Despite the charge, Gemma is ready for the fight. She quickly draws her sabre and yells to no one in particular behind her as she makes her attack on the tough who just took a swipe at her.
"Someone's going to have to take out that one on the roof before he blows us all up!"
She then smiles a little at the arsonist. His attack wasn't a bad one but it seems the low light is just as much a disadvantage to him as it would be to anyone else. Because of that, he leaves himself slightly overextended and Gemma sees an easy opening. She makes a lightning fast, deep cut across the man's thigh. With the force she used, she knows instinctively that the man will bleed out quickly.
Anneca translates the Beran's language quickly, recognizing it as ancient Draconic. During her education, she learned the language in order to study some more esoteric texts in the school's library. Never did she think that she'd have an opportunity to use it to her advantage in a life-or-death advantage. From the back of the alley, she spends a few critical seconds working out the nuances of the phrases, knowing that she can make up the distance easily. "There are accelerants in the wagon! They're going to destroy them!" Hopefully she didn't make a mistake with the language, but it's an easy leap considering the sudden outbreak of violence.
[occ]SA: Retrieve stored item - Scroll of Divine Favor[/ooc]
Fethryth exits the building to the sound of Anneca yelling about accelerants "Get down there!" she barks to the soldiers. "Anybody who's not a constable, you see them mess with that wagon you shoot them in the face, or it's going to get a lot hotter here for all of us!"
Instead of charging down the alley, which to be honest was her first instinct, she pulls a small scroll from her belt pouch and casts the magic that allows her to read it. She has a feeling she'll need the extra luck...hell, they could all use it tonight.
At Gemma's clean but brutal parry and riposte of the first arsonist who attacked her, the tongue of the dragonborn flickers again - this time in eagerness. "SHE'S MINE!" he shouts in clear warning to the other toughs and gunner duo by him, and then sets off down the alley after her.
The hulking dragonborn draws the great beran warblade from his back in anticipation of bloody violence - the blade itself is not unlike the one Tobias carries, except it somehow seems even more fearsome with toothy serrated edges near its base. Then, inexplicably, it bursts into flame.
"DIE!" he cries as he brings the flaming warblade right down in an overhand stroke atop her head. Gemma knows its coming and puts her saber right at the proper point to parry it, but his strength and skill is far more formidable than what she has faced before; she parries the stroke just enough that it instead hits her breastplate armor with reduced force and deflects across it, making a terrible metal-upon-metal screeching sound as it does so.
"Right I got them Fethryth - SOLDIERS WITH ME!" Tobias seems torn for a long moment as he considers himself what to do, but the progression of Sechim's workers heading outside and Fethryth's words seem to jar him into decisive action. He speeds as fast as he dares to the alleyway around Anneca and into it, drawing his own Beran warblade as he prepares for whatever faces his fellows.
The presence of so many men as well as an actual Beran dragonborn male was certainly not what he was expecting. The dragonborn stands a full head taller than anyone around him, and makes for the best target to use his own psychic abilities on - he lays a mental tangent upon the Beran's mind, hoping he or his fellows and capitalize on that in the next moments of battle.
"DOUBLE-QUICK NOW! YOU HEARD THEM - ENGAGE HOSTILES TO OUR OWN WITH FULL FORCE!" Corporal Aden calls out the order and trots to just outside the alleyway with his team, the army soldiers readying their muskets to fire should it come to it. Their hauberks slow them down as they move into position though, not being able to bring their weapons to bear upon the enemy for the next several seconds.
Both arsonists arrayed at the corners of the wagon look to each other and then to Emerson Hill, as if marking him intently in the alleyway showdown. One shifts his stance closer to the other for better sight, and then both draw their pistols in a practices and rapid manner that reveals to Emerson they know a thing or two about pistols and gunsmithing.
The shots are true and both aimed to kill, with the double-percussion of both shots going off one after the other. The first shot wings off just by Emerson's left side, causing him to reflexively shift a step away to his right from the wizzing of the bullet. The second shot seemingly flies true right where he was prior to his shift, the dimness of the alley proving most fortunate to his well-being.
Casting an incantation that both Anneca and Jesselle can interpret as being arcane in nature, the second dragonborn utters a series of syllables and gestures from the covered safety of Sechim's roof...
...and almost instantly a small ball-like globe of intense orange flames appears in the middle of the forward part of the covered wagon, setting the canvas tarp alight and seeming to burn down into the wooden wagon itself, more powerful than any burning of torches or even that of alchemist fire. The ball of flame shines like a bright torch, now illuminating the area around the wagon, including the two gunners that just shot at Emerson Hill.
Satisfied with his fiery incantation, the dragonborn moves farther back along the rear of the roof to the farthest corner, observing the progress of the flames as he does so.
"I think I have an idea... to get that wagon out of here... You guys are probably not going to like it. I will be back when I can."
The woman than start to cast a spell, "Îi invit pe acrană să mă îndepărteze din vedere." She than vanishes from sight of all.
Anneca quickly tracks the distance between herself and the now-burning wagon. The calculations come fast enough to know that she won't be able to reach it easily enough to put out the fire before it starts, even with the benefit of magical alacrity. The quickest route would see her get slashed in two by the dragonborn's blade as she tried to slip past him, and the mercenary is likely too strong for her to simply bum rush. She makes up her mind to remove the easier obstacle, closing the distance even as she finishes running the outcomes. Skidding to a stop right behind Constable Hill, she takes aim at the tough that slashed him. With his shirt on fire, she can see him easily enough to hit him center mass with a single shot that echoes through the alley.
Even as the combat unfolds around her, she can't stop analyzing the situation. Bomb-laden wagons are not a common tactic, but it happens often enough to be prepared. The minimum safe evacuation distance from a wagon bomb is 300 feet, to avoid the possibility of being struck by the wooden and metal shrapnel. Being within 50 feet of the wagon is probably not safe, but it's necessary to do a quick analysis. She hammers out a quick mental calculation to determine how large the overall explosives will be, assuming normal fill levels in the barrels, and then extrapolates the explosion size and risk as quickly as she can.
HSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…thwick…BOOM!
Sure enough to the dread of the constables, the tarp-covered wagon suddenly ignites from the blazing presence of the magically conjured ball of hot flame, the entire tarp going up in a quick flash of fire and singed fiber. A moment later the entire wagon splits in half even as parts of metal and wood are burst asunder by the heat – a half-dozen great gouts of bright orange flaming columns roar straight up twenty feet or more into the alleyway air from small barrels. Even stranger are sizzling sprays of crimson and bluish flame that twist this way and that in swirling dances of pure inferno, almost as if something from a tropical storm but made of living fire. Falling to the ground are a series of white-hot coals with bright cores of orange and crimson, something like embers but much too hot to be coals from a common fire – where they hit the pavestones the stone cracks and begins to melt.
One horse becomes a living torch for a long terrible moment of screams, until it collapses and dies right where it stood in front of the wagon. The other horse, its harness and mane on fire, somehow breaks free from the wagon and gallops straightaway out of the alleyway, its terrible screams of pain only silenced as it stampedes over the docks and plunges into the murky depths of the lake beyond.
On the near side of the wagon, one arsonist gunner catches on fire and staggers a step forward in shock and pain, while his compatriot throws himself up against the factory wall and seems fortunate in dodging most of it. Two other arsonist toughs shout and stagger forward from the intense flames and heat.
In that moment, it is clear no normal man can expect to retreat anywhere near the blazing inferno of the wagon and expect to live more than a few seconds at most.
The barrels that now erupt in high gouts of columned flame are clearly reinforced casks of refined firedust. It is apparent to Anneca they are meant to ignite and burn but not explode in fragmentation. Anneca guesses they were meant to be the starting ignition for other reagents.
The spraying and spiraling crimson and bluish fire comes from several flasks of fast-burning phlogistite: much more unstable than firedust but comes in a slime or semi-liquid form that is easily spreadable, able to coat surfaces and even will stick to walls or ceilings.
The hot “coals” are actually firegems, not that much unlike what fueled the furnace of the Coaltongue. The hardest to ignite, once achieved they would undoubtedly burn through the wood and light metal of rooftops and ceilings.
Anneca surmises this package of an arsonist’s dream is expertly focused, meant to be installed and ignited upon the rooftop of Sechim’s factory, where it would have easily ignited the roof and melted through into the factory itself. As it stands now, ablaze in the alleyway between the two factories with thicker stone walls and pavestone, it is unlikely the factories will catch fire from it…at least for some time. It is also unlikely the blaze hides a bomb or true fragmentation explosion – if nothing else a high-volume explosion would ruin the focused ignition without doing much else of benefit. Anneca must conclude the arsonist’s package has been utterly wasted by being ignited upon the ground, and only serves now as a barrier and a way to destroy its contents.
