emerson stands up to retreive his letter. "And I was so eager to head to the Shipyard this morning" he says with a arcastic sigh.
"It's not like my identity is much of a secret after the Coaltongue," Anneca remarks with a bit of a grimace. "Let's see what murderous lunatic is trying to set a trap for us. It'll be a significant change of pace for us." After a difficult morning, Anneca is in no mood for another elaborate attempt to intimidate or coerce the constabulary. She spent more time than usual preparing spells in the early hours, after barely getting any sleep. As always, she tried hard to prepare more spells in her mental framework - and for the first time, she broke through and was able to add more spells than ever before! The downside, however, is a wicked headache that puts her into a more foul mood than usual.
'Interesting' Jesselle thought to herself.
She resounded Inspector Delft after the others with a simple shrug, "I guess "we" tend to make an impression on those we meet. It was a long day Sir, and we accomplished a lot."
The woman awaits her letters to see what is inside.
Strangely enough though still bearing a frown, Inspector Delft seems to grudgingly accept your refutation of his barb of amateurism. ”Fine. Let’s hear it then and see how bad it is.”
The accompanying letter to Doctor Barnabus Camp is seemingly written in the hasty and sharp scribble of Doctor Wolfgang von Recklinghausen with a date of 3 Summer, imploring his colleague to arrange safe passage for him out of the city, by any means possible. It alludes that Wolfgang has made a deal with a criminal boss to avoid a “monster” that he thinks is chasing him with the intent of murder. He concludes his letter to Camp by instructing him to contact a Professor Lynn Kindleton at Pardwright University, whom he trusts implicitly and will know how to get in touch with him.
I will trust this invitation finds you well. I commend you for your valor and resourcefulness, in understanding that your esteemed reputations from past experiences have clearly been proven to not be in doubt. I must express my sincere respect, but also must now seek an opportunity to dispel any ill-conceived notions on your part, for surely any preconceived notions have been made by other voices that do not speak the truth, whether misinformed by ignorance or perpetrated by some more sinister motive. Is it not the duty of the famed constables of the Royal Homeland Constabulary – besides protection of your King and his loyal subjects and property that is – to seek and understand the enlightened truth? I always have heard it so in my travels – a quality that separates a royal constable from meaner and baser brokers of blades and secrets in other lands.
I invite you to discuss what we may have in common, whether this morn, tomorrow morn or even the next after. I offer the protection of hospitality over a hearty breaking of fast, which surely you must know by all measures of civilization is sacrosanct. Come to the finest coffee house in the city, located in the Stray River District on the corner of Yearling Street and Healers Street, and inform the proprietor that I have asked for you. There we shall break bread and speak of these unfortunate matters that lie between us, in devoted interest to come to satisfactory conclusion for all - I may even be able to assist on your current investigation, as a demonstration of my good faith.
At Your Service,
Morgan Cippiano
”I suppose that’s not as bad as all that…some leads worth checking as well on the missing doctor.” Delft shrugs his shoulders and then waves his cane sternly at the six of them. ”Now go away and get yourself to the carriage house so I don’t have to see you for the rest of the day – if you must get me a missive, you know the informal drop stations at each district. I have a full carriage waiting for you at the Fair Grounds by the Navras, but you’ll have to pair up and take separate carriages to get out of the compound without a fuss.”
The six constables take their leave of Inspector Delft and the briefing room, leaving just Constables Dane and Coin to go over their day’s assignments. The first floor of the R.H.C. HQ Building is noticeably busier and bustling this morning than in the past few days, though which typically is the case when Lady Saxby is preparing for a direct public briefing. Secretaries scurry about with constant changes to itineraries and briefing reports, messengers dash between the buildings with constant orders or inquiries, and army honor guards are especially alert and vigilant at their posts. The tone is almost but not quite that of a pre-inspection event, with everyone “keeping on their toes” seemingly the way the Chief Inspectress wants to see in all areas and disciplines. Though their respective shared offices are upstairs on the second floor, the constables wisely decide to just make their way to the Quartermaster’s area as their last stop before getting out of the fray.