Finally, it is not lost upon Anneca that the conjured flaming sphere is still in effect in the heart of the wagon inferno, under control of the dragonborn above which has proven he’s not only an expert arsonist, but also more proficient in arcane wizardry than she herself is.
”What the…c’mon c’mon we gotta push these ‘boots back and get outta here!”
The wounded tough bleeds openly from Anneca’s gunshot wound, suddenly finding himself between the inferno of the wagon and several foes against him. Emerson’s summoned spark, however, is snuffed out in short order, leaving all of them once again in the dim light of the alleyway.
He instinctively takes a step forward and lunges at Emerson with his blade, hoping to take him unawares and gut him. It looks like it would have worked to, except in the light and the fiery shadows he misjudges the distances and stabs in the space right between Emerson and Gemma. ”Blasted…HEY WHAT ARE WE DOIN?”
Two more toughs move forward into the fight with blades drawn, though it is seemingly as much to get away from the awful heat of the blazing wagon than any real lust for blood and killing. They both move up to flank the dragonborn warrior, taking two nasty stabs at Gemma from either direction. Gemma, however, deftly parries both blades with her own sabre in an almost contemptuous manner.
”EB! Hey Eb what the Bleak is goin’ on with your brother! We can’t go back that way now!”
”What’s the plan now Eb?”
Both toughs seem committed to the fight for now, but clearly were not expecting the eruption of the wagon as much as the constables…
Again, Emerson steps back to put a little distance between himself and the Tough. This time he moves up behind Gemma to prevent the other thugs from flanking her. He draws his pistol with his left hand, fires off a shot, and hits the man center mass. He staggers back and falls to the ground.
It’s obvious to Emerson that the most dangerous foe is the Dragonborn in front of Gemma and he sets his sights on the scaly creature next. He shifts his stance slightly to his right to give him a clear shot over Gemma’s shoulder as she expertly deflects the attacks against her. He activates the Searing Light wand, and it shoots a brilliant beam of energy that strikes the creature on the left pectoral.
Gemma's no engineer or alchemist, but she knows what just happened on the wagon was no ordinary explosion, and she understands full well that it would have been the end of Heward's factory at the very least. If it weren't so devastating and she wasn't in the middle of a fight, it might be interesting to watch for a little while. She can feel the heat coming off of it and wishes they had a way to push the men back towards it, but that probably isn't the safest of plans.
Gemma smirks a little at the toughs that just tried to cut her but missed, then looks to the dragonborn. "Yeah, Eb, what's the plan now? I guess you forgot to mention to them that they were expendable, right?"
Without taking her eyes off Eberardo, she makes a grievous side swipe towards the tough on his left, closest to the wall. She'd rather have made the cut on the lizard himself but she's already calculated that he's probably going to be much more difficult to hit. Taking the toughs out one by one helps shore up her odds a little.
”Other than splitting you in half? Workin’ on the rest of it as we go along…” The dragonborn warrior, despite the carnage and the most recent gunshot wound he just took to the upper shoulder from Emerson, seems relatively unfazed and up to the fight. He nods briefly at the expert way in which Gemma downed yet another or his toughs right over the last one, making for a nice pile of bleeding and unconscious bodies beside him. ”Worthy to draw my blade on for a little sport at least!”
Eb raises his blade for an overhand swing like before, but Gemma notes he shifts his stance and instead changes the direction of his blade in a side-sweeping arc that is meant to cleave her arm off just below the shoulder when she extends her blade upwards to ward off a crushing blow. A feeble feinted move really, at least for Gemma who has studied blademanship maneuvers in expert detail. His flaming Beran warblade hits her cold iron Danoran sabre, deflected away quite easily…
…which in turn seems to unhinge the dragonborn’s disposition entirely.
”Awwwww you #$$%&#$...okay then YOU WANNA FIGHT A TRUEBORN? LET’S DO IT THEN!” His draconic eyes seem to shine with an inner flame, and somehow his great crimson-scaled muscles begin to ripple and bulk, even as he hisses and flexes his great muscular flame as if no longer able to contain himself. It’s like Gemma suddenly finds herself facing a draconic beast in the wild, no longer shackled by his own control or discipline, all strength and fury now. She’s heard and studied of various warrior cultures that had beserker-ragers in their employ. Yet it’s one thing to study them and quite another to see one right before her with a flaming two-handed war sword wanting to kill her. His breathing quickens and it seems as if he can now shrug off most wounds that would down a horse.
”YYYEAAAAHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!” He roars an impossibly loud dragon roar at her face. Despite her discipline and her training, she suddenly feels herself very small and afraid, and it is all she can do to suppress the instinctive urge to bolt and run back out of the alley.
Just when it seems Gemma is left alone to face down this great hulking dragonborn berserker and another arsonist tough next to him, Tobias suddenly rushes in. Like several times before in the night atop Cauldron Hill, he somehow uses his psychic powers and understanding of the mind to wipe away fear – in this case he strikes Gemma atop her armored left shoulder and she feels a gentle intrusion into her mind that scours away the fear and panic from Eb’s enraged roar.
”We’ve got this Gemma! He’s not the only one with a Beran warblade after all…” It now stands two versus two in the alleyway, with what seems like an equal number now of fellows backing their side up.
Corporal Aden and the other soldier nearest him round the corner into the alleyway, their mail jingling in step as they approach nearest to Anneca, searching for enemies. With bad lighting and constables and flaming wagons all about, there’s too much risk to try and fire into the big middle fight. Instead, they pick out the now-illuminated target up on top of the roof, even though he’s far off and sheltered by the rooftop height.
”TAKE THAT SCRUM DOWN ON THE ROOF!”
The two other soldiers move up to comply with the order, already somewhat in position. They take aim with their Pemberton muskets and fire two shots at the dragonborn on the rooftop. The distance and the dragonborn’s cover, however, makes that nearly impossible and instead they get two ricochets on the upper portion of Sechim’s factory wall.
The arsonist gunner on fire simply runs forward into the alley as far as he can without getting into blade reach, falls to the ground and rolls around until the flames turn to smoke. He is in clear pain and down on the cobblestones, but alive.
The other gunner runs forward as well to get away from the wagon – until he bumps right into an invisible Jesselle that he clearly had no idea was in his way. Bouncing past and away from her, he shouts, ”Hey HEY THERE’S SOMEONE HERE HIDIN’ IN THE ALLEY – SHOOT ‘EM!”
The man reloads his pistol with the precision and expertise of one who knows a thing or two about pistols, slamming in the bullet and firedust packet with practiced speed. He takes aim right where he bumped into Jesselle and fires right where he thinks her face would be; the bullet ricochets dangerously off the factory wall and past their heads, just a foot or two aside from where she invisibly crouches.
In answer to the musket volley, the other dragonborn incantates another spell, this time upon himself with provides a shimmering clear barrier against attacks in front of him. He then stands and spreads his arms wide as if to openly mock and challenge the soldiers who dared fire upon him.
The flaming ball of intense fire suddenly jumps out of the burning remains of the wagon with its combustible contents, rolling forward with sizzles and cracking noises along the pavestones towards the rest of them.
”Eberardo! Lisixi misi phsislith sssixis sihv silxesi hiirih! Wi msixi hi eri hil ithiel sihshil sihv viseli i phsilsii eh fsisi! Lisixi mir hiz sihv dhieh ri!”
With the carriage blown, Anneca moves forward to assist the others. She quickly changes a few variables on a spell as she sets her feet near the downed mercenaries and Tobias. The angle works well for her to be able to hit the dragonborn and several of his goons. She unleashes a stream of super-cooled air - painful as any flames, but less prone to adding to the fire problem. The dragonborn doesn't see it coming, gathered as he is in his rage.
The words on the scroll burn themselves into Fethryth's mind; it's like a little bit of the Dreaming's improbability sparks itself into her body. She drops the now useless paper and begins running towards the alley.
The results of Anneca's converted energy blast are as lethally devastating as they are precise. Not only does the dragonborn beserker and the upright gunner take dreadful blasts to their faces and bodies, but the two downed toughs in the pile that Gemma felled are completely frozen and cracked asunder, like some statues of blood and flesh-colored rock. Only the two wounded gunners and the two dragonborn are in the fight now.
Jesselle from her position along the wall of the factory had planned to make a valiant attempt to jump atop the wagon and drive it... somewhere away. With the explosion, a wave of heat washer over the woman before she could enact her plan.
No one can see her wince and shield herself from the heat and debris. She does not have the time to consider what would have happened had she been on the wagon went off. She now turns to the threats at hand, just as a chill of cold air flows by her chilling her from the sudden warmth moment before.
She draws up her rapier, imbues it with part of her arcane powers, and strikes out at the nearest foe.
Jesselle’s sudden appearance and near-skewering of the nearest arsonist gunner adds to the visceral carnage of the alleyway fight. Only Fethryth has yet to enter the fray, though she sees the grisly scene even as she rounds the corner, empowered with the ancient Risuri bonds of land and spirit to smite down her enemies. Other than Eberardo the beserker dragonborn warrior, his pyromancer brother atop Sechim’s roof and two wounded pistol-wielding arsonists, there is not much pickings to choose from…
Emerson continues his slow lateral movement to get a better view of the last few foes in combat. He drops his pistol and advances the barrels of his pepperbox in quick succession. Two rapports ring out, the first finding it’s mark. The second bullet flies within an inch of the Dragonborn’s face and strikes the wall of Sechim’s factory near the flaming wagon.
Gemma finds herself both incredibly lucky and incredibly thankful for the abilities of her fellow constable. She makes a mental note to buy a drink for Tobias once they get out of their current predicament. In the meantime, she most decidedly does not like what the dragonborn just did. The rational side of her is truly impressed but the side that just got the pants scared off her is not happy at all.
She squares up against the big lizard and lets out a battle cry of her own. It's not nearly as ferocious as Eberardo's but it's deep and gutteral. She raises her cold iron sabre as if to attempt to make a high cut but then quickly swings low to make a cut right across the dragonborn's side near his gut. Despite the poor light, the cut is a clean one and connects.
It's not as devastating a blow as she would like but it does draw blood.
The dragonborn finds himself bleeding profusely from another gunshot wound to his chest and the deep gash across his side, yet for now seems completely unhinged and in no mood to give quarter.
"YOU WANNA THROW ICE AROUND? WELL EAT THIS!" Eberardo instinctively shifts his stance to bring all of his accursed attackers into his view, opens his toothy maw, and breathes a gout of hot flames directly across the four constables nearest to him. Anneca moves aside in instinctive reaction to the fire she has long studied, even if unexpected from the dragonborn's mouth. So too does Emerson duck and weave aside from the flames, no worse for wear. Tobias and Gemma, however, take it fully in the face and upper torso, hair singing and clothes smoldering.
"C’MON YOU #%$&! TRY ME AGAIN…AAAARRRRRRRRR!” The dragonborn roars at Gemma again, his raging intimidation again working to weaken her resolve to finish him off, despite her getting the better of their exchange so far.
Tobias coughs and tries to shake off the burning smell of his clothes, hair and skin, putting a hand upon Gemma once again even as he wipes away the fear from her mind. ”You got him Gemma! Don’t give it to him now!”
Tobias himself takes an artful dancing step forward, sweeping out as if to take Eberardo’s legs with a kick to his knee; the move is a feint which extends the dragonborn to react to it, giving an opening to Tobias and his own Beran warblade on his next strike.
Corporal Aden and the other soldier trot up ten more paces, aim, and open fire on the other dragonborn atop the roof. Even a bit closer, however, the arcane defenses and the angle to the rooftop makes the volley ineffective.
”FORM UP AND RELOAD!” he shouts to the other two soldiers nearby.
The other two soldiers do as ordered, coming up to form a blocking line in the alleyway, trained to load their muskets with practiced speed.
Fethryth moves around the corner of the building and takes a better look at the scene before her. The dragonborn in the alleyway looks half dead, so it's the one on the roof that worries her the most. She looks over the alleyway as she runs towards the fight, hoping she sees some way to climb up onto the roof herself.
"Move it or lose it" she snaps as she pushes past one of the soldiers. She plants herself next to Emerson, making it so that the dragonborn below can't get out of the alley without going through one of the constables, and takes a closer look at their foe's wounds. "Bleaking f&$#ing gate, don't kill him, easier to question him if he's alive"
Fethryth can tell that the dragonborn warrior is still in his beserker rage...and perhaps that in and of itself is the only thing keeping him upright with all the wounds he's taken. Even so, the fight in the alleyway is not over yet, with the constables now starting to take their own wounds from fire, blade and bullet.
Despite nearly being immolated and having to snuff himself out like a torch upon the pavestones, the arsonist gunner knows he's cornered and isn't ready to give himself over to the hangman's noose. He quickly picks himself up off the ground, reloads his pistol with expert ease and chooses his target in the form of the woman who iced several of his comrades. The gunner fires at Anneca right at her forehead - at the last moment her arcane defenses deflects it just enough to give her a grisly gouge at her neck where it meets her shoulder. The blood and pain is immense, though she is alive for now.
"Not so tricksy NOW are ya?" The other gunner defiantly takes a step back away from Jesselle and her rapier dripping with his blood, standing now shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow arsonist.
He too deftly loads his pistol with a blur of great precision, takes careful and studied aim at Jesselle, and fires. The bullet strikes her middle but somehow partially ricochets off of a metal stud of her armor,
keeping her alive.
"Dammit brother! You MUST RETREAT NOW so that I...EBERARDO! PHAH!"
This time the other dragonborn doesn't even try to speak in his draconic tongue, the frustration clearly understood by the constables in the fight. Wielding in one hand a flaming quarterstaff of some very fine quality, he flicks his other hand for the fiery ball to roll forward and run right into the legs of Tobias Utegg. Then he moves resolutely forward to meet and save his brother. Fortunately for Tobias, his martial dancing form with the blade allows him to sidestep the rolling ball of fire, at least for now.
"FOOLS! LEAVE THIS ALLEY. NOW. OR DIE IN AGONY - THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING VALANDO GIVES YOU." With that the dragonborn pyromancer trots forward from the roof and leaps off of it - only to land gracefully atop the blazing inferno of the ruined wagon. Yet that terrible fire and heat seem to cause him no discomfort at all, though the constables feel it would surely kill any one of them if they tried to do the same thing. Whether due to innate resistance to fire as a dragonborn, arcane defensive spells or both, the dragonborn naming himself Valando seems intent on facing them all down to recover his brother and make good their getaway.
Anneca pushes forward despite the pain of being scorched and shot in rapid succession. With the second dragonborn headed his way, she needs to open up a clear line of sight between them and their foe. If his arcane skills need her to cut line of sight, she can do so more safely with enemies down. While her first impulse is to drop a pillar of icy wind at the dragonborn bladesman, she instead focuses her ire on the pair of gunmen. She keeps her eye on the sorcerer, misjudging the distance ever so slightly that gives one of the arsonists the opportunity to dodge the worst of it. "Watch out!" she warns Jesselle
Knowledge vs Dragonborn for upcoming Naturalist (not sure which knowledge fits that: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
enough to let her naturalist effect work against the two dragonkin?
Jesselle while successful in her strike finds herself in a precarious position. She cannot easy affect the new threat of the spell casting dragonkin.
She looks back to Anneca, "I see it..." And moves to give Anneca a clear shot the the beast.
"Anything but fire will likely affect that one! Bring them down quickly!
Jesselle finds herself too hasty with her rapier not in her hand and one of the arsonist gunners still feebly moving after Anneca’s dreadful ice blast. Yet her insight to the approaching dragonborn brother perhaps provides them with an essential edge. The raging Eberardo is profusely bleeding and seems ready to topple, though one hit from his Beran warblade could easily lay any one of them low. Tobias continues to leap and dodge the rolling ball of flame, knowing it is a race to see who downs the weakest of each side quicker now than the other.
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Emerson could tell these next few seconds could well see his death. Just as he did in the war, he concentrates on each minute action forcing all his emotion from his mind. Everything is in slow motion now.
He advances the barrel of his Pepperbox, pulls the hammer back, aims at the crazed Lizard, and pulls the trigger. Boom! The bullet strikes the big berserk in the chest and it goes down. He repeats this process again and raises the Pepperbox once more. He takes a deep breath, slowly releases it, and fires at the other Dragonborn. Boom! This bullet hits the soft tissue of the Lizard’s throat and a burst of crimson splatters on the wall of the factory. It grabs at the wound, then pulls back its hands and looks quizzically at the group before it slumps down on the still burning wagon.
Gemma briefly looks back and gives a nod to Emerson for a job well done before advancing on the final gunner. As she steps on and over the body of Eberardo, she looks to the only man left of the arsonist group and brings down her sabre against him. She has the briefest of thoughts to ask him for surrender but then decides against it. Whether it's from being burned one too many times within the last 24 hours or realization that these men were willing to sacrifice innocent people to attain their goal, she makes the decision to cut him down.
"Looks like we're going to need to find someone who can speak with the dead."
Sechim Factory - Full Map
Sechim Factory – The Alleyway
The flames and heat of the burning wagon are simply too great to get near Valando, let alone attempt a rescue. Unburnt by the raging inferno, he nevertheless bleeds out from Emerson’s lethal bullet wound and dies upon the pyre. Tobias quickly moves away from the flaming fiery ball, unmoving but burning for another dozen seconds or so before it sputters out and fades. Two other arsonists lie dead in an iced-over heap, the wounds by sabre and spell simply too great against them. The other four hapless arsonists are badly wounded but alive and unconscious, including the one Gemma just hacked down with her sabre.