Quartermaster Ethan Babcock, at least, is amiable and helpful as usual, with two assistants in the back area furiously restocking and straightening up the shelves. Any gaps in firedust cartridges or simple requisitions are efficiently taken care of. He makes no fuss whatsoever with Constable Utegg on the submission of the golden wand into the locked evidence rooms, merely commenting that their “haul” from the prior night has forced him to rearrange the evidence room’s floorspace to intake all of the commandeered goods. Babcock has Tobias sign a simple evidence submission form, takes the golden wand gingerly, and assures him he’ll store it away with the other wands personally.
Outside in the Inner Courtyard, the frenetic pace of guards, servants and researchers is as equal to the inside of R.H.C. HQ Building. The six constables walk across the courtyard to the carriage house and stables, located adjacent to the inner wall with the main barracks and blockhouse tower nearby. Three small enclosed carriages are already prepared with two-horse teams, each ready to whisk away two constables at a time out of the compound. Without much preamble, Tobias and Jesselle board the first carriage and are headed out of Flint Branch first, followed ten minutes later by Anneca and Fethryth, and then Emerson and Gemma ten minutes after that. The growing crowd outside the front gates is nearly three-score deep now, with the gate guards furiously working to keep the gates clear while registering names and passing out visitor emblems to the approved citizens who will be gaining rare access inside the walls this day.
While each carriage took a slightly different route to their destination, all three end up inside the city’s main fair grounds of its most well-known city park, under the canopies of broad oak trees and within sight of the famed Navras Opera House and its manicured grounds in the distance. Each driver is an unknown to the constables and is polite but forgettable. Yet their driver for the largest six-person carriage that awaits them is much more familiar.
”Well now, mornin’ to ya constables!” Sully, the older retired army driver who took them up and back to the Cloudwood two mornings ago, sits atop the drivers bench and gives them a familiar salute and a grin. ”I’m glad to see ya all safe and sound. Where am I a’takin’ ya today? Back up the slopes, or are we rousting about here and there in the districts?”
Jesslle thanks the driver of her carrige before turning to Sully. "Good to see you again."
She turns to her fellow constables, "If we are to help Skyseer Sechim, it may be best to retrieve him and proceed to the Cauldron. Mayor MacBannin was rather insistent that we arrive prior to two o'clock and the Skyseer's health is at issue. Unless any of you see an alternate path before us."
"I quite agree with Jess. The most time sensitive issue is Sechim." Emerson pats himself down as if making sure he has everything since leaving headquarters. He even goes so far as to stick his head back in the small two person carriage to make a final visual inspection. He turns back to the group once he's done and waits for additional feedback.
Gemma has been furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment she grabbed off of someone's desk after the briefing. For those that notice, she pushes it into the hand of one of the trusted messengers, along with what appears to be a bit of coin, before coming back to join the other constables.
"Alright, what were we talking about again? I'm assuming we're all trying to decide where to go next. I'm on board for wherever, but I believe we're on schedule for Cauldron Hill before Sechim is no longer of this world, correct?"
Gemma looks around at her fellow constables and straightens out her gear and her uniform. "So who's going with who?"
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"I highly doubt that Kell is going to lose the Doctor, and this Cippiano guy can go sod himself, while Sechim's mission is vital to all of Risur. We need to help him first." Fethryth starts moving towards the large carriage before she's finished talking. She hops in and looks back at the rest of the constables, mentally willing them to jump in after her.
"Agreed." Tobias says, nodding toward the rest. "We can't risk losing him and thus our link to Gale. Seems we're all of the same mind, so let's get to it." He says as he joins Feth in the carriage.
”Aye then, back to the Cloudwood trails and the Henge it is!” Sully hops down to check on the harnesses and tack of his four horse team as the constables enter the large enclosed carriage, three to a side. After taking a good look at his wheels and axles, he pulls out a bright yellow kerchief from his uniform pocket and ties it around his neck, then takes two more strips of yellow cloth and ties one to each side of the carriage at the windows. ”I thought these might come in handy, what with the words from Woodsman’s fellows on our last outing, and bein’ likely to return for the Skyseer and all.”