Corporal Aden and the other men of the partial squad quickly come in to haul out survivors, bandage wounds and keep the prisoners under watch with muskets at the ready. Piles of weapons, armor and other materials are stacked against the alley wall of the factory.
The wagon…burns. Yet Anneca is able to relate that its dangerous contents seem oriented mostly to burn hot and not explode; while extremely effective if it had been placed upon the roof of Sechim’s factory and ignited, it poses far less threat here burning amongst brick and stone between the factories. A light but noticeable breeze blows northwest-to-southeast this morning – it’s extremely possible a conflagration atop Sechim’s factory could have blown across to the adjacent firedust packing factory, whereupon the results for the entire industrial neighborhood could have been catastrophic. At least to-date, the approximately eighteen factory fires with two-score or more deaths associated were all isolated arson events of single factories, never spreading much beyond the point of origin. All the constables – whether believing in the vision of the fire atop Cauldron Hill or not – believes that streak would have changed with this nineteenth arson attempt.
Heward Sechim quickly organizes his milling workers into a fire brigade of sorts from the dockshore towards the alley, with workers finding buckets and such from stores within the factory prepared for an internal fire scenario. In an odd display of rare cooperation (though obviously due to concerned self-interest), the night shift foremen of Moresby Boreworks and Gleeson & Sons Ammunition Packaging open their doors and aid in the transportation of water to the alleyway fire. The most concentrated elements of the fire cannot be quenched by mere water quickly, but most of the fire is out and brought to a steamy smolder in about a half-hour.
Lake Parity District policemen arrive to the scene late, prepared with batons and shields to drive back what they think is yet another protest or riot taking place. They are taken aback not only by the organized efforts of three factories to put out a potentially lethal fire, but that both R.H.C. constables and Risuri Army soldiers are on the scene. There is a brief verbal altercation about “jurisdiction” for the wounded and apprehended arsonists and where they should be taken to, one that is squelched firmly by the constables: despite threats that “Mayor Gohins will be informed of this” by the ranking policeman the constables know they carry jurisdiction under the circumstances here.
As the smoke and discord starts to settle across Magazine Street, the soldiers and constables load up their wounded and killed arsonist captives. The dragonborn brother who died atop the wagon is unburnt, his clothing burned away but quarterstaff, bracers and a rather nondescript haversack completely intact. Besides the unfortunate remains of one of the horses, the wagon ruins also reveal another set of ashen bones – seemingly the remains of the unfortunate Shamus who left the front doors to investigate. Which adds charges of murder to the list of attempted arson, assault and attempted murder for those that survived the fight with the Constabulary.
Heward Sechim regrets that he cannot accompany the constables back to Flint Branch to see his beloved uncle, as his responsibilities and loyalties to his factory and workers must take precedence. He hastily writes a quick letter for his uncle, giving it to Fethryth to bestow to Nevard when she sees him.
Now that Fethryth has spent her time with Nevard Sechim, she sees even more of the similarities of humor, charm and wit that the nephew shares with his uncle, even if Heward has no talents of the Skyseer within him.
”I’m indebted to you, Miss Fethryth, for all that you’ve done and risked for my Uncle this night. He never would have made it up there and back again without you.” He smiles and nods to her and then adds, ”Perhaps when all of this settles down a bit, you might allow me the presumption to call upon you properly? I’m getting to be an old man and stuck in my old habits and ways, but I think I just might be able to afford some time for a sociable calling in better attire than smocks and masks. That is, if you are agreeable to the notion.”
”Well now my young friends, I know this may sound a tad impertinent, but I truly relished and enjoyed the time we spent together this evening!”
Venerable Skyseer Nevard Sechim stands before the assembled constables in the inner courtyard of Flint Branch Compound, the carriage that is to bring him safely back to the Cloudwood nearly ready for travel. Sully, their R.H.C. driver who drove them up on the past two occasions checks the horses and their harnesses one last time, even as a group of soldiers ready themselves to provide escort via horses and on the carriage itself. The elder man still seems fit and agile from the effects of the Bond, though he says that will wear off soon enough. His staff lost in the toils atop Cauldron Hill, his gnarled hands bear now the hastily penned letter that his nephew Heward wrote to hand to him as they returned to Flint Branch.
All around them in the compound, the movement of soldiers and late shift R.H.C. staff move quickly, making for an early and busier-than-usual start for the staff. Again. Not completely unlike the night before when a host of prisoners, confiscated magical wands and one-hundred and sixty thousand crowns worth of spoils were brought into the compound for processing and safe-keeping. Tonight there was no massive loot haul to bring in, just more prisoners. And one V.I.P. to be brought safely back to the Cloudwood by mid-morning.
”Without being too ominous in my penchant for prediction, I truly do think you all have done a great part to helping the good folk of Flint this night. Now, I must do my part in interpreting what I have witnessed to some fruitful outcome. You will, of course, hear from me again, once I have gleaned the results of my visions. Perhaps I may call upon you, our King’s heroes of the realm, one more time to aid the people? Hmm…time will tell soon enough.”
Nevard stifles a tired yawn, and smiles somewhat wearily at them all. ”I think we all need a bit of rest! I am indebted to you for saving my nephew and his people tonight, dear young friends. I know you may see it as merely part of your duty to the King and the Land, but all the same you have my sincerest thanks.” The old man gives a little wink and says to them in a more hushed voice, ”I will, of course, honor my pledge to Gale should she ask me about your trustworthiness…though a little bird reminds me that she probably already knows this even now. Just remember that not all is what it seems, and not everything can be so neatly categorized and classified in the world…at least outside of Danor eh? Perhaps not even then…not even then.”
Elsewhere in the inner courtyard of which you now stand, some of you see two other gatherings of possible interest. Nearer to the stables, another lighter and sleeker carriage is being readied, its wheels geared more for speed on turnpike roads than muddy trails – a R.H.C. carriage bound for Slate most likely. The fact that a carriage is being prepared to head out is not unusual, but the helpful former shop guard of the Wareyes loading it up certainly is – Gill Gamble is dressed in nondescript garb but seems to be readying supplies under direction of a driver and an R.H.C. researcher type, though he pauses to grin and wave at you all vigorously for a long moment.
At the blockhouse tower and wall gate which separates the inner and outer courtyards, the full nightwatch army platoons of R.H.C. Flint Branch are readying to be relieved by the daywatch soldiers. The unmistakable Captain Brin Umurn reviews the nightwatch soldiers assembled and at attention, with nightwatch Lieutenant Cason Dale walking by her side in what seems to be focused conversation – no doubt to go over all that has transpired this past evening. She does not seem particularly pleased about it, but then again Captain Umurn has never been known to be pleased or content about anything. Lieutenant Dale briefly looks up over at the constables, particularly Constables Atherton and Utegg, and gives them brief nods.
The constables know the blockhouse brig is near to bursting with prisoners from the last two nights, with exception of those that are being treated under guard in the nearby infirmary. So too is R.H.C. Headquarter Building’s special underground brig filled with prisoners of note: Danisca and Blander Wareye, Ford Sorghum and Travis Starter, Deorn Feldman, Amba Banda…and now a somewhat patched-up Eberardo under heavy restraints, his dead brother Valando held on the main floor in a secured morgue.
"Thank you Skyseer Sechim," Jesselle says with respect. "I hope you can sort out what you saw up on the Caludron and when you do, please let us know. Again, thank you and be well." She excuses herself with a ndo to the man and than her colleagues.
She first moves to grab a moment to herself. The last five days whirling about in her head. From the call out to Danoran Embassy, the Theater of a Crime Lord, taking on a galley on the sea, the Woods of said be terrorists, a bewitching mountain, and finally factory of flames.
After a deep pull from her waterskin the wanders over to Gill. "Hey there, keeping out of trouble I see," she says to the man in jest. "You look all busy this morning, what is happening?"
”Well now, saaaayy…Constable Wesmere!” Gill Gamble turns to regard Jesselle eagerly, setting down his latest load rather haphazardly in the carriage to the chagrin of the driver checking out the horse team with the stablehands; Jesselle is fairly certain Gill would get a stern talking-to, except for the fact that he’s being addressed by a full Constable which outranks nearly everyone else in the compound. As for Gill, he steps forward after wiping his brow absently and then offers that same hand in a vigorous handshake.
”Never forget a name I don’t, and yours is Constable Wesmere! Well now, what’s happening is I’m a loadin’ up this here carriage for the turnpike to Shale, by way of Slate. This here is Driver Garard…say hello to the Constable Wesmere here that I helped out with…”
The senior driver looks like he’s been pinched in the face, but he stops checking the horses and knuckles a proper salute to Jesselle. ”Mum. An honor. If you don’t mind, I need to be getting a push with the new recruit and out of the gates soon.” Driver Garard gives a pointed look to Gill at that last, though the burly former shop guard from Pine Island seems to pay him no mind.
”Yep that’s Garard – he’s gonna show me the ropes so-to-speak on the road to Shale, so I can learn drivin’ a coach and caring fer the horses and such while also being his second…got a couple of straight-laced soldier types comin’ with us as well, and when we get to Shale I’m supposed to present…promote my…present…hey Garard how’s that go again?”
”He’s supposed to present his credentials to the Slate Branch Master-of-Horse and be evaluated for service.”
”Right right, that’s the notion. Like an apprenticeship or such.” Gill shrugs his shoulders and smiles at Jesselle. ”Never been to Slate myself…well…never been anywheres really outside of Flint! And yet here I am, Master Gill Gamble, on his way to a new city and good prospects…yep…things are turnin’ fair for me, and of course I gots you constables and the good Inspector Delft to thank for it – a real fair and good bloke he is I’ll say. Tough, but fair, and a good mouth for swearin’ too. Lined this up for me he did, though he said the rest was up to me. I gots no problems with that – Gill Gamble earns his way in the world.”
Gemma smiles warmly to the old man as he speaks. She may not understand his ways but she still sees him as kind and someone to be respected, like a nice old rather powerful uncle. She shakes his hand before he leaves. "I very much look forward to meeting again under more pleasant circumstances. Perhaps next time fire won't be involved. Now, if you'll excuse me." She gives him another smile and a wink and then heads off towards Captain Umurn and Lieutenant Dale.
She approaches the the hulking captain, always a little wary of her demeanor. "Captain Umurn, sorry if we've made any extra work for you. May I speak with the lieutenant a moment?"
Provided the captain gives the okay, Gemma will take a moment to thank the lieutenant for his efforts and help.
"Before I get up to my eyeballs in paperwork, I wanted to thank you for your help. I'd also like to get a copy of my thesis to you within the next few days if you're still interested. Although, the person you really should be talking to sometime is Constable Utegg. I'm not entirely sure yet if his abilities are natural or learned but they're certainly exceptional. He saved my ass with that dragonborn. Not sure how he did it, but if you can learn it somehow, I would most definitely do so."
Gemma approaches the decorated Risuri Army Captain-of-the-Guard for Flint Branch respectfully and warily, as well she should. Captain Brin Umurn earned her ranks through blood and battle from the Fourth Yerasol War, and has a reputation for fierceness in some of the toughest Yerasol campaigns that her regiment, The Hammerfall Guards, were ordered to take part in. Being of full old-orcish ancestry from the southern enclaves near the Beran border probably didn’t help her demeanor either. She is handsomely attractive despite her orcish skin complexion and features, her muscular athleticism hard to miss even in the “greens n’ blacks” of a Risuri Army uniform. Gemma never saw her once during her cadet days at Battalion, for Umurn never took one of the coveted posts to teach or command there. That she commands the honor guard company of Flint Branch is perhaps surprising...though if the rumors that she has a dalliance with Combat Instructor Durbul Lescane are true, perhaps that is not so surprising after all. In any event, Captain Umurn technically reports to Lady Inspectress Saxby as well as to Colonel Masterson of Flint’s defense force brigade, which makes her one of the few non-constable staffmembers that is at least equal to a constable in statue, even if she doesn’t outrank one.
”Constable…Atherton.” Captain Umurn’s greenish eyes tinged with crimson scans the face of Gemma intently: though Gemma may be impressed her name is known now to the Captain, she cannot help but shake the feeling she’s back on a Battalion drill field at attention, waiting for the sergeant’s whip to snap at her for some infraction. Yet Umurn answers the young constable politely if a bit curtly. ”The work is irrelevant, so apologies are not necessary. That you came down from Cauldron Hill intact without risking my soldier’s lives unnecessarily is thanks enough. Also the partial squad you commanded well with this arson assault in Parity. A moment then you shall have – the lieutenant and I were just concluding shift transfer, so just wait over there and he will attend to you shortly.”
It takes a few minutes for the Captain and Lieutenant to finish their conversation, and then Lieutenant Dale formally addresses the soldiers at attention to shift’s end, with a stout wooden baton tied with several tattered but colored ribbons handed off from Dale to Umurn. As nightwatch soldiers break out of formation to scurry to the mess hall or to their bunks, Lieutenant Dale comes over to where Gemma stands in the courtyard.
Lieutenant Cason Dale was never one of much conversation that Gemma has ever heard about. Most likely a product of him being the ranking officer of the nightwatch. Always seen as dour, humorless and no-nonsense to the point of being wooden and laconic, Lieutenant Dale almost makes for the “anti-LeMont” if such a thing were possible. Athletic and fit but not particularly tall or handsome, Dale’s most distinct feature is a rather nasty scar that stretches from the side of his temple down across the side of his nose and down his cheek, ending with a nick of flesh gone near his jawline. When Gemma was a “four-double-nine” last year in evaluation, she once heard a rumor that Weapons Instructor Johanna Durrance game him that scar for an inappropriate comment or slight against her. Yet with several years on her he could just have easily gained the scar during some scrap in the war. That he actually wrote a martial thesis and was enrolled in Battalion Academy’s post-cadet Martial Sciences Society was surprising to her.
”Constable Atherton.” He salutes her formally and says in his rather emotionless tone, ”I thank you as well, for keeping Corporal Aden and the lads secured and on-task over in Parity. It’s another reminder to me to never question a constable’s motives or estimations, no matter how strange it might seem. I’ll keep what you said in good mind about Constable Utegg…”
For a moment the Lieutenant hesitates as he regards her, as if weighing whether he goes too far or not on something in his mind, but he then says with a tone that seems slightly more engaged and eager than before, ”I’m off-duty now, so if you don’t mind too much I’ll go to my quarters and get you my copy of the thesis now, as I’d prefer to give it to you directly and not have it bandied about by any staff in the R.H.C. HQ building. That is, if you don’t mind. You can get me your copy whenever you’d like. After all, you pretty much know where to find me after dark…”
Gemma thinks that last was actually a joke of his, though with his voice being so serious and monotonous when he’s not shouting orders, it’s kind of hard to tell.
Gemma smiles slightly and nods. "I look forward to reading it. It will be a welcome respite from the paperwork. Also, I don't anticipate sleeping much the next few days, despite our latest efforts, so I'll definitely have more time to study it in it's entirety."
Gemma realizes that she actually appreciates the demeanor of Lieutenant Dale more than most. She can relate to it. And the thought of him being sort of an "anti-LeMont" makes her appreciate him even more. Her last statement, though, made to sound casual, is anything but. So much has been going on, she hasn't had much time to ponder her possible impending doom, but her off-hand comment brings it front and center to her thoughts. She tries to push it away but she knows that she's now cursed herself to the very fate she joked about...little to no sleep.
Working the bucket brigade saps away the last of Fethryth’s energy, so she’s in a foul mood when the Lake Parity police show up. Being cranky, and knowing the law is on the constable’s side, she gives them a colorful description of where they can stick their ‘jurisdiction’, followed by a further explanation of what Mayor Gohins can do with their complaints.
She stops and considers Heward, her expression turning slightly shy. ”I, well, right now you’re part of an open investigation...s&$!, two of them now when you tack on the arson attempt, so, I mean I can’t now, but..after? I think I’d like that”
Once they’re back at the Flint branch all Fehtryth wants to do is take a nap, but she stays by Nevard’s side. ”You’ll be alright when the bond wears off? And, I know I didn’t see as you did, but if I can help somehow..” her voice trails off as she yawns. ”S!@%, I’m never going to complain about things being boring for the rest of my life, I’d like to sleep for a week”
Emerson steps out of the carriage and nearly trips and falls on his face. The only thing saving him was the large grab handles along the outside step rails. He pulls himself up and dusts himself off unceremoniously. ”Master Sechim. I wish you a safe return to your retreat and hope to see you soon. If you’ll all excuse me?” he says in passing to the rest of the group. He sees Gill in the distance and manages a wave and a smile at the former rogue. On the second shake of his hand he could swear he was seeing double.
Again he stumbles, this time on nothing so much as his own feet. They felt like bridge piles. As if he were walking through a fast moving river. To say that Hill was tired was an understatement. While it was not unusual for the Constables to be up late on consecutive nights, something was different. His mouth was dry, eyes bloodshot, and his head was starting to pound.
He reaches the quartermaster’s and grabs on to the door frame to keep his feet. As he starts up the stairs it dawns on him. He had exhausted all of his ‘acquired abilities’ in the last 24 hours. Something he had never even tried to do before as he hid his powers as much as he could.
’Up the stairs, one foot at a time. Just a little farther’ The second floor is gained at much expense. He rounds the last corner in the hall and opens the door to his office. One thankfully not shared with anyone, well, not since the reshuffle of constables after Axis Island. He places his carbine in the umbrella rack by his desk and unbuckles his gun belt before collapsing on the small couch that doubles as his bed away from home. He tries to make a mental note of when he has to wake up for briefing but passes out before he can try to make the calculation.