Sully hauls himself back up to the drivers bench, telling them with assurance, ”I think a bit drier today, so the roads should hold and we’ll make good time there, now that I’ve had the measure of it once before. Just holler if you need to stop or walkabout. Otherwise, hold onto yer seats!”
True to his word, Sully has made excellent time out of the city, down the Ranger’s Turnpike, and up the southern henge trail to the camp of the dying Skyseer. About an hour in they once again crest the mountain ridgeline that was the scene of the marked violence between Kell Guild kidnappers, Cloudwood brigands and R.H.C. constables but two days ago; this time there are no brigands seen or any attempts to waylay or delay them, though surely the six must know that they have been marked in coming on up. The ride is jostling and none-too-comfortable as they bounce and pitch about, but the constables prefer speed over comfort at this point in their mission.
Another hour brings them down mountain valleys, across streams and gullies and through patches of scattered mountain mists that lazily drift by, until they once again spy out the small hilltop plateau with its distinctive hillocks and peaceful streams surrounding it. The tent encampment amidst ancient stone plinths atop the plateau looks much as it did two afternoons ago, with its children playing about and flashes of rich color seen amongst the inhabitants. Sully brings the carriage up the gravel path to where it was parked before, not bothering to jump down and open the door for the constables as he knows that might be seen to the onlookers as preenish and arrogant. ”I’ll get the team watered and rested for the run back…one of you will have to ride bench with me with the added visitor.”
Up the slope the rest of the way the constables walk, coming to the encampment perimeter and its collection of journeyman Skyseers-in-training, Risuri traditionalists, rovers and elders all watching them. The fierce orcish shaman Pazumu isn’t there to waylay them this time, and other than a few nods and acknowledgements the camp-dwellers let them pass directly to the tent of the frail Nevard Sechim, who happens to be seated just outside by a small fire in a hewn wooden chair with bright cushions, regarding them all with piercing blue eyes and a rather boyish smile.
”Ahhh! Greetings my young friends, once again! I had dearly hoped tonight would be the night, and profess I have been fidgeting all the morning in anxious wonderings until a ‘little bird’ told me you were on your way up the trail just an hour ago!” He stays put in the chair as if he cannot rise from it on his own, but offers out his gnarled hands in warm fondness to those that would take them.
"Not to worry Sully, I'll ride up top once Sechim is on board." He grabs his gear and follows the other constables towards the encampment.
Jesselle approaches and does offer her aid to help the elder Skyseer from his seat. "Greetings to you as well, Skyseer. While we have been rather busy and much more to come, but we have put this task before them all."
Tobias nods to Sully as the Constables get ready to leave.
"I was hoping you remembered!" He smiles as the man takes the kerchiefs out. "You never disappoint Sully."
As they travel to their destination, Tobias enjoys the scenery, glad to occasionally get out from a city now and again. When they finally reach Sechim he moves alongside Jesselle and helps the Skyseer up.
"Good to see you well, Sechim. I probably shouldn't be surprised that you predicted us coming today, but, well I guess the sight you Skyseers possess still doesn't make much sense to me."
"Ah well you see, Constable Utegg, I admit that there is much to the sight that doesn't make much sense to me either," replies Nevard in a mirthful chuckle. "I had hoped it would be today, but I cannot claim any predictions, whether by the stars or cards or some other medium."
To Jesselle he beams and says, "You charm and flatter an old man with this talk of priorities, and I am honored by it. There is something that has been, ah, prepared that will make my journey to the mountaintop much easier for all of us to manage tonight, but it is both rare and unusual, and at least some of you may not be comfortable with the prospects of it."