Nevard kindly takes Fethryth’s hand into his own and pats it fondly. ”I’ll be myself once again my dear. Old, and dying. And it’s perfectly all right that it be so, because I have acceptance of this, and no regrets in a long life that has been well worth living. But thanks to you, dear one, and your fellows here, I have a chance to achieve a real purpose ere I depart beyond the Gate.”
He smiles and lets go of her hand, yawning tiredly with a grin afterwards. ”So I too must rest, and see what should be seen. And so should you in your own way – in that respect it is best that we are not in close proximity when trying to interpret our dreams, for omens seen by Skyseers can often be altered or corrupted. Find yourself a good, quiet place to rest and reflect…and best if Kaea is not near you when you do so. After you rest, and dream, and have a chance to interpret your dream-vision, only then should we ‘compare notes’ as you might say! I feel strongly that we will meet again, Fethryth Teldanona, and that this is not our final farewell.”
Jesselle nods to Garard and answers the man to his request, "Of course. A moment more and you and I let Mr. Gamble here get back to his duties."
She looks to Gill a moment to examine the man, "Well Gill, you have been given a good opportunity. I hope you make the best of it and wish you luck on the road ahead. Whenever you are back in Flint, perhaps we can share some stories of our travels." She grasps the man shoulder in a friendly manner and brings the man a closer for a more private conversation.
In whispers, "Gill, you have a good thing here. Prove yourself to those in Slate and it will put you in a position to hear things. If there is anything that is of interest... something of interest to a Constable, feel free to pass it along in a letter. Consider it a favor."
She than moves around and places the man back in a postion to get back to work. and with a smile says, "I suggest you get yourself back to work now. Take care of yourself Gill."
She turns to Garard, "Apologies for any delay. Safe travels."
Gill gives her a wink and knowing smile, but says openly, "You can count on Gill Gamble, constable ma'am, rain or shine, thick or thin!"
Before Jesselle leaves the newly-apprenticed rascal and the carriage, Gill suddenly remembers something and snaps his fingers, rushing over to a stowed pack where he takes out a tied paper bundle, and trots over to her.
"Almost forgot these for ya! So yesterday I know you all were out all day with all of that hustle and bustle, and the big meetin' and all that was a'going on. So I saved these for you and the rest, as it's not every day you're part of something so grand as to be on the front pages of the dailies, even if none of us were named..."
Jesselle quickly scans through the bundle to see that Gill saved several copies of the main three Flint evening dailies for the constables, including the Flint Review where Jada scribes and writes for. Each one describes the smuggling ring plot and has the sketch of Chief Inspectress Saxby and Constable Ven at the public briefing, as well as other illustrations of ship battles, weapons crates and recovered sea treasures, to various degrees of sensationalism and exaggeration depending on the particular daily.
"Those two seem to have a real stick up their...ahh...well real uptight-like during the meeting. Anyway, it was a real honor to be part of somethin' like that, even if in the shadows. Well now, best of luck to you, and I'll be keepin' an ear out as you said."
• Mission Status: First Tier Crimson Wolf with Spear on Bars Arrayed Diagonally
• Resources Assigned: Dauntless Team, others TBD
2) PRIMARY: Hunt of former R.S.S. operative Grannan Telbor, a.k.a. “Officer Porter, Shadowy Man”, to be apprehended with extreme prejudice, alive if possible.
SECONDARY: Investigation of possible radical Eschatologist cell infiltration from Drakr (considered possibly dangerous from Drakran Embassy, but objectives in Risur unknown).
• Mission Status: First Tier Crimson Wolf with Spear on Two Horizontal Bars
• Resources Assigned: Dauntless Team (split into pairs)
3) PRIMARY: Establish contact with Gale through known contact (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 Two Vertical Bars
• Resources Assigned: Emerson Hill, Anneca Summers, Fethryth Teldanona, Jesselle Wesmere, Gemma Atherton
4) PRIMARY: Interrogate arsonist suspects for confessions, motives and sources on attempted factory arson fire, as well as to confirm probable links between eighteen factory arson fires and forty+ deaths (Eberardo the dragonborn, four henchmen, Valando the dragonborn via Bleak delving methods)
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)
• Mission Status: Second Tier Azure Bull with Staff on Three Starbursts
• Resources Assigned: Wilhelm Coin, Talyssa Dane, Tobias Utegg
5) 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 eladrin rebel Sorkana Dell)
• Mission Status: Second Tier Crimson Wolf with Spear on Crossed Bars
• Resources Assigned: Alastair Rayne, Devinn LeMont, four soldiers assigned by Captain Umurn for protection detail
• Note: Undercover status approved by ACI Delft
”I think that’s it. Is that it? That should be it. Ladies, we’ll hold once again until you confirm you’re caught up, and I’ll make the final adjustments to the board.”
The R.H.C. Headquarters Briefing Room is filled with the sounds of furious scribbling and notetaking, as busy as the briefing room has been this Summer with even several of the constables absent. Just yesterday, due to the breakup of the smuggled weapons shipment overnight, the briefing room was staffed with two undersecretaries to record constable statements and reports directly, foregoing the usual requirement for the constables to write and submit their own daily reports in prior to morning briefing. Today they find three undersecretaries setup in the corner of the briefing room, as well as Junior Researcher Trellen and another researcher recording their own notes to cite references and assist the undersecretaries in the linked citations. All courtesy of Chief Inspectress Margaret Saxby.
Of course, it is a poor-kept secret that Lady Saxby routinely does this for her Dauntless team most of the time unless one or more of them have irked her for some reason – the perks of being her favorites evidently, just as she holds the Dauntless morning briefings directly in her office. Carlao Ven, Serena Taflis, Kaea Than’dil and Dima Sorginson hold senior status and the limelight for the best assignments, preferred offices and best provisioning at Flint Branch, true enough. That the six constables have now eclipsed them for two days’ running in their own investigations is striking, causing an extra stir of gossip and energy amongst the rest of the R.H.C. support and research staff.
They’ve been at it for well over two hours now, starting well earlier in the seven o’ clock time as soon as Inspector Delft could corral them together from their upstairs shared offices, he himself coming in earlier than usual. Knowing that Stover Delft personally had Nightwatch Lieutenant Cason Dale and his platoon watching for disturbances atop Cauldron Hill last night and ready to rescue them is proof that the ACI is acquainted with their mission beyond formality. Yet even he was caught by surprise at their move to foil an arson attempt at Heward Sechim’s factory, potentially catching those responsible for all the prior factory arsons that have occurred in Flint since mid-Spring and the end of Ethelyn’s Rebellion.
Stover Delft patiently waits for the undersecretaries and researchers in the corner to catch up, even as he stands by the active mission board and continues to make adjustments to it with chalk, striking through some parts and adding in new elements on the fly. Behind him in the room are the six exhausted constables struggling to stay alert, along with Talyssa Dane and Wilhelm Coin, with Devinn LeMont and Alastair Rayne once again conspicuously absent. Each of the six constables has saved dailies in front of them – courtesy of Gill Gamble – which highlight the publically-known smuggler’s ring takedown and confiscation of vast amounts of treasure and weapons. That their names are not present – and the sketched pictures of Lady Saxby and Carlao Ven on the front page for the public briefing – makes the stories of R.H.C. hailed success only slightly less thrilling.
”Right. Let’s go over once again the changes to the missions as we now know them to be,” says Inspector Delft to no one in particular, finishing his chalk-markings and tapping the chalk in his hand absently as he reviews it. ”The Chief Inspectress should be coming down shortly for this first priority change, but as of now all missions will be put on standby if we gain the opportunity to capture Gale in a declared meeting, now that you have escorted the old man up to Cauldron Hill and back without getting he or the rest of you killed. She’ll have more instructions for you, but in the meantime you all have been approved for additional R.H.C. stipend funding. It’s already signed and on the ledgers for the Quartermaster’s Office and the R&D Wing. So get yourselves re-outfitted and equipped and ready to go, in case the order is given for all constables to engage in the hunt.”
”The Dauntless Team will now add to its mission the priority hunt for Grannan Telbor, after his attempt on your lives last night atop Cauldron Hill. This hunt is now ‘Sealed to the Constabulary’ and is able to be discussed amongst you all as well as R&D Wing, but I remind you that Telbor was once a Risuri Special Service agent, and leaks on this to the public will damage credibility of the Kingdom, so keep your lips shut about him to civilians. He is to be captured if possible…but after last night it is clear any measure of force may be necessary to take him down.”