"Didn't you sense us coming?" Anneca asks pointedly. The headache has subsided to a mere conflagration. She doesn't mean to be rude, but the words spill out before she has a chance to stop. She rubs her eyes, hoping to get her mind right for the inevitable violence. At least she is far better equipped today, which lifts her spirits. Early in the morning, she made a run on the armory and got everything that she could check out, within reason. Even with the breakthrough in spell preparation, she'll have sufficient arms to handle an entire battalion of gangsters, ruffians, and incorporeal menaces.
Even so, she isn't happy about being in the midst of all these allies of Gale so soon after wrecking her plans through breaking up the arms deal. She keeps a hand on her pistol and a spell half-developed in her mind, so she can react quickly if they ambush the Constables. The old man seems nice enough, but there are enough brigands and partisans in the area to put them in a too-tight spot. "So when are we going to get there?"
Fethryth glares at Anneca "The Gift shows you what it will, it's not some kind of cosmic appointment book showing you who arrives when." She doesn't normally snap at her fellow constables, at least not the 5 currently present, but she's got a bad case of Hero Worship going when it comes to Nevard.
She turns to the elder Skyseer and offers him a smile. "Do whatever you need Sir, we'll be fine. Your mission is too important to worry about offending us"
"Oh, is that how it works?" Tobias listens to Feth but doesn't let her tone get to him. "These gifts of the mind can be confusing can't they? Half of you still seem to think I can read other peoples thoughts, so I guess I can't be too surprised that the Gift doesn't work quite how I expected."
He turns back to Sechim and shrugs again.
"Honestly I think we're doing a lot of things we likely aren't comfortable with lately. Why don't you tell us what you've got in mind and we'll take it from there."
"As I think we all understand," says Nevard with a kind shrug of his shoulders, "I am dying. The rigorous journey up to Cauldron Hill could tax me beyond my meager limits, even with your help. But there is a...ritual...of old that can be bestowed by Elder Pazumu, which as I understand it would allow me to share my life's energy with yours, and thereby would give me a portion of your youthful vigor for no more than a day, but which would give me the vitality to ascend the mountain and survive the ordeal."
Nevard spreads his hands in a show of concern. "It would mean a temporary link between you and I for this time...and would allow me to be strong...while each of you so inclined would receive a portion of my injury and frailty as a burden. It is...old magic and that in the domain of Beran sorcery and Risuri witchery, and is not normally something I would condone. Certainly I could ask none of you to shoulder the burden of the link if you were unwilling to do so. Yet it is the only guarantee I can survive the attempt now, given my time left before the Bleaking. As always, the choice is up to each of you, and is yours alone to decide if you would join with me in that fashion. The time, however, is short, and you must decide yea or nay quickly."
"Yea" Fethyrth immediately replies. "Whatever it takes to get you through this, Sir"
The mention of Ber brings an instant frown to Tobias' face and he taps his ring to his necklace superstitiously.
"I-" He stops himself before he says anything that he'll regret. and takes a moment to compose himself. "Well you were right, I'm not comfortable with this."
He taps his necklace a few more times and bites his lower lip as he considers. All in service to Risur I guess.
With a sigh he nods. "I'll do it though, and with enough of us, the burden of frailty might be mitigated, but I understand if anyone would prefer not to as well."
The frail Skyseer nods gravely at Tobias and Fethryth, knowing that he is asking quite a lot from each of them. He glances to the rest of the constables to see what they each shall say on the matter.
Jesslle does seem to consider the Skyseer's request with some reservations and the words of Mayor MacBannin's own claim that she, of all the others is at greater risk due to her gift.
She comments, "Skyseer, I do not suppose you have insights if my gift with the spirits will be of hindrance to you and my colleagues this evening?"
"I suppose it matters little, if we are to get anything of use, you must be alive to give it," The young woman gives a defiant look to the heavens and than back to the Skyseer, "I am willing to give you my strength this eve."
The thought of sharing a link stirs a little curiosity in Emerson. That and a little bit of dread. His thoughts drift as to how one goes about researching a ritual of this kind. When he snaps back to the present he realizes his hand is channeling healing energy into to his left leg, "This frailty doesn't go both ways does it? My leg was permanently injured in the war and pain is my constant companion. I would hate to share that with everyone but I am willing to participate."