”As for this new development with the arsonists of Parity…”
Stover Delft trails off as he turns from the board and looks at each of you, still a somewhat unbelievable look upon his face. Your boss never gave much credence to Nevard Sechim or any Skyseer visions for that matter, but even he cannot dispute the means by which you came to Sechim’s on Magazine Street and thwarted what would have been a nineteenth factory arson…and by Anneca’s estimation a potential spread of that fire that would have engulfed the entire industrial row and led to hundreds of deaths. The fact that the arsons were assumed to be Gale’s doing as revenge against industrialists is not formally discredited yet, but essentially assumed to be so – no reasonable constable could conclude that Gale was willing to burn down the factory of the adopted daughter of Nilasa Hume and nephew of revered Skyseer Sechim, not to mention the connection between Beran dragonborn and Gale is preposterous.
Delft shakes his head a moment and continues on. ”Dane, Coin, your notions on these factory arsons being more than just random acts of vengeance are clearly correct after the events earlier this morning. Well done. You’re hereby off this goose chase of The Ragman, and full-time on the arsonist case. I have Researcher Mifrain out on Magazine Street now with a R&D team to analyze and catalog the remains of that wagon, and I want you to out there to go over what happened. When that’s done to your satisfaction, I want you to start interrogating the arsonist prisoners and find out all that they know.”
”Yessir Chief,” answer both Talyssa Dane and Wilhelm Coin in unison, clearly seeming content that they are finally on a real case.
”Good. Constable Utegg. I’m sorry to have to do this to you,” says Inspector Delft in a tone that actually sounds seriously genuine and neither snide nor sarcastic as is his usual demeanor, ”but I need you to join Dane and Coin on this one. You know Berans better than most with your background…and if need-be during interrogations you can get inside their heads and make them pliable. Sleep on the way over if you need to Tobias, but show Talyssa and Wilhelm how the scrap went down in that alley with those thugs. Then get back here and get some well-deserved shuteye, after which you can start with the interrogations.”
Tobias seems slightly disappointed to be taken off the case with those he has come to know so well, but nods his acceptance. Talyssa then clears her throat and speaks up cautiously to her chief after a sidelong look at Jesselle. ”Sir? Concerning the slain dragonborn Valando…I would like to ask for Constable Wesmere to see if she can spirit-delve answers from the body…I know from the 1 Summer reports that Jesselle obtained very useful information from Nilasa Hume, so I know she has the talent.”
”Good call. Wesmere, are you up for it? Do what you can and give a transcript to Dane, Coin and Utegg on whatever you glean before the day is out. For the rest of you, I want you to stay put in Flint Branch today, to rest up and see to your requisitions. That is, unless you have something short-term to attend to on your mission case, but nothing taxing or extensive. Such as if you’re keen on talking to this ‘Professor Kindleton’ woman on the whereabouts of Doctor Recklinghausen, or having a chat with this ‘Morgan Cippiano’ chap from The Family. But above all, if you receive any word – any of you – from Gale, you are to report it to myself or Saxby immediately. Understand? Questions?”
Jesselle looks to Tobias with a sarcastic "thank you" look before she looks over to Delft with a yawn, "Pardon me Sir, it has been a long day, night, or whatever it is now."
belink a few times she nods wearily, "I can try Sir. It normally does not work as it did with Nilasa, but anything to help. let me grab something to keep me awake and I will see to Valando's spirit."
She is still not happy with giving up her team's chance at talking with Gale, after all they were the ones who did all the leg work. Not to mention that if there was to be a meeting it was to talk, get answers, not take the woman in. It would be something big, career changers perhaps if they captured Gale, but at the same time, this was about what happened ti Nilasa at the Danoaran Embassy, and what information she was able to find there. Her gut told her that Gale was not the real threat here. The Danoaran's were definitely working against the interests of Risui, and there was little that could convince her otherwise.
She turned to Delft and nodded once again, "Understood Sir. Nothing more at this time."
As her colleagues file out of the meeting she finds herself some strong tea. "I will see to this dragonkin and we can then go speak with or good Doctor. I am sure that Kell is most pleased with our work the other evening." She asks of her colleagues, "If anyone wants to join in the fun..." she asks again with sarcasm, "I can always use help with questions to ask the spirit."
*** *** ***
Tea in hand it does not take the woman long to find where they have taken the body of the dragonkin. She first used her magical arts to cool the tea and gulps it down. She than asks those in the room to give her some space before she prepares mentally for the task ahead. It took her longer than it should have, but she was working on little sleep in the previous two days but she was able to find find her center.
Drawing on her 'gift' she reaches out for the spirit of the dragonkin, "Valando, I call your spirit forth. There are questions that need answers."
Gemma waits until everyone seems to be done speaking. "Permission to speak freely Inspector?" She looks to her fellow constables and then back to Delft.
"It's not Gale. I can't speak for the rest of everyone, but it's not her that's behind this. Arresting her is only going to stir an already mad hornet's nest. You know I have no love for the wildlands or the Old Ways, but I know any wild animal will come out fighting if they're cornered. I think we need to proceed slowly with her and not make assumptions."
She pauses a moment before her next statement, knowing full well it's going to sound completely crazy and she's going to get a huge amount of flack for it.
"And has anyone put any thought to where we are? Where Risur is in all of this?"
Gemma looks around at everyone staring her. She shakes her head a little and then takes a deep breath. "Try and go with me on this one. I've been thinking a lot since the fight at the warehouse. Why in the world were there Beran dragonborn leading that group? There shouldn't have been. There was no logical reason for them to be there."
She pauses to see if anyone is following. "Don't you see? We're right in the middle between Danor and Ber."
The more she's been thinking about it, the more it makes sense. Danor marrying into Risur, undermining the king. Ber with their diplomatic channels to Danor since Le Roye Bruse, reinforced by the ambassadorship of Brakken of Heffanita. Risur could easily be squeezed out and now would be a brilliant time with the civil unrest.
"Ack! Nevermind!" Gemma throws her hands up in the air, sure that no one is going to go on her fantastical, theoretical voyage with her. "Constable Wesmere, I'd like to go with you when you go to interrogate Valando, if you don't mind the company."
The silence in the room is positively deafening. That is, until Constable Wilhelm Coin starts laughing hysterically to himself and rolls out of his seat onto the briefing room floor.
As for Stover Delft, Assistant Chief Inspector of Flint Branch, member of the Royal Homeland Constabulary for over twenty years and an inspector since at least seven years from the end of the Fourth Yerasol War, the man looks positively incredulous. His face is sort of scrunched up in a look that defies explanation. His mouth is agape but with no words coming forth. For a man that seemingly prides himself on sharp remarks and a highly superior wit, for once your boss the ACI is completely incapable of words.
The next words uttered come not from your beloved chief, nor the near apoplectic form of Coin who is on the ground, but Junior Researcher Trellen who seems to be trying to "help" clarify the situation...
"Well, um, strictly speaking Constable Wesmere, we are not exactly between Danor and Ber...while Ber is adjacent to our own lands the Avery Sea proves a solid formidable barrier to being adjacent." The young man starts to flush as uncomfortable sets of eyes start to turn towards him. "I mean, well, not exactly solid you know as it is a sea...technically if on the western portion of Risur the Yerasol Archipelago presents another obstacle of definable mass between Risur and Danor..."
"Trellen?" The voice is distinctly that of Talyssa Dane.
"Yes ma'am?"
"Best to stop talking now, Trellen."
"Yes ma'am."
"Yes, Thank you Trellen for pointing that out to me. I wasn't aware." Her statement drips with obvious sarcasm. "By the way, I'm Constable Atherton. She's Constable Wesmere." Gemma thumbs over to Jeselle.
"And a sea in between us doesn't right matter when we've got killings of Risuri at the Danoran consulate and a Danoran noble woman betrothed to our King, does it?"
Gemma then looks to Coin. "Go ahead. Laugh it up. Maybe next time I'm out with my fellows averting disaster, I'll buy you a whiskey to help you chase down your Ragman rumors."
She then looks to Talyssa Dane. "I mean no offense towards you with that comment. Only him. He's an a&+~~$*."
Anneca runs a hand across her face as she analyzes the scrolls in front of her. Perhaps she should have gotten some rest first, but getting the requisitioning out of the way will be helpful. It already took too much time to dictate the report to the scribe. She'd been in a grim mood following yet another failure to capture Telbor - but the signed equipment requisition order substantially brightened her mood. Seeing as there is no point in offering standard gear to a profession with such divergent talents, the R.H.C. prefers to simply give them a standing requisition amount, with which they select their own gear. It has always annoyed Anneca that they can't simply all be outfitted with every bit of magical gear they might need to fulfill their mission - but the bureaucrats stand in the way with weak-kneed whines about the limited budget and doing more with less. Thus, apparently, the squad has been upgraded in their value to the constabulary, as attested to by the signed order.