Gemma's been standing back, but wanting to get the show on the road. Her arms are crossed and she inadvertently starts to tap her foot. Then she hears the Skyseer's proposal of sharing and stops the tapping. She watches and waits to hear what each of her fellow constables will say, curious about their choice, then laughs a little to herself at the absurdity of her own. "Hmph. Well, what the hell. Sure. I mean, I go on trial in what? One day? Two days? They'll probably find me guilty anyway, right? Anything for Risur." Gemma makes a little motion with her fist into the air but it's entirely half-hearted.
Whether she wants to do it or not really makes no difference. It is what it is and she will adjust accordingly in order to make the situation work and get everyone through it. Although, if she said she wasn't nervous about the prospect of it all, she'd be lying.
"I admit I do not know what will fully occur with the ritual's bond," answers Nevard carefully, "though I suspect it is meant to greatly benefit the recipient at some expense to the participants, at least physically. Pazumu bears a remnant of the past that will allow this to occur, but with only the one casting of it."
With a kind smile to Jesselle Nevard assures her, "Ah well, who can truly say? You must be extra vigilant my dear, extra cautious. To those spirits and shades who skirt the borders of the Bleaking, I can only guess they would find you more tempting to assault. Yet maybe your insight will prove more...well...insightful to our wardings than the rest of us put together! Above all, we must take the Mayor's precautions and instructions seriously, and disregard nothing."
Almost as if on queue, the orcish shaman Pazumu rounds the corner of the tent and approaches them, the deftness and dexterity of his approach belying his size and hulking form. "It is time, Revered Skyseer, if tonight is to be the night for your ascent. Do these law-abiders of the corrupted city consent to add their strength to yours and shield you from harm?"
Nevard does not answer Pazumu directly, but spreads his hands to allow each of the constables their own assent. Seemingly, all but Anneca are willing to do so. The great Beran orc shaman gruffly nods and grunts in his own way, leaning over to gently pick up the frail form of Nevard from the chair into his trunk-like arms. "Come then to the stone circle, take the bond with him, and then you shall all go to the accursed mountain together."
The constables stand around an ancient stone disc of a table perhaps twenty feet in diameter and only three feet high. Nevard sits cross-legged at the center of the stone table, with Pazumu towering above him as he holds a very old scroll on animal hide that the shaman muttered was alone of its kind now, and centuries old. A wooden cup and a small but sharp cutting knife lies on the table before each of the participants. In a respectful distance well back from the table and the constables, perhaps fifty feet or more, a large number of the camp's inhabitants is gathered in a rough semi-circle to watch the ritual, whether man or woman, apprentice or elder or gypsy rover.
Pazumu casts the ritual in an intoned chant, some parts sung repetitively in a guttural voice as he pours what looks like goat's milk into a larger wooden tankard in his other hand; other portions of the ritual read directly from the ancient scroll as its words flare off the hide and drip off like blood onto Nevard's white hair.
At the height of the ritual with the scroll's magic bright and casting shadows of their forms across the table, Pazumu leaves the center of the disc and stalks to each of the participants in turn, intoning they cut themselves with the knife and place at least three drops of blood into the small cup before them; for those that comply he takes their cup and adds the contents into his larger tankard containing the milk. He goes around the circle briskly while continuing his guttural intonations, and upon the last drops of blood by the participating constables entered from cup to tankard, Pazumu returns to Nevard at the table's center. A final utterance of harsh arcane syllables rolls forth from the orcish shaman, the scroll raining down droplets of blood as if squeezed from a soaked cloth. Just as the arcane light begins to fade from the now-expended scroll, the shaman orders the Skyseer to drink from the tankard with the bloody milk, to drink it all. The old man nearly seems that he cannot do so and may vomit it back out again, but somehow keeps his composure and finishes the mixture, but just barely.