The scroll room, maintained by the R&D team, is actually pleasant and laid out. The dweomercrafters, as they ostentatiously call themselves, have settled on a fairly usable organizing system, with clearly marked drawers dividing the arcane scrolls by spell school. The divine scrolls may have some system, but she doesn't have the inclination to find out. She quickly bypasses the scrolls of enchantment and illusion, focusing on broadening her potential access to a toolbox. SHe hesitates and skips over the scrolls of necromancy, having little desire to see more of that terrible power and cost. She quickly selects scrolls based on utility, keeping track of their value relative to her increase in requisition power. The continuing presence of her would-be assassin looms large in her mind as she makes her selections. She looks at almost two dozen scrolls, using her magical talent to read over the spells contained therein, until she has winnowed them into the ones that she might need. "Worst case scenario," she mutters to herself, "I'll just return them in exchange for new ones if the need arises." One of the wizards looks up from meticulously copying a scroll, unhappy with the interruption, but Anneca doesn't mind breaking his concentration.
She tries to carry all of them at once after signing the requisition agreement from the scroll quartermaster, but it's surprisingly difficult to carry dozens of scrolls at once without dropping any. After making two attempts, she leaves them on the table. Anneca snaps at the quartermaster - a bookish looking woman who prefers to call herself an arcana librarian[/b] or some other nonsense - and instructs her to watch them for a moment. The rest of R&D is just down the hall, and she has just enough of her stipend left to pick up a replacement for her overstuffed scroll box. A few moments later, she walks out with a so-called [i]handy haversack, a tiny bag of extradimensional space that will allow her to store all of the scrolls easily on her person. The quartermaster (the actual title this time) was less than helpful. Anneca's fatigue doesn't help her manners any, as she snapped at him to finish up quickly so that she can get back to real constabulary work.
Back in the scroll room, Anneca stuffs the pile of scrolls into the bag, which has ample space inside to fit an impossible volume. She practices with its best feature, concentrating on a specific spell and pulling out precisely that scroll when she grabs the one on top. "Useful," she mutters to the increased anger of the scribbling wizard. Happy with increasing her capacity to cast spells beyond her own abilities, she slings the haversack over a shoulder and heads down to the briefing.
When she arrives, Anneca can see that she is already late. She sits down in the back of the room, hoping to avoid a comment from Delft. Fortunately, Gemma already has his attention and maybe even his ire. She nods along, hoping to catch up on the conversation quickly enough to be ready to help out.
Since Fethryth was thinking along the same lines as Gemma, and since Delft's head is already going explode, she decides to jump in with her support, although she's pretty sure she and Gemma are going to end up scrubbing the floor together.
"To be fair sir, Gale is a known quantity while Telbor is not. He's turned into some kind of strange necromatic shadow magic thing that killed Nilasa with talons, he got past all the wards protecting Cauldron Hill to attack us, and, like you said, he was once a Risuri Special Service agent. Gale seems willing to work with us and give us her resources, there's only the tiniest chance she's actually part of the Ragman fires, we can't move on her until after Sechism's decoded his vision....begging your pardon Sir but it's like triage, you go after the worst wound first." She ends her speech with a shrug.
"I think if we keep chasing down leads, we'll be okay. It's obvious that whatever track we're on, it's making Telbor nervous. I don't think we'll have to look for him so much as to keep an eye out for ambushes while we search for more answers." Emerson sits up in his chair as he realizes he is slouching. "Chief, while I understand the standing order is to bring Gale in, I agree with Feth and Gemma. We should wait as long as possible to do that as it could jeopardize our investigation."
Stover Delft finally closes his gaping mouth, his incredulous stare turning to a more-than-irritated glare at Gemma, Fethryth and Emerson. He grabs his elaborate cane from where it rests by the podium and bangs it hard three times against the mission board for effect, which brings even Wilhelm Coin back to his seat.
"Do you see the top of the mission board here? Do you? Think that just comes out of my backside because I fancy it to be so? No, ladies and gents of the Constabulary, it does not. A 'Priority Substitution' event for all Constables has been mandated by the Chief Inspectress of this here Flint Branch, with direct clearance and funding approved and authorized by the Directorate." Delft turns and dramatically (at least for Delft) waves towards the board with his cane. "So you're telling me we should wave off a First Tier priority mission for a high-value terrorist and fugitive in our backyard because...you have a hunch that she's not as all bad as we first thought..."
The Inspector's tirade is cut short as a commotion of voices and scampering of staff is heard outside, along with a distinct set of booted steps - the Chief Inspectress. Delft gives the constables in the room a final glare as if to warn them to keep quiet, sets his cane back down and hastily works to shuffle together his briefing documents on the podium before her entry. Sure enough, the Lady Saxby opens the briefing room door a moment later, using her familiar 'polite cough' and question-that-is-not-a-question to ask if she is intruding...
...and as before, she barely waits for Delft's polite answer before moving to her already prepared address to the non-Dauntless constables she barely knows.
"Good morning, constables. I must commend you all yet again for another day's fine effort...and shall I say throughout the night as well? I have read but a preliminary report of your transcription of the night's events, but I believe you have acquitted the Constabulary and the city of Flint quite well. Even if minor miscues and miscommunications may have occurred this night with our esteemed Mayor MacBannin, rest assured I shall see to quelling any misgivings of pride or lack of polish directly - I am simply glad to hear that the well-regarded Skyseer Sechim was brought down from the summit of Cauldron Hill safe and whole, despite the...unusual circumstances...which threatened to waylay you there. Well done."
Lady Saxby turns with a raised eyebrow to her Assistant Chief Inspector and asks, "May I assume, Inspector Delft, that the assembled constables here have been given notice of the increase in requisition funding, to arm and equip themselves as needed for potential hunt and capture of Hana "Gale" Soliogn, as well as this former R.S.S. operative, Grannan Telbor?"
"Yes, Inspectress, indeed they have."
"Excellent." She turns back to regard the six constables with the her hawkish nose of someone who is used to looking down upon others. "Now that you have fulfilled the wishes of Nevard Sechim - and saved his nephew as well as many others from a terrible calamity it seems - I fully expect the opportunity to "meet" with Miss Soliogn shall come to favorable terms for us at last. To that end, I once again emphasize that you are not to seek glory or gaudy prestige in a reckless attempt to meet and apprehend Gale yourselves. Inform either myself, Stover or Carlao if you receive contact. I assure you that I will give each of you a place in the hunt that is to come...and the credit that is due to you in my direct report to Director Price-Hill. Once we capture and bring her to justice, of course."
With that the Lady Saxby gives her perfunctory smile and turns to leave the briefing room, but pauses one last time as she recalls something the constables did not quite expect. "Oh yes. One more item of business for today. Carlao, Serena and the rest know this quite well by now, but I should not expect those of lesser veteran experience to know my mind on so-called "deals" with apprehended suspects who present little lasting value to the Constabulary's investigations. Our brig downstairs is too full and costly: the Wareye pair of rebel terrorists, the two petty cohorts of Nilasa Hume who were removed from Goodson's Estuarial Reformatory, the smuggler Deorn Feldman with the Family criminal connections, the Kell Guild criminals you brought back from the Cloudwood...you see my point. Even without this dragonborn arsonist to question, we simply cannot afford to grant amnesty and shelter all criminals and fugitives, merely because we need to acquire information of value in our investigations, can we? I daresay not. But as you have performed well and I am in a charitable frame of mind, I ask that you constables pick two for amnesty of their charges and protective shelter outside of Flint. The rest we shall turn over forthwith to the proper Mayorial authorities of their recorded native district, or the Governor's jails, each according to their charges and record against us."
With that, Saxby nods and exits the room for her next appointment or update, leaving the constables and Delft to work out the details.
Gemma has never really liked Lady Saxby. There's always been something off about her that she can't quite put her finger on. The longer she's come into contact with her, the stronger that feeling has grown. But she doesn't make a single motion to say anything while Saxby's in the room. With her last statement about the prisoners, however, Gemma has to work hard not to be visibly irritated.
Once Saxby has left and is well clear of the room, Gemma risks speaking up again and earning the complete and utter consternation of Delft.
"In answer to your question that you asked before the Inspectress came in...Yes, Chief Inspector...I'm saying we should wave off a First Tier priority mission for a high-value terrorist based on our gut feelings. We have these badges for a reason. We earned them and were thought well enough of to be granted them. I don't take my job lightly. I'm here for the protection of the people of Risur. Period. Despite politics. I'm here to ferret out the truth for better or worse, not to do something simply to satisfy an agenda. And I don't give two s**#s about making sure my picture is etched in the dailies and getting proper credit in a report. I care about doing a proper job. I think we should make Telbor a main priority."
She takes a momentary breath but can feel the anger about the situation rising in her throat.
"And as for our prisoners...really? Choose two? Clearly I'm young and naive and not understanding how this all works, but that's wrong. That's our word that we're giving to people, sir, and we're being asked to go back on that now?"
Gemma knows she's well overstepped her bounds but politics and politeness has never been her strong suit. Tactics have, but that seems to be right out the window currently.
All she can do now is sit and wait for Delft to come over and beat her senseless with his cane.