The visible magic fades from the stone disc table, and Pazumu lowers his arms and nimbly steps off the table, watching Nevard intently. Already the results look to be visibly apparent, despite the fact that his hair and face are stained with blood along with his drab grey smock and shawl. While Nevard is still an old man, his skin seems to pink up and grow taut in healthy vitality, the wrinkles diminishing. His hair seems more vibrant now somehow. Nevard Sechim takes a deep breath easily, his breathing no longer raspy and devoid of the wracking cough he once had. "My my!" He carefully stands up - unassisted - checking his balance and his strength in first one leg, then the other. Suddenly, the old man gives a boyish grin and does a quick set of dance steps from a jig, followed by a complete turn around and a clapping of his hands that now have real strength to them again. "Marvelous!"
"The Ritual Bond of Forced Faith." Tobias says with a grim face as he recognizes the preparation. "I'll spare you the grim details about how it's prepared, since those poor souls are long dead, but I'm a little worried about using the same necromantic magic the witches of Cauldron Hill used, but there's nothing for it now. Remember to protect Sechim after this is over, anything that hurts him will only damage us in his stead."
Against the his ingrained Utegg judgment, Tobias stands around the stone disk, and offers his blood to Nevard as he promised, though his face is stone and emotionless throughout.
He's reviled by the skyseers newfound energy, but ravenous as he is, does not dwell on it for long.
"Do you have anything here to eat and drink before we go? I'm famished and we have a long day ahead."
Jesselle looks to Tobias and nods as he speaks of the ritual that they are about to partake in. "Indeed. It is what it is though."
Jesselle does add her blood to the bowl, using her own knife of which she cleans afterward. 'A powerful tool one of this shaman could use against me.'
Once the ritual is complete she reaches into her bag and starts munching upon some rations. She tosses some jerky to Tobias.
"Absolutely not," Anneca remarks as soon as she works out the workings of the spell. Necromancy has never been of interest to her, though she learned the basic outline of the spells during her studies. The nature of manipulation of life forces is similar to the manipulation of energy, so she is capable of performing the spells with similar ease. But she certainly chooses not to. She glares at the others as they willingly join in on the ritual. "Are you familiar with the components of this spell? Blood of a sacrificed infant! Milk from the child's sacrificed mother! This is truly evil. You shouldn't take part in this." Not being particularly religious, Anneca has trouble making an argument that clearly hinges on an objective right and wrong.
She stands away from the others as the ritual is performed, turning her back on them. It is solely her loyalty to her fellow constables - some of them, anyway - that keeps her from marching right back to the carriage and high-tailing it out of the location. She doesn't even look at the others as they willingly drop their blood into the cup. She doesn't want to know who will comply and subordinate their own life force to the old man who seems more menacing by the moment. Fethryth, of course, will do anything he asks her to. Hopefully some of the others will see the evil implications of the act and choose not to. She would prefer to not know and simply assume that all but Fethryth will ultimately refuse. Besides, she tells herself, she needs to keep an eye out for an ambush from the gathered brigands. She hopes that the others are right, though, because if the old man betrays them, Anneca will have to injure all of her fellow constables in order to put him down.
Gemma is about to partake in the ritual, but then she hears what Anneca says. She already had her reservations, nagging at her while the ritual was being prepared. The thought of giving away her strength to someone was becoming more and more uncomfortable, despite her earlier seeming nonchalance. Yet her dedication to the people of Risur pushes her forward. She even makes it as far as standing around the circle and holding out her hand. But at the last moment, she close her hand. She cannot, in good conscience, give her blood and her strength. She will need every bit of it to try and protect the others up on the Hill and Nevard himself when the time comes. She can't do that if she's compromised. And something about the very nature of the ritual itself makes her skin crawl ever so slightly, even before Anneca discloses the horror of it, like a bad memory trying to work it's way out.
"Yes, that's the information I was hoping not to speak out loud.
The woman and child are long dead Anneca, and Pazumu is not the one who killed them. I don't blame you for refusing, but at least we can prevent this scroll from being used by someone with worse intent."
Tobias' own reservations are clearly on display as he discusses things with Anneca but he doesn't back down from the ritual. He doesn't mention Gemma backing out either, part of him wishing he'd done the same.
”It is true, the essence of the ritual is wholly evil and malevolent, that which was inscribed upon the scroll and how it was done,” says Pazumu abruptly to the constables, even as he discards the skin scroll upon the low stone table, ”though it is said this final casting is but a portion of the dark power that was wielded by those accursed ones at the height of their reign.” He signals to the assembled crowd, with two men and at least one of the women elders they met two days ago rushing over to meet the Skyseer and lead him away, presumably to a bath and a fresh change of clothes.
The Beran orc shaman watches a moment to see him leave, then returns to his cool appraisal of the constables. ”Yet we are not of The Clergy as some of you may be, knowing that wickedness is balanced by goodness, not something that can be defeated or banished completely, as only fools would believe. I used this last scroll to aid the Skyseer in his cause to help the People, and thus malevolence is balanced by mercy. You would do well to remember the roots of your origins, humans, and increase your understanding of the worlds that surround you.”
It is clear for whatever reason that Pazumu did not intentionally include Fethryth in his criticisms, actually giving her the briefest of nods before stalking away from the group towards the encampment. Other traditionalists come over to carefully gather the items used during the ritual, while still other folk invite the constables to gather food and drink from their cookfires for the journey back to Flint and Cauldron Hill.
”Remember, law-abiders, that we expect to see our Respected and Venerable Skyseer returned to us, here, tomorrow before the noon, and until then you are indebted to aid and protect him in his time of great need. The People will not forget this debt, which has been sealed by blood and memory.”
The orc shaman Pazumu glares at each of them for emphasis, as if committing each to memory in his mind should he need to track them down. The other elders of the encampment are much more pleasant and well-wishing in their sentiments to both the constables and their beloved Skyseer, with more than enough food and drink bestowed upon them for their trip. Traditionalist children and journeyman Skyseers cheer and offer little gifts for Nevard as he waves at them all fondly, now dressed in serviceable but formal dark grey robes and finely tooled leather bracers, with a light grey cloak bearing wispy silver embroidery. He walks to the carriage under his own power with an unadorned but fine darkwood staff shod with bronze caps, something unthinkable given his condition just an hour before. The worn leathery skin and whalebone long white hair are still in evidence, as are the piercing blue eyes that have not changed, but Nevard moves as nimbly and surely as a man thirty years younger. With a final wave of his hand he turns to accept Sully’s offered hand to help him up into the carriage, whereupon he takes a seat, with Fethryth and Tobias sitting to either side of him. Jesselle, Gemma and Anneca sit across from him on the opposite side, while Emerson takes his seat next to Sully up upon the driver’s bench. Within moments, Sully has the team of refreshed (and hair-braided) horses off and rolling down the plateau trail towards the mountain valleys and civilization.
Nevard Sechim, Respected and Venerable Skyseer of Risur, first offers his apologies to the constables for the unpleasantness of the ritual, and holds no ill feelings to Anneca or Gemma whatsoever for their stance on the matter. He thanks the rest of them sincerely, stating simply that without Pazumu’s recovered scroll and their trusting assistance, he knows he would never gain the chance to ascend Cauldron Hill and glean some sense of the impending dread that mars both dreams and waking thoughts alike in the last twilight of his years. He has prepared druidic powers this day to do whatever he can to aid the constables up on the Hill overnight, including powers of healing if necessary. The talk eventually turns to inquiries on the “nice young lad with his choice” – Willem Muhnee – and at the mention of him leaving the R.H.C. for his own reasons, Nevard approves fondly that Willem undoubtedly made the right decision to choose life and love. He goes on to quip that part of him would wish to eschew the ascent to Cauldron Hill and find a night of lively music and dancing instead, but that even in his rejuvenated state he would find it hard to remember the steps of his youth. The carriage rolls on through the Cloudwood…
”You are late, constables.”
The Mayor’s well-dressed blonde-haired butler, Cillian Creed, regards them all-too-coolly as they start exiting the carriage on the gravel way between the mansion’s front doors and the gazebo and gardens just behind them. As they approached the manor house with Sully driving the horses straight on to near exhaustion from the rapid ascent, they pass a lone driver in civilian clothes with a near-empty open wagon and a two-horse team coming from the mansion, the man waving his crop and shouting at Sully to give way on part of the precarious mountain road. The butler watched them come straight on in past the gardens to the driveway in front of the double doors, his demeanor clearly polished but containing a hint of irksome arrogance.
”The Mayor declared this should be no later than two hours past noontime on an appointed day, if you recall his explicit instructions. No great matter, however, as he has been expecting you for over an hour now – your superior sent word to him just this morning that you would be coming along in the afternoon. Therefore constables, I ask that you come with me to the cellars, without delay or dalliance.”
Something about all of this seems vaguely familiar but he doesn’t remember the details. He trusts Tobias and Anneca’s knowledge on the matter. As distasteful as the ritual is, Emerson participates, however he cuts the back of his forearm to draw the blood instead of the inside of his hand. He doesn’t respond to either of Pazumu’s taunts. ’Nothing good can come of it.’
Emerson steps off the driver’s area as the butler lays into them with his passive aggressive speech. Normally he would let this kind of thing roll off his back but after the non-stop action of the last few days and the consistent disrespect for the constables from almost all the people they have met, he snaps back. ”If it is of no great matter, then I suggest you correct your tone of voice. If there is nothing else, shut up, wipe that arrogant look off your face, and lead the way.”
Gemma smirks and moves up beside Emerson. "Oh, and by the way, we'd very much appreciate Thank You's and Great Job, Constables after we save the hides of the good people of Risur. Yourself included."
She makes a motion with her hand to lead the way forward. "Lead on, Mr. Creed."
Cillian Creed has a decidedly unpleasant scowl as he recoils from the unexpected harshness of Emerson Hill's insulting admonishments. "Follow." That is all the butler can say as he abruptly turns on his heel and walks back to the double doors of the mansion, leaving the doors open but not bothering to wait for the group of constables or their respected guest. Sully gives a low rumbling chuckle but carefully averts his eyes from the brief conflict, jumping down to help the rest of them out before tending to his tired and thirsty horses. As it is, it takes another full minute or so for all of the group to be out of the carriage with what belongings they plan on taking with them, with their honorable guest putting a hand to his brow and squinting up at the summit of Cauldron Hill well above them, mostly obscured by haze and mist in the afternoon light.
They collect their gear and head inside the open doors, walking along the well-decorated foyer and wooden paneled hallways towards a main sitting room, with the mayor's private study just off to their left that they visited the other morning, and the main dining room to their right. This time however, Creed motions at them from a shorter hallway near the kitchens where a more utilitarian stairway leads down, going down first himself before they do. It appears they are heading down to a cellar area, with casks and crates denoting a well-stocked larder. At the end of an open storage room is a stout iron-cast door reinforced with bars and etched black iron studs. Cillian Creed opens the door with a faint squeak of metal hinges, revealing a near-empty room beyond that is magically illuminated and set with a smooth stone floor. What furniture exists inside seems represented only by a simple wooden table bearing a series of objects and vials, with three small wooden kegs next to one side of the table.
Reed MacBannin, the Mayor of the Nettles District and trusted expert on the dark arts, appointed by Governor Stanfield himself, stands by himself next to the table, reviewing the items and reagents that he apparently needs to ward them all from the unspeakable horrors of Cauldron Hill. Unlike his unpleasant butler, Mayor MacBannin smiles and welcomes them to enter without any admonishment whatsoever. "Ah! There you are at last. The time is most short, but fortunately as we are in the heart of Summer season there should still be enough time for you to make a safe ascent and make your preparations before dusk. I have everything prepared for the eight of...you...not eight but seven?" The Mayor chuckles and raises an eyebrow. "Did one of your own get lost on the way up here by chance? The constable with the wide-brimmed rider's hat if I recall?"